What Holly's Husband Did

by Debbie Viggiano

  Getting out of bed, I moved over to the window and pulled up the blind. My gaze fell upon the garden, a hectic riot of autumnal colour with the lawn carpeted in leaves of orange and gold. The sun was shining and, if it hadn’t been for those leaves, it could easily have been mistaken for a glorious summer’s day. I reached up and opened the window. A wasp immediately flew into the bedroom, and I shrieked. What was it about wasps that they had to make an appearance the moment the weather turned warm?

  I grabbed one of Alex’s dental magazines from his bedside table and thwacked at the wasp until it lay in a squashed heap on the carpet. Chest heaving from exertion, I bent down and peered at the tiny crushed body, instantly overcome with mortification. Sorry, God. I didn’t mean to kill one of your creatures. I’m not really a murderer. I had a sudden vision of bashing Annabelle and Jeanie with the same magazine, over and over, until they fell to the floor like this wasp. For goodness sake, Holly, get a grip. Get OVER this endless inner conflict. Perhaps you should go to your doctor after all. And forget the Prozac. Ask to be sectioned. I let out a whimper and, dropping the magazine, hastened off to the shower.

  * * *

  Jeanie and Caro were already waiting for me outside M&S when I arrived at Bluewater to shop for our party dresses.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I said, hastening over to them both, ‘Sophie wanted a last-minute lift to a friend’s house who has invited her for a sleepover.’

  ‘Oooh, no teenager around tonight,’ said Jeanie, nudging me heavily in the ribs, ‘are you listening to this, Caro?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Caro, giving Jeanie a knowing look. ‘What’s the betting that Sevenoaks will be on the news tonight?’ She affected the voice of a BBC newsreader: ‘A minor earthquake has occurred in a small Kentish village disrupting gas and water pipes. One resident, who did not wish to be named, apologised saying it was down to her and her husband having a superior bonk.’

  ‘Shut up, Caro,’ I said, but without rancour, although I was starting to wish I’d not been quite so graphic about my fictitious sex life. ‘Where to first?’

  ‘Costa,’ said Jeanie firmly. ‘I know I said I was going to diet for the party, but I’ll do it tomorrow. I need cake. And you know what I’m like if I don’t have a sugar fix. I get all tetchy.’

  ‘Heaven help us if you get tetchy,’ said Caro. ‘Go on. Lead the way.’

  By the time Jeanie had sated her cravings, and we’d had a good moan about our incredibly messy teenagers, the shopping mall was absolutely heaving. We elbowed our way through screaming toddlers, frustrated mothers, buggies festooned with carrier bags, and mini-gangs of gorgeous teenage girls simpering at groups of posturing lads full of spots and testosterone.

  We ended up in a huge department store which had a selection of clothes designed for bodies like ours. Jeanie immediately fell in love with a short lacy number that hugged her voluptuous curves in all the right places. Caro opted for some strange chiffon-like trousers in canary yellow that ballooned out around her ankles but, teamed with a corset top somehow ‘worked’.

  ‘I think Simon would approve,’ I said, nodding.

  Ever conscious of my brother’s barbed comments about my figure and legs, I opted for a slinky long black evening dress, simple in its design and very understated. It was saved from being boring by enormous side slits that went up to one’s knickers. I bought a pair of sky-scraper heels with diamanté embellishments to jazz things up and lengthen the leg. With a bit of luck, they might drive Alex mad with desire. Either that or I could stab Queenie with the stilettoes.

  15

  I let myself into the house with a certain amount of stealth. I didn’t want Alex welcoming me and seeing expensive looking shopping bags and then peeking inside – my back-up story about the evening dress being bought for one of his charity functions might be a sore subject after the blow up about Annabelle.

  Rupert greeted me, tail wagging, sticking his wet nose inquisitively inside the carriers, but losing interest in clothes when he spotted an open packet of mints in my handbag. Before I could stop him, he’d grabbed them and run off like all opportunist thieves. Seconds later came the sound of paper being shredded and happy snuffles as he tucked in. Ah well, at least his halitosis would be improved for the next half hour.

  I crept upstairs and hung the dress, reverently stroking the creases out of it, loving the softness of the fabric against my fingertips. I pushed the shoes to the back of my wardrobe and, once downstairs again, tucked the carrier bags away in the recycling bin. Sounds of a football game came from the lounge. Wondering if Alex would like a cup of tea, I popped my head around the door.

  He was flat on his back, stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep. For a moment, I just gazed at him. He was still a handsome man. No wonder Jeanie had the hots for him. Caro too, I shouldn’t wonder. His laptop was open and perched on his stomach, which was slowly rising and falling with each breath. His Facebook page was open. As the screen hadn’t timed out, I presumed he’d nodded off only a minute or two ago. Leaning across, I peered at his Timeline, almost immediately spotting the open Direct Message box. My blood pressure rose upon seeing who he’d been talking to. Or, rather, trying to talk to. Annabelle Huntingdon-Smyth.

  Hi, darling. Saw you were online. Are you there?

  I could feel my face contorting with rage. The last thing I wanted was another row over this blasted woman. She’s just a business acquaintance, I reasoned with myself. A do-gooder working with a charity that is close to your husband’s heart. His friendship with her is just that and means nothing else.

  At that moment Alex’s mobile phone rang, startling him into wakefulness. He jumped again when he saw me standing right over him, and the sudden movement dislodged the laptop from his abdomen. His hands shot out as a reflex to stop it crashing to the floor.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,’ I said, passing him the ringing mobile from the coffee table. ‘I came in to see if you wanted a cuppa?’

  He gave his eyes a cursory rub and took the phone from me.

  ‘Thanks, Holly. A cup of tea would be lovely. Oh no,’ he groaned, ‘this is the out of hours phone. It will be an emergency. Make mine a coffee. I need plenty of caffeine to wake me up.’ He touched the mobile’s screen. ‘Alex Hart here. Can I help you? Right. Throbbing, you say? Could be an abscess.’

  I left him to it, and went to make the coffee. Rupert reappeared, trotting at heel and looking at me optimistically. Usually when the kettle went on, that meant the biscuit barrel came out. I looked at his stomach. It was starting to look like the biscuit barrel. I gave him a beady look.

  ‘I suppose nobody has bothered to walk you today.’ Well, obviously not. I was the one that walked Rupert, and this morning my intent had been on sniffing out a good dress, not a lamp post. ‘It’s no good giving me that reprimanding look. If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work. Well, actually, it is working. Yes, all right, all right, I’ll take you for a walk.’ Rupert wagged his tail appreciatively, and then looked meaningfully at the biscuit barrel. ‘Oh, if you must,’ I sighed, holding out a Digestive. It was only eighty calories. I’d make sure our walk was a brisk one. Rupert trotted off, tail wagging at his good luck. Mints and a biscuit. Result!

  I took the coffee to Alex who was simultaneously talking to the patient and tapping away at his laptop. He then set it to one side on the sofa and took the coffee from me. The laptop screen was visible. The pop-up box was still open. Annabelle had responded. I tried to read their exchange, but the words were blurry.

  ‘Thanks,’ Alex whispered, sipping gratefully. ‘Okay, well from what you’ve told me I think I’d better pop along to the surgery and see you. You are aware of the fees, yes?’

  Alex had stopped doing National Health patients years ago, just before we were married. He’d said there was no money in it. I’d thought him terribly mercenary at the time until, after five cancellations in one day, he calculated his day’s pay had been less than the minimum wage.

>   ‘I didn’t study medicine for five years to end up questioning if I had enough money to buy a Walnut Whip,’ he’d fumed.

  Shortly afterwards, he’d been taken on by a private practice in Sevenoaks. A few more years down the line, and mortgaged up to the eyeballs, the practice was exclusively Alex’s.

  ‘Yes, Mastercard is fine,’ said my husband, draining his coffee. ‘Make your way there and I’ll see you shortly.’ He ended the call and turned to me. ‘Sorry, darling. I know it’s Saturday and you hate me working at the weekend, but I’m going to have to slip off. Shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘Okay. Fancy watching a film later?’

  ‘Sounds good. Want to check out Sky Movies and see what’s on?’

  ‘I meant at the cinema. Sophie’s on a sleepover. We could be romantic,’ I waggled my eyebrows, ‘and snog in the back row.’

  ‘Sorry, Holly, I’d rather stay at home. It’s been a hell of a week and I’m knackered. Not sure actually if I’ll even be able to keep my eyes open to watch a movie.’

  ‘Right,’ I said lightly. ‘Another time.’

  And presumably a superior bonk would be out of the question.

  16

  The moment Alex had left, I hastened back to the lounge. The television had been left on. I didn’t want to listen to the noise of an over-excited commentator as a pair of muscular legs powered across the pitch, the crowd erupting as the ball went in the goalpost and the football player threw his arms wide, sinking to his knees, skidding forward several feet in the mud, before the rest of the team threw themselves on top of him and they all rolled about looking like they were having a mid-field orgy.

  I frowned. Why did my mind bring everything back to sex? They’re playing football, Holly. Not strip poker! I hit the off button on the remote control, then stared at Alex’s laptop. Facebook was still visible, including the pop-up Messenger box. The cursor winked at me invitingly. I’d just have a small peek. Nothing wrong in that.

  Hunkering down, I pulled the laptop towards me and scrolled back through the direct messaging.

  Hi, darling. Saw you were online. Are you there?

  Hey! Sorry to keep you waiting. Postman was at the door.

  How’s the mouth? Sore?

  Not at all – all thanks to my brilliant dentist.

  My pleasure.

  Honestly, the pleasure was all mine. I’ll bet it was, I grimaced. Lovely to see you.

  And you. You truly brightened my day.

  Bet you say that to all the ladies.

  Only you. Flirting, or what! I’ve got to zip off. Out of hours patient.

  *pulling face* If you fancy swinging by for coffee later, I’m in.

  I do fancy!

  Wonderful