How to Marry Your Husband

by Jacqueline Rohen

  Jojo countered that Rachel was a grown woman, and doubtless had long given up dreaming of being swept off her feet by a Disney Prince, but suggested a little romance goes a long way.

  ‘Seriously, Dave. Why are you—’

  ‘Don’t say it again.’

  Jojo lowered her voice. ‘You’re my brother and I love you. But she’s my best friend and, frankly, I think she can do a lot better than you right now.’

  He looked so stricken then that she almost felt sorry for him. Jojo said she needed time to process the situation and suggested, ‘Let’s go and get a pint.’

  David locked the back door and wrote a message for Rachel:

  Gone to the Plough with Jojo.

  If you get back in time, join us x

  The flimsy post-it note floated to the floor and, unknowingly, he took it with him under the sole of his trainer.

  The Plough stood opposite the station and was always busy. Ever since the new manager had put up a screen showing the train times, the commuter clientele had doubled. If David and Jojo wanted to be seated in the dining section, they would have to wait. They sat at the bar and the waitress promised to call them over when a table became available. She brought them two bottles of strong Belgian ale while they waited.

  David had drawn up a battle plan to win back his wife. He had written down all the ways in which he was romantic and come up with a pretty crap list. First step then: he’d have to admit romance wasn’t his forté.

  Jojo looked at the shoddy list.

  ‘How did you ever get her to marry you in the first place? Is this really the best you can do … you used to leave notes in her suitcase when she went away? You make cocktails for her?’

  ‘I’m an idiot. I’m going to make it better. I’m going to get her to marry me.’

  ‘Won’t she notice she’s already been there and done that? Maybe she doesn’t want another David Chatsworth t-shirt.’

  ‘I need your help. Please.’

  ‘Maybe you should have thought of that before you fucked over my best friend.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. I can feel her slipping away. I’ve been too caught up at work. Listen, I have a plan. I’m going to come clean and ask her to marry me – for real this time. We’ll do it for the second time and live happily ever after.’

  ‘Hold your horses there, Mr Confess All. I know I said to be honest with her, but that’s when you are trying to salvage a marriage. If there isn’t an actual marriage to save … Look, I’m not for keeping stuff from a spouse but that’s a lot to put on Rachel. What do the invites for an I-love-you-and-I-only-pretended-to-be-married-to-you-for-fifteen-years-so-let’s-get-married ceremony look like? Rachel’s a smug married …’

  Here David tried to interrupt but his sister held up her hand, warning him not to.

  ‘Let me finish! She’s not in your face about it but she’s had a good life, with a good husband. She’s never been the subject of gossip or speculation. She’s never had to explain to friends – or, God forbid, strangers – that her husband isn’t really her husband. I don’t know how she’ll react to this. You are her world. Before you crush it, you need to tread very carefully.’

  ‘Tell me what to do to make it better. What do women want?’

  ‘Go get some more drinks, this is going to be a late night,’ Jojo laughed.

  Then she shared with him a list of the things she knew Rachel liked. Between them they devised a get-your-wife-back plan.

  Rachel

  22

  It was the anniversary of her father’s death. Rachel sent her mother a message asking if she wanted to join them for dinner. Norma responded with one word: a terse no.

  The same invitation was extended every year. And declined every year. The thought of her mother being on her own on this day never ceased to perturb Rachel. She was also undeniably relieved. She hadn’t seen Norma in person since the fateful wedding anniversary weekend and knew she could crack under close maternal scrutiny.

  She wandered through Marks & Spencer’s food hall. Her basket was full of food she didn’t need, but she persevered. Rachel knew in her brain that all was lost. But somehow her heart kept hanging on in there. She thought of the old joke – denial ain’t just a river in Egypt. David still hadn’t explained his mysterious evenings out.

  Rachel’s pocket vibrated. By the time she had fished out her mobile, the phone had, of course, stopped ringing. Four missed calls. All from her mother. Guilt rushed through her. She couldn’t remember when they last spoke … wasn’t it the other day? Shit, was Rachel meant to have phoned her back?

  Rachel balanced her shopping basket precariously on the shelf against rustic breads … oooh, artisan sourdough. She added a leaden circle loaf to her basket and called her mother.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I have something to tell you.’ As usual Norma came straight to the point. ‘I’ve got a date.’ She released a heavy sigh after she’d made the announcement.

  ‘Is that the emergency? Four missed calls! I thought you’d fallen down the stairs.’

  ‘You kids, with your lurid imaginations! So what do you think about it?’

  ‘Think about what? The date?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Yes, of course the date. What do you think about Roger.’

  What an awful name, Rachel thought, but hoped she hadn’t said that aloud. ‘I haven’t met him!’

  ‘You have. He was there at the end of the Boxing Day walk. The one with the beige gilet.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Yes – what did you think?

  ‘I must have seen him for all of one second, across the car park. Was he the short one?’

  Rachel had never known Norma fuss before; it was refreshingly human. She organised a date for Rachel and Kevin to meet Roger. Rachel tried to say it wasn’t necessary – he looked quite normal from a hundred-metre distance and most probably was not a serial killer.

  ‘Is this why you didn’t want to celebrate Dad’s … you know?’ Rachel still hated to think of his passing.

  ‘Not at all,’ Norma said before she ended the call.

  Rachel tried to think what she might do when she finally found herself single, alone, and left on the shelf. Spinsterhood seemed a more alluring option than trying to catch an elusive man. Yes, she’d be unmarried Rachel with her two cats. She assessed the man queuing in front of her. No temptation away from her single state to be had there. In the next checkout was a tall man with broad shoulders. He had a decent shoulder-to-waist ratio. Dark hair with a smattering of grey. Rachel couldn’t see if he was wearing a wedding ring … As he turned around, he saw Rachel, nodded and smiled. She politely returned the smile before she recognised him.

  ‘Hi there, Dr Parry-Wilson.’

  ‘It’s Luke, as well you know.’

  Rachel smiled. He didn’t look like a Luke. It was probably short for Lucas or Lorcan, she imagined. He was too posh for a Luke.

  ‘I’m glad I bumped into you,’ Rachel attempted to say across the conveyor belt but it was pointless and politeness got the better of them. They waited until each had finished paying for their over-packaged groceries.

  They walked together towards the car park. After they’d made small talk, she nonchalantly asked him about feeding the cats with tins of tuna. Which was better? Tuna in brine or tuna in oil. Stop waffling, Rachel!

  ‘Why don’t you book an appointment and we’ll see how their diet is doing.’

  Rachel stared at his face and took in his features and how they were framed by his dark hair. His nose was on the small size. His chin was that of a Disney prince, completed by a small jaunty dimple. His eyes were a brilliant green, but were they too close together? She concluded that the whole of Luke’s face was greater than the sum of its parts. Somehow the nose worked on it, and his forehead was strong. She wondered if she found this man attractive, now the blinkers were off so to speak.

  Not that it mattered. But, say, in the name of scientific research, she did find him appealing? He was
conventionally good-looking. Eva had described him as rugged. She couldn’t help but compare him to David. Luke was taller, not as lean, with a bulkier build. His smile was wider, his lips thinner. More important than any physical attribute, though, he was kind. It had struck a note with Rachel. Eva had mentioned that among her (extensive) online dates, the majority of men were jaded by life and bitter about their past experiences with women. Many a first date ended after just one drink because a bitch of an ex-wife or a witch of a baby-mama was named and viciously insulted. It was extremely off-putting.

  ‘Anyway, enough of this jibber-jabber,’ Rachel said. ‘I expect you’ve got patients to see. I’ll be sure to book an appointment.’

  ‘Or we could discuss it over a drink?’ Luke offered.

  ‘That would be nice,’ Rachel replied, blushing as she handed him her business card. She knew that the plan to win David back was probably no more than wishful thinking. Maybe, just maybe, there were more fish in the sea.

  Rachel was wrestling with a lump of pastry. She had read the recipe and asked herself how she was supposed to shape the dough without touching it too much, as instructed. She put it in the fridge to cool down. The doorbell chimed loudly and she tutted. David often thought it was easier to ring the bell than locate his keys. Easier for him, that was for sure. Rachel’s hands were covered in flour and butter. She used a cleanish little finger to twist open the Yale lock.

  Rachel was surprised to see Norma bobbing about at the front door, and even more surprised that she had with her a navy suitcase.

  ‘Hi, Mum, I thought … You came!’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Norma wiped her feet on the mat and walked past Rachel. She took off her coat and headed to the kitchen with the vintage leather case in tow.

  Rachel closed the front door and followed her in silence.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘Would you like a drink? Tea? Or something stronger?’

  Norma switched the kettle on and sat down on a breakfast barstool. Once the water had boiled she said she had changed her mind and asked for a sherry – a small one.

  ‘Are you driving?’

  ‘No, I got a lift. Where’s David?’

  ‘He’s at the gym.’ Rachel let the lie tumble from her mouth – that’s where she assumed he’d say he was going. Rachel saw how Norma’s shoulders dropped and she physically relaxed, knowing it was going to be just the two of them.

  Rachel washed her hands. It would probably do the pastry good to be abandoned for ten more minutes. Her mother’s behaviour was starting to alarm her. Rachel poured them both a small measure of fancy Christmas sherry. Rather than sit down with Norma, she continued to chop vegetables and put marinated chicken in the oven. She prepared garlic mayonnaise, all the while watching her mother nurse an inch of sherry. Rachel eventually broke the silence.

  ‘Shall we make a toast to Dad?’

  ‘No. I need a minute.’

  More silence ensued.

  Rachel mused on how much of their relationship was pure silence, awkward or otherwise. Her mother was a rare bird, a natural stoic. To her, words were to be used sparingly, as if subject to wartime rationing. Norma’s mother, Nana Babs to Rachel, had been evacuated as a baby and always maintained it hadn’t done her the slightest bit of harm, either physical or emotional. She was the epitome of the Keep Calm and Carry On motivational government message from WWII, the one now plastered over mugs and tea towels. Keep calm and drink tea/gin/coffee/Porn-star Martinis. Nana Babs had passed on the same emotional restraint to her only daughter, Norma. How had Rachel ended up so normal? Although she supposed her recent behaviour might be said to prove otherwise.

  ‘You moving in?’ She nodded to the suitcase.

  Norma opened it. Lined with baby pink satin, it smelled of rosewater. She removed six outfits from the suitcase and organised them for Rachel. They were a selection of near-identical three-pieces; skirt, blouse and cardigan/jacket combos, in a rainbow of pastel hues. Rachel had never noticed before how her mother’s taste in fashion was clearly inspired by Coco Chanel and Jackie Kennedy.

  Rachel took the pastry from the fridge and rolled out four seven-inch circles. The time out had made the dough nicely pliable.

  ‘You mentioned something about a date?’ she asked to fill the silence. ‘And now the mystery fashion show?’

  ‘Yes, about that. I thought you could help me choose.’ Her mother looked desperate.

  ‘You should remember, I haven’t been on a date myself since I don’t know when. Not since the early noughties; Pope John Paul II was still alive. Tony Blair was prime minister …’

  Norma made the sign of the cross and mouthed, ‘Father, Son, Holy Spirit.’

  ‘And it was before Beyoncé unleashed “Crazy in Love” on the world,’ Rachel continued.

  ‘Which one’s Beyoncé?’ Norma asked.

  ‘The one after Madonna!’ Rachel laughed.

  ‘Mary from the WI was saying I should have my skirts taken up – you know, to show a bit of leg.’ Norma looked disgusted by the idea.

  ‘Probably means Mary’s an utter trollop. Case in point – she’s on her third hip replacement. Need I say more? And showing some skin … who does she think she is?’ Rachel saw Norma thought she was being serious. ‘Mum, it’s a joke. You know what I really think? Be yourself. He asked you out without seeing your knees first so he must like you. Don’t change for anyone. You’re a God-fearing woman, with a God-fearing wardrobe. Just be you. And don’t listen to that Mary-three-hips.’

  ‘I can be myself?’ Norma toyed with this novel suggestion.

  ‘Is that why you changed your mind and came tonight. Because you want to start dating?’

  ‘I don’t know. I like my life the way it is. I’m not sure I want to share it again. All that compromise. Men can be so … You’re lucky, you and David.’

  Rachel tried to gulp down the awkward frog in her throat.

  Norma couldn’t look her daughter in the eye and instead stared at the kitchen curtains. ‘I feel I need to tell you something. I didn’t want you to be unhappy like I …’ Then Norma clearly felt she had said too much, too directly, and came at it again in a roundabout way. ‘You know, your father was idolised by so many people.’

  It was true. Joseph Keatley Esq., Queen’s Counsel, had been revered. He’d been the QC with a conscience, famous for helping striking coal miners in the mid-1980s. All the work had been pro-bono and he lost many a legal friend in the process, but he said he couldn’t stand by and watch injustice being done without trying to help. Norma explained it had been difficult for her to match his hero’s status with the reality of being married to him. Rachel didn’t know how to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. But she did. As if the words weren’t leaving her mouth. Like they were a speech bubble on a cartoon.

  ‘You mean, he …,’ Rachel paused.

  ‘Many times.’

  ‘No?! When? Why didn’t you tell us?’ Rachel was stunned. She wasn’t sure how to feel. It didn’t change her love for her father but it explained everything about Norma. Rachel swapped looks with her mother: the small, demure, devout Catholic. Sitting straight-backed on a kitchen stool, her feet didn’t touch the floor. She looked like a child who had carried a lifetime of obligation on her shoulders. Norma had always been handsome. Rachel took in her mother’s regal features: with her face relaxed, Norma was striking. But as quickly as her beauty had appeared it vanished under a scowl. The mask slipped firmly back into place.

  ‘You and Kevin loved your dad and I didn’t want to spoil that. And he always came back to me, didn’t he?’

  Norma held Rachel’s gaze. Did her mother know? Was this her way of saying: I’ve been there? My husband was a cheating bastard too.

  ‘I know I haven’t been David’s biggest fan …’ she continued.

  Rachel smiled at the understatement of the century.

  ‘The reason I never liked him was that he reminded me of your father. Of course, it’s a
notion that women marry their fathers. But David is different, I can see that now, and he obviously makes you happy and I hope—’ Norma struggled to continue.

  ‘So, who is this fella?’ Rachel interrupted her, changing the subject. If her mother carried on talking up David, Rachel might lose the plot once and for all. ‘Roger? You said he was there on Boxing Day?’

  ‘Well, he’s the opposite of your father.’

  Not a lying cheating scoundrel then? Rachel thought.

  ‘He’s nice and, well, kind.’

  ‘Sounds like a good start.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What is it, Mum?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to share again. The fridge is full of food I like. There’s no mess. I don’t want to be bullied ever again. To be told what to think, how to act …’

  Rachel waited patiently, checking the oven while her mother sought to explain.

  ‘I don’t want to be disappointed again.’

  Rachel had nothing to add to that. No funny anecdote, no holistic advice. ‘Let’s eat,’ she suggested instead.

  As they sat down, David crashed through the front door. He winced when he saw his mother-in-law but Rachel saw him try to give Norma a welcoming smile.

  ‘Norma.’

  ‘David.’ She matched his tone.

  He kissed Rachel on the cheek. She felt warmed by the show of affection and then hated how much she still loved him and craved his attention. He was jaunty and giddy. Rachel tried to decide if he was post-orgasmic. She thought she could smell beer on his breath. He was famished after his supposed gym session and surprised Rachel with a bunch of lilies produced from behind his back. She stood up and collected the bunch of stems into a vase, thanking him as she did so. She didn’t question why he had bought her flowers, but it was nice that Norma was here to witness the gesture.

  There was one negative, though – Rachel hated lilies. They reminded her of the first funeral she’d attended. She was ten years old and it was a service for a great-aunt she couldn’t now remember meeting. The pungent smell of the long-stemmed flowers had lodged in her nose and she was devastated when the bright burnt-orange stamens stained the white silk sash tied around her dark funereal dress.