The Dream Wife

by Louisa de Lange

  I glare at the hairclip again. The movies always make it look so easy: a few bits of metal poked into a lock and the detectives are in and have found what they are looking for. What was I expecting, for the lock to miraculously spring open at the mere suggestion of a fashion accessory? I consider Google or YouTube but feel too tired for either. I push my fingers into my eyes and rub them until I see kaleidoscopic colours. The effort of this, of the worry and the thinking, is exhausting.

  When did everything start to change? There was never an exact moment. Like a weed growing under the pavement, you could watch and never notice the difference, until one day you turn around and that little green sprout has broken right through the concrete. Maybe the signs were there and I ignored them.

  At Johnny’s twenty-week scan, David was grumpy. Grumpy at being forced to leave work, to sit on a plastic chair in a dirty-white corridor, the appointment running half an hour late. He fiddled with his BlackBerry, punching angry emails to his minions revelling in his absence.

  When we finally went in, he softened slightly, reaching over to take my hand when the image appeared on the screen, the grainy black and white, and the rhythmic thud thud thud of the heartbeat. Tiny hands and feet, massive white blob of a head taking up the left-hand side. My breath caught in my throat and I looked over at David, staring astonished at the screen.

  ‘Look at that,’ he whispered, mesmerised by the gently moving image in front of him. He looked back at the sonographer. ‘Is it healthy?’ he asked.

  ‘Perfectly,’ she replied. ‘Everything seems in order.’

  David looked back and leant over to kiss me softly on the lips. ‘Hear that?’ he said. ‘Perfect.’

  I smiled back, my eyes full of tears – it was. Everything was perfect; it was all I’d imagined it to be and more. In a little over four months, my baby would be born and we would be a family. There was nothing more I wanted in the world.

  ‘Would you like to know the gender?’ the sonographer asked.

  ‘Of course,’ David replied.

  ‘It’s a little boy,’ she said, and he looked at her with his mouth open.

  ‘You won’t be the only man about the house soon,’ I laughed, rubbing my distended stomach clean of the sticky gel as she printed out the scan photo.

  ‘As long as you don’t forget who’s the love of your life,’ David said, kissing me on the cheek and helping me back on my feet.

  ‘I think Mum’s going to have her hands too full to worry much about you,’ the sonographer said, handing me the photo. ‘You’ll be lucky if she remembers your name once that baby comes along.’

  David was silent the whole way home. We pulled up in the drive, and he went straight to his study. I sighed, staring at the closed door, baffled at his sudden change in manner, then went into the kitchen, sticking the scan photo on the fridge door with a red magnet. I looked at the photo, taking in the little nose, the chin; I rested my hands on the bump and felt a slight flutter. My little boy, growing perfectly. The sonographer was right: already my love for my baby was far exceeding anything I felt for David. Back in those days, I loved David, sometimes so much I couldn’t breathe, but this was different: more primal.

  David emerged for dinner, sitting at the table in silence, staring at his food, then retreating back to his study when he was finished. Clearing away the leftovers, I opened the fridge, and when I closed it again, I noticed the red fridge magnet. The scan photo had gone.

  I didn’t see it again.

  I sit back on the hallway carpet, my back against the wall. At the time I couldn’t imagine David was jealous of his own son, a child who wasn’t even born, yet here we are and the triffids have taken over the neighbourhood. I didn’t ask David about the scan photo at the time even though I wanted it back, desperately. Something stopped me. Maybe even then I knew something wasn’t right, that David wasn’t to be crossed. It’s interesting what we ignore.

  I look back at the locked door and wonder what I would have done if I had found whatever I was looking for. Confronted David with proof of an affair? He would have laughed in my face.

  David cheating on me isn’t exactly a surprise; I think deep down I always knew there was never a chance he would be faithful. A man with his ego and self-confidence would never stick with one woman for the rest of his life, especially not one like me. I am here to serve a purpose, but my role as wife does not restrict who he sleeps and has fun with. I have been waiting for this to happen; perhaps I have the excuse I need to leave. But go where exactly? My mother is dead. My friends have gone.

  I sigh and pick up the hairgrip, putting it in my pocket and accepting defeat. No time for this now; the day moves forward. And best go get the vacuum before David gets home. That mud isn’t going to clean itself.

  Sand

  Annie was bored of the park. People playing Frisbee, people walking dogs. Dogs of different sizes and breeds, big shaggy dogs, small yappy dogs. Always someone walking a bloody dog.

  Sitting on her usual park bench, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, stretching out her legs and arms, relaxing every muscle, one by one. She let her arms fall to her sides, and felt the buzz in her brain mute to a pristine white calm. It was wonderful, this new strange way of dreaming. It felt like her own private refuge, somewhere only she could go and hide.

  Her mind wandered to a recent article she had seen. A white sandy beach. Green palm trees and blue skies with not even a trace of a cloud. A few deckchairs were scattered across the sand. She felt the sun on her face. She massaged the sand beneath her toes. She could hear the slow movement of the sea and feel the brush of the wind through her hair. She opened her eyes and smiled. She was definitely getting used to this – strange, but magical.

  ‘I like your thinking.’

  Dressed in only a pair of lime-green Bermuda shorts, Jack sat in the deckchair next to her, his hair wet and slicked back from his face, a trace of a tan and a scattering of freckles across his nose.

  ‘How hard did you find this today?’ he asked.

  Annie thought back. ‘Much easier. I just relaxed and here I was.’

  ‘You’re getting better then,’ Jack said, the sun catching his eyes and lighting them up an electric blue.

  Annie sat back in her deckchair, raising her legs out of the sand and examining her feet. Her toenails were painted in a vivid red, and she noticed tan lines across the tops of her feet. She was dressed in no more than a tiny red bikini, and admired her flat tanned stomach.

  ‘I haven’t been somewhere like this in years,’ she said, almost to herself.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I got married and had Johnny, and then my life went to shit.’

  Jack looked at her seriously. ‘Is it really that bad?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not.’ Annie laughed. ‘Having children is a bizarre paradox. On one hand you’ll happily jump in front of a bus for them, you’ll do anything to keep them safe and warm and happy, and they bring so much joy and fun into your life. Johnny is just amazing; I couldn’t imagine being without him. But on the other hand you do miss your old life – that freedom and independence. It’s just gone.’

  Jack smiled. ‘Tell me about Johnny.’

  ‘He’s awesome, such a happy little man. He likes trains, and cars, and diggers, and the Gruffalo. And he’s clever too, really smart …’ She looked at him. ‘But all mothers say that, don’t they? Maybe you’ll meet him one day.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jack laughed and Annie felt a flicker of recognition.

  ‘Have we met before?’ she asked.

  ‘We are miles and miles apart, Annie,’ he said quickly. He shook his head, and sat up in his deckchair. ‘I have homework for you,’ he said, looking out to sea. ‘Next time, the next dream, I want you to try and find me. I’m not going to look for you; you’ll have to find me.’

  ‘How will I do that?’

  ‘It’s easier than you think. Just work it out, like I did.’ He stood up. ‘Now, enough of this pondering, let’s enj
oy this little piece of paradise.’

  Annie nodded. ‘I will. Coming for a swim?’

  Jack ran confidently across the sand, diving Baywatch-style into the surf and swimming front crawl into the waves. Annie was more tentative, dipping her toe in to test the temperature then looking diligently at the sandy floor as she made her way in, checking for crabs or weaver fish, or anything else she wanted to avoid stepping on. But this was a dream, she reminded herself. If she wanted perfect soft sand, then that was what she’d get. She looked down and added a few colourful blue and yellow fish, delicately winding their way round her legs.

  Now up to her waist, she dived forward and swam a few strokes before turning over and floating, arms out on the surface. She looked at the huge canvas of blue sky and felt the sun on her face. The waves rocked her to and fro; she felt invincible, she felt omnipotent.

  And with that thought, she dived under the water, pushing out with her legs, swimming breaststroke, feeling none of her usual hesitation as she swam. She opened her eyes, everything clear and perfectly in focus. The surface loomed above her; the small blue and yellow fish had been joined by a swarm of clown fish, tiny and orange, swimming around the pinks, purples and turquoise of a coral reef. Her mind had produced a virtual Pixar movie, playing out in front of her eyes under the waves. She watched the fish for a moment, entranced, and then realised she had been down too long, she must be running out of air. But she felt no strain on her lungs, no breathlessness or stress, just an overwhelming sense of calm.

  She watched for a bit longer, and then looked up, seeing Jack’s legs kicking frantically a few metres above her. She pushed up to the surface, and popped up next to him.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he shouted as she took her first breath of oxygen. It tasted sweet and filled her with a sudden energy and euphoria. ‘You’ve been gone for about ten minutes, I thought you had drowned.’

  ‘I was fine,’ Annie replied, treading water next to him. ‘I was better than fine; it was amazing. I didn’t need to breathe, I could just sit and take it all in. I could see you above me, and I knew I was in the sea, but the usual laws didn’t apply. It was like you said, I can do anything.’

  ‘You can’t do anything, Annie, you can’t take risks like that!’

  ‘Why not? It wasn’t really a risk; I could have swum to the surface at any time.’

  Jack frowned and shook his head. ‘What if you had drowned? What then?’

  He turned and swam away from her, towards the shore. She swam after him and strode out of the waves to where he stood on the sand, hands on his hips, facing away.

  ‘Jack!’ she shouted as she got closer. ‘What’s the matter? I wouldn’t have drowned, I would have just woken up.’

  He turned to face her. ‘How do you know, Annie? How do you know? This is so new, to both of us, nothing is certain. Don’t take the risk, never die in a dream. What if you don’t wake up?’

  Annie shook her head. Even in the tropical sunshine she felt cold, a shiver running down her spine. ‘But I’m okay.’

  ‘But what if you hadn’t been? What if you had died, what would happen to Johnny then?’

  Annie reeled. Jack took her by the shoulders. ‘You must be more careful, Annie, you’re important, it’s important …’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s so much we don’t know.’

  Annie looked at him closely. The sun was drying his hair in wild waves around his face, and he looked younger to her, more vulnerable. Her previous elation had vanished, replaced by guilt for having offended her … what? Her friend?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quietly.

  It was true, they didn’t know the rules. But while Jack seemed wary, Annie felt the opposite. This was exciting, the one bit of enjoyment in her life. Something fun, something to explore – who knows what they could achieve?

  What would be the point if they didn’t push it, and see just how far they could go?

  14

  The rock was huge. It lurked on its velvet cushion, held in place by a platinum band, two diamonds guarding it either side. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, mesmerised by the glow, then looked back to David.

  He was kneeling in front of me, the Trevi Fountain behind him and about fifty tourists around us. There had been a collective gasp when he had gone down on one knee, and now all eyes were on me.

  ‘Well,’ he said, looking up with those dark brown eyes, crinkling at the edges, ‘will you marry me?’

  I said yes. Of course I did; what other option was there? We had been together a year, I loved him, he loved me, and I was worried about a lynching if I said no. The tourists clapped, the Americans cheered and David slid the ring onto my finger. It fitted perfectly.

  Of course, I never wear it. How can I? It’s annoying, it catches on everything – Johnny’s clothing, my hair – and I’m terrified of losing it. And besides, it’s so showy it’s embarrassing. Five-carat diamond rings just don’t go with your average tracksuit trousers. In the early days I called it my insurance policy, but now that’s too close to the truth to be funny.

  I never wanted much. While Becca talked about white dresses, tiaras, babies and big cars, I didn’t have anything to add to the list. Just the basics: good food, nice house, warmth, and a husband who loved me. I’m not sure I have that last one any more.

  Even now, some of my best days are the simplest.

  Sure, I have my tasks to do, the cleaning, the tidying, the washing, but as long as David’s shirts are ironed, I have dinner on the table when he gets home and the house looks clean and tidy, Johnny and I are good to go. This lackadaisical approach wouldn’t work long-term – I can’t risk piles of stray dust bunnies lining up under the sofa – but if we want to have a lazy day, we can.

  The never-ending dark days of winter are behind us, the clocks have gone forward and daffodils are popping up from the ground. The sun is shining, so we take Johnny’s football and walk to the park, him rushing up and down the path, little arms waving to keep his balance, a feather clutched in one hand. Me, sunglasses on, warmth of the sun on my forehead, cool breeze blowing through the trees. Sometimes it’s possible to forget the rest of my worries and just exist in the pleasure of a happy boy and a happy mum.

  A simple walk of a hundred metres can easily take half an hour. Johnny is interested in everything. The birds in the trees, manhole covers, parked cars, pebbles. Sticks. Trees you can hit with sticks. It must be fascinating being two.

  In sight of the park, he rushes ahead, eager as always to get to the swings, but I stop short, seeing someone already there. A man stands pushing one of the swings, a swirl of blonde hair flying backwards and forwards in front of him.

  Johnny stops and looks up at me; I recognise the figure in the distance and my heart thumps just that little bit faster.

  Adam smiles as we come close, turning his attention back to the swing at the last moment to give it a hearty push. I pick Johnny up and put him in the swing next to the little girl. I give it a big shove and Johnny laughs, waving his hands in the air.

  ‘How’s your daughter’s forehead?’ I ask, trying to look as she swings back and forth.

  ‘Georgia,’ he says. ‘And it’s much better, healing nicely, thank you.’

  We stand in silence for a bit, both of us pushing our children. Silence, except for the quiet rustling of the wind in the trees and the excited squeaking from the swings. I push my spare hand in my pocket and look resolutely ahead.

  ‘It’s nice to have some company,’ Adam says.

  I glance round, unsure if he’s being sarcastic. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s nice to see someone else, an adult, and have a conversation.’ Seeing my blank expression, Adam carries on. ‘I didn’t realise, before Georgia, how you can go a whole day with a toddler and not have a proper chat. When you’re new to the area, and work from home, it’s hard to see people and make friends.’

  ‘It can be lonely,’ I say. I stop for a moment. People, normal people, like
conversation. They like to talk to each other. It is allowed, I remind myself; I am not doing anything wrong. Despite what my husband says. ‘What do you do?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m an aeronautical engineer,’ Adam says. ‘But I work freelance, consult a little bit here and there. I have to, nowadays, to work around this little one.’ He gestures towards Georgia, still grinning, whooshing to and fro. ‘And it keeps the money coming in.’

  I smile and nod, still not having the faintest idea about what he does for a living.

  ‘What do you do?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh, I’m just a housewife.’

  He laughs. ‘There’s no “just” about it. Hardest job in the world, looking after these little monsters.’

  Now that she’s not crying hysterically, Georgia seems sweet – long blonde hair tied back with a pink clip, with escaping ringlets framing her delicate features. Like Johnny, she has blue eyes, and at this moment they are wide and open with the fun of the adventure. She is wearing a light-green corduroy dress, expensive-looking, clean and immaculate. A pair of blue trainers completes the outfit, effortlessly cool, even for a little girl.

  ‘I used to have a job,’ I say. ‘I was a PA up in London – lots of admin, paperwork, moving meetings around.’ I glance across to Adam and he’s watching me, listening and attentive. ‘It was a big responsibility, making sure everything ran smoothly, but I enjoyed it, I was good at it.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’ he asks.

  ‘Not so much the job, more the people. The sense of purpose, you know?’ He nods. ‘It was nice to have a life I could call my own.’

  I shut up suddenly, already feeling I’ve said too much, waffling on in front of this stranger. I try to smooth my hair down and push a few stray strands behind my ears. I go to put my fingers in my mouth, to nibble on my nails, and in the process see the state they are in. Different lengths, straggly chewed-off ends, dirt underneath them. I shove my hand back in my pocket.

  I wish I had taken the time to brush my hair this morning, to style it properly rather than just tying it back in a ponytail. When was the last time I even washed it? I look down at my feet and my legs, scruffy jeans and trainers, a food-stained T-shirt from lunchtime. Hardly the stuff to impress new men, I think, then wonder: why am I thinking about impressing new men?