Can I Give My Husband Back?: A totally laugh out loud and uplifting page turner

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘I don’t put anything past Simon these days.’

  ‘Which is why it’s good I’m here.’

  George gets a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wipes his mouth and blows his nose. The problem is I played the game of divorce too safely. I went with reliability – old man George who knew the law and who could get the forms signed and through the courts as quickly as possible. Simon went in the opposite direction with a lawyer called Cat De Vere. You can imagine the girl that goes with that name. She’s young and likes a designer suit with barely-there sheer tights and a skyscraper heel. I’m under no illusion that Simon has probably stuck his appendage in her too.

  ‘Maybe make yourself a cup of tea, something to relax?’ George suggests.

  ‘I’ve had three coffees already today. Any more and the caffeine will make me foam at the mouth.’

  He snorts with laughter. The doorbell rings. I’m going to have to answer this, aren’t I?

  ‘Take a seat, George.’

  Breathe. Cleansing breaths through the nose and out slowly through the mouth. I head to the hallway and see their heads behind the glass. Don’t cry. Don’t kick them down the stairs. He’s the father of your children. Civility, always.

  ‘Morning,’ I say, opening the door.

  ‘Emma.’

  Simon Chadwick. He stands there in a grey pinstripe suit. He’s always had good hair – he spends an age in the bathroom styling it. He even had his own hairdryer. The strong jawline, that supreme confidence he exudes. It was once so attractive. Now, I want to slap it. Hard. With a brick.

  Cat holds out a hand. I shake it. I went with traditional workwear: a simple shirt over a black cigarette leg trouser. She looks like the eighties ate her up and spat her back out again. That’s some slick hair and a strong shoulder. She stands on my doorstep expecting to be invited in; I’m pretty sure that’s what you traditionally have to do with vampires. Simon doesn’t wait though, stepping over the threshold. He doesn’t burst into flames, which disappoints me. Instead he takes a cursory glance around the hallway.

  ‘You got a new mirror?’

  ‘I did.’

  I changed most of the interior when he left. That stupid tartan green wallpaper he loved in the kitchen was the first to go, I got a new bed, and in some manic post-divorce moment, I went a tad crazy with florals, palms and bird prints which my mother said made my house look like Club Tropicana. His eyes scan through to the kitchen. He barely looks at me.

  ‘Come through to the living room,’ I say.

  Simon puts a hand to Cat’s back to direct her through – and annoy me, no doubt. When we enter, George stands up. He’s already got his files and pens laid out on the coffee table. Simon’s eyes glance upon a photo on the mantle. He looks at me briefly but before he can say anything, Cat launches into a speech as she opens her attaché. Simon takes a seat next to her in his usual way, manspreading so his knee is unfeasibly close to her thigh. I perch myself a good sofa cushion’s length away from George.

  ‘So, we’ll keep this brief as I know our clients are busy and expected at work today. We basically want to discuss the current custody arrangements.’ She gets out her file and I feel a ball of emotion in my throat.

  This is one thing that Simon rarely brings up because what we have in place was fair and we both want our girls to come out of this unscathed. I always thought this was mutual. If he wants more access then the gloves will come off, the claws out like bloody Wolverine. Cat pretends to scan a document in front of her. George sits poised, his paunch resting on the top of his legs, shirt buttons straining to reveal a vest underneath. I hear footsteps on the stairs. No, no, no.

  ‘I thought I smelt something. I thought there was a problem with your pipework, Ems.’

  ‘Lucy.’

  Cat and Simon look mildly confused.

  ‘This is Lucy, she’s my youngest sister and she lives here,’ I explain.

  Simon gives her a look like one would a stray cat. It’s not far from the truth but Lucy has been a godsend with childcare and saved me a ton of money. She can’t cook or clean and she uses all my shampoo but she also brought some light to the house when grey clouds threatened to consume it.

  ‘I do. My sister needed help fumigating the place after Simon left,’ says Lucy. She eyeballs my ex-husband with her yoga pants get up and tousled blonde hair bundled on top of her head.

  All my sisters collectively hate Simon but Lucy’s anger seems to burn the strongest. On that Christmas Day two years ago, she was the one who’d caught him receiving a photo of a nurse’s bits, grabbed his phone and threw it out of a first-floor window. She could have very easily killed him that day but I am glad that she’d probably had too much sherry so didn’t have the clarity of thought to go to the kitchen and find a carving knife. Lucy goes over to shake some hands but leaves Simon out, obviously. She scans Cat up and down.

  ‘I was about to make tea,’ she says in pointed tones. ‘Who wants tea?’

  Simon doesn’t look sure about accepting drinks off this sister.

  Cat puts a hand up. ‘I’ll take a glass of water, please.’

  The rest of us decline and Lucy disappears into the kitchen, still in my line of sight. She stands behind the door with her middle finger up at Simon and doing a strange angry dance. George watches her curiously. Cat looks ready to continue. I sit with bated breath. Don’t make this about our girls, I silently beg.

  ‘So yes, custody. The current arrangement sees you have your girls during the week on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, my client has them on Wednesdays and Fridays and you take turns to have them every other weekend.’

  I nod cautiously.

  George intervenes. ‘This is correct. Is your client proposing something different?

  ‘My client has recently taken on a promotion at work and his elderly mother will look after some childcare, so he’s just looking at his timetable and wondering if he could have Tuesdays in place of the Wednesdays.’

  I frown. Simon’s mother, Linda, is hardly frail. She’s civil with me but Simon has brainwashed her into thinking that his indiscretions were down to addiction problems beyond his control thus meaning I was breaking my marriage vows. A better wife would have stuck by him.

  ‘I’ve agreed to sit on a board that’s supporting some research projects. It supplements my income and will bring great kudos to the hospital,’ Simon says.

  I don’t need to know that but it’s not unlike Simon to brag.

  ‘I think that should be fine. If it’s just a switch of days then I don’t think it will impact the girls too much. Iris has gymnastics Tuesday so you’ll need to factor that in.’

  Lucy re-enters the room with a glass of water. She retrieves a coaster and places it on the table. There is foam at the top of the glass which sets off alarm bells.

  ‘Lucy, we’re talking about switching days a little in the week as Simon has a new job.’

  ‘Is he the new mayor of Wankerville?’ she mutters under her breath, as she perches next to me. I can’t laugh. George obviously heard and a broad smile fills his face.

  ‘Well, I can fit the girls around my schedule, no problem,’ she says.

  ‘Still unemployed then, Luce?’ Simon retorts. Oh, Simon don’t prod an angry cat.

  ‘She works weekends mostly and is studying so helps me in the week,’ I say in her defence. ‘Beth, my mum, my dad, everyone pitches in.’

  ‘A true family affair.’ Lucy puts a hand to my shoulder.

  Simon whispers something to Cat and she smiles.

  George is quick to react. ‘An informal meeting should mean we’re able to speak plainly in front of each other. If your client has something to say then to whisper is just bad manners.’ If Lucy could high five George now, she would.

  ‘My client has highlighted Miss Callaghan’s suitability in looking after the children,’ Cat replies. ‘If she’s to continue in such a capacity then he’d ask that she is qualified with at least a child first aid qualification as a mi
nimum.’

  Lucy stares him out. If looks could kill, this one would impale him to the walls through his eyeballs.

  ‘Every au pair we’ve ever had in this house, Emma, was aptly qualified,’ Simon adds.

  ‘Usually at sucking your penis,’ I reply.

  I hold his gaze. Lucy inhales deeply and giggles. George and Cat don’t look too bothered. I expect being party to some martial tête-à-tête is part of their job description. Simon glares at me and then glances at the photo behind me.

  ‘Lucy is family,’ I reply. ‘She’s not an au pair and is as qualified as your “elderly” mother at looking after our girls. How is Linda?’

  ‘Well.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  I turn to George. ‘I’m in agreement to the change of days. Is there anything else to discuss?’

  ‘My client wanted to talk about next summer,’ Cat says.

  ‘I want to take the girls to Disneyworld. You’ll need to sign something to let me take them out of the country.’

  I study Simon’s face. It’s something we’d always discussed doing as a family. He knows what he’s doing. He’s stealing my idea. The shit.

  ‘Give me a note of the dates.’

  George intervenes. ‘Everything needs to be in writing Mr Chadwick and then it will be acknowledged by us. Miss De Vere can re-draw the custody arrangement and have it sent to our office so it’s on record. When do you want this to start?’

  ‘Is next week too soon?’ asks Simon.

  I shrug my shoulders. ‘That’s fine. So after we stick to our usual days this week, I’ll see you next Tuesday.’

  Lucy grins at me. I don’t get it. Did Cat sip her water or something? George and Cat scribble away and Simon’s phone suddenly rings. He leaves the room, retiring to the hallway to take the call. I keep an ear in out of habit.

  ‘How is that possible when I ordered the MRI? Look at the notes. It’s all on there.’

  He paces the corridor. I bet it isn’t, I think to myself. I know Simon professionally as we are both surgeons. We are different though. I hope I nurtured, whereas he has a touch of that stereotypical arrogance – he would never be told, was never at fault. I am a surgeon, it’s as close to godliness as you’re ever going to meet. I bet that instruction is nowhere near those notes and some junior doctor will get it in the neck as a result of his laziness.

  ‘I have to leave now,’ he says, returning to the room. ‘Cat, we need to go.’

  The fact that Cat obeys his command gives me every reason to think that they are having sex.

  ‘I am sure we will stay in touch, Miss De Vere,’ adds George.

  ‘Naturally. Ms Callaghan. Thank you.’ She emphasises the Mzzz to put me in my divorced spinster place.

  ‘So, Simon… We’ll see you next Tuesday,’ Lucy says in a jovial tone, like she’s telling a joke that I don’t get. This is very like Lucy. She was out last night – it’s very likely she might still be drunk. Simon and Cat don’t get it either.

  ‘Yes, next Tuesday.’ Simon takes one last glance at the photo on the mantelpiece and turns to leave. He checks his own reflection in the mirror then studies the hallway walls. I had to repaint after I threw a bottle of Rioja at it. It was a bad January after he left and I’d found out the extent of his cheating. Waste of good wine that was.

  We all stand around awkwardly. Cat and George shake hands and I am at least grateful that he has the sort of firm handshake that may have caused damage to her immaculate manicure. Simon and I face each other. This is always the bit that gets me. From the intimacy of marriage to looking at someone like you hardly know them, they are but somebody that you used to know. I don’t think I could bear to hug him or even give him a polite peck on the cheek. To hold his hand in mine would feel foreign and cold.

  ‘Ems.’

  It almost feels wrong that he still abbreviates my name. He doesn’t have the right to be personal with me anymore.

  ‘Simon.’

  ‘Lucy, always a pleasure.’

  ‘Likewise. See you next Tuesday.’

  Why does she keep saying it like that? I give her a confused look when his back is turned as she tries to keep the giggles in. As soon as they descend a few steps, he whispers something to Cat and she laughs. They’re definitely at it. They can have each other. I close the door shut with a bit more force than is necessary. Breathe. I turn and barge Lucy with my arm.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you? It’s like you’re high.’

  George’s eyes widen, alarmed. If she’s high then she definitely shouldn’t be looking after children, never mind her not knowing first aid.

  ‘You two are such squares. C… U… Next… Tuesday.’ She shapes out letters with her hands like the YMCA dance.

  ‘LUCY!’ I gasp and laugh at the same time, holding my hand to my face.

  George bursts into laughter. ‘I like that one, I’ve not heard that before.’ He returns to the living room to gather his belongings.

  ‘If the bill fits… I will take great pleasure in using that for eternity from now on,’ she says, giving me the biggest of hugs. She grasps me tightly to let me know he’s not here anymore. He can’t hurt me. ‘I spat in her water.’

  ‘I know you did. That’s why I let you do the drinks.’

  ‘Crapbag telling me I don’t have first aid. He can bloody do one.’

  ‘We had an au pair once who washed the girls’ hair with washing up liquid so you’re an improvement on her at least.’

  She squeezes me a little too hard in jest.

  ‘Can you try and at least be less combative when he’s here? For the girls and the sake of keeping the peace?’ I ask.

  ‘Have we not met before?’

  I smile. She’s right. She was the mouthy Callaghan sister, heart on sleeve and gob without filter which is occasionally useful.

  I go into the living room to see George. ‘Are we OK, George? I’m so relieved it was nothing more.’

  ‘I told you not to worry. I will get this all drawn up and couriered over for you to sign.’ Maybe that was what was best about George; that kind of warm reassurance you get from a portly uncle. Maybe Grace the lawyer sister knew I didn’t need fire and brimstone, I needed someone who was going to look after me.

  ‘George, you do all this family law stuff… Is he the worst sort of lying shitface that you’ve ever met?’ asks Lucy, coming into the room.

  George doesn’t even flinch. ‘Miss Callaghan, Lucy – isn’t it? I’ve been in family law for twenty-two years. I’ve seen it all. I once saw a woman throw an office chair at her husband. He needed twenty-three stitches. I’ve seen people fight over goldfish. I once saw a wife with video evidence of her husband shagging the neighbour and he denied it saying it was his long-lost twin.’

  Lucy and I stand there enthralled. Me mainly, as George is normally quite beige.

  ‘But yes,’ he carries on. ‘Simon rates up there in the top ten, maybe.’

  Lucy looks vindicated.

  ‘It’s an ugly old business, divorce and broken hearts.’

  ‘Then why be involved?’ I ask.

  ‘Beats property law. It at least feels useful. I’m helping people.’ He smooths down the wrinkles in his shirt. He may have a lost a button near the waistband. ‘Well, you know where I am if you need me?’

  I smile and Lucy offers to show him out. I glance over at the glass of water on the coffee table and see a lipstick mark, showing that Cat took a sip. Well done, Luce. I look at where Simon was just sitting. I never changed the sofas. Maybe I should have done but there was no budget to do a complete overhaul. Today he took his normal seat, like he’d never been away. That part of the sofa was where he’d watch the cricket and sip his tea with the morning papers, dressing gown on but not done up. Bare feet.

  Breathe, Emma. Get to work. Let’s not think about him.

  I turn to the mantelpiece to check the time and see the photo that sits there. Everyone who visits is always shocked to see it there. If Lucy could, s
he’d knock it over and use the glass from the frame to scratch his face out. It’s a picture of Simon with the girls, on Godrevy beach in Cornwall. One of those glorious pictures framed in sunlight and blue skies. Iris had just lost her first tooth; their faces are dewy and golden. Why is it there? Because of my girls. He’s still their father. Our daughters live here too and they should still have a relationship with Simon, no matter what’s happened.

  The picture once lived in the girls’ room but Iris moved it here. I know why. She’s little, she still lives in the hope that we’ll get back together and the fairy tale will have a happier ending. I tried girls. I hung around for as long as I could to make it work, for you, for us. That guilt still penetrates so I leave the photo here, I try and block it out of my field of vision. Simon will have seen it now and I know what he would have thought. She has a photo of me. She still loves me. I’m winning in these mind games. Far from it. I study the picture, all the creases on his face and the broadness of his smile. I mouth the words softly to myself.

  ‘See. You. Next. Tuesday.’

  Two

  In the middle of my divorce proceedings, I got a letter from a nurse at Evelina London Children’s Hospital where I work. Her name was Alice and she wanted, for the sake of her conscience and her career, to let me know that she’d slept with Simon on a number of occasions. She was contrite and she said if it was necessary, she could also list some others he’d slept with – she knew of at least two, including a patient’s mother – and also provide pictures that he had sent to her including photos of his own penis. This letter got sent to my office. Maddie, my secretary, opens all my mail. She read it and hid it from me because I guess I didn’t need salt rubbing in the already gaping wounds and to be fair, I knew what his penis looked like already. It was also around the time I lost a stone and would spend most of the time napping, crying and staring into the Thames from my office, surviving on bananas and cups of heavily sweetened tea. It’s not a diet that I recommend as a human or medical professional. But Maddie took care of me in all respects. She was one of the people who saved me, that strong central beam in a house that was falling apart. She was the one who made me eat, kept me focussed on work and who went up to nurses called Alice in the cafeteria and gave them a piece of her mind. It was shepherd’s pie day. Peas were flung, apparently.