by Sharon Owens
‘Okay,’ Emily said, reaching for the dustpan and brush and a whole roll of paper towels. ‘Time for my Kim and Aggie routine; whoever said a career in magazine publishing would be all about meeting celebrities, and non-stop glamour?’
Then she thought of her little attic in Twickenham and how peaceful it was there, and suddenly she didn’t feel quite so sorry for herself any more.
And then she thought about Dylan – and wondered if she was doing the right thing in letting a relatively normal man into her not-quite-normal existence.
6. Arabella’s Husband
It was February now and Arabella felt heartbroken every time she saw a display of Valentine cards in a gift store window, or red roses in a florist’s window, or one of those ribbon-and-cellophane affairs with a cuddly rabbit inside on the petrol station counter. She’d tried chatting to the handsome hunk in the red T-shirt, but he’d looked right through her, as if she were invisible. So presumably there wasn’t much hope of the two of them conceiving a baby in the flower bed out the front any time soon. Arabella felt her age more than ever when she was sitting in the queue for unleaded petrol one day, and she saw the hunk of her dreams kissing his teenage girlfriend on the station forecourt. The girlfriend was wearing low-slung jeans revealing a tattoo of a rose on her lower back. She also had a diamond stud in her nose and super-long acrylic fingernails. Arabella’s mating-in-the-marigolds fantasy keeled over and died instantly, for how could she compete with a rose tattoo and a nose-stud? She turned to look out of the passenger window and then switched on the radio for company. There was a play on BBC Radio 4. It was something to do with a tea plantation in India in Victorian times.
‘I am leaving for England tomorrow,’ a man said, ‘but I will never forget you.’
‘For pity’s sake,’ Arabella said sadly. ‘This is getting ridiculous.’ She felt loneliness trying to pull her down into its murky depths, like an octopus with super-sticky tentacles. Some days she was so tense and scared she could barely concentrate on her work. David had still not moved back in, and he was also refusing to answer his mobile phone. She’d been emailing and texting him obsessively for weeks, but she’d not received a single reply. Her letters to his office went unanswered, and she’d even been stopped at reception in the steel-and-glass building where David worked and been asked to leave by the security guard. That had been a bit embarrassing, actually, as the guard had told her to stop being so silly and hysterical and just leave quietly. Or he would have to call the police. He’d put one hand on her back, as if she were a psychiatric patient, and steered her out of the door and right down the mobility ramp on to the footpath. Talk about disgraceful. Was that any way to treat the good lady wife of one of their key workers?
‘I’m telling you, Emily,’ Arabella said now, lighting another cigarette on the fire escape at the magazine’s offices. ‘There’s something crazy going on with David.’
There was a rare spell of sunshine that day, so they were having lunch outdoors on two fold-down chairs. Emily had a plain cheese sandwich from home while Arabella was picking half-heartedly over an M&S salad.
‘Do you know, there’s something about chilled orange segments that makes me feel quite melancholy,’ she said.
‘Stop buying that particular dish, then,’ Emily suggested. ‘Get a nice bagel instead.’
‘Yes, I suppose I should, but a salad always looks so healthy, doesn’t it?’ Arabella said, pushing the remains of her lunch to one side and lighting a cigarette.
‘Listen, I don’t mean to sound completely heartless, but I know there’s something going on with David, Arabella. I’m so sorry, and I know it must hurt dreadfully, but it would seem that he’s left you.’
‘Well, yes, I am painfully aware that my husband no longer appears to be living in the marital home with me. But there’s something else going on – he wouldn’t just walk out on me like this unless he had somewhere else to go, unless he had a Plan B. He doesn’t like staying in hotels no matter how swanky they are. And he’s got a slight germ phobia about using hotel showers.’
Arabella’s ashtray on the fire escape was overflowing. She was now throwing her lipstick-covered butts into Emily’s empty shortbread tin.
‘What do you mean?’ Emily said carefully. ‘Do you think he’s got another place to live? Like he’s renting a city-centre apartment or something?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly it! I’m starting to think he’s been planning to leave me for some time. It was the way he looked at me the last time we were arguing; his eyes were just so cold,’ Arabella said forlornly. ‘I got a feeling that day that he really hated me – you know, when I poured the pasta sauce into his briefcase?’
‘You shouldn’t have done that, I dare say.’
‘Big deal – his briefcase was empty, anyway.’
‘Arabella, look, please don’t take this the wrong way,’ Emily said carefully. ‘But don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, things had come to a natural end with you and David?’
‘No. Not at all; we were madly in love.’
‘But you just said he hated you.’
‘I said I had a feeling he hated me that day. That was just my perception at the time, though. And it was only that particular day. Remember that; it wasn’t all the time.’
‘Why is it okay if he only hates you sometimes?’ Emily said slowly.
‘Look, he was mad at me because I told him he was rubbish in bed, okay?’ Arabella said with a flash of guilt that turned her neck tomato red. ‘Actually, I told him he was the worst lover I’d ever had … and his feet were a bit yellow … and he had bad breath.’
‘Well, you know what men are like about that sort of thing. They have very fragile egos – no wonder he stormed off in a giant huff,’ Emily said, shaking her head sadly.
‘I didn’t mean it, Emily. Well, he does have yellowish feet. But he doesn’t have bad breath, and he wasn’t my worst lover. But I was just so upset because I wasn’t pregnant,’ Arabella cried.
‘Okay, okay, so he’s a good lover, then? Maybe you should tell him that. He might come back again.’
‘He’s not always good in bed. Well, he’s okay, I suppose,’ Arabella said. She inhaled deeply, coughed loudly and threw her salad back into the carrier bag in disgust.
‘To sum up,’ Emily said, taking a deep breath, ‘David has yellow feet, isn’t exactly the best in bed, sometimes hates you, and has ignored you completely for over a month?’
‘Yes. That’s about the height of it.’
‘So why on earth do you want him back, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I want him back because I love him to bits. Obviously.’
Emily closed her eyes. She knew that she mustn’t tell Arabella she was one deluded wife. Ideally Arabella would work it out for herself – and come to the conclusion that she would be better off without David.
‘Why do you love him again?’ she said.
‘He’s my husband, Emily. I took my wedding vows seriously.’
‘And that’s the only reason you love him? You took wedding vows?’
‘No,’ Arabella shook her head. ‘I love him because he’s my husband.’
‘So you’d automatically love any husband? Even have an arranged marriage?’
‘No, of course not, Emily, don’t be silly. Though I do understand that most arranged marriages are designed to bring together two people who are well suited. They are not designed to fail, my darling.’
‘Well, fair enough. Let’s not get bogged down in a discussion about arranged marriage.’
‘You started it.’
‘Yes, I did … Give me another reason why you love him, then. Why did you fall in love with him in the first place?’
‘He was rich and successful.’
‘Apart from that,’ Emily said.
‘He can change a tyre really quickly.’
‘So marry a mechanic next time,’ Emily said, packing away her lunch box.
‘Emily, don’t be flippant. I
meant that David is a resourceful man. That he doesn’t just give up if he doesn’t get what he wants right away. He’s clever, you know? And I loved him for it. I’m totally devastated here.’
‘I’m sorry. I know you didn’t only love him because he could change a tyre. I know you didn’t mean it that way.’
‘It’s okay. I know you understand.’
‘Sometimes these things just come to a natural end. Nobody is to blame. The feelings just go away of their own accord.’
‘Is that what happened with you and Alex?’ Arabella said gently.
‘Yes, our relationship came to a natural end all right. A grinding halt, more like. Pity he didn’t tell me until the day of our wedding. Oh, don’t get me started on all that business; it makes me feel like such a loser. But anyway, I don’t think Alex and me actually got it right to begin with,’ Emily said. ‘It was a massive, all-consuming teenage crush; and then it became a habit and a crutch. It was never true love.’
‘I’m sorry for bringing him up,’ Arabella said guiltily.
‘It’s okay.’
Arabella opened a fresh packet of cigarettes. Emily briefly thought of suggesting that Arabella might have a better chance of conceiving if she gave up smoking and took some gentle exercise instead. And found another man to be the father, of course. But she didn’t want to become a bossyboots. Emily had always found bossy people very tiresome herself. Also, all the magazine articles she had ever read advised strongly against taking ownership of someone else’s problems. You could console and listen and hug and support and sympathize endlessly, but you should never try to take over.
‘Emily?’ Arabella said quietly.
‘Yes?’
‘What would you do if you were me?’
‘Please don’t ask me that.’
‘No, really – would you beg David to come home?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Or would you send him flowers?’
‘Really, I don’t know.’
‘Or would you have a crazy, unsuitable affair? Get your confidence back by seducing another man?’
‘I doubt it. That would only complicate everything. What if you ended up having feelings for both of them?’
‘No, only men say that! Would you go to a lawyer and tell him to hang David out to dry?’
‘Arabella, please don’t ask my advice. This is serious. It’s not a magazine quiz.’
‘Or would you look for a sperm donor?’
‘Um …’
‘One-night stand or clinic … ?’
‘I really wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Or would you do something else entirely?’
‘I really don’t know, Arabella. It depends on what you want – and what he wants – doesn’t it?’
‘Would you be aloof and mysterious? Yes, you’d play hard to get, wouldn’t you? Do nothing at all for a year and see if he comes crawling back to you. Trouble is, I don’t really have a year to spare.’
‘Listen, Arabella, is that the time? I’ll think about this later, but I have to dash now. I’m meeting a reader this afternoon over on the other side of the city. I’ll call you this evening. Don’t do anything silly. Promise me now?’
‘I promise,’ Arabella said, smiling at Emily through a fog of cigarette smoke. But it was already too late to promise not to do anything silly because she was going to do something silly that very evening.
When Emily had gone Arabella went to the bathroom and locked the door behind her so nobody else could barge in. She took a long blonde wig out of her large handbag and combed it with shaking hands. She tried the wig on. The effect was pretty natural. Then she tried on a short denim jacket, a long white T-shirt and a pair of lurid purple leggings. A pair of bug-eyed sunglasses and a pair of flimsy flat pumps completed the look. In two minutes flat she’d gone from Wealthy-Socialite-About-Town to Lowly-Cleaning-Lady. She was average height and average weight. David wouldn’t recognize her in a million years. Nor would any of their friends and colleagues. Quickly she put her own clothes on again and folded the other things back into her bag.
Now all she had to do was hang around the office until five o’clock. Then she’d go and change into her disguise in the big bathroom on the ground floor, where nobody would take any notice of her.
At six o’clock precisely David came out of his office wearing a buttoned-up overcoat and smart brogues, looked right and left and then hurried towards the nearest Tube station. And Arabella was only ten paces behind him. She’d been sitting on a bench for over an hour, pretending to read Heat magazine. David walked very quickly. But Arabella was able to keep up quite easily in her comfy pumps – she was practically skipping along the footpath. Someone from a building site whistled loudly at her, but she barely had time to smile and wave back at them before she remembered she was supposed to be following her husband home from work. David got on a train going in the other direction from where they lived, sat down and took a novel out of his new briefcase. Arabella got on too, and sat a few seats away from him.
She watched David out of the corner of her eye. He looked happy, she thought. The worry lines around his ice-blue eyes had faded slightly and he was a few pounds heavier. So he must be eating well – wherever he was – she decided. His hair was nicely cut in a new style. Actually, he looked a bit sexy now. The hunted look had gone from his face. Arabella felt a bit sick again. David clearly hadn’t been pining for her the way she had been pining for him.
Twenty minutes passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. But then David suddenly closed his novel, jumped up and sprang out of the train just as the doors were closing. Arabella dropped her bag in her hurry to get off the train. By the time she’d retrieved it, the doors had closed again and she was swept on towards the next station. She cursed David under her breath all the way back to her own stop. Next time she’d be ready, she vowed.
And so the following week, she did it again. She was still disguised as a humble cleaning lady, but this time she wore a garish red headscarf, a baggy trench coat with no belt on it, and black leggings. She stood right by the door so that when David left the train, she did too. She followed him all the way along several suburban streets until he came to a row of expensive-looking houses near the river. There were eight homes in the development, all with a garage at ground level and a big sitting-room window on the first floor. Each window opened out on to a small balcony. The lights in David’s house were on already and the curtains were drawn. Perhaps he had set the lights on a timer, she thought to herself. David took a key from his pocket, glanced right and left again and then went quickly inside. Arabella punched the air triumphantly. So she had discovered her husband’s secret bachelor pad. Result! But what could she do now? she wondered. Should she ring the bell and confront him? As Arabella stood in the dimly lit street, trying to make up her mind, she heard the swishing sound of a sliding door opening. She looked up. David was standing on the balcony, sipping a small glass of wine. He’d taken off his coat and was wearing a heavy-knit cardigan. Arabella crept towards a nearby tree and stood there as quietly as she could, trying to look as if she were waiting for a lift or something. With any luck he wouldn’t look down and discover her.
A minute later, a woman joined David on the balcony – a tall, beautiful woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years of age. And by the looks of it she was six months pregnant. Her pregnancy bump was neat and round and comfortable-looking. She was wearing a floaty black dress, black opaque tights and flat-heeled biker boots. Her skin was radiant and glowing. Her hair was a long rippling sheet of raven black. She looked like a goddess. She couldn’t be with David, could she? This couldn’t be happening. Arabella held her breath.
The couple on the balcony kissed tenderly.
‘I must be dreaming,’ Arabella whispered.
Somehow, against all the odds, Arabella’s bad-tempered, workaholic husband had managed to secure the affections of a much younger woman and move with her into t
his trendy glass box of a house. Was it even his house? she wondered. Or did it belong to the young woman? Was this interloper someone incredibly well paid, to be able to afford such a house? Was she a songwriter or a stockbroker? Was she a best-selling writer or perhaps an heiress? Had David forgotten he was still legally married to another woman? What would he say if he knew his rightful wife was standing in this very street, wearing a blonde wig and chain-store pumps? Arabella’s stomach jack-knifed and she almost threw up on the pavement – but she hadn’t eaten all day, so luckily there was nothing to ride the wave of nausea that came rushing up her throat. She could barely contain her emotions, she felt so jealous and hurt.
Arabella strained to hear what the couple were saying.
‘Is the wine okay?’ the woman asked. ‘It’s only cheap plonk. But I saw some gorgeous baby clothes today and I only had a fiver left by the time I got to the supermarket.’
‘It’s lovely. Anyway, I feel bad drinking wine when you can’t have any.’ He put his hand on her bump and caressed it tenderly.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she laughed. ‘I don’t care all that much for booze. And you deserve a glass when you work so hard all day. How did the Sharkey meeting go?’
‘They dropped their price by two million.’
‘Ha! I knew they would cave in if you flagged up their IT shortcomings. Good for you, my darling, I’m so pleased for you.’
They embraced again, holding each other in a languid, relaxed way before melting into a long and loving kiss that lasted for well over a minute.
Arabella’s knees could no longer hold her up. She slid down and ended up slumped on the ground. An elderly couple came along and crossed the road to avoid her. Clearly they thought she was an alcoholic or homeless or mad – or all three. Arabella did get sick then. It was only a drop of acidic yellow bile, but she was glad of the distraction. Her nausea was mainly silent, but she didn’t think David and his new love would have noticed if she’d keeled over and died right there on the pavement.
