The Other Half

by Sarah Rayner

  “Of course.”

  “Thick?”

  “Very.” Chloë grinned.

  “I am so jealous!”

  “Don’t you want to know what he did with it?”

  “Oooh, no, all that heterosexual stuff. Makes me feel a bit squeamish. I suppose you could tell me about giving head though. I can cope with that. So, did you?”

  “I did.”

  “Before, or after, he did it to you?”

  “How do you know he did it to me?”

  “’Cause you’ll never let a man get away without doing it, you love it so much.”

  “True, though I hardly had to ask. Anyway, I like to make sure a man has earned it.”

  “How many shags?”

  “Two,” said Chloë. “But they lasted for hours. Or, at least, a long time. The first was all, you know, heated, the second more slow and sensual.”

  “Did he take you from behind?”

  “Rob!”

  “Well, did he?”

  “Yes, actually, he did—at some point during the first time. But the second time he didn’t—we just, well, looked into each other’s eyes.”

  “Boring soppy stuff,” said Rob. “I suppose you came together too!” Chloë’s expression obviously said they had. Rob stopped and looked at her seriously. “Oh dear.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not hoping this is more than a one-night stand, are you?”

  “Of course not!” Chloë lied.

  “Good.” Rob slumped, relieved. “Because what with his being married, your publisher, and all, it would be a disaster to take this any further.”

  Chloë knew that was true. But when she recalled the sensation of him deep inside her, she couldn’t bear for it never to happen again.

  9

  “Who did you say was coming tonight?” asked Jamie. He was sorting their silver cutlery, a wedding present from Maggie’s parents, which they used on special occasions.

  “I’ve told you.” Maggie was concentrating on the chocolate mousse—it was not a good moment to interrupt a perfectionist.

  “Tell me again.”

  Why couldn’t he listen the first time? “Jean and Simon, William and Liz, Alex and Georgie.”

  “Alex your ex-boyfriend?” asked Jamie. “I thought his wife was called Stella.”

  “She is. Or rather was. They’re divorcing.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Don’t know the full story.” The mixture was ready. Skilfully Maggie poured it into eight glass bowls. “Perhaps we’ll find out more later. Never liked her much, anyway. Thought she wasn’t right for him—too out for herself.”

  “You were always so nice to her.”

  “I know. I didn’t want her to be threatened by me.”

  “Was she? She didn’t seem the insecure type.”

  “I don’t know. Alex said she was.”

  “Oh?” Jamie sounded miffed—the response Maggie had hoped to provoke. He’d been rather preoccupied the last couple of days, and had shown little interest in the dinner party she was looking forward to enormously. “He’s still got a bit of a thing for you, hasn’t he?”

  Maggie felt guilty for winding him up. “Not really. Anyway, I met this very nice woman the other day. She’s just moved in around the corner so I thought I’d ask her to even up the numbers. You never know, they might take to each other.”

  “And she’s called Georgie. So, why’s she moved here? Not much of a place for a single woman.”

  “Maybe she likes the country.” Maggie resented the implication the area was only suited to the dull and married. “I gather her job has just been transferred to Guildford. She runs Waterstones there.”

  “Hmph. A bookworm. Sounds right up Alex’s alley.”

  Maggie carefully placed the bowls in the fridge. “Why are you so foul about him?” Yet she knew very well. Alex had been the major relationship of her student years and they’d long had a soft spot for each other. Then, years later, only weeks before her wedding, Alex, who had no idea she was pregnant, had asked Maggie to get back together with him. She’d never told Jamie, but he seemed to have picked up that Alex had carried a torch for her until the last minute.

  “Actually,” she said pointedly, “Georgie seems good fun.” She checked her watch. “They’ll be here in half an hour. Have you finished?” Jamie grunted. “Then you’d best put Nathan to bed while I get changed.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later she was showered and sitting wrapped in a towel at the dressing table, feeling better now everything was under control.

  “There.” Jamie patted his face dry as he emerged from the shower. As Maggie put the final touches to her makeup, she watched his reflection as he got ready.

  The ritual was virtually the same as it was each morning. First, he dried himself thoroughly—the bathroom was too steamy, he maintained. Then he dropped the towel on the floor.

  “Please hang it up, darling.”

  He did as he was told, and rummaged in a drawer for a clean pair of underpants. As he pulled on the fitted boxers she smiled: they’re the black ones I gave him for Christmas, she noted. Next he selected an almost new pair of trousers, and a shirt. He pulled on the trousers, zipped the fly, and with a swoosh! removed the belt from his work suit, and threaded it through the loops. He’s doing it up on the final hole, she thought. Is he getting tubby? No, even though he had put on a couple of pounds in the last year or two—no doubt thanks to her cooking and an increasing number of business lunches—he was broad shouldered enough to retain the pleasing V shape that made his outline so different from hers. Yes, she concluded, he’s still a very attractive man.

  “Inside or out?” he asked about the shirt, tucking and untucking it.

  She realized with a jolt he was dressed and ready before she was. “Out.”

  He headed downstairs, while she selected her clothes.

  The navy shift dress, she decided. And the new basque.

  * * *

  The doorbell rang—it was Jean and Simon, as usual meeting a deadline with time to spare. Jean looked chic in black chiffon; Simon—bless him—had made the effort and put on a suit. Fifteen minutes later William and Liz arrived, equally smart, then Georgie—I like her dress, thought Maggie—and, finally, Alex. Typically, he was half an hour late, and hadn’t dressed up at all. Yet he grinned at Maggie winningly, said “you look ravishing” and handed over not just wine but her favorite dark Belgian chocolates, so she decided to let him off.

  With the guests gathered, drinks in hand, and introductions over, Maggie began to relax. She turned to Jean. “How’s work?”

  “Exhausting!”

  Maggie smiled to herself. She knew that Jean really loved being editorial queen; long sufferance was just a role she played.

  “You know how it is. And I must say, though I have a good team, at times I despair of some of my junior copy editors. Call me old-fashioned, but it does seem education isn’t what it used to be. I’m constantly picking out grammatical errors at the eleventh hour! And the spelling! I was thinking on the drive down here, please make sure Nathan goes to a decent secondary school, won’t you? Only last week I picked up a classic error in an article about agoraphobia. We’d split ‘therapist’ over two lines into ‘the’ and ‘rapist’—changed the meaning completely. Had to get my features editor to go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Actually—” she turned to Jamie “—didn’t you come in and see her the other day? What was that about?”

  “Eh?” Jamie, who’d been gazing absentmindedly out of the window, was forced to jump to attention.

  “Chloë Appleton. Didn’t you come in to see her last week?”

  “Oh, er, yes. I thought it’d be a good idea to introduce myself to the senior members of staff at UK Magazines. I’m eventually hoping to get around everyone. Information gathering, you know.”

  “Well, how thorough!” said Jean. “Sounds a bit over-keen to me. Rather like when you’ve got a new car. For the first few
weeks you’re out there cleaning and polishing every Sunday but sooner or later you’re back to your old ways. I’m sure that once you’ve talked to a couple, you’ll feel you’ve talked to them all.”

  “Maybe. Though so far I’ve found it most enlightening. Well,” Jamie turned to Georgie, “all this magazine chat must be rather dull for you. How’s life in the fast lane at Waterstones?”

  Maggie winced; she could recognize Jamie’s sarcasm. She hoped it would pass Georgie by.

  “You’d be surprised.” Georgie grinned. “It’s one earth-shattering crisis after another. ‘Are the stocks on Roget’s running low?’ ‘Have we got that order in for Mrs. Bradshaw yet? She’s called twice already today.’ ‘Is it worth persuading that local author to do an evening signing, or will the sales not warrant paying staff to stay late?’”

  Maggie warmed to Georgie even more. She liked a woman who didn’t take herself that seriously. She glanced at Alex. From the way he was leaning forward, it seemed he might like her too.

  “How did you get into the book world?” asked Jamie.

  “Oh, it wasn’t some major career plan. It was just the first job I got after college.”

  “Know the feeling. But you must be pretty good at it. Maggie said you’re in charge of the one in Guildford. It’s one of their biggest branches, isn’t it?” Clearly he was prepared to be more charming now Georgie had revealed she could hold her own.

  “It is. I like working out which books might sell and helping give them a push. But what I most enjoy is the people; managing my staff and meeting customers.”

  Maggie could see she’d be good at that.

  “Well, you’re obviously getting something right,” continued Jamie. “I gather Waterstones is doing better these days. I must admit, I’d hate to lose the chain—I’ve always liked it.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” Georgie relaxed visibly at his compliment.

  Maggie listened while Jamie drew Georgie out, helping put her at ease among strangers. He can be such good company when he wants to be, she thought proudly. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him.

  “Anyway, everyone,” interrupted William, “we’ve got an announcement to make.”

  “Ooh, goodie!” Jean clapped her hands. “I love announcements.”

  “We’re having another baby!” Liz beamed.

  Maggie felt a jolt of both pleasure and envy. “Congratulations! When’s it due?”

  “I’m four months.” Liz smoothed down her flowing top to reveal a small bump. “So, just before Christmas.”

  “How wonderful,” said Jean. She was always far too much in demand to spare time for a child so had never wanted her own. Still, at least she was honest about it, she was invariably happy for others, and Simon didn’t seem to mind.

  “Well,” said Liz, turning to Jamie and Maggie, “when are you two going to have another?”

  “Actually we’re trying now,” said Maggie. Such an intimate revelation was unusual for her, but these were her dearest friends.

  “Oh, how exciting,” said Liz.

  “That’s half the fun, isn’t it, darling?” William kissed his wife.

  “So, Jamie, looking forward to being a father again?”

  “Um,” said Jamie. “All those late nights. Can’t wait.”

  “But it’ll be worth it,” Liz prompted.

  “I suppose so.”

  Maggie glanced at her husband. Was he sounding detached; not as happy at the prospect as she was? She took a sip of wine and galvanized herself. Somehow, being surrounded by her friends gave her the courage to say what she might otherwise have avoided. “I think I’m keener on the idea than Jamie,” she said, hoping he would contradict her. When he didn’t, an awkward silence filled the room. It seemed endless. Maggie was too upset to speak.

  Eventually Simon came to her rescue. “Oh, Jamie, I’m sure you’ll come around when it’s born.”

  “Remember how much pleasure Nathan gave you when he was tiny,” said Jean. “I’ve never seen a father more in love.”

  “True,” admitted Jamie. “I guess I’m a bit fraught at having to deal with it all and a new job. I worry about the money, too. This place cost us an arm and a leg as it is.”

  “Oh, goodness!” cried Jean. “Look at you both! Huge house in the country, both of you working—surely you can afford it. Women in council flats have dozens of children on a tenth of your income.”

  “And they’re pretty miserable,” said Jamie.

  “I’d better get on with the dinner.” Maggie got up, thankful to leave the room.

  “Can I lend a hand?” asked Alex.

  “Yes.”

  In the kitchen Alex held out the tureen while Maggie sloshed in the soup.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. He knew her so well she didn’t have to explain how bruised she was feeling. “You always said Jamie’s lousy at stress. He’ll be all right once he’s settled into his new job.”

  “Yes, of course he will,” Maggie replied quietly, trying to convince herself. But laying bare her soul was not her way. She changed the subject. “Anyway, what do you think of Georgie?”

  10

  As Maggie drifted in and out of sleep that night, a faint sadness tinged her dreams. And when she woke fully, the feeling grew heavier, so that a movement to brush away silent tears was her first conscious action of the day. It took a few seconds for her to remember why.

  Jamie.

  The dinner party had been a great success. She was proud of how the food had turned out, and her guests seemed to get on very well. Jean had drunk too much—nothing new there. The relief of not having to be a dynamic editor on a Saturday night meant she had knocked back a couple of glasses too many and had released her tension in a series of outbursts on unrelated subjects, most of which she knew little about, although she had a strong opinion on them all. Finally she’d fallen asleep on the sofa, court shoes off, normally neat bob splayed on the cushions, snoring while everyone else continued chatting around her.

  William had diplomatically dropped the subject of Liz’s pregnancy, using her instead as a foil for amusing tales of their university days with Maggie and Alex.

  “Remember that row about M&S food?” he’d reminded Maggie. “How I sent you the container and highlighted the ingredients to prove their meals weren’t full of additives?”

  “I do. But I seem to recall what really got me riled was the way you were prepared to spend half your grant on preprepared food—”

  “—when half the world was starving,” William had finished for her. “You were quite the activist in those days.”

  The real hit, however, had been Alex and Georgie, who had bonded noticeably over a mutual loathing of Martin Amis’s writing, and finally Alex had offered to give Georgie a lift home.

  Maggie knew it was churlish, yet she couldn’t help feeling upset when she recalled their chemistry. She’d done a marvelous job of disguising her own feelings and acted the charming host all evening, but underneath she was smarting from Jamie’s remarks. Watching her old boyfriend flirt with another woman had only made her feel worse.

  Not that Alex hadn’t been nice to her—he’d taken several opportunities to check she was okay, jumping up from the table before anyone else had the chance to carry out the dirty dishes to grab a moment alone with her in the kitchen. But Maggie was too keen to ensure everyone had a good time to be drawn into discussion, so had deflected his inquiries with a repeated “I’m fine.” Instead she’d numbed the hurt with a couple of extra brandies, which doubtless now had deepened her post-party blues.

  Seeking solace from the person who had caused her pain, she reached over to touch Jamie’s hair.

  It’s beginning to curl around the nape of his neck, she noticed, and could do with a trim.

  He was still asleep, tucked under the crisp white cotton sheets, his back to her, a familiar pose. They both found sleeping too close stifling and claustrophobic; he’d always said it made him hot.

 
Last night she’d believed that making love might make her feel better, but taking the initiative was not something Maggie felt confident in doing. So she’d said nothing, and now the new basque lay neatly draped over the dressing-table chair—a sad contrast to the way it had been flung on the floor so passionately ten days previously. Over it lay her stockings, still showing traces of the three-dimensional shape they’d borne the night before.

  Maybe erotic underwear isn’t my scene after all, she thought.

  Eventually, Jamie rolled over and opened his eyes. For a moment he looked mystified, then he seemed to realize she was crying. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking away her tears. It sounded heartfelt—as if he was upset to have made her so miserable.

  “Shall I make us a cup of tea?” he asked, clearly uncertain how to repair things. This was hardly the closeness Maggie craved, but it was a start.

  * * *

  Later that morning Jamie took Nathan to play soccer.

  Perhaps a run might make me feel better, thought Maggie. I fancy a change, and if I run around the edge of the field, I can watch them play.

  So she followed Nathan and Jamie to the recreation ground.

  “Mum!” shouted Nathan, on seeing her. “Look at me!” He focused on the space between the two jumpers that had been laid out as the goal and kicked with all his might. Jamie obviously sensed it was important for Nathan to score in front of his mother so he dived dramatically the wrong way. The ball rolled past his feet—not fast, but it was a goal all the same.

  “Hurray!” whooped Nathan. “Silly billy, Daddy.”

  “Ouch,” said Jamie, getting up and rubbing his knees. These days he wasn’t really fit enough to land with the aplomb with which he’d dived.

  “Well done!” called Maggie, stopping to jog on the spot and clap. “Silly Daddy.”

  Jamie threw the ball down to the far end of the field. Nathan ran after it, and began dribbling back to the goal. “Lampard … neatly picks the ball up from defense,” roused Jamie.

  Maggie recognized his mockney as an impression of a passionate commentator from Five Live. “Still Lampard … he feints past Arteta, now shrugs off Diaby. It’s still Lampard. Oh … this is impressive stuff from the man. He’s passed Gibbs, it’s only the keeper to beat now, Lampard … Agggh!” Nathan kicked and missed. “Obviously today he’s on somewhat erratic form.”