The Other Half

by Sarah Rayner

  She mounted the creaky stairs, ducking to avoid a beam, and took the last seat in the waiting area. Two elderly women in the corner were sharing a moan about their ailments—a visit to the doctor’s office seemed as much a chance for a gossip as treatment. Opposite was a sulky-looking teenage boy with severe acne and an overweight man whose pale, blotchy beer gut was protruding from under his T-shirt. He’d be doing himself a favor if he covered that properly, Maggie decided, her aesthetic sense protesting in spite of her tiredness. Lastly, next to Maggie, a harassed-looking mother was trying to keep her two small children amused with the uninspiring selection of toys.

  Of course the practice won’t be able to justify the expenditure for new ones, Maggie thought ruefully. It’s such a shame everything has been so affected by a lack of funding.

  She picked up an ancient copy of Babe and began to flip through it, but as she skimmed the pages of tips on fashion, beauty, and relationships, she realized she wasn’t taking in a word.

  Why I am here? she asked herself. They’re so stretched these days in the NHS, and there’s nothing wrong with me physically, unless you count the insomnia … Though it does seem to be getting worse. She looked down at her hands—they were shaking. Maybe the trembling is a sign of growing older, she thought, something I’ll have to get used to?

  “Mrs. Slater!” the doctor boomed from down the corridor.

  Maggie got up. As she braced herself to speak to him, she had a horrible surge of anxiety. I shouldn’t have come, her inner voice scolded. I’m wasting Dr. Hopkin’s time. Some people are genuinely sick, and here I am, worrying him over worry itself. I should be able to get over this on my own.

  Somehow her feet propelled her into the office.

  “Hello. What can I do for you today?” The doctor beamed at her. He was in his fifties, with disheveled gray hair and ruddy cheeks, dressed in comforting elephant cord and brushed cotton.

  “I’m not sure,” said Maggie, as she took a seat next to his paper-smothered desk.

  “Oh.” He sounded surprised. Then he looked at her, frowned, and propped his half-moon spectacles up so that he could focus on his computer screen. “I see you have a double appointment.” He added gently, “So we’ve plenty of time.”

  “Um.” Maggie looked down at her hands. They were really shaking now. She could sense Dr. Hopkin looking at them too. He’ll probably assume I’m an alcoholic or a junkie or something, she thought. Perhaps the most disabling symptom would be a good place to start. “I’m not sleeping very well. In fact, I’ve been sleeping really badly.”

  “How badly is badly?”

  “I guess about half the hours I normally would, and this last week even less than that. It’s not been right for a while.”

  Maggie could feel waves of support emanating from the doctor. “I feel exhausted now and I find it hard to concentrate. And I suppose I’ve been feeling pretty um … worried generally.” Suddenly she was crying. It was as if she’d released the floodgates on all her pent-up emotions since Jamie had been away, and once she’d started, couldn’t stop.

  Damn it! How silly of me, she thought, but the tears kept falling. I seem to be crying so much at the moment. What a wimp!

  At home before she’d left she’d put on mascara and a little gray eyeliner to make herself look more presentable. She pictured her cheeks covered in smears and her shame mounted. She fumbled in her handbag for a tissue, but her hands were so shaky she couldn’t control them. Just talking about her anxiety seemed to be making it worse.

  “Here.” Dr. Hopkin handed her a box of tissues.

  “Thank you.” Maggie blew her nose.

  “Is there any particular reason that you feel so miserable? Something major upsetting you that’s keeping you awake?”

  Maggie was silent. It was against her nature to discuss personal issues and she didn’t want to be disloyal to Jamie. She took a deep breath. “I’m lonely,” she said. Perhaps if she avoided mentioning Jamie specifically, the doctor might be able to help without her betraying her husband.

  “Oh?” The doctor sounded surprised again. “I thought you were married. Loneliness is not something I normally associate with happily married working mothers like you.” He adopted a more cheerful tone. “They tend to complain that they could do with more time to themselves.”

  Oh dear, thought Maggie. Deflecting him doesn’t appear to be doing to trick. “Well, my job isn’t especially sociable. I work from home, mainly.”

  “I see. I suppose that’s different, then. Would you rather be working more with other people around? In an office, perhaps?”

  “Um…” Again Maggie paused. She knew this wasn’t the answer, because it wasn’t the main problem. “I didn’t used to mind working alone. I tend to be pretty happy with my own company.”

  “So it’s not work, then?”

  “No,” she said, growing more decided. In the safe haven created by this avuncular figure, maybe she could be more open. “I don’t really think that’s the solution … Though I suppose I would like to write something more challenging.” She stopped to consider, and dabbed her eyes. “I’d like that. I could look into it.”

  “Yes, but you just said you don’t think that’s the solution. May I ask why you feel lonely now when—unless I misunderstood—you didn’t before and if you’ve always worked from home and enjoyed your own company?”

  Maggie squirmed and admitted quietly, “I think it’s because I’m not getting on very well with my husband.” At once she felt the anxiety lift a little. “We’ve not been talking as much as we used to, and when we have, we’ve tended to argue. He’s away at the moment, still, it’s been going on a while. I don’t feel that he appreciates me the way he did in the past, and I’m not sure why. I don’t think I’m any different.”

  “Oh dear,” said Dr. Hopkin. Then he added, “Silly man! You’re lovely.”

  “Thank you.” For the first time in days Maggie smiled.

  “Anyway.” Dr. Hopkin coughed, seemingly embarrassed by his own frankness. “I’m afraid I don’t have a miracle pill to help you get along better. Might make me a wealthy man if I did—Dr. Hopkin’ s Miracle Marriage Mender!” He chortled at the thought.

  “No, I realized that.”

  “Sure you did, sure you did.”

  “It’s just I was wondering maybe about some…” now it was Maggie’s turn to be embarrassed “… counseling or something. My friend suggested Relate. What do you think?”

  “Good idea, good idea.” The doctor nodded, as if saying things twice would underline how much he agreed. “Many couples find it useful to talk to a third party, get an objective angle on things. Would your husband be willing to go too?”

  Maggie hesitated. Would he? She wasn’t sure. But not wanting to confess this, she said, “I see no reason why not.”

  “Sometimes men can be rather less willing to discuss things like this than their wives.”

  “Mm.” Maggie could understand that. Yet Jamie is normally the more outgoing one in our relationship, she thought. If I’m willing to talk, surely he will be too?

  Dr. Hopkin seemed to pick up on her uncertainty, even though she was trying to disguise it. “Well, you have a word with him and see what he says. Remember you can always go on your own initially if need be.”

  “Can I?”

  “Oh yes, of course. And we usually find the men come around in the end. Can’t bear to think their wives are talking about them behind their backs. We’ve sensitive egos, after all.”

  “Indeed.”

  “We have an arrangement with the Guildford branch. I can refer you to them through the practice and you pay what you can afford. Here,” he got out his pad, “let me give you their address so you’ll know where to go.” He wrote it down. “I’ll write to them now, and you should hear within the next few weeks about an appointment.”

  “That long?” Maggie was disappointed. Having come this far, she wanted to be able to go along with Jamie as soon as possible.


  “I’m afraid there’s a bit of a wait. But you should get something in the next month, no longer than that.”

  “I suppose it’s not as bad as some waiting lists.”

  “No, and maybe you could set yourself a couple of fresh challenges with your work, as you mentioned, to take your mind off things until then.”

  “That’s a good thought.” Maggie got to her feet. “In fact, you’ve given me an idea. I know just the person to talk to about it. She’s away on the same business trip as my husband at the moment, but I can have a chat with her soon.”

  “You do that. Come back and see me in a month, let me know how things are going.”

  “I will, and thank you.”

  “Anytime, anytime.”

  Maggie closed the door to his office and went down the stairs.

  When Jamie gets back from New York, I’ll talk to him about coming for this counseling, she vowed. And I’ll find out from Jean who’s working on special projects at UK Magazines—perhaps there’s a way I can write some sample pieces for a new magazine as it’s being developed. That’s how to change things. I’ll get involved in something really different and radical again.

  She strolled back down the street, smiling at the prospect. She felt more positive than she had in weeks, pleased with herself for taking action. The sun was shining, and even though it was September, it was warm. She stopped for a second to gaze at the river, with its resident white-feathered, yellow-billed ducks. They quacked up at her, hoping for a snack.

  There’s no doubt that Shere is the place to be on a day like today, she thought. Surely things can only get better from now on.

  25

  I wish my legs were longer, thought Chloë. Then they’d be able to propel me at a speed to match my current lifestyle.

  As she raced back across Times Square and along Forty-fourth Street, she barely noticed the shops full of the latest gadgets, so temptingly priced; the huge billboards advertising films as yet unheard-of in London; the theater posters boasting of the best shows in town. She was as determined to get where she had to go as the locals in their sneakers, and barely checked as she crossed the street to the Paramount.

  “Blimey!” exclaimed James, as she whirled into their room. “What’s the rush?” He was standing, looking relatively relaxed, loosening his tie.

  Panting, Chloë said, “What was Jean talking to you about?”

  “When?”

  “At the conference. She said, ‘I’ve got to have a word with Jamie Slater about something personal,’ and grabbed you. She hasn’t found out about us, has she?”

  “No, no.”

  “So, why the grilling? And does she always call you Jamie?” Chloë could barely get the questions out quickly enough.

  “Yeah, all my old friends do.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s what I was called when I was young.”

  “Oh.” Chloë was winded. Yet again it was apparent that there were aspects of James she knew little about. “Would you rather I called you Jamie too?”

  “No, I like you calling me James.”

  Maybe he likes me calling him something different, she thought. Perhaps he prefers James. She fished, “Why?”

  Pushed, James replied, “Because Maggie calls me Jamie.”

  “Oh.” Chloë sat down on the bed, deflated. Yet she was still curious, no matter how much the revelations distressed her. As Rob had often observed, she had a masochistic streak. “So, what did you talk about?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “She wanted to have a word about Maggie.”

  “Oh.” So I was right, sort of, thought Chloë. “What did she say about her?”

  James looked torn. It was as if he knew his honesty was hurting Chloë but was aware he wouldn’t get away with a fabrication. “She said she thought Maggie was pretty unhappy at the moment.”

  “Really?” I suspected as much, thought Chloë, hence the phone call. “You don’t think Maggie knows about us, do you?”

  “Not from what Jean was saying.”

  “Why’s she miserable, then?” I hope it’s nothing to do with me, she prayed. I never set out to hurt her. It just … happened. And now, just as Rob predicted, I’ve become really entangled.

  “Well, Maggie badly wants another baby. And Jean was there when we had this conversation about it.”

  “Oh.” Chloë was shocked. While she hadn’t worked out exactly what she wanted from James, it hadn’t occurred to her that Maggie might want something else so tangible from him. “You had this conversation recently?”

  “No, not that recently. Several weeks ago.”

  For God’s sake, another baby, thought Chloë. If James wants a child with Maggie, where does that leave me? Her mind raced back. Was that when he started seeing me? Could that possibly be why? But almost before the idea had formulated, Chloë shunned it.

  “What did you say?” She braced herself to hear the worst.

  “I said I didn’t really want one.”

  Chloë couldn’t help but be relieved. “Why not?”

  James sat down on the bed next to her and said quietly, “I should have thought that was obvious.”

  She felt a bit better.

  He continued, “But aside from my relationship with you, I had doubts before anyway. I adore Nathan, as you know, but I’m not sure I’m ready to be a father again.”

  “Really?”

  James shook his head.

  This was illuminating—even more so than the conversation they’d had the night before. But without the cocaine to numb the pain, it was difficult to take in. She was discovering things about James that she hadn’t expected. She already knew he hadn’t wanted the first baby initially, and now he didn’t want a second.

  He’s something of a commitment-phobe, observed Chloë. It takes one to know one. But perhaps he and Maggie aren’t really suited. At least, it doesn’t sound to me like they are from how James has described their relationship.

  Then a new realization hit her: What if I want children? If James were to leave Maggie, does this mean he’d never want them with me? She recalled Rob’s warning that James might be attracted to her on the rebound. If he’d started seeing her because Maggie was pressuring him to have another child, it looked ominously likely.

  It seemed that not only was she gaining new insight into James, she was also discovering new aspects of herself.

  Before she could consider more deeply, James collapsed on the bed. “I’m exhausted,” he said, clearly wanting to end the conversation.

  Chloë was thankful; she’d had enough of revelations. “Me too. Shall we just stay here tonight?”

  “That would be great. Let’s get a bite to eat downstairs now, then come back and crash out.”

  “Perfect. I could do with a major dose of carbohydrates.”

  “You go on down. I’ll phone Maggie—I promised I would.”

  Chloë frowned, not bothering to conceal she was put out.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I’m starving.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing tonight, then?” asked Jean, taking a bite of her sandwich. It was Chloë’s second day at the conference and they were eating a stand-up buffet lunch. They’d just been in a seminar on the future of social networking, followed by a discussion of how this would impact magazines. Chloë had to concede the morning had proved far more interesting than the previous day, though maybe it was because she’d had an early night.

  Chloë struggled to think of an excuse. A meal with friends wouldn’t do again. But it was her last night with James and she was feeling depressed at the thought of having to go home. What’s going to happen then? she wondered. Will things be any different? Our relationship can’t go back to what it was before. Do the calls from Maggie and the quiet word from Jean suggest that things are coming to a head?

  If so, Chloë had mixed feelings. On one hand she could hear her mother’s voice: “I can’t beli
eve you’re stealing another woman’s husband and breaking up a happy home, just like that awful woman your father ran off with.” On the other hand, she believed fidelity to Maggie was ultimately James’s responsibility, not hers.

  “I’ve arranged to go out for dinner with Vanessa and I thought I’d ask Jamie Slater too,” Jean continued, blithely. “You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

  “Er … um … yes.”

  Chloë felt her cheeks burning. Fortunately Jean was concentrating on not smudging her lipstick while she consumed a generously filled pastrami on rye and didn’t notice.

  “Would you care to join us?” asked Jean.

  Help, thought Chloë, what a prospect! Dinner with my lover, my ex-boss, and my new mentor. It’s almost farcical. Still, given that the alternative was probably sitting alone in the Paramount biting her nails and wondering what the three of them might be saying, she’d better accept.

  “That would be lovely.” If I can cope with the fiasco at Bloomingdale’s I can cope with anything, she told herself. At least this time James and I are forewarned and forearmed.

  “I’ve arranged to meet Vanessa at eight, so we can go back to our hotels and freshen up first. I’m meeting her in a little restaurant on the Bowery in the East Village called Marion’s. That’ll be nice and easy for you.”

  Just as Chloë was about to pipe up, “Would it? Wouldn’t somewhere in Midtown be better for all of us?” she remembered that she’d told Jean she was staying on Spring Street. “Of course it will. I’ll nip back to my friend’s place for a shower and see you there.”

  26

  Maggie was still cheerful when Jean called.

  “Hold on a mo.” She had just gotten out of the bath and was dripping all over the carpet, so she wrapped herself in a towel before taking a seat at her dressing table.

  “I must be quick,” said Jean. “I’m meeting Jamie and some others from work for dinner and I’ve got to change, but I wanted to let you know I managed to have a word.”