How she had hated her mum then; she knew her daddy had only left Nola and not his precious only girl, so that didn’t bother her. It was her mum’s use of the proverb. Even then Jen knew she had a tendency to be greedy, to want the best of both worlds, and why shouldn’t she? But now, as a mother herself, she wonders how her lovely mum managed to be so restrained. Who knows what Nola might have said to her own mother and sisters, but if she despised her unfaithful husband, she never let on to Jen or her brothers. To this day her parents are still married and her dad provides financially, but she has a ‘stepmum’ in Ireland she never intends to meet.
‘Toast or cereal?’ she asks Maria. Then notices her face; it’s heavily made-up, the foundation a shade too dark for her pale freckled skin and she hasn’t rubbed it in uniformly. The girls aren’t supposed to wear make-up at school, but she understands Maria’s need. At thirteen she wouldn’t have got away with foundation, but she would’ve applied mascara, hoping her mum wouldn’t notice. Even then she wanted to look nice for Will Taylor. Trying for an Ian sort of tack, she takes a steady breath. ‘You look very pretty today, Maria, but maybe the foundation needs …’ She makes a rubbing motion on the line of her own jaw.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Maria replies, pulling away from the table, stomping to the door and slamming it behind her.
Jen turns to her other daughters, wondering if they’ll be as difficult one day. She hopes her fraught relationship with Maria isn’t because she’s simply crap at relating to girls. After the first few weeks grieving for Will at university, she threw herself into the social scene, doing all the things she figured she’d missed during the two years she’d dated him. But at the end of the day, there was only one thing: close female friendships. Along with Dan and Nick, Will had been her best friend. Perhaps a sister would have made a difference, but she only had brothers. She tried, but she struggled to get close to other women her own age and ended up sharing a house with men.
She sighs inwardly. Holly and Anna are looking down at their breakfast with tense faces; they don’t want a scene. Plonking down at the table, she picks up Anna’s toast and takes a bite.
‘Well, that went well, didn’t it?’ she says, reeling slightly from the thick spread of Marmite. ‘Supermarket this morning. Anything we particularly need?’ She gives Anna a friendly nudge. ‘Other than chocolate biscuits?’
As she darts through the drizzle between the boot and her front door, Jen waves to Hamid in his garden. Pruning, she supposes, at this time of year. She drops the heavy shopping bags in the hall and feels her hair. It doesn’t like rain; rain makes it swell. But it’s only a little damp, so that’s OK.
Staring at the shopping, she tries to focus on frozen items and the time, but she’s distracted by the number of plastic bags she’ll have to hide. Ian remembers to recycle, taking them into the supermarket and using them repeatedly until they collapse; she has a hundred in the boot, but always forgets. She digs around for the fish fingers and peas, shoves them in the freezer, then looks at her watch. She still has ten minutes, but still, she wants to look nice, to smell nice too.
In the bathroom she takes off her knickers, has what she terms to the girls as a ‘personal wash’, puts on a clean pair, then brushes her teeth, applies perfume and a hint of lipstick. This meeting is planned and deliberate; Will Taylor hasn’t taken her by surprise by just turning up and needing her. She has no excuse, not even to herself.
She’s going to have sex with him this morning.
Her husband is a very good man; she should feel crippling guilt, but as she stares at her pink-cheeked reflection, she feels nothing but breathless excitement.
The low hum of his car filters through the open round window. He’s early, which is nice. She hears his commanding ‘Morning’, wonders what Hamid might make of it. But Will has visited her home hundreds of times, including two weeks ago. Why would today be any different?
She doesn’t bother with her tights; she skips down the stairs like the eager teenager she was.
‘Mum’s gone to the shops, Will. She’s usually about an hour. You’ll have to be quick!’ she hears in her mind, but today they’ll have more time than when they were seventeen. Will is officially out of the office on an audit that ‘could take two hours or two days’.
‘You’re early,’ she says, smiling as she opens the door. ‘I haven’t had time to put the shopping away.’
Will circles her waist and pulls her towards him; she stands on tiptoes to kiss his soft lips. She always forgets how tall and broad he is, or perhaps she forgets that she’s small.
‘Bugger the shopping,’ he says after a few moments. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all morning.’ He looks at her face, gently raking her hair behind an ear. ‘You are beautiful, Jennifer O’Donnell, do you know that?’
Absently stroking her back, Will sighs. ‘You have the softest skin ever.’
He hasn’t turned away, he hasn’t slept. He’s so different today; she wonders what he’s thinking. He kissed her for much longer than usual, then pulled her on top of him and stared at her face until her moans reached a peak. Then when he came, he didn’t let go but kept his arms around her body, holding her tightly against his chest. She heard the thud of his heartbeat and felt him go limp inside her, his warm semen gluing them together until she pulled away with a small laugh, saying she needed to pee. She was glad of the break; pleased to have a wash, to put on her underwear.
‘I’ll rustle us up a sandwich,’ she now says, detaching herself from his warm body.
In the kitchen she flicks on the kettle, makes sandwiches on autopilot, fitfully putting away the shopping and thinking about Will as though he’s already left. Analysing their lovemaking like she did at seventeen. She doesn’t really like being on top; she’s too conscious of her large swinging breasts and the roll of fat around her stomach. She feels infinitely more attractive lying down. And the truth is, she didn’t come; she finds it difficult to orgasm in that position. Not that it’s a certainty she won’t, given time, but she felt under pressure from the intensity of his gaze. If she’s honest, Will isn’t like Will today. His ardour is freaking her out.
She returns to the bedroom with a large pot of tea and a platter of triangular sandwiches, crusts removed. ‘My mum would never forgive me—’
‘For us? For doing this?’ Will asks, his face serious.
‘No, silly, for not eating the crusts.’ Jen laughs and climbs on the bed. ‘They would make my hair curl if I ate them, apparently. Not that I wanted curly hair.’
Will rubs his head. ‘Mine used to curl—’
‘I know, I remember.’
They fall silent for a while, Jen eating the sandwiches, Will staring at the ceiling.
‘I just wish—’ he starts.
‘That I’d made cheese and ham? Cheese and pickle will have to do you. Come on, eat up.’ She plants a kiss on his nose, needing him to be the usual easy-going Will. She finds herself gabbling to ease her disquiet. ‘Which filling do you fancy? You don’t want to be responsible for me eating the lot. Talk to me. Tell me about Penny. How’s the counselling going? Has she gone back to work? We exchange texts every now and then, but it’s difficult. I don’t know how much I’m supposed to know.’
Will hitches up the bed, takes the platter and brings Jen up to speed with information she already knew or had guessed. Penny has finally seen the psychiatrist; he’s diagnosed a psychotic episode brought on by anxiety and stress; she isn’t a danger to herself; if she learns to deal with the underlying problems, it’s unlikely to happen again. The real danger was in bottling the issues rather than dealing with them; the anxiety had fermented, the bottle top had finally popped at Nick’s wedding.
‘Presumably the relationship with her mum,’ Jen says, looking at the remaining triangles and wondering if she should’ve made just one more smoked salmon and cream cheese.
‘Well, yes …’ Will replies.
The change in his tone stops her short.
‘I guess her mum has made it worse,’ he says slowly.
Jen puts down her sandwich. ‘Made what worse?’
Will glances at her, then looks away. ‘Penny’s feelings of failure. She says her mum always had, and still has, ridiculous expectations; never holds back in letting her know if she’s dropped below them.’
‘Bloody hell, Penny went to Cambridge; she looks down a microscope all day to prevent babies getting spina bifida,’ Jen says, knowing that isn’t the point, that Will is trying to say something else, something she doesn’t want to hear. She continues doggedly, ‘She can hardly have fallen below anyone’s—’
‘We’ve been trying for a baby, Jen.’ He pulls up his knees and rests his head in his hands. ‘Nothing’s happened yet. I know that’s not unusual, that it sometimes takes months, even years, but Penny’s desperate for it to happen. She tries not to show her disappointment but … I tell her to relax, that I’m chilled either way, but she says her mum’s on her case all the time. Wants her to have a boy, obviously.’
It feels like a blow; a terrible blow, almost physical. ‘I didn’t know—’ Jen starts. But then why would she? Why would Will tell her he was trying to start a family? He’s married to Penny; it’s what people do. Yet it’s something she’s never contemplated: Will as a doting father.
He continues to speak, his voice soft and thoughtful. ‘I suppose that’s why the wedding was so difficult for her to handle. Seeing Geri’s bump, watching other people’s toddlers and your girls; everyone carefree and happy. Then her period came. God, I’m no expert and she’s playing it down, but my guess is her feelings of failure were brought to a head … I’m sorry, Jen. I should have said something before now.’
She tries to keep the hurt from her voice. ‘No, of course not. No reason why you should. It’s yours and Penny’s business, not mine.’ She slips from the bed and picks up her scattered clothes. ‘Nearly two-thirty! I’ll top up the tea, then it’s probably time for you to go.’
She hears Will enter the kitchen, but doesn’t turn from the kettle. He slips his arms around her waist. ‘You’re crying,’ he says.
Jen shakes her head. She has no right to be weeping, but the deep scratch of heartbreak is there at the surface. Like the agony of childbirth, it has come back, an indescribable pain she’d thought was forgotten. Her mum managed to hide the full truth of her dad’s betrayal until she was sixteen. Nola didn’t want to tell her then, but knew there was a fine line between telling the brutal truth and perpetuating an easy lie, which would eventually be found out. The misery she had felt was unbearable. A double pain. She already knew that her daddy had left her mum; now she knew he had left her as well.
Will gently turns her around and bends to look at her face. ‘It might never happen.’
‘It should happen,’ she replies, covering her eyes with her hands. ‘I want it to happen, for you both. You’ll be lovely parents. It’s just—’
‘I know,’ he replies.
Will doesn’t want to leave but Jen persuades him to go, saying she needs to stop crying, to give her face time to recover before collecting Anna from school. But the truth is she wants to sob, to weep for her sorry self, like she did at eleven, like she did at sixteen. Then again two years later, when Will Taylor broke the heart he’d so tenderly mended.
She wipes her face and watches silently as Will knots his tie and slips on his jacket. He’s filled out in the last few years, but keeps himself in shape playing squash with Nick or Dan. It reminds her of Geri’s phone call last night.
‘Did you know Dan and Geri want to have us all round for a meal before their new baby arrives? This weekend’s the plan. Do you think Penny will be up for it?’
‘I suppose she might. More getting back on track.’ Will pats his pocket. His eyes are distracted. ‘So, I guess I’ll see you then.’ He walks from the kitchen towards the front door, then turns and comes back. ‘I bought you something,’ he says. He reaches in his pocket and brings out a small ivory box which he places on the table. ‘It’s nothing much. I just saw them and thought they’d look nice on you.’ He smiles faintly. ‘Something that wouldn’t be noticed; something you might have had for years. See you at Dan’s.’
Jen waits for the click of the front door before letting out her breath, then sits down at the table, her chest aching, her face wet. Her fingers tremble as she opens the box. A small pair of diamond earrings shine sharply from their black pillow, earrings with posts, designed for pierced ears. Closing her eyes, she feels for an earlobe. She hasn’t worn pierced earrings since she was a teenager.
Jen stares at the orangey glow on her plate. Spaghetti bolognese for dinner. She tries to limit it to once a week, but still feels like a rotten mother. It’s not the only dish she can cook, but it’s one all three girls will devour without complaint. Anna’s class did a project at school about healthy eating. She came home with a food timetable to complete and wouldn’t let anyone else in the family see it. Jen thought nothing more about it until Anna’s class teacher sidled up in the staffroom.
‘Spaghetti bol for tea tonight, perchance?’ the teacher asked before presenting her with the evidence in Anna’s loopy scrawl. ‘It’s OK, I won’t call social services this time,’ the teacher laughed. ‘Even I’m not convinced Anna eats it for breakfast.’ She’d looked at Jen’s face. ‘Oh, Jen, I’m only teasing. I thought a clean sweep was hilarious. Tell you what, though, you should see some of the answers.’
Jen winds the pasta on her fork, but doesn’t feel hungry. The family rule is to finish one’s plate of food, including the vegetables. She wonders if the girls will notice her break it today.
‘What have you been up to, love?’ Ian asks from the other end of the table. ‘I’m jealous of your days off. Do you think a head of year would get away with a job-share application?’
‘No chance,’ she replies, trying for a smile. ‘You’re too precious, being a maths genius. Maria has already had three supply teachers since September, haven’t you, love?’ She looks at Maria but her head is down and there’s no reply. ‘Just the supermarket today, which reminds me. I bought something for you girls.’ She leaves the room and returns with three Easter eggs. ‘Ta-da!’ she says, holding them up like a glamorous assistant on a quiz show. ‘An early treat before the real Easter bunny arrives.’
Maria lifts her head, her expression scathing. ‘I actually thought it would be something interesting. Easter isn’t even for weeks.’
Jen takes a breath and counts to five. She hadn’t intended them for today, but hoped to lighten her own gloom by pleasing the girls. ‘It’s just for fun, Maria. I thought it might bring a smile. Look, I’ve selected each of your favourite Disney movies. Frozen for Anna, Ratatouille for Holly and Toy Story for you. Toy Story 3 of course.’ She catches Ian’s surprised face. ‘It said limited edition, so I didn’t want them to be gone the next time—’
‘I’m not eight any more, Mum. What would I want with Disney chocolate? I’ve had it before. It’s disgusting and tastes cheap and nasty. If you’re that bothered, you can have mine. You’ll enjoy stuffing your—’
Ian bangs the table with his fist. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he roars. ‘Don’t you dare speak to your mother like that, Maria. Get up to your room. And give me your mobile.’
‘I haven’t got it—’
‘Do you think I’m bloody blind? It’s on your lap. You’ve been looking at it all through the meal.’
Maria leaves the room with the inevitable slam; Anna and Holly continue to eat with heads bowed in silence.
‘Thanks, Mum, I like mine,’ Holly eventually says.
‘And I am eight,’ Anna adds, breaking the tension.
‘Are you all right, love?’ Ian asks later when the girls have gone to bed. He pulls Jen into a hug at the sink. ‘You seem a bit … delicate. Sorry I lost my rag with Maria, but I think she’s had it coming for a while.’
She looks at Ian, then kisses his cheek. He’s usually so measured and reasonable; she does the sho
uting. ‘She’s pushing the boundaries. And probably hormonal or in love. Longing for the boy at the desk behind to notice she exists. That type of thing.’
‘At thirteen I was too busy building my railway set in the attic to notice girls.’
She smiles weakly. ‘Not to mention the train- and plane-spotting.’
It’s one of their in-jokes; Ian’s a self-confessed nerd. But steady and dependable and kind.
He sighs and shakes his head. ‘I see it every day at school. They’re so grown-up these days. Texting, sexting, putting dodgy photographs on Instagram. So aware of, well, everything. But when it’s your own … Tell me you weren’t in love at thirteen.’
‘Well …’ Jen replies, pulling further into the hug, wishing she fancied this lovely man even a fraction of how much she still wants Will.
‘Of course; Will,’ Ian replies with a laugh. ‘I always forget about you two.’ He pulls away and picks up a tea towel. ‘Did you have a nap today?’
Jen feels her face flushing. ‘No, why?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ He shakes his head and changes the subject. ‘Have we got a date for the get-together at Dan’s? It’s good of Geri to offer when she’s nearly fit to burst.’
‘Dan’s on cooking duties, but I suggested we could all bring a dish.’ Trying to act normal, she prods Ian at the waist, hoping the colour has died from her face. ‘This Saturday. Maybe you could do your famous curried potatoes.’
‘A dish, Jen Kenning? I don’t think you’re programmed to prepare only one—’
The telephone interrupts Ian’s reply and Jen answers.
‘Is that Mrs Kenning? Holly’s mum?’
Her stomach clenches. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘It’s Miss Fern, her PE teacher.’ Her voice is terse, to the point, she doesn’t sound friendly. ‘Is it convenient to have a few words?’
My Husband's Lies Page 9