The Bake Off

by Susan Willis

  Her mind was in turmoil, as she knew, even before they had the same old argument, that he was having another affair. And, if she tried hard enough, she should be able to count the number of dalliances, which was what her sister called them, that he’d had since their marriage nineteen years ago. But she simply couldn’t find the energy any longer.

  She pulled onto Queens Drive and slowly drove down to their Tudor-style terraced house. The leafy street in this ordinary London suburb still looked as nice as the day they’d bought the house and sadly she remembered how Rob had swept her up in his arms to carry her over the threshold. But now she grimaced; it was an effort to remember exactly how long it was since they’d even touched each other. She turned the ignition off and slumped forward, resting her head wearily upon the steering wheel. Their daughter, Rachel, had left home for university in September and she missed her dreadfully, and knew that in his own way Rob did too. However, she thought, this wasn’t simply a case of a failing marriage because the bird had flown the nest, as her dad would say – if that was the reason then it would at least be understandable.

  *

  Dressed in jogger bottoms and a black sweater Rob was sitting in an armchair in the lounge facing the large, open fireplace with his bare feet on the oak floor. A cafetière sat on the glass table and he poured some coffee into her favourite mug. ‘Is the car okay?’ he asked.

  She knew he was trying to be friendly but she sighed with dread, removed her coat and draped it across the back of the brown leather settee. ‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ she said as she sipped her coffee. ‘So, Rob. Who is she this time and what are we going to do?’

  He jumped up from the settee and began to pace around the room. ‘Oh, here we go,’ he shouted. ‘You find an earring in my car and automatically I’m having an affair!’

  She looked down at the damp impressions on the wood that his sweaty feet had made. ‘It’s all I’m used to, Rob,’ she said sombrely. ‘Since Rachel’s second birthday I’ve smelt perfume on your jackets, found lipstick on shirts, hotel receipts in your trouser pockets, telephone calls where whoever it is hangs up when I answer, and now an earring in your car. So please don’t drag this out for ages trying to deny it. I haven’t the energy to go over the same old argument.’

  He rounded on her with flaring nostrils and his bright blue eyes blazing. ‘OK. If that’s the case and I don’t even get a chance to defend myself – you can have the truth. It’s over, Helen. Our marriage is finally well and truly over. I can’t stand it or you anymore,’ he snarled.

  Rachel had been fourteen when Helen had found the hotel receipts and she’d been desperate to hold the family together for her sake. The last thing she’d wanted for her daughter was to grow up with only one parent. But now she didn’t have this constraint any longer and was free to do as she pleased. She decided to let him have his last rant and nodded at him to continue.

  Sweat was standing on his upper lip now and his face was flushed. ‘You’ve held me back from the first year we were married. When I look around at my other colleagues in the stock exchange and see how fantastic their wives are, well, God knows how I’ve got to where I am, because it certainly hasn’t been with any help from you,’ he moaned. He stopped pacing and stood still in front of her, his legs planted wide. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I mean, you’ve never listened to me, you’re cold and unforgiving at the tiny slips that I’ve made, and as far as sex goes, well, it’s no wonder I’ve sought it elsewhere…’

  She look up at him and asked, ‘Ah, so this time it’s love, is it? It’s not like the last one who you said was just a one night stand and was purely drunken sex?’

  He started to pace again, jerking his head and making sweeping arm gestures. ‘Yes, it is love. She loves me and I love her. We’ve been seeing each other for five months now. So to answer your question, it’s not a one night stand and I don’t have to be drunk to make love to her.’

  She calculated quickly that he must have been with her from the week after Rachel moved into the halls of residence. She snorted, ‘Hmm, so you didn’t waste too much time after Rachel left, then?’

  ‘Don’t you dare bring her into this,’ he yelled narrowing his eyes in temper. ‘Whatever you think of me as a husband I will not have you criticise me as a father – I love my daughter…’

  Helen sighed heavily. ‘I never have or never would say that. You’ve given Rachel everything and more,’ she said, and he nodded smugly.

  Silence hung between them as though they were taking stock of each other. She looked at the same face she’d seen nearly every day for over nineteen years and decided that he looked almost pathetic now and nothing short of a sad has-been. When he’d been younger and was so good looking that women stopped dead in their tracks when he’d entered a room, she’d found it thrilling to be married to him. But now she realised it meant absolutely nothing to her and the years of infidelity had wiped away any love she’d once felt – in fact, she thought, the only emotion she could summon up for him now was pity. She clasped her hands tightly around the coffee mug to steady herself.

  ‘OK,’ she said trying to keep the tremble from her voice. ‘I do agree our marriage is over because I really don’t have the strength to fight for it any more. And, because I feel like I’ve lived my life in a prison cell for the last ten years, well, maybe it’s time we were both set free.’

  He slumped down on the edge of the settee opposite her. His smooth, Tom Cruise look-a-like face, seemed to crumple with the shock of her words. ‘Really?’ he asked, and she could tell he was astounded to be given the chance to get away so easily. Obviously, she thought, he’d been waiting for the hysterical arguments that had taken place at his previous confessionals.

  She took a deep breath then asked, ‘So, if we are going to be grown up and rational about it can I ask who this woman is?’

  ‘Her name’s Stephanie and she’s a trainee graphic designer and is a very nice person. I met her at a party and although she is a little younger she does understand me,’ he said looking shiftily through the glass doors into the kitchen. ‘I think I’ll open a bottle.’

  Helen stared at his back as he went into the kitchen wondering why he seemed to look sheepish, almost embarrassed, now. He returned carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  He poured wine into two glasses and gulped at his. ‘Er, you might as well know because people love to gossip and it’ll come out eventually, but wh-when I say younger, Stephanie is twenty-three,’ he said avoiding her eyes.

  She couldn’t believe it and nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. All her previous rationality disappeared. ‘Jesus Christ, Rob! She’s seventeen years younger than you. And only five years older than your daughter – are you crazy?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he shouted. ‘It’s sixteen years and she is very mature for her age and I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks, I’m in love with her…’

  ‘You are forty in six weeks’ time, Rob,’ she reasoned, looking at the side of his head as he stared down at his hands clasped together. ‘Which, in my basic calculations, makes you nearer forty than thirty-nine. And whatever I think doesn’t really matter. But just for the record, I think you’re behaving like a bloody pervert and that, in case you haven’t thought, is what Rachel will think too!’

  He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as he’d always done when cornered and denied any wrongdoing. ‘Oh, you’re so old-fashioned,’ he cried. ‘It’s not like that nowadays. Age doesn’t matter anymore.’

  He bent forward to pull his socks back on and she noticed how his hair was thinning on the back of his head. Hmm, she thought vindictively, what was he going to do when he was bald and his Peter Pan image had died a death? Well, she decided, it’s time to let poor, unfortunate Stephanie cope with all his whingeing and dramatics because she’d had enough. And the embarrassment of this revelation would be just too much to bear – he’d have to go.

  ‘Fine, Rob. If that’s how you feel I think it would be best
if you just left now. I take it that you want to move straight in with Stephanie?’ she asked raising her chin defiantly.

  He nodded, and still avoiding eye contact stood up, left the room and went upstairs. She stared at the closed lounge door, feeling light-headed and with a tingling sensation in her chest, then gulped down the rest of her wine. My God, she thought, listening to drawers opening and closing and the wardrobe door bang, he’s actually packing and going to leave. They’d never got to this stage before as Rachel had always been home and she’d done everything possible to protect her from the upset. She looked down at her trembling hands holding the empty glass and wondered for a split second whether for Rachel’s sake, she should change her mind. But then she felt her cheeks burn remembering his words and decided she felt exactly the same – she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  She heard him come back downstairs and hover in the hallway behind the door – her heart was thumping and she held her breath silently praying he wouldn’t come back in and say more horrible things. She let out a huge sigh of relief when she heard the front door close. Picking up the bottle of wine she walked to the bay window, hid behind the full drapes and watched him climb into his car, look up at the house then slowly pull away from the kerb.

  *

  In the kitchen Helen poured a second glass of wine, feeling stunned by what had just happened in the last hour of her life. He was gone, and finally and inextricably she was now on her own. This was what she had imagined in the past after he’d confessed to an affair, but she’d always been able to manage the situation around Rachel and somehow they’d got through the first few weeks of distress by carrying on with normal everyday life.

  It was different now because the house was empty and for once she could do exactly as she pleased. She wandered back into the lounge and slumped down on the settee feeling drained and lifeless – surely, she should be in floods of tears at the end of her marriage? Maybe they’d come later, she thought, kicking off her black brogues, laying her head back on the settee and closing her eyes.

  The bleep on her mobile phone an hour later woke her and she saw a text message from her sister, Karen. When she rang her back with the news about Rob, it took ten minutes of reassurance to stop Karen from running around to console her.

  ‘But I don’t want retaliation or revenge, Karen,’ she explained. ‘And I certainly don’t want to be a member of The First Wives Club.’ She could tell by Karen’s silence that she hadn’t understood. ‘You know, the film with Bette Midler and Goldie Hawn when they get revenge on their husbands for running off with younger women.’

  She heard Karen sigh heavily, ‘Right. But you can’t let him just walk away scot-free.’ she exploded. ‘I wish I could get my hands on him I could bloody kill him for hurting you like this…’

  Helen thought carefully before she replied, ‘Funnily enough, I don’t feel hurt. If anything, at the moment, I just feel relieved. And, of course, sad thinking of the years I’ve wasted trying to keep the family together. But that was for my Rachel who is more than worth it.’

  Karen tutted. ‘I know she is, honey. But, Christ, twenty-three years old? What’s got into him? Maybe he’s having one of those midlife crises?’ she asked.

  ‘Whatever he is having I’m not interested any more. And although my mind is a little hazy with tiredness and wine at the moment, all I know is that I’m not going to waste another second of my energy on him,’ she said.

  With promises of calling to see her the next day Helen ended the call, turned off all the downstairs lights, double locked the doors and headed upstairs to soak in the bath before rolling into bed and falling into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Two

  The seven o’clock alarm the following morning was a rude awakening and she wished with all her heart that it was Saturday and she could take the day at a more leisurely pace. She felt exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the night before and pulling on her dressing gown she plodded downstairs to make strong coffee.

  While she stood at the kitchen sink waiting for the kettle to boil she stared down at her left hand, rolled her wedding ring around her finger and thought of their wedding ceremony. Then she remembered Rob’s angry words, how he couldn’t stand her any more, and then thought of him waking up next to young Stephanie this morning. Slowly but deliberately she slid the ring from her finger and dropped it into a plant pot on the kitchen window sill. The ring was like him now, she decided – it meant absolutely nothing to her.

  *

  As Helen pulled into the factory car park on the outskirts of Acton she waved to a couple of staff from the production office and parked outside the new extension block situated across from the main factory area. Karen had already sent a text telling her she should spend the day at home and come to terms with what had happened. But Helen wanted to work. She knew it would focus her mind, but mainly it was because she was determined to make this the first day of her new life.

  She had worked for this company as a new product developer for two years and loved the job – they made Sushi products for the major retailers. Although a large part of her working day was spent in the kitchen preparing Sushi she did have her own desk and computer in an adjoining side office which she shared with the marketing manager, Annette, and a young man called Tom, who was the company’s packaging technologist. They all got along well together and chatted freely about their homes and family lives, but Helen always hung back from making close friends at work – she was a firm believer in the saying, never mix business with pleasure.

  ‘Morning,’ Annette called as Helen removed her grey, wool wrap and hung it carefully on the coat stand behind their desks.

  ‘I’m making coffee,’ Helen replied when Annette popped her head around the kitchen door.

  Annette grinned. ‘Ah, lovely. I could do with a strong one this morning. I had the grand-kiddies staying over last night and I’m whacked.’

  She didn’t look it, Helen thought. In fact she appeared to be her usual carefully made-up professional self. She’d always admired Annette’s great flair and good taste in clothes and at the age of fifty-seven she looked at least ten years younger.

  She carried the coffee through to their desks and they chatted briefly about the weather and weekend plans while they booted up the computers. Then they sank into silence reading emails that had arrived the previous night. Helen had her daily work schedule planned with standard sample packs to make and send out via a courier later in the afternoon and a management meeting arranged for ten o’clock, which they’d all been requested to attend.

  ‘Hmm,’ Annette muttered. ‘I wonder what this meeting is about.’

  Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘The request has been sent from the MD, so it must be something important…’

  Deep in thought Helen looked across at Annette’s neat black court shoes and grey fitted suit. Then she looked down at her own flat brogues, black trousers and baggy, polo-necked sweater and sighed. She’d never been interested in clothes or fashion, not even when she was younger, and had only ever bought clothes out of necessity rather than for pleasure. Rob’s cutting remark about the fantastic wives of his colleagues stung and she felt tears prick the back of her eyes.

  ‘You okay?’ Annette probed.

  Helen nodded, and getting up from her desk she headed towards the kitchen. ‘Yeah, I’m fine thanks. Just a little tired but it’s self-inflicted after drinking too much wine last night.’

  The kitchen was a large square room and had been designed, along with the new factory extension, just before she started. It was bright and modern, with a cream tiled, non-slip floor and Helen found it easy to work in. The four walls were inset with benches and had plenty of cupboards underneath and long tall cupboards at the corners. A large, square island in the middle of the room had two hobs and ovens at opposite corners and was covered in grey granite which provided plenty of flat space to roll the Sushi.

  Helen laid her paperwork for the samples she intended to make on the be
nch and gripped the edge as she choked back tears. Just concentrate on the products, she thought resolutely, and try to keep last night out of your mind. She opened the fridge and checked all the produce required that she’d collected from the factory chill the day before. She found the bamboo mats and cling film she needed then cut squares of seaweed. She inspected the quality of all the fresh cucumber, spring onions and avocado, wanting it all to be top grade.

  With her preparations complete she joined Annette for the meeting and as they made their way back to the department, Annette said, ‘Ooh, that’s exciting. It’ll ease some of my work load to have this new business unit manager start next week. We could certainly do with someone to work with us and the retailers…’

  ‘Yeah, another new boss to report into,’ she agreed warily. ‘I hope he’s a bit better at communicating than the last one we had who, if you remember, had upset everyone within three months of being here?’

  Annette laughed. ‘Yes, he was a bit of a strange chap. Let’s hope this Richard Scott has a better personality and a bit more get up and go,’ she said.

  ‘Mmm, we’ll find out on Monday morning, no doubt…’

  *

  After lunch Helen went into the kitchen to prepare her samples. The individual pieces of Sushi that the factory made were packed into small, black plastic trays with clear fitting lids and each retailer had their own label or card sleeve which was applied at the end of the production run. Often when Helen was asked for samples she could go into the factory and hand pick the packs from the line to send to the retailer. But the samples requested today were not on the daily plan, therefore she was going to make them herself by hand. This was no hardship to her because she loved rolling and making Sushi. The pieces were all so dainty and intricate and she found it relaxing working with her hands to produce the tidy, precise, good quality samples.