The Single Wife : 'Liane Moriarty meets Elin Hilderbrand in an addictive summer read'

by Ella Grey

  Robin wasn’t sure she had heard right.

  “Are you serious?” she asked, wondering if the oppressive humidity was making her imagine things. There she was, sitting in an eighteenth-floor office on Park Avenue with a view over Central Park most New Yorkers would kill for, and the scary woman sitting across from her had said that her and Ben’s little booklet was “a brainwave, a money-spinner, a work of genius”.

  “But – but it’s not even a book!” Robin interjected, stopping the other woman’s enthusiastic rant. “I mean it was just a thought – just a joke, really.”

  This was all too surreal for words.

  It had been weeks since she had provided Kirsty’s school with extra copies of Atchoo the Alligator, but since then, the school principal had been phoning them on a regular basis to pass on compliments and thanks from some of the children’s parents.

  “The story’s message is getting through,” the principal told her. “These parents have been tearing their hair out for years trying to empower their kids, and this book is working. They’ll be forever grateful.”

  One particularly grateful mother had come in the form of Janine Johnston, an employee of Bubblegum Press, a small New York children’s publisher with offices on Park Avenue. Immediately recognising the book’s potential, and the fact that it had an immediate effect on her young asthmatic son, Janine arranged a meeting with the company’s Acquisitions Editor. By the end of following week, Robin discovered that – without ever once having thought about it – she was to become a published author.

  “It’ll be huge,” Marla, the publishing director had enthused, after informing Robin of her plans over the telephone. “The story is simple, accessible, and if we get a good illustrator on board, we could make a real killing here.”

  “So you don’t want to use the same graphics?” Robin asked, wondering how Ben would feel about all this. It was his book, after all, his idea and his hard work that had made the book what it was.

  But as it turned out, Ben couldn’t care less. “I just downloaded the stuff from some clip-art site,” he said. “It’s your story and if they want to bring in some hotshot illustrator to improve it even more, then all the better.”

  Now, listening to Marla outline her plans for publishing Atchoo the Alligator, Robin wondered if this was all a set-up, just another one of Ben’s silly practical jokes.

  “I’ve had to rearrange our list so as to get it out by the end of the year. So we can make a quick killing at Christmas before the rest get in on the act.”

  Robin looked at her blankly.

  “The other publishers. Once the biggies get wind of this thing they’ll be in like wildfire with one of their own.”

  “Oh.”

  “So in order to generate word of mouth we’re going to heavily target schools, hospitals, support agencies, yada yada. Once we’ve got a buzz going, then we’ll think about blitzing bookstores and …”

  Robin let most of Marla’s plan of action go over her head. She still couldn’t believe that they were offering to publish her little book. How was it possible? Surely, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of children’s writers, any writers, more suitable for this than she? When she said as much to Marla, the publisher laughed.

  “Robin, in this game, most of the time, the writing doesn’t matter. It’s the idea, honey, the concept – forget wizards in boring old boarding schools, this is the next big thing in children’s publishing, I can feel it!”

  “Well, you’re the expert,” Robin said, not quite sharing Marla’s enthusiasm. Atchoo was a cute little story certainly, and Kirsty and her classmates seemed to love it but …

  “There’s more,” Marla said, leaning forward and interrupting her thoughts. “David and I had a meeting this morning,” David was Bubblegum’s MD, “and he wants to take it further, corner the market before the competition jump on the bandwagon.” She nodded sardonically out the window. “Once a trend starts on Park Avenue, it won’t be long before every publisher on the avenue, and America, follows suit. Bubblegum is determined to keep ahead of the game.”

  The game? With all this talk of tactics and blitzing, Robin wondered whether publishing was actually some form of war. She wondered what else was coming.

  “We want you to do some more,” Marla said, “cover some more children’s problems – things like say Diabetes Deer, or Epilepsy Elephant or Asthma Ass. A whole series.” She laughed. “Hey, I dunno – you’re the creative one here, but, Robin, do you know what percentage of American children suffer from one or other of those ailments I just mentioned? Take peanut allergies …”

  Robin opened her mouth to speak but Marla plunged on, explaining that apparently the number of children with severe peanut allergies in the US had grown tenfold in a generation.

  “It’s the most common food allergy, and there’s no cure and no means of prevention,” she told Robin, who had given up trying to get a word in. “I read only yesterday somewhere that two and a half million Americans now are peanut allergic, and something like five percent of all children under age six. Several hundred thousand are at risk for life-threatening reactions – talk about a target market! We’re sitting on a fortune here!”

  Robin was in two minds. Yes, the thought of writing more stories that might help some of those children appealed to her enormously, but she hated the way the publisher made it all sound so predatory.

  Still, she supposed, business was business, and if she didn’t do it, then it wouldn’t be long before they found someone who would. And this was really too exciting an opportunity to turn down.

  It didn’t surprise Robin when later over lunch, Marla informed her that before working in the always-dynamic publishing world, she had worked in the even faster-paced New York fashion industry.

  “Now, about your advance,” Marla began, “I think we’re looking at twenty-five per book and so far we’ve come up with four ideas, so how about a hundred?” She looked at Robin for affirmation.

  A hundred dollars for a couple of evenings’ work? Robin was hardly listening. A story about an epileptic elephant had already began to form in her mind and –

  “And then say six, seven percent on royalties, plus seventy on any foreign rights, plus the initial hundred grand advance and … oh, I don’t know, sweetie I think you’d better get yourself an agent.” The publisher drained her coffee mug with a flourish.

  Robin sat rooted to the chair. Did Marla say … did she really mean … were they seriously offering her a hundred thousand dollars for these simple little stories? This was definitely one of Ben’s elaborate jokes.

  But Marla didn’t look at all like she was joking. She was now looking distractedly at her Rolex, apparently eager to get this meeting over and done with so she could flit off to the next ‘big thing’ in publishing.

  “So whaddya say, Robin?” Marla asked her impatiently. “Are you gonna come on board, or what?”

  30

  If Olivia wasn’t careful, she really was in grave danger of turning into a serial curtain-twitcher. But she just couldn’t help it.

  How could she not look when the house was right across the green and the front door was plainly visible from her desk and her couch? It was only natural that any movement outside the window – be it at Matt’s house or elsewhere – would catch her eye, wasn’t it?

  “Olivia, when did you re-arrange the furniture?” her mother asked, her brow furrowing as she sank into her favourite armchair, which was usually in a nice spot in front of the telly, but was now positioned back to the window – where the sofa used to be.

  “Oh, I saw something similar on Changing Rooms and I just thought it might make the room a lot bigger.”

  “I don’t think so, dear – in fact I think it makes everything a lot more cluttered. Why on earth would you put the sofa facing the window like that? I know there’s only the two of you but …”

  Olivia gritted her teeth. “I suppose you’re right. I just wanted to try something different for a while, t
hat’s all.”

  Just then Ellie stormed through the doorway, Olivia’s mobile phone clutched in her right hand. “A message, Mummy!” she declared excitedly.

  A waste of time, more like, Olivia thought. No doubt it was yet another of those messages that would tell her that she was the lucky winner of a million euro, but in order to claim her prize she would need to phone this number and stay on hold until she was old and grey. They were the only kind of text messages she got.

  She reached for the handset, and her heart raced as she stared the number displayed. There was no mistaking it – Olivia had it almost memorised by now. It was him. Matt had sent her a message.

  “Is something wrong?” her mother enquired.

  “No, nothing wrong,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even. “Just one of those silly ‘you’ve won a big prize’ messages.” She stood up, anxious to read the message in privacy – whatever it might say. “I’m making a cuppa – want one?”

  “But we just finished one – Olivia, what is the matter with you? You really are behaving very strangely.”

  “There’s nothing wrong, Mum – I just fancy another cup, all right?”

  Phone in hand, Olivia almost pranced into the kitchen. Her hands shook as she pressed read and almost as soon as she had, the thought struck her that Matt might once again have mistakenly sent her a message, perhaps another one destined for his business partner.

  But then, her heart leaped as she read the words.

  “Can I come over? Need to ask you something.”

  Olivia read and reread it at least five times. He wanted to come over? Damn, how was she going to get rid of her mother?

  No, think about it, this could very well be a message to his business partner. She sent a tentative message back to him, which seemed to take her all of five minutes to type. “Matt, Olivia here, did you mean to send this to me?”

  Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it? She hadn’t said yes or no, hadn’t referred to the message at all really, and if it turned out that he had indeed sent it by mistake, well then she hadn’t gone and made an eejit of herself by gleefully answering back and coming across like an eager beaver. Now all she had to do was wait.

  It was as though an eternity passed until she got a reply.

  “Yes. Definitely meant to send to you but sorry, can see why you thought that. Can I?” Then the phone beeped again. “Please?”

  Olivia was grinning from ear to ear. She’d replied before she had time to think about it, her fingers dashing across the keys in an unusual display of text-dexterity. “Give me twenty mins – c u soon.”

  “Mum, I’m afraid I have to go out,” she said, coming back into the living-room and trying hard not to betray the fact that she was almost delirious with excitement.

  “Oh?” Eva raised an eyebrow. “Anything serious?”

  “No – it’s just – no – one of the mums from Ellie’s playgroup. Her daughter isn’t well and she’s asked if I’d do some shopping for her.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m in no rush home anyway – why don’t you head over now and I’ll look after Ellie while you’re gone?”

  “No … I mean, the thing is, she really wants Ellie to come visit her too, so I’m taking her with me.”

  “But it’s almost her bedtime! And if this woman’s child is ill, I really don’t think it would be a good idea to expose Ellie to …” Seeing her daughter’s expression, Eva gave up. “All right then, I’ll have to come and see you some other time. It’s a pity really, I was looking forward to a nice evening in together, just the three us. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Immediately, Olivia felt guilty. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be shooing her mother away so that she could make way for some man – a man that wasn’t even a decent prospect. Her mother would be horrified if she thought that the one man Olivia had been able to think about romantically after Peter happened to be married to somebody else.

  “Look, why don’t I call over tomorrow morning?” she said to her mother. “Maybe we can head up to Dublin and do a bit of shopping or something. I’m sure Ellie would enjoy that.”

  “Yes, do that,” her mother said, and with some relief Olivia saw that she was getting up to leave.

  Hopefully, Matt wouldn’t arrive before she left, otherwise Eva would be very suspicious indeed.

  But she needn’t have worried. Matt arrived a good half hour after Eva left, and to Olivia’s utter surprise presented her with a bunch of brightly coloured gerberas.

  “What’s this for?” she said, blushing, while glancing worriedly towards the house across the way. What was he doing bringing her flowers like this? Wasn’t he being a bit obvious? Then her heart sank. Obviously, Matt had no intention of taking Olivia in his arms and asking her to consider a raging affair, not when he was so casually arriving on her doorstep with a big bunch of flowers in full view of the entire green.

  “You’d better let me in or people will start talking,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. If Olivia didn’t know better, she could have sworn he had read her thoughts just then.

  “Oh, of course.” She stood back to let him into the hall and, as she did, the unmistakeable scent of Paco Rabanne XS aftershave assaulted her nostrils. In that instant, thousands of memories raced through her brain – it was the same brand Peter used to wear.

  “So, where’s Ellie?” he asked, looking around her living-room with interest. “Hey, nice room, although Catherine seems to think the sofa looks better against the window. I quite like it like this though.”

  “Ellie’s in bed. So, would you like a drink or a cup of coffee or …?” she asked him, feeling annoyed all of a sudden. If he wasn’t here to persuade her into having an affair with him – and seeing how enticing he looked just then in a pair of dark Levis and a tightly fitting khaki T-shirt, he wouldn’t have to do too much persuading – what the hell was he here for?

  “A beer would be great, if you have one,” he answered, and to Olivia’s amazement he jauntily followed her into the kitchen. She rummaged in the back of the fridge.

  “I don’t drink beer myself but there should be something here left over from our last barbecue. My friend Josh drinks Carlsberg so …” She trailed off, sensing Matt’s presence directly behind her and hoping that the cool of the fridge would help soothe her flushed cheeks. What was he doing here?

  “Ah, there’s still a few here,” she said, locating some cans of beer. She closed the fridge door behind her and, without looking at him, offered him a beer.

  “So, what is it that you wanted to ask?” she said, leaning against the kitchen worktop and trying to keep her voice light.

  “Olivia, I think you and I both know there’s something going on here,” Matt blurted out.

  “I’m sorry?” was all she could say, but her insides leapt. She knew it. It wasn’t her imagination after all – he did have feelings for her too.

  Now he was moving towards her. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I’ve never met a woman like you.”

  Olivia gulped, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  “I haven’t been able to look, to even think about another woman in the last few years, but with you – with you it’s different.”

  Oh no, Olivia said silently. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin it with clichés about how your wife doesn’t understand you, and how you think you married too young and all the rest of it. The feelings she was having for Matt – although clearly wrong – were still very real and she did not want to feel as though she was in an episode of some pathetic soap opera. Had Leah been right about him after all? Was Matt just another faithless married man, eager to hop in the sack with any poor eejit who happened to be taken in by his charms?

  “I don’t know, it was weird, but after that first time, after that stupid text message thing, I just – I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He shook his head. “I know that sounds pathetic, but it’s true. And then when I realised you lived in Lakeview I – ”
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  “You thought, great – nice and handy to be able to just pop over for a bit of nookie when the wife’s away? After all, if she’s at it – why not you?” The words were out before Olivia could stop herself, and she barely noticed him shrink backwards, his expression shocked. For some reason, the way Matt – a married man – had expressed his interest so casually really annoyed her.

  Despite the fact that she was interested in him too, she was disappointed. Somehow she’d thought more of him – expected more of him. And then, she knew she had no intention of having a seedy affair with this man. Whatever about Matt’s own circumstances, or the problems he might be having in his marriage, she just wasn’t going to do it; she wasn’t going to be part of it. The love she and Peter had was much too important to be cheapened now by a seedy affair with a married man Yes, she was attracted to Matt Sheridan, unbelievably so, but this wasn’t right.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, his face white. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never said anything about having an affair … while ... while my wife’s away …”

  “What?” For a second, Olivia panicked. She hadn’t misread the situation, had she? But what did he mean when he said –

  “Olivia, my wife is dead,” he stated flatly.

  She stared at him, shocked.

  “What are you talking about?” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Didn’t I see her before, calling you from across the green, about a phone call?”

  Matt shook his head, and then he smiled slightly. “I suppose it could have looked that way but … Olivia …” He sat forward now, obviously understanding her earlier reaction. “Catherine is not my wife; she’s Adam’s caregiver, my wife’s best friend. Natasha died two years ago in a car accident.”

  “What?” Now Olivia didn’t know what to think. “You live with your childminder?”

  Matt was smiling broadly now. “No, no, I don’t live there at all. Adam and I have a place in Greystones. We spend a lot of time here – well, because there isn’t much space in an apartment for a child of his age to run around. I’ve been looking for a house, but work is so busy and …”