The Other Wives Club

by Shari Low

  The first time she walked into this kitchen she’d been blown away by how gorgeous it was. The glossy white units formed a square around the room that was only interrupted by a mammoth black American fridge-freezer. The centre island was like the ones she used to see on American soap operas when she was a kid. The floor was the same sparkly black granite as the worktops and the walls were coated in a textured pearl paper. All this kitchen needed was a willowy blonde pretending to whip up a Caesar salad and you’d have a scene from an architectural magazine. Instead there was a five-foot-five, size twelve to fourteen brunette, with huge brown eyes, a streaky décolletage and a messy bob that would be slightly reminiscent of Rachel in Friends if it wasn’t being stretched into submission by eight large pink sponge rollers.

  Cameron popped the top off another Peroni and dipped a Dorito into the pot of chilli in front of him.

  ‘So, what’s the plan then?’

  Tess interrupted the task of fishing the kidney beans out of her bowl to answer him. Kidney beans revolted her but at least once a week she made a huge pot of chilli, and put the beans in because Drew loved them. Invariably, half of it got thrown away because he’d picked up dinner at the office. ‘We’re having a night out, just the two of us, tonight…’

  ‘Oooohhhhh,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘You are so immature,’ she replied with an amused shake of the head. ‘Anyway, dinner tonight, then we fly to Barcelona tomorrow morning and head straight for the boat. It sets sail at six o’clock tomorrow evening, and the fun begins.’ It took every ounce of joviality she possessed to leave the sarcasm out of the end of that sentence. It would be great. It would. She would have a chance to get to know Mona and Sarah better. They’d only met a few times at family occasions, so they’d only managed to establish a superficial acquaintance. She could also spend quality bonding time with the slightly demanding Eliza, and build a relationship with John and Penny, Drew’s son and his wife. It would be great. Definitely.

  ‘Still trying to convince yourself that you’ll have a great time?’

  Bloody hell, it was like he could read her mind.

  She nodded a little guiltily and for once the jovial grin dropped from Cameron’s face. Her first thought was that she’d messed up the chilli. Too much tomato puree? Not enough spice?

  ‘You know, sometimes he doesn’t treat you the way you should be treated.’ His words were soft, almost sad, and when his eyes eventually made contact, his expression was so earnest it caught her breath.

  ‘What… what… what do you mean?’ The surprise was affecting her fluency of speech. This wasn’t like Cameron. He didn’t do deep and meaningful incisive analysis of anyone’s relationships. He did best friends. And beer and chilli. With beans.

  ‘Come on, Tess. Look, I’ve never said anything before because, to be honest, it’s none of my business. But you deserve better than this. Shit, I’ve turned into cliché-man.’ He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length blonde hair. Tess had spent the last year talking him out of getting it cut because she thought it made him look like Chris Hemsworth in Thor.

  Despite the fact that her mouth was open, no words would come, allowing him to carry on speaking.

  ‘Drew’s a good guy, but you spend your whole life waiting around for him. It’s like he’s more important than you in this relationship and that’s not right.’

  His rant ran out of steam and he put his head down.

  ‘Wow.’ It was all she could muster under the circumstance. And was it just her or was it getting really warm in here? She could feel little bursts of perspiration pop up under her rollers. Classy.

  After a few moments of awkward, crackling tension, a burst of defensiveness kicked in. ‘That’s not true,’ she blurted, a little unconvincingly because, let’s face it, she’d had similar thoughts many times over the last few months. But somehow, admitting it out loud seemed like a betrayal of her husband and her marriage. ‘Our marriage is great. And it’s not Drew’s fault he has a crazy job. I knew what he did and what I was getting into when I married him.’

  Which was true. Almost. But it did feel that he was here even less than usual over the last year. And yes, sometimes it felt like he was less committed to spending time together than ever before. But that wasn’t his fault. It was the nature of the changes in the newspaper world. It had become even more demanding as papers merged, folded and fought for survival in a declining market, battling against the 24/7 media coverage of TV and the internet.

  Cameron was staring at her now, his brown eyes taking in every detail of her expression. ‘And how’s that working out for you?’

  Ouch. What was this? Tonight was supposed to be about suitcase-shutting and flippant banter, not a marital therapy session that made a stab at her heart.

  That’s when the tears ambushed her. Not flowing down the face, poignant, movie star tears – just the welled-up, appearance-of-hay-fever ones. But still, that never happened to her. The only time she ever cried was in the case of tragedy, acute pain and Meryl Streep movies.

  ‘I… don’t… know.’ Sniff. Then a tidal wave of disjointed, contradictory thoughts. ‘It’s just that I keep hoping things will change. And I don’t mind, not really. Well, I do. But I thought that I’d get used to it. Then he invited everyone on this cruise and I think he doesn’t even want to be with me when we’re on holiday. I mean, who invites their ex-wives? But I don’t mind. Well, I do. I just think sometimes that maybe I’m not enough for him. Perhaps he’s bored. He must be. I bloody am. Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I don’t mean it…’

  ‘Maybe you do,’ Cameron answered softly.

  There it was. Maybe she did. Maybe it was time to start facing reality and getting honest with herself.

  ‘Are you happy with him?’ Cameron continued to probe.

  ‘Yes!’ So much for honesty. Her rueful grimace conceded that might not be strictly true. ‘At least, when we’re together I am, but the rest of the time it feels like we’re…’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Going through the motions.’

  Where the hell had that come from? Going through the motions? The motions of what? Two people who’d lost something somewhere along the path of their marriage?

  How had this happened? How had the inability to shut a suitcase turned into a devastating realization about her life? One fat tear rolled down her cheek and plopped down onto a pile of kidney beans.

  Cameron’s eyes were still on her, his expression one that she didn’t recognize. He was probably wishing he’d stayed on the couch watching American football instead of being landed with a bawling woman in rollers.

  ‘I think I could make you happier.’ It wasn’t said in the tone of a grand gesture of gushy emotion. He said it gently. Almost matter-of-fact. And totally unexpected and confusing. She grasped for a bit of clarity.

  ‘Wh… what?’

  ‘It’s time I told you. Should have done it ages ago. I was going to, and then you met Drew and married him so quickly…’

  ‘Wait a minute – how long have you felt like this?’

  ‘Since we first met.’

  ‘So all this time I thought we were best friends and you were just hanging around because you fancied me?’ Even as she was saying it she knew she was being harsh and unfair, but this felt like an ambush and the shock was making her shoot her way out of Dodge.

  He looked understandably hurt. ‘No! I mean yes. Both! I didn’t want to cause problems in your life or risk ruining what we already have. But it makes so much sense. We’re great together, Tess. Nothing even comes close to the friendship we have. And I fancy you like crazy…’

  ‘You fancy every woman with a pulse like crazy.’ It was an old, standing joke between them, but it fell flat given the present circumstances.

  He carried on. ‘And I want children, and so do you…’

  ‘Don’t even go there.’ The flash of anger in her eyes stopped him. It was the one taboo subject, the one thing she would never discuss. />
  ‘OK, I’m sorry, but… I could make you happy, Tess,’ he repeated. ‘And stop chewing your lip,’ he added with a grin.

  The ringing of the kitchen phone made them both jump. When she didn’t answer it, it switched to her voice telling the caller to leave a message.

  ‘Hey, babe,’ Drew’s baritone thundered down the line and she immediately felt guilty, despite having done absolutely nothing wrong. Cameron’s gaze still held hers in an almost defiant stand-off.

  See? She was married! How dare he come into her kitchen and lay all this stuff on her. This was just another one of his stupid phases, like skinny jeans or when he insisted on travelling to work every day on a Segway. Drew was calling her right now and didn’t that prove that things between them were fine?

  Or not.

  ‘Listen, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to miss dinner tonight. I had Jorja call and cancel the reservation. Big story breaking – premiership player shagging another player’s missus. Sorry, love, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Why don’t you phone Cameron and go for a drink? See you when I get home. Love you.’

  The award for completely ironic bloody timing goes to Drew Gold.

  It was difficult to come back after that, but she gave it her best shot.

  ‘Cameron, I’m sorry. But I can’t be having this conversation. Drew is my husband.’

  There was a toe-curling scraping noise as he dismounted off the bar stool and pushed it back from the island. He was leaving? He was just going to say all that stuff and then leave?

  ‘Not from where I’m standing.’

  She stood frozen to the spot while he smiled sadly, turned and left. A million thoughts collided in her mind and she was so frazzled she could only settle on one: Drew Gold was about to find out how it felt to go commando.

  Mona

  The Steakhouse at The Blythswood Club was a chaotic throng of Glasgow’s glitterati. Since it opened, the private member’s club had been the bustling epicentre of Glasgow’s more upmarket social scene and Mona Gold had been a member since day one. By the time she made her way from the reception downstairs to the upstairs bar, her favourite Kir Royal was waiting for her. So was her husband. Piers Delaney was holding court to half a dozen younger men, all impeccably dressed and clearly hanging on his every word. It was a familiar sight. His national chain of sports shops had made him a very, very rich man indeed. Dressing the nation’s disaffected in tracksuits and trainers had put the man behind the company in Savile Row suits. There was even a rumour that he was up for an honour in the Queen’s New Year list. Just a few years into his sixth decade, he was well-respected, successful, intelligent and generous – and shagging his twenty-two-year-old secretary. Of course, he had no idea Mona knew, but those early pre-fashion years as an investigative journalist had left traits that prevented any chance of being cuckolded by an arrogant entrepreneur. That business trip to New York last year? Three nights in the Mandarin Oriental with Emily the Typing Frump. Mona wasn’t sure if she was more insulted by the betrayal or by the fact that the woman he was screwing behind her back bought her shoes from Clarks. She thought about confronting him but decided against it. Actions like that required thought, plans, an exit strategy, and she hadn’t yet decided on the latter. The only thing she knew for sure was that if he could indulge in illicit fun, then so could she. Barely a week had passed since then without incredible sex, and it was rarely with her husband.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she whispered breathlessly, as she gave him a fleeting kiss on the cheek.

  At least half of the men he was talking to appraised her from head to foot. It always gave her a buzz to know that she hadn’t lost it. In fact, she truly felt like she was coming into her prime. Her early twenties had been about building her career, her late twenties had been about being married to Drew, and now that she was in her early thirties – OK, her late thirties – life was about enjoying everything she’d achieved while maintaining the looks and figure of a twenty-five-year-old. Going by the expressions on these guys’ faces it was working.

  Piers didn’t even notice their reactions. Fool.

  ‘I think our table is ready, darling, so we can go on through.’

  The bartender must have been reading her lips because he immediately appeared at her side with a tray, took her drink and whisked it through the restaurant to their table.

  It was always the same one. A booth at the window, furthest away from the entrance, with Mona seated on the left so that she could keep an eye on who was coming and going.

  She stopped to air-kiss at least ten people on the way. Everyone knew her and she knew everyone – Glasgow might be a large city, but she worked hard to make sure she was a big fish in the socialite pond.

  ‘It’s exhausting coming out with you, do you know that?’ The smile on her husband’s face said that it was supposed to be a joke, but Mona knew that it masked a very real feeling of irritation. It was difficult to remember the time when his jokes made her want to laugh and his touch made her want to get naked really quickly. Sometimes she wondered if the whole relationship had been some kind of messed-up competition in her head. A great big ‘fuck you’ to Drew after he ended their marriage. After all, what could be more satisfying than marrying fabulously successful businessman Piers Delaney just weeks after the decree nisi for her divorce from Drew Gold hit the doormat?

  Mona just smiled in reply to his jibe, flashing the gleaming white pearlies that came courtesy of regular whitening treatments at the Visage Lifestyle Clinic. It was practically her second home. Botox. Fillers. Laser treatments. Teeth whitening. Massage. Acupuncture. She was probably their best client, but it was testimony to their expertise that it didn’t show. There wasn’t an over-plumped lip or an over-raised, frozen eyebrow on Mona’s face. It took a whole lot of work to look that natural.

  Piers leaned back as the waiter filled his glass with beer. It infuriated her that he could afford the best champagne, yet he happily settled for a beer with dinner. ‘So… what’s happening in the handbag world this week, then?’

  The hairs on the back of her neck flicked to the upright position. Demeaning bastard. This was a guy who made a fortune from track suits. Not exactly haute bloody couture. However, tonight wasn’t a night to take him to task. Time to play nice for the sake of the bigger picture. Or luxury cruise. It had been torture persuading him to go on this trip and she just knew he was looking for an excuse to cancel. In the end she’d used every piece of leverage she had to get Piers to agree to embark on a voyage with her ex-husband, his former wife and family as well as his latest wife. She reminded him that having a good relationship with the editor of Scotland’s national newspaper was crucial for his companies. She’d had sex with him for twelve, Viagra-fuelled hours. Finally, her last ace card had been to invite his son, Max. The relationship between father and son was distant, both in emotion and geography. Max’s mother had taken him to live in London when he was a baby and his childhood had been punctuated by weekend and holiday visits. Now that Max was in his thirties, the two men got together when their schedules allowed. That masterstroke had sealed the deal – Piers agreed to go and Mona got what she wanted. Not that she’d ever doubted she would, but she had no intention of blowing it now and having to endure the whole 12 hour Viagra persuasion session all over again.

  Only after a large gulp of Kir Royal did she trust herself to speak without antagonism. What was his question again? It took her a moment to recall what he’d asked, shrug off a new wave of irritation, and put together a non-confrontational answer.

  ‘No, nothing in the handbag world worth getting excited about. Enough about work – are you looking forward to seeing Max? How long has it been?’

  Piers narrowed his eyebrows as he pondered the question. ‘At least a couple of months. Don’t know where my time goes.’

  To a hotel. In New York. With a woman in sensible shoes.

  ‘He sounded pretty excited about it,’ she lied. It had taken three phone calls, a gloss
y brochure and much pleading to make him come. Sometimes Max wasn’t the most pliable of characters. ‘He’s really looking forward to seeing you.’ Another lie. As far as she could recall, Max’s exact words were a light-hearted, ‘Don’t you think I’m a little old to be taken on holiday by my dad?’ That little titbit wasn’t for sharing with the man sitting across the table. Instead, she subtly applied another layer of SPF factor fifty manipulation. ‘I’m sure it will be lovely. And it means a lot to Drew that you’re coming. You know how he loves the whole “big gathering” thing.’ That was true. How ironic that it suited her purposes now, yet it had driven her bloody mad when they were married.

  ‘I just don’t understand why he wants his ex-wife there.’

  Mona laughed. ‘Because we’re friends. The fact that we were married has nothing to do with it. I’m his confidante and he enjoys our company.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but it would do for now. The truth might just put Piers off his steak.

  All that mattered was that they were going and right now that was all she cared about. Where better to work on that exit strategy than in the sunny bliss of the Mediterranean?

  Sarah

  ‘I want to leave,’ Sarah announced.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right now.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I swear to God, I’ll scream. Or set off a fire alarm. Or phone the police.’

  Patsy got a fit of the giggles, then grasped Sarah by the shoulders. ‘Pull yourself together!’ she laughed, while aping the actions of the leading hero in a disaster flick, trying to calm down a hysterical hostage as the bad guys pondered over who to shoot next.

  The young girl with the gothic hair and nose piecing behind the till in River Island eyed them suspiciously. There was no way those two were shoplifters – far too conspicuous. They did look a bit deranged, though. The taller one had pink hair sticking out from underneath her beanie hat, and was wearing a white and pink tie-dyed maxi dress. The other one had on a denim skirt and a… eew, a fleece. They were, like, so ten years ago. On top of all that the women were totally ancient. At least forty-five.