The Life She Wants

by J. M. Hewitt

  The husband would want her to, Anna knew that much just from the way the women had been talking about him. And she would try something on, a dress like this, and his eyes would be filled with disappointment. He would suggest something else, maybe a trouser suit, or a maxi dress that hid a multitude of sins.

  On a whim, she pulled out her phone, tapped into the Facebook app, and searched for the name she had overhead earlier that day. It was a relatively common name, and she stabbed at the screen, going into the accounts one by one, checking the relationship status to look at the profiles of the wives, seeking the woman she had seen. The right Tommy Ellis came up at last, and his profile picture confirmed everything Anna had thought about him: tall, tanned, and he clearly took care of himself, even if his wife didn’t. He had the money to, she thought bitterly.

  Scrolling through his photos, it was obvious what sort of world he and his wife lived in. A universe in which it rained money. The house, the five-bedroom one that she had mentioned to her friend; the car, a BMW – of course it would be – flashy and with a personalised number plate. Older pictures of him in rugby kit. And yes, that made sense: people like him always veered towards rugby rather than football. She made a bet with herself that he played squash weekly, and spat a laugh when she came across a post tagged in a squash court in Essex. He was a walking cliché, just like his wife.

  But just for a moment she let the screen fade to black, imagined herself living a life with a man who was handsome and successful, rather than her actual life, taking money from William here and there, living in a terraced house with the old man, doing all the chores that came with looking after a pensioner.

  She clicked the phone again, scrolled some more. There were holidays galore. Sunshine, beaches, cocktails. Him always in a crisp white shirt, rarely topless in any of the pictures, actually. She peered more closely, saw he had the potential to be a big man and wondered how hard he worked at keeping his body just this side of good. She grinned spitefully, knowing that when the kids the wife wanted so much came along, both of their frames would go from respectable to a state of let go. Briefly she wondered if that was what had happened to ‘Jules’, the wife’s fat friend.

  Intrigued, she hovered over a photo of him with his arms around his wife, then clicked on her profile.

  Paula was her name. Her page was public, as was Tommy’s. Which it would be; if you had this much money and property and fancy living, you’d want the whole world to know about it.

  She wrinkled her nose and scrolled down the page. She blinked at Paula’s latest post: the raw steaks laid out on a wooden chopping board, fresh chives, mushrooms tumbled beside them.

  Anna’s lip curled. She imagined taking a photo of William’s uncooked pie and frozen chips.

  ‘Gemma, what’re you doing up there?’ William’s voice drifted up the stairs.

  For a split second, as always, the name threw her, before she realised he was talking to her.

  It had been an easy mistake, when they first met and she had introduced herself as Anna. He didn’t have his hearing aids in, thought she had said her name was Gemma. She had gone to correct him before biting back her words. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him her real name, but as time went on, and more and more of William’s money came her way, she decided that the misunderstanding might not be a bad thing. It was the same reason she always wore a hat outside: beret in winter, cap or sunhat in summer. The less anyone knew about her to be able to identify her, the better.

  After all, she didn’t plan on staying with William forever.

  ‘Coming!’ she called.

  Clicking away from Facebook, she looked at herself in the mirror one last time before skipping down the stairs to show William what he had bought for her today.

  Chapter 3

  Paula stared at the steaks on the chopping board. Blood leaked around the grooves, settling into the wood. Grabbing a piece of kitchen towel, she wiped it up, only for more brown liquid to appear a moment later.

  She took a deep breath, disposed of the paper towel and checked her phone again.

  It was almost seven o’clock, and there was no Tommy, and no dinner. She hated delays, despised radio silence. As the minutes ticked past, her worry grew. Scenarios were vivid in her head: the train off the rails, a slip from the platform. They ballooned in their intensity, becoming visions of terrorist bombs and personal attacks.

  When her worry threatened to overwhelm her, she snatched up the phone and dialled his number. Just as it began to ring, she heard his key in the lock. Hanging up, she moved into the hallway.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked. ‘The steaks have been sitting out forever, and you said you’d ring when you were getting on the train.’

  Tommy paused, briefcase satchel halfway off. He glanced at the front door and she wondered if he were considering bolting.

  ‘Jeez, Paula, can’t you wait until I actually get in the house before having a go at me?’ He smiled as he spoke, but his words cut.

  She bit her lip as she walked towards him, wondering how her blind panic over his well-being had emerged as nagging. She hadn’t meant her words to be anything other than a normal question. She reached out and stroked his arm, instantly contrite. ‘Sorry, baby, but I asked you to ring me so I could get timings right on the dinner.’

  Propping his bag against the stair post, he straightened up and scratched his head. ‘When?’

  ‘When what?’ Swiftly, she picked up the case and hung it on the hook inside the cupboard under the stairs.

  ‘When did you ask me to let you know what time I’d be home?’ he asked. Reaching past her, he retrieved his bag. ‘I need this, got some work to be getting on with.’

  ‘I asked you when I texted you.’ She slipped her hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone and showed him the screen. ‘Look, an unread message, from me.’

  He grabbed the phone back. ‘Bloody hell, Paula! My life is a world of shit all day long at work; is it too much to ask to have a few minutes’ peace when I get in before you start attacking me?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Sorry, sweetie. You go and sit down, I’ll put the steaks on.’

  With a nod, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘That sounds like a plan,’ he said, and strode into the lounge.

  Deflated somewhat, Paula returned to the kitchen and began to prepare the steaks. She thought of her friend from the gym, Alexa, whose husband loved nothing more than cooking for her, and who seemed to text and ring her all the time. She wondered what that might be like, tried to visualise it.

  But what did it really matter? Tommy worked all day; Paula stayed at home. The least she could do for him was serve up a decent meal at the end of his more-often-than-not twelve-hour shifts. Plus, their marriage was absolutely fine. So, he didn’t cook. Sometimes, when he missed his connecting train, he would wander around Liverpool Street station and come home – albeit late – bearing flowers, or a piece of jewellery, or a slice of cake from that expensive place just outside the upper level. Her worry at his lateness would fade, replaced by a rush of love at his kindness.

  She shot a look towards the lounge as she heard the television come on.

  She uncorked a bottle of red and poured two glasses. She threw hers back before carefully carrying the other one through and presenting it to him.

  * * *

  Later, steaks eaten and wine drunk, Paula looked at Tommy. He had the recliner all the way back, his leg slung over the arm. His tie was loose and his face relaxed for the first time since he had come home.

  She chewed on the skin around her thumbnail. It shouldn’t be this difficult to start an important conversation with him. He was chilled out right now, with a full stomach, and he’d been warmed by the wine. It should have been easy to slide into the talk she wanted to have with him.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, catching her staring.

  She didn’t reply straight away; instead, she regarded him critically, noticing how tired he looked. A tho
ught came into her mind for the first time: that if they went ahead and had a baby, she would be raising it pretty much alone. Oh, sure, Tommy would be there, he would be present, in body but not in spirit. He wouldn’t have the time to bathe it or change its nappies or even look after it if she wanted to go out with Julie.

  She looked on the bright side: the child would be all hers. It would love her more than anything else in the world. She smiled to herself.

  ‘Hun?’ he prompted her.

  She took a deep breath and dived in. ‘I think we need to talk about us,’ she said. ‘And whether we are actually going to extend “us” into a family.’

  He turned his head back towards the television, but she caught the eye roll. A sour ball of hurt replaced the feeling of hope from just a moment ago.

  ‘Tommy?’ she said, tentatively.

  He sighed. ‘Do we have to do this tonight?’

  ‘No…’ she said softly. Swallowing, she raised her chin and dared to ask, ‘But when can we talk about it?’

  ‘I’m just not sure it’s the right time,’ he replied mildly. ‘For a baby, I mean, not to have this conversation.’

  And in spite of all her hope, she had known it, that this was exactly the way this conversation would go. She would ask, he would say no, and in less than a minute the baby dream would be shattered until she found the nerve to bring the subject up again.

  The ball of hurt in her belly turned to disappointment, raw and stinging inside her.

  Try again, she told herself. She took a deep breath. ‘Julie said the time is never completely right,’ she said softly. ‘And if we keep putting it off, the decision will be out of our hands. I’ll be too old.’

  He looked at her now. ‘You’ve been speaking to Julie about this? Christ, Paula, why do you have to gossip with her about me? Why can’t you just talk to me?’

  She drew in a breath at his sharp words. The inhalation had the unmistakable shaky quality of a sob. ‘I try, but you won’t discuss it.’

  He held his hands up, a gesture of surrender. ‘Listen, it’s just work, it’s full-on, you know that.’ He lowered his hands and reached cautiously into his briefcase. ‘You know I appreciate everything you do, and I think you’d be a wonderful mother.’

  The feelings of hurt dissipated. Gratified, she leaned forward. ‘Do you really believe that?’

  He didn’t answer; instead, he handed her an envelope, crisp and white, gold letters embossed on the front spelling out her name.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘Open it.’ He reached out an arm, put his hand on hers. ‘I agree we should talk about this baby stuff, we should plan it. And this,’ he tapped the envelope, ‘is a perfect time and place for that conversation.’

  Unable to wait any longer, mollified by the unexpected gift, she carefully opened the envelope.

  Tickets.

  She put them in her lap, read them carefully, then raised her face to look at him.

  ‘Tommy! A cruise?’

  ‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘On the maiden voyage of the Ruby Spirit, setting sail from Southampton and heading for Iceland.’

  Paula gasped and clutched the tickets to her chest.

  ‘To see the Northern Lights,’ he added.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she squealed.

  ‘And,’ he said, drawing out his words for maximum effect, ‘we leave in a week.’

  ‘Good day, intrepid adventurers, and welcome to the maiden voyage of the Ruby Spirit. This is your captain speaking! We will be cruising off at a rate of fifteen knots as we wave goodbye to Southampton and travel down the Solent before we ease into the North Sea, where we will sail up past Ouddorp and Åndalsnes before turning in a north-westerly direction towards Iceland.

  ‘I’m pleased to tell you that a veritable smorgasbord of charming astronomical sights is anticipated in November’s cold, crisp night sky. We will be praying to Poseidon for clear skies in which we will be blessed to capture such prominent constellations as Pegasus, Andromeda and Cassiopeia.

  ‘Something that should be seen at least once on your cruise this week is the Leonid meteor shower, which will occur from the second week of November right through to the end of the month. This celestial shower is renowned for its fast-moving meteors, which appear to hang in the sky for several seconds. The shower is due to peak on the seventeenth, when around twenty meteors per hour are expected. And as always, don’t forget that the spectacular Northern Lights can appear at any time, so keep watching!’

  Chapter 4

  Later, as Paula sat on the edge of the bed and applied her moisturiser, she couldn’t help but smile as she looked at the tickets, propped up on the mantelpiece in their bedroom. What a turn of events!

  She cast her mind back to the baby conversation that had turned into a surprise holiday. He had agreed to a baby. Not in so many words, but he’d said that she’d be a wonderful mother. And that we should plan it. She would expect nothing else from Tommy; he was a planner. Every major event of his life was meticulously thought through, all the way from his proposal to her (down on one knee on the white sands of their private beach in Jamaica) to the latest BMW (weeks of research into that one) and where to live and what sort of house to buy. Even selecting a bottle of Christmas whisky for his boss (back when he had one, before he became the boss) had involved a trip to the most expensive private clubs in London.

  Needing to share, Paula grabbed her mobile and rattled off a text to Julie, before she remembered their argument. She deleted it slowly, and the excitement wavered.

  We’ll be fine, we’ve had rows before, but I’m not apologising first.

  Instead, she flicked onto Facebook, smiled at how many likes her steak post had got. And so it should, with the filters and the placement. She should have put it on Instagram, tagging all those food critics and top chefs. The new additions on the mantelpiece caught her eye, and with a smile stretching across her face, she took a photo of the tickets and posted the picture on her timeline with the words Unexpected present from Tommy! She added a heart emoji, then, satisfied, sent it out to be admired by her many friends.

  Her phone lit up, compliments already pouring in. Tommy is the best! gushed one friend. You’re SO LUCKY, said another, and a third, He’s a keeper!

  Finally satisfied, she put the phone down, screwed the lid back on the moisturiser and climbed into bed next to the already snoring Tommy.

  ‘Love you, babe,’ she whispered, planting a kiss on his bare shoulder.

  Then she reached over and turned out the light.

  * * *

  Anna opened the oven door to check on William’s pie. It was nearly done, and she turned up the grill to allow the chips to catch up.

  She rearranged her apron, making sure it covered the new dress. It wouldn’t do to get any food stains on it. She’d wanted to change back into her jeans once she’d modelled it for William, but he insisted she keep it on.

  ‘Your figure looks very lovely in it,’ he’d said softly.

  Anna was quietly furious. She knew she looked good in it, but it wasn’t for William’s admiring gaze. She had relented, though; he had bought it after all. She needed to keep him sweet.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she called. ‘Do you want it on your lap or at the table?’

  ‘Table,’ he replied, walking slowly into the room. ‘And you can sit with me.’

  She did as she was told, feeling his eyes on her as she dished up.

  Once he had his meal in front of him, Anna took a seat opposite. She never ate with William; in fact, she rarely ate at all. Instead, she sipped at a cold, crisp white wine while William added several teaspoons of sugar to his tea.

  ‘You never said where you went today,’ she remarked, glancing at his shirt and tie.

  William nodded – grimly, she thought. ‘I was reading the newspaper this morning after you went out.’ He chewed slowly, swallowing before continuing. ‘Another bank collapsed.’

  ‘Really?’ She frowned, sure she would have read
or heard about something as major as that. ‘Which bank?’

  He gestured with his fork towards the counter, where a newspaper sat. A piece of meat flew off the fork, narrowly missing her dress and landing on her arm. Trying to disguise her distaste, she flicked it away, before reaching for the newspaper.

  It was the Telegraph, and it was from 2008. The news story he had read was over a decade old. She said nothing and put the paper back.

  ‘So, I went to the bank; both of my banks, actually,’ he said. ‘I told them I had worked too hard all my life to lose my money, and I withdrew it.’

  Anna put her glass down. ‘What do you mean, you withdrew it?’

  He shoved another forkful of pie into his mouth, chewing infuriatingly slowly before planting his hands on the table and pushing himself upright. ‘Come with me.’

  Anna followed him down the hall and up the stairs, her hands outstretched in case he stumbled like he had before. Nearing the top, he wobbled. At the last minute, his hand shot out and gripped the banister. Finally, he led her into his bedroom.

  ‘There,’ he said, pointing at a black sports bag that she’d never seen before. ‘I figured my money is safer here, where I can keep an eye on it.’

  Anna eyed the bag. ‘William, how much is in there?’

  He pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket and squinted at it. ‘Eighteen thousand pounds,’ he said. Carefully, he folded the paper and put it back, then patted his pocket.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she whispered. Suddenly her heart was thudding in her chest.

  How did he even get it here? She was sure eighteen grand must weigh more than his frail frame could carry.

  ‘Was it heavy?’ she asked.

  ‘The taxi driver helped me,’ William replied. ‘Nice chap.’

  ‘Did you tell him what was in the bag?’ She felt cold suddenly.