My Husband's Wife (35 page)

‘Are you going to miss this?’ she asked, raising her palm at the dense variegated forest that edged the broad river, the glorious big sky where a variety of multi-coloured Finches darted and the majestic Mount Hood stood grandly on the horizon. In just two weeks they would be back in the rat race.

‘Are you kidding me? I rather like the position of Senior Lecturer in Marine Biology. I think it suits me!’

‘Exeter Uni is lucky to have you.’

‘And the best thing is, I get to come home to you every night. And I get to set up my train set, get all my vinyl out, put my pictures on the walls. I can’t wait!’ He smiled.

The novelty of their new home, a shiny modern flat on the sea front with a glorious terrace, didn’t seem to be waning. Soon after they had bought it, Rosie had arrived home to a letter, lying on the welcome mat:

Dear Rosie,

This is a hard letter to write. My name is Jo. I live near Salisbury with my husband Martin, a soldier, and two step children, Peg and Max. My mum passed away a little while ago and I have just discovered that we might be related. I hope this isn’t too much of a shock, but I think we may be sisters! My mum’s name was Laurel. A rather glorious name I always thought...

Rosie had replied, cautiously at first, but gradually gaining confidence as her new half-sister proved to be a funny, warm woman who was just as happy as Rosie was to take their new-found relationship slowly. They still had not met in person, but the plan was to get fish and chips together soon after Rosie returned from her honeymoon.

Rosie smiled at her man.

‘You’re right – going home from here won’t be too bad will it? We get to go to spend the weekends on Woolacombe beach.’

‘We can go snogging in the sand dunes!’ He waggled his eyebrows.

‘Snogging? What are we fourteen?’ she laughed; secretly delighted that he viewed her in this way.

‘We can double-date with Phil and Mrs Blackmore’s granddaughter!’ he joked.

‘Don’t! I still can’t get over it – she’s at least ten years younger than him. But as long as she makes him happy.’ Rosie bore no malice towards her ex-husband and was genuine in her desire for his happiness.

‘She does, for now. But I wouldn’t go buying a new hat just yet.’ Kev winked.

Suddenly, the peace was shattered.

‘Mum! Mum! Kev!’ The yell came from the entrance to the cabin.

‘What is it?’ Rosie sat up.

Naomi scrambled to the shoreline, hopping up and down in her swimming costume. ‘Leo has put a little pebble up her nose and I can’t get it down.’

Kev jumped up. ‘She’s what?’

‘She’s put the pebble up her nose!’ she screeched.

‘What pebble, Nay?’ Rosie asked calmly.

‘The cute, little round one we found on the bank. It’s up her right nostril, which is her nose hole.’ She clarified this for Kev’s benefit, in case he was unaware.

‘I know I’m going to regret asking, but what is up her left nose hole?’ Rosie held her breath and tied her hair into a knot at the base of her neck.

‘Nothing, Mum, we’re not stupid!’ She tutted. ‘She’s sitting under the table.’

‘Of course she is.’

Kev snorted his laughter and raised his eyebrows at his girls.

Rosie adjusted her shorts and climbed overboard into the shallow water. Naomi rushed forward.

‘Don’t worry, we’ve got it all under control. It’s all going to be fine.’ She looked back at her man, and smiled, as her daughter grabbed her hand and led her through the water.

We hope you enjoyed this book!

Amanda Prowse’s next book,
I Won’t be Home for Christmas
, will be released in autumn 2016

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And if you haven’t already read the other stories in Amanda Prowse’s gripping No Greater Courage sequence, read on or click the following link for a preview of...

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Perfect Daughter

Wife. Mother. Daughter. What happens when it all becomes too much?

Jackie loves her family. Sure, her teenage children can be stroppy. Her husband a little lazy. And providing round-the-clock care for her Alzheimer’s-ridden mother is exhausting. She’s sacrificed a lot to provide this safe and loving home, in their cramped but cosy semi with a view of the sea.

All Jackie wants is for her children to have a brighter future than she did. So long as Martha, the eldest, gets into university and follows her dreams, all her sacrifice will be worth something... won’t it?

When the last of the guests had left and Jacks had wrapped the leftover sausage rolls in clingfilm, the newlyweds kicked off their shoes and lay on their donated double bed, looking up at the ceiling.

‘That all went well, didn’t it?’

It had been a small, low-key wedding at the Register Office on the Boulevard. The registrar had mumbled and Pete’s mum had cried. And then everyone had piled back to their new home in Sunnyside Road, bought with the help of both sets of parents. Pete scooted round putting coasters under cans of beer, Jacks passed around plates of sandwiches and cakes, and her best friend Gina teased her for acting like a grown-up married woman. Jacks had looked around the small, square kitchen of their little Weston-super-Mare terrace, trying to stop her mind flying to the vast kitchen in the seafront villa where she had not so long ago lain on a daybed and succumbed to the charms of a boy who had told her about the big wide world beyond her doorstep and had made her believe that one day, she might see it.

Then she had spied her dad, Don, with his arm around Pete’s shoulder, and felt a strange sort of contentment. She sidled up between them.

‘I was just saying to young Pete here, the best advice I can give you is never go to bed on a cross word. And if you can smile through the bad times, just imagine how much you will laugh in the good.’

‘And the best advice I can give is don’t take advice from him!’ Jacks’ mum jerked her thumb in her husband’s direction. She spoke a little louder than she would normally – but normally she wouldn’t have polished off three glasses of Asti and four Martini-and-lemonades.

‘Thank you, Don.’ Pete had beamed at his new wife. ‘I’ll look after her, I promise,’ he’d said, as if she wasn’t present.

Pete stroked Jacks’ shoulder and brought her back to the present. ‘Feels weird having all these rooms to wander around in and only us to live in them. Three bedrooms, the bathroom and two rooms downstairs – I’m still used to being in my little bedroom at my mum’s!’

‘I know, me too. It’ll be great, Pete, all this space.’

She scratched the itching skin, stretched taut across her stomach. ‘There’ll be one more occupant before we know it!’

‘Yep. Can’t wait. Shall we decorate the littlest room, make it cosy?’

‘What with? Don’t think we’ve got any spare cash for decorating right now.’ She hated having to point out the practicalities and quash his enthusiasm.

‘I know, and I don’t mean anything flash, but we can manage a lick of paint. And Gina’s arty, couldn’t we get her to draw something on the walls?’

‘Blimey, I’ve seen her artwork. No thanks! Poor baby would be waking up to the Take That logo every morning.’

They both laughed. Pete reached for her hand. ‘I’ve got a wife.’

‘Yes, you have.’ She smiled.

‘Do you feel like a wife?’ he asked.

‘I suppose I do. What are wives supposed to feel like?’

She felt him shrug. ‘Don’t know. I guess like they are part of a pair, and no longer having to face the world on their own.’

‘Oh, Pete, you old softie! That’s lovely, and yes, in that case I do feel like a wife.’ She leant across and kissed him.

‘I wonder how long we’ll live here.’ Jacks let her words float out into the darkness.

‘I reckon a couple of years, just till we are on our feet. We should get this place shipshape, replace the windows, get the garden nice, put a new kitchen in and then move up.’

She smiled into the darkness, loving the idea of a new kitchen and a lovely garden. ‘Poor house, we’ve only been in it for three weeks and already we are planning on moving!’

‘It’s good to plan, Jacks, set our path and find a way. That’s how you get on in life, isn’t it. You work hard and you fight for better.’

‘I like that, Pete. Work hard and fight for better – it sounds like a plan.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I wouldn’t want much more than this, mind. Maybe an en-suite bathroom and room in the kitchen for one of them big fridges.’

‘I’d love a garage. I could have a workbench and a place to store all my tools and I could make things.’

She could tell he was smiling. ‘What would you make?’

‘Dunno. Things from wood and I could do repairs, fix things. I’d love to be out there tinkering.’

Jacks chuckled. ‘You sound like my dad!

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘I tell you what I would love, a conservatory, with wicker furniture in it. I’d sit in it and read a magazine and have a coffee, somewhere to put my feet up.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’

She nestled up to him and laid her head on his chest.

‘Funny how things work out, isn’t it, Mrs Davies?’

Jacks smiled at the unfamiliar title. ‘It sure is.’

She lay back and stared at the ceiling with its fringed blue paisley lampshade housing a single dull bulb hanging from the centre. They had meant to change the shade for something yellow to match the wallpaper, that had been the plan, they might even have had a look at a few in British Home Stores, she couldn’t remember, but fifteen years later it still hadn’t happened. Like everything else in the house that was defunct, mismatched or ageing, they had got used to it, lived with it, until it was just how things were. This even applied to the cardboard boxes full of clothes and bits and bobs that had been packaged up and stacked in the front hallway. They were intended for the loft. What had he said? ‘Pop ’em there, love, and I’ll shove them up in the loft next time I bring the ladder in.’ But three years later, they had taken root in the hallway, become furniture. She hoovered around them and stacked clean laundry on the top, and the kids threw their school bags on to them rather than take them upstairs. In fact she wasn’t even sure what was in a couple of them.