Pretenders. The

by Zaza, Agatha

  ‘And you think Edmund knows this, so he doesn’t say,’ John had suggested, using the gentle tone he used on clients.

  ‘God knows. Edmund and I are seven years apart. We are close but … only so close. By the time I was teenager, he was off at uni. We talked about girls but not in intimate detail. I’d tell him stuff, he’d tell me about some girl he’d met. And when the age gap mattered less, there was always a reason to not to talk about women. You know — discretion and stuff. He’ll talk about them in general or ask me about mine. I do know that he desperately wants someone in his life, in an old-fashioned way — I’m pretty sure with a woman.’

  ‘But come on, you’re his brother — you’d know?’ John had asked.

  ‘I’m sure if he was really serious about someone, he’d tell me.’ Jasper had looked pensive. ‘But brothers can keep pretty big secrets from each other.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s carrying around a broken heart type of thing?’ John had asked, making sure to sound casual.

  Jasper had cocked his head to one side. ‘No,’ he’d said brutally. ‘I’ll go with the no luck with women — easier to believe. Look at him, he’s hardly sexy. Does the guy even own a pair of trainers?’ Jasper had paused. ‘No wait, he does. He took up running a couple of years back. Said he hated it.’

  ‘When you’re raking in whatever he makes a year, I’m sure a lot of women would quite happily deal with boring,’ John had suggested.

  ‘But Edmund wouldn’t spend a second with those women. I know Edmund,’ Jasper had declared. ‘Him, give away his hard-earned cash to a gold digger? No way.’

  ‘Anyway, dinner smells marvellous — I’m starving.’ John had been careful not to show too much interest. There were things you didn’t tell friends. Jasper knew that John was unfaithful to Anne — that this was the real reason he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to make a vow of fidelity in front of witnesses, a vow that he couldn’t, and didn’t want, to keep.

  John had found Edmund alone a little later that evening. Dinner had been announced as nearly ready, and Jasper had disappeared with his mobile just as Edmund had sat down with a glass of water.

  ‘So, what do you get up to when you’re not travelling the world?’ John had begun.

  ‘Nothing exciting,’ Edmund had replied.

  ‘Golf, sky-diving?’ John had asked, pressing on.

  ‘Definitely not sky-diving,’ Edmund had replied.

  ‘Sorry, I’m just being friendly,’ John had said in response to Edmund’s brusqueness. ‘We could also just sit in silence till Jasper gets back.’

  ‘Reading, crosswords, and, very occasionally, chess,’ Edmund had replied. ‘I used to be very good at it. I really can’t stand it now.’

  ‘Excellent, now we’re getting somewhere. Are you worth betting on?’

  Surprisingly, Edmund had laughed and John watched. Jasper had said Edmund had his teeth fixed in his twenties, and, to John, they were perfect.

  ‘Ever go down to your local? Cafés, nice restaurant ever?’

  ‘I like good restaurants,’ Edmund had said. ‘I can recommend some excellent ones.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to try one — one of these nights?’ John had said, emphasising nights.

  John had sensed Edmund’s gaze linger. He’d guessed Edmund was assessing him, trying to ascertain his motives.

  ‘No thanks,’ Edmund had replied, his tone unchanged.

  ‘Nothing formal or anything.’ John had to try again. ‘Just you and me?’

  ‘No,’ Edmund had said, still holding eye contact.

  John left it there. Disappointed. ‘Sorry. Forget I asked.’

  ‘Does your wife know that you chat up men?’ Edmund had asked, looking amused.

  ‘It’s not something I do,’ John had said, glancing toward a blank wall.

  ‘I’d say it’s something you do quite a lot,’ Edmund had replied, his hand lightly touching his chin, his index finger resting above his top lip. ‘Or do you generally stick to women?’

  ‘Anne and I have an understanding,’ John had replied, knowing that no such understanding existed between him and Anne.

  ‘What do you suppose she’d do if she knew?’ Edmund had asked.

  ‘What’s there to know?’ John had bristled, knowing he’d made a serious mistake. ‘Look. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come on to you.’ John had tried to end the conversation.

  ‘Oh, don’t be sorry,’ Edmund had said, once again looking amused. ‘Jasper and my dad love discussing my sex life. Maybe if I go on a few escapades it would make things more exciting for them.’

  John had sensed that Edmund was teasing him. He’d forced a chuckle.

  Edmund had leaned against his armrest. ‘John has a secret life. Who’d have known?’

  Now, Edmund’s words took on a new meaning to John, as he sat watching Edmund flirt with a woman he’d been with in a secret relationship with for four years.

  18

  They were discussing running. Anne had run half marathons before, but not since she’d had children, which she realised now was a long time ago. Now she occasionally did ten or five kilometres, which didn’t need as much training time, and in which she still could feel some pride, but did nothing to help her lose weight. She felt overtaken by Ovidia’s ultramarathon running and asked how Ovidia found the time.

  ‘A patient partner,’ Ovidia replied. ‘Someone happy, or who at least seems happy, to drive you to the back of beyond, and deal with blisters, and can stomach black toenails.’

  Anne’s eyes were immediately drawn to Ovidia’s slippers and thereafter to Edmund’s traditional brown men’s slippers. The contrast made her smile, but she was warming to their relationship and beginning to see Edmund in a new light. In the four years they’d been together, Anne assumed, he’d made no attempt to restrain this colourful and bubbly individual, to rein in her bold plush slippers, or early morning runs. Ovidia’s clothes and mannerisms were an expression not just of her personality but of Edmund’s, too — an aspect of him that they’d somehow all missed.

  ‘When you have kids, there are some things that you give up,’ Anne said.

  ‘Why run an ultramarathon if you know you might not finish it? And, even if you did, you still wouldn’t win?’ Holly asked. ‘It doesn’t look like fun, and well, you were even hallucinating.’

  ‘I came second once,’ Ovidia replied. ‘There were six women, and one of the front runners tripped and another got a stomach bug. It’s amazing when you cross the finish line. I can’t imagine life without it.’

  ‘What’s the motivation? Why? I don’t get it,’ Holly insisted, waggling her wine glass.

  ‘It’s like drugs,’ Ovidia replied gazing upwards. ‘It blocks out the rest of the world, and it becomes you and the pavement. Even if there are other people around me, in the end, it’s my feet — my body — taking me to the finish line. I learned my own physical and emotional strength. It changed me.’

  John’s mobile rang, interrupting her. ‘Sorry,’ he said, standing. ‘It’s your mum,’ he said to Anne, as he put his hand on the door handle to exit the extension. ‘Your tooth fell out! That’s wonderful, sweetheart,’ he said and stopped, still in the cube. ‘Of course the tooth fairy can find you at Gran’s. Well, why don’t you leave him a note? Tell him sorry he can’t have your tooth today, but to look for it at home on Sunday.’ He paused, listening. ‘Yes, sometimes the tooth fairy’s a boy — remember we can be anything we want, even a tooth fairy. Love you, sweetie. See you tomorrow.’

  As he returned to join them, Ovidia stood, opened her mouth as if to say something, but then pushed past John into the kitchen. The moment she opened the door, she lowered her head and put her hands to her face. Anne couldn’t tell if she was crying. She heard Ovidia’s slippers slapping against the floors as she went.

  Anne was shocked by Edmund’s lack of response. His posture remained unchanged, though it shouldn’t have. If your partner runs out of a room, don’t you rush to
help? she thought. The guests waited for a cue, but he neither explained nor apologised for her escape and didn’t even try to cover it up with ‘more wine anyone?’.

  Anne watched Ovidia leave, puzzled, repressing the urge to chase after her. She saw John smirk. Like her, just when she was warming to them, he must have been reminded how odd Edmund and Ovidia seemed together.

  With Ovidia gone, the subject of running seemed moot.

  Jasper remained as he was. Anne was really hoping he’d suggest leaving. He must have been able to see that they were intruding upon something. Perhaps Ovidia, or even Edmund, was having some sort of episode — a bout of depression?

  ‘The wedding. Have you thought about it?’ Anne said the first thing that came to mind to break the silence. ‘If you want it this summer, then you have to get to it pretty quickly. Or just accept that the weather will be crap and go for a stylish autumn one. I’ve heard that they’re cheaper.’ She glanced at John for help.

  ‘It has to be summer. I want to wear something off the shoulder, maybe a low back. Something sexy. It’ll be too cold for it in autumn,’ Holly said. She gestured about her neck area as if tracing the shape of a neckline of an imagined dress.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Anne said. ‘Stick to something more traditional, something you won’t regret. The last thing you want is to spend all day fighting with sliding bras and tripping over bits of your dress.’

  Anne was glad to return to an easier subject — the reason they were here. Though, without Ovidia, and with Edmund silent, it felt as if they were talking among themselves and they could have been in a pub. Anne could see Jasper’s attention waning. He was examining his shoes, checking his mobile, trying not to appear as if he was tinkering on it — he’d often said how he thought it was rude to mess about with a phone when in company. Anne knew Jasper wasn’t interested in the details of the wedding — it had come up the previous evening. He’d asked about budgets and locations and whether it would be a Christian or secular service — saying he really would prefer a secular one.

  But Jasper’s eyes were searching, troubled, resting on Holly for a minute and then gone again. Anne expected that, on the day after his engagement, Jasper would be completely wrapped up with his future wife, as he’d been the previous night. She was a little disappointed in Jasper, recalling how he’d been fawning over Holly the previous night. She was more critical of him than her husband: she expected him to be civil and decent to the people around him, not so self-absorbed. Even though she put up with John’s unpredictable moods and disappearances, she was less inclined than him to be silent when he pushed the boundaries of her patience.

  ‘You knew,’ she’d elbowed John the previous night as Holly and Jasper had kissed after Holly had dried her tears.

  ‘Helped him pick out a ring,’ John had said proudly. ‘God, do you remember the state he was in when we met him.’ His face was suddenly serious.

  ‘I try not to,’ she’d replied. ‘You’ve been a good friend; he’s lucky to have you.’ She’d rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, and he’d put his arm around her waist and plucked the elastic on her waistband.

  They’d watched Jasper as he took Holly’s hand and explained the ring. Holly had turned to show it to her, and Anne had to admit that it was incredibly pretty. The ring made of three slim bands attached by fine filigree fitted perfectly on Holly’s ring finger.

  ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t. I can’t,’ Holly had repeated. ‘I’ve got to call my mum and dad.’ She’d fanned herself with her free hand, her eyes fixed upon her ring.

  ‘They watched the whole thing.’ Jasper had pulled his mobile off the shelf where it had been partially obscured and on a tripod. Her parents were now furiously waving.

  Holly had seized the phone. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she’d begun and headed for the kitchen, asking if they could believe what had just happened.

  Anne and John had hugged Jasper in turn, congratulating him again.

  Looking at Jasper, today, she thought, for God’s sake, make an effort for poor Holly.

  ‘Well, I suppose there are some sexy traditional designs,’ Holly suggested, appearing surprised at Anne’s conflicting idea about the wedding.

  Edmund had lapsed into that unpleasant — or was it unhappy? — silence again. Why didn’t he go to Ovidia when something was so obviously wrong? Anne tried not to stare at him but found it difficult. He looked haggard, not like the man she’d met before. Looking at him now, she could believe he was as dull and work-obsessed as Jasper claimed. But, even the first time she’d met him, the cut and quality of his clothes had hinted a contradiction to her. His clothes told her that he cared about the way he looked and, on several occasions, she recognised the restaurants Jasper mentioned the two of them visiting from the urbane tastemakers she followed in magazines and blogs. She wished she’d probed more into his interests, perhaps discussed décor and design; she felt she may have learned more. The house they were in, though disappointingly stripped of its Victorian heritage, had been decorated by someone with some taste, though it lacked individualism. Perhaps, she thought, it said something about Ovidia. Was she as colourful as she seemed?

  ‘Mind if I?’ Anne began, pointing to the French doors.

  ‘There’s one just after the kitchen and a few upstairs — take your pick,’ Edmund replied.

  Anne went in search of the toilet downstairs, thinking how it was a perfect opportunity to look around, if just a little. She left the kitchen, the dark wood flooring continued along a corridor. But she decided, as she needed to be discreet, she would stick to the lower floors, recalling how impersonal the ground floor had been. Edmund and Ovidia were an enigma, and she felt she wasn’t learning enough about them. An itch to rifle through everything she could burned inside her, and having to pass bedrooms and studies would be too much of a temptation.

  Anne had seen houses like this in magazines and on blogs. She’d once been on a design house tour, joining queue after queue across London for a chance to walk through houses that everyone nodded and whispered in approval of their beauty and style. The tour group all understood that it was, to an extent, artificially staged, possessions edited or hidden to show the world.

  But this was the home of someone she knew, if only a little. Yet it was like those homes on show — the feeling that the owner was away. The details or imperfections that differentiate a house from a home — muddy boots, overdue library books, and carelessly tossed backpacks — were missing.

  In the minutes she had to find the toilet, she imagined what items Edmund could source on his travels — authentic kilims or kimonos, hand-stamped batiks, if he wanted to. She walked along the corridor, imagining how she’d tweak the décor, making it more personal and then nodded when, in her imagination, her job was done.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ she said as she opened the bathroom door.

  The downstairs bathroom was spacious enough to have a large claw-foot tub as its centrepiece. Its skirting was painted white, offsetting the black walls that made up the top half. It was well thought out, designed for show — not like her own bathroom renovation, which was all about utility, about being able to withstand a family of four.

  As soon as she closed the door behind her, she opened the medicine cabinet. She found only spare soap, toothpaste, and toothbrushes still in their packages. She inspected the room, the hand towels appeared new and were completely unmarked, the floor tiles seemed pristine, the room appeared to be cleaned more often than it was used.

  ‘Stop it, nosey,’ Anne told herself, wondering what she was looking for but disappointed that she couldn’t find it. She finished with the toilet, and washing her hands, checked her face and inspected her teeth.

  Looking in the mirror, Anne, for a second, was distracted by the sight of her face: the heaviness under her eyes that her make-up could not obscure. She picked up a towel, and, as she rubbed her hands dry, the musky smell of unused linen hit her.

  Surprised, she put the towel back on the rail where, from a distance
, it had seemed clean and fresh. She sniffed the other towel and it smelled the same. The towels must have been there long enough to begin to reek, unchanged because they hadn’t been used, she thought. She shuddered as she left the room.

  Walking back through the corridor, Anne could not resist the urge to snoop. She saw the house with a new perspective. Whoever cleaned only did so superficially. Someone didn’t care, the cleaner or the owner. The cleaner was no longer held accountable or was unsupervised. The floor was obviously cleaned, but as she looked in corners, she could see where the mop had not gone all the way to the wall on a regular basis and muck had accumulated along the skirting. She noted a fine layer of dust on the console table, which, when its drawers were opened, revealed unopened mail and brochures unsorted and disordered.

  The housekeeper was certain there would be no guests — that no one would use the towels or wander along the corridors. Jasper hadn’t even known the address.

  Something was very wrong in Edmund’s life.

  Anne paused when the thought hit her.

  Him sitting outdoors in that condition was part of something much bigger. Everything she’d seen or heard about Edmund said that his home would be pristine. Yet he was paying a housekeeper who didn’t do their job, who was so sure they wouldn’t be reprimanded that he or she had become complacent.

  She entered the kitchen and moved quietly to the sitting area behind it, which, like the cooking space, appeared clean at first glance. She lifted a sofa cushion and, when she saw the mess of crumbs and pencil sharpenings wedged between the cushions, she thought, they can’t really be paying someone for this. Though she was sure they must be, the house was much too big for the two of them to be cleaning it themselves.

  Anne exited through the kitchen doors, stopping to look at the large soulless kitchen behind her and sat back beside John. A man as meticulous as the Edmund she’d met before would not stand for the filth she’d found today, but this crumpled man in front of her just might.