What Holly's Husband Did

by Debbie Viggiano

  Each time I wanted you, I’d wish with all my being, and you’d appear! How crazy is that! It’s beyond crazy. It’s downright bizarre. And I came to think of you as a kind of magical being. Indeed, just your presence was magic. I wanted to reach out and touch you, hold you, kiss you, make love to you. Again and again and again.

  Make love again and again and again? This, from a man who I’d always believed had a low sex drive? No wonder he could only manage six times a year with me. Whenever he’d staggered into our bedroom, hand clutching his forehead as he’d yawned his way over to the bed declaring he was exhausted, it was because he truly was shagged. Annabelle might be a lover, but it was my best friend who was the love of his life. I wondered feverishly how long it had been going on. I blanched. Well, years. Probably all our married lives if our pathetic excuse of a sex life was anything to go by. All that crap Jeanie had spun about having a shunt in her car with Sebastian and only recently falling for a lover. Sebastian meant the same to her as Annabelle meant to Alex. They were just distractions. So why hadn’t they simply gone off with each other right at the start? Before the children came along? Before there were so many hearts to break? I shook my head. I didn’t understand. Just didn’t understand at all.

  You loved that I likened you to a genie. Believe me when I say I wish things could have been different. Even now I wish that with all my heart. But I’m a coward, darling. I can’t do it. I will no doubt go to my grave regretting it. But in death I hope we will one day find each other, and finally be together.

  Flipping heck. That was a bit dramatic wasn’t it? How honourable were the pair of them doing the decent thing in allowing our respective families to stay together? My lip curled as I mentally sneered at their so-called honour. Pathetic, Alex. Absolutely pathetic. And as for you, Jeanie. To think I’ve had you in this house, under my husband’s nose, time and time again, getting him all in a lather, with you so coolly acting out the charade of being my best friend, when all along the two of you couldn’t wait until you were together, ripping each other’s clothes off, and fucking each other’s brains out. I stood up and, swaying like a drunk, lurched over to the toilet bowl, and threw up and up and up.

  55

  Wiping my mouth, I came out of the en-suite and replaced the letter back under the mattress just as Alex arrived home with Rupert.

  ‘Yoo hoo!’ he called, ‘hot croissants for everyone!’

  I came out onto the landing and stuck my head over the bannister rail.

  ‘Hi,’ I said pleasantly.

  Alex held the paper bag of goodies aloft, smiling triumphantly. ‘Breakfast for the two ladies in my life,’ he grinned.

  ‘I thought I was the only woman,’ I said, careful to keep my tone neutral.

  ‘Sometimes you have to make room for Sophie, darling,’ said Alex, his voice teasing as he slung his jacket over the bannister and released Rupert’s lead. ‘His paws are clean, by the way. It’s not wet outside.’

  ‘Good, that makes a change,’ I said, coming down the stairs. My brain was whirring. ‘You put the kettle on, darling,’ I said, ‘only I need to ring Caro. She left a message on my mobile while I was in the loo asking me to call her back.’ The lie slipped off my tongue so easily.

  ‘Sure.’ Alex headed off to the kitchen and I heard him greet Sophie, who was now downstairs and evidently slumped over the table from the gist of conversation that floated back to me. That would teach our daughter to filch alcohol. I marvelled at such normal thoughts when another part of my brain was in turmoil. I moved along the hallway to the study and shut the door after me. Caro answered almost immediately.

  ‘Oh, Holly,’ she sighed, ‘what a flipping night I’ve had. I’ve spoken to Jeanie, but I’ll update you properly if you fancy coming over for coffee later.’

  ‘Caro, I don’t give two hoots about Jeanie. Something terrible has happened—’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ she interrupted, ‘I did hear. You might as well know that when David collected Lizzie and Joe they were full of glee about you doing a lap dance for Alex. Nice to know things are—’

  ‘Fuck the lap dance,’ I spat.

  There was an astonished silence.

  ‘Holly? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Everything. I can’t talk. Listen, there’s something I need to do. And I need to do it tonight. Will you have Sophie for me and take her to school tomorrow? It’s urgent.’

  ‘Of course. You don’t need to ask. Is there anything I can help with?’

  ‘Just Sophie. I’ll explain properly tomorrow, when I pick her up.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Caro, sounding worried. ‘Just remember I’m only a phone call away, right?’

  I gulped, and nodded, not that she could see that. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘See you later.’

  I hung up and walked out of the study and into the kitchen where my husband was seated at the island with Sophie, the two of them munching companionably on their croissants, as Sophie filled him in on how Joe, last night, had gone around knocking back unguarded drinks.

  ‘No wonder that boy looked rough this morning,’ Alex laughed. ‘Ah well, we’ve all done it.’ He looked up at me as I joined them, and grinned. ‘How’s the hangover?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ I said, cranking up a smile.

  ‘And the back?’

  I saw Sophie roll her eyes.

  ‘As good as new.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  My husband pushed a plate towards me as I sat down.

  ‘I’ve been invited to a school reunion,’ I said brightly.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Alex. ‘When is it?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  Alex looked surprised. ‘That’s rather short notice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘But I’d really like to go. It’s in –’ I glanced about for inspiration, noticed the clock on the wall bearing the name Cambridge Clocks – ‘Cambridgeshire,’ I blurted.

  ‘That’s a bit of a trek,’ Alex frowned.

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘And there’s a chance to stay the night. I hope you don’t mind, darling, but I’ve said yes. Can you text Jenny and ask her to arrange for my shift tomorrow to be covered by someone else? I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but it was rather sprung upon me,’ I gabbled, ‘and who knows when another get-together will be organi—’

  ‘Fine, it’s fine,’ said Alex, putting up a hand to halt my prattle.

  ‘How will I get to school tomorrow if you’re not here?’ Sophie turned to me, her face surly. Now the party was over, normal teenage stroppiness had resumed.

  ‘I’ll take you,’ said Alex smoothly.

  ‘You go to work at silly o’clock on a Monday,’ said Sophie, ‘I’m not standing at the school gates at half past seven in the morning.’

  ‘Then take the bus,’ said Alex, refusing to rise to our daughter’s impending tantrum.

  ‘It’s freezing!’ Sophie cried. ‘I’m not waiting at the bus stop in this weather.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to Caro,’ I interrupted my daughter, before she went off on a tirade, wound up her father and our Sunday morning erupted into a blazing row. ‘You can stay the night at theirs.’

  ‘Good,’ said Sophie, looking slightly mollified. She glanced across at my half-eaten croissant. ‘Don’t you want that?’

  ‘Think I’m still a bit hungover,’ I said, ‘you have it.’

  I passed her my plate. She took it from me and hopped down from her tall stool. ‘I’m taking this up to my room. I’ll leave you two to talk in peace.’ Her lip curled slightly. ‘Just don’t do anything risqué with those washing-up gloves while I’m gone, Mum.’

  And she bounced off with Rupert skipping at her heels, his hairy face full of hope that he’d shortly be licking all the crumbs off her plate. I was left staring into space, feeling slightly sick at the plans I’d started to lay down. It was finally going to happen. I was setting a trap.

  56

  Even though I now had fresh evidence of Alex’s involvement with anothe
r person, I wasn’t prepared to confront him with it. Why? Because I wanted to see this woman with him. Discover first-hand exactly who she was. I was at the end of my tether with the see-sawing of emotions and constant guessing games. It was time to catch this woman in my bed. And I had no doubt that I would.

  Minutes after Sophie had excused herself, Alex did the same, going off to the study and shutting the door. I had no idea what he was doing in there, whether he was secretly texting on his mobile, private messaging on Facebook, or murmuring quietly into the telephone. But it would have been one of those three things, for sure.

  As late afternoon darkness descended, I went through the motions of packing an overnight bag for myself, and another for Sophie, then gaily trilled good-bye to my husband as he hugged Sophie and reminded her not to stay up too late talking to Lizzie and Joe, that it was a school day tomorrow, and to be good. He turned to me and squeezed me quickly.

  ‘Have a lovely time, darling. Don’t elope with any old school crushes, eh!’ he said good-humouredly.

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ I chortled, feeling slightly sick as he let me go. Would that be the last time he held me as his wife?

  Alex stood on the doorstep, and waved us off, Rupert at his heels. This was my last chance to turn a blind eye, not go ahead with what I’d put in motion. I could drop Sophie off, turn around and say to Alex, “I’ve had a change of heart. Stuff the school reunion, let’s go out to dinner, just the two of us!” and he would discreetly text the love of his life that there had been a change of plan, and then Alex and I could carry on living our lovely life, in our lovely house, living a lovely lie. For a moment I was tempted. But then I remembered the words in the love letter, and they burned a pain deep into my soul with an ache that I knew would never go away. I wanted someone to love me like that. To vow to seek me out in the afterlife and be together forever. I hastily blinked back tears that threatened to spill and told myself to man up and see this through to the bitter end.

  Pulling up outside Caro’s house a few minutes later, my daughter had recovered some humour, and scampered off to greet Lizzie and Joe with barely a backward glance at her mother. Caro came out to the car, arms folded across her chest as if to ward off the chilly night air and stood by my open driver’s window.

  ‘Can you tell me quickly what’s up?’ she asked. ‘I’m worried about you. First there’s all this upset with Jeanie, and now you’re causing me to fret. I’ll be totally grey at this rate.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I quavered, not trusting myself to speak, ‘but I can’t right now. I absolutely promise we’ll talk tomorrow.’

  She nodded, her face full of concern, as I buzzed up the window. Indicating, I pulled away, pointing the car in the direction of home.

  Arriving back in my road where everything was so familiar and dear, I saw the house lights on, and caught a glimpse of Alex sitting alone in front of the television in the lounge, the curtains not yet drawn against the winter darkness. I motored on, slowing down as I approached a curve in the road just a few yards from the house. It marked the entrance to playing fields where local school football teams played, mostly at weekends. But now the metal gates were shut and padlocked, and overhanging trees would afford me shadowy concealment, set back from street lamps. I pulled over, executed an awkward three-point turn, and then parked facing the house. From this distance I could no longer view Alex clearly, but I could see enough – certainly the arrival of a visitor. After five minutes, Alex briefly appeared in the lounge window. He pulled the curtains together. Lights were on everywhere. Another ten minutes passed, and I began to shiver. I wasn’t sure if it was out of nerves, anticipation or the freezing cold temperature. A few more minutes ticked by painfully slowly, during which the heavens suddenly opened. As rain lashed against the car’s windscreen, the glass began to steam up. And then I heard an approaching engine. Seconds later, a mini-cab from a local firm swept into my road, it’s telephone number just about visible on the signage across it’s bumper. I leant forward in my seat, rubbing my sleeve against the glass, peering through the smeariness, my eyes straining to see who was getting out of the cab as it stopped outside the marital home. The taxi’s rear door opened, a large umbrella went up and a pair of slim jeaned-legs alighted on the pavement. My nose was practically pressed up against the windscreen. Who was it?

  The figure hurried up the garden path, body hidden by the angle of the enormous umbrella. The door opened and Rupert – the traitor – greeted her with a wagging tail. The mini-cab moved forward, obscuring the visitor as she collapsed her umbrella. By the time the car had moved away to give me a much-needed clear view, our front door had closed. I watched, taking short quick breaths as my heart raced unpleasantly, wondering what to do next. Lights were now being turned off, one by one, until just a single solitary window remained shining like a golden square against the black of night. It was the master bedroom – mine and Alex’s room. Seconds later, Alex once again appeared, and flicked the curtains shut. I inhaled sharply. Mission accomplished. The trap had been set, and both Alex and his lover had fallen headlong into it.

  Releasing my seat belt, I pulled up my coat collar against the awful weather and opened the car door. With my head down against the freezing and relentless rain, and hands stuffed deep inside my pockets, I walked with purpose towards the marital home, up the garden path, and quietly let myself into the hallway. Rupert looked surprised to see me, but didn’t bark in greeting. After all, he knew me. He didn’t bother getting out of his basket and wagged his tail apologetically. I slipped past him and, dripping all over the carpet, quietly moved up the staircase, my heart pounding in time to every stealthy footstep. Avoiding the area on the landing where the floorboard creaked, I tiptoed along until I was outside my bedroom door. From within came the sound of much hilarity, snorts and giggles, and I realised with a pang that Alex and I had never collapsed against each other, laughing weakly until our sides ached. But then again, I didn’t hold Alex’s heart in the palm of my hand. I reached for the door handle and pushed it down.

  My eyes widened at the scene that greeted me. Alex and his lover were naked. The two of them were messing about with my curtain tassels, which I’d left on the bedside table. They were taking it in turns to put them over their nipples, swish them about and crease up with hilarity. Something briefly sparkled in an earlobe, and I recognised the diamond stud I’d found on the floor in the shower cubicle. They were making such a racket laughing, and so absorbed in each other, that for a good five seconds my presence didn’t even register. But in that moment, standing in the bedroom doorway, time stood still for me. Those five seconds seemed like an eternity during which everything fell into place. Suddenly it all made sense. This was why my husband wasn’t interested in sex with me. Because lying in my husband’s arms was my brother. Simon.

  57

  When the two of them did notice me, it was as if someone had pressed the pause button on a remote control. Everyone and everything froze. Nobody moved. Even the fringe on the curtain tassels seemed to be suspended in mid-air. Both Simon and Alex were looking at me, their mouths turned up at both corners in mid-laugh, but their eyes were no longer matching that mood. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Right now, Alex’s eyes were full of fear, whereas Simon’s showed regret. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, sis.

  So this was it. The end of a fifteen-year marriage. It seemed to rocket past like a high-speed train, each carriage blurred but full of memories… meeting each other, dating, marrying, starting a family, Sophie crawling, pulling herself upright, starting school, secondary school, a succession of family pets from tiny hamsters to Rupert lolling around on our daughter’s bed having his claws painted scarlet while we howled with laughter as Sophie declared she was giving Rupert “a make-over”. But other parts of the train were now rocking violently on the track, ready to derail because some of those carriages were full of dark shadows – such sadness, loneliness, frustration at Alex being so emotionally distanced from me, t
he lack of hugs, warmth, the joy of a spontaneous kiss. I realised now that so much had been missing, indeed had never been there. I felt almost faint as the train disappeared leaving me standing on the station, rocking with emotion as I stood in that bedroom doorway staring at Alex, my husband but never my soulmate. I wondered if he felt it too, as he silently regarded me. Something registered, behind his eyes, but then he quickly looked away. Simon was the first to speak.

  ‘Holly, sweetie, please forgive me.’

  I nodded, incapable of speech, because something weird was happening to my breathing. It seemed to be coming in great chuggy gasps, in and out, in and out, faster and faster, until I felt like I was going to pass out. In a flash Simon had leapt out of bed, and I instantly averted my eyes, because it wasn’t just the curtain tassels that were swaying.

  ‘Don’t hyperventilate, sweetie,’ he said, his arms fluttering around me, ‘breathe slowly, Holly. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.’

  At that moment, I wasn’t inclined to agree with him. I’d like to say that my husband attempted comforting me, but he didn’t. He had nothing to say. No words to offer. No explanation to give. He left it all to my brother, who wept on my shoulder, as I wept on his.

  58

  In the initial days that followed, I felt frozen. But over the weeks, and then months, that passed, somewhere a thaw began to take place. I went from feeling shell-shocked to just… well… astonished. It was one thing to have a gay brother but... my husband? How on earth had I never rumbled Alex? Was it because, unlike my brother, he’d never been flamboyant or camp, so out of naivety I’d never twigged?

  Certainly Alex’s parents had never doubted that their son – who’d played rugby in his younger days, sunk pints with the boys and turned women’s heads in every room he entered – was anything other than straight. When they first heard the news, my in-laws were so angry and upset that they didn’t speak to Alex. They were from a different generation, another era, where you didn’t discuss things like that and instead married a nice woman, had two-point-four children and led a discreet double life that nobody knew anything about. Which, of course, was what Alex had done. Eventually though, Alex’s parents had lowered the drawbridge over the moat of their emotions and waved a white flag of surrender. Ultimately, they wanted their son to be happy, and an invitation to dinner had been issued to both Alex and Simon.