My Husband's Lie: A page turning and emotional family drama

by Emma Davies

  I cover my mouth with a hand, embarrassed at the look of horror that has undoubtedly crossed my face. ‘Sorry… it’s just that you don’t look like… I mean…’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replies Rob. ‘And I shall take it as a compliment. I’m not sure what the look is for a stereotypical curate, but I suspect it’s not good.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘But, whatever your views on the church, I can guarantee that, unless it’s a subject you wish to talk about, it will remain off the list of conversational topics. Neither will you be coerced to come to the Sunday service.’ He grins at us. ‘So, now we’ve got that one out of the way. What is it that you both do?’

  Drew is first to answer. ‘I’m an architect,’ he says. ‘And have just given up my safe and comfortable job in London to start up my own business, moving halfway across the country first – just to add a little extra frisson of terror into the mix.’

  ‘Which is obviously going to go extraordinarily well,’ I add, poking Drew in the arm. I catch Anna’s eye and smile.

  ‘What sort of work are you hoping to do?’ asks Rob. ‘Because if it’s small-scale stuff, you could do worse than have a chat to Derek actually. He knows absolutely everyone and is as straight as they come. I’m sure he’d be happy to spread the word for you.’

  ‘Well, the plan is to concentrate on designing and selling modular homes. I’ve been working with several overseas charities the last couple of years supporting low-cost housing initiatives, but now it’s time to take my ideas even further. It’s a pretty radical concept as far as building construction goes and could revolutionise the industry if I get it right. No one else is really working in this area either so it has the potential to be the tip of what I hope turns out to be a very large iceberg. Still, thanks for the tip-off. At the end of the day I need money coming in, and, if it’s wall-to-wall extensions and barn conversions that pay the bills, so be it.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ says Anna. ‘That sounds fascinating.’

  ‘I might come and pick your brains actually,’ adds Rob. ‘When you’re a bit more settled. There are a few projects I’ve become involved in where that could be of interest.’

  Drew nods. He’s had no end of conversations with people who say similar things and nothing comes of it. But who knows, something has to stick some time.

  Anna busies herself with an enormous Victoria sponge and waves a cake knife at it. ‘First rule of village life,’ she says. ‘If you don’t already know, learn how to make one of these.’

  I laugh. ‘I shall remember that,’ I reply. ‘Although I confess my baking skills are a bit rusty. Not an excuse, but I never seem to find the time.’

  Anna expertly deposits a slice of cake onto a plate and passes it to me. ‘So apart from looking after two lively children, a husband and a huge house, what is it that you do, Thea?’

  We are so going to get on. ‘I’m an illustrator,’ I say. ‘Children’s books mostly.’

  ‘I’d love the chance to be creative like that,’ says Anna. ‘But I work part-time as a piano teacher, mainly for the council’s local music service. It’s really not as much fun as it sounds and, incongruously, not creative at all. But it’s not all bad. It’s a term-time-only job so I’m on holiday now!’ And a heartfelt sigh floats across the table. ‘Would your girls like some cake too? And a glass of squash, or milk? Water if you prefer.’

  I smile back happily. ‘The girls would love some cake, Anna, thank you. But only a small slice; Chloe’s very excited and can be quite spectacularly sick if she has too much sweet stuff.’

  I help her carry the things outside to where the children are playing happily inside a large two-storey playhouse. It connects to a turreted fort-style climbing frame that sits alongside it by means of a curvy crawl tube from the upper story of the house. A slide and two swings complete the ensemble.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s brilliant!’ I exclaim, without thinking. Our small garden back in London simply wasn’t large enough for anything like this and another set of possibilities opens out in front of me.

  Anna smiles. ‘It might seem a bit much for an only child, but it’s good for Tilly, you know…’ She comes to a halt, the slight reticence from earlier returning.

  I’m not quite sure what to say, but Anna and Rob’s welcome couldn’t have been more perfect and I’m hoping they’re going to be our neighbours for a long time to come. I decide to bite the bullet. Anna doesn’t strike me as the sort to mind, and it’s probably a discussion we should have sooner rather than later, otherwise I fear it might never happen at all.

  ‘I can imagine,’ I reply. ‘Was Tilly born with just one arm?’

  Anna is watching the girls’ antics and she turns to me, a grateful smile on her face. ‘She was. It’s a hereditary defect.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘That’s what I meant when I said earlier that Tilly wasn’t planned. We weren’t going to have any children, you see, but then I fell pregnant and…’

  I nod and smile. ‘She’s beautiful,’ I say. And there’s no need to say any more.

  Fergus is first to notice the arrival of the cake and gives a slight woof which brings Tilly running, Chloe and Lauren following close behind. My girls are rosy-cheeked and slightly out of puff, but look so happy my heart swells.

  Lauren approaches shyly to take a drink from the tray that Anna is holding. It’s blackcurrant squash and she prefers orange, but she takes it without question, saying a polite ‘Thank you.’ The drink disappears in seconds and she replaces the glass and comes to me to claim her cake.

  ‘You look like you’re having huge fun,’ I comment.

  Lauren just beams and nods her head. ‘We’ve been climbing,’ she says. ‘And running, a lot.’ She drops her head a little, looking up at me. ‘Mummy, Tilly only has one arm.’

  ‘Yes, I know, sweetheart.’

  ‘But she’s ever so good at climbing.’

  I nod. ‘Has she been teaching you?’

  Lauren takes a bite of her cake, nodding. ‘A little bit. I got my leg stuck going backwards in the tube but Tilly came and helped me. And I’ve been telling her about Scampers too. Can she come and help me with him?’

  ‘As long as it’s all right with her mummy, yes, of course she can.’

  Lauren weighs up my response. ‘I think it’s going to be much better for Tilly with us living next door,’ she says. ‘Because I don’t think she needs any help but, just in case she does, then Chloe and me will be here, won’t we?’

  I feel a surge of pride at her words. ‘Yes, you will,’ I say. And I’m suddenly reminded of the photo I held only a week or so ago, of my younger self playing in this garden, muddy, and happy, just like a child should be. I’m so happy we’re all here.

  Four

  Derek drinks an awful lot of tea. In all other respects he is the perfect builder: methodical, efficient, hardworking and clearly skilled in his work. But he is also a serial downer of mug after mug of weak-as-dishwater tea, and I’m getting through milk like there’s no tomorrow. Which is where the village shop comes in so handy.

  It’s doubled in size since I was a child, by way of a small extension at the back, and this extra space means the shop now sells a range of local gourmet produce alongside the usual array of necessities. As Derek is particularly partial to cake, I’m now lingering over these exorbitantly priced items far longer than I should be. Anna’s right, I really do need to find the time to make my own. My eyes drift to a shelf of baking materials – perhaps I should start as I mean to go on – but almost immediately I discount the idea. I’ve got far too much to do.

  It’s as I’m standing, deep in thought, that the weirdest feeling comes over me. As if time has somehow wound itself back to the years of my childhood. The impression is so sharp that if I were to reach out my hand, I swear I’d feel my mother’s solid presence beside me. And I’d touch her arm, for reassurance, just like I used to. I look up, startled and confused by what could be making me feel this way. And the instant that I do so, I realise that ev
ery sound in the shop has fallen away; the hum from the chest freezer that stores ice creams, the sound of voices from over by the till, the shuffling footsteps, all gone. It’s their absence I’m feeling now, and it feels disconcertingly like an echo of my past.

  But the next second everything restarts, picking up where it left off. As I snatch a cake from the shelf, heedless of its flavour or cost, and scoop up milk and an extra packet of biscuits, my movement further breaks the mood and I make my way quickly to the till.

  ‘Morning!’ The greeting from the woman behind the counter is bright, the face in front of me smiling. Another, to its left, wears a slightly more cautious welcome. Both women are about my age.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ asks the first. ‘Settling in okay?’

  And then I realise. These women know far more about me than I do about them. I push down my vague sense of panic and brighten my own expression.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply, laying my purchases down on the counter. ‘Never seem to have enough milk, but otherwise, yes it’s all been lovely. Still not found a home for everything of course, but we’re getting there.’

  The smiles continue. ‘Well, welcome to the village. I’m Jackie and this is Stacey.’

  I nod, noticing that Stacey is empty-handed and doesn’t appear to be buying anything. ‘Thanks, I’m Thea.’

  There’s acknowledgement but I’m not telling them anything they don’t already know.

  ‘Yeah, Anna said you’ve moved in next door to them.’

  ‘Yes, although funnily enough—’

  ‘Is it right you used to live there before?’ asks Stacey. ‘Only…’ Her mouth closes abruptly as if she’s changed her mind about what to say.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, when I was a child. It’s so lovely to be back.’ I look from one woman to the other, searching their faces for any features I recognise. ‘Were either of you…?’

  ‘I’ve lived here my whole life,’ replies Stacey, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t recognise you though…’

  I smile, far more brightly than I’m feeling. ‘I got old, I expect. Sorry, I don’t remember you either…’ The woman has bleached blonde hair, it’s almost impossible to tell what colour it would have been originally.

  ‘No, well you can’t remember everyone, can you?’ And she clearly isn’t going to tell me any more.

  I fish for my purse. ‘I’d better get back,’ I say. ‘I’ve got a builder doing a few alterations for us and it’s at least ten minutes since he had his last cup of tea, he’ll be desperate for another.’

  I roll my eyes, but I’m met with what my mother would call surface-only smiles and Anna’s comment about what it takes to be considered local flashes through my mind. I’ve clearly got a way to go yet.

  Jackie rings my items through the till and two minutes later I’m back out into air that feels wonderfully fresh after the claustrophobic atmosphere of the shop. I stand for a moment, staring down the road I must have walked hundreds of times in my life. But it seems different somehow, as if my perception filters have been reset. I had the oddest feeling of déjà vu just now but, as I look at the straggly line of houses, the trees, the church and school in front of me, I realise that I’m suddenly looking at them with my own eyes, and not those of my younger self, the one wearing the rose-tinted glasses. However, the view in front of me is still pretty, it’s still a glorious summer day. Maybe I’m just finally beginning to understand that I’m here in my own right, a thirty-four-year-old wife and mother, not a primary-school child. I give an involuntary shiver and start walking. It’s different now, that’s all; which is a good thing, I remind myself.

  I’ve just passed the school when the door of a cottage to my right opens and I ready a smile to greet whoever emerges.

  ‘Thea, hi!’ Anna gives a little wave from the threshold, motioning that I should wait for her, before turning back to the person behind her in the doorway. ‘Thanks, Mary, Rob will be so happy to hear that you’re going to do the flowers for us again this year.’ She takes a step forward into the front garden and is followed out by a much older woman. She’s very tall and thin and, even with the barest of glances, there’s something about her that I recognise. I’m still trying to figure out what when her voice booms out from behind Anna.

  ‘Thea Bradley, well how about that.’

  If her use of my maiden name didn’t clue me in on her identity then the way my body stands to attention certainly does. I’ve heard her say my name in that manner far too many times for comfort.

  Anna does a double take as the woman moves past her, arms outstretched to greet me.

  ‘Mrs Williams?’

  Her laugh is loud and rich with warmth. ‘Mary,’ she tuts. ‘I haven’t been Mrs Williams for a very long time, not to you anyway. Come here and give me a hug.’

  I meet her halfway up the path, where she crushes me against her with surprising strength, and total disregard for the shopping I’m carrying.

  ‘I’d heard you were back at Pevensey,’ she says, scrutinising me. ‘And Drew, too. You always were inseparable.’

  Behind us, Anna laughs. ‘Of course! Mary must have been head teacher when you were at school here.’

  I disentangle myself. ‘She was. And, as you can see, I still jump a foot in the air when she says my name like that. However did you know we’d moved?’ I ask.

  ‘From your mother of course…’ Mary replies. ‘Who, I believe, is still waiting for a phone call.’ Her raised eyebrows speak volumes.

  I stare at her, astonished. ‘I will ring her, I promise. It’s just that what with one thing and another it’s been incredibly busy.’

  I’m trying to avoid Mary’s stare, but it’s impossible. She might be an elderly woman now, but she still has mastery of the steely gaze that was so effective in my youth. ‘Which I’m sure she appreciates. But you know, Thea, nothing will ever get better if you keep skirting around the issue…’ Her face softens. ‘But I was so incredibly sorry to hear about your father’s death. It must have come as a horrible shock for you.’

  I manage a nod, just.

  Mary clears her throat as if she, like me, has just become aware of Anna’s presence. ‘So your lovely neighbour and I have just been talking about the flowers for the Harvest Festival service,’ she says. ‘Which I shall have the honour of attending to again this year, even if I can’t make the service itself.’ She beams proudly. ‘I shall be in Devon for my granddaughter’s christening, but I shall make sure the church looks beautiful before I go.’

  Anna smiles. ‘And now all I need to do is find a few more volunteers to help with the supper.’

  ‘My God, is that still going?’ I reply. ‘It used to be such fun. Every year, without fail…’

  Mary Williams beams. ‘I’m happy to say it is. And in no doubt partly down to your father of course.’ She turns to Anna. ‘You might not be aware of this, dear, but it was Thea’s dad who rescued our village hall from demolition, and saved the allotments behind it too. I dread to think what would have happened to the village if the developers had their way, but they didn’t and, thanks to his efforts, the village not only raised the funds for the hall’s repair but put into place a proper committee to look after it, which they’ve been doing ever since. The Harvest Festival Supper is still one of our biggest fundraisers.’

  ‘Do you know, I’d practically forgotten that,’ I reply. ‘Probably didn’t take much notice, I expect, too busy being a child.’

  ‘Well now that you’re back with us, perhaps you could follow in the family tradition and lend a hand?’

  I look helplessly at Anna, wondering what exactly I’ll be letting myself in for. ‘We need a few more volunteers to help run things this year,’ she explains. ‘And you’d be brilliant, because you already know how things work.’

  I pull a face. ‘Hardly. I was all of ten years old the last time I went, but…’ Mary has that look on her face. The one she always used when I argued that Drew and I weren’t talking in class. ‘I’m sure I could
do something. Just as long as it’s not baking cakes; it’s not exactly my forte.’

  ‘Done,’ says Anna happily. ‘I’ll sign you up.’ She looks back at Mary, grinning. ‘Well, that wasn’t so hard. Let’s hope I can get a few more people on board just as easily. I’ll be in touch anyway.’ She moves away from me, back down the path.

  Mary smiles. ‘It’s good to have you back, Thea. Your mum and dad did a huge amount for this village in all sorts of ways. I know you wouldn’t have been aware of much of it, but they were well thought of, and there are lots of us here who still think that way. Always remember that. Now, I’ll let you get on but, once you’re a bit more settled, perhaps you could call in for a cup of tea? I’m here any time you feel like a natter about the old days.’

  ‘I will, thank you. And it’s so lovely to see you again. I didn’t even realise you were still living in the village.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ She’s watching me again. ‘Perhaps you’ve just forgotten.’ And then her face brightens. ‘No matter, you know now. Give my best wishes to Drew, won’t you?’

  I nod, trying to grasp the faint flicker of a memory that fires inside me. ‘Of course… well, bye for now.’

  Anna has already reached the road and I join her, turning at the last moment to say a final farewell, but Mary is already facing away from me, her back bent to a rose beside the door. As I watch, she snaps off a dying bloom, folding it inside her hand as she retreats back inside.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ asks Anna, as I turn back towards her.

  ‘I think so, why?’

  ‘Nothing really, you just looked a bit worried when I first saw you.’

  ‘Did I?’ It takes me a minute to think back. Seeing Mary has stirred up a whole host of memories and their faltering pictures in my head are distracting. ‘I think it might be because I’ve just come from the shop and had one of those moments where conversation stops dead around you. At least I think that’s what it was; I might be just imagining things.’