Rachel nodded in agreement. Everyone had been raving about the play and the performances. The tickets had sold out months ago. But his suggestion had thawed her.
Before dinner, they caught up on each other’s respective news. She empathised with his stories of nightmare clients. She was having such a lovely evening that she’d forgotten all about the plan to get him to love her again.
The next afternoon Rachel heard a beep from outside. She looked out of the window and saw Kevin’s car.
‘Last chance – do you want to come to Mum’s with us?’ she asked David.
He responded with a rude gesture implying he’d rather not. Rachel kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck with his presentation. He then took her aback by saying he might have to stay overnight in Swindon if it was looking like a late one. She was left speechless. Unable to respond, she merely nodded. At that moment, she made a decision. She said goodbye and left the house.
Her brother drove an Audi with a matt black finish. Kevin was proud of it but Rachel thought it looked naff, and she had told him the only person to pull it off was Christian Bale – and only when he was pretending to be Batman!
Rachel slipped into the passenger seat. She unlocked her mobile phone and drafted a reply to a message she’d received earlier.
Rachel: Yes, it is short notice, but tonight would work. Let me know where and when.
She thought about adding a kiss but decided against it and pressed send.
‘Please tell me the seat warmers aren’t on?’ The last time Rachel had grabbed a lift with Kevin she endured a very uncomfortable five minutes. She thought she’d lost control of her bodily functions; it transpired the seat warmer had been turned on full blast. Kevin nodded towards the house. She shook her head to indicate David wouldn’t be joining them.
‘Long story.’ Rachel couldn’t go through the rigmarole of explaining why her never-husband had strayed then stayed. There was a danger of her brother wanting to confront David on her behalf. Kevin’s nicknames at school were Hothead and Fisticuffs.
‘We have an hour.’
‘Where’s Louise?’
‘Long story.’
‘We have an hour,’ she said, mimicking her brother’s tone.
Kevin and Louise were still finding their feet as a new couple. Rachel and Louise were polite and chatty with each other but had nothing in common; Louise was a doctor and always on-call. She was tea-total and seemed a little bit absent most of the time. Rachel didn’t take it personally. If she were a heart surgeon, she’d have better things to gossip about than neighbours she’d never met. Kevin was separated from his third wife and Louise was his first foray into mid-life dating.
Understandably, Kevin wasn’t keen to introduce another new girlfriend to their mother. Norma was a hard nut to crack. Lesser women had been broken by her imperious stare. Not to mention the high bar and the backhanded compliments Norma was renowned for. Kevin liked to ensure the relationship was solid and the girlfriend in question could handle the scrutiny before a home visit was scheduled.
Their childhood home had endured regular refurbishment over the decades. The latest was in the usual vein (floral) and most of the furniture was the same (dark, mahogany) and now probably considered antique. There was a painting of Pope Paul VI over the fireplace. Norma didn’t like the faces of the more recent popes; Pope Paul VI was her firm favourite. Rachel thought the portrait looked sinister. His eyes seemed to follow you around the room, reminding her of a Hammer horror vampire.
The sideboard had a concealed drinks cabinet. Kevin had already drawn the short straw by driving them there. He and Rachel now played rock-paper-scissors to determine if he would drive home too. She cast paper, and Kevin tried to turn his rock into scissors, an underhanded move he had got away with for most of Rachel’s childhood. She caught him cheating and cackled victoriously. She poured herself a gin Martini (extra dirty) and offered Kevin a Virgin Mary. He declined; there was no fun in tomato juice without the vodka. Their mother was nursing a small tot of sherry while giving the beef stroganoff a final once over – five more minutes. When the doorbell rang, she ordered Rachel and Kevin to stand up straight.
‘Kevin, why are you wearing jeans?’ she fussed.
Norma tucked Kevin’s shirt into his jeans, and tidied a wayward strand of hair behind Rachel’s ear.
Roger Halliwell blast straight into the house, giving the impression he was already very familiar with Norma’s lounge. Roger had a high forehead and thick dark hair (more pepper than salt). He was tall (not short at all, Rachel noted), with broad swimmer’s shoulders and narrow hips. He was wearing a salmon-coloured jacket with beige chinos and a pair of large dark-rimmed glasses (à la Dennis Taylor circa 1985). He had huge sausage-like fingers and wore a garish pinky ring.
Rachel wanted to hate him. She wondered if this was the default position of any potential stepchild. Was thirty-four too old to be a stepchild anyway? Roger presented Norma with a bottle of wine (white, chilled) and a bunch of flowers (roses, yellow). It was clear that he wanted Rachel and Kevin to like him as much as they wanted to dislike him. Hard as they tried, it was impossible. He was absolutely charming, with a great smile (veneers) and endless stories about his former lives.
Kevin tried to trip him up with questions about his suitability to be Norma’s ‘boyfriend’; Norma and he both preferred the term ‘gentleman friend’, it seemed. Roger passed the Kevin and Rachel test with flying colours. He was looking to settle down and not afraid to disclose to the world it was Norma with whom he wanted to share his winter years.
They discovered he was born in the late 1950s; his birthday coincided with the release of the film The Bridge on the River Kwai, and he relayed a funny story about his mum going into labour before the opening credits and how ever since she refused to watch the David Lean classic. He’d had a short stint as a history teacher at the end of the seventies before joining the British Navy and being on the frontline during the Falklands. When a broken ankle saw him honourably discharged from military service, he worked as a photo-journalist for the remainder of the eighties and opened an art dealership in the nineties. He knew nothing about paintings – but he loved to be surrounded by talent and beauty, he said as he winked at Norma. He had a wealth of self-effacing stories about incredible situations he’d found himself in. She had never seen her mother as animated and alive, certainly not with Rachel’s father.
Rachel and Kevin left feeling warmed by Roger’s friendliness.
‘What do you think of him?’ Rachel wondered aloud. ‘Do you think he’s a spy?’
‘I don’t mean to be funny but what does he see in Mum? They’re a bit chalk and cheese,’ her brother said.
The journey home was filled with old memories and stories from their childhood. They still argued about who broke the light fitting in the attic. But they were in total agreement that they couldn’t fault Roger. He was larger than life. He was fun and, more to the point, he made their mother smile.
Rachel thanked Kevin for the lift. She found the house empty. She headed straight to the shower.
Rachel wore a green cocktail dress and a pair of vintage pearl earrings. The sunset added atmospheric light to the riverside. The glass-fronted restaurant twinkled with tealights and lamps. Luke stood up when he saw her directed to his table.
‘You remind me of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s,’ he whispered into her ear as he held out her chair. The song ‘Moon River’ filled her head. Wait, was Holly Golightly a prostitute? She couldn’t remember. Luke ordered a bottle of the recommended house wine. The Argentinian Torrontés was flashed in her direction; she gave the waiter a polite nod although she hadn’t studied the label.
Luke recommended a selection of plates and then suggested they share them. He was happy to make conversation. Rachel tried to keep track of his life story. They chuckled when it turned out they both had an older brother called Kevin.
Luke wanted to know everything about Rachel. He asked questi
on after question, which appeared like actual interest in her rather than an inquisition. He didn’t pry when she said there had been problems in her marriage. He assumed she was separated from David and she didn’t correct him.
Rachel wondered how her husband lived with his guilt. Here she was having an innocent dinner and it felt as if David was primed to jump out of the bushes at any moment and shout GOTCHA! Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, because she and David were NEVER MARRIED!
When Luke placed his fingers over hers momentarily, she felt protected by the strength and warmth of his hand. The shackles of depression seemed to have dissolved. She felt herself wanting him to touch her hand again.
They shared plates and laughed together. Rachel couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard.
‘Do you want dessert?’ the waiter asked.
He tried to tempt them with a sumptuous chocolate mousse but Rachel politely declined, she could hardly explain that she had already had a huge beef stroganoff lunch with her family.
Luke walked her to a taxi. She was a little tipsy and wondered if they would kiss. He pulled out a money clip and gave the driver two notes. He gently kissed Rachel goodnight on the lips and said he would call her in the morning.
The journey home was filled with anticipation and confusion and disappointment. She touched her lips where she sensed the ghost of Luke’s kiss. She saw a message on her phone from David confirming he was staying in Swindon overnight. God, how much time could he spend bonking his mistress?
At home she wiggled out of her dress and threw it straight in the washing machine. Desire radiated from her loins. She still had butterflies from that kiss and knew that having dinner with such a man could not be dismissed as an innocent outing. She felt conflicted for craving Luke’s touch, his kiss. She pushed any thoughts of her own culpability aside as she dreamed of Dr Luke Parry-Wilson, his soft lips and caring hands.
The next morning Eva immediately noticed a difference in Rachel.
‘What’s happened?’
‘What do you mean?’ She tried to appear indifferent.
‘One – you have matching shoes on, two – your make up is subtle, your complexion is great, and three – is that a wiggle in your walk? If I’m not mistaken, Rachel, I would say you got laid!’
‘Hardly!’ she said, and blushed. She and Eva agreed to meet for drinks after work when Rachel decided she would tell all.
Rachel was more than tipsy when she returned home. Her recent behaviour was not in keeping with their weekly meal plan. On her 5:2 diet, Monday was normally a fast day but it hadn’t worked. Her husband had still found someone thinner, taller, younger. She could work at being thinner, and she had heels for being taller. But she could never be younger.
David had gone out again. At least he’d left a note:
Fed cats
Supergreens salad in the fridge,
Gone for a jog.
Rachel ignored the salad; she had devoured mini-sliders and thick potato wedges after the over-consumption of wine with Eva. She drew a hot bath with more of Eva’s oils. The bathroom floor was wet from when David must have showered. As she dipped into the steamy bath, her phone buzzed. She couldn’t be bothered to check – assuming it was David, with another lame excuse for being late. Where was he jogging? To the Moon? What if it was an emergency? She lifted herself out of the hot water.
Dr Luke: Next time – let’s leave room for dessert.
Finally! She noted that he didn’t sign off with a kiss – what did that mean? She was desperate to reply but unsure of the etiquette. Rachel had heard different rules about waiting one day, three days, and even five! She’d forgotten to ask Eva. Luke said he’d call in the morning and now it was gone 8 p.m. What did it mean? She returned to the bath and put her crime novel aside, her mind too full of thoughts of Luke, his hands and his soft lips against her cheek. She’d forgotten the sensual pleasure that could be gained from even the smallest of touches. She closed her eyes and recalled conversations, meetings, messages and touches from Luke. When he held her hand, and her gaze too long. And the way he looked at her legs, set off by expensive heels … She imagined him turned on and how the fire behind his eyes would burn brighter. Her breathing heightened, the hot water surrounding her enhancing her lust. She wanted Luke. Wanted him to hold her, to kiss her. To touch her. More than that – she wanted him to desire her. The thought took a strong hold over her body, and then she felt something else, a shadow of shame. She hadn’t fully come around to the idea of thinking of another man in that way.
Rachel picked up her book again. She found her place and familiarised herself with the plot once more. She was enjoying the novel; the protagonist had framed her husband for a double homicide. Pure bliss. She fantasised about David being set up for a murder. Then pictured him in Tudor stocks and herself throwing rotten fish and mouldy tomatoes at his face while his hands were shackled.
David pounded upstairs and disturbed her glorious reverie. He shouted through the bathroom door. He sounded agitated, something about a client and Swindon. Rachel dried herself in the bathroom instead of the bedroom. She applied body lotion all over her body, something she always meant to do but somehow forgot. She dressed in full-length silk pyjamas. She was still basking in the warmth of Luke’s text message.
David was still going on about the client when she slipped into bed. Mr Franklin wanted an extra report that wasn’t part of his monthly contract agreement. Rachel didn’t see the problem: give the customer what he wants. And the new owner was hardly likely to want to have a customer leave in the first month without you! Her advice was brief and to the point. David told her he was so wrapped up in the drama that he hadn’t thought of that simple solution. He said he missed working with his wife, kissed her lightly on the nose and headed for the en-suite.
David was in the shower, again! With each wash she grew more suspicious. She had to assume he was washing away the scent of his mistress. He emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, and there it was: the first sign on him of middle-aged spread.
Tonight, she hated him a little less.
David
26
David’s week passed without much interaction between him and Rachel. David was busy wrapping up the company sale, but was aware his wife seemed to be avoiding him. He complained to Rachel that the grey in his hair had almost doubled recently. She pretended not to hear him, which was ridiculous since she was chopping vegetables less than three metres away. Finally, she replied that grey hair can result from stress, and suggested a massage to relieve any tension.
‘You do look after me well.’ David gave her a kiss on the forehead, and said he would find some oil.
‘I meant a sports massage at the gym.’
‘Oh, of course.’ David didn’t know how else to respond, and nodded weakly.
Rachel started to cook spaghetti bolognese as David prepared cocktails in the conservatory. He had a new recipe.
ROSE MARTINI RECIPE
35 ml Gin
20 ml lychee juice
15 ml rose infused water
10 ml freshly squeezed lemon juice
5 ml rose syrup
1 rose petal to garnish
‘Have you seen the new neighbours?’ David had been updating Rachel about the removal van comings and goings for over a week and there was still no sign of the new arrivals, the Jessops. The SOLD sign had been removed but so far Rachel hadn’t seen the couple for herself.
David was determined to get back on track with his wife. Lately it seemed the harder he tried, the more she pulled away. It was making him second-guess his every action. He’d tried being amorous with her before dinner; gave his signature moves. First, he stroked her neck and gently nuzzled behind her ears with his mouth. When Rachel spilled red sauce on her white blouse she completely overreacted. He went upstairs to find her a new top. Rachel’s work shirts were lined up in a row on her side of the wardrobe. He rummaged through some drawers
but could only find her exercise garb. He somehow ended up knocking a jacket off the rail, which took four more with it as it fell to the wardrobe floor. David cursed as he bent down, leaning deep inside the wardrobe to retrieve the tangled hangers. It was then that he noticed the box. In it, he found something that shocked him to the core.
Rachel called up the stairs, ‘Have you found something for me to wear?’
David quickly chose a grey t-shirt that she wore for yoga and tossed it down to her. He told her he’d be down in a minute and phoned Jojo.
‘Can you talk?’
‘We’re about to Skype with Beth’s parents.’
‘What’s worse than a code red?’
‘I dunno, we’ve never needed higher than that before, officer.’ Jojo put on her Star Trek voice. ‘Captain’s Log: unknown territory.’ She laughed. At least she was amused.
‘I’ve just found—’
‘How’s it going with Rachel?’
‘She’s got someone else.’
‘I don’t believe—’
‘There’s a box full of underwear and things I’ve never seen before. Sexy things.’
‘Maybe she bought them for you.’
‘Na-huh. I’ve never seen them before and I think they’ve been worn!’
‘Don’t tell me about it – talk to her.’
Rachel
27
Rachel loved cooking. She had prepared fresh tagliatelle and a bolognese sauce using a pound of minced steak and an entire packet of pancetta. She used lard instead of oil and grated a huge serving of Parmesan cheese. It was comfort food fit for the Gods.
She showered before dinner and applied tinted moisturiser, red lip stain and a swipe of mascara.
David had a new cocktail recipe. She stopped herself from asking the inspiration behind the drink, assuming it was the other woman. When he presented her with a Rose Martini, she silently ground her teeth. He was so transparent. When David wasn’t looking, she added another shot of vodka to her pink drink. She wanted to anaesthetise the pain that was rising within her. Two cocktails would stabilise her mood. A third would be the ideal numb-to-happy ratio. A fourth would tip her over the edge. And a fifth would set off waterworks. She finished the Rose Martini in two gulps. That felt good. She promised herself she’d stop after the third drink.
How to Marry Your Husband Page 18