My Husband's Wife

by Amanda Prowse

  She had walked up this driveway and into the house thousands of times, but tonight it took all her nerve to put one foot in front of the other. She stood by the gate, in front of the block-paved space that used to be a front garden, and took a deep breath, pulling the back of her blouse down with her free hand to make sure her bum was covered, then adjusting her glass beads to make sure they sat just so. You can do this. You can. She considered phoning Mel and asking her to meet her on the driveway but knew that would sound ridiculous. Swallowing her fear, she turned to her right and there, parked behind Andy’s pick-up truck, sat a large shiny black Range Rover. She stared at the number plate. GF38.

  She took a step towards it on wobbly legs, thinking that at any moment she might actually be sick. The paintwork was pristine, so glossy she could see her reflection in it, and the seats inside were cream leather and looked comfier than any seat in her house. She was both fascinated and distressed by the car and its presence. They were here, Phil and his girlfriend; they were in her best friend’s house. She suddenly felt very alone.

  Rosie closed her eyes and longed to disappear, bitterly regretting having left the house and wishing she didn’t know that they were just the other side of the garden fence, laughing with the group of people that used to be her friends. It was as if Phil had got himself a newer, blonder, richer upgrade and Mel had gone along with it. She felt the stab of disloyalty and rejection and it was unpleasant.

  Suddenly, the front door opened and she was gripped by panic that she would be seen. Ducking, she slid down the side of the fancy car and as she did so she tipped the bowl of coleslaw into her lap. She ran her fingers through the mayonnaise-drenched mess that sat in a pile all over her jeans and shirt, with flecks of red cayenne spreading into a stain on the white cotton. Her head dipped and her hair caught in her eyelashes. She pulled the strands free with coleslaw-slippery fingers, smearing gunk on her cheek in the process. It was everywhere. She closed her eyes, prayed that whoever had come outside would go back in just as quickly and hoped that she was adequately hidden from anyone who was leaving.

  She heard the teeter-totter of heels on concrete, the sound made by the kind of shoes she had spent the day arguing with Naomi about. And then the sound stopped and a clear-cut voice said, ‘Are you okay down there? What are you doing?’ It was the same singsong tone she had used in the Spar, only now it sounded superior and condescending.

  Rosie blinked, the blobs of mayonnaise on her eyelashes making this harder than it should have been. She stared at the peep-toed white stiletto sandals and worked her way up the tight designer jeans, oversized tan leather belt and long-sleeved, baby-pink cotton jersey sitting snuggly over pert, high boobs that had never been grappled and deflated by a feeding baby until she was, for the second time in her life, staring into the face of Geraldine Farmer.

  ‘Have you been sick?’

  Rosie was floored by this new question when she was still trying to work out how to answer the first. She shook her head and tried to wipe the piles of mayo-covered carrot and cabbage onto the driveway.

  ‘No, it’s... it’s coleslaw. I dropped it.’

  For weeks now, Rosie had lain awake at night imagining an encounter with this woman, thinking of all the things she wanted to say and what would have the biggest impact. In her fantasies, she was witty, cutting, classy and in control, and above all, she looked amazing. This was nothing at all like that.

  ‘Do you need a hand getting up?’ Geraldine’s tone was pleasant and this confused and upset Rosie. If this woman was nice, then people would like her and if they liked her, where did that leave Rosie? It was far easier to cope with her nemesis when she pictured her as wicked and vile, because that character was one that her friends and family could unite against.

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ She kept her tone neutral, hoping that Geraldine would go back inside and leave her on the ground. That, however, was clearly not her intention.

  ‘Shall I take the bowl? Would that make it easier?’

  Rosie exhaled. Please just go away! Go away and leave me alone! With the bowl in her hand, she awkwardly clawed her way to standing, placing a mayonnaise-covered hand on the dazzling paintwork. When she was finally upright, she was a head and shoulders taller than the neat, pocket-sized Geraldine, especially in her heeled espadrilles. She decided to simply walk away, holding her head as high as possible. She had no desire to spend more time in Geraldine’s company than was absolutely necessary, didn’t want the woman to see how she had turned her life upside down or realise that her face dominated Rosie’s nightmares.

  Placing the bowl under her arm, she took a step forwards, just as Phil came out onto the driveway.

  ‘Rosie?’ He looked at her through narrowed eyes, taking in her appearance. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Why does everyone keep asking me what I’m doing?’ She flicked her hair over her shoulder, oblivious of the two pieces of grated carrot that clung to her fringe. ‘It’s not complicated. I was coming to visit my best friend.’ She paused. ‘But instead, I decided to take a coleslaw bath up the side of your girlfriend’s car.’

  ‘Awkward.’ Geraldine looked at her beau and made a wide mouth.

  ‘Yes, awkward.’ Rosie trotted back down the driveway, facing forwards. She carried on walking, looking straight ahead so no one would see her tears.

  She made her way through town, ignoring the families and holidaymakers eating chips and laughing, pretending not to notice how they had to step into the road to make way for the lady who was crying, covered in salad and dressing, and carrying a large plastic mixing bowl. She made her way up along the Esplanade until she rounded the headland. With her bench in sight, she headed straight for it and there she sat, crying silently into the encroaching night. I wish you were here, Mum. I wish I could talk to you.

  She sensed Mel’s presence before she saw her: the familiar snort of outward breath as she trod the grass, her familiar outline in Rosie’s peripheral vision.

  ‘Rosie!’ she called as she came close. ‘I knew you’d be here.’

  Rosie stared ahead, trying to think of what to say first. Anger and rejection swirled through her and it hurt.

  ‘You said you weren’t going to come! I’d have called you otherwise.’ Mel was breathless.

  ‘Oh, well, I’m sorry,’ Rosie spat.

  ‘That’s not what I meant! It’s just that Andy asked if you were coming and when I said no, he invited Phil. And then Phil said he couldn’t make it, but he had a change of plan last minute. Oh God, I feel like I’m in the middle. I never for a minute thought he’d bring Gerri.’

  Rosie jerked sideways. ‘Gerri? Well, isn’t that nice, you’ve got a little nickname for your new friend. I can’t believe you chose her!’

  ‘She’s not my new friend! Don’t be daft. That’s just how she introduced herself.’

  ‘I don’t care how she introduced herself!’ Rosie shouted, caring enormously and aware of how juvenile she sounded.

  Mel looked shocked, trying and failing to recall another time her friend had shouted at her like that.

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like, Mel, you really don’t. I am so lost. I have been Phil’s wife for so long, it’s all I know. And I know how terrible this sounds, but if he had died, if I’d lost him that way, everyone would be buying me flowers and sending me cards; they’d be on my side. Instead, they’re avoiding me, but the end result is the same: he’s gone and I have to start over. If he had died, at least everyone would know that he hadn’t wanted to leave me. This is the most humiliating thing you can imagine. I’ve been traded in, swapped and I haven’t done anything wrong!’

  ‘That’s not what people think, not at all.’ Mel shook her head.

  ‘Well that’s what it feels like.’

  The two sat in silence for some minutes, staring out to sea. Then Rosie spoke.

  ‘Someone once pointed out to me that when you see a huge tanker on the horizon, you can’t tell if it’s coming closer to you or moving furt
her away, and that was like my marriage. Every time I looked up, I thought we were steady. I thought he was moving closer to me all the time because we shared kids and history. But he wasn’t, he was moving further away and by the time I realised, he was too far out of reach. It’s not her fault, deep down I know that – if it wasn’t her, it would have been another. I want to hate her, but I can’t. I don’t know her and she wasn’t married to me, he was, it was him who broke his vows. But that doesn’t mean I want to be in her company or for my best friend to be her mate.’ She wiped her nose and a sliver of cabbage fell from her sleeve.

  ‘Why are you covered in vegetables?’ Mel asked, as if this were the most natural question in the world, given what her friend had just revealed.

  ‘Coleslaw. I dropped it.’

  Mel snickered and shook her head. ‘And you wonder where your girls get it from – they’re as mad as you.’

  Rosie gave a small laugh and rubbed her eyes. ‘Oh God, Mel, I’m exhausted with feeling this low.’

  ‘It will pass, Rosie. It will.’

  ‘I hope so. I hate being like this; this bitter. I keep returning to the fact that I thought he was working hard for us, working to give us a better life, putting the hours in, missing dinner, you know, and all the time he was working on getting away from us. I find it hard to accept. How could I have been so clueless, so bloody stupid? I mean, it’s so clichéd! If this was someone else’s marriage, I’d think the woman must be stupid. All the signs were there, but I guess you only see what you want to see and I didn’t want to see it. I was in the dark.’

  ‘And that’s why you have to stop beating yourself up about it and look forwards. And for the record, I choose you. I always choose you.’ She reached out and took her friend’s hand in the dark. ‘Urgh!’ she shrieked. ‘I don’t want to ruin a moment, but what the bloody hell is that all over your hand?’

  ‘Mayonnaise.’

  The two curled their legs up on the bench and giggled at the absurdity of the situation, just as they always had.

  ‘Oh God, Mel, I feel like I’m losing the plot.’ She let herself fall across her friend, who wrapped her in her arms. ‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Rosie Shitstar.’

  Rosie closed her eyes and inhaled the intoxicating scent of apples that seemed to hang in the air.

  11

  The girls had been leaping around, full of laughter and beans since she had collected them from school. Not only did they have the weekend to look forward to, but tonight they were off to have tea at their dad’s. Rosie went through the motions on autopilot, part of her wanting to shake them and say, ‘Do you know what he has done to us? To me?’ while her rational self kept on smiling and trying to make it as pleasant as it could be for everyone. And now it was nearly time and the kids’ laughter had twice turned to tears as they became a little overwhelmed with excitement.

  ‘Are you going to be okay, Mummy?’ Naomi twisted her skirt in her hands.

  ‘Course I am. I’ve got you.’ Rosie kissed her nose.

  ‘I just meant while we’re out, are you going to miss us?’

  Rosie felt a wave of guilt that her little one was feeling torn, sad that she was experiencing these feelings at such a tender age.

  ‘Miss you? No way! I’ve got lots to do. You just make sure you have a nice time and tell me all about it.’ She even hummed, to show that all was well.

  ‘If we had two baby dogs, they could keep you company while we were gone.’

  ‘We are not getting two baby dogs, or even one baby dog.’

  Naomi took a deep breath. ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, Naomi Jo. We can’t have dogs. Apart from the fact that they’re expensive, who’d look after them while I’m at work?’ She was grateful for the extra hours she’d been given, which now saw her issuing keys and booking families in and out at reception. Financially, it was a lifesaver.

  ‘We could leave dog programmes on the telly for them so they don’t get scared and they would have each other to talk to and we could leave their dinner in a big bowl.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen, it wouldn’t be fair on them. And when you have a dog, you have to think about what’s best for them, not just what’s best for you. Who would take them for walks and take them out to go to the loo?’ She shook her head, weary of the topic.

  ‘We could teach them to use the toilet!’ Naomi clapped, as though this was obvious.

  ‘Right, that’s it. I don’t want to hear the word “dog” again – you are banned from using it!’

  ‘For how long?’ Naomi stood with her mouth turned down.

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘Three weeks?’ she yelled indignantly.

  ‘Yep, and stop shouting or it will be four.’ Rosie smiled, half teasing her little girl. It was actually good to have the distraction of banter while they waited for Phil to knock on the door like the big bad wolf.

  The girls had packed their school reading books and swimming costumes as per their dad’s texted instructions. Rosie was still plagued by the image of Phil and the petite, pert-breasted Gerri swimming the day away and sipping champagne morning, noon and night, only now she pictured her children swimming alongside them and laughing with the lady with the red polka-dot bikini, flat tummy and no stretch marks.

  It was five o’clock on the dot that the knock on the door pulled her from her daydream.

  ‘Daddy, let us out!’

  ‘Daddy! We’re here, but we can’t get out!’

  The girls shouted in unison as they ran to the front door, banging at it in their haste to get to him and sounding very much as if they were being held prisoner. Rosie hoped that Mummy von Trapp hadn’t nipped back from London for the weekend and wasn’t overhearing all this.

  ‘Mind out the way, please, girls, so I can open the door!’ She pulled them backwards and reached over their excited, bopping heads to get to the latch.

  Phil took one step forwards and the girls charged at him, throwing their arms around his midriff and holding him tight. She silently berated the punch of jealousy that hit her in the stomach. Don’t be ridiculous, Rosie, he’s their dad! She couldn’t, however, help the feelings of envious curiosity, wondering what it would be like to be the one that had left and was missed so much. It had only been ten days since they’d last seen him, but for them it felt like an age.

  Phil looked up and away and then immediately returned his gaze to his wife. ‘Hi.’

  She held up her palm in greeting.

  ‘Just wanted to say, about the whole barbeque thing the other week... Andy had told me you couldn’t make it and we were only there for an hour or so. I wouldn’t have gone if I’d thought...’ He paused. ‘Mel’s your mate.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She gave a brief smile.

  ‘I’ll bring them back by nine, is that okay?’ he asked and she was surprised by both his question and his civility.

  ‘That’s fine, if Leo lasts that long, otherwise earlier. Whichever. I’m not going anywhere.’

  He nodded. ‘Thanks for this.’

  She ignored him, not wanting to indulge in pleasantries. Civil was one thing, but friendly, which would intimate forgiveness? That was quite another.

  ‘Be good, girls, and see you soon!’ She blew kisses and watched as her daughters ran to the side of the vast Range Rover and patted the pristine paintwork with their hands.

  ‘Is this a van, Dad?’ Leo asked as she climbed up into the vehicle.

  ‘No, it’s just a car.’ He smiled.

  ‘This is like a throne! It’s so high up I can see everything!’ Naomi called from the back.

  He shut the door and jumped into the driver’s seat, as if he had been doing so his whole life.

  Rosie stood on the doorstep with a grin plastered to her face, waving at her kids, who waved back excitedly. This was already quite the adventure and they hadn’t left the street yet. She could see their mouths opening and closing as they rambled on to their dad, catching him up with their lives ove
r the past days. As they rounded the bend and disappeared, she quietly walked back inside.

  A second later, she took a deep breath, howled loudly and slid down the inside of the front door. Landing in a heap on the welcome mat, she lay there crumpled and sobbing, feeling like her heart might twist out of shape.

  ‘I miss you so much!’ she yelled hoarsely. ‘I want you back! I want you home! I want it to go back to how it was! Please, Phil, please...’ She shouted into the ether, hoping that her words might reach him and make him think.

  *

  An hour later she had calmed down. She lay on the sofa with a cup of coffee and her phone for company. She lit her apple candle, inhaling the sweet, calming scent and fired off texts to Mel and her dad, trying to think of anything other than her children and her husband and his girlfriend, all playing happy families in the Downton-style mansion up the coast. I hope they hate it there, hope it’s cold and uncomfortable and they never want to go again. She shook her head to get rid of the nasty thoughts that leapt unbidden into her mind. It was a curious emotional state to be in when all she ever wanted was for her children to be happy.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Rosie. Don’t let them make you like that,’ she said out loud.

  Her phone rang. It was her dad.

  ‘Thanks for your text,’ he said. ‘Thought it might be easier to call – I haven’t quite got the hang of texts; they always fly off half finished before I’m ready to send them. I think it’s my ancient phone. Or my ancient fingers.’ He tutted.

  She’d spoken to him once since Phil had left, to briefly let him know what had happened, but it hadn’t been much of a chat.

  ‘How are you?’ His voice was level and sincere.

  ‘Ah, you know, Dad, getting on with it. But I’m sad, very sad. When I’m busy, I might forget about it for a bit, but then I see him, or the kids ask something quite harmless, like “Where is he?” and I’m back to howling.’ This sort of confidence sharing was rare between them, but she needed someone to talk to.