The Model Wife (35 page)

When I pondered on the parlous state of our once great nation, I realized I had been guilty of failing to practise what I preached. The lawlessness on our streets, the incivility that governs virtually all our everyday interactions all comes down to broken homes. Luke and I were two grown adults who should have known better, but we’d refused to hack our way through the thorny copses that block all our marital paths, instead choosing to go for the short-term easy way out.

I began to berate myself: why hadn’t Luke and I worked harder to mend things? And Luke was obviously thinking the same thing. The calls, emails and texts kept coming as he pleaded with me to meet him for dinner, to at least talk on the phone. He sent me flowers and jewellery, but pride made me send them back and continue to boast to the outside world about how happy I was, when inwardly my heart was breaking.

Of course, I had not been lonely during this time, but I realized that charming as my new lover was, he was no substitute for the bond Luke and I had shared together, built over nearly two decades of huge life experiences such as having children, installing an Aga and being presented to the Queen at a Buckingham Palace garden party.

Naturally, when Luke approached me about a reunion we had to factor in the question of his new young wife and their small daughter. Was it fair to break up a new family in order to mend an old one? I was torn, but Luke persuaded me it was all for the best. Poppy and he had married only because I had pushed them together and – as I predicted – virtually instantly discovered their relationship was based on nothing but fleeting sexual attraction. He continues to see their daughter regularly and Poppy is bravely forging a new life for herself as a TV presenter and single mother. I wish her well.

But back to Luke and me. I can honestly say the day he returned to our house and our bed was the happiest of our lives – happier even than our wedding day, because this time we really understood what we meant to each other. We have learnt the hard way what the true meaning of love, trust and family is. We’ve been tested, and, despite everything, we have passed the test. We are stronger now than we have ever been and I don’t regret the decision to take him back for one second. Success isn’t about never making a mistake; it’s about trying, failing and trying again. Too many women throw everything away because their husband turns out not to be perfect. They don’t understand that, for men, sex is, just that – sex.

Heaven knows, I am hardly a saint. Luke knows he is in the last-chance saloon. If he strays again then woe betide his
cojones
! But I trust that he won’t. He knows now what he has to lose. He values me and the children far more than he did before, and when I see the love in his eyes every morning, I know that whatever happens, it’s been worth it.

50

It was a bleak Sunday morning in mid September and Poppy was trying to get Clara out of the door en route to Tesco’s.

‘Don’t wanner wear this hat! It’s not pink.’

Poppy’s pride in her daughter’s brilliant vocabulary was eclipsed by exasperation.

‘It’s purple and it’s a very pretty hat,’ she said levelly.

‘Want a pink hat. Want to wear a pink haaaat.’

‘Darling, you don’t have a pink hat.’

‘Buy me one.’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ Poppy said, as Clara flung herself to the floor, screaming as if her limbs were being torn off by slavering wolves. Poppy could barely hear her phone ringing.

‘Hello?’ she said, grabbing it, a finger jabbed in her other ear.

‘Wanner… pink oooone.’

‘Christ. Where are you? Bedlam?’

‘Your granddaughter wants to wear a pink hat.’

‘I see,’ Charlie said sagely. ‘Well, just to add to your joys, have you seen the
Sunday Prophet
yet?’

‘Are you trying to warn me about something?’

‘Only the latest instalment from your dear friend. Do you want me to read it to you?’

‘No, don’t worry, I’ll read it online.’ Poppy stepped over Clara’s writhing body, sat down at her computer and clicked in newly expert fashion. ‘Are you still there?’ she asked as the page she was looking for shimmered into view. ‘How are things anyway?’

‘Not bad, not bad at all. I was wondering if you needed any babysitting in the next few days.’

‘Any excuse to hang out with Miss Pinky,’ Poppy teased him as the article came into focus. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going out at night much any more and Brigita’s covering the few times that I am, but it’d be good if you’d come round on Monday night anyway. It’s Clara’s first day at nursery and I’m bound to be a gibbering wreck. I’m so nervous.’

‘She’ll be fine.’

‘What if she hates it and begs me not to leave her?’

‘She won’t do that,’ Charlie said with the misplaced confidence of one who knew nothing about the ways of small children. ‘Have you found the article yet?’

‘Yup, just wait a second while I read it.’ She skimmed it quickly, then laughed.

‘Well done, Hannah. She’s turned a potentially embarrassing situation to her advantage.’

‘Is any of it true?’

‘They’re happy enough, as far as I can tell,’ Poppy said. ‘Hannah’s got Luke by the short and curlies. Since she’s the main breadwinner now, he’s been allocated chauffeur duties, going up and down the motorway to pick the kids up from their various schools. Plus he has to pose for pictures to go with all the articles she’s writing about their marvellous family life.’

‘Will he ever get another job?’ Charlie wondered.

‘I don’t think he’s in any hurry to. His book’s coming out in February and Hannah’s insisted he does a load of publicity for it. “I was the real-life cad” that sort of thing. And then he told me he’s going to write an autobiography that involves a year’s research with lots of travel.’

‘I can see why he’d want to get away, but what about Clara?’

‘It’s OK. Clara and I will go out and join him in a couple of the safer parts of the world. I’m looking forward to it. I think when I see some of the places he’s worked in I’ll finally know what makes Luke tick.’

‘Does that mean a reunion’s on the cards?’ Charlie sounded alarmed.

Poppy laughed. Seeing the tantrum had passed, she pulled Clara off the floor, kissed her on the nose and for the second time that morning opened the front door of their new flat in Shepherd’s Bush. ‘Definitely, definitely not. Come on, darling. We’re going to buy you the CBeebies magazine now. Or would you like
Angelina
?’

‘Both of them!’

‘Well… maybe.’ As they set off down the road, hand in hand, Poppy switched her attention back to Charlie. ‘I’ve been through all the emotions with Luke. Passionate love. Bewilderment. Sadness. Hatred. And now when I talk to him I feel… I don’t know, sort of content. I made a mistake marrying him, but Clara came out of it so I didn’t exactly come off badly.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

‘And she ended my modelling career, for which thank God. And she started my new career as a columnist, because if I hadn’t had a child to witter on about the readers wouldn’t have wanted to know. And… I suppose that’s what takes us to where we are today.’

‘With your new job?’

‘I’m so nervous, Charlie. Do you think I’ll be OK?’

‘You’ll be brilliant. A TV guide to places to spend a lost afternoon. I can’t think of anything you’re more suited to.’

‘On a channel with about five viewers.’

‘There’ll be more than five once word gets around someone as beautiful as you’s presenting it.’

‘It’s all thanks to your introductions that I’ve got it. I’m so grateful to you.’

‘It was nothing.’ There was a pause then Charlie said, ‘I love you, Poppy.’

‘I love you too, Charlie. By the way. When you come round would you mind bringing a tool kit? Only my kitchen tap is dripping.’ Poppy stopped short. ‘Sorry, excuse me a second. I’ve seen someone I know. I’ll speak to you later.’

Holding Clara’s hand, she hurried across the road.

‘Hi! Oh my God. Congratulations! I had no idea.’

Standing behind a splendid Silver Cross pram, Thea blushed. The short man at her side laughed.

‘Is it a girl or a boy?’ Poppy cooed, peering in. ‘Oh God, I’m stupid, of course it’s a boy, look at all that blue. It used to drive me nuts little old ladies saying “Bless him” when Clara was in a bright pink dress and had a ribbon in her hair. I…’

‘Um. It’s not mine,’ Thea said.

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s not mine. It belongs to my friend, Rachel. I’m taking it for a walk, while its parents are looking at wedding rings.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Poppy peered at the squashed-faced sleeping bundle to hide her embarrassment. ‘Of course. It was only a couple of months ago you took me to hospital and you didn’t exactly look pregnant then. Ah, bless him, isn’t he gorgeous though?’

‘He’s all right,’ Thea conceded with a grudging pride. ‘I’m his godmother.’

There was a pause. Poppy turned to the man. ‘Sorry, I’m Poppy. My ex-husband used to work with Thea.’

‘Yes, I know him a little. We did some work together in Guatemala. I’m Jake.’

‘Hi.’ A beat. ‘So are you still at the
Seven Thirty News
?’ she said to Thea.

‘I am. Just been promoted to programme editor.’ Thea looked over her shoulder, as if the slightly tatty urban street might be bugged. ‘Though I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.’

‘Have you got another job lined up?’

Thea smiled and shrugged. ‘No. But I’m beginning to think it might be time for a change. Jake’s going to head up a charity operation in Brazil and I’m wondering about going with him. Doing some freelancing out there. I used to have some financial obligations you see, but now I don’t and—’

Clara pulled at Poppy’s hand. ‘Mummee. Want my CBeebies. And
Angelina
.’

‘Clara, don’t be rude. Mummy’s talking.’

‘It’s OK,’ Thea said. ‘We need to keep moving or this one will kick off.’

Poppy shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. ‘Well, nice to see you, Thea. Good luck with it all.’ She thought about saying keep in touch but that would have been ludicrous.

‘Thanks,’ Thea said. ‘And the same to you.’ She and Jake carried on pushing the buggy down the suddenly sunlit street. Poppy watched them for a second then, as Clara tugged impatiently on her arm, she headed off in the opposite direction.