How to Marry Your Husband

by Jacqueline Rohen

  David served himself a portion of the Mexican-inspired dish and Rachel watched him ooh and aah and enthuse about the moistness of the chicken. Norma thought there was a word for people who use the word ‘moist’ at the dinner table: heathen. Until now, Rachel hadn’t noticed that David was one of them.

  23

  Rachel allowed herself the freedom to enjoy organising Jojo and Beth’s wedding since they wouldn’t be the sort of clients who would be demanding or ungrateful. On Pinterest, she made separate mood boards for them both. She found wildflowers and organic material for Beth, and concentrated on tailored designs and geometrical shapes for Jojo. Somehow Rachel managed to merge the two ideals.

  Jojo phoned her minutes after Rachel had sent over the link.

  ‘You’re a genius, a bloody genius – has anyone ever told you that?’

  Rachel was warmed by the praise. Jojo was a tough cookie at times, but she knew she’d hit the jackpot with Beth and was willing to make whatever compromises were necessary to ensure the happiness of her wife-to-be. Rachel could tell this reaction was no concession – Jojo was truly excited.

  ‘Tell me about your wedding.’

  ‘Mine? It was an age ago …’

  ‘I know, so why do I think you’re living out your own wedding wish list vicariously through your clients?’

  ‘I never thought of it like that.’

  ‘Not tempted to renew your vows? Mum would love that.’ If she let slip to Jojo her plan for getting (re)married, Rachel wondered, could her sister-in-law edge David in the right direction?

  ‘Are you suggesting a double celebration?’

  ‘Ha! That would be perfect. But, no, not with Beth’s gun-toting family to contend with! I’d stay clear of that one if I were you.’

  Case closed, Rachel thought.

  She ran through some other options and asked who would sign off on the menu (Beth), the flowers (Beth), the seating plan (Beth), the centrepieces (Beth), the photographer (Beth).

  ‘And let me guess – the DJ?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Beth!’ they both said simultaneously.

  Rachel laughed aloud. She was surprised to find herself wanting to tell Jojo everything

  ‘Ooooh, talking about the DJ – guess who emailed me over his playlists and some videos?’

  ‘Who?’ Jojo was not one for guessing games.

  ‘Gavin Thompson.’

  ‘Gavin from uni? Your Gavin? Camel eyelashes and rugby thighs Gavin?’

  ‘The very same. His stuff is really good.’ Rachel could tell by the pause that followed Jojo wasn’t convinced. ‘I’ll send you some links. He said he could even make a country music list to keep Beth’s parents happy!’

  ‘Okay, when Beth’s back I’ll get her to take a look. Thanks for doing this.’

  ‘It’s an absolute pleasure, Jojo.’

  ‘We should catch up, just the two of us.’

  ‘I’d like that. Before you’re a kept woman.’

  Jojo laughed as she said goodbye. Rachel was left feeling lonely when the call ended with the David-shaped elephant still in the room.

  She browsed a few more wedding blogs but was distracted by the memory of her own wedding.

  It was the first time she and David had been away together outside of city breaks. A real holiday. She was petrified of flying but excited to be spending two weeks in a banda located directly on the beach. They had too many glasses of wine on the flight and arrived feeling dazed. As they exited the plane, they were welcomed by a warm breeze. It was a dream location, straight out of a travel documentary. The calls of the birds and crickets kept time. The sand was golden and as soft as wool. Sky and sea merged into the same blue. The lapping waves woke them each morning.

  On their third night, while they were dancing in the moonlight, David looked deep into her eyes for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. He fell to his knees in a comic pose and asked Rachel to marry him. She was shocked and couldn’t answer immediately. Her heart urged her to say yes whilst her head struggled with the speed the relationship was going. David apologised for not planning anything in advance – there was no ring. It was a moment of pure spontaneity. Rachel nodded to show that she understood and whispered, ‘Yes! Yes, yes, a hundred times, yes!’

  David called over their favourite waiter, Johan, and ordered Champagne. None was to be found. There had been an important wedding over the weekend, a bigwig statesman from the mainland whose festivities had cleaned out the island. Eventually a bottle of sparkling wine was located. They sat side-by-side watching the reflection of the moon dance on the sea. Rachel wished she could take back her cheesy line that their love flowed as easily as the wine. David told her he didn’t want a long engagement. He wanted her to be his as soon as that could be arranged. He knew he had to marry her. He was certain.

  Rachel loved David with all her heart. The only small niggle in her mind was the fact that her mother disliked him intensely. And what would her friends say? It was a whirlwind romance. They hadn’t lived together yet. Did they know each other well enough? Like, really enough? Enough to spend the rest of their lives together? She’d never see another penis. Surely that was a good thing. And what about university? She was still a student. David told her not to worry, he’d support her.

  Before the bottle of fizzy wine was finished, they’d planned to marry that week, on the perfect beach where David had proposed. Johan joined the celebrations as unofficial best man, maid of honour and wedding planner. His sister was a seamstress who would make the dress. The owner of their resort also had a craft shop for tourists. It sold the usual tat, but he had a metal workshop and made two simple bands using Indonesian gold from the Grasberg mine in Papua. More sparkling wine was located and a floral headdress was designed. On the eve of their wedding Rachel and David wrote their respective vows on linen napkins. They sat at the same table, giggling with glee, while they hid their respective declarations of love from one another.

  Here Rachel’s memories were interrupted by vivid mental images of David having sex with other women. She wanted to scream. Rachel forced herself to calm down and try to approach the situation with maturity. Could she have forgiven an emotional affair over a physical one? Was it the love he was giving this other woman that hurt the most? Was it the lies and the betrayal? Or simply the fact that the redhead was young and beautiful? Whichever it was, Rachel’s self-esteem had taken a serious battering.

  She had never cheated on David, nor on anyone else. There might have been more of a case to answer when it came to emotional infidelity. She didn’t feel non-physical acts counted as actual cheating and certainly weren’t as bad as sleeping with someone other than her husband; a high and mighty opinion dictated from her pious pedestal. She thought of the emotional interactions she’d had with other men. There was one in particular that haunted her. It was seven years into their marriage and David was always working or at home talking about work. He was distant and distracted. For a time she’d had strong feelings for another man. She unashamedly lusted after one of her suppliers but finally dismissed the notion as the seven-year itch. She found herself doodling his name in her notepad one hundred times and finding excuses to call him to place extra orders. It had reached the point where she had to take her business elsewhere and allow her heart to heal. But she had never acted on her feelings – was that better or worse? Maybe it was worse.

  Amongst her numerous online searches, Rachel found a TED talk that explained the driver of romantic love came from the craving part of the mind and was a similar process to cocaine addiction. Was that it? Was David addicted to love? She tried to take a metaphorical step in his shoes. They weren’t as uncomfortable as she would have expected. She understood why he might want change, but why couldn’t he have simply told her: it’s been grand, let’s end the marriage on a high?

  David

  24

  By the time Rachel emerged from her slumbers the next morning, David had made himself a solemn promise to be a better husband. The
best husband ever. He wanted to be the husband Rachel deserved. He made a list of things he thought would make her happy. He started by making her a coffee, which was promptly abandoned on the kitchen top. Rachel kissed him on the cheek and rushed out, citing a breakfast meeting.

  This was suspicious. Rachel hated breakfast meetings more than anything. She was a creature of habit and enjoyed waking up to a cup of coffee and a perfectly poached egg on one slice of wholemeal toast, apart from on her 5:2 fast days. On those mornings she didn’t even like to open the fridge. David could see washing had been left in the machine. Rachel ran a tight ship; the house ticked over like clockwork. She handled the cooking, laundry and vacuuming. David looked after the bathrooms, dishwasher-emptying, bins and the garden.

  He drank Rachel’s tepid coffee and opened the email app on his iPad. He changed the account from his own to that of his wife and found that he was locked out. She had changed her password. He would rarely snoop. They had each other’s email log-ins for printing confirmations: e-tickets, boarding passes and what not. David could only think of nefarious reasons why Rachel would have changed hers. She was hiding something from him. He pushed down the jealousy he felt, which was hypocritical he knew. What if Rachel had sent erotic images to another man? They met long before the advent of ‘sexting’, although he had a few faded Polaroid photographs of Rachel. His sexual prowess was what Amelia-Rose termed vanilla; she thought he was sweet. He’d taken offence at that. She had taught him a lot in the space of one evening – mainly, that he liked being vanilla when he wanted to make love to his wife. He missed their intimacy, their normal sex. The freedom to make proper love. Rachel knew how his body worked and how to get the best from it, and vice versa. He regretted everything. How he wished he could turn back the clock.

  Rachel had laughed in his face when he’d suggested she was seeing someone. Nevertheless, fear spread through David. He was determined to find out what she was hiding from him. The thought of Rachel kissing, never mind sleeping with, someone made him physically retch.

  He felt he had to see her.

  David flashed his best smile as he walked into the offices of Keatley Marketing & Events. He nodded to Eva and Lydia and put a finger up to his mouth to urge them not to give him away. He knocked on Rachel’s glass door.

  ‘Surprise!’

  He interrupted her daydreaming and she looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights when he appeared unexpectedly. Since when did a husband have to ambush his wife for a lunch invitation?

  ‘Fancy some tapas? You know, like the old days?’

  The old days had been great, especially when they’d worked from a small garden flat, just the two of them. They’d bring the landline on its forty-metre extension lead into the garden and picnic on deli cheese, meat and olives.

  ‘Or we could order a takeaway and sit by the river?’

  Rachel closed her laptop. She nodded and asked David to give her a second, saying she’d catch him up. She asked him to order her favourite dishes – Croquetas de Espinacas, Pimientos del Padron and Patatas Bravas. David did as he was told and he found himself humming cheerfully to himself as he left the office.

  Rachel joined him at the restaurant as their order was being packed. They stopped in a quiet spot and ate slowly, staring out at the passing river traffic. Rachel spotted a black swan. It was the first time either of them had seen one on the Thames. After eating, she rested her head in David’s lap and he stroked her hair, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Was she going to leave him? What could he do to make it better? Why was he such an idiot? Why had he listened to his cock? What was she up to? He alternated between regret for his own misdeeds and wild unsubstantiated suspicions of infidelity on her part.

  Rachel jumped up when she noticed it was nearly three o’clock. They had been eating watching the world go by lazily for more than two hours. She gave him a kiss and thanked him for a lunch pass to the old days.

  David waited impatiently for Rachel to return home. He called Jojo to tell her his perfectly laid plan. He’d wooed her with lunch and made one of her favourite dinners for this evening. And in a fortnight’s time he was going to whisk his wife away to Paris – he had two first-class Eurostar tickets in his pocket already.

  ‘Are you smoking?’ his sister asked.

  ‘No,’ David lied as he threw the lit cigarette into a rose-bush. He returned to the kitchen to check the pans and stir the gravy for the fiftieth time. Rachel hated lumpy gravy.

  ‘Don’t you think you should ask her first? She doesn’t like surprises.’

  ‘But you forget, we got married spontaneously.’

  ‘Yes, exactly! And look how well that turned out.’

  David was disappointed by this reaction.

  ‘I didn’t mean for you to unleash all the romance in one fell swoop on the same day!’

  He heard a key turn in the lock. ‘She’s back, I’ve got to go.’

  At the door, he took Rachel’s coat and bags from her. He gave her arms a firm rub and kissed her on the lips. He presented her with another bunch of lilies and passed her a champagne flute. He had made them each a Lemon Fizz.

  I had this on a post-it – so I googled it – and it’s from a magazine. So I’ve amended it. FIZZ RECIPE

  25 ml Champagne*

  25 ml Limoncello

  25 ml ginger liqueur (Giffard Ginger of the Indies is superb)

  15 ml freshly squeezed lemon juice

  1 tsp finely grated fresh ginger

  * can be replaced with fizzy wine

  The oven timer interrupted their toast. David checked the dinner; the roast chicken was golden and surrounded by potatoes and vegetables cooked in the meat juices. He tested the temperature of the chicken and set the oven timer for a further ten minutes.

  He gave Rachel’s shoulders a short massage and asked after her day. He didn’t really listen to the details of Jojo and Beth’s wedding preparations. Instead, he found himself staring at his wife’s face trying to ascertain why she’d changed her email password.

  ‘How’s work?’ she asked.

  David had one last task to complete for the new Board of Directors. It was called a final delivery meeting but he knew it was to justify why he should stay on as an expensive advisor.

  ‘Fine!’ he said, too cheerily. ‘You know, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was DC Computing sold to a big multinational.’ He asked if Rachel would like to see his presentation.

  ‘Go for it.’

  David was suddenly nervous. Rachel took a seat at the breakfast bar. He should tell a joke. Rachel loved his jokes, didn’t she? She had heard them all a million times before but she always laughed. That had to count for something?

  ‘How many software consultants does it take to screw in a light bulb?’

  Rachel stared at him blankly.

  ‘The answer depends on the fee structure, are we being paid by the hour or by the job? And what are the call-out charges?’

  Rachel gave a small laugh. It wasn’t funny, it was the way he told it. He went through the rest of his presentation with aplomb. He directed his pitch straight to her; and thought he saw her blush when he didn’t break eye contact.

  When he’d finished she gave him a standing ovation. She had a few small notes: he had forgotten to state their biggest challenge and their best solution. She advised David to leave a pause between each of the benefits, to allow each one to hit home. Also to explain what the sixty-day invoice plan meant for cash flow, not to mention the rolling monthly contract. You know your customers are loyal when they voluntarily renew the product – not because they are under the cosh with a five-year agreement they can’t wait to expire.

  David’s phone buzzed notifying a text message.

  Jojo:So? Paris???

  David:You’re right. I should check with her first. Bottled it.

  Jojo:Chicken!

  David:Yes, roast chicken.

  Jojo:Ha!

  David:You told me not to surprise her!
/>   Jojo:You’ve been listening. Bon voyage!

  Rachel

  25

  Rachel was laden with bags of shopping. She collected tote bags now to use instead of plastic. She found David in the hall. He was practising speaking into the mirror. He started with Robert De Niro impressions, he couldn’t help himself. ‘You talkin’ to me?’ She could see he was attempting to keep his eyebrows still. A colleague had once mocked his habit of arching them dramatically and he’d been paranoid about it ever since.

  David followed her into the kitchen and massaged her shoulders. She asked after his day and was pleasantly surprised when he suggested running through his presentation with her.

  ‘Was this why you made dinner? Trying to butter me up?’

  David pretended to be offended by her presumption. ‘It was a joke!’ Rachel laughed at his dramatic response, and gave him the go-ahead to try to sell her his wares. David was a natural salesman with a twinkle in his eye; she bought every word and her heart fluttered when she observed his snake hips. He still had it, ladies and gentlemen. She was persuaded by the sales pitch. David’s eyes had their own weather system. They could be cold and piercing or a warm, seductive shade of Cerulean blue. From across the room, she could see his bright eyes dancing and was excited by him in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long while, though doubt swiftly crowded back in. He stared at her and smiled.

  ‘Why are you selling the company again?’ she asked.

  ‘You knew I thought it was time.’ He stared directly at her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘You. You’re great.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘It is that.’ David fiddled with something in his pockets. He did his nervous twitch and cracked his knuckles.

  ‘What was that show you wanted to see with the bloke off the telly? Book tickets for it. We can go the week after next.’