The Forgotten Wife

by Emma Robinson

  She was calling back at him as Shelley opened the door. ‘I won’t lift boxes. I won’t breathe in any dust. I won’t perform any impromptu backflips.’ She turned to face Shelley and rolled her eyes. ‘Matt is worried I am going to overdo it.’

  Shelley leaned out the front door and looked to her right, where a scowling Matt was facing her. It was the first time they’d actually met. ‘Hi. I’m Shelley.’

  He came out of his doorway, stepped over the low wall and held out his hand. He was tall, with a shock of red hair and the shoulders of a rugby player. His face was not a happy one. ‘Hi. Matt. Lara’s husband.’

  Lara nudged him. ‘I think she worked that one out for herself.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Matt shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Look, I don’t want to sound like a tyrant, but she is six months pregnant.’

  Speaking about her like this, he sounded more like a father than a husband: it was embarrassing. What was Shelley going to think of them? ‘Matt! We’re sorting through some boxes, not redecorating. I’ll be fine.’

  Shelley smiled. ‘I promise I won’t let her lift anything. She is here for supervision and moral support only.’

  Thank goodness Shelley wasn’t offended, but Matt still wouldn’t let it go. ‘It’s just, I know what she’s like. She can’t stop herself from getting involved.’

  What was it going to take to convince him? Lara opened her mouth but Shelley got there first. ‘Well, I can be very authoritative when the mood takes me. If she gives me any trouble, I’ll knock on the wall three times.’

  Shelley’s face was a picture of seriousness but she was clearly mocking him. Lara watched with amusement as Matt looked at Shelley with suspicion. Then back at Lara. She gave him a little wave and he returned to their house, shaking his head and muttering about no one ever listening to him.

  Lara followed Shelley through to the kitchen, another prick of envy at the sleek cabinets and granite worktop. ‘Thanks for that. He’s driving me crackers at the moment.’ Matt had taken to following her around the house. Not like a puppy, but if she was in another room alone for too long, he would find an excuse to come in and get something. Did he not realise how obvious it was that he was checking up on her? It was getting to be too much. Suffocating.

  ‘No problem. It’s quite sweet that he looks out for you.’ Shelley smiled as Lara pretended to stick her fingers down her throat. ‘Tea?’

  Lara could smell a delaying tactic. If they didn’t start immediately, they’d end up sitting on the sofa and nothing would get done. ‘No, I’m fine. Let’s get going. If I start drinking tea, I’ll be popping to the loo every five minutes.’

  She knew she’d been right when Shelley took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

  * * *

  Once the door was open and they were confronted with the piles of stuff, Shelley tried to delay it again. ‘Are you sure you want to do this today?’

  This was obviously going to be hard for her but Lara wasn’t going to help matters by letting her off the hook. ‘Nice try. Come on. Get the book out. What does she say?’

  Shelley opened the book and pretended to read. ‘Close the door and forget that any of it is in there.’

  Cracking a joke? Along with her deadpan mockery of Matt on the doorstep, this humour was a side to Shelley that Lara hadn’t expected. Maybe this would be fun? Lara held out her hand. ‘Stop it. Give it to me.’

  Shelley’s smile faded. ‘I’m not sure if—’

  Lara held up a hand for silence and read from the beginning of the book, remembering clearly how she had felt when she’d first started out. ‘You will want to give up. It will all feel too much. Just take your time and breathe.’ She paused and raised an eyebrow at Shelley, leaving her finger on the page.

  Shelley sighed. ‘Breathing I can do. What next?’

  Lara’s eyes went back to the words above her finger. ‘Start small. One box. One album. One suitcase. Something achievable that will give you confidence.’ Lara glanced around the floor and spotted a cardboard box. She nudged it towards Shelley with her foot. ‘Off you go.’

  Shelley held her knuckle against the wall. ‘Push another box and I will knock for your husband.’ She grinned but her smile faded again when she tilted her head. Lara watched her read the black handwriting on the side of the box: photos. She took another deep breath. ‘Can we start with something easier?’

  There was that look on her face again. It was as if she’d closed down somehow. But photographs were emotional for anyone, let alone someone whose marriage had recently ended. Lara could let her off that one for now. ‘Okay. There’s a box here that says “shoes”. Want to start with that?’

  ‘Okay.’ Shelley shuffled towards the box on her knees. The packing tape had started to peel away at one end and she flicked at it with her fingernails, trying to scuff up enough to get hold of.

  Lara started to do the same at the other end. It was oddly soothing. ‘So, how long have you lived in the street?’

  Shelley continued to pick at the tape. ‘Eleven years. We moved here soon after we got married.’ She didn’t look up.

  ‘Eleven years? Wow. You were quite young then?’

  Shelley shrugged, still not looking up. ‘Twenty-two. Almost twenty-three. Greg was twenty-eight.’

  Lara managed to get hold of the edge of the packing tape with her thumb and forefinger. It made a satisfying tearing noise as she pulled it across the box. She really wanted to ask more about the ex-husband but she didn’t want to be tactless. Still, Shelley had been the one to mention his name. ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘We grew up in the same area; had mutual friends. We got chatting in a local bar one night and he asked me out for dinner.’ Shelley pulled the horizontal piece of tape free from the box and opened the flap. ‘We’re in.’

  ‘Well done. What have you got inside?’ Lara peered in. She loved shoes, and in her old house, she’d had a whole cupboard for all the pairs she’d treated herself to over the years.

  There was a tangle of straps and heels, and a multitude of colours and fabrics. But they all had one thing in common: high heels.

  ‘These are fab!’ Lara pulled out a pair of navy stilettos with a bird motif. She stroked them lovingly. ‘I miss heels. I used to wear beautiful shoes to work but Matt wouldn’t let me anywhere near them after I started to show.’

  Shelley pulled out a pair of gold strappy sandals; they were scarily high. She held them up by the straps, between her finger and thumb, as if they were something nasty she had pulled from a plughole. ‘These instruments of torture were Greg’s absolute favourites. He said I looked like a movie star when I wore these.’

  Clearly not a fan of the gold shoes then. ‘You didn’t like them?’

  Shelley shook her head. ‘I didn’t like any of them. These…’ She pulled out a red patent peep-toe. It would have gone beautifully with a navy trouser suit that Lara used to have. But Shelley held it by the heel and waved it around like a weapon. ‘These he bought for me after our first date. We saw them in a window and he surprised me with them the next week.’

  She spat the word surprised and her eyes flashed. Being surprised with a pair of shoes didn’t sound like a crime. Lara couldn’t imagine Matt having any clue what shoes she might like. Or even what size she was. ‘And you didn’t want them?’

  ‘No.’ Shelley tossed the shoe to one side and then started pulling them all out and flinging them to the floor. Lara had to bite her lip to stop from yelping. The poor, beautiful shoes. ‘I didn’t want any of them. Do you know how much some of these things cost? It wasn’t so bad when he bought them on the high street, but once he started to earn more money, he wanted me to have designer ones. Louboutins and Jimmy Choos and other ridiculous names.’

  Lara slid her hands across the floor and started to pull a few random shoes closer to her. Maybe she could rescue a few pairs before Shelley started damaging them. They looked brand new; it would be a crime to wreck them now. ‘So, you haven’t even worn these?
’

  Shelley paused and looked at her. ‘Oh, I wore them. And I wore the Michael Kors dresses and Valentino coats even though I would never choose them for myself. Because he said I looked amazing in them. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

  She looked as if she might get upset. This was exactly how Lara’s sister had been. Hating her ex one minute, crying over him the next. Lara reached out and took a navy kitten heel from her. ‘We’re probably all guilty of that a bit. Especially at the beginning of a relationship. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

  Much as it pained Lara to say it, she knew what Make Way for Joy would say about these shoes. ‘I think I know the answer to this question, but… do they bring you joy?’ She reached out and squeezed Shelley’s hand to show that she was joking.

  ‘No.’ Shelley was emphatic. ‘Whatever the polar opposite of joy is, that’s what these bloody shoes make me feel.’

  ‘Well, then. That’s an easy one. I would take them off your hands, but if I go home with a pair of heels that high, I think Matt will ban me from ever seeing you again.’ She held up a handful of shoes. ‘So, they can go?’

  Shelley looked at the pile of shoes in front of her, then up at Lara. ‘They can all go. I’ll sort them into pairs and take them to the charity shop tomorrow.’

  Lara began the pairing job for her, placing them side by side. ‘That’s incredibly generous of you, but why don’t you sell them? That way you can use the money to buy yourself some shoes you do like.’ Much as Lara agreed with charitable giving, she thought Shelley might need the cash if she was paying her mortgage alone now. And she’d already mentioned how worried she was about losing her job. ‘There’s a tabletop sale at the local school in a couple of weeks. I saw a banner as I drove past. Why don’t we do that? I’m sure the yummy mummies would lap up your Louboutins.’

  Shelley frowned. ‘Tabletop sale? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. You and me, plying our wares.’ She held up a pair of shoes and waved them either side of her head.

  ‘I’m not sure Matt will be keen on me taking you out to work. And don’t they start at the crack of dawn or something?’

  ‘Not a local school sale, I don’t think. Anyway, I’m waking up annoyingly early at the moment, so I might as well do something useful, and it’ll get me out of the house.’

  The face was back. ‘Maybe.’

  Lara was beginning to realise that when Shelley said ‘maybe’, she actually meant no. She’d work on her again later, but for the next few minutes she wanted to play with these shoes and remember a simpler time when she’d had a collection of her own.

  As she pulled out a mustard-yellow mule, a photo strip fluttered to the floor and she picked it up. She turned it towards Shelley. There were four photos of a young Shelley and another girl of the same age. From top to bottom, the photos were serious, then tongues out, then blown-out cheeks, and in the fourth photo, both girls in rapturous laughter. ‘You look beautiful here. How old were you?’

  Shelley reached out and took it from her. ‘About seventeen I would think. I do look good, don’t I? How come you never realise that when you’re young?’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Lara groaned. ‘If only I was as “fat” now as I thought I was at sixteen. Who’s the other girl?’

  Shelley ran her finger down the photo strip. ‘That’s Dee. She used to be my best friend.’

  7

  Shelley

  Before

  Secondary school. Shelley had been preparing for this day all summer, ever since the day after her eleventh birthday when she found out that she’d passed the entrance exam for St Mary’s, but her stomach clenched as she walked the path to the gates. Her mother had offered to take the morning off work and drive her there, but she’d said she was fine catching the bus. Better to get it over with. Now she yearned for the familiarity of her small primary school and the friends she’d known for six years who would right now be hanging out in the playground of the local secondary school. Was this a bad idea? Too late now.

  Thanks to the compulsory uniform, everyone looked pretty similar at least. Neat ponytails, blazers with growing room, regulation-length pleated skirts. Shelley’s socks had been straight from the packet that morning, and they were so white, they almost gleamed.

  It was completely by chance that she sat next to Dee in Mrs McFarlane’s form group. ‘Hi. I’m Dione. But everyone calls me Dee. What’s your name?’

  That’s how she was: upfront, direct, honest. She knew who she was and she wasn’t afraid to show it. No way would Dee have spent the morning terrified about her first day. She knew her way around and all of their teachers’ names by the end of the first day. By the end of the first week, she had worked out which of the dinner ladies gave the biggest portions, which after-school clubs were the most interesting and who on the staff you could have a joke with and who you definitely couldn’t.

  To Dee, life was an adventure waiting for her to live it. Luckily for Shelley, she wanted to take her along for the ride. They made other friends at school, but she and Dee were inseparable for the whole seven years. Shelley was an only child, and Dee – with an older brother at boarding school – was effectively in the same boat. They were more like sisters than friends.

  It wasn’t until her first visit to Dee’s home that Shelley realised how different their out-of-school lives were. Shelley’s mum had raised her eyebrows when she’d given her the address – one of the big houses on Pilgrims Way. Don’t forget your pleases and thank yous while you’re there, was all she’d said, but the way she’d fiddled with the collar of her work tabard had made Shelley nervous. What would Dee’s parents be like?

  Her mother’s reaction made a lot more sense when she got to the address that Dee had scribbled out for her. Their house was another world. The space in every room made Shelley catch her breath. The small two-bedroom flat she shared with her mum could have fit in the sitting room and conservatory.

  ‘It’s called an orangerie,’ Dee’s mum had corrected her.

  Shelley remembered her mother’s instruction. ‘Thank you.’

  Dee rolled her eyes and pulled Shelley up to her bedroom.

  When Dee opened her bedroom door, Shelley just avoided gasping like Charlie Bucket at the chocolate factory. Where should she look first? It was amazing.

  For a start, her bedroom was twice the size of Shelley’s lounge. There were two single beds – one for sleepovers – and a dressing table with an oval mirror. Along one wall was a row of high wardrobes which seemed to contain enough clothes, shoes and toys for three eleven-year-old girls. On the other wall, Gary Barlow and Robbie Williams smiled down at her.

  Dee spun around and flipped onto one of the beds, disturbing a pile of magazines. She picked up a copy of Sugar. ‘Have you read this one yet? You can have this if you like. I’ve read it.’

  * * *

  Despite her family’s wealth, Dee was never showy or arrogant. She was kind and generous and fun. It gave her confidence. A knowledge about who she was and the self-belief to present herself to the world. Shelley envied her this more than her flat-screen TV and designer clothes. Dee was always the first with her hand up in class, the first to volunteer for school events or to apply to be a prefect, then head girl. Nothing intimidated her.

  Even when they weren’t in school, they were together. Sometimes Dee would come over to Shelley’s flat to play but most of the time they were at Dee’s house. Often, they would spend an afternoon in her room, listening to music and putting together outfit combinations from Dee’s wardrobe. Crop tops and tartan trousers. Morgan de Toi and Naf Naf. Reebok trainers and Kickers. Then they would do each other’s hair and make-up. Dee always dressed Shelley in something she would never choose to wear, but every time she got it right. Invariably, Dee would tell her to ‘borrow’ it. When Shelley tried to refuse – she knew her mother would not approve of her accepting clothes, and Dee’s mother probably wouldn’t be hugely keen on it either – Dee wouldn’t t
ake no for an answer or she’d stuff it in her bag when she wasn’t looking.

  * * *

  In sixth form, they both opted for English A levels, although Dee combined hers with art and media whereas Shelley opted for history and politics. It was Dee’s insistence that Shelley apply to go to university. No one in her family had been, and she had no idea how to go about it. But in her usual style, Dee made appointments for them both with the careers officer, and before she knew what was happening, Shelley was sitting with a UCAS university application form and a pile of prospectuses.

  Dee dropped the one she was reading. ‘I think we should apply to the same universities so that we can stay together. Or at least ones that are close. Let’s make a list of the ones we like the look of and then find them on the map.’

  Shelley was completely lost when she was flicking through the different schools. ‘How can we choose?’

  Dee raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, for a start, we can look at the male-to-female ratios.’

  Shelley was nervous at the thought of going too far from home, but Dee was horrified when she suggested she might choose a London university and commute. ‘What’s the point of that? We’ll have our parents popping in every day. No. We need to go further away.’

  In the end, she practically let Dee choose for her. It was that or stick a pin in a map. Their careers officer at school hadn’t been a great deal of help either.

  Dee even came to the open day at Warwick with her because Shelley’s mum couldn’t get the day off work. ‘You can tell me all about it when you come home,’ her mum had said, kissing her on the top of the head. ‘I’m really proud of you, you know.’

  Shelley got a warm feeling at the thought of making her mum proud. She was even prouder when Shelley’s offer from Warwick came through. It was hard to tell who was more excited, her mum or Dee, who had also received an acceptance to Manchester. They held hands and jumped around the bedroom together. ‘We are going to have so much fun!’