by Kitty Wilson
But if she were to stay locally where could she work? There were limited jobs going in Cornwall for a woman with a First from Oxford in Classics. Not a huge call for her ability to read ancient Greek. Everything down there was seasonal or in the public sector. She didn’t have the professional qualifications to work for the NHS or teach, plus she’d need something that would pay well enough to keep the boys in the lifestyle they were used to, and that didn’t come cheap. She considered politics – she thought she’d make a rather good member of parliament – but the general election wasn’t due for a while and she couldn’t gamble on winning. No, she needed a certainty, something she could control, that guaranteed her what she needed.
A woman with a small child and a pushchair came up to the bench next to her. The child had a ring of chocolate around her mouth and a can of Red Bull in her hands.
‘Now sit down, and drink your drink whilst I sort out the baby.’
‘I don’t wanna sit down.’
‘Sit down or I won’t let you go to Kayden’s party.’
‘I don’t want to go to Kayden’s stupid party, he’s weird and his house smells. I wanna go McDonald’s!’ The little girl threw her can of drink at her mother before opening her mouth and screaming a scream that would wake the dead at the bottom of the canal, an arc of the drink careering out as the can flew through the air, splashing Marion’s new Max Mara skirt that she had bought especially for this weekend.
Marion automatically gave the child a look, a look that would have stopped an entire class in Penmenna in its tracks, made them cry and sob an apology. But it was a brief one, for this child had sowed the seed of an idea, no, not a seed, a great big beanstalk of an idea. So, Kayden’s mum may not know how to throw a party, but you know who did? Marion.
Marion knew how to throw a party. Everyone loved her parties; she was the queen of party-throwing. All she had to do was work out how to monetize that. She got to her feet and threw another look at the woman next to her, but this time of gratitude. Well, gratitude and a little bit of disdain – it didn’t matter where you came from, no one in their right mind would let their pre-schooler drink caffeine. Actually, she didn’t care. This was genius. It was so obvious; she could events manage. She could do it from home, use all the contacts and the skills she had and still be there for the boys.
‘And you can sod off too, you stuck-up old cow. Sneering at me when you’re sat ’ere sobbing on your own. No mates, is it? No one to talk to, well we don’t want you ’ere neither. Go on, fuck off back to London or wherever you’re from.’
And do you know what? Marion thought that wasn’t a bad idea either.
Chapter Five
Marion let herself back into her home after two whole nights spent sobbing and plotting in a B&B a couple of miles away from her childhood home. To say it was not up to her usual standards would be the understatement of the year. It had non-ironic floral borders for a start and the toiletries provided were so bad she had wondered if it were a deliberate policy to stop the guests from washing so they fitted in better with the staff.
Her feedback had not been well received.
This was followed by a five-hour journey, most of which she had driven powered by rage. She had spent two nights now sobbing her heart out, and it was unlike her to be so emotional – the last time, just before Christmas, had been over Richard as well! He had had enough tears spent on him now; she must have cried ten buckets’ worth this weekend and was very thankful this morning to have her trusty aviators in her handbag. Red-rimmed eyes were not a look Marion was ever prepared to sport, not even for her husband and especially now she had discovered he was an errant one. Completely sobbed out, she was happy for anger to become her dominant feeling instead.
Returning home was not the happy occasion it usually was. Although she was most impressed as she caught a glance in the mirror that she didn’t look as drained as she felt. Concealer and bravado made an awesome pairing. She had already picked up the boys – they were trailing in behind her – having pretended to both them and Jenny that Mummy and Daddy had had a lovely weekend and that everything in their world was just as it should be.
Jenny had wanted to know all the details of the hotel and Marion had forgotten what she had seen on the website before she had been forced to cancel her chi-chi night away, the horrors of the peach chintz from where she had actually stayed in the forefront of her mind instead. The last thing she needed was to out herself, the end of her marriage and the admission that she had spent the night in a two-star B&B on the outskirts of nowhere-ville.
Jenny had looked perplexed as Marion explained that she was simply too tired to possibly tell her all about it in that moment, then gave her a slow wink and a nod in the hope that Jenny would assume she had been overly vigorous at the weekend and thus needed to get home for an Epsom salt bath and a rest. Jenny may love hearing all about Marion’s travel experiences but she would have to forgo that treat until Marion had time to double check Belmond Manor’s website again.
As she managed to whisk the boys out of Jenny’s and make her escape, her phone had pinged with a message from her friend, Angelina. She had used a snap of Angelina and Chase’s house, all lit up and sparkly, for the business cards she had ordered – a perfect chic aesthetic to present her new events management business. She was sure she wouldn’t mind.
If she could land Angelina as a client, along with her brother, celebrity gardener Matt Masters, who was due to marry Penmenna School’s headteacher, Rosy Winter, this summer, then her diary would be filling up before she had begun any campaign proper. Ideas had come thick and fast whilst she was away; emotion was obviously good for creativity. Perhaps that was why all those starving-in-a-garret artist types chose a garret in the first place whilst proclaiming poverty – misery really did get you thinking.
She checked the text as soon as she was in and through the door.
Darling, would love to see you, but I’m desperately busy. St Bart’s is unbearably crowded in February, heading back tomorrow. Could have a quick lunch Thursday? Kisses.
Perfect, her plan was ready to put into action. She wasn’t pleased that she’d have to wait until Thursday but she supposed that was the price one paid for being friends with the glitterati. Or the clitterati as Richard called them… no, she wasn’t to start thinking about Richard now and certainly not with a giggle. She needed to hold on to rage for a bit; it was a great motivator.
There was another noise too, coming from upstairs, familiar and yet not quite right. Marion shook her head to dispel it; she didn’t have time for nonsense right now – there was nothing alarming it could be. That was the joy of Penmenna. No fear of the unexpected. It seemed London was the place for that.
She dampened down her crossness – this was time for focus – and pulled out her phone to call Rosy as the boys unloaded all the bags and dragged them upstairs.
‘I have the best idea so I thought I could come and see you and the darling Matt this evening…’ She found it was better to launch straight in; no need to waste time on irrelevancies.
‘Oh hello, Marion. Well it’s Sunday, can it wait until—’
‘Quite, no time like the present.’
‘You see the thing is—’
‘Now, now, don’t be silly. It won’t take long and it’s Sunday evening, you’re not going to be doing anything other than watching some period drama and sighing whilst Matt does Matt things. Actually, that’s a point, you’ll need to tell Matt to be there too. Honestly, you’ll be so excited when you hear my ideas, Rosy darling, I’m going to revolutionize your life. See you in thirty minutes or so.’ Marion thought she heard Rosy gulp as she hung up the phone, but with it being February there were a lot of winter colds going about.
‘Oh, thank goodness for that…’ a male voice sang out from the top of the stairs, causing Marion to freeze to the spot.
‘Daddy, Daddy!’
She heard Richard’s laugh as Rufus came bounding out of his bedroom like a springer
spaniel puppy and launched himself at his father’s legs. She didn’t need to turn around to see the scene playing out here. Rufus would be clinging to Richard’s leg, Richard would ruffle his hair before disentangling himself and walking over… stop. This was not okay; Richard was not the man she thought he was, and now he appeared to have turned up in their house, after all his protestations of how he couldn’t possibly get away because of the sodding Japanese and yet, now his secret was rumbled, he seemed to have time to come home and cover things up. Well, she could tell him now how that was going to go.
She spun on her heel to face him, the man she had loved with all her might, the man who had betrayed her, the man who was currently wrapped up in a hug with their youngest son and looking for all the world like there was nothing, no one he loved more than his family.
Curses.
She couldn’t shout at him in front of the boys; this was a house of domestic harmony and would stay that way if it killed her. Damn it. She watched him walk down the stairs, Rufus trailing behind him, Rupert and Rafe having left their rooms to see what the commotion was.
‘Darling, I’m so glad to see you safe and home. I was so worried about you – where have you been?’
Rupert looked at his dad oddly. ‘She’s only been gone ten minutes, she whirled us out of Jenny’s like a hurricane. Made Rafe pretty cross. Did you have a nice weekend?’
Rafe went to hit his brother around the head but caught his dad’s eye and paused his hand mid-air, bringing it back to scratch his shoulders as if that had been his intent all along.
Bloody Richard; if he hadn’t been here the boys would no doubt be wrangling on the carpet by now. She’d have that joy to deal with by herself once she was officially a lone parent. A lone parent? That hadn’t been the future she pictured for herself.
‘Yeah, actually, Mum, I have to go and meet Sophie now.’
‘You’ve just spent the weekend with her. What on earth could be so important that you need to see her again?’
Rafe paused and caught his mum’s eye. ‘Um… algebraic fractions. She doesn’t understand them and we didn’t get through all of her homework.’ Marion softened a little; he was a good boy, just as she always told people. These boys were going to do alright in life, she knew it. As long as they didn’t turn out to be cheating weaselly philanderers like their father.
She fixed Richard with her evillest stare, one she hadn’t dished out to him since he was pursuing her heavily in their undergraduate days and she hadn’t taken him seriously.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on?’ he said, looking confused and a little hurt. Pah! Of course he did; he was shameless.
‘Boys, go to your rooms for a bit and yes, Rafe, you can go and see Sophie but don’t work too hard or stay too late. Tell Jenny I said it’s okay.’
‘But you’ve seen each other all weekend, we want to see Dad too,’ Rufus cried plaintively, oblivious to the bemusement on his father’s face.
‘And you can, but not right now. I need to talk to him… um… about birthday surprises…’ Marion wracked her brains for something to say to get Rufus out the way.
He looked at her sceptically.
‘Rupert.’ Marion cast around desperately.
‘Yes, of course – Rufus, come with me.’
He said in his sweetest of voices, ‘Thing is, Mum, I’m trying to play Fortnite, I need a new skin and it’s not accepting your card details. Have they changed?’
Marion looked at him. Computer games. Surely he could find something else for them to do? And then she remembered the recent Fortnite World Cup that had been all over the news, and the prize fund. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world, just for today, plus Rufus was scampering up the stairs in anticipation. Sighing, she opened her bag, undid her purse and wordlessly handed him her debit card.
Once the children had gone, Richard walked over to her and tried to take her hand. She started as if she had been burnt. She didn’t want to even think where those hands had been and now he was laying them on her. He may be fresh out of the shower but it was going to take more than a quick wash before he was ever allowed to touch her hand again. She didn’t think even a metal brush and some Jeyes fluid was going to be enough. Cleansing by fire was tempting though.
‘Marion, what is going on? I don’t understand. Claudia said you were in the flat but then you were gone, you didn’t wait to see me, you didn’t pick up when I rang. Why did you come up, why did you leave? When you didn’t answer I pictured you upended and in a ditch. What is going on?’ His tone was confused; Marion used to think that was adorable.
Marion raised her eyebrow at him and pinched her cheeks in, her lips forming the shape beloved of fishwives of old. It was really tempting to put her hands on her hips, but she still had a modicum of decency. But seriously, this was how he was going to play it, was it? As if she were a complete fool and he was an innocent. He really did know nothing about her, nor care, if he thought that was the best way forward. Fool of a man.
‘If you think about it, Richard, it makes perfect sense. I came to surprise you for our anniversary, an anniversary you promised was as important to you as it was me, and yet I was the one surprised, I was the one with her world blown to bits. And all this time I have believed every word you have said, about how you’d be coming back to Penmenna, about how it was the Japanese deal that was keeping you away. I know better than that now.’
‘What are you talking about? I am in Penmenna, I’ve driven here to check you’re alive and safe and now I’m asking if we can sort out whatever is going on but I can’t talk to you if you speak to me in riddles. You’ve been weird ever since last summer, Christmas was bizarre and now this. Look, Marion, I love you, I have always loved you, but I don’t know what’s going on.’ Richard’s arms were waving up and down with the energy of a windmill in a storm, and then he stretched them outwards as he tried to pull her towards him.
She resisted.
‘We can get you help if you need it, if you need to talk to someone. You’ve always been so strong, so unbreakable but sometimes it’s the boughs that don’t bend that snap. If that’s what is happening, I’m here for you.’ He nodded his head to reinforce his point, his hands raised again as he tried to stress his concern. ‘We can get you the best help available, you just have to say.’
Marion could feel her own frame shaking, shaking like his so-called bloody boughs in a force ten gale. How dare he? How dare he?
‘Are you standing here in front of me now suggesting that, I don’t know, that I’m in the midst of some kind of nervous breakdown, that my reaction makes me the mad one?’
‘Noooo…’ Richard drew out the word, in that way people have when they want to say yes but are worried about the tsunami of shit that would be unleashed if they did.
‘Oh wow. I know I have many faults and for some reason, Richard, apart from what I had assumed to be a general sense of naivete, I thought you were pretty perfect, and now you are revealed in your truth, aren’t you? Now we see you standing there trying to transfer the blame to me. Gaslighting, it’s called, Richard, and I will not put up with it. Will not. The example you set and the way I react to your behaviour is what will shape our boys, the most important thing in my life. I will not have you shaping the attitudes they have towards women and relationships for the rest of their lives. They are not going to see me being manipulated and played like this; they will only ever see me behave with dignity and be treated in the correct manner. They are not going to see—’
‘Mum… Mum…’ A little head peered out amongst the polished white oak of the bannisters on the landing.
‘Not now, Rufus!’ Marion snapped. ‘I’m busy!’
‘He won’t let me have a turn, he says I’m a baby.’
‘Well, if you’re going to come running to me then you are. Stand up for yourself; go and make him give you a go. Marksharps don’t quiver.’
Rufus did quiver a bit and then dashed up the stairs again, making a war-like cr
y as he went.
Richard’s mouth fell open. ‘You talk about setting an example – why don’t you just tell him to whack his brother and be done with it.’
‘Oh do shut up, Richard, I have had just about enough of your nonsense. If you were any type of real man you would stand here, admit what you’ve done and we could carve out a plan but instead you just try and tell me I’m crazy. Not a good move, Mr Marksharp. Not a good move at all.’
‘This is insane…’
‘And there you go again.’
‘I don’t know what I’ve done!’ Richard looked defeated, the frustration clear in his tone, then he became pensive. ‘Is this about last summer when you took the boys to go and stay in Morocco with Hector? Is this what’s going on? You’ve had an affair and now you’re trying to blame me so you can jet off to Hector and his harem and live the life of Riley in the sunshine whilst I’ve been working my guts out with the Japanese…’
‘Really? Really! If the damn Japanese were so important to you, why are you here now, huh? If you haven’t been able to leave the Japanese for months, then how come now they’re finally here you can hotfoot it down to Cornwall? Don’t even answer the question. It’s because of a guilty conscience, clear as day, and then you attempt to brainwash me. I don’t know who you are any more but I do know you are not the man I thought I had married.’
Marion raged, still shaking and partially aware of the bedroom door decisively shutting upstairs, all her years of hard work and now this, her own boys hearing their mother shriek like a banshee at their father. It was fury that was driving her now, not guilt; she would not feel bad about this. She had worked herself to the bone on this marriage and this family and it was collapsing all around her through no fault of her own. He sleeps with his colleague and she gets accused of adultery! She wanted to launch at him, actually launch herself at him, stamp on his glasses and scrape his eyes out with her nails, pull his tufty hair until his face was streaming with blood and he was revealed for the weak, inconsequential man he really was.