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

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘Don’t tell people Meg was dropped during sex,’ I chide.

  Their faces look riddled with guilt. I’ve seen these expressions before when they melted one of my doll’s heads on a desk lamp by ‘accident’.

  ‘We told Gracie because it was too funny.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Gracie? Is she OK?’

  Grace was sister number four and the one we all worried about the most as eighteen months ago, she became a widow. She was twenty-seven. For now, she was finding herself in every small corner of the world trying to get over the enormity of what had happened and we let her be. I envisioned her on hills, sobbing quietly into picturesque sunsets and pondering the meaning of life but Instagram also tells me this journey was also about getting drunk a lot, getting lost on Japanese trains and having her passport eaten by wildlife.

  ‘Gracie’s good,’ replies Beth, smiling to reassure me.

  ‘Did you mention the dildo?’ I ask.

  ‘Is it there? Have you seen it? I always knew Danny must have been kinky for Megs to follow him to the North,’ says Lucy.

  Beth cups her hands over Joe’s ears.

  ‘And what happened with Jag? Was he angry that you cut your date short?’ asks Beth.

  ‘Oh, Megs didn’t tell you?’

  ‘TELL US WHAT?!’ they both scream in unison down the phone. I pause for a moment as I know the reaction that what I say next will elicit.

  ‘Umm, he drove me up here. His car was at the hospital and he offered.’

  An excited Lucy squeals down the phone at me. Even Magnum the cat on the counter heard it and he leaves for the next room. Beth’s eyes smile knowing that it was a pretty perfect thing for someone to do. That’s the sort of gesture you see in a Hollywood rom-com. The drive would be caught in a long sequence where the lights of the motorway would sparkle against the car windows and they’d play something by Adele to heighten the mood.

  ‘Did you have sex in a Kia?’ asks Lucy. Beth is in hysterics.

  ‘I did not and it was actually very nice. We strolled along the South Bank and had hummus and this road trip up here peppered with midnight coffees and chat and Maddie was right, he’s a very nice man.’

  Beth smiles broadly whereas Lucy doesn’t look so sure. ‘He didn’t even try and put the moves on you?’

  Beth hits her across the back of her head. ‘Look how happy she is. You’re so coarse, Luce.’

  ‘I guess that was a nice thing to do. Did you at least snog him?’

  ‘No.’

  I say that with some weight. I think he was trying to kiss me in that hallway. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t. It wasn’t the perfect place for such things but it was the right time. Except I was conscious that I looked a mess and I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I’m not sure if that’s how he wanted to be paid for the gesture but I froze, almost pushing him away. He said nothing but his eyes read horror that maybe he’d been taken it too far. He hadn’t. I just didn’t know what to do. Even Polly looked at me strangely. That was your moment, Aunty Ems.

  After that, the morning chaos in the house glossed over any awkwardness and he was the perfect impromptu house guest. He charmed Gill, did the washing up, texted Maddie to fill her in and accompanied me into town to help me buy emergency toiletries and clothes that weren’t the white spotty dress. He even jokingly bought some mint cake as a souvenir. And then he left and I waved him off from the front doorstep like I was waving away an uncle. If it had been a scene from that rom-com I was talking about then I should have run after his car in the light drizzle with no shoes on and when his car stopped at the end of the road, I should have knocked on his window and served him a monologue about the whole last evening and morning being perfect and how he is perfect and I should have grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him perfectly. At that moment, an old couple would have walked past. The old man would have shaken his head in horror and the old lady would have stared a bit too long wondering about the last time she was kissed with such spontaneity. Cue strings and swirling emotional music on pianos and hell, let’s bring in Adele again. But I didn’t.

  At this point, the kitchen door opens and in walks Stuart Morton. His face is sullen, like a moody, grounded teenager and it doesn’t improve on seeing me. He’s carrying a tray with an empty bowl that once housed an interesting soup that Gill made for dinner. Both my sisters notice him and Beth conveniently disappears from screen. Beth was there when Meg first met Danny and the story goes that she couldn’t bear to sleep with Stuart because she was so drunk and may have actually thrown up on him. Lucy had her turn on him at Meg’s wedding in the back of a car. It was a best man–bridesmaid situation that ended with my mother shouting at Lucy over a buffet breakfast that she had brought shame on the family as our Uncle Pete had seen everything from his hotel room window which really said more about Uncle Pete than anything. Is Stuart good-looking? He looks like he could have once been on Neighbours. There’s a very bronzed and shaggy blonde thing going on. He’s a perpetual traveller so looks a bit unwashed and he wears what looks like rows of crusty friendship bracelets on his wrist.

  ‘OI! DICKHEAD!’ shouts a voice from the screen.

  Stuart looks over and laughs. ‘There she is, the rabble coming in from the back.’

  ‘I believe that was your move, mate.’

  I really do hope Beth has removed Joe from the room.

  ‘You bloody Callaghan sisters.’

  ‘Are you going somewhere?’ I ask him. He shrugs his shoulders and leaves the room again. Lucy widens her eyes at his frostiness.

  ‘Stewie Morton. Blast from the past. Remind him he never called me back.’

  ‘Do you want me to spit in his tea?’ I ask. She smiles, knowing their moment was years ago, a distant teen sex memory.

  ‘He was decent though. The kind of sex you think about when you’re trying to get yourself off. You know?’

  My expression doesn’t read as such.

  ‘Oh, I’m talking to the wrong sister.’ I see her arch her neck to see if he may be in the room. ‘Do you want to hear anything more about this Susie bird?’

  And for a moment, I pause. For the last twenty-four hours, I hadn’t thought about Susie at all. Jag and the invalid upstairs had made me forget. I shake my head and smile.

  ‘I’m glad the date went well with Jag. I think it was the dress what did it.’ She grins.

  ‘Obviously all to do with that dress,’ I say.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I nod. ‘Thanks for taking charge of my girlies. Love you.’

  She throws a peace sign and hangs up. As my home screen returns to normal, I notice a WhatsApp message and open it.

  This place was a lot bleaker without you. Hope your sis is OK x

  It’s a photo of a lone coffee cup in the Charnock Richard services, Jag’s hand just in view. On his wrist, is a gold Casio watch that I joked about as I thought it was a bit bling. Turns out he’d got it for twenty pounds on eBay.

  Meg and I dissected the Jag situation before. Why didn’t I kiss him? He’d already seen me sleeping in his car and, knowing me, I’d have had my mouth wide open. He could probably tell me how many fillings I had. What if I’ve forgotten how to kiss someone? I wouldn’t even know where to put my hands. Where does one put hands when they snog someone? On his arse? On his back? And so sheer panic followed that as lovely as he was and as much as that date meant so much, I did not know how to reciprocate any form of affection. Simon had ruined that much for me.

  Her foot fell off but I sewed it back on. Enjoy that coffee and again, thank you xx

  I debate the double kiss at the end of that message for a good fifteen minutes. Should I go with a smile emoji or the kissy emoji or make light and go with the monkey covering his face? Will he get the joke about me sewing on my sister’s foot again? Does that make me look like I’m bragging about my skills as a surgeon? I look down at his profile picture. It’s him in a festival field with coloured frame sunglasses. I haven’t worn sunglasses like that since I
was ten. I’m not cool enough for this man. I could text again to explain my previous text but then he’ll think I’m weird.

  I put my phone down and saunter through to the living room to see Stuart putting on his shoes in the living room. There is a large rucksack packed next to him.

  ‘Where’s next on your travels then?’

  ‘Mates’ house. By the way, I pee for that long because I drink a lot of water. I like to be hydrated.’

  I don’t respond as I had tried to wipe that from memory.

  ‘You’re still a doctor, right?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Well, can I ask your medical opinion on something?’

  I nod cautiously. It was one of the lesser liked side effects of my job. People liked to show me parts of their body that they thought were falling off. Please don’t show me your willy (again) or bumhole. I am worried as we were just talking about his urine. He sits down and puts a foot up on the sofa. I look down to see a big toe that’s a little bloody and scabby. Lovely.

  ‘Is that an ingrown nail, or something worse?’ he asks.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I think I stubbed it.’

  ‘It looks like a blister, it’s definitely infected. You’ve just been in Australia, no chance it’s a bite?’

  He looks a bit horrified.

  ‘Because the poison can work into your system and cause paralysis.’

  ‘How would that happen? How would I know?’

  ‘Small twitch in your eye, involuntary shaking of the limbs, you’d lose all feeling in your genitals.’

  He’s lost for words. I smile broadly.

  ‘That’s for not calling Lucy back. It’s an infected blister. Wear better fitting shoes, soak it in saltwater. Any warmth, or if it doesn’t drain then get to a doctor. Another doctor.’

  He laughs, a little surprised that I can do humour. ‘You had me there.’

  ‘Don’t walk around barefoot either. Keep it dry and clean.’

  He salutes me.

  It’s been a day, eh? You look knackered,’ he informs me.

  ‘I am.’

  He looks at his watch. ‘My mate can’t give me a lift until 10 p.m., you fancy getting a jar?’

  ‘Of jam?’

  ‘Southerners. I mean a drink. I think we both deserve a drink.’

  He’s not half wrong.

  ‘So you’re divorced now, right?’

  I don’t know if it’s a northern thing or a Morton thing but Stuart has put my glass of wine down on the table and cut straight to the chase. It’s not just a glass either. He’s bought the whole bottle as there seemed to be some sort of offer on. I had thought we’d be in a cosy Lakeland pub but the bar he’s brought me to has a student union vibe about it. It’s full of arty folk where the accents are broad and the ales are dark.

  ‘I am divorced.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘Not your fault.’

  Maybe this was a bad idea. I needed a glass of wine to take the edge off but maybe I’ve chosen the wrong drinking partner. I down half my glass of wine to distract myself but given all I’ve had for dinner is soup and a bit of lumpy bread, I feel the effects immediately.

  ‘Was he a complete shithead then? Think we met at Meg and Danny’s nuptials?’

  ‘Yes, you would have. And yes, complete and utter shithead.’

  It’s bizarre because last night, Jag and I did an awesome job of avoiding the subject of my divorce completely. I’m not sure what details Stuart needs to hear but then given he’s had relations with both Lucy and Beth, I suspect him and my ex may be cut from the same cloth.

  ‘He cheated on me a fair bit. Got around.’

  ‘Better off without him then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  God, this is awful. He has a pint and seems to be one of those men who drinks beer like water. Medical school and general common sense assure me that’s not a good way to hydrate oneself.

  ‘How’s Lucy? What’s she up to these days?’

  I don’t quite know if he’s being friendly or flirty. ‘She’s living with me, back at university and working.’

  ‘She’s a good laugh.’

  ‘She is.’

  I drink some more of my wine to escape the awkwardness and Stuart studies my face.

  Do I ask him about what happened with my other sisters? Did Beth really throw up on him? I guess I should try and engage in chit-chat but I realise I’m not hugely bothered about knowing more about this one. Which is why the next question to come out of my mouth is quite strange. We’ll blame the wine.

  ‘Do you get around?’

  He looks at me confused and laughs. ‘That was out of nowhere.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just curious… it’s just I know you’ve been with my sisters.’

  ‘I have my fun.’

  ‘How many people have you slept with?’

  ‘Two hundred odd?’

  I choke on a bit of wine. He reaches across and slaps my back.

  ‘Really? Do you get tested regularly?’ That’s me talking with my doctor hat on.

  ‘I do. How many have you slept with?’

  I react like I’m appalled but I guess I started this line of questioning. ‘Three?’

  ‘Oh.’

  Luke Travis, Ben Reid and Simon Chadwick. I know their dates of birth and where they all are now. I believe Luke works in graphics and has a dog called Toto. Ben is an accountant and had a wedding reception in rural Leicestershire that featured live swans. Simon lives twenty minutes away from me in London, we used to share a name, we still share two children.

  ‘Why so many?’ I ask him.

  ‘It were there, eh? The opportunity. I keep figuring, I’m young and should just do it now. One day, I’ll settle down and do the married thing but for now it’s fun.’

  I can’t quite hide my judgement.

  ‘Look, I’m nothing like your husband. I get around and I’m no angel but I definitely wouldn’t screw up a marriage if there were kids involved.’

  He looks slightly hurt that I would think him capable.

  ‘It wasn’t that. I guess I’m always still trying to figure out men and sex.’

  ‘Some blokes are just dicks. High sex drives, they’ll shag anything what moves. It’s an arrogance thing. It’s prefrontal cortex stuff.’

  I am taken aback to hear him talk academically. He smiles.

  ‘Just driven by something primal. Reason goes out the window.’

  I am quiet at the thought and top up my glass of wine again. Have I drunk two glasses or three? Who knows?

  ‘I’m sorry your ex did that to you. That he treated you so badly. That bloke this morning seemed a nice sort.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘That got legs?’

  ‘Possibly. I think I’m just out of practice.’

  On all levels, really. I can hardly remember what it’s like to be part of a relationship but also in terms of being intimate with someone again. What if I revealed everything to them, my whole true everyday self, and then the quality of the intimacy was deemed not good enough. Again. A second time would break me. There’s a long pause.

  ‘You know you’re quite hot.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Of all the sisters, you’re top three.’

  I cackle at the comment. He smiles broadly, revealing a chipped incisor that’s a little crooked.

  ‘You’re the posh doctor one.’

  ‘I am not posh.’

  ‘It’s what we call you. Danny doesn’t do names so he’s given you all nicknames. Posh Doc, Barf, Numbers and Cannon.’

  ‘Cannon?’

  ‘Luce cannon.’

  I can’t stop laughing, feeling slightly sad that Beth will be known as Barf until the end of time. Thank you, Stuart Morton. Are you a brother-in-law? Or are you once removed? Either way, I needed that laugh.

  ‘Do you like sex?’ he asks.

  I stop chuckling. Woah there, kid.

  ‘That is not appropr
iate.’

  ‘You asked me how many people I’d slept with?’

  ‘Not because I was propositioning you.’

  ‘I’m doing nothing of the sort. I’m trying to carry on the conversation. Have you had sex since your divorce?’

  ‘I… I don’t…’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

  ‘I’m not ready.’

  He laughs. It’s like I’m in a swimming costume at the side of the pool, waiting. I don’t know why I’m not getting in the pool. The temperature is wrong, there are too many people, I’m scared of jumping in and getting someone’s old plaster in my face. I’m just going to stand here and watch for a bit.

  ‘I’ll repeat my first question. Do you like sex? Do you wank?’

  I take a deep breath and nod, realising my face will now be the same colour as my wine.

  ‘You’re an attractive, thirty-something doctor. You could go on Tinder and find some sex with your first swipe.’

  ‘I am on Tinder.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They all want to do strange things to me.’

  ‘And what do you want?’

  I knock back the rest of my wine. Am I really going to tell him? I haven’t even told Lucy.

  ‘I need a taster session. Just straight out vanilla sex so I can remember what a penis feels like and what I need to do, where all the body parts and limbs go, you know? I do not need a new lovely man dumping me because I forgot how to have sex. I’ve literally forgotten everything.’

  As I say it, I throw two hands over my mouth and giggle drunkenly. He smiles and then leans into me.

  ‘You don’t forget how to have sex,’ he tells me.

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s like riding a bike.’

  ‘It’s not but I see sex as a form of release. If I go at least a week without it then I’m bloody unbearable.’

  ‘So you’re telling me it’s completely mechanical with you?’

  ‘Not always. But it’s allowing yourself to feel pleasure too. It’s endorphins, chemicals and I don’t suppose it’s linked in with your psychology too.’