You're All Mine

by Ruth Harrow

  'OK, sure.'

  My husband doesn't seem to understand how great the opportunity is that I have fought virtually the whole of last week for.

  I grasp James's hands and look up at him imploringly. 'This will be great for our future, James. This project will look really great on my portfolio. I can get some other, even bigger projects off the back of this. It will be great, I promise. Just trust me, OK?'

  'And when do you start work on this amazing project?'

  'I have to start on the designs right away. Gavin... the apartment owner flies out to Dubai in a month and he wants it done by then.'

  'A month?' James lets out a low breath. 'That's ridiculous, Heather. That's another month of our lives where I won't see you at all.' He shakes his head. 'What about our marriage?'

  I shift uncomfortably, my feet sinking into a different area of plush carpet. I think I know where this is going. My husband has been nagging me for months now.

  'James–'

  'Don't pretend everything is fine, because it's not. I know it's bad if I'm the one suggesting we go and get couples therapy!'

  'James, please, I asked you not to mention it again. We do not need therapy.'

  'Are you sure? Because I barely see you. I come home from work to find you up to your eyeballs in emails from clients and endless blog posts.'

  'Come on, how many couples actually come out of therapy happy? No one has the ideal marriage – if you think they have – it's just an illusion.'

  'You know we've got problems. We live in your fucking dream house, but we never see each other! My income covers us both – you don't even need to work. It's just crazy for you to be running around doing all these extra projects in my time off when you don't have to!'

  I shake my head, anger rushing through me. I don't want to open my mouth and cause another argument over this, but I can't help myself.

  'I don't want to sit around in the house all day doing nothing while my husband goes out and has a great career and I achieve nothing. I'm not that person, James. You know that!'

  'I don't know what you are any more, Heather. You've changed. I think what you're really trying to do is avoid turning into your mother.'

  James's response is so unexpected, I'm taken aback. 'What? What are you talking about? My parents are dead!'

  My words come out with such force they seem to ring in the marble fireplace for a few moments.

  It seems to soften James however. He grasps my hands now and gives them a reassuring squeeze. 'I know that, sweetheart. I know you don't like talking about it, but from what little you have told me it sounds like you are resentful of your mother for not having a career of her own. Is that it?'

  I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a hot angry tear run down my cheek.

  Well, that is sort of it, but not really. What have I told James? Or is he really that perceptive?

  The truth is, I'm angry at both my parents for their lack of drive, of not wanting something more than that run down estate on the outskirts of Sheffield; that place I try to never think of, kept locked in a secure trunk in the dark recesses of my consciousness – a place I've tried desperately hard to prevent James, or anyone else finding out about.

  'That's not really it,' I say quietly. 'There is nothing wrong with staying at home and being a mother. I want to do that – one day. I just want to achieve something really good in my career first. I want to prove that I can make it on my own. I need that.'

  'But you have achieved a lot. You've done some really high profile stuff – more than a lot of people in the same business. You've done it all by yourself, too. What more could you need to prove?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You don't need to prove anything to me, that's for sure. I think you're wonderful. I love you, Heather. I just need you to be around, for us to see each other more than just every once in a while.'

  I take a deep breath. 'I know I've neglected you a bit lately, James. I'm sorry – I really am. How about I just do this one job for a month and get it finished. And then afterwards, when I get back, we will make an effort to have some real time together. Deal?'

  James looks disappointed but nods in agreement. 'Just this one? And then you promise to take it easier? With the blog and everything else too?'

  I nod. 'Of course. I promise,' I say, aware that my hands are cooling in the absence of James's warm touch as he walks away.

  33

  Before

  James doesn't need to tell me this night is important – I can feel it. There was a definite tension in the air when he arrived home from work this evening and went upstairs to shower.

  I sense I have worked my marriage thin and tonight I intend to repair it, lay the groundwork and patch it up again.

  The most frustrating thing is that I have worked so hard on my new career over the last few years just so that we could be a strong, successful, happy couple.

  I know I have pushed James aside at times. Tonight I'm going to remind him of what it is like to be married to me.

  I've cooked him his favourite dinner of lasagne with all the accompaniments and slow-cooked a rice pudding to be topped with cherry conserve for dessert.

  I'm hoping the fact that I am finally using his slow-cooker gift will earn me some extra points.

  I really need them.

  I dash down the hallway to check my reflection again in the long mirror by the door. I've slipped on my favourite black dress and now I examine myself, perhaps I have been a little too light with my makeup. I had intended to follow a new eyeshadow tutorial on YouTube, but I got caught up in Instagram notifications and ran out of time, but since James and I are eating by candlelight it shouldn't matter too much.

  In the kitchen now my phone buzzes with new notifications and I drag up as much strength and willpower as I can to ignore them.

  I even put my phone on silent and leave it on a high shelf as I lay the food out on the beautifully dressed table and light the candles.

  My hand twitches for the camera on my phone, thinking of how my Instagram followers would love a snap of this meal. I usually always post daylight shots of my kitchen, so a candlelit shot would show how versatile my dining table set up is.

  What if that was the post that caught the attention of a really high-profile client?

  James's footsteps on the stairs break apart my thoughts and I shake the residue away.

  'Hello, Gorgeous.' James places his hands on my hips and kisses me deeply. 'You smell delicious.'

  'Thank you, but that might be the lasagne.'

  He laughs and it occurs to me that I haven't seen his face in that pose for a long time.

  Placing my hands upon my husband's shoulders, I steer him down into his chair and pour him some wine to go with his meal.

  A flash of white briefly illuminates the glossy shelf top I placed my phone on, telling me that I perhaps have another notification.

  I focus on setting the wine bottle down on the table and ignore it.

  'This is really delicious,' James says, digging into his pasta. He screws up the left side of his face, as though about to wink at me. 'Hotter than the sun, but really delicious. I've really missed your cooking.'

  'Thank you,' I say, starting on my own food. James is right, the béchamel sauce has come out really creamy, exactly the way we both like it.

  Another flash of light behind James's head attracts my attention and lasts longer than the last – as though it was a phone call this time. But it goes dark again after a few moments and my determination to enjoy my food returns.

  I fork through it enthusiastically, as James talks to me about what has been happening in his life at work that I have missed.

  I laugh along to the story of his colleague, Henry, who often accompanies James on his trips away, who had a problem on the last stay with a blocked toilet in his hotel room.

  I realise how nice it is to simply hear James properly talking to me about something and I wonder why it has taken me so long to put my work aside for one nigh
t.

  I fill James in on minor details of my last project working on Gavin's duplex apartment that lasted a month, but nothing particularly funny or interesting happened and I mainly gloss over it.

  I avoid using Gavin's first name, or the fact that he offered me more work if his wife liked the apartment when he unveils it to her.

  I'm just starting to ask if James has heard from his mother lately when my phone lights up again with what looks like another phone call.

  Once again my eyes automatically flicker in that direction and this time James follows them, turning around in his chair.

  He sighs when he sees the glow of light from my phone screen. 'Is someone calling you? Who is it?'

  I shrug. 'It's a little hard to tell from over here,' I say playfully, but James is not amused, forking another load of pasta and meat into his mouth. 'You had better go and answer it. You keep staring over there all the time. I don't think you're even listening to me properly.'

  'I have been listening! And I wasn't staring. It just keeps reflecting and catching my eye, that's all.'

  'Maybe you should have left your phone in another room as I have. Just go and answer it.'

  'I'm sure it's not important. They can leave a message.'

  'Go and answer it, Heather. Then maybe switch it off when you're finished.'

  I sigh and get up.

  I've had three missed calls – all from Nicole. My mind suddenly whirs, wondering irrationally if something has happened to her.

  Then I notice a Facebook notification with my name tagged in it.

  Congratulations to Heather Peterson who did such a good job on my Chelsea apartment, I'm inviting her to work on my Milan villa.'

  My heart swoops and I have to reread the message a few times. I open the Facebook app and double check it definitely came from Gavin's account. Just to be sure it is real.

  'What is it, Heather. Has something happened?'

  'Yes, something has happened... Something great has happened! Gavin wants me to redecorate his entire Milan villa, too!'

  'Milan villa? You didn't say anything about that...'

  'No, well, I didn't know myself whether it was happening or not. I can't believe it! I've never worked on an international job before. Just think what that will look like on my portfolio!'

  'But a whole villa, Heather... I mean, how long will that take? You would be abroad for a long time...'

  I – I don't know...' My enthusiasm wanes a little as I look up from my bright phone screen to look at James in the relative darkness.

  I can only see one side of his face, illuminated oddly in the candlelight. Perhaps it is the low yellow flame, but his facial expression looks agitated, angry almost.

  'Maybe I could commute? I could maybe do a lot of the work from home, perhaps...'

  'It would be a lot of work though, wouldn't it? And Christmas is coming up, too.... I suppose you have the option to turn the job down though, don't you?'

  'Well... I don't know...'

  'I thought you might say that.' James picks up his glass and finishes the rest of his wine in a few gulps. He immediately moves to pour himself another generous serving from the bottle.

  In my hand, my phone screen is illuminated once again, this time with a text from Nicole.

  OMG! Heather, I just saw the news on Facebook. Congrats! I'm so jealous! Dean will be so impressed – if he ever answers his phone! xx

  34

  Before

  I know as the boot of the car opens with a hiss that I've overdone it.

  I had only intended to buy an item or two for my trip to Milan, but I've got a little carried away. There were pre-Christmas sales everywhere and I just couldn't help myself. I was disappointed Nicole didn't accept my invitation to come with me. A shame, really, some retail therapy would have helped her feel better; she is still upset about her break up with Dean.

  I now shut the front door behind me and carry a whole handful of shopping bags through and drop them onto the armchair.

  I pull off my coat and unwind my scarf and put both things away neatly in the utility room along with my ankle boots.

  When I return to the lounge, James is setting down his mug on the coffee table and lifting a black chiffon garment out of one of the bags.

  He eyes me over his shoulder. 'It's a bit nippy for that sort of thing, isn't it? I'm guessing that's for you to wear on your trip and not for me.'

  'Yes. I wanted to discuss it with you more, but you've been avoiding me.'

  'I needed some time alone – to think. It wasn't hard since I spend most of my life alone anyway.'

  I take the sleeveless jumpsuit from him and lower it back into its shopping bag.

  'I saw your Instagram post,' he says, avoiding looking at me. 'You've officially announced your taking the job to your followers. You're really going to be working away in Italy for who knows how long?'

  'Well, yes. I thought about it and I would be mad to turn down such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I know you don't think it's ideal, but even you have to see that these types of jobs don't come along every day.'

  He makes a noise of annoyance. 'And it's all strictly professional, is it? It's not like you have a thing for this Gavin bloke?'

  'What? Of course not! Look, what I said on the phone to Nicole was just a joke. I was only really humouring her. You know what Nicole is like.'

  James pulls out his phone and reads aloud the comments thread beneath my Instagram announcement post.

  'So I have a comment here from beth75jffj. She congratulates you. She says you deserve it and Gavin Stewart is – I quote – “a proper dish”.'

  James looks up, unamused.

  I shake my head. 'That is nothing. People say that sort of thing about you too when I post pictures of us together. It gets a lot worse than that, believe me.'

  'But underneath beth75jffj you responded, “I know! Better not tell my husband! Lol”.'

  My face flushes hot. The comment sounds so much different when read aloud like that. 'It – it doesn't mean anything. It's just... online banter. It's all just an act.'

  'That act, Heather, is our whole life! You spend more time with your phone than you do with me.'

  'I have to post on social media – it's part of the job!'

  'How is posting a picture of what you had for lunch part of your job? There was me thinking you were an interior designer – not a chef!'

  'I have to keep posting to my accounts to keep my followers interested. In every thousand fans there could be a new client, or they might know someone and recommend me. I don't like it either, James, but I have to do it.'

  He shakes his head and looks into the vase of fresh white tulips in the fireplace. 'You know, sometimes I even wonder if you ever loved me on our wedding day... The way you splashed the photos all over the social media... Sometimes I think like you would have married anyone just to get those pictures of your perfect wedding.'

  'That's not true! Of course I love you. I'll do anything to make our marriage work!'

  'Except take it easy with your job so we can actually have a life together...'

  I open my mouth and close it again a few times, speechless.

  We both know how much my career means to me. Or rather, I do. James doesn't seem to understand and I can't tell him why.

  He can't know the real reason I feel I have to succeed.

  James screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose with a finger and thumb. 'Heather, I think we... I think we need to have a little break from each other.'

  'James, please–'

  'Heather, don't. Let's just take a break for a short time, and then we will see how we feel at the end of it, eh?'

  'I don't want that!'

  'But you don't want to give up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, either, do you?'

  I shake my head, furious with the tears that well up and spill down my cheeks as I watch through the living room doorway as James pulls on his coat and pick up his keys.

  He p
auses in the doorway. 'Go to Milan tomorrow. Do whatever you need to. I'll see you when you get back, OK?'

  On the sofa, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them as I hear the engine of James's Mercedes fire up and fade away into the distance.

  35

  Since Lilly's birthday party, I've been busily trying to throw myself into work. I'm at the stage where I'm producing small runs of the textiles and furnishings to finish John's vision of his holiday apartments.

  There was a time when I enjoyed using my own two hands to produce a product like a fabric runner or tieback. But now that I have so many negative thoughts swirling around the back of my mind, I find the monotonous sewing and measuring slow and cumbersome.

  I keep getting distracted and pricking myself with a needle, or else forgetting a measurement and having to start again.

  It doesn't help that I am exhausted from experiencing a terrible night's sleep every time I go to bed. I'm now so used to feeling tired that I feel as though I'm walking around in a daze. Night hours and daytime seem to merge into one everlasting day, leaving me drowsy and feeling as though I'm numb inside.

  It is probably just as well though. I can't imagine having to face the full realisation of what James meant by “needing time to think” while being fully conscious.

  James is stubborn. Every attempt I have made to contact him since coming home from Milan has either been rebuffed or ignored.

  For now, I have no other plan than to simply throw myself into work.

  I'm just making another attempt to calculate fabric measurements when my phone starts ringing, making me jump and pushing the simple calculations from my head.

  When I see it is John calling, I pick up the phone.

  'Hello?'

  'Hello there, Heather. Not disturbing you, am I?'

  'No of course not. I'm just working on furnishings for the apartments.'