The Last Wife

by Karen Hamilton

  He steps toward me. I have seconds to do the right thing, but I already know that I won’t.

  “I guess you’re going to ask if we should give them something real to talk about?” I say.

  “Something like that.”

  It’s a joint decision. I can’t say that either one of us moves first. We exchange a look, a silent agreement that this is what we both want. We kiss.

  At first, I can’t help but think of Ben, but Stuart is nicely different. When I start to undo his shirt buttons, he breaks away to lock the door. Although it’s him who guides me to the sofa, it feels natural to fall down on to it, although it’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone new, it reminds me of being a teenager. I half imagine I should listen out for some imaginary parents upstairs. It’s impossible to switch off and when I hear a scuffling noise outside, I almost ask him to stop. But I don’t, of course, because this is how things have to be.

  It’s awkward, yet enjoyably comforting, rather than all-consuming. I’m relieved when it’s over, as if now that the inevitable has happened, we’ve no choice but to move on. I glance up at the mantelpiece and see Nina on her wedding day looking down at us. I pull down my dress, even more acutely aware of my surroundings. The Christmas tree lights flash red, green, white.

  Stuart sits up, too, and we both reach for our wineglasses and sip. Neither of us says anything. There are no words. When I can’t bear the silence any longer, I stand up and drop the ripped pieces of card into the dying fire. We both watch as the edges blacken and crumble.

  Eleven

  Red wine gives me the absolute worst bouts of paranoia, doubt and self-loathing. Only this time, I wish it was simply hangover-induced. It seemed like such an obvious solution last night, the right thing to do. Now, I fear that I’ve created a huge messy complication. It could be too much, too soon.

  I open my eyes. Thank God I’m in my own room. Alone. I pick up my phone and check the time. Five a.m. I lie back down.

  What have I done? It made sense at the time. I think of Nina and how she’d react if she were here. A knot of horrible, familiar rising anxiety presses against my chest. The physical pain is real. I sit up and lean over. I feel dizzy. I’m supposed to face the fear, to ride through the attack until it passes. It works for general fears, not real, self-induced, guilt-ridden ones. I place my right hand on my chest as I struggle to get a grip on my trepidation. I thought I could handle this.

  I force myself to put my legs to the side of the bed, get up, shower, pull on some jeans, a thick sweater and get my sneakers out of my gym bag (the gym I rarely go to, but should). I head downstairs, deliberately not looking into the living room, and open the front door, embracing the blast of cold. I close the door gently behind me, stand still and breathe. I must remember to breathe.

  I don’t have the strength to run, so I brisk-walk. The downstairs lights in the guesthouse are on; Stuart’s parents are early risers. I walk toward the darkness of the woods. I’m not sure why, but it feels like the only thing to do—to keep moving and hope that the fear of what may be in the darkness will help override my conflicting feelings. I rely on my phone’s flashlight to see after I nearly trip over a root. I feel watched, as if Nina can see me, is judging me. My breathing is heavy and unnerving.

  Behind me, I think about Stuart and the children. The warmth of the house. His tenderness. It has been a long time since I’ve felt cared for. Although it wasn’t amazing (perhaps guilt held us both back a bit?), it forced me to wake up to how lonely I’ve been feeling for longer than I cared to admit to myself, even. Ben emotionally left me a long time ago, but I wasn’t ready or didn’t have the guts to deal with it.

  By the time I decide I have no choice but to return, I’ve made up my mind. It takes two and Nina, well, surely she’d rather me than a stranger? I’m fond of Stuart—more so than I realized—and life does have a strange way of working out. I mustn’t falter from what I believe to be the true and right thing to do.

  I let myself in through the back door. Stuart and the children are up, but they’re not alone. Camilla and Louise are sitting around the table with them, eating pancakes. Maple syrup, honey, lemons and sugar gather on the surface.

  Who invited them over? Probably Suzanne. She’s chatted to Camilla at the school gates, they’ve shared memories of Nina. I’m not impressed with the casual way Camilla acts like she’s a part of the family. I appreciate she’s a link to Nina, but still...

  Suzanne is in front of a frying pan at the hob, clutching a spatula. She is wearing an apron that belongs to me. I don’t like the overfamiliarity of it. I don’t know why, but it feels wrong. I wish I was brave enough to ask her to take it off, but obviously, I can’t.

  “Morning,” I say in such a cheery voice that it doesn’t even sound like mine.

  “Morning,” several voices chorus.

  I avoid Stuart’s gaze and he me. Big mistake. Camilla stares at me as if she can tell. It’s a schoolgirl error to ignore the object of your affections. I make a cappuccino, taking my time over the frothing of the milk before I sit beside Stuart.

  “I hope you or the children didn’t hear me go out early this morning,” I say. “I couldn’t sleep, needed some fresh air.”

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” he says.

  I turn my attention to the children. “You two were brilliant last night,” I say.

  “My play is next week with the older classes,” says Louise.

  “I’ll come and watch if you like,” I say.

  “No need,” says Camilla. “Two nativities a year is above and beyond.”

  “It’s not a nativity,” says Louise. “That’s for the younger ones. Mine is a proper play.”

  “I’d really love to see it,” I say.

  “Very thoughtful of you.” Suzanne beams over at me. “Marie, love, we were just talking about how it might be a good idea for Camilla to move into the guesthouse when we leave,” she says. “It seems silly that she’s paying a fortune in rent while she finds her feet back here and Lulu will be wonderful company for the children. Such a lovely girl, a natural with little ones.”

  Camilla does a commendable job of acting the innocent, her expression full of oh, goodness, I don’t want to be any trouble, I wasn’t hinting, yet she’s clearly taken advantage of Suzanne’s trusting nature, carefully worded a few hints and run with it while I’ve been briefly out of the picture.

  Thankfully Stuart intervenes. “Mum, these are the types of issues that need more discussion.”

  Stuart hardly ever snaps.

  Oh. It’s about last night. He wants me out. If Camilla rents out the other place, it’s harder for him to ask me to leave. I feel sick. From the corner of my eye—I daren’t look—I sense rather than see Camilla’s expression. She’s playing a game. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

  I decide to back Stuart up, to make him realize that I’m sympathetic to the situation. “Although commune-living has its advantages, I’m not going to be here for much longer either. I guess we all need to find our way in the big, bad world.”

  Silence.

  Suzanne leaps up and picks up plates and starts stacking the dishwasher. Stuart still hasn’t made proper eye contact with me; it’s irritating. He’s the one who is going to give the game away, not me.

  Camilla stands her ground. “Thanks, Suzanne, it was something I hadn’t thought of, but it would help immensely. My move back here was fairly sudden and I’d forgotten how expensive the UK was. But I don’t want to put you in an awkward position either, Stuart.”

  “Why don’t we all have a chat after Christmas?” I say, keen to get back in Suzanne’s good books, play Camilla at whatever her game is and try to give the impression to Stuart that I won’t make life difficult if he’s full of regret.

  It’s exhausting trying to please everyone all of the time.

  Stuart looks tired. I guess he
didn’t sleep much either.

  Camilla smiles at him.

  Unease forms in the pit of my stomach as I await his reaction. It’s not what I expect. He walks out of the kitchen as if he doesn’t trust himself to react.

  Hopeful that Camilla has caused enough ripples for one visit, I escape upstairs for my second shower of the day. Standing beneath the cascade, I turn the temperature up as hot as I can stand. My head clears.

  Wrapping a towel around me, I’m too impatient to get dressed before I Google the fear of dogs: cynophobia. Camilla was badly bitten by a dog, not once but twice. The first time was when she was very young (but she said she still remembers the pain), the second time was when she was on holiday with her grandparents. Hospital visits were involved on both occasions.

  Camilla will suddenly find being around here a whole lot less appealing. A dog really is for life, not just for Christmas. I scrap my idea of getting Stuart new ties because, of course, it’s so obvious now that a pet is exactly what they all need for a fresh focus. It will help them heal.

  More and more, I can see why Nina entrusted me to make the right choices for her family.

  Twelve

  When I come downstairs, Stuart is alone. Everyone else is at the park.

  “Apparently, I look like I could do with a break.” He grins.

  Relief. He looks happier.

  “I didn’t sleep much either, as you’ve gathered by my early morning exit,” I say.

  I wait.

  “Do you regret last night?” I can’t help asking.

  “No. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “I feel guilty, but that has nothing to do with us.”

  I love that he’s just said us. “Likewise.” I pause, then say, “What about Camilla? We can’t have her living in our garden. She’ll be on to us in no time, and we need to take this—whatever this is—slowly.”

  I stop, praying that I haven’t overstepped the mark, that Stuart is as keen as me to see how things cautiously, and secretly, develop between us.

  “What’s the story between her and Louise’s father?” he asks.

  “She hasn’t said, but I get the impression it’s not amicable. She likes to keep her cards close to her chest.” I don’t elaborate. “If you feel you need to offer...” I add.

  I let my words hang. I don’t want to be the one to veto her move here.

  “Nina would’ve wanted me to help her.”

  I knew Stuart would cave. He’s too soft.

  * * *

  It turns out I’m not the only non-fan of Camilla.

  “It’s turning into a mini-bordello around here,” says Deborah in a low voice.

  She takes another sip of prosecco. Deborah rarely drinks. Her face is flushed, her eyes look a little...demonic. It’s Christmas Eve lunchtime. Stuart’s parents, Deborah, Camilla, the three children and myself are finishing off a parsnip soup and crusty bread made by Stuart.

  “It will all come out in the wash,” I say in response to Deborah’s comment. “It’s a saying of my mum’s. I haven’t said that in years.”

  Today is a farewell meal because Suzanne and Kevin are heading home the day after Boxing Day. Stuart and I have agreed that I will go to my parents’ for a few days. “It’s for the best, it’s too soon,” we keep saying to each other, but I’m not really sure what that means anymore. Nothing else has happened between us, not a hug, a look or a clandestine kiss. It’s disconcerting.

  We adjourn to the living room to exchange gifts and Stuart furnishes the adults with festive drinks.

  My plan to adopt a dog is well under way. Apparently you can’t go wrong with a golden retriever. There are a lot of administrative and practical hoops to jump through on the route to dog-ownership (which I agree with, I can think of many people I’ve met who should never be allowed to own a pet). I’ve already planned to take Felix and Emily dog-accessory shopping in the new year so even if their pet still isn’t quite ready to be adopted, things will still be too far gone for Stuart to put the brakes on the idea.

  “My main gift will be a late surprise,” I announce. “Sadly, it wasn’t able to be delivered in time for Christmas. But I do have some small things for you to unwrap now,” I say as I watch Emily rip open the wrapping paper. Felix mimics Louise by neatly opening each end.

  I’ve bought them children’s cameras, plus an illustrated beginners’ guide to photography. Louise has a similar but more advanced version. For Deborah, I’ve bought gift cards—again, you can’t go wrong—and for Camilla, a memory album, not dissimilar to the one I’m creating to celebrate Nina’s life.

  Sifting through the photos of us brought up a proper mixed bag of memories. There are plenty to choose from: house parties, pubs, the beach, pools, bars, but the best are the Ibizan ones. The three of us on an aqua bus to Formentera, the sister island of Ibiza, clutching a mojito in front of a wooden beach kiosk, huge grins on our faces. Hanging out at Stuart’s friend’s villa, barbecues by the pool, boating. Charlie, Camilla, Nina, Stuart, me, various other friends, all of us so innocently happy, oblivious and blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.

  Camilla makes a show of flicking through the pages, saying she’s “touched,” yet she appears anything but. She clutches it tightly like she can’t wait to hurl it out a window. I deliberately included a few pictures of Charlie—it felt wrong to leave him out.

  Stuart was a tricky one to buy for. After ditching the tie idea—he and I can start our own thing—this year (especially as we’ve gone for a horribly public group-present-sharing experience), I had to walk the fine line. He’s got a voucher, too—a certificate for a valuable, rare wine of his choice which he can apparently keep in storage in some mysterious wine cellar or have delivered. Who knows if this wine even exists or not, or if it is indeed decent, but that is the joy of internet gift-buying. It makes it look as though I’ve tried.

  Deborah knocks back the last of her Baileys, crocodile-like eyes glaring at me over the top of her glass.

  She can doubt my motives all she likes, but they are pure. I have Stuart and the children’s best interests at heart, I really do. Not one of them can prove otherwise.

  After exchanging gifts with Suzanne and Kevin, I excuse myself. “I must pack.”

  There’s only so much false cheer, I, and even Deborah, by the looks of it, can take. Nina would’ve hated this. I feel grubby and restless.

  Finally, Stuart catches my eye. He even manages a genuine smile. It’s a relief. It dies, however, when I return downstairs with my bags and spot Stuart and Camilla alone in the kitchen. Both their glasses are empty, yet they seem unaware, clutching them regardless while they talk. Camilla stops talking as I approach.

  “Marie!” she says in a happy voice, which sounds like a warning to Stuart of my arrival.

  There’s nothing else I can do but smile. Graciously. It’s bloody hard.

  Most of her belongings have already been moved into the guesthouse by a removal company. Suzanne and Kevin said they didn’t mind being surrounded by boxes for the last few days of their stay. (Camilla appears to have an awful lot of stuff for someone who moved to a different country at short notice.) She is spending two nights at her grandparents’ before flying out to Toronto for the remainder of the holidays. Upon her return, she will be our (very) immediate neighbor. She didn’t waste any time at all in making it happen. Neither would I if I had an underhanded agenda.

  We all say our goodbyes, festive wishes and farewells among hugs, kisses and promises. Actually, I don’t mind being the first to leave, I realize, as I drive away. When I return, it will be for good. Unlike Camilla, my ties to this place are strong.

  * * *

  I check into a boutique hotel near my parents’. I’ll go over and help cook Christmas lunch tomorrow, but I couldn’t face three nights home alone with them. There’s too much time to fill, too much...expectation
for me to take on the role of two siblings. Rightly or wrongly, I feel like I need to make up for my brother’s absence, smile in a jolly fashion when he Skypes from a beach or a mountain or a desert or wherever he can get Wi-Fi, when really, I’m jealous.

  I shouldn’t have lied to Stuart, but he’d have insisted I stay if my parents weren’t expecting me. We both need space and it can’t do any harm.

  Perhaps that’s something I should talk about with Christian. Why I chose to stay, not travel, to take over Nina’s role so wholeheartedly. I loved Ibiza, but it’s my one and only experience of traveling abroad. My parents were campers, great believers in the magic of the fresh British countryside.

  With the TV on in the background, I sit cross-legged on the comfy bed and open my laptop. I’ve transferred everything over to mine from Nina’s. I need to concentrate, to try to read between the lines and cross-reference to unpick what Nina was really trying to convey to Camilla. I’ve been putting off reading the words again because they sting, but now that Camilla is trying to worm her way into my life (or Stuart’s—her motivation isn’t obvious), I need to be in possession of all the facts. It’s not a wise enough tactic to bank on the hope that a dog alone will be enough to scare her off.

  The emails are dated earlier this year.

  03/01 12:32

  Hi Camilla,

  Long time and all that! I don’t know if you ever check this email address. If you don’t, I’ll have to find some other way to contact you. I’m not sure how to word this, I don’t imagine that it’s necessarily welcome to hear from me.

  I thought about this a lot, whether or not to write, sleeping dogs and all that. I know our goodbye was supposed to be just that. But I’d like to make amends because I’m dying. Sorry to put it so bluntly, but I’m running out of time. I’m married (to Stuart still), two children aged seven and five. A boy and a girl, Felix and Emily. Marie said after I’d had Em that of course I’d have a boy first and a girl second, isn’t that everyone’s ideal? I never thought of it like that, and I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe I’ll delete that part.