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

by Emma Davies

  I look around, wondering if there’s someone else I can make small talk with; I don’t want to seem as if I’m hanging on the end of a conversation that clearly has nothing to do with me, but neither do I want to stand immobile knowing that Stacey’s gaze is still trained on me. Gratefully, I see someone moving purposefully towards me, head down and holding tight to the hand of the toddler beside her. It takes a moment to recognise her, but I remember her as the other woman from the shop just in time.

  ‘Hi, Jackie.’ She’s wearing jogging bottoms and a tee shirt stretched tight across her chest. She is also fully and immaculately made-up, even down to the thick mascara-covered eyelashes that blink up at me. How she’s managed to get that lot on and get ready for school is beyond me. I barely had time to brush my hair this morning.

  ‘Does your daughter want to come back to ours after school? She can stop for tea if she likes. I’m Jasmin’s mum.’ I look to where she’s pointing – at the two girls who are now chatting away to Chloe some distance from us. ‘The one with the French plaits,’ she adds.

  The invitation is so out of the blue it surprises me. I’m trying to work out what Chloe’s body language is saying as she talks to two girls she’s only just met, but she seems happy enough. Before I can answer, however, Jackie raises her arm.

  ‘Jaz!’ she shouts across the playground, beckoning her daughter over once she has her attention. All three girls move as one. ‘Would you like to have your new friend back after school?’ She smiles at the second child. ‘You can come as well, Beth, if you like, if your mum will let you.’

  I’m stuck. I have no idea whether Chloe would like this or not, and I really don’t want to answer for her. But either way, she seems to be caught in the middle of something that could easily be a little awkward. I remind myself that both Chloe and Lauren ran off quite happily to play with Tilly on the day we met her, but somehow this seems different. Jackie is looking directly at Chloe and waiting for her answer, and I see the hesitancy in my daughter’s eyes as she flicks a glance at me. But then she smiles.

  ‘Can I, Mum?’ she asks. Her eyes look a little over-bright.

  ‘Yes of course,’ I reply, thinking. ‘Although maybe not for tea, Chloe, not tonight. I’m sure you’re going to have a brilliant day, but you’ll probably be quite tired too.’ I’m not sure why but I’m keen to give Chloe an out. ‘Why don’t you see how you feel? I’ll be coming up later anyway to pick Lauren up so you can decide then if you want.’ I turn to Jackie. ‘Would that be okay?’

  ‘Course.’ She looks at her watch. ‘Right, I need to get this one off to playgroup. Come on, Shannon. I’ll see you later.’

  Shannon doesn’t look like she wants to go anywhere much but, after dragging her feet a couple of steps, the toddler is soon persuaded to pick up the pace a bit.

  I smile reassuringly at Chloe. ‘Have a lovely day, sweetheart,’ I say, but she is already being ferried away, all three girls giggling at something. I look around for Lauren, spotting her and Tilly sitting on a bench at the back of the yard. They look like two old women who have been there for hours, chewing the fat about anything and everything. With Anna still chatting and me happy that both children are not about to have a wobble, I realise there’s nothing else for it but to go home.

  I’ve only taken a couple of steps, however, when Anna comes back over. ‘Everything okay with Jackie?’ she asks. When I nod, she continues. ‘That’s good. It can be a bit daunting, can’t it? Until you know who’s who and what’s what.’

  And as the curate’s wife, Anna knows everyone. I’m about to ask her a question when I stop myself. Probably best to go with the flow, for now at least. ‘I’m just relieved that there are no tears. Both girls went from Nursery straight into Reception at their old school, so this is the first new school they’ve been to. They seem all right though.’

  ‘Water off a duck’s back,’ says Anna, smiling. ‘They’re lovely girls, and I’m sure they’ll fit in just fine. Every school has its characters of course – there are one or two of Tilly’s friends that I’m not so keen on – but in the main, they’re all very nice. And, now you’ve survived that ordeal, do you want to come back for a cuppa?’ She looks across at me and then laughs. ‘That’s a no then. I’d forgotten today’s the first day you can get in the studio. You look like you’d run home given half a chance. Don’t worry, we can catch up any time.’

  A surge of excitement fills me at her words. The building work in the studio was only finished yesterday, but it’s not quite ready yet. I still need to unpack everything and get it straight and the lure is almost impossible to resist. ‘Would you mind?’ I ask.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Anna replies easily. ‘We can have a coffee any time. I’m not back to work until Wednesday anyway.’

  Other parents are leaving now and, as we pass through the playground gate in single-file, I hold it open for the next in line. I meet the same intense eyes that were looking at me earlier but, despite Stacey’s muttered thank you, her cold expression doesn’t alter. A second later she’s gone and Anna’s bright chatter chases away the feeling. The road ahead is golden with autumn sunshine and I have work to do. It doesn’t get much better than this.

  Except that when I push open our front door, there’s a new feeling, something other than the comforting familiarity that usually greets me. I pause in the hallway, feeling the space around me but, despite the fact that I’m alone, I know there’s someone else here with me. My younger self is sitting midway up the stairs, just on the turn to the left behind the newel post. It was a favourite resting place of mine, and I have no idea what has made me think of it now. But I can’t resist the pull of memory and I slowly climb the steps until I’m sitting beside her, my feet on the tread below, hugging my knees which, in my adult body, are bent double. And I suddenly remember why it was I used to sit in this spot.

  It’s the very centre of the house. And from here the whole ground floor seems spread out beneath you. If anyone was downstairs you knew exactly where they were – in the dining room or the sitting room to your left, the study or the drawing room to your right, or the kitchen behind you. Every movement and every sound could be tracked, everyone’s passage around the house, and even the conversations floated upwards so you could hear them. And all the time you remained hidden from sight. But the house is silent now, it’s empty, so why am I here? Just what am I listening for?

  An involuntary shiver ripples down my back and I suddenly have a longing to throw off the past and return to my warm and sunlit studio and the task that is waiting for me. I stand decisively, realising as I do so that today is actually the first day I’ve been alone in the house. Drew is out, gone to Birmingham for an early morning meeting, so it’s just me. No wonder I’ve been catapulted back to my childhood – my memories have all just been biding their time, waiting to jump out on me when my mind is not occupied by other things. I stroke a hand fondly along the banister and walk back down the stairs, tutting. What am I like?

  I give a wry smile, amused by the ease at which I’m able to spook myself, but I’m no longer a child; I’m an adult with a lot to accomplish before Drew arrives back. He’ll be home just after lunch, which gives me about four hours to get everything shipshape. I want our studio to be perfect by the time he returns and, with my mind now focused, I practically run to the kitchen to make a quick coffee.

  Derek has done a brilliant job and he seemed to know almost instinctively what we were after without us having to explain the vagaries of the creative mind. In fact, he even came up with several suggestions for fittings that are going to make life so much easier. The old and tired conservatory has been transformed.

  A custom-made workbench now runs down the centre of the room. Divided into four sections, the surface of each of these lifts up, resembling an old-fashioned school desk with storage space beneath. And, although two of the desks are flat, the other two are fitted with an ingenious mechanism that allows the lid to tilt at any angle. Fixing it in place with a
simple catch provides a sloped working surface which is perfect for both mine and Drew’s work.

  We face the garden and, as well as the amazing light which falls in exactly the right place, it means we have a beautiful outlook too. Having installed the system of blinds that Derek recommended also means that we can block out both the sun and the view should we wish to, either partially or completely. Having been forced to move around my previous workroom simply to follow the light source, this is going to feel like the height of luxury.

  Behind the workbench is a row of fitted storage units along the rear wall, incorporating both shelves and drawers, and it’s these that I really want to turn my attention to this morning. I’ve never had enough space before to have all my art materials around me. Mostly they were packed away in boxes, brought out only when needed. Now though, there is room for everything – all the bits and pieces that I’ve hoarded over the years, never knowing when they might come in handy. Old sketchbooks, papers, design books, my inks, wonderful old drawing pens that I couldn’t bear to be parted with, now they will all have a home; neat, tidy and organised. Almost as important is the ability to be able to keep the rather more practical side of my work under control as well – all the administrative details that get so easily out of hand and make filing my tax returns a nightmare. I feel almost giddy with excitement at the thought of becoming the efficient grown-up I’ve always longed to be. ‘A place for everything and everything in its place’, so the saying goes, and I’m just beginning to understand how gratifying that is.

  On an impulse, before I start, I raise every blind as high as it will go and fling open the doors to the garden. It’s still a warm day, but the breeze is fresher than it has been of late and feels lovely blowing through this airy room. I drag through the boxes which have been waiting patiently in the study and open all of them at once, trying to get a feel for the amount that needs to be re-homed. Then I set to work, filling drawers, cupboards, lining shelves, jiggling things around and then putting them back where they were. Gradually, as the morning ticks by, it begins to take shape.

  By the time he gets back, I’ve set up Drew’s PC and added a row of his architectural prints along the wall by the door. There’s a vase of huge sunflowers on the small table in the corner and next to it his incredibly comfortable, but very shabby, leather chair which, if I ever threw it away, would be almost certain grounds for divorce.

  I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even hear him come in the house until he appears, grinning, in the studio doorway. His hands slip around my waist from behind, lifting the edge of my tee shirt and sliding over my stomach. His head dips into the gap between my shoulder and my ear as his lips graze my neck. He smells of lemons.

  ‘Someone’s been busy,’ he whispers, as he presses his length against me.

  I turn in his arms. ‘Do I take it you’ve had a good morning?’ I ask, pulling away slightly to resist his kiss, although we both know what’s coming next.

  His eyes are dancing with amusement. ‘Do I take it you’ve had a good morning too?’

  ‘It’s been lovely,’ I reply. ‘Can’t you tell?’

  ‘It looks amazing…’

  ‘Fibber, you haven’t even looked.’

  ‘I don’t need to…’

  ‘Yes, you blooming well do…’ I slap playfully at his chest. ‘I haven’t slaved away all morning for you not to notice how incredible all this is.’

  Drew holds my look for a moment, his eyes a teasing reflection of mine, but then he does release me and, taking a step backwards, looks slowly around the room. His eyes widen as he takes in everything, and sees for the first time how this room will work in practice.

  ‘This is going to be amazing, isn’t it?’ he says.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, inching closer. ‘If past experience is anything to go by…’

  He laughs. ‘Thea Gordon, whatever do you mean?’

  We stand looking at each other, in the silent, almost-empty house, where no children will be around for several more hours yet.

  We barely make it up the stairs.

  Six

  I don’t even notice how dark it’s become until a sudden cloudburst flings rain against the window. There’s a clatter from downstairs and a window bangs somewhere as the wind rises to meet the storm.

  I scramble from the bed, pulling myself out from under Drew’s arm as I hurl the bedclothes aside. We were both dozing, warmed by the glow of our love-making, but now the downpour outside feels as if it’s in the room, running down my skin in icy rivers.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Drew’s voice is confused.

  I’m already halfway to the door. ‘I left the doors open,’ I yell as I race across the landing and hurtle down the stairs. I can hear the rain thundering against the front door and pray I’m not too late.

  The studio door is swinging on its hinges, the source of the banging noise I heard, and the wind lifts the papers on my end of the desk. But, mercifully, apart from a few spots of rain on the carpet by the door, the room is untouched, the rain driven in the other direction, across the garden and not towards the studio with its invitingly open doors.

  I drag them shut, feeling the icy splatters of rain against my warm, still-naked body, and shiver violently. The sky is a murderous colour, pouring a deluge onto an already drenched garden, threatening to snap the heads of the hollyhocks with its furious pummelling. But it isn’t this that makes me feel cold. It’s the thought of the damage that could have been wreaked on the room, the newly polished wooden surfaces splattered by water drops that would have leached the colour from them, soaked the carpet and stained the walls. How could I have been so stupid? Except that…

  I peer up at the sky, jumping as a crash of thunder fills the room. Half an hour ago it was a high, almost cloudless blue, with only wispy streaks of white. Just a gentle, mild, autumnal day. Where on earth has the storm come from? The glass is running with rain, the noise almost deafening, and a touch on my shoulder has me jumping from my skin.

  ‘Thea, for goodness’ sake, I thought something terrible had happened.’

  Drew’s pulled on his boxers and is holding out my robe and I stare at him, perplexed.

  ‘Something terrible nearly did happen,’ I reply, reaching out to take my dressing gown. ‘If the wind had blown the rain the other way, the room would have been soaked.’

  He suddenly pulls the robe out of my reach, amusement flickering in his eyes. And a slow smile begins to curve his lips upward. ‘Have you any idea what you look like?’ he teases, and I’m suddenly aware of the ridiculous picture I must be painting. ‘God, you look wild.’

  ‘Ten minutes ago that would have been a compliment,’ I complain.

  ‘It still is, but…’ He opens out the robe so that I can step into it and pulls it around me, loosely tying the cord. Then he tucks my messy bed hair back behind my ears. ‘It’s just a storm, Thea.’

  For some reason his words make me shiver again but, even as I do so, I can feel the growing warmth from my clothing and I smile and lean against him.

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmur. ‘I was just terrified that all this loveliness was going to be ruined.’ Even as I speak I can hear the rain lessening and see the gradual lifting of the gloom. I turn to look back outside where the sky is now streaked with light. ‘It was a bit apocalyptic, you have to admit.’

  Drew grins. ‘Perhaps. But I’m just mightily relieved that the garden isn’t overlooked.’ He stands back and looks pointedly at his bare legs and chest.

  I draw the robe around me and fold my arms over my breasts. ‘Oh my God, what must we look like?’ And I burst into sudden giggles. ‘Imagine if we did have close neighbours. What on earth would they have thought?’

  Drew raises an eyebrow. ‘I’d love to know, wouldn’t you?’ he replies, eyes twinkling. ‘But you really must stop your boobs bouncing everywhere, Thea, or we’ll never get any work done…’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I say, pretending to be miffed at the suggestion. The
sun is already beginning to peek back through the clouds. ‘So you can make me a cup of tea to atone for your scandalous behaviour, while I go and jump in the shower. Alone,’ I add, pointedly. I’ve been caught out like that before.

  The water feels good at first. There’s something very decadent about taking a bath or shower in the middle of the day but, as I begin to rinse the soap from my skin, I catch sight of the rivulets of water running down the shower screen. I’m not afraid of storms, I never have been, but there was something about this one that unnerved me. Perhaps it was the suddenness of it that caught me unawares, the loud banging noise that woke me from sleep, like a portent, or… an echo, I realise, a door slamming shut. But its power was unmistakable and, although I can’t articulate why, it leaves me uneasy. I’m glad when I can step free from the water and wrap myself in the biggest, fluffiest towel I can find.

  * * *

  By the time I have to make the return journey to school you’d hardly even know it had rained. In fact, the lanes look beautiful, the gardens freshened by the downpour, their colours rendered vivid.

  ‘It’s a miracle it didn’t happen at home time,’ remarks Anna as we walk. ‘That’s what normally happens.’

  I laugh, because she’s so right. ‘I pity the teachers,’ I reply. ‘Can you imagine the noise of twenty five-year-olds screaming during the thunder?’

  She grimaces. ‘It makes them wild,’ she says. ‘I work with a lot of teachers and they always say the one thing they hate more than anything is the wind. It bedevils the kids apparently. I don’t know why, but it’s a fact. Are your girls bothered by storms?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, fortunately. In fact, I think they quite enjoy them. But I would imagine there will be some tales to tell,’ I add. ‘As first days go, it’s been a bit dramatic.’