My Husband's Wife

by Amanda Prowse

  Gerri nodded and turned to go but changed her mind and headed back towards the front doorstep, from where Rosie continued to stare at her, fascinated and repelled in equal measure.

  Gerri continued. ‘And, living in this little tiny town, it would be better for everyone if we at least knew each other a bit, don’t you think?’

  Rosie tried to think of how to respond, but Gerri wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘I know the situation is far from ideal, but I’m not horrible or wicked. I’m not the sort of woman that sleeps with married men.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that you are.’ Rosie didn’t know where her confidence had come from, but she was glad it was there.

  Gerri looked up at her, as if considering this. ‘I mean, I wasn’t. I never had until...’

  ‘Until you chose my husband. Lucky me.’

  ‘I didn’t choose him.’

  ‘Oh God, not you too! I’ve had enough of that from Phil about the randomness of it all, as though you are two witless, feckless things who have no control over anything. We both know that’s not true. Is that how you expect me to believe you live, by accidentally making money, unintentionally building a house, mistakenly taking my husband?’

  Gerri stared at her. ‘I know you’re upset with me—’

  ‘Upset with you?’ Rosie rolled her eyes at the understatement and stepped forward into the street. ‘You have no idea. Have you ever loved someone so much that you wanted to have their children, loved them so much that you routinely put their needs before your own, willingly sacrificing your own hopes and dreams so they can realise theirs? The sort of love where you lie awake at night, working out how you can make their day better, even if it means getting up an hour earlier every morning to cook them breakfast before they go off to work?’

  Gerri shook her head. ‘Not until now, no.’

  ‘Well, congratulations. I hope loving him brings you as much joy as it has me!’ She spun around and made for the front door.

  ‘I don’t want to argue with you.’

  Rosie turned to look at her.

  ‘I don’t want to argue with anyone,’ Gerri continued. ‘I want everyone to get along, because that’s how we make it best for everyone.’

  It’s never going to be best for me.

  ‘See you Wednesday for coffee then?’ Gerri glimpsed past her into the hallway. Rosie saw the almost imperceptible wrinkle of her nose. She picked a stray hair off her jacket and headed for her Range Rover.

  ‘As I said, I’ll think about it.’ Rosie closed the door behind her and spied the girls sitting on the stairs with their arms wrapped around each other, listening.

  *

  ‘So, what do you think I should do?’ Rosie wriggled to get comfy in the booth and stirred her coffee, looking at her friend for advice.

  Mel exhaled loudly. ‘It’s a tricky one. I don’t think I could do it, not without punching her lights out, and I think she’s got a nerve asking, but...’

  ‘But what?’ She sipped the froth from her latte.

  ‘She’s right. It would make it best for everyone if you all got along. It would certainly be best for the girls.’

  Rosie scooped her hair into her hands and twisted it into a knot. ‘I would like to have a look, it would be good to be able to picture them, and I’d probably worry a bit less.’

  ‘Plus you want to have a nose!’ Mel laughed.

  ‘Not really. The idea of seeing where she and my husband sit each night for their tea, and where they sleep...’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’ ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Mel leant forward.

  ‘No! Because you really do only want to go and have a nose.’

  ‘No need, I’ve already been up.’

  Rosie looked up in surprise and Mel froze, as though she had let this slip. She held her mug still, not far from her lips, as she tried to explain. ‘I... I didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t know what to say. They invited me and Andy up a few weeks ago and you were hanging out with Kev and...’ She wiped her forehead. ‘I tell you what, I bloody wish everyone would get on, this is killing me.’

  Rosie tried to dampen the flames of jealousy that flared in her stomach. ‘It’s okay, Mel. You’ve already told me that you would choose me, and that’s enough. And I know that makes me sound like a six-year-old, but I can’t help it. It’s important to me to know that I won’t lose you.’

  ‘Rosie...’ Mel placed her mug on the table, as if this required her full attention. ‘That will never change. I will always, always choose you. As if I could have a friend with white carpets! I was scared to move, in case I smudged something.’

  Rosie tried to imagine the girls running riot in a house with white carpets and Truffle pooing wherever the fancy took him, and she couldn’t. She couldn’t picture it at all.

  *

  Four days later, Rosie sat in the car, waiting for the tall black wrought-iron gate to slide open, feeling as if her heart was lodged in her throat. She had navigated the narrow lanes of Mortehoe with a rumbly upset tum and a dry mouth, raising her palm to people she knew, including one of Keith and Mo’s neighbours, a mum from school, and others she recognised only by sight.

  The temptation to turn around and head back down the coastal road to Woolacombe was strong. But having jumped out of the car and pressed the entry button, she knew that the little winking camera had signalled her arrival with its minute green flashing light and it was now too late to do a runner. The gate clanked and then jumped a little, before gliding silently along a rail and disappearing behind the white curved wall that framed the entrance and was shadowed by a dense seven-foot-high privet hedge to ensure total seclusion.

  Rosie drove forward slowly in first gear, listening to the pale, weed-free gravel crunch under her wheels. She followed the winding driveway as it swept around in an arc to the left, noting the line of saplings that had yet to mature and were protected in little insulated cages from the harsh sea winds. Beyond them to the right sat a neat football-pitch-sized paddock with a five-bar gate, immaculate hedging and the potential for one hell of a game of rounders, assuming she was picked for a team. To the left, an expanse of land was laid to lawn, close-cropped and leading to a vast marble-floored patio, on which sat the infinity pool. The view beyond was one of the best she had seen and she had lived in the area her whole life. There were no buildings to clutter the scene or spoil the panorama from the cliff edge, just a wide expanse of uninterrupted sea. This was exactly how she imagined it might feel to be on a Greek island or the Majorcan coast: nothing but clear sky, the big sea and the space to breathe.

  Sea diamonds sparkled all the way to the horizon as wisps of cloud parted to reveal the brilliant blue of the crisp autumn day. The grounds were as impressive as any she’d seen in pictures of grand hotels: she imagined peacocks roaming and grand parties abuzz with slim, tanned people wearing linen and sipping from fruit-crowded glasses of Pimm’s. It was another world and not a world in which she felt comfortable. She held her breath, imagining her daughters at ease there, picturing for the first time the chasm that might open up, placing an insurmountable void between her life and theirs. The thought horrified her.

  Rosie parked the car and wondered if she was leaving it in the right spot; not that there was a shortage of space – several juggernauts could manoeuvre freely without having to knock and ask her to move. She looked up at the house. It was certainly imposing but about as far from Downton Abbey as it could be and nothing like she had imagined. There wasn’t a Georgian window or a butler in sight. It was a vast, modern, minimalist white box, with grey, metal-framed windows and bi-fold doors along two sides that were clearly designed to open up and connect the house to the grounds when the weather was nice.

  Rosie looked towards the voice that called from the entrance.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ Gerri waved from the double-width, limed-oak front door at which she stood. Her diminutive stature put Rosie in mind of a child standing in front of a Wendy
house.

  Rosie trod the gravel, trying to control her nerves and wondering why on earth she had thought this might be a good idea. I want to go home...

  Gerri ushered her into the high, glass-walled hallway with its dark-grey slate floor. A glass and chrome open-tread staircase climbed to a vast open landing on the right. She tried not to picture her accident-prone little girls slipping and falling on the angled, shiny surfaces, against the glass and metal. There was very little to cushion a fall, unlike in her house, where you were just as likely to land in a pile of laundry or a discarded coat as anything else.

  ‘This is lovely.’ Keeping her voice low, she cast her eyes around, noting that there was not a speck of dust or item out of place. It reminded her more of a fancy-pants art gallery than a family home. She felt it best to whisper.

  A dog ran towards her, or more accurately, the tiny ball of fluff that was Truffle. He sniffed and yapped as he stood his ground in front of her.

  ‘Bloody dog. Gets under my feet wherever I turn.’ Gerri sighed. ‘I’m more of a cat person; it’s a big deal for me having him around. But Phil was very keen, so...’ She smiled.

  Rosie didn’t recognise this as being the Phil she knew, couldn’t picture him being ‘very keen’ about a dog, just as she couldn’t imagine him wandering around these rooms in his plaster-encrusted trousers and dusty hair, or envisage him farting amid all this refinement, after having been out for a few pints with his mates. This raised two thoughts in her mind. The first was that he might be playing a part, presenting an image to Gerri so that he fitted in. Surely he wasn’t able to be himself in these lavish surroundings? The Phil she knew was uncomfortable going into a restaurant with tablecloths and instantly pooh-poohed anyone with a double-barrelled surname, and yet this was how he now lived? The second thought was that she really didn’t know him at all, and that the face he had been presenting to her was the fake one, and this idea saddened her beyond words.

  She followed Gerri into a vast kitchen, where a multitude of shiny and remarkably similar-looking chrome and silver appliances sat squarely on acres of white granite work surface. There wasn’t so much as a crumb on the tops, and the pristine oven and hob still looked brand new. She pictured her own kitchen at this time of the morning, with its chopping board invariably smeared with butter and toast crumbs and a jam-dipped knife resting on the side. The middle of Gerri’s kitchen was occupied by a large island with a set of matt-black leather bar stools at one end of it. The whole place felt cool and untouchable.

  Rosie looked outside at the rectangular infinity pool; the water seemed to hover on the horizon, as if it was part of the sea.

  Gerri was quiet, as if giving her the chance to take it all in, like a saleswoman whose product doesn’t need talking up.

  ‘This is so lovely.’

  ‘Yes. It is,’ Gerri said. ‘Do you want the grand tour?’

  ‘Oh!’ Rosie trilled a little laugh, nervous and yet eager, yes, to have a look around. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Follow me!’ Gerri skipped to the right and along a corridor, with Rosie stepping behind. She let her French-manicured fingers trail along the wall. ‘I was thinking of painting this wall a colour but got so flustered by the pressure of it, I just snapped and said go with white. I mean, if it ain’t broke...’

  Rosie nodded, not sure what, if any response, was expected. All she could think was that if a paint colour decision was the most pressure Gerri had in her life, then she should consider herself very lucky.

  Gerri stopped and held out her arm, as if revealing a magic trick.

  ‘Wow!’ Rosie was amazed. The fanfare was warranted.

  The hall wall had come to an abrupt end and she found herself standing under a vast glass dome sheltering a large rectangular pool. One side wall was glass, affording a view out over the shimmering sea, as far as the eye could see. The end wall was grey slate but veiled by a sheet of water that cascaded from top to bottom in an almost silent waterfall; it looked like dappled glass. Roman steps gave access at one end and were tiled, like the bottom of the pool, in iridescent turquoise glass mosaic. When the light hit and the surface rippled, it was as if the pool was alive. It was magnificent.

  ‘What do you think?’ Gerri bent forward, keen to get a reaction.

  Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.’ She pictured the girls sitting on the steps or jumping into the water and she smiled, but this was quickly followed by a lump in her throat as she visualised Phil and Gerri there too, realising that she was the odd piece of jigsaw that didn’t quite fit. A day spent here would be infinitely more exciting than a day in a silver-category six-berth caravan, even with chips thrown in. She wished she hadn’t come. Far from helping, the images that she would now carry of the people she loved in this incredible place would only torture her further.

  ‘I know it’s over the top, but hell, when you’ve got the vision and the style, and a talented builder on tap...’ She raised an amused eyebrow but kept her eyes off Rosie’s face.

  Rosie inhaled sharply. She couldn’t take much more of this.

  ‘And my mantra throughout the design process was light and space. I couldn’t live without either – the idea of being cramped or having to look into a shadowy corner... Urgh!’ She shivered. ‘No thank you.’

  Rosie noticed that her singsong tone had slipped and her voice now had a slightly hardened edge to it, making her sound quite bossy.

  ‘Come on!’ She trotted across the cool white floor and opened a wide door that led to more stairs. ‘This is where the design gets really clever.’

  At the top of the stairs was what appeared to be a walkway, with glass on both sides. Rosie hesitated, nervous of the drop onto the hallway below.

  ‘Come on now, Rosie!’ Gerri admonished. You’re not scared of a little drop, are you? I’ll give you a little tip: fortune favours the brave.’

  Rosie found herself in a bedroom that was more like a flat. There was so much to take in: Floor-to-ceiling drapes in crushed silver framed yet another glass wall, and the biggest bed she had ever seen sat on a wooden plinth with a similar view to the pool. She wondered what it might feel like not only to wake up looking at it, but also to have so much room in a bed that you could stretch out without banging a wall.

  The room had steps down that led to a freestanding copper bath in the middle of the room! There was no way she would ever have felt comfortable bathing in front of someone else. Even Phil.

  I want to go home. I want to leave now!

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gerri asked.

  ‘I think your house is lovely. I’ve probably seen enough. I should be getting back.’ Rosie’s voice was small.

  ‘Oh! We haven’t done the guest suites, but I guess they can wait till next time. Back to the kitchen, this way.’ Gerri pointed over her head like an enthusiastic tour guide. ‘You must stay for a drink?’ Gerri asked. ‘We still need to discuss pick-up arrangements and there is something else I’d like to talk to you about.’

  ‘Err... just a tea or coffee would be nice, thank you.’

  ‘Well of course a tea or coffee! What did you think, that I sipped champagne all day?’ Gerri laughed.

  ‘Coffee then, thanks.’

  Gerri collected two plain white mugs from inside a glossy, handleless cupboard. ‘Trouble is, when you’ve built from scratch, you’re never quite sure if it’s finished, so I keep changing my mind, planning projects, adding things. I’m hoping I get to a point when I just know that it’s done and can finally take the tradesmen off speed dial.’

  Rosie sniffed at the irony of her words but decided to bite her tongue.

  Gerri carried on, seemingly oblivious. ‘I’ve always wanted somewhere I could breathe outside of London and this is it!’ She raised her palms to the side of her head and smiled smugly.

  ‘Whereabouts do you live in London?’

  ‘Oh, do you know it?’ Gerri whipped around, her eyes bright.

  Rosie felt her face colour. �
��A bit, not really. I’ve been a couple of times. We went to Madame Tussauds, although we had to leave before the end because Naomi was scared of David Beckham. And we took the girls up Christmas shopping a couple of years back, mainly to see Father Christmas in Hamleys.’ She was embarrassed to be so unfamiliar with the capital city, but also to have mentioned their life before. As usual when she was nervous or anxious, her tongue just ran away with itself. There was no way she’d meant to share all this with the woman who’d split up their family. She was annoyed at how intimidated she felt.

  ‘I’m just off High Street Ken, which is handy for everything. Milk? Sugar?’

  ‘Just milk please.’ Rosie thought she might have misheard. Did she say Kent? That’s not London, is it? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Gerri picked up the mugs and swept out of the kitchen. ‘Come through!’

  Rosie trotted behind her, noting the delicate tread of her small bare feet with the scarlet toenails as they padded across the acres of grey slate and pale marble. Eventually they came to a wide, open-plan lounge, where the carpet was indeed white. She made the decision to neck her coffee and go. She’d had enough of the grand tour and had done what she’d set out to do, shown willing, for the girls’ sake.

  Taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, she tentatively took her coffee from Gerri, wary of the white carpet and too ill at ease to adjust her sitting position, which meant she was not far back enough to lean against the huge soft cushion or forward enough to be able to put her feet on the floor. She perched in this half-stance, quite uncomfortable and conscious of her slouch, wondering if Gerri could see the little roll of fat that sat above her bra strap and was visible beneath her jumper.

  ‘So,’ Gerri said excitedly, ‘thank you so much for coming. I wanted you to see where Naomi and Leona get to play. And Phil too, I guess.’ She sipped her drink.

  Rosie nodded. She had to admit, it was quite something to think of her children being given free rein here.

  ‘Although it’s not all mucking around – some of us have to work. But that’s the joy of the internet: I can work absolutely anywhere.’