The Foster Husband

by Pippa Wright

  ‘Thanks, Chris,’ I said, accepting it. Who was I to turn away from the only support I was being offered?

  As we left I thought I heard someone shouting after Chris, but it’s a common name. He didn’t turn around, so I guessed they must have been calling to someone else.

  I hadn’t been to the Spanish bar on Hanway Street for what felt like decades. It was always somewhere that we rocked up when the pub had shut and we weren’t ready to go home yet. At the time of night when a pitcher of Sangria sounds like the best idea in the whole world, and everyone in the bar is your new best friend. The hour of the evening when dancing feels not just possible but actually necessary and incredibly vital (in a way that will make you die of mortification when recalled the next day). I don’t think I had ever walked down those narrow wooden steps sober before.

  It seemed like no one else visited the Spanish bar before closing time either; it was practically empty except for me and Chris. I let him go to the bar and took my pick from the tables – just being able to sit down felt like an exotic novelty – usually we were standing, crushed up against the stairs. The only seat at my preferred table was a wooden bench, tucked into an alcove underneath a particularly garish painting of a flamenco dancer, who sported a Sixties beehive hairdo with her traditional dress.

  Chris came back from the bar with a bottle of Rioja and two glasses. I think my eyes must have widened at the idea of drinking that much after months of near sobriety, because he looked from me to the bottle and back again.

  ‘I just thought it would save us going up and down to the bar?’ he said, anxiously posing his statement as a question.

  ‘No, it’s cool,’ I reassured him. ‘Good idea.’

  Why shouldn’t I have a drink, anyway? It’s not like I was going to be having Matt’s baby now. In fact, I’d probably had a very narrow escape. Imagine if I’d been pregnant when I heard about him and Sarah. Matt and Sarah. I wished I hadn’t thought of that again.

  Chris passed me a glass of wine and I gulped down half of it in one go.

  ‘Jesus, you really needed a drink,’ he said, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  He left a long pause, during which we both refilled our glasses. I wondered if I should be making more of an effort to make conversation, but it wasn’t like my friendship with Chris had been defined by a real meeting of minds. And I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. I just wanted not to be on my own, and to get drunk. Chris was the enabler, rather than my chosen confidant.

  He broke the silence first.

  ‘So,’ he said, hesitant and cautious, as if he was about to ask me something immensely personal. ‘Have you seen much of Sarah lately?’

  I turned to look at him, suspicious. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Chris shrugged. ‘Just, Jay said they’re having a few issues at the moment. Thought she might have mentioned it.’

  I left another long pause. Was Chris trying to tell me he knew something about Matt and Sarah? I always thought coming at a problem obliquely was a female trait; most men just jump straight in and ask the inappropriate question. Maybe Chris was more emotionally intelligent than I’d given him credit for.

  ‘Yeah, she’s mentioned it,’ I said, carefully. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘Not much.’ Chris laughed. ‘Typical bloke stuff, keeps getting drunk instead of actually addressing it. Just thought you might know a bit more. Don’t like seeing one of my friends down, you know.’

  I laughed back, filling my glass for the third time. ‘What’s happened to you, Chris? When did you turn all caring?’

  Chris winced a little. ‘You never did have a very high opinion of me,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Chris, I did,’ I said, guiltily, since he was perfectly right.

  Chris lifted one corner of his mouth into a wry smile. ‘You didn’t. But that’s okay. I guess I wasn’t very good at talking about things. I’ve grown up a bit since then.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said, sadly, staring across the empty room.

  ‘Shit, isn’t it?’ said Chris, comically mournful.

  We both burst out laughing. I was almost sobbing, holding onto my stomach. I had the sense I might burst into tears at any moment.

  ‘It is shit! It is! It’s all shit,’ I said, in between spluttering. ‘Let’s get drunk.’

  By the time the bar started filling up, Chris and I were on our fourth bottle. I’d like to say I remember it all perfectly, but the truth is it has come back to me in snippets over the last few months, and I don’t know how accurate any of it is. Although some things I know beyond doubt.

  We were knee-walkingly drunk. I had fallen over on my way to the bar, and had to be helped up by some concerned students. I ignored their pitying looks, and just took my shoes off and stumbled on to buy another bottle.

  I remember that my phone rang, buzzing loudly on the table. The display showed that it was Matt, and Chris saw me choose to ignore it. And then my phone rang again, two minutes later, and it was Sarah. Chris saw me ignore it once more. He said nothing. I felt more certain than ever that he knew what had been going on behind my back. When my phone rang for the third time I switched it off decisively, if somewhat fumblingly. I dropped it in my bag and Chris smiled at me with what I felt was approval.

  I remember the way we were sat on the narrow bench, turned towards each other our knees touching, I remember wondering why I had ever thought he was boring. Why had I given up all the excitement of the chase and the pursuit for something as tedious and soul-draining as marriage? I’d always said I didn’t do relationships. That long-term love was stifling and limiting. And hadn’t I been right? Wasn’t this more who I was? Look what had happened to me when I’d been trapped by domesticity. I’d turned into someone I didn’t recognize.

  But I remember most of all the feeling of Chris looking at me the way Matt used to – amused, admiring, like he didn’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else. As if I was someone worth knowing, worth being with.

  I had grown so used to the way Matt and I were with each other these days – sniping, defensive, always ready to take offence – that Chris’s undivided attention was as intoxicating as the red wine that was now, oops, spilled down my front.

  ‘Oh God, look, I’d better go and wash this off,’ I said, sloppily indicating the front of my dress.

  I rose from my seat unsteadily. Chris slipped his arm around my hips to support me – and also to cop a feel of my arse; I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t notice that. ‘Woah, I feel really wobbly all of a sudden.’

  Chris stood up, his hand resting on my waist. He scanned the room. ‘Want me to come with you?’

  ‘Umm,’ I said, trying to focus on his face. I had a vague feeling this was a bad idea, but at the same time I really wasn’t sure if I was going to make it to the bathroom without embarrassing myself.

  He pushed me gently towards the back of the bar.

  ‘Won’t we lose our table?’ I said anxiously, looking around the crowded bar.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Chris, and he propelled me across the floor, his hand in the small of my back.

  43

  When we burst into the Ladies’ three girls were doing their make-up by the mirror. They all sniggered and exchanged glances with one another. I supposed we probably did look a bit of a state.

  Chris just grinned at me – in the fluorescent tube-lit bathroom I could see that his teeth had gone purple from the red wine and I wondered if mine were the same. Suddenly I didn’t feel fun and exciting, I felt a bit sordid and sad. But I smiled back at Chris anyway – it wasn’t his fault.

  He pulled a big old man’s-style handkerchief out of his jeans pocket and pressed it to my chest, dabbing at the stain. The three girls pushed past us to get out, leaving us alone in the too-bright bathroom. I took hold of Chris’s hand, holding it there, his fingers brushing the tops of my breasts. He looked up at me, and then he kissed me.

  It was as though something was
unleashed in me – I don’t think I could truly say it was lust, because it was more like anger and rage and a bitter, bitter need for revenge. It is cruel to say it, but Chris could have been anyone. I just needed to feel something – anything – that wasn’t betrayal and sadness and failure. I needed to blot out what was happening, to replace it with something else.

  I dragged him into a cubicle and he slammed the door behind us, locking it. His hands were all over me, pulling up my dress as he buried his face in my neck, breathing heavily. I kept my eyes closed; I don’t know why. I wanted this, I knew I did. I’d started it.

  The bathroom door opened with a blast of noise from the bar – music and laughter and shouting. Chris hooked his thumbs into my knickers and pulled them down to my thighs. I was horrified to feel tears on my cheeks, and rubbed them away with the back of my hand before he could see. But he stopped for a second, and when I opened my eyes a fraction I could see he was looking at me anxiously.

  ‘Just do it,’ I hissed.

  I suppose we weren’t aware of how much noise we were making; let’s face it, when your judgement is sufficiently impaired to think that shagging in a toilet cubicle is a good idea, you’re not really in a state to be worrying about what other people think. It is safe to say that, by this stage, I wasn’t thinking of very much at all.

  But outside in the bathroom I heard voices and stifled laughter. Then someone started banging on the door. Chris froze.

  ‘Kate!’ called a voice from outside. The banging on the door got more fierce. ‘I know you’re in there.’

  I looked at Chris in astonishment. How the fuck had Sarah found me?

  Chris and I looked at each other in horror. I pushed him away from me, pulled my dress down, and kicked my knickers to the floor. Sarah kept banging on the door.

  ‘Kate! I know you’re there! Danny saw you going off with Chris. I’ve tried every bar in Soho.’

  Chris’s eyes were wide with panic. But something steely and cold descended on me all of a sudden. Why should I feel guilty about this? What could Sarah possibly have to say to me that would make me feel worse than I already did?

  I reached for the bolt on the bathroom door. Chris tried to stop me but as he was also trying to simultaneously pull up his trousers he was ineffective. I opened the door.

  Although I was aware that there were plenty of other people crowded into the bathroom to enjoy the show, I was focused only on Sarah. Her face was red and shiny, as though she’d been running, and she looked on the verge of tears.

  ‘Chris,’ she spat, looking over my shoulder. ‘I might have known. You always were a vile little opportunist, only going after girls when they’re too drunk to say no.’

  I felt Chris shrink behind me, as if I might protect him from Sarah’s wrath.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, concentrating on not slurring. I wanted to sound haughty, distant, superior. ‘As a matter of fact, Sarah, this was all my idea.’

  Sarah tried to take my arm, but I stepped backwards onto Chris, who yelped and fell down onto the toilet seat.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I hissed, flinching away from her reach. ‘Don’t you dare touch me. I know exactly what you’ve been up to – don’t think I don’t.’

  Sarah took another step towards me, her hands held out placatingly. ‘Kate, whatever you think I’ve done or haven’t done, I just think I should get you home, okay? You’re not in any state to be out.’

  ‘Oh that’s right,’ I sneered. ‘I’m not meant to be out, am I? I’m just the boring little housewife who stays at home every night, cooking dinner. While you fuck my husband.’

  The crowd behind Sarah gasped. They were getting far more than they expected from a visit to the bathroom.

  ‘While I . . . fuck your husband?’ she asked, her voice faltering. Her hand rose to her chest in a masterful attempt to appear entirely innocent – who me? ‘Is that what this is about?’

  ‘You thought I didn’t know,’ I said. I made my voice sound strong, but my legs were buckling and I was leaning on the side of the cubicle for support. ‘You thought you’d carry on pretending to be my friend. When were you going to tell me? Were you going to wait until I was pregnant so you could really twist the knife?’

  Sarah shook her head. She didn’t even try to deny it. She looked back over her shoulder at all the people trying to crowd into the bathroom.

  ‘Will you all just fuck off out of here?’ she shrieked. A few people looked guilty, but no one moved.

  ‘No, stay,’ I shouted. ‘I don’t care if they all know about it. I saw you. I saw you in Nan’s Fish Bar tonight. You were holding hands. You weren’t bothered about hiding it then, were you? Own it, Sarah, own it. Admit it.’

  Sarah’s eyes were suddenly full of tears. For one horrible moment I actually felt sympathy for her, before I remembered that she deserved to feel terrible.

  ‘You really thought . . .?’ She gestured limply towards the toilet, where Chris cowered in silence. ‘Oh God, Kate, what have you done?’

  ‘Don’t you dare judge me,’ I stammered, stuttering over my words with rage. ‘Don’t you dare. How can you stand there and judge me after everything you’ve done?’

  Sarah’s lip trembled. She dropped her voice to a near-whisper.

  ‘Kate, please, let’s not talk about this here. Let’s go home. I’ll get us a cab.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I spat. ‘If you have something to say to me, you can say it here – in front of everyone.’

  ‘Yeah, sister,’ shouted a voice from the back of the crowd. I felt absurdly powerful. The audience was with me. I had the moral high ground. Even if I had just been caught shagging in a toilet cubicle, I had turned it around.

  I lost the moral high ground just slightly with a loud hiccup, but I thought I got away with it.

  Sarah tried to keep her voice low, but everyone had hushed so much, so as not to miss a thing, that her words carried as clearly as if she’d spoken into a microphone.

  ‘Kate, nothing is happening between me and Matt. Nothing.’

  ‘Oh really,’ I sneered. ‘So you were just holding hands for no reason, were you?’

  Sarah looked over her shoulder again, probably fearing the crowd was about to lynch her and brand a scarlet A onto her chest.

  ‘Really, let’s talk about this outside,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  Sarah sighed and her shoulders slumped. She pulled her bag across her body as if she was preparing to make a run for it.

  ‘Kate, I was holding Matt’s hand because he was crying. About you.’

  I blinked at her.

  ‘And you expect me to believe that?’ I asked.

  The faces of the crowd swivelled towards Sarah, like spectators at a tennis match.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been meeting up with him,’ Sarah confessed. ‘More than once.’

  I knew it.

  ‘But only because both of us are so worried about you.’

  ‘How ridiculous,’ I said scornfully. ‘Are you actually trying to blame your affair on me?’

  ‘There is no affair!’ shouted Sarah. ‘Don’t you see, you fucking idiot? You’ve turned into a total crazy person. Matt and I have tried to be sympathetic – it’s obvious you’re depressed—’

  ‘Matt and I?’ I sneered, in a sing-song voice. ‘Matt and I? Oh, how cosy it sounds.’

  Sarah threw her hands up.

  ‘Kate, I don’t know how to get this through to you. But if I have to shout it in front of a room of fucking nosy strangers’ – she glared at the crowd behind her – ‘I’ll do it. You’ve gone completely insane about the most mundane things – fucking aprons and casserole dishes. You’re always angry, you never want to go out, you won’t even consider getting a job, you’ve stopped speaking to me, to Matt, to anyone except that dog. You’re obsessed with getting pregnant.’

  Behind me, Chris stood up in alarm. ‘You’re trying to get pregnant?’ he squeaked.

  ‘Fuck off, Chris,’ S
arah and I chorused.

  He sat down again and dropped his head in his hands.

  ‘Kate,’ said Sarah. She was crying again. ‘I promise you, I promise. Nothing is happening with me and Matt. But we’ve both been so worried about you. Worried you’ll do’ – she let out a loud sob – ‘something stupid.’

  All at once it was as if I had been hit on the head by each of the bottles of wine I had drunk that night. My legs turned to water and I had to press my hands on either side of my head to stop it from spinning.

  ‘Where is Matt?’ I whispered.

  Sarah blinked away tears. ‘He’s gone home. He called me when he realized you weren’t there. Then Danny said he’d seen you outside the Crown with Chris. So I started looking for you. Come on, Kate, it’s time to go home.’

  ‘I can’t go home,’ I said, starting to retch. ‘I can’t.’

  I pushed Chris out of the way just in time to clutch the sides of the toilet seat as I threw up and threw up and threw up.

  There was a collective ‘ew’ from the crowd, which seemed to disperse in an instant, my copious vomiting marking the tawdry ending of the floor show.

  I felt Sarah rub my back as my stomach clenched and buckled.

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ she said, over and over. ‘It’s going to be okay, Kate.’

  But of course it wasn’t.

  I stayed at Sarah’s that night. I heard her on the phone to Matt while I lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her spare bedroom, feeling the duvet lie on me as heavily as if it was made of stone. When I got home the next morning the house was empty. Clearly he couldn’t face me. I didn’t blame him.

  I wrote him a note:

  I know she’s told you everything. I don’t expect you to forgive me – I’m not even sure I can forgive myself.

  I’m not excusing what I did, but maybe something had to happen so we could stop making each other so unhappy. I suppose this is it.

  I’m sorry.

  And then I collected Minnie from the Palmers’ house and left for Lyme Regis.