My Husband's Wife (30 page)

She couldn’t help but think of the day six months ago when she’d left the same house, happy to be heading back to Woolacombe with nothing to occupy her thoughts but the letter from Laurel that sat in her bag, its contents waiting to be shared with her husband. She remembered later that night, holding up her palm, as if, like a superhero, she might be able to deflect his words, erase his thoughts, change her fate.
‘I’ve met someone...’

But it wasn’t just someone he had met. It was Geraldine Farmer, the woman who had everything she had ever wanted, apart from the little people to populate her beautiful home. Rosie felt that Geraldine was more than her in every way: prettier, slimmer, richer and cleverer. She had beaten her at every turn.
‘I mean, what can you offer them right now?’
The words rang inside her head as she pictured her little girls in their pale pink Uggs.

‘Nothing,’ she said out loud.

Shona shot Rosie’s dad a wide-eyed look. ‘Nothing?’ She gave a small laugh. ‘I said, would you like to go up to your room?’ Clearly Rosie had missed her question the first time.

‘Yes, please,’ she whispered, deciding it would be better to be alone than to sit and watch the two of them try to think of what to say next.

Shona closed the bedroom door behind her and Rosie heard her speedy tread on the stairs. No doubt she was keen to discuss events with her dad. She could sense their whispers floating up through the floorboards and bouncing off the shiny floral wallpaper and built-in white laminate wardrobes:
‘What did she say in the car?’
and
‘How long is she staying?’

She sat at the dressing table with its large, oval, white and gold mirror on a stand and swivelled it to see her reflection. Her face was now mottled with little white patches that looked like countries on a map, irregular shapes that sat around her mouth, under her nose and below her left eye. She touched the tip of her finger to them. The doctor had told her they would fade a little; she wondered how much. Not that she cared about her altered appearance, not really. It didn’t matter. Her hair was dirty and knotty and she couldn’t wait to give it a good wash. She tried to imagine bathing and washing her hair in Roy and Shona’s bathroom, among their unfamiliar lotions and towels, thinking how odd it was that he was her dad, her flesh and blood, and yet still in so many ways a stranger.

Lying on the floral bedspread of the single bed, Rosie looked around the small room in the cold, silent house. Several dolls sat in a row on the windowsill, all wearing Victorian high-necked blouses, full skirts and high-buttoned boots and each either holding a dinky parasol or sporting a large hat with a feather. She found them creepy, and being stared at by unblinking glassy eyes did nothing to change this. A shelf opposite the bed held several large trophies, faux-brass columns topped with dancers that were yet more proof of her dad and Shona’s prowess on the dance floor.

She sat up and slid from the bed. Reaching up, she opened the wardrobe doors to find a rack of padded satin hangers bearing elaborate dresses in every garish shade of the rainbow. She let her fingers trail the sequins, net and diamante that sparkled under the light. Then she sank back down on the bed, feeling so lost and alone that she thought her heart might break.

*

For the next couple of days she kept a low profile, hiding away in the spare room, sneaking to the bathroom and down the stairs to fetch a glass of water, eating alone in silence, trying to be invisible. The monotony was broken when the phone in the hallway rang.

‘It’s for you!’ Shona called, sounding slightly harried, Rosie thought, as if the novelty of having her under their roof had already worn off.

‘Thank you,’ Rosie whispered as she made her way downstairs.

‘Mummy?’ Naomi’s voice asked a little uncertainly.

‘Yes! Yes, my baby, it’s me!’ She tried hard not to let her distress be heard in her voice.

‘Daddy said you were at Grandad Roy’s?’

‘Yes, I am, just for a little while, until the house gets sorted out and then we can all head home.’ She bowed her head, her voice catching and still a bit crackly as she wondered if she was telling the truth. ‘How’s school?’ she managed.

‘It’s good. My teacher is called Madame Froubert and she is French, from France.’

‘Oh wow! That’s exciting.’

‘But Leo is in a different class, she’s in Mr Dobrey’s and he is just English.’ She huffed, as if this was suboptimal.

‘Have you made friends?’

‘I’ve got Melody and Jess and Tilda and Melody is from China.’

‘China? Goodness me, Nay, it sounds fantastic!’ She closed her eyes, trying to picture a school, a life in which she had no part. ‘Are you having a nice time in London?’

Rosie knew every nuance in her child’s vocabulary and the pause before she answered spoke volumes. ‘Yes, but...’

‘But what, Nay?’

‘Truffle had to go and live on a farm,’ she squeaked.

‘He did?’

‘Yes, and I miss him too,’ she whispered.

‘Oh, darling!’ She closed her eyes, wishing she were there to hold Naomi tight, kiss her better and make promises.

‘I can’t even visit him because it’s far away and he’s not allowed any visitors.’ Her voice cracked.

‘Don’t cry, little Naomi. Don’t cry. Truffle will be thinking about you too, so when you miss him, just think about him and picture him and he’ll get that message and that will make him feel better as well.’

‘You’d take me to his farm, wouldn’t you, Mum?’ Her voice was barely audible.

‘If I could, darling, then I would.’

‘I know.’ Naomi hesitated. ‘I’ve got to go now. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Rosie sat holding the phone, oblivious to the tone that indicated the call had ended, hoping for more. How could they give a child a dog, a pet, something to love and then take it away? Who would do that? Kev’s words floated into her mind unbidden.
‘He gets fed up, bored, has a change of heart, flips his mind and bails. He bins things. He’s always done it and he always will.’

‘Your tea’s ready,’ her dad called from the kitchen.

‘I’m not hungry, thanks Dad.’ Naomi’s tears were still fresh in her mind.

‘I’ve made you a nice omelette and chips. Come and eat it off a tray with us, in front of the telly.’

It sounded so much like a request from her smiling dad that she nodded and plodded through to the lounge. Shona budged up on the sofa, even though there was plenty of room. She took her place and stared at the television.

‘How
are
you feeling?’

It could have been her imagination, but the way Shona asked the question suggested to her that what she really wanted to know was,
‘When will you be better? When will you leave?’

‘I’m okay,’ was the best she could offer and in truth she didn’t want the discussion. She was utterly sick of the spiral of thoughts that swirled in her mind, trying to figure out how she’d been reduced to this shell of a person.

‘Tell you what...’ Shona shuffled off her seat. ‘Why don’t I put one of our DVDs on and you can see us in competition.’ Without waiting for a reply, she pulled open the drawer in the TV unit and selected a DVD from one of a dozen.

Rosie listened to the little tray whir open and watched as Shona gently placed the disc in the holder. And suddenly, there they were: bodies touching, heads arching away from each other, hands interlocked, grins fixed, hair set and sequins sparkling. Shona’s yellow frock swished and swirled with every step, folding around the couple and enveloping them in a froth of baby-duck-coloured tulle.

‘That was the regionals two years ago. I’d say we’ve come on even since then.’

Her dad entered the room bearing two trays. He handed one to Shona and one to her. ‘Mind out, the plate’s hot.’ He smiled.

Rosie stared at the pale omelette and mountain of oven chips and pictured the little girl who’d set a place at the table every night for her mum, a place that remained empty. For the first time she wondered what that must have been like for her dad, cooking to the best of his ability, keeping a routine going, while being reminded daily of the woman who’d left.

‘I was just saying...’ Shona nodded her head at the screen. ‘I think we’ve come on, since this video was taken.’

Her dad beamed. ‘I’d say so. Look at my footwork – shocking.’

‘Not shocking, Roy, just not polished.’ She smiled at him, then placed a large chip in her mouth. ‘We still won though,’ she noted with pride, her eyes fixed on the screen, her head moving in time to the music.

Rosie wondered how her life had gone so wrong. Even Roy and Shona, with their obsessive ballroom dancing and shiny shoes, even they had found love and happiness, and she was all alone...

Roy sat down with his own tray and looked aghast at his daughter. ‘Oh, Rosie! Oh, love! What is it?’

She hadn’t realised she was crying until he pointed it out.

With no one else in the house, Rosie reluctantly rose from her bed and trod the stairs at the sound of the doorbell. It would probably be a delivery that needed signing for or one of their neighbours dropping off the parish magazine. She considered hiding away, but knew that was unfair on both her dad and Shona, but also on whoever was making the delivery. She planned on making as little small talk as possible. It was, however, Keith who stood, a little sheepishly on the doorstep.

‘Keith!’ Crying seemed to be her natural default and the sight of him set her off.

‘Now, now, we’ll have less of that, Rosie.’ He smiled.

‘Come in, come in!’ She sniffed and stood back, wishing she had got washed and dressed. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea.’ She hated the formality of their surroundings, the awkwardness in front of the man who was her father-in-law.

‘Thanks, but I’m not stopping love. I’m on me way to Bristol, but I wanted to stop and see you.’

‘It’s lovely to see you. The girls seem okay? I do speak to them.’ This fact, again caused new tears to pool, she pictured the card they had made him for his birthday and her sitting in the car with Kev.

‘Well, you mustn’t get upset Rosie, Mo sends her love and I wanted to tell you that I’ve started work on the house, Ross has been helping me. It shan’t be quick mind, but we’ll get there.’

‘But... but I haven’t got any money! I don’t know what Phil’s got, but I don’t know how we’ll pay you!’ she gushed.

‘We’ll work out a plan, don’t worry. Is Roy not in?’ He looked past her, down the long, neat, narrow hall.

‘No. They must have gone shopping.’

‘Give him my best regards. And I mean it, try not to worry, we’ll work out the money, somehow. You’ll be home before you know it.’

‘I... I don’t know what to say!’ She felt a wave of love for the man who was throwing her this lifeline. ‘But thank you.’

Phil had called a couple of times to let her know he was dealing with the house, the insurance company had again denied their claim and it was indeed going to be down to Tipcott and sons to try and get things moving. Christmas was slowing work down, but come the new year, they would crack straight on, as and when they could.

It can’t come soon enough! I want my home! I want my girls! She wished silently.

‘How are you feeling?’ His concern sounded genuine.

‘Much better, thank you. Less sore and my skin’s healing well.’ She didn’t confess to the black hole of emptiness that she had tumbled into, the loneliness that threatened to send her mad.

‘You sound much better. Less gravelly, less wheezy.’

‘Yes.’

He fed her snippets of information about her girls that she stored away, dipping into them in her darker moments, which were not getting any less frequent.

‘When are you coming back to Devon?’ She closed her eyes and waited for the answer.

‘Not till they break up in a few weeks, but you should come and see them, they’d love that.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

Rosie nodded, as if he could see her. ‘What, get a train up?’

‘Yes, it’s easy. You just get the train to Paddington and then jump on the District Line. We can meet you at the Tube.’

It was odd to hear him speak with confidence about routes and train lines, telling her to “jump on the District Line” like he’d been doing it his whole life. ‘I don’t have any money, but I’ll try and sort something out.’
I don’t even have a purse to put money in. I don’t have anything.

‘I can transfer some to your bank account. Shall I do that?’

‘I’ll have a think and let you know, thank you.’ She kept it polite, it was one thing asking him to help out financially with the girls, but when it was for her? She didn’t want to be beholden to him and Gerri in any way. They were both silent and it was awkward.

‘Oh, I meant to say, Leo lost a tooth!’ he gushed.

‘She has? Oh! Was she excited?’ In her mind’s eye, she replayed the rigmarole she had always gone through, watching them place the tooth under their pillow and then sneaking in in the dead of night, easing her hand under their sleeping head and putting a fifty-pence piece and a note from the tooth fairy in its place, trying not to catch their long curls that tumbled over the edge of the pillow. Then waiting patiently in the morning for the squeals of happiness and excitement. She pictured the destroyed rooms in which she had performed this ritual.

‘Not really. It was a bit of a disaster. Gerri kind of let slip that there was no tooth fairy.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s not her fault, she’s new to this whole parenting thing.’

Rosie didn’t know what to say. Her sadness for Leo was edged with dislike for the woman who’d spoilt the joy for her little girl. ‘Well, she’ll need to get better at it now she’s having a baby.’

A few days later, Rosie woke early and lay staring at the window. She now recognised the signs and rhythms of the neighbourhood: the woman next door who stood at the back door every night at ten o’clock calling ‘Oscar! Oscar!’ over and over until her cat crept home; the sound of the milk float’s electric engine that, like Oscar, purred as it roamed the streets in the early hours; the wheeze of the bus’s brakes as it pulled into the layby further down the road to collect shoppers with their pull-along trolleys. She was of course grateful to her dad and Shona for having scooped her up in her hour of need, but she still hated being there and couldn’t wait to return home.