‘Okay, darling, I’ll agree to Amelia and Tara, but if we could absolutely draw the line there, yes?’
‘Of course,’ Sophie trilled. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it happily. ‘I’ll be upstairs. Homework,’ she added, by way of explanation.
I gaped after her retreating back, aware that my daughter was about to attend her studies without any nagging on my part. Amazing. Perhaps I should throw a party more often. Every month. No, week. Make that every day. And talking of parties, I really must finish letting everyone know about it.
I set about prepping veg and cooking dinner with the phone tucked between shoulder and ear, ringing contacts, expressing delight at the excited reactions to those who said they hadn’t properly danced since Madonna released Ray of Light. Siri was instructed to email everyone the details, and then, finally, I rang my parents. Mum answered on the second ring.
‘Darling! How are you? I was just saying to Dad, I must give you a call and let you know the news.’
‘Hi, Mum, I’m fine, and I have news too! But you go first.’
‘Okay. Well, you remember Aunty Shirley and her son Jack?’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact, Simon was talking about them both the other day.’
‘She’s moving to Kent.’
‘Really? That’s nice.’
‘Yes, she’s had enough of Manchester with summers full of rain.’
‘So she’s going to enjoy the southern summers full of rain instead!’
‘I think our weather is marginally better than the North,’ Mum laughed. ‘She’s bought a place off-plan, but even though the conveyancing has completed, she can’t move in. The builders royally fudged up. They’ve been very kind though – paid for all her stuff to go into storage and did a cash-back deal.’
‘Quite right too,’ I said indignantly. ‘Where’s she living until the new place is ready?’
‘Well, that’s the thing. The builders offered to put her in a B&B, but Dad and I wouldn’t hear of it. We’ve told her she’s welcome to stay here. She’ll be arriving tomorrow.’
‘How lovely. I haven’t seen Aunty Shirley for years. Too long.’ I felt a pang of guilt. I’d spoken to her on the phone here and there, but not actually made the journey to Manchester. After all, the city wasn’t exactly around the corner from Sevenoaks and somehow, juggling a job with a home to run, an infant child… and then a handful of a child… and then a brat of a teenage child – well, it just hadn’t happened.
‘You’ll be able to do lots of catching up,’ said Mum happily. ‘And her son will be staying too. Remember him?’
‘Of course I remember nerdy Jack!’
‘Darling,’ Mum gently reprimanded, ‘make sure you don’t call him that when you see him.’
‘I can be subtle, Mum. Sometimes.’
‘Jack was in Africa, but he’s been lured back to Blighty.’
‘Don’t tell me, he missed the weather.’
‘I think it’s more to do with a book deal and having a base to write. I don’t suppose a laptop is much use in the jungle – nowhere to plug it in, surely?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ I said, having a mental image of a Crocodile Dundee-type of character looking for a socket in a tree trunk.
‘Anyway, they’ll both be here tomorrow. Dad and I thought we’d let them settle in, and perhaps the whole family can join us for Sunday lunch and give them a proper welcome. I’ll do a roast beef dinner. Alex’s favourite.’
Mum knew she needed something to tempt Alex to visit if Simon was going to be there. The atmosphere was always strained when my brother and husband were in the same room. It could be quite wearing.
‘Fabulous, Mum. About one o’clock?’
‘Perfect. Now tell me your news.’
I took a deep breath and said excitedly, ‘I’m throwing a fortieth birthday party for Alex.’
‘Wow, I’ll bet he’s chuffed to bits, eh?’
‘Ah, that’s the thing, Mum. It’s a surprise party. It absolutely has to be a secret.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Okay, here’s the details.’ There was then a bit of page turning in Mum’s enormous desk diary as she found the right date to scribble down the venue and time. She had yet to get to grips with diarising electronically, and still thought Siri was a real person. ‘Have you invited the Wheelers?’ she asked.
‘The Wheelers?’ I asked, my mind blank.
‘Very close friends of ours. You must remember Violet? They’ll be so upset if they’re not invited.’
I had a vague recollection of a woman with an iron-grey corrugated perm. One word. Formidable.
‘It’s just that,’ said Mum, suddenly anxious, ‘she invited us to her Brian’s fortieth, and she’s not really the sort of person to get on the wrong side of.’
I sighed. ‘Yes, fine, why not,’ I conceded. ‘Two more people won’t hurt.’
‘I’m so glad you said that,’ said Sophie, coming into the kitchen and overhearing, ‘only I’ve just had Tabitha and Zara on the phone, and they absolutely begged to be invited. If you say yes, then they’ll include me in Zara’s belly-piercing celebration.’
‘Just a minute, Mum,’ I cupped a hand over the receiver and turned to my daughter. ‘Sweetheart, this is getting ridiculous.’
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Zara is really cool. I’ve been wanting to be friends with her for yonks. It would mean so much to me. And you just told Granny she can invite some people we don’t even know. It wouldn’t be fair to give Granny preferential treatment over your own daughter.’
‘Oh for–’ I rolled my eyes and sighed mightily. ‘Fine, fine. But that is absolutely it, Sophie, okay?’
‘Thanks,’ she grinned, and blew me a kiss, before skipping back to her bedroom, no doubt to immediately ring Tabitha and Zara with the good news.
I took my hand away from the phone. ‘I’d better go, Mum. The chicken needs basting and Alex could walk in through the door at any moment. I don’t want him hearing us furtively talking. He’ll wonder what’s up.’
‘Quite, darling. Toodle-oo!’
I hung up and scooped all the fresh veg into the steamer, all the while thinking about the party. The guest list, like knitting, was growing ever longer, which alarmed me. I still felt unsettled and out of sorts about Jeanie and now Annabelle. It had also occurred to me, as I’d scraped skin from carrots, that if Alex had lied about Queenie’s true identity, then it was likely she’d be at the party. All I had to do now was find out her true identity. Because, come party night, I wanted to flush her out.
13
Alex arrived home just as I was carving up the chicken.
‘Thanks for coming into the surgery today,’ he said, pecking my cheek.
‘That’s fine. Working an extra afternoon in addition to a Monday and Wednesday is no big deal.’ Unlike your patient, I silently added, who was a very big deal to me. However, there was a time to broach a subject that might culminate in a row, and it wasn’t until after dinner had been cooked and eaten. I wasn’t making that mistake again.
‘Obviously you’ll get paid for it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, setting his meal before him. ‘Careful. Plate’s hot.’
Just like Annabelle. I wondered if my husband was echoing that thought as he picked up his knife and fork. I went out to the hallway and called up the stairs.
‘Sophie? Dinner’s ready.’
‘Two minutes,’ came the muffled reply.
I returned to the kitchen and sat down next to Alex.
‘Mum’s invited us to Sunday lunch, by the way.’
‘Ah. I was thinking about getting in a last game of golf on Sunday, before the weather truly changes.’
‘It’s roast beef,’ I said, and watched him instantly crumble.
‘In which case I shall look forward to it,’ he replied, smiling.
‘Mum said that my godmother and her son are staying with her and Dad for a few weeks. Do you remember Aunty Shirle
y and Jack? They were at our wedding.’
Alex contemplated. ‘Think so. Jolly lady. Son wore specs like Clark Kent.’
‘That’s them. They will be there too. And, er, probably Simon too.’
Alex groaned.
‘Roast beef!’ I said again, smiling.
‘Clearly your dear old mum knew I’d need coercing. Tell her the roast beef trick worked, and that her son-in-law isn’t daft.’
I smiled. ‘Will do.’ I wanted to steer the conversation in a different direction.
‘I quite enjoyed working on a Friday for a change, instead of sitting and gossiping with Caro,’ I looked at my husband for any reaction when I added, ‘and Jeanie.’ Even though the luscious Annabelle was now giving me a bad vibe, I still felt unsettled after Jeanie’s declaration about wanting to sing to Alex. And not just any song, but a very pertinent one in relation to those damn sexts.
Alex rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know what the three of you find to talk about so much.’
‘Oh, you know,’ I said lightly, ‘this and that.’
‘You mean having a snipe about which school mum is standing at the school gate, loudly telling anyone who will listen about her recent holiday to India while the rest of us are looking forward to a week in Cornwall, preferably without having to dodge the raindrops.’
‘Something like that,’ I nodded, popping a roast potato in my mouth.
Sophie came into the kitchen.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ she apologised, causing her father to raise his eyebrows at her polite expression of regret over being late to the table. ‘I wanted to finish that last bit of homework before I came down.’ She turned to Alex. ‘Hello, Daddy. How are you?’
Alex eyed her beadily. He wasn’t stupid. Why was our daughter behaving so sweetly?
‘I’m fine,’ he said, ‘and you?’ He flashed me a sideways look which more or less conveyed, is she sickening for something?
‘Good,’ she beamed. ‘I’m so excited about the par—’
I coughed loudly, causing both father and daughter to look at me, the first in surprise and the latter in horror as she realised she’d nearly spilt the party beans. Alex gave her his attention again.
‘So excited about what?’ he asked.
‘The … the party that Tabitha and Zara are having. I’ve wanted to be besties with them for ages. And… er, they’ve invited me.’
‘I’m glad you’re so popular,’ Alex smiled.
Sophie flushed and concentrated on eating her dinner.
‘That was lovely, Holly,’ said Alex, putting his knife and fork together.
‘I aim to please,’ I replied, thinking momentarily of Annabelle. Did she please my husband in ways that I couldn’t?
I cleared away our plates while Sophie finished off her meal.
‘I have one more piece of homework to do,’ she said, and glided away.
‘Is she okay?’ Alex asked, when our daughter was out of earshot.
I moved over to the kitchen door and quietly shut it.
‘Yes. Perhaps she’s finally maturing. She’s been very sunny lately. Makes a nice change.’
‘Totally agree,’ said Alex, before adding, ‘what’s for pudding?’
‘Me!’ I said lightly, just to prove I could be sunny too.
A shadow passed across his face.
‘I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk like that, Holly, when our daughter is around.’
‘She’s not around,’ I said, making sure the sunshine was still very evident in my tone of voice. ‘I’m just bantering, darling.’ It was important to keep my husband in a relaxed mood. After all, there was a tricky subject to broach. Softly does it…
‘Right,’ said Alex.
Was it my imagination or did Alex look relieved? I gave a tinkle of laughter.
‘After all, I’m hardly likely to ravish you over the dining table when I haven’t cleared away the tureen of vegetables and roast potatoes, ha ha!’
‘Quite,’ he agreed, with forced jollity, ‘ha ha ha!’
A part of me thought, somewhat irritably, and why the hell not? The presence of a teenager aside, what was so wrong with prostrating oneself over the distressed wood, scattering peas and carrots in all directions, and writhing together in ecstasy? But then again, Alex and I had never writhed. It wasn’t in his nature. And why was I even thinking it? Perhaps I was having some sort of mid-life crisis? Or a breakdown? But then again, I knew the real reason why my mind was going down this path. It was because of Annabelle’s antics this afternoon. Alex made to stand up.
‘I really enjoyed the surgical procedures today,’ I said, quickly, so that Alex sat back down again. His expression was instantly one of delight. He could talk about his work all day long.
‘Really?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Why’s that then? For me, it was just the same-old-same-old.’
‘Not at all,’ I shook my head. ‘I mean, take the patients.’
‘What about them?’
‘They were such fun!’
Alex looked perplexed. ‘I’m not sure about that. Ancient Mr Robins complained bitterly that his new dentures had made his gums sore. He said he was making it his mission to get me struck off before he died.’
‘Oh how amusing,’ I hooted, ‘the silly old buffer!’
Alex looked put out. Probably not quite the sympathetic response he’d been hoping for. I flapped a hand, dismissing crabby Mr Robins, wanting to shift the conversation to someone who was a million times better looking.
‘I’m talking about the other patients. Like… what was her name? Oh yes, Annabelle Huntley-Smith.’
‘Huntington-Smyth,’ said Alex, sounding wary.
‘That’s the one,’ I beamed. ‘She’s hilarious.’
‘Oh?’
‘I had terrible trouble keeping a straight face in the surgery, ah ha ha ha!’
‘Why?’
‘All that writhing, and those funny sex noises.’
‘Sex noises?’
‘Yes, you know,’ I leant back in my chair and made doe-eyes at the ceiling, ‘oooh, I need a big one. Ahhh, right there. Oh yeah, give it to me babe!’
‘Holly, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Annabelle was a very nervous patient. She was doing her best not to scream, although the odd squeak did escape her lips. And she most definitely didn’t call me “babe”.’
My sunny smile instantly contorted into a snarl. ‘No, but she called you bloody “darling”.’
Alex rolled his eyes. ‘She’s a good friend.’
‘Huh,’ I spat, eyes narrowed, ‘if she’s such a good friend, why don’t I know her? Answer me that!’
‘Why would you know her? She’s a tireless fundraiser for the trigeminal neuralgia charity that I’m a member of. She was once misdiagnosed by another dentist and ended up having a number of unnecessary dental extractions for pain relief. When she came to me, she was in agony and absolutely distraught. I immediately knew what the problem was and referred her to hospital. She ended up seeing a brain surgeon for a micro-vascular decompression. Annabelle now works closely with the charity, and I see her frequently. She usually accompanies me to their dinner-dance events.’
‘Oh she does, does she?’ I roared. ‘And why haven’t you ever invited me along to these functions? Could it be that you don’t want boring old wifey around because it might cramp your style with a woman who regards you as some sort of real-life hero?’
Alex tutted, pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘You never wanted to come along in the early years,’ he said, ‘so I stopped asking you. It’s no big deal.’
‘Well it’s a big deal now!’ I yelled, ‘and I’ll be coming along to future functions, dressed from head to toe in an outfit that makes the Strictly dancers look like they got their costumes out of a clothes recycling bin.’
‘Whatever,’ said Alex, his lips now a thin line.
‘Whatever,’ I mimicked, in a childish voice. If there was one word in the Engl
ish language that drove me round the bend, it was that one. ‘And I’ll just say this to you, Alex,’ I hissed, pausing dramatically before adding, ‘I’m pretty damn sure I know who Annabelle really is.’
There was a resounding silence as we glared at each other and he digested this piece of information. He was the first to speak and, when he did, his voice was low.
‘I’m going for a drive.’
Without missing a beat, he snatched up his keys and mobile and stalked out of the kitchen. I didn’t try to stop him on account of the fact that I was suddenly shaking. Seconds later his car engine roared into life. I wondered if he’d text Annabelle. Give her the heads up. We’ll have to be more careful, darling. Holly’s on the warpath. Or would he ring her instead? Even worse, would my husband go to her?
I put my head on the table and silently wept.
14
Alex had come home after an hour of – so he said – aimless driving until, tired and fed up, he’d returned to placate the lunatic wife. He’d found me in the bath, face wiped clean of mascara tears, the only sign of upset being slightly pink eyeballs.
He’d reassured me that the jealous outburst over Annabelle was unfounded. I’d apologised. And then, later, when we’d gone to bed, he’d snuggled into me. We’d spooned. I’d desperately wanted to kiss and make up in the way that was most natural between a man and woman, but hadn’t dared initiate anything for fear of rejection. I’d finally drifted off to sleep with hazy thoughts about visiting my GP. Maybe it was all in my head. Perhaps I needed antidepressants?
When I awoke the following morning, I told myself that the last thing I needed was to start taking Prozac. Just because my best friend Jeanie had a little crush on my husband, and a nervous female patient made sex noises, it didn’t mean either of them were having a raging affair with my husband. No, Holly, you need to get things in perspective. And maybe if you felt better about yourself, you’d stop fretting that every other woman has the hots for your hubby. Indeed. Which was why I was now on a mission to buy the most fabulous party dress on the shop rails. To hell with the cost. I’d bash the plastic.
What Holly's Husband Did: A laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist! Page 7