The Forgotten Wife

by Emma Robinson

  There was a pause before Lara spoke again. ‘Actually, she found out her husband had cheated on her. More than once.’

  Lara’s words hung in the air. Was she waiting for Shelley’s reaction? Did she suspect something? Was she hoping that Shelley would take the opportunity to tell all? If she was, she was about to be disappointed. Now the food was all in bowls, Shelley could seize the opportunity to divert Lara’s conversation. ‘Shall we take all this through to the lounge?’

  A large cardboard box was perched on the coffee table in front of the sofa, some of its contents already spilling out. Lara put the dips and pitta onto a side table and sat down. ‘What’s this? Have you got started without me?’

  Shelley scooped some of the loose prints from the table and dropped them back where they’d come from. ‘It’s just a box of really old photos. School and baby photos mostly. Feel free to look. As long as you don’t laugh at the dodgy haircuts.’ At least this might distract Lara from the talk of mutual friendships and broken marriages.

  ‘What’s this one?’ Lara opened an album of the photos Shelley had put together from her interrailing trip. It was covered in the country stickers they had picked up along the way. She’d wanted to collect souvenirs but space had been limited in her bright blue rucksack. Stickers had been the perfect solution, and she’d been pleased she had them when she’d had the brainwave to customise the photo album. This album was the main reason she’d brought the box down in the first place. Uncovering Dee’s photo in the box of shoes had started her mind wandering. One of the reasons she’d had such a bad night’s sleep.

  ‘This looks like a blast. You’re so cute in these. So young. How old are you here?’

  ‘Eighteen.’ They’d finished their A levels and taken off straight away, travelling around Europe for four weeks, home in time for exam results mid-August. It had been Dee’s idea, of course. Once she’d conceived of the idea, she was full speed ahead on choosing destinations, finding youth hostels, checking train routes. Shelley had been pulled along in her back draft.

  Lara looked surprised. Was it shock that Shelley could do something so exciting? ‘You were brave to go away, just the two of you. Is this the same girl in those photo booth photos from the other day? Are you still in touch?’

  Shelley had spent almost an hour flicking through these photos last night. But it still hurt to look at them. The one in Lara’s hands had been taken at the Gard du Nord by a blond guy from Denmark they’d met on the train. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders, backpacks looming behind them, wide expectant smiles. ‘Yes. That was my best friend, Dee. And no. We’re not in touch anymore.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Friendships slip sometimes, don’t they?’ Lara stared at the photo too, longer than was necessary. Was she thinking about a lost friendship of her own? Shelley knew so little about Lara – and vice versa – and yet here they were, with Shelley’s past spread out in front of them. It was strange that this didn’t feel weird. Lara was a little pushy, but somehow it wasn’t unpleasant. Dee had been pushy too. Shelley shook her head. That wasn’t a path she wanted to go down with Lara. At least, not yet.

  Lara also seemed happy to change the subject. She picked up another picture. ‘And what about this one? Who is this in the middle of you and Dee?’

  Shelley took the photograph that Lara was holding up. It wasn’t surprising that Lara didn’t recognise him from the wedding photo. They were all pulling funny faces at the camera; the reason why escaped her now, but they looked so comfortable in each other’s company. If only it had stayed like that. ‘That’s Greg. About a week after we got together.’

  10

  Shelley

  Before

  Two hours, four different outfits and three shades of lipstick later, Shelley was on her way. It hadn’t helped that she couldn’t ask Dee for help with choosing an outfit; Dee was still upset with her for choosing Greg over her current boyfriend’s best mate.

  Greg was six years older than Shelley, and at eighteen, that made a big difference. He worked in the City; she was only just finishing sixth form. To be honest, she didn’t really understand what he did for a job. It was something to do with stocks and shares and he earned a lot of money if his car and the clothes he wore were anything to go by. She’d known him and his group of friends for a while, often chatting to them in one of the pubs on the high street, but couldn’t believe her luck when he had asked her out: just the two of them.

  Busy with young, stylish people drinking champagne and eating small plates of beautiful food, the restaurant Greg had booked near his office in the City was more than a little intimidating. Years later, he confessed he’d been trying to impress her. She never admitted she’d realised that all along. Due to train times, she was uncharacteristically early and was sitting at the table waiting, head down scrutinising the menu, trying to pretend that she did things like this all the time.

  When he arrived, she watched the hostess lead him to their table. He had a slight swagger: Dee thought he was arrogant, but Shelley just saw confidence. Greg was comfortable in his own skin; he knew who he was. As he leaned in to kiss her cheek, she could smell his cologne and it made her stomach flip over. His smile made it flop back again. ‘Hi. Glad you found the place okay. Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s great. And so were your directions. It was super easy.’ Her insides were churning with nerves. She would have waited outside the restaurant but the rush hour pavements were more overwhelming than sitting alone at the table. The sight of him in his suit and tie, looking so handsome, wasn’t helping. Why was he interested in someone like her? Surely, he could have anyone he wanted? Even the hostess had looked at him approvingly as she brought him over. Everyone liked Greg. Apart from Dee at the moment.

  ‘Would you like another drink?’ He motioned towards the glass of water she had ordered for herself while she waited. ‘Maybe something stronger? Orange cordial? Or blackcurrant?’

  She laughed and leaned forwards conspiratorially. ‘I was too scared to order a grown-up drink in case they didn’t believe I was eighteen.’ The thought of being asked for ID in a place like this filled her with horror.

  Ice broken, they had a lovely evening. Greg had been here with colleagues several times so he knew his way around the menu. Having stared at the many food choices for fifteen minutes before he arrived, she’d pretty much decided the chicken breast was the safest option, but he persuaded her to try the sea bass, which came with aubergines and tomato pesto and other ingredients she’d never tried. It didn’t matter that the fish wasn’t really to her taste – it was only because she wasn’t used to eating this kind of food in these kinds of places. She could get used to it. And it wasn’t only the food; he knew how to order their meals exactly the way he wanted, what wine to drink, how to get the waiter’s attention without being rude. He was funny and considerate and worldly and sophisticated. Greg was at home here. She was quite possibly in love with him before the chocolate mousse even arrived.

  All the way there, she’d worried about what they would talk about, running through potential topics in her head. But the conversation flowed easily: he chatted about his job and the flat he was in the process of buying; she told him about the universities she’d had offers from. Greg had been to university too, but he had been surprised by how many people he worked with hadn’t. He asked her what she planned to do with a degree once she had one; it was embarrassing to admit she hadn’t thought that far ahead. The two hours they were there practically flew by. After paying the bill – he insisted, she was relieved – they left to get their train home.

  On the way to the station, they passed a shoe shop, its small window artfully decorated with only five shoes displayed like works of art. Shelley pointed out a pair of red patent peep-toes with really high heels. ‘Look at the height of those!’

  Greg stopped walking, pulled her with him as he leaned towards the window for a closer look. ‘Do you like them?’

  She laughed and tugged at his
hand; shoes like that were not for the likes of her. ‘They’re beautiful, but it would be impossible to walk in them.’

  Greg shrugged. ‘Lots of the women at work wear shoes like that every day. It must just take practice.’

  Shelley could imagine those women. Tailored, beautiful professionals like the other women in the restaurant. Not clumsy, unconfident sixth-formers. She didn’t like the comparison in her head and wasn’t about to draw Greg’s attention to her deficiencies. ‘Maybe. Come on.’ She pulled at his hand, which had held hers all the way from the restaurant.

  Earlier, she’d taken the Underground from Waterloo to meet him, but they decided to skip the Tube ride this time and walk back to the station. Greg knew his way through all the back roads to get them there. His confident stride was a relief; she would have been lost within two streets of the restaurant. Not that they were rushing. They walked so slowly, in fact, that they almost missed the last train home. Well, it was probably also because they were holding hands and stopping every hundred metres to kiss. It wasn’t until they got to Waterloo and looked at the departures board that they realised they had two minutes to get to their platform. Greg squeezed her hand and looked at her. ‘Can you run? It’s that or I book a hotel room.’

  Excitement fizzed in her chest but was rapidly replaced by the cold fear of her mum’s reaction if she called her to say she’d missed her train and was staying overnight with a man. ‘Let’s sprint!’

  They were doing so well until she skidded on a spilt McDonald’s coke and her left leg swept out at a tangent from her body. Thankfully, Greg still had hold of her hand and he pulled her upwards. The only thing that snapped was the thin ankle strap of one of her cheap shoes. There was no time for a post-mortem; she slipped them both off and held them aloft. ‘Keep going!’

  They made it to platform fifteen just as the whistle blew and they stood breathless inside the train doors. She doubled over at the hips, laughing, and he panted, holding onto the rail and placing a hand on her waist to stop her from toppling as the train pulled away. ‘You were magnificent.’

  She righted herself and looked at him. Pulling her close, he kissed her gently.

  Their second date was only two days later and, when he picked her up from home, Greg presented her with a beautifully wrapped box. ‘To make up for breaking your shoe.’

  The red peep-toes weren’t her kind of thing, but it was a very sweet gesture. Romantic even. ‘I can’t believe you bought them. Thank you.’ There had been no price tags in the shop window, which probably meant they were expensive. Since her dad had left, there wasn’t a great deal of money around at home; there was no way she could have bought herself a pair of shoes like that. Even if she’d wanted to.

  Dee rolled her eyes when Shelley showed them to her. ‘He’s just being showy. When are you going to wear shoes like that? Do you even like them?’ But that made Shelley even more determined. Even if it took her hours of walking up and down the hallway like Bambi, she was going to wear those red patent heels and be just like the glamorous women Greg worked with.

  When he took her to dinner again two weeks later – their sixth date – she did.

  ‘Wow. You look fantastic.’ His face made the blisters worthwhile. But she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she told him that high-heeled shoes weren’t her kind of thing. That she really did want the chicken rather than the sea bass. Would he feel the same way about her then?

  11

  Lara

  Open boxes, piles of clothes, random objects of uncertain purpose: the trouble with having a clear-out was that it often looked a hundred times worse before it got better. On Tuesday night – after flicking through the photographs – Lara had shown Shelley how to follow the system from Make Way for Joy, plucking items from boxes and assembling them into rough piles to keep, sell or throw away. Judging by Shelley’s overwhelmed expression as they walked into the room on Wednesday evening, she might need reminding of the process. Lara nudged her. ‘It’s organised chaos. Honestly.’

  There was one pile at least that should be very easy to get rid of. ‘We could bag up all your ex-husband’s clothes tonight. To be honest, I don’t really understand why he hasn’t taken them. I mean, you might take it into your head to throw them all away? Or burn them?’

  She’d meant the last part as a joke, but Shelley didn’t smile. ‘Not my style. Look, let’s just move them to one side for now and I’ll deal with them later.’

  There was quite a big heap, but Shelley seemed intent on scooping it up all at once. She slid both arms underneath like a forklift. As she lifted, the pile must have obscured her view because she stumbled as if she’d been struck, a jumper falling from the pile.

  Lara picked it up and followed her to the wardrobe with it, slid the door open. Shelley threw the clothes in so hard that a pair of jeans fell back out. She snatched them up and slammed them back in. A T-shirt dropped and she kicked it, grabbed the jumper from Lara, threw that on top and yanked the door across. As it slid closed, she caught her fingers and winced in pain. Twisting to face Lara, her eyes bright, she brushed her palms together and stuck out her chin. ‘Done.’

  Lara felt a stab of guilt. Was she pushing Shelley too fast? It could take a long time to get over the breakdown of a marriage and she still hadn’t managed to find out what had happened between Shelley and her ex-husband. The aggression with which she’d moved the clothes showed she was clearly very angry with him. And in pain.

  She put a hand on Shelley’s arm. ‘We don’t have to do this tonight if you don’t want. We can—’

  Shelley pulled back her arm as if Lara had hit her. ‘No. Let’s get on with it. What’s next?’

  This was a new side she hadn’t seen. Was Shelley about to burst into tears or shout at her? Frankly, it was nice to see her with a bit more fire in her belly. Although, Lara didn’t want to make her upset. There must be something less personal in here that they could do today? ‘What about that box next to you? It says CDs. Shall we start with that?’

  Shelley nodded but still didn’t meet Lara’s eye. Clearly, she had pushed her too quickly. Dammit. She was supposed to be helping her not making it worse. They didn’t speak as Shelley pulled over the box and opened the flaps. This one wasn’t stuck down. Lara racked her brains for something funny to say to lighten the mood but came up with nothing. It would be so much easier if Shelley just told her what had gone on between her and Greg – then she would know what subjects to avoid. She reached inside the box and lifted out a small pile of CD cases.

  Shelley placed a hand either side of the box. ‘Shall I just tip the whole lot out? It’ll probably be easier.’

  The CD cases clattered from the box and Lara watched her, unable to bear this atmosphere between them. She had to say something. ‘Look, I know it’s difficult when you split up with someone. Especially if you are not the one who did the leaving. I’m sorry if I’m being tactless about throwing stuff out. I was just trying to make you laugh.’

  Shelley pressed her middle fingers to the corners of her eyes, wiped away two large tears in one stroke. ‘Honestly. I’m fine. It was just the wardrobe door; it caught my finger.’

  That wasn’t the pain she was in. Did she think Lara was stupid? ‘I know. I know. But it’s okay. To be upset, I mean. It’s actually good to get it off your chest. I’m not trying to pry; I just want you to know that I am happy to listen if you ever want to offload.’

  Shelley took a deep breath and looked Lara in the eye. She smiled. ‘Thanks, honestly. But there’s nothing to say. Let’s just get on with this. How should we organise them?’

  ‘Well, first you need to decide if you actually want to keep them. Matt and I don’t own a single CD anymore.’

  Shelley nodded. ‘These are the only ones left in this house. Greg ripped all the ones that we had and put them onto our computer. Then he just used Spotify.’ She motioned to the mini-Everest of CDs in front of them. ‘These were my ones. He was pretty evangelical about becoming
totally digital, and I had to save them from the cull.’ She smiled and the mood in the room lifted a little.

  Lara poked around in the pile. ‘Wow. How many Madonna albums do you have? You’re quite a fan.’ Lara held up her hands, which were full of every album from Like a Virgin onwards.

  Shelley smiled. ‘Yes. I was a big fan back in the day.’

  ‘Why don’t you listen to them anymore?’

  Shelley scratched her head. ‘I don’t really know. I suppose I just got out of the habit.’

  ‘Right. We need a system. You have to decide whether owning each album brings you joy. Let’s start with…’ Lara held her hand over the scattered albums like the grabber at a fairground then plucked one and held it up. ‘The Spice Girls!’

  Shelley held out her hand for it. ‘Oh my word. I’m surprised the laser didn’t melt this one, I listened to it so many times. I got it for my birthday. My mum bought me a portable CD player and Dee bought me this album to go with it, and I played it over and over.’ She stared at the cover for a few moments and then laughed. ‘Crikey, we also used to dance along to it together in Dee’s bedroom. I would be Baby Spice and Dee was always Ginger Spice. We used to make up routines, until Dee’s dad would shout upstairs, “Stop that banging before you come through the bloody ceiling!”’ She deepened her voice to mimic him and laughed again. Lara was really enjoying this new Shelley today. Perhaps she’d just needed time to warm up.

  ‘Well, I can tell by the smile on your face that that one brings you joy. I was a big fan too. Let’s listen to it now.’ Lara pulled out her phone and with a few taps and swipes they were listening to the opening of ‘Wannabe’ at full volume. Shelley even joined in when Lara sang a couple of the lines, but then she blushed and shook her head.

  Lara turned the volume down. ‘So, what’s it to be? Do you really, really want to keep that one?’