Crowded Marriage

by Catherine Alliott

  I caught my breath at this. And I’d always thought that of her. That she was too much. My mind scuttled back to the days when I’d sat behind a desk outside his office in the city and she, Eleanor, had swept in to take him out to lunch, in jewels, scent, cashmere; older than me, but terribly glamorous, and I’d felt like orphan Annie. Had she been thinking, I can’t compete with her youth, her freshness?

  “He was captivated by you,” she said softly. “Talked about you all the time—Imogen this, Imogen that—real mentionitis. But I think he never believed he stood a chance.”

  “But he was in love with you,” I said firmly. I wasn’t having that, entirely. I remembered Alex’s distress when she refused to leave Piers. He’d even cried in the office. I’d comforted him.

  She nodded. “He was, but more so, I think, because he couldn’t have me. I’d finished with him before we were both married, remember, so there was a bit of pride involved. And when I decided to make a go of it with Piers, he fell so head over heels in love with you that…well. I’d never seen him like that. Ever. And I’ve seen Alex with many girls.”

  She eyed me sharply. Yes. No doubt she had.

  “That was no rebound, Imo. He adored you. Still does. You must know that. I can’t believe you don’t know that!”

  She looked at me incredulously and I saw that her eyes were both honest and astonished. How awful. I hadn’t always known it.

  “I…suppose I have, sometimes, doubted it,” I twisted a napkin in my lap. “Often felt insecure…”

  “You mustn’t!” She insisted, leaning forwards across the table. “It’s only ever been you, Imo, for years now, believe me, and I would know,” she said with feeling.

  Yes. Yes, she would. I screwed the paper napkin on my lap into a ball. My heart began to pound. I felt as though it were swelling, might burst even, with joy and relief.

  “I…don’t really know why I’ve doubted him,” I whispered, almost not daring to speak I felt so happy. “He—he has these moods, though, you see, Eleanor, these real ups and downs. One minute he’s a proper family man, loving towards me, adorable with Rufus, and the next—well the next he’s distant, irritable, late coming home, and I thought—”

  “It’s his job,” she said, putting her hand over mine. “Don’t you know that? Don’t you know he’s terrified of losing his job, of being a failure?”

  “But I wouldn’t think he was a failure—”

  “He would, though. And he’d feel it for you too. Stress does funny things to men, Imo, in the bedroom, at home, it’s all about being the alpha male, and he was such a big shot in the city, and now…well, now there are younger, brighter men coming up behind him and he feels threatened.”

  I looked at her directly. “Does he tell you this?” I felt a pang of jealousy. A familiar twinge.

  “Yes, because he’s too proud to tell you, and also because…” she struggled. Looked away.

  “What?”

  “Well, he says you say it doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t!” I cried. “I couldn’t care less if he lost his job, couldn’t care if he was a bloody dustman!”

  “It matters to him,” she said fiercely. “Maybe you should talk to him about it,” she urged, “not just say, ‘Who cares?’ Say, ‘I care.’ Maybe he’d like that.”

  I flushed as it dawned. I sat back. Rocked back, in fact, in my chair. I hadn’t been a very good wife. Hadn’t listened to him, hadn’t sympathised, hadn’t let him talk about it. I’d forced him to bottle it up because I’d thought he was bottling something else up and I’d been afraid of uncorking that, of spilling the beans, the Eleanor beans. And all the time…his job was the beans.

  “I’ve been so stupid,” I whispered. “So blind.” She stretched across and squeezed my hand. “No, you’ve just been barking up the wrong tree. It happens. He loves you very much, Imo. Take it from an old mate who knows. His world would fall apart without you.”

  I looked at her across the little wooden table, and, for the first time, saw her for what she really was. A good friend; an old friend who, by dint of longevity, was bound to be privy to more information about Alex than I was. But not privy to the beat of his heart, which was mine, all mine. And that was all that mattered. I felt as if a film were sliding off me; a murky slick of grime that had clung to me for years, but which now I was shedding like dead skin, as I emerged from it, all gleaming and shiny and new. I reached for my wine glass and took a gulp. I’d make it up to him, I determined. I’d be a better wife. A good wife, not a jealous, resentful suspicious wife, but an understanding supportive one. And—and maybe I’d encourage him to do something else, if work was making him so miserable? I gazed out of the window, at the traffic flashing by. Maybe we could—I don’t know—salmon farm in Scotland or something, I thought wildly. Farm sheep in Wales. But whatever it was, we’d talk about it. We’d sit down with a bottle of wine between us and talk, something I’d been so afraid to do in case something else came out. Yes, maybe he could retrain? Teach, perhaps, like Daniel. Daniel.

  I glanced back across the table. Eleanor had drifted away and was gazing out of the window too: away from Alex and me and our relatively minor problems, and back to her own misery.

  “I’ve made it so much worse for you,” I said suddenly. “Shouting in the street like that. In a village this size it’ll get around in minutes.”

  I went hot with horror. Why hadn’t I gone the whole hog? Painted “slut” or “harlot” on the front door, demand that she be tarred and feathered, dipped in the village pond?

  “Let it,” she said quietly, gripping the stem of her glass. “Let it get around. It’s what I want now. And I’d already decided that, Imogen. Decided I was going to tell Piers. I just didn’t want anyone to tell him first.”

  “Really?” I was startled.

  “Really.” She gave a funny, sad smile. “One of the reasons I wanted you and Alex to come here, Imo, to take the cottage in the first place, was because in my heart I knew I was going to tell him and I wanted friends around. Wanted moral support, somewhere to run to. I was scared. Oh, I have friends round here of course, masses of them, but they’re all Piers’s, really. They’ve known him since he was born. They’re not my mates. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I can.”

  “And I count you and Alex as two of my best.”

  I bent my head and nodded shamefully, realising how stupid I’d been, how I’d maligned her. She’d always tried so hard, and I’d always been so suspicious, questioned her motives, thought the worst. Yet…there had been moments when my scepticism hadn’t been based on mere suspicion; moments when I’d been convinced…

  “The other day, when I saw you two together in the drawing room,” I said suddenly, “and you sprang apart when I came in. I’m sure you did, I’m sure I saw you in his arms, in the mirror.”

  “I was telling him,” she nodded, “about Daniel. And he hugged me, was comforting me, and then I saw you get up from the terrace and come towards us and I leaped for the phone. I thought you might get the wrong idea, I just hoped you wouldn’t think it was odd to be ordering silk flowers on a Sunday. And then later, when I pretended to show him the spare room upstairs, I was telling him the rest of it, because you’d interrupted us. I just wanted to tell someone,” she said desperately, “so that someone other than me or Daniel knew. I wanted to make it more real, but I was so afraid of being overheard by Piers. And then Hannah had her baby and distracted everyone, and—”

  “And I thought I was going mad,” I cut in. “Thought I was imagining the two of you together because I was so paranoid, thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

  “I asked Alex not to tell you immediately. I knew he would eventually—he said he would—but just not yet. And not because I don’t trust you or anything,” she said quickly, “but because I didn’t think it was fair on Piers if everyone knew before him. But I had to tell someone. I was going crazy with it.”

  “But why now? Why are you t
elling Piers now, after three years of keeping it a secret?”

  I saw the fear in her eyes as she looked up. And suddenly I knew.

  “Because I’m pregnant,” she breathed.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Oh Lord.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. Oh Lord.”

  We sat in silence for a moment as the ramifications sank in. I gazed at her.

  “That’s…actually what I was telling Alex,” she said. “When he was holding me.”

  “Right,” I whispered. “And…I suppose I don’t have to ask if—”

  “Yes. I’m keeping it.” She held my eye. “I don’t blame any young girl who’s never had a baby for having an abortion, but when you’ve had four like I have, the idea of getting rid of it is—”

  “No, I know,” I said quickly, looking down at my hands. Unthinkable. I wouldn’t be able to do it either. Not now I’d had Rufus. But for the baby’s brothers and sisters…oh God. There was real terror in her eyes as I looked up.

  “I know,” she said, going pale. “The others.”

  I licked my lips. For them it would be so ghastly. And much as I hadn’t always warmed to Piers, my heart went out to him too.

  “So you’ll leave him? Piers?”

  “Yes, I’ll leave him. Hopefully he’ll give me a quick divorce and I’ll move in with Daniel. The children are all at boarding school now anyway, apart from Theo, and he goes off in September.”

  Ah. So that was all right then. I swallowed.

  She shrugged miserably. “And I suppose we’ll just share their holidays. A week with Mummy and a week with Daddy. After all, other couples manage it, don’t they? I mean, look at Alex.”

  Yes, look at Alex. Who hadn’t seen his daughters for six months, who invited them in the school holidays, but found, increasingly, that boyfriends and parties took precedence, and that even though their mother, Tilly, came to London quite regularly to see family—was over here at the moment, in fact—the girls stayed at home. Was he sad about that? About the fact that they seemed to call him slightly less these days? Unbelievably, I didn’t know, because—oh God, my chest tightened with guilt—I didn’t ask him. Didn’t go there, because in my paranoiac state I’d been afraid that if it didn’t upset him too much, then my goodness, it could be me and Rufus next, couldn’t it? After all, he’d left one wife and family, why not another? So I hadn’t brought it up: hadn’t been supportive, said, how d’you feel, my love? Do you miss them, the girls? Oh, there was so much I had to make up for, I thought, ashamed. I glanced at Eleanor. Yes, she was right, divorced couples did juggle their children, but she must know it wasn’t ideal. Must know too that Piers may be dull, but to Poppy, Sam, Natasha and Theo, he was Daddy. Beloved Daddy. He wasn’t a cheat, like Mummy, an adulterer, and neither was he having a child with someone else. Eleanor was in for a very bumpy ride, particularly from her teenagers. I wondered if they’d ever forgive her. It seemed to me she was gaining one child and in danger of losing four others.

  “I know,” she said quickly, reading my mind, “it’s going to be unutterably bloody, and I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve lain awake at night thinking about it, knowing a time bomb is growing inside me. And yet, if anyone said to me, what if you miscarried tomorrow?—d’you know, Imo, I’d be devastated. Just devastated. I want this baby so badly. I’ve never wanted something so badly in my life. I got pregnant with the others to cement my marriage, but this baby was conceived through love and I’m having it.” There was something desperate yet fierce about her eyes and I knew she meant it.

  “How many months are you?”

  “Three. So please God I’m over the dodgy stage and it sticks. And if it doesn’t, I’ll still leave Piers. This has made up my mind. I can’t live a lie any more. Not even for the children.”

  That was quite a decision to come to as a mother, and she knew it. We fell silent for a moment, lost in thought.

  “You’ll have to tell them soon,” I said breaking the silence. “I mean, that you’re leaving. Or else you’ll start to show.”

  She gave a twisted smile. “Except that they’ll still do the maths when it appears, won’t they? Think—right, so six months ago when she said she was leaving Daddy because he didn’t understand her, and that marriages weren’t always made in heaven, in fact she was three months pregnant with another man’s child and it was all a load of crap. No. There are no hiding places here, Imo. I’ve got to tell them the truth. And actually,” she looked at me squarely, “you’d be surprised how much straight talking children can take. They’re very resilient, you know.”

  Were they now? I caught my breath at her pragmatism. It seemed to me she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and didn’t seem to feel it. She was about to shatter so many lives, just as, I realised with a jolt, she’d once shattered Tilly and the girls’. Only this time it was her own family, her own children who’d end up in pieces. I wondered if it could be right to cause so much pain just to achieve personal fulfilment. Did we really have such a divine right to be happy? Did it rank above duty and compassion and loyalty? I wasn’t convinced. I wondered too if she ever would truly be happy. If her “in-loveness” would last. Would Daniel—without the added frisson that an affair gave a relationship—eventually become dull and stupid like Piers? And would the headmaster’s semi that she would undoubtedly have to swap Stockley Hall for, become, not an exciting love nest, but a miserable, poky little place? Time would tell. In Eleanor’s eyes, she’d made one simple mistake: she’d married the wrong man, and now she was rectifying it. But an awful lot of people were going to have to be sacrificed on the altar of Eleanor’s happiness.

  “Will you stay around here?” I asked, swimming to the surface of my reverie. “I mean, presumably with Daniel’s school being up the road…”

  “We’ll have to, yes, to begin with. But Daniel’s already applying for a post elsewhere. The head of a primary’s coming up in Shropshire. He’s going to go for that.”

  Strangely, I felt something like relief at this: to know that they’d be moving away, and yet…she was my friend, wasn’t she? But a friend, I thought uncomfortably, who’d never sought me out in London, never come to tea with me and Rufus, only my husband, for lunch in the city. And a friend who’d wanted me to come down here because she’d needed my moral support, had wanted somewhere to run to. I wondered if I’d ever trust her entirely, her and her relentless quest for happiness. Where might she look to find it next?

  “And anyway, I’ll have to say something to the family soon, otherwise Piers’s mother will do it for me,” Eleanor said darkly.

  “She knows?” I said sharply, coming back to her.

  “Suspects. I’m pretty sure she has no idea who it is, but she cornered me a few weeks ago, upstairs in my bedroom. Said she had a shrewd idea I was up to something and she didn’t trust me.”

  I gazed at her. “Oh! Was that when we first arrived?” I said, suddenly remembering when we’d come to Stockley a day early, and Eleanor had run down the stairs into Alex’s arms, crying.

  “Yes, she was absolutely foul. As only she can be. And now she’s suddenly decided she needs the flat in London too.”

  Yes, she had, hadn’t she? She was protecting her son. Fighting for his interests. As, I’m sure I would protect Rufus’s. Go to any lengths. Was that so wrong?

  I shifted in my seat; a regrouping gesture. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but—

  “I’ll get the bill,” said Eleanor, quickly, noticing. She raised her hand and Molly appeared from behind the bar in her long apron.

  “Oh!” I looked up in surprise. “I thought you weren’t here this afternoon. I looked for you when I came in.”

  “I was upstairs sorting out my flat. I’ve got the decorators in so it’s pretty chaotic, but at least the kitchen’s ready now. You must come and see it some time, come and have supper one night.”

  “I’d love to,” I glowed. The true hand of friendship. “Oh, d’you know Eleanor Latimer? This
is Molly, the owner.”

  Eleanor smiled. “I’ve seen you around but I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “We haven’t, but nice to meet you.” Molly smiled and took away the ten-pound note Eleanor had put on the saucer.

  Eleanor leaned across the table. “I’ve seen her around, because she’s one of Pat Flaherty’s visitors,” she hissed.

  “Really?” My heart, inexplicably, thudded at this.

  “Constantly in and out of his cottage. I’ve often spotted her creeping in last thing at night and then leaving early in the morning.” She grinned.

  “Oh. Right. Well, good luck to them.” I reached for my drink and drained it too quickly. Some missed my mouth. I wiped my wet chin as I stood up, gathering my coat hurriedly from the back of my chair. “I must say, he seems to lead a complicated life,” I said lightly.

  “Just a bit,” Eleanor rolled her eyes, as Molly came back with the change. “Thanks.”

  So. Pat and Molly were an item. Right. I shoved my arms into my coat sleeves. Well, why not? She was a very pretty girl. I shot her a quick smile as she went to the door and held it open for us. Tall and slim, and with that shining bob of hair and creamy complexion, she knocked Pink Jeans into a cocked hat. I wondered if they knew about each other. Or did he run them in tandem? How did it work, exactly? For some reason, I was disappointed. In her, I think.

  “I’ve got someone else interested in your pictures incidentally,” she was saying as we went out under her arm. “A family came in for lunch earlier and liked the one of the church. They’re local, so I reckon I can work on them!”

  “Great!” I grinned, but my heart wasn’t in it. It was elsewhere. Why, I wondered? Why did my balloon feel so pricked, when it had recently been so buoyant?

  Confused, I drove Eleanor back to her car. We travelled the short distance in silence. When we’d bumped down the stony track and drawn up outside the cottages, she got out. I turned to look at her as she was about to slam the door.