by Jane Green
Lisa shrugs. “Look, I don’t know enough about them, but there’s definitely tension between her and Michael. For all you know she’s a really unhappy woman. I don’t know.” Lisa shrugs. “Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she lived for her children all those years and doesn’t know what to do, how to live, now that her children have grown up and moved on.
“Maybe that’s why she’s interfering so much, she’s probably just lonely. Instead of hating her, maybe you should feel sorry for her.”
I frown, thinking about Linda. Could Linda be unhappy? Lonely? Vulnerable? I always think of her as so strong, having built her up in my mind to be this übermother-in-law, a giant figure capable of great evil. But in that instant Lisa manages to humanize her for me.
Suddenly I don’t see Linda as a monster, as capable of creating only mayhem and destruction wherever she goes. I see her as rather pathetic. Poor woman. She gave up her life for her children and now her children don’t want to know. Emma’s permanently exasperated by her, Richard only phones when he wants something, and Dan? Dan has me now. And Tom. A family of his own.
“I can’t believe it,” I say softly. “I think you’re right. She is unhappy. I should make more of an effort with her. I should try to include her more.”
“I think that she’s not nearly as bad as you made out. And he’s hysterical.”
“Who?” I look at her in confusion.
“Your father-in-law, Michael.”
“Michael? Hysterical?” I say slowly. Surely some confusion.
“Yes. He was telling us his old law school stories this morning, and we were all rolling about.”
“Michael?” I can’t get rid of the frown. The incomprehension. “My father-in-law? Are you sure?”
“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,” she snorts. “We were all on the floor. We’d better get back, before Trish comes looking for us and smells the smoke on my breath.”
I laugh. “Are you seriously frightened of Trish?”
“Put it like this,” Lisa said. “For Christmas, Andy got me a fur collar.”
“I thought you said he got you a bracelet.”
“Nah. I went out and bought myself the bracelet because I couldn’t tell Trish I actually owned real fur. It’s been hiding in the attic. Every time I think about wearing it I’m convinced I’ll bump into Trish and she’ll scream at me.”
“You wimp,” I laugh.
“Would you wear fur in front of Trish?”
“Well, no. But it’s not exactly an issue for me,” I say, knowing that even if we could afford it, Dan would never buy me a fur collar.
“Look, I love her, but we’re very different.”
“I know, I know. And you’re right. She probably would give you a horrible time if she knew you smoked”—I give her a look—“even if it is only on holiday.” I stand up, brushing off the grass. “I still can’t believe I didn’t know that about you.”
Lisa stands up with me, hiding the matches in the knot of her sarong, and she smiles mysteriously. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
19
I caught the sun today, and although I may not be feeling that great—rowing with Dan always unsettles me, makes me feel slightly unbalanced, gives me a constant nagging feeling that there is something wrong, no matter how much I pretend to the outside world that everything is fine—I have to say I’m looking pretty good.
Lisa may have bought out every designer store in the West End, but I did pretty well with my cheaper alternatives, and tonight I’m wearing a whispery chiffon dress that sets off the beginning of my suntan, and floats gently against my knees.
“That’s gorgeous,” Lisa says as I walk into the living room. “Where did you get it?”
I wish I could lie, could tell her it was Diane von Furstenberg or some such, but Lisa, the perfect picture of Euro chic in her Allegra Hicks shift and gold hoop earrings, would undoubtedly know.
“It’s secondhand.” I say, grinning. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
She smiles, comes over to feel the fabric, and agrees that it’s lovely. “Darling, don’t say it’s secondhand. Nobody says things are secondhand any more. Say it’s vintage.”
“Vintage,” I murmur, and she’s right, it does sound much better.
“But it’s beautiful,” she says. “You look gorgeous,” and I smile, thankful for the compliment, for any compliment in fact, given that Dan and I still appear to be nonspeakers.
Well, tough on him. I’m determined to have a good time tonight. I may not know these people but I’m on holiday; I can be anyone I want to be. And tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m not going to be Ellie Cooper, wife, mother, suburbanite-in-the-making; tonight I’m going to be Ellie Black, single girl-about-town, vivacious, funny, sparkling. I plan on drinking champagne (please let them have champagne; surely with names like Jonathan and Caro they’re bound to have champagne), and who knows, perhaps we’ll even go dancing; I could do with some dancing, and after the day, and night, I’ve had, I could certainly do with some drinking.
How is it that we’ve been married less than two years, yet already I feel like a completely different person? Is it marriage per se or motherhood that changes you so much?
Or perhaps it is my marriage. Those nights when I lie in bed, hating Dan, wanting to leave, I think that I really did make the wrong choice. Usually I wake up in the morning and those feelings have passed, have been left behind with the darkness, and I tend to discredit them, to call them my night sweats. But perhaps they’re not. Perhaps I’m not supposed to feel this different; perhaps it means I made the wrong choice. I made the wrong marriage.
But then I think of Lisa. And Trish. And Fran. Think of how we all seem to go through the same things, have the same feelings about our children, our lack of social lives (okay, perhaps it’s not quite fair to include Lisa in that particular aspect), how we all constantly complain of a lack of energy, permanent exhaustion, and I think that this must be normal. That it is not that I chose the wrong man, but that my life has changed so much, immeasurably, that surely it takes longer than two years to adjust.
But tonight I’m not willing to adjust. Not willing to make any concessions at all. Tonight I want to forget that I’m married, that I have responsibilities. Tonight I will be on holiday from my life. And I’m going to have a good time if it kills me.
“Come in! Come in! Lisa! How lovely that you’re here!” Jonathan is a big, bluff, exuberant man, and as soon as he opens the door I can see I’m going to like him, that I won’t need the champagne to feel relaxed.
But I’ll drink it anyway.
Jonathan’s wife, Caro, is standing just behind him, and I extend my hand to shake hers, but she laughs and gives me a hug. “Ellie, is it? Lovely to meet you. Come on in and have a drink.”
Everyone in our party gets slaps on the back from Jonathan and hugs from Caro, and we walk through to the living room to meet the others, and I have to admit I do start to feel slightly nervous.
These do seem to be the Beautiful People I so often read about. They’re the people that frequent Calden, that believe their looks and charm will get them anything they want.
“Concierge, my good man, will you just phone the Ivy and get us a table for six at eight o’clock this evening.”
“Would you do me a tiny favor and phone BA. Ask them if there’s an upgrade available. Tell them it’s for me.”
“Darling, just phone Hermès and see if they have any Birkins lying around. Mention my name.”
I encountered these people every day at Calden. Marveled at their easy confidence, their ability to charm their way through the world, because invariably they would get what they asked for, no matter how unreasonable the request. Their wishes would be granted, and they would never seem surprised, would already have accepted that as they asked, so they would receive.
I would watch them from afar, but I had never known them, had never thought of socializing with them, had been far too intimidated to ever think I might have been spendin
g an evening with them, until I met Lisa.
But Lisa on her own is just Lisa. It wasn’t until I saw Lisa hugging Kate on the plane that I fully realized how much Lisa is part of that set. Of this set. These people who make me feel so awkward and dowdy.
“We’ve met before.”
I register the words as I shake this man’s hand, knowing that his face is slightly familiar, but then everyone in here is slightly familiar, their photographs cropping up in the pages of the magazines on a regular basis.
I squint slightly, trying to place him. I’m sure he’s not just a picture in a magazine. I’m sure his voice is familiar too.
“I know,” I say. “You’re terribly familiar, but I’ve lost my memory since having a baby. Sorry.” I shrug an apology as he laughs. “Help me out. Remind me.”
“We met at Fran and Marcus’s,” he says. “You work with Sally, right? Ellie, isn’t it? I’m Charlie, Charlie Dutton.”
“Oh, God! Of course. Charlie Dutton!” Charlie and Sally, the Charlie that Sally ended up stalking for months before realizing that he was absolutely not ready for commitment and she should move on, which she very quickly did.
“How on earth do you remember me?” I say, pleased. I am used to being the girl that people can’t place, the girl that is constantly reminding people how they know me, or that I’m a friend of Fran, or Dan’s wife, or someone’s something.
I think I must have one of those faces.
“Yes, you’re common,” Trish had laughed one day when I told her, but it’s true. I think I remind a lot of people of someone else, and so it is rare for people to actually place me, or remember me.
“You’re the film producer, right?”
He nods. “And you’re the marketing director for Calden.”
“I can’t believe you remembered that too!”
He shrugs. “I’ve always had an excellent memory.”
“But I’m not the marketing director anymore,” I say. “I do freelance consulting now. It must have been ages ago that we met. God, I’m not even sure I was married.”
“You were engaged, I think, just about to get married. And you mentioned you’ve had a baby? Congratulations! That must have been quick work.”
“We pretend he’s a honeymoon baby, but actually I was pregnant when we got married, so yes, I suppose it was fairly quick work.”
“A shotgun wedding?” He raises an eyebrow.
I laugh. “No. We were getting married long before I found out I was pregnant.”
“So which is your husband?”
“Dan.” I turn and notice that Dan is sitting next to Kate, talking to her animatedly. So, I think, two can play that game. If you’re having such a good time talking to another woman, I can have a bloody good time flirting with another man.
Sorry, I meant talking to another man.
“Here.” Caro comes up to us and hands me a glass—hooray! Champagne! “Have some champagne. Do you two know each other?”
“Ellie used to be the marketing director at Calden,” Charlie says. “We met at a lunch. You know Fran and Marcus, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Caro nods. “I love Fran, and any friend of Fran’s is a friend of mine.”
“Thank you.” I smile, knowing that in my vintage dress and high strappy heels, with champage in hand and a connection to both Charlie Dutton and Fran, I truly feel exactly as I wanted to feel tonight: sparkling and sexy.
I love wearing this dress. I love wearing these heels. Normally I wouldn’t be seen dead in anything higher than an inch, and a dress? You have to be kidding. Not when trousers are so much more comfortable, not to mention practical.
I’d forgotten how wonderful you can feel in a dress. Especially one as floaty and feminine as this one, that ensures you feel as floaty and feminine as the dress itself.
In with the in crowd. How lovely. What a shame I didn’t make more of an effort to socialize with these people, hell, to dress like this, before I was married.
I follow Charlie to a sofa and sit down, proffering my glass for a refill from Jonathan as he walks round the room. My darling husband is still talking to Kate. Fuck him, I decide. I will not let him ruin my night.
I turn to Charlie Dutton, trying to think of something scintillating, funny, clever to ask him. I’m trying to flirt, I realize with a shock. Not because I find Charlie Dutton attractive—although, trust me, he’s not exactly painful to look at—but because I am now convinced that Dan is flirting, and he is not the only one who can do this.
Except I can’t. I never was any good at flirting, was always taken by surprise when men started flirting with me. I can think of scintillating, funny, clever, flirtatious things to say, but only when the moment has passed, and usually when I am back in my bed. Alone.
“So how is motherhood?” Charlie Dutton asks, thank God, before I can think of anything.
“Lovely. Exhausting, but lovely,” I say.
“Isn’t it extraordinary how much your life changes?” he says, smiling. “I remember when Finn was born. My ex and I used to talk about how he’d just fit into our lives, like a cute little accessory, how we’d take him with us everywhere and he’d have to learn to adapt. Boy, were we in for a shock.”
I laugh, having forgotten that he had a son. “Exactly, that’s exactly what we said. We had no idea it would turn our lives upside down.”
“But you’re surviving it,” Charlie Dutton says, taking a sip of his drink. “We didn’t manage to survive it, but then we would never have stayed together if she hadn’t been pregnant.”
I want to ask more, suddenly. Want to ask about his ex, how they met, why they decided to keep the baby, how exactly his life was turned upside down.
He is attractive.
The words enter my head with a shock. I look at Dan guiltily, trying to reassure myself by connecting with a husband to whom I’m not speaking. Unsurprisingly it doesn’t work.
And I find myself blushing. For no reason at all. Other than that I’m immediately aware that I’m attracted to Charlie Dutton. I haven’t been attracted to anyone for such a long time. I’m a married woman—I’m not supposed to feel like this.
Of course I had theorized about attraction. Had spent hours theorizing about infidelity, and affairs, and why we did or didn’t commit adultery.
I had confidently proclaimed that of course you didn’t stop being attracted to people just because you were married, but that you had a choice: you would weigh up what you had, what you stood to lose, and would realize that nothing would be worth risking your marriage for, and that your crush, for that would be all it was, would pass.
But that’s the thing about theories. You can theorize all you want, but at the end of the day when your theories become reality, when the situation you have theorized about is suddenly presented to you, your theories go flying out the window.
Just as Fran said she hadn’t known how she would react to infidelity until the fact of it was presented to her, at which point she’d reacted completely differently from the way she’d always thought she would, I am sitting here completely shocked that I am attracted to Charlie Dutton. And with a start I realize I am staring at his arms.
Strong arms. Fair, unlike Dan’s dark, hairy arms, Charlie Dutton’s arms are tanned with blond hairs. Nice. Oh, God. Am I completely out of my mind?
I look guiltily at Dan, who doesn’t look at me at all. And Charlie Dutton is asking me something, but I can’t look at him. I can’t look him in the eye or I may go scarlet.
Oh, for God’s sake, Ellie! You’re a grown woman! Compose yourself! You’re a wife and a mother, and a grown-up! Stop behaving like a child.
“I’m sorry?” I say to Charlie Dutton. “What did you say?”
“I asked where the baby was. I see that your other friends have brought their son.” He gestures to Oscar, sitting peacefully in his buggy at Trish’s feet, ignoring the chatter all around him, grinning happily at being with his mother.
“Sorry.” I shake my head
to dislodge the thoughts. “Tom’s at home. My in-laws have rented this house for the summer. They were supposed to be on a yacht, but the yacht had an accident so they’re there. The only plus is they’re available for babysitting duties.”
Okay. I did it. I managed a coherent sentence without blushing. Anyway, I’m clearly being ridiculous. Didn’t Fran once say he was this massively eligible bachelor? Why would someone like him even look at someone like me? Not to mention that I’m married.
I start to regain my equilibrium, breathing more easily. Not that I want him to be interested in me of course, although I’d only flirt anyway, would never do anything more, but even that won’t happen. He’s gorgeous. He’d never look at me. Nor should he.
I relax.
“You’ve obviously managed to get some sunbathing in as well,” Charlie says. “You look…” He pauses and I look up, manage to look him in the eye. “Delicious,” he says slowly, without a hint of a smile, and my heart starts to pound.
And then I turn scarlet, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Oh shit.
“Oh, Charlie,” Caro says, from the other side of the room. “What have you been saying to poor Ellie? Whatever it is, stop it; she’s gone completely beetroot. Did he embarrass you, Ellie? Just ignore him, he’s a terrible tease.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” I mumble, as Dan looks at me quizzically.
“Is he flirting with you?” Jonathan grins, at which point I blush even more.
If that’s at all possible.
“Oh, Charlie,” he says. “You’re such an old dog.”
“What a horrible thing to say,” Charlie Dutton says indignantly, as I wish very much I could click my heels together like Dorothy, and be home.
“Don’t take offense,” Jonathan says. “Poor Ellie. She’s just trying to be polite and you’re embarrassing her horribly. Leave her alone.”
“Okay, okay.” Charlie Dutton puts his hands in the air and grins before turning to me and bowing.
“Sorry for embarrassing you,” he says loudly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and powder my nose.”