by Maeve Haran
‘Oh my God, poor Laura. Obviously, she doesn’t know anything about it. What are we going to do?’
‘Well, we can hardly tell her the day she’s off for this romantic assignation. It’ll probably come unstuck without our intervention anyway.’
‘Maybe I could ring her up and tell her the cat’s sick and she’ll have to come home early?’
The doorbell interrupted their deliberations and there stood Laura, wreathed in happy smiles, clutching the kitty carrier.
She had always been a pretty woman, with naturally curly dark hair framing a classic oval face and large round eyes that often shone with engaging childlike enthusiasm. Today, lit up with happiness, she looked wonderful.
‘God, Laura,’ Sal demanded, ‘how come you look about forty while the rest of us are showing every year of our age?’
‘Nonsense,’ Laura beamed, ‘you don’t look a day over sixty!’
‘Thanks a lot. Remember my new philosophy – age is optional.’
‘Not if you are harassed and broke and living on benefits,’ Cory commented from behind them, grabbing her bag and heading off with Julia.
‘No, well, that’s a future I’ve still got to look forward to.’ Sal didn’t find the idea as hilariously unlikely as she once had.
‘Here’s TomTom.’ Laura handed over a large ginger cat. ‘I’m afraid he’s rather randy, so if he disappears, it’ll be because there’s a lovely lady pussy somewhere in the region.’
‘Sounds familiar.’ Sal and Ella tried not to catch each other’s eye.
‘Before you rush, have a glass of cava. How many years is it?’
Laura blushed faintly, making her look even prettier. ‘Twenty-five. I was a child bride when we married, obviously.’
‘No you weren’t,’ Sal protested, ‘you were—’
‘Thirty-eight,’ supplied Ella. ‘As the divine Sandy Denny put it, “Who knows where the time goes?” Who knew any of us would be celebrating a silver wedding anniversary?’
They clinked their glasses.
A sudden pang overcame Ella. It would have been her thirty-third anniversary in September. The thought of it being snatched away from her made her even angrier with Simon. Why the hell did people squander love? Why couldn’t they see how precious it was? Had she even seen it herself? And now here was Laura glowing with excitement when her husband was publicly betraying her. Ella jumped up and hugged her.
‘I must dash,’ Laura announced, looking surprised. ‘Bella has arranged to meet Simon at three and I’m turning up instead.’ She kissed them both. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Ella shook her head as they watched Laura depart, ‘she’s certainly going to need it. And as for you, you randy ginger tom, if you go looking for pussies you can stay out all night.’
‘He’s a male. He’ll just call in the morning and say he slept at the office,’ Sal pointed out.
‘Come on, now it’s opened we might as well finish that bottle. To your interview!’
They were just draining their glasses when the doorbell rang again. ‘I’ll go,’ Sal offered. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus round here. I thought you said life was quiet since Cory left home.’
‘It usually is. This is much more fun.’
Sal opened the door to find an exceptionally handsome young man on the doorstep bearing an enormous pumpkin. ‘Good morning.’ His manners were as good as his looks. ‘Is Mrs Thompson at home?’
‘She is indeed. Ella, there’s someone to see you.’
‘Wenceslaus! Come in.’ She looked at the pumpkin. ‘Goodness, that’s big enough for Cinderella’s coach! Is that from the allotments?’
He nodded. ‘Is from Bill. Also these.’ He delved into his pockets and brought out a handful of weird gnarled-looking things like a very old man’s knuckles. ‘Are Jerusalem artichokes. I think Bill has taken fancy to you.’
‘Has he?’ asked Sal. ‘And who is Bill? You haven’t mentioned a new beau on the scene. I hope he doesn’t eat these himself. My dad used to call them fartichokes! I think you can guess why.’
She had a sudden memory of her father digging veg in their tiny garden. He’d never looked happier. It reminded her of the narrowness of her parents’ world and how generous they’d been in wanting her to escape.
‘I won’t need warnings from your dad to keep me away from Bill, thanks all the same.’
‘Ah,’ Wenceslaus delved into his pockets again, ‘here are references. I bring from Poland. They are very happy if you want to telephone. Everyone back home have mobile phone now,’ he added with a touch of pride. ‘Pumpkin is from allotment belonging to your friends. I see squirrel looking at it with bad intentions so I bring it for safe keeping.’
He waved them goodbye.
‘Hmmm,’ Sal eyed the departing young man with intentions at least as bad as any squirrel’s, ‘I wouldn’t mind having him for safe keeping.’
‘Sal, for goodness’ sake! You are sounding like a dirty old woman.’
‘There have to be some advantages to power,’ Sal murmured, before remembering that she didn’t have any since she’d lost her job. ‘He has a very nice arse. A bit like a summer squash – or do I mean a swede – I was never very good at recognizing vegetables.’
Ella was busy reading the references. ‘More important than his arse to ladies of our years, it says here he is punctual, reliable, honest, practical, good with old people . . .’
‘Does it really say that?’ Sal queried.
‘No, I just put it in to annoy you.’
Not five minutes had passed before Sal, with what seemed indecent speed to Ella, put down her glass and announced she ought to go since she needed to prepare for her job interview.
Ella waved her off. ‘And if you see a good-looking young stranger at the bus stop, remember he’s young enough to be your grandson.’
Even though her instinct told her loud and clear to trust Wenceslaus, it had always been her policy to speak to referees in person.
Less than an hour later she replaced the phone, beaming. Wenceslaus had ticked all the boxes. Everyone seemed to like him, would recommend him to all their friends, found him completely trustworthy and answered in a strong affirmative to that old chestnut ‘Would you hire him again?’
And there was something else he hadn’t mentioned and which Ella hadn’t asked about.
Wenceslaus, in the eyes of one ex-employer, was a budding Bill Gates who might well make his fortune as a computer whizz. And if this seemed unlikely in someone she’d discovered in Viv and Angelo’s shed, she was eager to put him to the test.
Laura navigated her way through the Friday afternoon traffic that inched its way at a snail’s pace down Regent Street. The Christmas decorations were already up. How ridiculous. Laura, who was someone who treasured every moment of Christmas, making her own wreaths and decorations, hated this commercialization that tried to string Yuletide right through from the summer holidays to the January sales.
Today she was in such a mood of excitement that she decided to see them as romantically tacky rather than over-commercialized and cheap-looking. Even the Hamleys assistant, dressed as a giant snowman trying to entice customers onto the shop floor, struck her as sweet rather than strident. And she positively beamed at the young man driving a bicycle-rickshaw as he cut her up. Just think, if she’d arrived in one of those to pick Simon up! But she could hardly have got the driver to take them all the way to Brighton, could she?
She was still laughing at the thought when she caught sight of Simon waiting on the pavement talking irritably into his mobile phone.
‘Surprise!’ She rolled down the window.
‘Do you know where Bella’s got to?’ he asked, not seeming to think it at all odd that his wife should be passing. But then he’d never had much imagination. Laura told herself off for such subversive views.
‘She’s not coming. I am. Do you know what date it is today?’
Simon looked blank.
‘Only our ann
iversary. Our twenty-fifth! Get in the car, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Twenty-five years?’ Simon looked stunned and shaken. There was no apology at having forgotten, she noted.
‘Anyway, I have planned a surprise for us. We’re going to Brighton.’
‘Brighton? Whatever for?’
‘That’s where we met, remember?’
‘Oh, right. Yes, yes, of course we did. That would be great, except I have a four o’clock meeting.’
‘No, you don’t. Elaine rescheduled it.’ Simon’s assistant Elaine was all in favour of wives. She was one herself. ‘We are having dinner and staying the night at a boutique hotel on the seafront.’
There was a long pause when Simon seemed to be struggling with a powerful inner dialogue. ‘But I haven’t brought any clothes,’ he came up with eventually.
‘I’ve packed for both of us.’
After that they drove in silence through the traffic jams of Streatham, with Laura wondering with each moment that passed why she had thought Simon, who hated surprises, might like this one.
Eventually, she put on music to defuse the tension. At first, Laura attempted desultory conversation, then decided that if she left him to sulk he might come out of it on his own.
Brighton, when they finally reached it, was busy with a happy, bustling start-of-the-weekend mood which she hoped would be catching. She’d always loved the place. It had all the sophistication of London, but it just happened to be at the seaside.
Their room was lovely, and just as she had requested it had a sort of sea view.
‘Not much of one,’ Simon pointed out grumpily.
‘Enough,’ Laura insisted. ‘I booked dinner for nine. It’s a glorious evening. Come on, we’re going for a walk.’
‘I need to make some phone calls.’
‘Later.’ She picked up the big bag she’d had in the back of the car. ‘Come on, let’s go and have a drink down by the promenade.’
‘It’ll be busy.’
‘It’ll be lovely.’
Brighton’s seafront was full of students and skateboarders and people walking their dogs. And lovers. Laura couldn’t help noticing how some of them, even the old ones, walked along hand in hand, their steps unconsciously in time, bracketed together against the world. That was what she had hoped for in her own marriage.
The sun was just slipping behind a clear grey sea, misting the horizon with pink reflections. Above them thousands of starlings parabolaed towards their roost like yards of silk thrown into the air. Laura took Simon’s hand and pulled him onto the deep swathe of shingle leading to Brighton’s famous pier.
‘Laura,’ he asked, his voice dogged with irritation, ‘where the hell are you going?’
Laura was running now, pulling him along as if he were some overgrown and ill-tempered child. ‘Under the boardwalk! Don’t you remember? The first time we met at that silly reunion? Somehow you got hold of a CD player, and a rug’ – she pulled both these items out of her bag – ‘and a bottle of terrible white wine. And we sat under the pier and you played me “Under the Boardwalk”? Well, this time I’ve got champagne instead of terrible white wine. And it’s our twenty-fifth anniversary! How amazing is that?’
Simon followed reluctantly and sat down next to her as she opened the champagne. Laura handed him a glass and was about to make a toast.
‘Laura,’ he stopped her, looking out to the horizon, at the beach, anywhere but at her. ‘Just don’t say “to the next twenty-five years”.’
Laura, who was about to say exactly that, felt as if she had been slapped. Had the last twenty-five been so bad, then?
‘Let’s get back to the hotel,’ Simon suggested as soon as they’d finished their first glass. ‘At least it’ll be warm there.’
Laura, packing up the stuff, tried not to think of the last time they’d been here, how magical it had been, how romantic and spontaneous and, above all, hopeful.
In their room, the bed had been turned down and a red rose lay across the pillow. She thought for one mad moment it might have been from Simon until she read the message: ‘We hope you have a very happy anniversary from all at Grey’s Hotel.’ The hotel had made a gesture, no matter how corporate, while her own husband had not.
She had planned the whole thing so minutely. That they would make love before dinner, always the best time – before you had eaten and drunk too much. What was it the famous Lord Chesterfield had said? Never attempt to seduce a married woman straight after dinner, only very young ladies had the stamina after a big meal.
Once she’d had plenty of stamina and so had he.
Suddenly embarrassed, she went to take her dress off in the bathroom. The slip she wore underneath was palest pink silk, chosen with care to be more subtly alluring than black. As she applied a drop of perfume to her neck she noticed Simon’s sponge bag had been put in the bathroom by the turndown staff. Laura had just shoved his toothbrush and toothpaste into it when she’d packed. Now she unzipped it and looked inside as if she might find some clue to how the happiness of the last twenty-five years had evaporated without trace.
She found the answer staring at her from a bubble pack of unfamiliar pills.
Viagra.
Laura froze. She and Simon hadn’t made love for weeks and yet the pack was half empty. Which meant that whoever his enhanced staying power was intended for, it certainly wasn’t for her.
In a blaze of fury she went back into the bedroom and threw the pills at him. ‘So this is why you’re behaving like a shit! Always distant and aloof, never listening to a word I say, giving me pained looks as if my existence offends you! You’re having an affair! You complete bastard! And on our anniversary too!’
Simon looked around the bedroom and shrugged. ‘Coming here wasn’t my idea.’ He made no attempt to deny her accusations. If anything, he seemed relieved.
‘So who is she?’
‘A colleague. Her name’s Suki Morrison. Look, Laura, we need to talk about this. She wants me to move in with her.’
‘To move in with her?’ Laura repeated, feeling as if she had taken a wrong turn from her own safe and familiar world and wandered into someone else’s life. ‘How long has it been going on?’
‘About six months.’
How could Simon have been having an affair for six months and she not know? There had been the usual evenings when he was working late, of course, client meetings, awaydays spent brainstorming in country hotels, had all those been a cover? She felt suddenly stupid, used, the ever-trusting wife. There she’d been in her make-believe world of silk slips and anniversaries while all the time he’d been screwing someone else.
She should have known when he stopped wanting sex, of course, she thought guiltily. But he’d still been affectionate. And when she’d asked her friends if they were still making love, they’d often replied, ‘God, no. Can’t remember the last time. Months ago.’
A headline from a magazine article she’d read jumped into her mind: If He Isn’t Having Sex With You He’s Having It With Someone Else.
In this case, Suki.
Laura felt betrayed, defiled, and then, quite simply, angry. She who never got angry, who saw anger as dangerous and risky, who went to amazing lengths to avoid it, felt a volcanic tide of resentment boiling over.
‘How could you do it? Betray me, the kids, our marriage?’
‘I didn’t mean to. It just happened.’
‘That is such a lie. Affairs don’t just happen. You make a decision, you pick up a phone, you have a drink, you go for lunch, you kiss. You can turn back at any time.’
He stood before her, granite-faced, ungiving.
‘Are you in love with her?’
There was a beat of silence. She realized he wasn’t sure. He had risked all this and he wasn’t even sure. And suddenly she hated him for not valuing what he had, the years of love, the life she had so painstakingly created for them.
‘Well, maybe you’d better go now, then.’ Laura was almost shaking but
she was damned if she was going to let him see it.
He looked at her, startled, nervous even. ‘But what about you? And Bella and Sam?’
‘Isn’t it a bit late to be thinking about us?’
‘Do you want me to go?’
‘For Christ’s sake, Simon. No, I don’t want you to go. I want my family to be a family. But you’d have to give up this woman. And I’d have to believe you had. And that there wasn’t going to be another Suki. Have there been any others before?’
The fractional pause before he answered told her everything.
Laura stiffened, wanting to scratch his smug seducer’s face. ‘I think you’d better leave. I couldn’t bear to sit across a table from you. I’ll bring your things back tomorrow. You can get them with the rest of your stuff.’
Was that panic in his eyes? Serve him bloody well right! She took the sparkling black dress off the back of the bathroom door where she’d hung it and put in on. ‘I’m going down to dinner. It’s already paid for, the kind of thing we boring wives care about.’
‘Laura . . .’
She wondered if he were going to grovel. But even if he did, how could she ever trust him again?
He didn’t even bother, simply accepted her decision.
‘We’d better tell Bella and Sam about this together.’
He nodded miserably, but she knew he was feeling sorry for himself, not for the damage he’d done to her or to his children.
The restaurant manager wished her a happy anniversary and poured her a glass of free champagne. He blinked when she said she’d be eating alone, then cleared Simon’s place away with a diplomatic smile. No doubt they were used to marital drama in Brighton.
Laura sipped her champagne and thought how it took twenty-five years to build a marriage and minutes to blow it apart. Should she have fought harder to save it?
An hour later, she was back in their empty room. She longed to pack up and go home, but Bella and Sam would be there and she would have to explain why she was back, alone, on the night of the longed-for anniversary. Tomorrow was soon enough.
What she needed was someone to talk to. Someone she could trust who would listen to her misery and help her tell if her marriage were really over.