The Perfect Wife

by Kimberley Louise

  “No, I don’t want you to leave,” Jean said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know I can be a little overpowering,” Emma said. “I wish I was as shy as you. I wouldn’t get into as much trouble.”

  Emma’s voice didn’t sharpen, but it had an undercurrent that made Jean’s shoulder’s go up. “Why don’t we take the tea into the living room?” Jean asked. “I’ve got ginger nuts in the cupboard.”

  Emma smiled. “Okay.”

  Jean spent the next thirty minutes listening to Emma go on about her school days. They were sitting at the dining room table, and Emma had filled Jean in on her first boyfriend, and how she’d happily dated other men while she was with him. Jean wasn’t interested in her daughter-in-law’s dating history. She and Emma had about as much in common as a rat and a dog.

  But Jean smiled and focused as she always did. Once Emma had finished telling Jean her stories, and there were many, Emma offered to make afternoon tea.

  While Emma was in the kitchen, Jean was sitting on the couch reading a novel. She had read little since Eddie’s death and had missed those silent, quiet moments reading. She then heard the front door open. It sounded like Derek had come home early. She leaned forward on the couch when he arrived in the living room after chatting with Emma in the kitchen.

  “Hi, love?” he said.

  “Derek? What are you doing home?”

  “I thought I’d finish early today. Maybe work from home. Emma’s been busy.”

  “She insisted.”

  “She means well.”

  “She let herself in with a key,” Jean whispered with her eye on the door in case Emma came back in.

  “It would have been Eddie’s.”

  “Are you okay with her letting herself into our home?”

  “She is family.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Emma appeared quickly with a tray of the teapot, cups, and saucers. She made cucumber sandwiches, another pot of tea, and found some Madeira cake in the cake tin. Derek gave her hand. A pang struck in Jean’s heart.

  “I know that ham and cucumber sandwiches are your favourites, Derek,” Emma said.

  “Jean used to make them all the time,” Derek said. “It’s been ages since we’ve done anything like this.”

  Jean rolled her eyes as Emma disappeared back into the kitchen. Derek caught her.

  “What?” he whispered to Jean. “She’s gone to a lot of effort.”

  “I didn’t ask her too, Derek.”

  “She’s just trying, Jean. So should you.”

  Emma dominated the conversation as they ate. She spoke about Eddie. Not that Jean didn’t want to talk about Eddie. But hearing his name, especially in the past tense, unnerved her.

  “He was such a caring bloke,” Emma said of Eddie. “There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me. If I wanted breakfast in bed, He’d do it. No questions asked.”

  “He got that from me,” Derek said.

  “When have you ever brought me breakfast in bed?” Jean asked.

  “I always do,” Derek said. He grinned as his eyes worked towards Emma.

  Jean tried to get in on the joke, but what she wanted was time to herself. She’d found the therapy session testing and the fact that Derek didn’t know about it made it worse.

  “So, how long have you been married?” Emma asked.

  Jean remembered quickly. “Thirty-Seven years.”

  “Has it really been that long?” Derek said.

  Jean couldn’t read his eyes. Did he mean that fondly, or regrettably?

  “That’s quite an achievement,” Emma said, sipping her tea. “How did you meet?”

  Jean was sure she’d discussed this with Emma before. “Through a friend,” Jean said.

  “A friend of mine was going out on a date with this girl and asked me to come along to keep her mate company. That mate turned out to be Jean.”

  Jean smiled, as she remembered the encounter. “Yes, we were a kind of hoodwinked together.”

  Emma’s smile built slowly. “What were your first impressions of Jean, Derek?”

  Derek gazed at Jean. “She was rather nice. Friendly, a little shy, but she was okay.”

  Jean tilted her head downward. There was nothing untrue about Derek’s first impression of her. She’d lived under her older sister’s shadow and never escaped the confinements of that role. Even her parents seemed fonder of her two sisters.

  “Was it a whirlwind romance?” Emma then asked. As though they were on a reality TV programme.

  “Not really,” Derek said. “Jean and I realised that we got along, so we went out on two dates together and—”

  “Let’s say things progressed quickly in the form of Eddie arriving unexpectedly,” Jean said.

  Derek issued Emma a nervous, tense smile. Jean wasn’t sure she and Derek ever had recovered from Eddie’s unplanned arrival.

  “In those days, it wasn’t like how it was now,” Derek said. “I thought it was the proper thing to do, as Jean was pregnant.”

  “So you married because of Eddie?” Emma asked.

  Jean pushed her food around her plate, not meeting Derek’s eyes.

  “No, I wouldn’t say so,” Jean said. “You shouldn’t marry someone if you don’t love them.”

  Derek’s nervous smile made her anxious. He didn’t regret marrying her, did he?

  “Well, I agree with that,” Emma said.

  Jean got up. “I need to pop upstairs.”

  Jean left Emma and Derek sitting at the table and made her way out of the room. Before going up the staircase, she stopped and listened.

  “You need to take care of her,” Emma said.

  “I do,” Derek said.

  “I mean it, Derek. She looks fragile.”

  “She’s just lost her son.”

  “You’re coping pretty well.”

  “I suppose it’s different for mothers. I’m trying, but she always bottles things up. She’s not as open as you.”

  “You need to keep an eye on her. Who knows what she might do if she’s left alone to wallow.”

  Jean’s body twitched as she went up into her bedroom and closed the door. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. I’m not fragile. I don’t need looking after. How dare she? It was no secret that Emma was beginning to get on her nerves. And it was evident that Derek adored her. Just as Eddie did. But Jean would remain calm and try to get along with her to keep the peace within the family. She was Emma’s mother-in-law and the matriarch of the family. It was her job to bridge the gap between her and Emma. Opening her eyes, Jean was startled when she noticed that someone had changed the duvet and pillow set on the bed. Had Emma been into her bedroom? This was her private space. Her and her husband’s private space. Emma had no right to touch it. She had no right at all.

  Chapter 6

  The following Monday morning, Jean sat and waited outside her practise manager's office. Being back at the medical centre felt strange—though she'd worked there for fourteen years and made many good friends over the years. It was like a second home where even the patients were on a first-name basis. But that day it didn't feel like home. It didn't feel like anything. She watched her colleagues bustle about doing their jobs and the patients sitting or standing to be tended to. It felt strange and uncomfortable.

  Parkside Medical Centre had been there for as long as Jean could remember. She’d grown up with the place, and all of her family had been patients at some time or another. When a job offer arose, Jean felt particular proud and deemed it a job of importance. She was at the heart of the community, seeing faces she knew well, listening to their stories, their pain. It offered something Jean never felt she had—a voice, somewhere to belong. For those five minutes or so when she was talking to a patient, she felt important and needed. It was her second home.

  But when Eddie was killed, Jean withdrew from normality and life. She felt unable to be the face of the Medical Centre, and she certainly felt unable to listen to other’s problems. She was
n't sure she was ready to go back to work. But Derek insisted she give it a shot. He said moping around the house was not doing her any good. Jean wasn't sure she was moping. She spent her days reading and trying to bring herself back to normality again. She couldn't just jump back into the swing of things like Derek. She wasn't made that way.

  "Hello, Jean?"

  Jean looked up from her lap and met the face of her colleague, Francis. Just like Jean, Francis had worked at the medical centre for many years and was a part of the fixture and fittings. She was also good fun and the one you went to when you wanted to gossip.

  "Hi Francis, how are you?" Jean asked

  "It should be me asking you that."

  Jean smiled slightly. Ever since Eddie died, it was like being around her put people on edge. They feared that anything they said would be wrong.

  "I'm okay," Jean replied.

  "When are you coming back to work?"

  "That's what I'm here to see Alison about."

  "She's not been here long," Francis said.

  It was common knowledge that Alison was not as easy-going as her predecessor, Harriet. She'd been practise manager for three months, but to Jean, she was settling in well.

  "Well, let's hope she wants me back."

  "If she doesn't, we all do," Francis said. "Do you want a coffee?"

  "No, thanks."

  The office door opened and Alison, a tall, mixed raced woman in her mid-fifties stepped out into the foyer. "Jean?"

  Jean stood up and touched Francis' hand. "I’d better be going."

  "Okay, Jean. See you soon."

  Once inside the office, Alison gestured to a chair. "Take a seat. How are you?"

  "I'm well, thanks,” Jean said.

  "I'm glad to hear that," Alison said, sitting and pulling her chair under the desk. "And how are you really?"

  Jean cleared her throat. "Well, it has been tough."

  "I'm not surprised. Grief is never easy for anyone."

  "That's true."

  Jean noticed that Alison had made some changes around the office. It was a lot trendier than when Harriet occupied it. New filing cabinets had been installed, and the desk was new, along with the top-of-the-line printer.

  It was obvious that Alison had wanted to make her mark, put her stamp on the place.

  "So, do you feel you're ready to come back to work?" Alison asked.

  "Yes. I miss being busy."

  "It's not too soon?"

  "No," Jean replied. "I find it hard when I'm at home on my own. Derek goes out to work all day, and it's just me in that house, thinking. Derek seems to have moved on quickly."

  Alison gazed at her reflectively. "Everyone deals with grief in their own way. I know that, when my mother died, my brother pretended as though it wasn't happening. I could never understand it. Here I was, cracking up, and he was laughing and joking as though nothing had happened. Then, I realised that he was a broken man. But, he couldn't show it. He felt he had to be strong for my sisters and me."

  Jean never looked at it like that. She supposed Derek was trying to be strong for her, by not breaking down and showing his grief. But, she didn't want him to hide his feelings from her. She wanted to share her grief with him. The truth was: She felt alone as he was hardly talking to her.

  "My husband thinks it's best if I come back to work," Jean said.

  "Well, you won't have any complaints from me," Alison said with a soft, understanding smile. "You're a valued member of the team. And I know your colleagues have been missing you."

  Jean nodded in appreciation. She had missed them, too. Working at the medical centre was not the most glamorous job in the world. But, in many ways, Jean felt she was helping people. She was very satisfied with her job.

  "I suppose I'll be glad to be back," Jean said. "It will take my mind off things."

  Alison high-fived her, and Jean yelped at her manager's rather contemporary style of interaction.

  "But if ever you feel like you need time away off, then you must talk to me. I'm not the dragon everybody seems to think I am."

  Jean smiled, amused at Alison's sense of humour. But she was ready. The idea of spending endless days at home thinking about her son would bring her no peace. Nothing would. But at least at work, among her friends, she could make some attempt to move forward. She only thought about Eddie when she was at home, alone.

  Jean left the medical centre and breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the car park. Maybe Derek was right. Getting back to work would give her something to get up for every morning. And it was refreshing catching up with her friends. As she was about to cross the road—she saw a homeless man sitting at the side of the centre. She hadn’t noticed him before. He was wrapped in a dirty old blanket, and his pale face was covered with a black beard. Jean was about to ignore him, but then she walked across. Digging inside her bag, she took out a couple of pound coins and threw them into the begging bowl in front of him.

  “Thank you,” the man said. “You’re the first all day.”

  Jean looked around. He was in a funny spot. Not many people walked past or down that side of the road.

  “Have you been out here all morning?” Jean asked.

  The man looked up at her. “I’ve been out here for weeks, love.”

  Jean felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t sure why. Derek often thought homelessness brought their condition on themselves, but it was easy to say that when you lived in a comfortable house and eating warm meals.

  But something about him. Maybe it was his youth, sort of youth. He was not much older than Eddie was. What if had been her boy sleeping rough? It could happen to anyone, anyone at all.

  “There’s a coffee shop over there,” Jean said. “Would you like something to eat? Maybe a warm drink?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, thanks. Thank you.”

  Jean smiled as the man got up and grabbed his bag. He then followed her into the coffee shop across the road. Jean knew the place, and the manager, Norma, as she and her colleagues brought their lunches there. When they entered, Jean noted the funny looks from the other diners. Jean gestured that the man sit at the table by the window while she ordered the drinks.

  At the counter, Norma’s face was suspicious. “Everything alright, Jean?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you. Can I have a plate of Egg and chips, and two coffees please?”

  Norma wrote the order down and then poured the coffees. “You want to watch him you know.”

  Jean didn’t reply and took the coffees back to the table. “Are you okay?” Jean asked.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “It must be tough,” Jean said, sitting at the table. “Sleeping on the streets.”

  “I survive.”

  Jean sipped her coffee. “What’s your name?”

  “David.”

  “I’m Jean. Pleased to meet you.”

  Jean outstretched her hand, but he just looked at her as though she was a fool.

  “How long have you been homeless?”

  “Years,” he said.

  “Do you not have any family or friends?”

  “I’m hardly going to be top of their Christmas card list, am I? Looking like this.”

  “But surely they’d help.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  David looked totally uncared for, and malnourished. The smell coming from him was inhuman, and Jean forced herself to ignore it. He was the type of man that could have been somebody if he’d taken better care of himself. Or if someone, anyone had bothered to look out for him.

  “Have you tried a hostel?” Jean asked.

  He kept his eyes on the table. His hands were wrapped around the teacup, as though to keep his fingers warm.

  “What’s the point?”

  “The point is you’d find somewhere warm and safe to sleep.”

  “Those places aren’t safe.”

  “They’re safer than sleeping on the streets.”

&nbs
p; “And what would you know about it,” David barked at her.

  He was right. What Jean knew about homelessness she could have written on a postage stamp. But he reminded her of something she’d lost, caring for someone, being a mother.

  “I don’t pretend to know what’s like,” Jean said. “But I do that there’s help out there, but you have to want to be helped.”

  “Look, thanks for the coffee and all that, but I’m not looking for a mother figure yeah? Been there and done that. Buried her seven years ago.”

  “Sorry,” Jean said, humiliated. “I didn’t mean to pry. My son died recently. I know what it’s like to lose someone dear to you.”

  “My mother wasn’t dear to me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “What do you know about it? Look, I’m sorry your son died. Life happens. But you’re not the one sleeping on the streets not knowing where your next meal is coming from. I mean, you’re no Kate Moss, but you look as if you do alright if you know what I mean.”

  Jean slammed a ten-pound note on the table and rose to her feet.

  “There’s no need to be rude. I was just trying to help. Make sure you pay for the meal.”

  Walking out of the coffee shop, she located her vehicle in the car park. Pulling open the door, she slammed her bag on the passenger seat, slammed her door shut and thumped the steering wheel. What had she hoped to achieve? Did she think to buy a homeless man a meal would bring Eddie back? Maybe not bring her back, but help her relive those moments with Eddie. Her son was never homeless and was too ambitious and hardworking to need her to bail him out, but he needed her, she was there. That feeling of helping your child, them needing you. As she wiped her nose with a tissue, somebody knocked on the window.

  “Are you alright Jean?”

  Francis’s face met hers with concern. Jean wounded down her window.

  “I’m fine thanks.”

  “I’m off for a bit of lunch. Fancy joining me?”

  “I can’t right now. I’ve something to do.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you back at work then.”

  “Yeah. Bye Francis.”