Eva was trying to placate her, telling her people have bad thoughts but that doesn’t automatically mean they are bad people.
‘You’re not horrible,’ she soothed Rachel.
‘Dare I ask,’ she whispered, ‘who he was with?’
Eva clapped her hands and announced that David was there with another bloke; they both looked sweaty, they both were wearing sports attire. ‘I don’t know his name but I recognised his friend – you know – short, squinty, hair thinning, teeth that would look right in a small child.’
It was a caricature version of Barry’s less flattering features, but he wasn’t that bad. In the right light he was cute in a garden gnome kind of way.
Rachel fiddled with her expensive pen. She doodled a line of question marks. ‘It gets worse,’ she admitted. She realised that somewhere in the hurt and the pain, she’d forgotten to tell Eva this. Was it because saying it aloud made it real?
‘How can it get worse than Mr Computer cheating on you? Wait, is she pregnant?’
‘Oh, God I hope not. No, get this – we were never married.’
‘What the actual fuck?’ Eva blurted out. ‘I did not see that coming.’
Rachel explained in the quietest of voices all that Stefan Stratos had relayed to her. Rachel watched as Eva went through the five stages of grief, but on fast-forward compared to Rachel’s own shock, surprise and dismay. Eva said she was impressed that Rachel hadn’t imploded completely, but she too supposed it would be difficult to change the locks to the marital home once she had found out there were no marital vows. Rachel knew it was over, and told Eva so.
‘We were never married, we were never married,’ Rachel repeated again and again. ‘We were never FUCKING married!’ She was becoming near-hysterical. She calmed her breathing before it threatened to speed up into a full-blown panic attack. Eva pushed a biscuit on her, and then a second. Eva looked at the ingredients list and quickly turned the packet over. She told Rachel that grief biscuits were void of inconveniences such as fat, sugar and calories.
The marriage was over and it never was. It was the Schrödinger’s cat of relationships.
Eva suggested that Rachel should get her revenge by shagging David’s best friend. Rachel was adamant that was not an option. Eva nodded as she ran through poor Barry’s flaws again. ‘At your anniversary party, he was wearing an awful purple shirt that made him look like a bruise.’
Eva was unperturbed. She had other revenge strategies:
– add laxatives to his meals
– mix diesel in his petrol engine
– cut the crotch out of his underwear and trousers
– use a burner phone to intercept the messages intended for his lover (Eva had been re-watching The Wire).
Some of the ideas had already crossed Rachel’s mind. She wanted him to suffer; but she didn’t want to kill him. Did she? Rachel didn’t admit all the tomfoolery and havoc she had wrought so far but confessed to Eva about the tailoring and adding cream to his coffee, which – of course – Eva found hilarious. Rachel omitted to mention that she’d drugged her husband with caffeine tablets or that she’d intercepted his Viagra prescription. She hadn’t told Eva she could quite easily have killed the man she had loved for her entire adult life. She hadn’t conveyed to Eva quite how much she had lost the plot. She was a deranged soon-to-be cat lady. Rachel was embarrassed at the depths of depravity she had already reached. At this point, Rachel didn’t need an accomplice; she needed an intervention.
Eva suggested they celebrate and commiserate over cocktails, asserting that:
Their favourite wine bar had a buy-two-glasses, get-the-rest-of-the-bottle-free offer.
Rachel was unshackled from the chains of marriage! It was time to celebrate!
She was unmarried. (Hence untainted, unlike poor mistreated American divorcee Meghan Markle.)
She was still young(-ish), i.e. she was the right end of thirty.
She had her whole life in front of her.
Rachel nodded as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She sent a text message to David to say she would be having drinks on the way home from work. Instantly, she regretted informing him of her movements; she would have liked him to wonder what she was up to for a change.
After drinks, Rachel tried to recreate a divine artichoke dip, but what she’d thought would be a simple recipe was full of lots of different ingredients. Namely, artichoke hearts, three different fats (cream, Parmesan, Comté), two fresh herbs (rosemary and thyme), none of which she had. And French mayonnaise? Ha! Everyone knew Hellman’s was the best. Instead she prepared an aubergine risotto. Guilt infiltrated the taste of one of David’s least favourite dishes; he had what she deemed was an irrational dislike of aubergines. Then there was the guilt she felt about drugging his nightly glass of water. Guilt about taking in his trousers. Guilt about tampering with his shampoo, his face wash, his waistline. Why couldn’t she stop? She added more salt to every meal. She served grapefruit for breakfast after she’d read it reacted adversely with Viagra. And she frequently added asparagus to their dinners – under the guise of varying their five vegetables a day – after she’d read it made semen taste disgusting. How do you like that, Little Miss Redhead? When she received a text message to say David was, for once, going to be back in time for dinner, she looked at her aubergine dish with shame. Not only did she not like who she’d become, she was thankful she hadn’t killed the poor man. She finished her glass of white wine. She’d only opened the bottle for the risotto (honestly!) and then filled a glass for heart-numbing purposes, so it was essentially medicinal.
At bedtime Rachel dwelled on her monstrous actions, before remembering again they were NEVER MARRIED! A tsunami wave of anger crushed her heart. When David came to bed, she pointedly faced away. She dreamed about him being mangled by a cartoon anvil.
16
While David was in the shower, Rachel scrolled through his phone – no new messages or emails from unknown women, not much of note at all. Was that in itself suspicious? She gave herself permission to access his GPS location from her own mobile phone.
Rachel called through the bathroom door and suggested making David a cup of decaffeinated coffee. Not that it would make a difference; he was still affected by the chemical manipulation of his sleep patterns. He was both tired and wired.
She took his water-lashed grunts for an affirmative. Amidst running through to-do lists in her head, she made him a coffee and honestly couldn’t recall if she’d used the caffeinated or decaffeinated beans. She looked at both coffee canisters standing innocently side-by-side. She tasted the dark bitter drink. It tasted like coffee.
Rachel poured organic orange juice into a tall highball glass. She took a small packet from her cardigan pocket and ground one Viagra tablet into a fine powder. She added the sex dust to David’s juice and stirred vigorously.
Rachel played with her phone, scrolling to Jojo’s number. Her thumb hovered over the call button. Jojo answered on the first ring. Rachel cleared her throat before she let out the first chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘Awwwww, thanks, Rach.’
‘Another year wiser …’
‘The flowers are gorgeous!’
‘I demanded they put in sunflowers, were there sunflowers?’
‘Loads of the buggers! I have so much to tell you. But not now, I need to see your face when I do,’ Jojo said.
Rachel silently concurred but Jojo’s birthday wasn’t the day for bad news.
‘See you in a couple of hours!’ With an effort she summoned some joy into her voice.
Rachel stood under the shower. What was she doing? How long did she think she could punish him? She was acting like a madwoman. What if she was a madwoman? Had she always been mad? She leaped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She rushed downstairs dripping water and soapsuds on the floorboards.
David had the orange juice in his hand.
Stop!
‘Wait!’ Rachel wrangled away the half-empty glas
s and poured the contents into the sink.
‘What did you do that for? I hadn’t finished it.’
It was too late. Rachel had stooped to depths she had never envisaged. But the mirror didn’t lie. It was she who had done it. She was a monster.
David followed her upstairs asking for an explanation. What could she say? Don’t mind me – I’m a lunatic! Rachel dried the remaining soapsuds from her shoulders and they both got in each other’s way preparing for a new day. She wondered when David had stopped watching her get dressed; the lack of interest or excitement as she stood in front of him in matching lingerie destroyed her confidence further.
David’s family tradition was to celebrate Easter on Easter Monday and this year it coincided with Jojo’s birthday. Lillian had called a few times during the week to confirm and then re-confirm the details. She would prepare lamb; she had seen a full leg (frozen) on offer at Morrisons.
David was in no fit state to drive; he was still tired from his dysfunctional naps. Rachel packed chilled Prosecco and presents for her sister-in-law. What did people do before Prosecco?
Rachel never usually had to think of things to say to her husband. But now the metaphorical cat had her tongue. She had forgotten how to be normal around him. It was a state so far removed from how she was feeling. Had it been so long since they had been alone without the distraction of gadgets and box sets that they had forgotten how to converse or interact? What did they used to talk about? She wanted to make him laugh or to impress him, to woo him, to turn him on. Rachel settled for bog standard small talk, even the weather was mentioned. David closed his eyes in hope of a power nap.
She gently squeezed his inner leg and, to her surprise, a small moan escaped under his half-awake, half-asleep breath. David opened his eyes, relieved that he had managed at least ten winks.
‘Hello, sleepy. We’re about to pass that B&B, do you remember?’
‘The you-know?’
‘The you-know!’
‘Where you and I …?’
‘And then some!’
‘Best New Year’s Day ever!’ The corners of David’s mouth lifted and he closed his eyes again.
Rachel and he had first consummated their relationship in a small Cotswolds cottage. Rachel sighed as she recollected their romantic getaway all those years ago. David had planned the weekend perfectly. He brought a picnic basket packed with Rachel’s favourite nibbles. He chilled Champagne and lit what must have been a hundred tealights. David had made it clear he expected nothing physical from her. He wanted her to feel ready. The mind plays tricks with memories and there was no recollection now of their initial awkwardness, or the futile attempts to get into the right position, or how David’s hands trembled with excitement when he couldn’t pull the condom over his erection and they both got the giggles. She recalled the moment they found a working rhythm and tempo as their bodies melded. The relief and strength of her orgasm had surprised the inexperienced Rachel. Being with David was different from being with other boyfriends. At nineteen years old she knew it was the turning point for her. She had matured from girl to woman.
From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw that the material over David’s crotch was tightening. His genitals were squashed against the stiff indigo denim, trying to escape but to no avail. David fidgeted to get comfortable. Had she not still been angry with him, she would have been rather turned on. It seemed a waste to leave his erection high and dry.
David and Jojo’s mother Lillian had lived in the same house her whole life. Rachel retrieved the gifts from the boot of the car as she left David to navigate himself out of the passenger seat. The protruding outline of his crotch fascinated her. David attempted to cover his groin area with his hands, in the position adopted by footballers defending a free kick. Lillian was delighted to see them and stood waiting impatiently at the door. David’s mother was small and round. She wore a constant, uneasy smile as if she was sitting on something uncomfortable. She walked slowly with her elbows held high. Her pink and purple striped house-coat reminded Rachel of a knitted tea cosy.
David and Rachel were the first to arrive as Jojo and Beth were delayed in traffic. Rachel kissed Lillian on both cheeks and David followed them into the house awkwardly.
Jojo was beaming when she and her girlfriend Beth arrived. They were both gorgeous blondes, with huge smiles, exaggerated with red lipstick. Rachel wondered if they wore the same shade. Jojo whispered in Rachel’s ear, ‘I’ve got a surprise!’
She called for her mother and brother to sit as she presented the still flat stomach of her fiancée Beth. They were pregnant AND they were getting married!
Beth explained in her Texan drawl they were nearly fifteen weeks pregnant, hence she was still wearing her normal jeans although they were getting tighter, while Jojo tried to interrupt with key points. They’d had to choose which one of them would undergo IVF. Beth had a real job with maternity benefits, while Jojo was freelance. They chose the sperm donor from a catalogue. He was a professor of something, practically a rocket scientist. And who knew it would work first time!
What the fuck? A baby?
Rachel thought about her own empty womb as she realised that Jojo had not confided in her about this and tried not to be offended. How long had Jojo and Beth been planning this? A baby, an IVF baby, no less, takes time. She worked out the dates going backwards. Fifteen weeks pregnant plus two weeks for implant, a month or more for IVF drugs and testing, a couple of months of consultations to begin with. Before that choosing a clinic. Discussing it like adults. THAT MADE THIRTY-THREE WEEKS! They had been planning it since last year. Stop being selfish, Rachel, she chided herself.
Rachel couldn’t remember saying more than hello to Beth at the anniversary party, she had been so wrapped up in her own life. And here Jojo and Beth were going through life-changing events.
‘I’m so happy for you!’ Rachel hugged them once, twice, and then attempted a third time before Jojo said that was enough.
‘Was it planned?’ Lillian asked and then realised her mistake. ‘Of course it was planned, otherwise … I mean, I’m so happy for you both!’ She was going to be a grandmother for the first time. She said the words ‘first time’ while frowning at David. It was a nod to the fact that she was the last of her friends to have a grandchild and that was something her son could have remedied years earlier. It was becoming a bone of contention. Jojo and Beth hadn’t wanted to announce the pregnancy until after the crucial three months, and then they had wanted to do it in person.
‘When are you thinking of getting married?’ Lillian asked. ‘Will you wait until after the baby—?’
‘We were thinking in the next couple of months. As soon as possible,’ Beth said, while she looked to Jojo for a reassuring nod.
‘Well done, sis. Rachel can organise your wedding.’ Rachel glared at David. Weddings were hard work and fraught with problems. She did not want to lose her best friend over a stupid tiered cake, the wrong dress, or the fallout from the chief bridesmaid bonking the best man.
‘Yes, of course, please let me,’ Rachel said through gritted teeth.
Lillian asked after Beth’s health, her blood pressure, if she was getting proper rest and eating enough green vegetables?
Jojo basked in the interest her mother was showing in her fiancée.
‘Fiancée!’ Jojo repeated. ‘Doesn’t it sound great: have you met my fiancée?’
She grabbed the cushion that David was using to hide his erection and used it to help prop Beth up. David yelped at the sudden unmasking of his crotch then smiled with relief.
‘Yes! It’s gone!’ he exclaimed to a puzzled audience.
Lillian entertained everyone with how she’d told her fellow team members at the bowls club about her lesbian daughter, and how she had met her lesbian daughter’s lover and now she could tell them all about the lesbian baby on its way. She asked if there was a babygro colour-preference for lesbian babies. When Jojo asked if the gravy would be lesbian-friendly, Lillian b
lushed and asked if she had said something ‘politically incorrect’ (yes, she raised her fingers for the quotation marks). She explained how she’d read in the Daily Mail that ‘the gays’ had been getting upset about certain labels. David rolled his eyes, for Jojo’s sake. He didn’t have the patience to explain LGBT etiquette to their mother again! It was difficult to stay annoyed with Lillian when she repeatedly ambled into politically incorrect cul-de-sacs while trying so hard not to offend.
Rachel quickly defused the atmosphere by opening the bottle of chilled Prosecco and prepared Sham-Chams and non-alcoholic Sham-Shams for designated drivers (Rachel and Beth) and mothers-to-be (also Beth).
SHAM-CHAMS RECIPE
(an inexpensive alternative to Champagne CHAM-CHAMS)
150 ml fizzy white wine
10 ml Chambord raspberry liqueur
SHAM-SHAMS RECIPE
10 ml raspberry cordial
150 ml soda water
Rachel let her panic at the prospect of a TWO-MONTH WEDDING PLANNING EXTRAVAGANZA subside as she noted how much pregnancy suited Beth. She had its tell-tale glow. They toasted Jojo’s birthday and the newest baby-bump addition to the family.
Rachel helped Lillian serve lunch. Her mother-in-law cooked the best roast dinners and they were a benchmark of traditional English cooking. Rachel was pretty sure the secret was good old-fashioned lard. Lillian had cooked roast lamb that melted in the mouth. Bone marrow gravy. Fresh mint from the garden. Roast potatoes cooked with rosemary sprigs. Huge, crisp, freshly made Yorkshire puddings. Lillian wouldn’t allow any frozen muck in her Sunday lunch.
She stayed close to Beth’s stomach and tried force-feeding her leftover Yorkshire puddings. Jojo pointed out that Beth was only eating for two, not two army platoons.
Despite everything, this was the life that Rachel wanted: time with family and loved ones, and good food. David’s hand had been on her left knee since dessert and his touch warmed her. She returned the gesture and gave his knee a small squeeze. They shared a knowing smile and for a second Rachel forgot she hated him. She looked at the expanding Chatsworth family and her heart sank at the thought of leaving them.
How to Marry Your Husband Page 10