Crappily Ever After

by Louise Burness

  Taking it in half hourly turns, Jill, Amy and Emily walk the 200 metres to his house.

  5pm: no lights, no answer.

  5.30pm: nothing.

  6pm: dog barking when Em rang the bell, still no answer.

  6.47pm: all a bit drunk now, so missed the half hour slot, still nothing.

  7.42pm: drunker still. Jill rushes back in from outside, exclaiming there are now lights on in an upstairs window and also one on in what appears to be the front room.

  ‘Did you knock?’ asks Emily.

  ‘Nooo! exclaims Jill. ‘I didn’t think they’d listen to a pissed Betterware woman. One of you will have to do it.’

  ‘But we’re all pissed,’ I say, ‘And besides, I think he might find it a bit funny if one minute I’m a nanny in London and the next I appear to be a Betterware catalogue woman down his street in Southampton. So that’s me out.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Amy raises her head in a dignified manner and walks out the door. Closely followed by a gaggle of hysterical females.

  We hide behind the hedge, like something out of Scooby Doo, and watch as Amy knocks. After a minute or so, a young girl in pyjamas, aged around eight, comes to the door.

  ‘My Mummy and Daddy aren’t here, but my Auntie Jane is. Jaaa-aaaane!’ she shouts. ‘Betterware lady.’

  Turning her attention back to Amy, the little girl makes conversation:

  ‘I’m going bowling tomorrow with Mummy and Daddy.’

  ‘Oh, how nice,’ slurs Amy. ‘Whereabouts?’ Amy’s silhouette takes on the appearance of The Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang child catcher.

  ‘Just at Megabowl, down there.’ The little girl points to the left.

  ‘What’s your name, honey?’ asks Amy.

  Auntie Jane appears behind the child.

  ‘Sorry, we don’t want anything, thanks.’ She ushers the girl inside and closes the door. Bugger!

  The next morning Amy insists we are up at 11am for Megabowl’s opening time. We begin stakeout number two. She could have at least got the time out of the child I think, unreasonably. We order coffee and bagels and chat amongst ourselves until 1pm.

  ‘There’s no getting around it, Lucy,’ Em shakes her head solemnly, ‘Why hasn’t he told you about the Southampton place? Did you know he had kids?’

  ‘He doesn’t.’ I roll my eyes. ‘At which point did you hear the child say: ‘My Daddy’s name is Alfie,’ I mock.

  ‘True,’ Amy picks up the possible explanation. ‘I mean, he could have a Southampton home and rents it out. In which case it probably just didn’t occur to him to mention it to Lucy.’

  ‘Thank you, Amy.’ I hold my hands out towards her, to show that she is the only one with a bit of solidarity. Amy flicks a long blonde lock off her shoulder and smiles in a superior way at the others.

  ‘Good explanation,’ Jill nods her agreement. No-one can think of a way around that one.

  ‘See, wasted trip,’ I smile with relief. ‘But we shall sit it out here, like idiots, ‘til the kid turns up with her Mum and Dad just to prove the point. Then we can head for home, so I can actually have some kind of holiday.’

  An hour later. Emily is the first to prick up her ears as she hears a familiar voice. Alfie! He walks in, with Auntie Jane behind him, and three children.

  ‘Once again he lies. He’s supposed to be in Geneva,’ states Emily.

  I announce that I’m bored with this and go outside for a walk. I wander along the street and look in the shop windows. I can’t focus on anything I see, but I don’t want to be at Megabowl either. I look like a stalker.

  I meander back after half an hour and bump into Jill.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she exclaims. Then adopting a more sympathetic tone, suggests we go for a quick drink.

  ‘No, I don’t want a drink. I want to know what’s going on.’ I make my way back towards Megabowl. Jill pulls me back.

  ‘Luce, there is something you should know first. His wife, she’s in there…’

  I am now imagining some bizarre kind of wake. The anniversary of her death perhaps, when Alfie exhumes her and does something fun like bowling with his sister and the kids. How weird.

  ‘So, Jill, you’re trying to tell me he’s in there with his sister and three kids and has brought his dead wife along for a laugh?’ My head buzzes with confusion. Anyway, how would Jill even know what Polly looks like? None of it makes sense. I have to see this for myself. Storming away from Jill, I walk purposefully back to the bowling alley, just in

  time to see Alfie and family exit en masse. I take in Alfie, Auntie Jane, the little girl from the doorway and two boys. Following on behind, and shouting,

  ‘Chloe, don’t forget your fleece,’ is a pretty, dark, curly-haired woman. I recognise her from the photograph. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I stop dead in my tracks and Jill looks at me anxiously.

  ‘It can’t be. It just can’t.’

  ‘Come on Lucy, we can go now. You know the truth, leave it be and deal with it next time he calls. Look at them all. Do you want to break their hearts? They have done nothing wrong.’

  I feel fury rise up inside me and I walk purposefully towards them.

  I’m going to do them all a favour and tell them everything.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘You absolute bastard!’ I scream at Alfie. My head feels like it’s spinning, I am puce with rage. ‘Were you actually going to ever tell me you were still married?’ My voice rises hysterically.

  ‘Lucy…?’ Alfie stares at me in shock and confusion, like he doesn’t recognise me out of context. ‘What…what the hell are you doing here?’ he stammers.

  ‘Alf?’ queries a confused Polly, looking from Alfie to me and back again.

  ‘Polly, take the kids to the car, please. I’ll explain in a minute, once I’ve calmed this woman down.’

  No, Alfie,’ says Polly. ‘I think I’ll stay and hear this.’

  ‘Pol, I have no idea who she is. She could be dangerous. Take the kids to the car!’ he shouts.

  ‘You are Alfred James Hughes, your wife died three years ago in a yachting accident – allegedly! You live in King’s Road, Chelsea, your telephone number is 07745...’

  ‘OK, Lucy! I think you’ve made your point here. Now piss off!’ snarls Alfie. I laugh in disbelief. ‘Excuse me? I have been with you for just over a year and I have no right to an explanation?’

  ‘You know what, Lucy, you do,’ Polly intervenes. ‘But you also deserve the truth. So, therefore, Alfred, you take the children back to the car. If you didn’t know who she was, you wouldn’t have known her name. Don’t insult my intelligence.’

  Alfie looks helplessly at Polly.

  ‘Do it!’she yells. He scuttles off with a now sobbing Chloe and the two boys. Polly runs after them, and kisses Chloe on the top of her head,

  ‘Mummy will see you soon, baby. Be a good girl and go home now.’

  ‘You absolute wanker!’ She shakes her head at Alfie, and walks back to Jill and I.

  Jill looks uncomfortable.

  ‘Lucy, if you’re OK I think I’ll head back and let you talk. I can come along if you want, though,’ she trails off, sadly.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll see you back at the B&B.’

  ‘Don’t scratch her eyes out,’ Jill warns Polly. ‘She really had no idea. None of us did.’

  Jill walks off, her head down. I can tell she feels awful about being the messenger. It just makes me love her all the more.

  ‘Coffee?’ says Polly, business-like and with a slight chill.

  ‘Wine?’ I suggest.

  ‘Why not?’ Polly replies.

  We stop off at a wine bar Polly knows and order two glasses.

  ‘So,’ she sighs, ‘why don’t we start this at the beginning?’

  I explain how Alfie had contacted me through a friend on the Millionaires website.

  ‘He seemed so genuine, saying how you had died in a yachting accident.’ Polly chokes on her wine, cough
ing loudly.

  ‘I remember that trip well. Sadly, it was our friend Malcolm’s wife that died.’

  Unbelievable! He stole some poor man’s real tragedy for his own gain.

  ‘Melanie was a great friend of mine. My two eldest children are only months of difference in age of her and Malcolm’s. He has never found a new person to share his life. He was devastated. Still is.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her quietly, not able to look at her face. ‘I would never knowingly go with a married man. Or even with any man with a girlfriend. I have morals – and besides, if they do it with you, they’ll do it to you.’

  ‘Well, there’s a prophecy that’s come back to bite me on the backside,’ murmurs Polly absent-mindedly.

  ‘You and Alfie? Was he married before then?’

  ‘No’, replies Polly, ‘but he did have a girlfriend. I was flattered, I guess. He said I was the one.’

  ‘Hmm, he talks the talk, right enough.’ I reply.

  ‘I did notice he seemed to spend a lot of time away from home, though,’ says Polly. ‘I just thought Dad was working him really hard. He always answered the phone when I rang, nothing made me feel there was anything suspicious going on.’

  Conference calls, I think. All those times with me, when he darted out of the room – that was his excuse. How could I have been so stupid?

  ‘I suspected after Chloe was born that he was having an affair,’ continues Polly. ‘He started to spend a lot of time at the office. Said he had responsibilities now and I guess, well, I just believed him. Suppose I wanted to.’

  ‘I made a lot of compensations for the fact he was a widower,’ I reply. ‘Uncomfortable silences during any movie with a death or funeral scene. I put it down to sorrow, but really, it was guilt. Actually, I don’t know how anyone with a conscience at all could have kept up that for a year. I guess he had too much to lose.’

  ‘Probably,’ Polly mused. ‘I mean, Dad won’t want him in the family business now. He won’t have use of the apartment in Chelsea, no family home, nothing. In fact, I’d be amazed if he even got another job in Management. From what Dad says, it’s loyalty and not skill that keeps him there at all.’ She gives an ironic snort.

  It’s my turn to choke.

  ‘You mean it’s not Alfie’s family that own the business and properties?’ I splutter.

  Polly laughs. ‘So, he said it was all his? Why, after all this, am I surprised?’

  ‘He’ll have half anyway, if you decide to split,’ I shrug.

  ‘No, Dad made him sign a prenuptial agreement,’ says Polly, swirling her wine absent-mindedly around her glass, a catch in her voice. ‘I was loved up and stupid. Maybe Alf would have left me by now if he knew he was guaranteed half, but he gets nothing. Well, access to the kids, but no monetary entitlement. He doesn’t even seem to care too much about the kids. I mean, he missed Chloe’s birthday last week due to a business trip. That’s why he took her bowling today. He promised her when he called last Tuesday.’

  So, he really had no intention of staying with me this week. It was all pre-arranged. He also cared so little for his eldest child that he’d miss her birthday to go away with his mistress. God, I hate that word. That’s me! Albeit by default, but I still was his mistress for more than a year. But what warms the chill in me most is that, for what Alfie has done, he ends up homeless and jobless. It’s difficult for me to feel devastated; rather, I feel I’ve had a lucky escape. Like I’ve narrowly avoided being hit by a car. Shock, relief and counting my blessings – it could have been a whole lot worse. The Alfie I know now is not the Alfie I loved. He doesn’t exist; he was an illusion. I feel strangely elated. Sick but elated. It’s as if he has been erased completely.

  ‘Will you try and make things work?’ I ask Polly.

  ‘No. To let you understand, Lucy, I see him two nights a week if I’m lucky. I’m practically a single parent. I’d be better off just me and the kids, without the financial leech. I’ve always worn the trousers in our relationship. He’ll do as he’s told. He even has my number in his phone as ‘Boss Mobile’ and ‘Boss Home’. Besides, there is a very cute single Dad at school making eyes at me every pick-up. I may just make eyes back.’ Polly smiles weakly and stands up.

  I stand too.

  ‘I really am so sorry,’ I say.

  ‘No, I’m sorry that my shit of a husband put you through this. Good luck, Lucy. I do wish you happiness, but right now I have a soon-to-be-ex-husband to kick out.’ Polly gives me a quick peck on the cheek and disappears into the early evening haze.

  I down my wine and head back to the Bed and Breakfast. The girls stand up immediately on seeing me. Hugs all round. Jill pulls off my coat and Amy guides me to a chair.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I laugh off their concern, sounding slightly hysterical. ‘Get this. The best bit of all is that the money is all Polly’s. He has nothing. She has a pre-nup and he’s out on his ear. He even had her in his phone as ‘Boss’ so that I would think it was his real Boss. I’m sorry,’ I laugh loudly, ‘I just can’t believe he has nothing now.’

  ‘What goes around comes around, Luce,’ smiles Jill.

  The next morning I receive a text from Alfie informing me that I owe him somewhere in the region of one year’s rent.

  ‘Get lost, if I owe anyone, it’s Polly and I’m sure she won’t ask for it. Contact me again and I’ll send some big burly mates round to sort you out!’

  ‘Don’t think Em and Amy could take me,’ he replies.

  I laugh, but it’s immediately replaced with anger that I can still find him funny. He doesn’t deserve that. There is nothing funny about what he has done. I throw my phone across the room with an angry shout – and instantly regret it. I can’t afford a new phone. I walk to the furthest away wall and reach down behind the dressing table to find it and inspect the damage. There’s

  none apparent. I need to know just one thing. It will bug me forever if I don’t ask him. I type out a simple question.

  ‘Why?’

  Less than thirty seconds later, the phone beeps his reply.

  ‘Because I could!’

  I kind of wish I hadn’t asked.

  He doesn’t contact me again, but is occasionally spotted by friends. These days his suits are more Man at C&A than Armani. It does appear that what comes around goes around. Amy found out that the second her divorce came through, Polly married again. I can only assume cute Dad from the playground had won her over.

  Chapter Eleven

  So there we have it, just a few of my biggest disasters relationship-wise. There have been others, but I won’t bore you with them – barely worth mentioning really. But let’s get back to where we started. This Christmas-time, and my family’s disillusionment with, and amusement at, my love life. We are in the middle of a noisy Christmas dinner. I’m currently being harangued by the females in the family about the fact that I am a complete failure in the romance stakes.

  ‘What you need,’ insists Mum, putting down her knife and fork, ‘is to have a chat with Gran. She’d sort you right out.’

  Betty and Sarah nod in agreement.

  ‘I don’t want to risk upsetting you,’ I say, chewing thoughtfully on a Brussel sprout, before realising what it was and pulling a disgusted face at Mum. She patiently holds out a holly-decorated napkin for me to deposit it in. Some things you never grow out of. It must have been hidden under the mash. I shudder.

  ‘We had the misfortune of losing Gran twelve years ago,’ I continue.

  ‘No, stupid,’ says Betty. ‘The big psychic telephone. Go see a medium.’

  I look at them cynically. I’m not as convinced as they are that this stuff works, though they swear by it. Regaling me with their tales of how the mediums they’ve seen could not have possibly known these things about them. But to me they sound vague, layered with a generous amount of guesswork. It doesn’t take a genius to see an engagement or wedding ring, even a mark where it should be if they’ve tried to disguise the fact. For exampl
e, I could spot a mother of young children a mile off, even without the kids in tow. The utterly exhausted, yet elated to be momentarily free, expression on their face. At some point, if you observed them long enough, a flash of panic would cloud the euphoria and they would frantically look around before relief set in. It’s a hazard of spending most of your time with children. Sometimes you forget that you shouldn’t have them with you, and terror sets in. I do it all the time – and I’m a nanny, not a mother. Right now, I am hearing these stories for, possibly, the third time from my family members, yet feel obliged to attempt to show an interest as if it’s the first.

  ‘Last time I went Mum predicted a promotion at work which would mean I could afford a new car,’ Betty points to the driveway and holds her hands out as if to say, ‘ta-daa.’

  ‘She told me we would move to the countryside and renovate an old farmhouse. However, she didn’t mention the roof would fall down and it’d take fifteen months instead of the estimated six,’ says Sarah, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Your Gran told me I had two daughters to be proud of; one would have two children and the other was unlucky in love,’ mentions Mum.

  ‘OK, I’ll go,’ I give in. ‘Not here, though. It has to be someone I’ve never met who does the reading. Too many people know me round here.’

  Satisfied with this, they all back off and re-join the conversation of the party. Current topic, Claire’s own personal dating disaster. My protégé, I often think. We join in halfway through the conversation.

  ‘So, we went to the Ball together, me in my gorgeous floor-length midnight blue gown – I tell you, those designer discount stores are great. Nowt wrong with the stuff, just end of line or last season’s styles.’ She shakes her head in wonder.

  The others nod frantically. Get to the point, we don’t care what you were wearing they seem to say. Claire looks around, takes the hint and continues.

  ‘Yeh, anyway, so he said he would call me, and then…poof!’