Who Needs Men Anyway?

by Victoria Cooke

  Don’t get mad, get even . . .

  Thirty-something Charlotte Emsworth’s life is a sickeningly perfect round of charity events, hot yoga, and romantic gestures for sexy lawyer husband James. But, patiently waiting to get pregnant, Charlotte is bored. And when she’s bored, she has a tendency to meddle . . .

  First, it’s her personal trainer Megan’s cheating fiancé, then the gardener Sam’s wife’s ‘late nights at the office’. But soon the meddling, however well-intentioned, lands Charlotte in way over her head, and all the time spent ‘managing’ other people’s lives makes her blind to the cracks appearing in her own . . .

  Getting even is one thing, but what about getting happy?

  Perfect for fans of The First Wives Club . . .

  Also by Victoria Cooke

  The Secret to Falling in Love

  The Holiday Cruise

  Who Needs Men Anyway?

  Victoria Cooke

  ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

  Copyright

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

  Copyright © Victoria Cooke 2018

  Victoria Cooke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008274580

  Version: 2018-03-09

  VICTORIA COOKE grew up in the city of Manchester before crossing the Pennines in pursuit of her career in education. She now lives in Huddersfield with her husband and two young daughters and when she’s not at home writing by the fire with a cup of coffee in hand, she loves working out in the gym and travelling. Victoria was first published at the tender age of eight by her classroom teacher who saw potential in a six-page story about an invisible man. Since then she’s always had a passion for reading and writing, undertaking several writers’ courses before completing her first novel in 2016.

  This book is for my friends, my besties, my ‘Elmwood massive’ and my ‘club Oasis’ partners in crime. Cocktails are never the same without you.

  Thank you for inspiring me through your crazy antics – your friendship rocks.

  xxx

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Booklist

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author Bio

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Excerpt

  Endpages

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Valentine’s Day Last Year

  I’m Charlotte, and I have a wonderful life.

  The house, the cars, the clothes, and the man. What more could I want?

  My husband, James, is quite the catch: successful, good-looking, and loved by everyone, he’s the type of man other women tell me they dream of marrying. James and I were university sweethearts and married at the tender age of twenty-four – ten years ago today, in a lavish ceremony on a frosty February the fourteenth, so Valentine’s Day has always been a day of celebration.

  This morning, I woke up to find a single rose lying at the foot of the bed with a little note that read:

  I love you more than life itself.

  Happy anniversary, my darling valentine.

  James

  xxx

  A smile spread across my face as I sniffed the rose. ‘James?’ I shouted, and he emerged from the steamy en suite with a white towel tied around his waist, showing off his toned stomach, still tanned from our recent trip to Mexico.

  ‘You’re awake?’ He pulled me into a hug.

  ‘I am, thank you for the rose,’ I said, kissing him. ‘And the note.’

  ‘You deserve it, Charlotte. I love you. Come here.’ He pulled me in tight once again, nibbling my lip. ‘I’ll see you tonight. I have a special dinner planned – at that new French restaurant on the high street – but I’ll be working late so meet me there at seven?’

  ‘Sounds perfect. Now sit down, I’ve got something for you.’

  He sat waiting dutifully as I skipped into the walk-in wardrobe and opened my small, hidden drawer, sliding out the yellow box. It had challenged me to keep the gift a secret. The excited rush I’d felt when buying it two weeks ago was so strong it almost forced me to give it to him as soon as he’d walked in that day, especially since he’d looked so tired and in need of cheering up. I’d had to take myself off to hot yoga every night to avoid caving in to temptation and spoiling the surprise. But I’d triumphed! I made it to our anniversary, to Valentine’s Day morning, without spilling the beans.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I said, hovering in the doorway.

  Once he did, I walked over and placed the box on his knee, jumping on the bed to sit beside him. My insides squeezed with excitement. ‘Okay, you can open them!’

  ‘Oh my God! Charlotte!’ He gasped. Taking in the embossed wings logo on the yellow box, he hastily opened the lid to reveal a smaller, glossy-black box inside. It was like the Russian doll of watch boxes. I could barely contain myself as he peered inside and grinned. ‘I love it.’ Of course he did; I knew he would – it was the Breitling Navitimer watch he’d had his eye on for months. He kissed me before pulling away. ‘And I love you too. I’ve got you a little something as well but it’s at work because I was saving it to give you at dinner.’

  What a wonderful man.

  Chapter One

  ‘Janet, you went with the highlights and bob I suggested? You look absolutely stunning.’ I beamed at the Budgen’s shop assistant who fiddled with the ends of her hair shyly and nodded. ‘It’s taken years off you.’ It really had – she’d gone from ‘magnolia plain’ to ‘hot pink sassy’ since I’d last seen her. Jaded Janet to Jazzy Janet in a jiffy. My insides bounced about excitedly at yet another triumph in my quest to make people happy.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Emsworth – I was a bit unsure about the chop but after you’d said I should go for it I thought “well what the heck?” My darling other half thought I’d gone and got myself
a bit on the side because I’d apparently started “making an effort” all of a sudden.’ She giggled.

  ‘Well, that’ll keep him on his toes.’ I winked. I stepped outside feeling all warm and fuzzy, glad that Janet appreciated my advice. On the surface, it looked like I had it all, and I suppose I almost did but life hadn’t always been so rosy and it wasn’t quite complete. Coming from a background where I didn’t always ‘fit in’ gave me a level of empathy rarely found amongst the average Cheshire housewife cliques and that was my superpower.

  As I stepped outside the shop contemplating my next quest, I spotted something that made my blood run cold. I squinted a little to make sure I’d not made a mistake. Sure enough, it was him, Mike, the fiancé of my personal trainer, Megan, sat in his car getting far too close to a much younger woman. As I froze, trying to figure out what to do, the engine started and they drove off into the night.

  ***

  ‘I’m going out. There’s hummus and crudités in the fridge in case you get peckish,’ I yelled to James late the following Saturday night. He was up in the office where he’d been spending far too much time of late. Megan had gushed about going to a Sam Smith concert with some of her friends, and that meant her fiancé would be home alone, allegedly. If I was going to expose him for the cheating worthless bastard I knew he was, I was going to need evidence.

  I’d dressed in black skinny jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket for low visibility; my Kera Straightened blonde hair was tucked into a black woolly pompom hat. James didn’t question me as I left; I knew he wouldn’t because he’d been office-bound, working so hard on a huge case that he’d barely had time to eat, never mind worry himself with whatever I was up to. I sunk into the leather seat of my black BMW and pressed the ‘Start’ button. The engine purred to life.

  It was a fifteen-minute drive to Megan’s house in a nice residential area on the outskirts of Stockport. Bingo, two cars sat on the driveway: Megan’s cute Mini and Mike’s navy Merc – or the ‘seedy-love-mobile’, as I now prefer to call it. I crawled past and saw a light on in the front room of their modern detached – confirming he was home.

  I spun my car around at the top of the cul-de-sac and drove off up the street, pulling up on the main road at the top. It looked like one of those ‘Neighbourhood Watch’ areas – the kind with the twitchy curtains. My unfamiliar shiny new 5 Series wouldn’t sit unnoticed; it may have already drawn a look or two. I checked my watch. It was just after nine. The urgent trill of my phone made me jump as it came through the car’s Bluetooth system. I fumbled with the volume quickly before answering.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, eyes still fixed on the road.

  ‘Charlotte, it’s Lauren,’ she shrilled. ‘I just wanted to let you know we’ve had to bring our charity ball forward to Friday the seventh. There was a double booking at the venue but don’t worry, I gave them what for and they’re going to comp us some champagne. Hope you and James will be there?’

  Tension built in my chest. I wasn’t a fan of Lordy Lauren at the best of times but this time she’d crossed a line.

  ‘Lauren, you know very well my charity brunch is that day.’ I didn’t even try to keep the bitterness from my tone.

  ‘Is it?’ Her tone was forcedly flippant and it served only to turn up the flame beneath my already simmering anger. I’d known Lauren for years through the golf club and our relationship was strained to say the least. We were ‘social acquaintances’ at best but she was rather unpleasant towards me on most occasions and I had no real idea why. I struggled to believe she’d clashed our events by accident.

  As much as I wanted to give her what for, I was a lady, and had my dignity to maintain, so instead regrettable words oozed out from between my clenched teeth.

  ‘We will be at the ball.’ I paused. She wasn’t getting away that easily. ‘Can I count on you to attend my brunch? You did RSVP after all.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news about the ball, dear, and I’ll try my best to make brunch. Ciao for now.’ She hung up and I took a few deep breaths until I could relax my grip on the steering wheel and refocus on the job at hand.

  As I sat concocting my plan, I heard an engine cut through the night’s silence. Through my rear-view mirror, I could see the headlights of a car pulling out of the cul-de-sac. As it passed I sunk low into my seat. My windows were tinted but not blacked out so I had to be cautious. I did, however, manage to make out the sleek lines of the seedy-love-mobile – enough for a moment of admiration – and I made a mental note to test-drive a Merc when I was ready to replace the BMW.

  My father had always taught me to appreciate the finer things in life. He’d come from poverty and, back in the Eighties, life was bleak and we had very little. Dad worked for a haulage company on the brink of collapse and at one point they’d reduced his hours so much I remember my mother crying every time the fridge was empty, raking her fingers through her home-permed hair trying to figure out how to fill it again.

  A few years later, Dad had a vision and begged, stole, and borrowed enough to buy the failing company for a knock-down price. At the time, he was the talk of the village and a day didn’t pass without me overhearing a neighbour whisper about how foolish he was. He never let the rumours affect him; instead, he redrafted the wagon routes and set up central hubs to make the business more efficient.

  By the time I was fourteen, we were financially comfortable and he’d packed me off to an upmarket private school where I spent two hellish years trying to fit in. I mean, how’s a teenager supposed to know when Calvin Klein is out and Gucci is in? I just felt lucky to no longer be in clothes passed on by well-meaning family members. That was all water under the bridge now: a distant memory. Thankfully. I glanced down at my J Brand skinnies and stroked them affectionately.

  Once the Merc was far enough ahead, I started my engine and followed him. We drove towards Manchester, and I almost doubted my earlier suspicions. Perhaps he was just going to pick up Megan from the arena and I was wasting my time on a ‘mission improbable’. Maybe I hadn’t spotted another person in the car after all.

  But then he turned off towards Rusholme. Yes, Rusholme: where the students live. Mike pulled up outside a terraced house with a small, overgrown front garden and I drove on, turning onto another road further down. I got out of the car and crept to the corner, making sure to stick to the shadows before peering around a privet hedge.

  There she was, stepping out of his car.

  I fumbled around in my pocket and pulled out my phone ready to capture the evidence, but in my giddy haste, I was all thumbs, unable to get the screen to unlock in time. Before I knew it, she was inside and he’d driven off. Damn, damn, and double damn. Thwarted, I trudged back to the car and drove home.

  James was already in bed when I got there so I slipped under the covers quietly, taking care not to disturb him before kissing him gently on the shoulder.

  The next morning, I was already up making breakfast when he came downstairs. I’d bought those part-cooked pains au chocolat that you pop in the oven for a bit. They’re just like home-cooked ones but without the mess and the effort, which suited me perfectly.

  ‘Mmm, something smells delicious – you do know how to spoil me.’ He came up behind me and snaked his arms around my waist, kissing my neck as he snuggled in close, sending a tingle up my spine. He was dressed in just his pyjama bottoms and his torso radiated a familiar, comforting heat.

  ‘Sit down, the coffee is almost brewed,’ I said, pouring him a glass of freshly squeezed orange as I guided him to the table. I loved Sunday mornings. Enjoying a lazy breakfast with my handsome husband couldn’t be beaten.

  ‘How about a long countryside walk later?’ I asked as I took the pastries out of the oven. I’d hoped to broach the subject of trying for a baby again. We’d discussed it and James said he wanted nothing more than a family of our own, but work was consuming him and there wasn’t exactly much action going on in the bedroom. I needed to bring it up. I wasn’t getting any
younger and we’d put off having children when we were younger, to allow time for James’s business to grow. We couldn’t put it off for much longer. It was a case of now . . . or maybe never.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, I can’t today. This case is taking everything I have at the moment. You know how big Bracken Peel are and one of the directors has been accused of embezzlement. His imprisonment would completely ruin his life – he has a family and everything. You do understand don’t you?’ He placed his hand on mine.

  Bracken Peel were a huge FTSE500 company and the case had made the news so I could understand his need to win, but a tiny seed of thought at the back of my brain selfishly wondered why he’d put some director’s family before having one of his own. It was irrational to think that way, I convinced myself, and smiled warmly; I was in awe of his dedication, and had to push my own concerns aside.

  I’d been dedicated myself when I worked as an accountant, but once James’s legal practice took off, I left to support him in any way I could. Once James and his partners built a team and he no longer needed me in the office, I got into organising charity events and social gatherings until I reached a point where I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I ever had time to work. I shop for locally produced, organic foods; I do yoga; keep up with physical maintenance – facials, light masks, or whatever the latest craze is; prepare meals; and save the rest of my time for James. He likes having me here for him too.

  ‘Okay, another time then. Here you go.’ I handed him his pastry, rubbing his back with my other hand.

  ‘The money from this case is going to be huge.’ I tensed on the word ‘money’. It wasn’t that I hated him earning good money – it brought us a wonderful life. I just wondered when James would ever feel like he had enough money to just sit back and enjoy it a bit more. I didn’t feel like we needed extra. ‘It’s going to be worth our while, I promise you.’ He kissed me on the head and then bit into his pastry.