How to Marry Your Husband

by Jacqueline Rohen

  ‘Out there?’

  ‘Annie has met a man on the Internet. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Annie … From choir or Bridge Club?’

  ‘Anne is choir, Annie is Bridge Club. You know, purple hair, only one good leg,’ Norma clarified, as if Rachel should have a photographic memory. As if one could forget Annie with one leg; the woman was a wonky Rott-weiler. And that really was being unfair to Rottweilers.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. She only has one leg, she’s rude and hates everyone and everything. And in spite of all that, she’s gone and found herself a man. And to make matters worse, she’s incredibly happy and, dare I say it, he’s rather nice, Annie’s new boyfriend. He’s living in that fancy retirement home … you know, the one that serves wine with dinner.’

  Rachel did know. It cost a fortune.

  ‘… so you think it’s a good idea?’

  ‘What? Yes, it sounds fine to me.’ Rachel was only half-listening and didn’t know what she had agreed to. ‘Wait, do you mean for Annie?’

  ‘No. For me!’ Norma huffed, and Rachel could picture her mother rolling her eyes.

  ‘You think you’re ready?’

  ‘Your father’s been de—gone ten years,’ Norma added matter-of-factly. David was right; her mother had all the warmth and empathy of an iceberg.

  ‘You were married for thirty years.’

  ‘That’s by the by.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, you know I worry about you being on your own. Whatever makes you happy’

  Norma released a massive sigh of relief. ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

  The call had already ended. Rachel found herself saying goodbye to an empty line.

  David called out as he closed the front door. Rachel caught the tail end of ‘… be back soon’.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she shouted after him. It was too late, he was gone. This was ridiculous, she thought, and opened a browser to Google ‘Divorce’.

  About 722,000,000 results.

  She followed this up with:

  ‘How to divorce’

  ‘How to divorce UK’

  ‘Divorce lawyer Richmond’

  ‘How long to divorce’

  ‘Divorce tips for cheated on wives’

  ‘Divorce for cheated wives UK’

  ‘Divorce cheated on wife no children split assets’

  ‘Divorce tips for cheated on wives no children split assets no pre-nup UK’

  ‘Does wife get half in divorce’

  ‘How to get everything in divorce’

  ‘How to get everything in divorce UK’

  The search results threw up innumerable legal professionals offering three feasible routes. She divvied the local companies into the main categories: Lions (Take him for everything he’s got), Sheep (Be nice and go along with everything) and Sloths (Get left behind). The following day was Monday. She was going to have to get herself a lawyer.

  5

  The following morning, Rachel’s whole body ached. She gulped down a sob, feeling a visceral ripping sensation inside her. Her throat was raw. Was it possible to die from a broken heart, literally? She contemplated phoning in sick. It was her company, no one would complain, but the thought of staying in the marital home all day made her feel worse.

  Rachel had been trapped for seventy-two hours, floating in and out of four of the five stages of grief – all but acceptance. Today, she was stuck in anger. She was a little ball of fury; she scared herself by how enraged she was. She didn’t know how she made it into work. She slathered on too much make-up, in an attempt to cover the hollow eye sockets and the bags under them, and wore an oversized t-shirt and yoga trousers. Yes, some could consider her outfit leisure-work attire, but Rachel’s get up was less fitness fashion and more an urgent cry for help. When she finally sat down at her desk she noticed she was wearing odd shoes. They were very similar, both black strappy sandals; though sisters and not twins. She had seen that wearing mismatched earrings had become absurdly fashionable. Would it be too optimistic to think that the same rule applied to footwear?

  Rachel’s company provided marketing and events management. They had two big upcoming events in the diary: a vodka brand launch and the opening of a refurbished boxing hall. They had recently recovered from organising the wedding of a politician, the Hon. Joseph Longneck MP, a relatively high-profile event for Rachel and her team. The small office were naturally sworn to secrecy so far as the world outside was concerned, but also forbidden from using the politician’s name in any written communication. This resulted in the in-house code words for the respective families of Mr & Mrs Mouse (Bride’s) and Mr & Mrs Giraffe (Groom’s). Afterwards they had sworn off weddings for the foreseeable future.

  Rachel slumped in her office chair, her head in her hands, the weight of anxiety seemingly too much for her neck and shoulders to bear. She’d never noticed the clock’s noisy mechanism before but now it was screaming into the silence of her office. Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! She felt the minutes of her marriage run out. With each tick, her ovaries dried a little, and with each tock more lines developed on her neck. She stifled a yawn and accepted her fate as a childless spinster. Rachel couldn’t concentrate on work but she couldn’t go home, frozen in her own personal Purgatory. Instead she opened her mailbox. Mistake! Two hundred and twenty unread emails. She couldn’t deal with them today. She turned to her calendar. Mistake!

  09:00 Team catch-up.

  Rachel checked her watch – 09:43. Ooops – missed that!

  11:00 Conference call with florist. Must cancel.

  12:00 Meeting with Bruce Johnston. Must cancel.

  16:45 Meeting with Champagne company. Ask Lydia to check if they are bringing tasting bottles. If not, cancel.

  Rachel couldn’t face any sort of work. She closed down the browser and attempted to count slowly to ten. By the time she’d reached six, Eva was knocking on the glass wall and opening the office door. She complimented Rachel on a wonderful spread at the weekend then sheepishly apologised for getting tipsy. Eva didn’t exactly remember leaving the party but Terry the Fireman had said she might want to consider saying a few words to excuse their ungainly exit. Rachel was halfway through reassuring Eva that she had nothing to apologise for when her phone buzzed. She looked at the phone but didn’t take in the message. She could sense Eva staring at her and it made her self-conscious. Rachel would have to go home, she was a mess.

  ‘You okay?’ Eva asked.

  Rachel nodded. She could feel her bottom lip start to quiver.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No. Not nothing. Something … you’re wearing odd shoes for starters.’ Eva had a natural talent for calling out bullshit.

  Rachel tucked her right foot behind her left to conceal the diversity of her footwear.

  ‘It’s fine. Anyway, it’s nothing work-related.’

  Eva waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, Eva opened her notebook and began reciting the attendees for the vodka launch. By the time she reached F on the alphabetised list, Rachel was trembling. Her face was hot and tears pricked at her eyes.

  ‘He kissed someone else,’ she whispered.

  Eva looked up suddenly.

  ‘Who – David? Kissed someone? I don’t believe it. What kind of kiss?’

  ‘It was a my-husband’s-mouth-on-another-woman’s-mouth kind of kiss, then a hug. I think.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Eva said, and frowned. Her head dropped to one side in puzzlement. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t one of those moments where you both go to the same side and your lips accidentally meet in the middle?’

  This was not the reaction Rachel had been expecting and she was stunned into silence. Eva was a realist, ergo she was the most pessimistic, cynical individual Rachel knew. She hadn’t expected to have to explain that lips plus lips equals kiss. And then kiss plus kiss equals affair. It was simple arithmetic, wasn’t it? Her husband had kissed another (much younger) woman
on the eve of his wedding anniversary – it didn’t get much worse than that. Eva stared at her calmly and Rachel rejected the implied message. This wasn’t an overreaction. ‘He kissed someone else!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ Eva said, finally. ‘It sounds awful.’

  ‘It was awful!’ she said, her voice warbling sanctimoniously. ‘They were at it on the high street. Smooching and hugging. In broad daylight. In full view of EVERYONE!’

  Eva raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And she’s young, Eva. I mean, she’s really young. She had red hair straight out of an advert and puckered, kissable lips. And an I’m so pretty, look at me smile. I tried to follow but I lost them.’

  ‘You lost them? When?’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘This happened on Friday, before your party? And you kept it together all weekend. Well done you! I would have razed the place to the ground.’

  ‘What did I do wrong? I starve myself two days a week to fit into my jeans. TWO BLOODY DAYS A WEEK! And for what? I do yoga AND Pilates…. well, I tried Pilates a couple of times, it’s really difficult, you know. But we have sex every week,’ Rachel added feebly, before saying, ‘I thought we would be okay, I thought it was enough …’ She tried to keep hold of the fury. At least anger was a good, cathartic, appropriate emotion. She couldn’t cope with the commiseration in Eva’s expression.

  Stay angry, she resolved.

  Stay angry and you won’t cry.

  Eva could see that Rachel was on the edge. She made them both coffee.

  ‘So …’ Eva started as she put the I ♥ MARKETING mugs down and closed the office door behind her.

  ‘I think it’s over,’ Rachel whispered on a shuddering breath.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Eva.

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘Because—’

  ‘Eva,’ Rachel said, holding up a hand to silence her. She tried to give the impression of being in charge. ‘I know that some people can forgive an affair, but I’m not one of them. I never have been, and I never will be.’

  ‘But you don’t know that it’s an affair …’

  ‘Eva!’ Rachel cut in, more sharply than she had intended, and then taking a deep breath said, slowly and clearly, ‘It’s never just a kiss.’

  Eva nodded slowly and walked over to Rachel, wrapping her arms tightly around her shoulders. A hot tear escaped from the corner of Rachel’s eye and fell onto Eva’s blouse.

  ‘I know what you need.’ Eva quickly straightened up and left Rachel’s office. Through the glass wall Rachel could see her extract something from her desk in the outer room. Eva’s Marie Kondo-ed, minimalistic desk space was the opposite of Rachel’s paper-laden jumble. Moments later, Eva was back and handing her a business card: Stefan Stratos Esq. Family Law, it read, above a local address and phone number all embossed in a thick black serif typeface. Rachel envisaged a faceless man with the printer choosing the weight and colour of these business cards. The cream parchment felt expensive. She assumed his fees would be likewise. The word ‘family’ hit her like a punch in the ovaries. She and David would not now be having the family that they had planned. The one upside: divorce was much easier when you didn’t have children.

  ‘Call Stefan, he’s brilliant,’ Eva said. She nodded towards the business card. ‘He really is the best. I got to keep the house, the car, the dog. And these.’ Rachel wasn’t sure if these meant Eva’s necklace, her teeth or her rather splendid bosoms. Rachel smiled all the same and gave a half-nod before returning the card.

  ‘I don’t know—’

  ‘Phone him – or pop into the office, he’s local. In town, opposite Boots,’ Eva said.

  ‘You don’t have to commit to anything, but you should know where you stand. Tell him I sent you. And don’t be put off by the hair …’

  What did that mean – don’t be put off by the hair?

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘Before you have a complete breakdown, shall we do a little work today? I know you’re not up to much but … I need to prepare you,’ Eva said softly. ‘Bruce called to say you hadn’t sent something, and it was urgent, and …’ Eva made a rude gesture with her hand and tongue. ‘He said he’s been calling and calling.’

  Just then Lydia entered Rachel’s office with a notepad and pen poised. Lydia was an amazing assistant. She was enthusiastic and intelligent, and nice and friendly to boot. She wore her long blonde hair in a ponytail that swished from side-to-side when she got excited. She resembled a Disney horse – a very pretty one, with huge eyes, long eyelashes and impressive teeth.

  ‘Not now, Lyds,’ Eva said without turning around.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I know I said that you could start management training, but it’s a bit full on to be shadowing me at the moment – can we start next week?’ Rachel pleaded with her eyes.

  Lydia looked crestfallen, but nodded as she removed herself from the glass-walled office and closed the door.

  ‘It gets worse. Bruce called and he’s on his way in. Rachel? Rachel, are you listening to me? He wanted to make doubly sure you hadn’t forgotten your meeting.’

  ‘Yes, missed calls, Bruce … what did you say?’

  ‘Bruce. Bruce Johnston? The formidable Bruce Johnston! He’s coming in for a meeting at noon, he’ll be here in an hour.’

  ‘Shit!’ Rachel looked down at the comfortable assortment of cotton jersey she had shrouded herself in. ‘He can’t see me like this, can you take the meeting?’

  Eva shook her head. ‘Mr Johnston was quite adamant that it was you he had to see – he insinuated that you’ve been dodging his calls.’

  Rachel couldn’t even remember seeing any messages. They must have got lost between the flurry of Happy Anniversary wishes and an excess of medicinal Martinis.

  She checked her phone: Bruce Johnston – seven missed calls.

  Double shit.

  ‘I’d better go home to change. Please can you do me a favour and cancel my other appointments for today?’

  6

  The house was quiet. When David had said he was working from home today Rachel had suspected it was another lie, so why did the truth hurt? She presumed he was out with his young mistress, having post-sex brunch and making plans for their happy-ever-after future. Laughing together about the fact that Rachel had no idea.

  She called his mobile and to her surprise heard the Match of the Day theme ringtone echo throughout the house. She cancelled the call and shouted up the stairs, ‘Hi, it’s me!’ And after a pause, ‘I didn’t realise you’d be in.’

  David was in their study. Rachel climbed the stairs and poked her head around the door. Their home office was split into two very distinct halves. Once they decided to make the room a shared space, they proceeded to choose their own furniture and decoration like teenage siblings who had been forced to share a bedroom. Rachel’s side was full of pastels and bright colours and framed pictures. David’s half was simply leather and dark wood. Rachel knew how it must seem to outsiders – hideously mismatched – but she had always liked the contrast.

  David was deep in concentration. She watched him pound his fingers against an oversized calculator and let out a deep sigh of frustration. He had been struggling with work lately. Despite how furious she was with him, Rachel couldn’t help but feel for him. The sale date was drawing nearer, and every day there seemed to be a new complication that needed to be resolved or a fresh concession to be made.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said, stopping herself from walking over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

  David moved her out of the way, saying that he needed a coffee. She hated the sound of his feet plodding away down the stairs. In the old days, they were a team. He would have asked her advice on whatever situation he was struggling with and they would have found a way through together. Now, he didn’t have the will or the energy to explain it to her. Rachel realised that another kind of trust had been mislaid. She fingered the business card loitering in her pocket. The only sane thing to do was
to make an appointment with the divorce lawyer. Eva was right; she needed to know her options. Rachel called the number and allowed a soft female voice to calm her thoughts. She found a pen and made a list of documents that she needed to find. Rachel located the paperwork and made a table of the pros and cons of leaving her husband:

  Pros

  Do what I want, when I want

  Cons

  The betrayal

  The betrayal

  The betrayal

  The betrayal

  The betrayal

  Rachel changed out of her comfortable clothes and into a suit worn with matching shoes this time. The three-quarter-length trousers flattered her figure and the heels elongated her legs. She added a small squirt of perfume to her neck and wrists and left the house without saying goodbye.

  Rachel stood outside the offices to Stefan Stratos Esq., Family Law. While she deliberated, she called Bruce who was very unhappy she was running late and ordered her to get back to the office pronto. After Rachel had offered her sincere apologies, he sacked her and her team, announcing: ‘Your services are no longer required.’ She tried to explain it was a difficult day but he had already ended the call. Rachel sent a text to Eva to say they had lost the Bruce Johnston account, followed by a row of happy face emojis.

  Rachel stared at the lettering on the frosted glass panel; the gilded font matched the embossed text on the thick cream business card.

  Stefan Stratos Esq.

  Family Law

  She pushed open the door and stepped into an open-plan office with three smaller conference rooms leading off it. The ticking of an invisible clock was audible throughout the room. A short, stout man smiled at her. Eva wasn’t kidding: Stefan Stratos was the hairiest man Rachel had ever seen. If she had to hazard a guess, he was at least eighty per cent fur. He had hair sprouting all over his neck and out from between his shirt buttons as well as from his cuffs. She was reminded of a hedgehog, with hair in place of spines.

  ‘I’m Stefan Stratos.’ The hirsute man extended his hand for her to shake. In spite of his heavy-set physique, he held her hand in his with the delicacy of someone handling a rare orchid. He showed her to a conference room.