by Helen Mcginn
There was, of course, another husband. Number One was Annie and Jess’s father. His name was David and Annie had just turned eight when he left. Jess was six. Annie didn’t remember it as a particularly traumatic event in her life. There were no arguments. She didn’t remember either parent staging a dramatic exit. Rather, she mostly remembered them being what she assumed was a normal, happy family. Until one day, he just wasn’t there any more. Over the years that followed, as she’d grown up and come to understand what her parents were like as people, the idea that they had been together long enough to have two children amazed her. They were so incredibly different. As much as her father was calm and straightforward, her mother was flamboyant and unpredictable. Their wedding photo, one of Annie’s favourite pictures, showed Julia standing in a very short miniskirt, David in a sober suit, proud-looking parents on either side. Both bride and groom wore shy smiles. They’d met in a pub in London, when the town was in full sixties swing. Julia worked behind the bar; David was there by mistake.
When Annie thought about her parents as a couple, she didn’t really have many memories to go on. Even when she really concentrated, she couldn’t picture her parents together, other than in that one wedding photo.
Anyway, now there was another man in the picture, according to Julia.
‘Apparently, he’s called Patrick. They met as teenagers and Mum says he was her first love,’ said Annie.
‘So, why Rome?’ asked Clare.
‘God, I don’t know. I didn’t ask. What I don’t understand is why he’s got in touch now, after so many years. And why Mum thinks it’s such a good idea to go. I mean, she’s got no idea what he’s like now, where he’s been all this time. Who knows what he’s after?’ cried Annie.
‘But that’s the thing. She obviously does know what he’s like, if they were in love once,’ said Clare, encouragingly.
‘It’s just so… so…’ Annie’s voice trailed off.
‘Julia!’ replied Clare. ‘It is just so Julia.’ Annie had to smile at that. Her friend was spot on. ‘So, how did he get in touch?’
‘He wrote a letter.’
‘Oh, that’s too gorgeous!’ Clare clasped her hands together in delight.
‘Yes, maybe, but it creeps me out that he knew where to find her. I mean, he might be stalking her.’
‘Hardly. You don't stalk someone by asking them to meet you in Rome. How did he know where to find her?’
‘God knows. I didn’t think to ask her that either. I’m still getting over the fact that she’s going to meet him.’
‘Oh, come on. Try not to worry; she’s a grown woman. She’ll be fine. And she’ll have a wonderful time. I mean, it’s Rome…’ said Clare.
‘I know, I know. But to be honest, I’m just not sure I can face meeting Husband Number Four.’ Annie picked at the last of the crumbs on the plate and drained her mug of coffee. ‘Talking of which, it’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow. Ten years!’
‘Oh, wow!’ Claire cried. ‘That’s a big deal. Are you going to do something to celebrate?’
‘Not sure. James usually plans something. Not that he’s mentioned it yet.’ Annie smiled.
Clare hoped he hadn’t forgotten, not least for his sake. Given that Annie had seemingly already decided that another stepfather was on the horizon, Clare thought she might just need something to take her mind off that.
2
‘Are you going to ask me or not?’ were the words Annie had said after kissing James for the first time, standing outside the local village hall after a friend’s birthday party. They were both seventeen. Annie remembered him wearing an old oversized long coat, the underlying mustiness disguised with a generous dash of Dunhill aftershave. Annie was in her brown suede jacket, bought in a second-hand shop in Kensington Market. With the faint sound of Bryan Adams singing about everything he did in the background, James and Annie found themselves outside together, talking as they shared a turquoise cocktail cigarette stolen from Julia’s stash in a drawer in the kitchen dresser. The smoke curled slowly in the cold autumnal air and the two teenagers talked about life as they knew it. About James taking his driving test, which he planned to do as soon as possible. Of course, this wasn’t the only reason that Annie had liked him but, looking back, she had to admit it was a contributing factor. Having been friends through school for years, a run of teenage parties had thrown them together more than usual. Both made braver through warm beer, this time they had ended up in the car park in a slightly awkward teenage embrace. Annie was thrilled. And, prompted by Annie, James had asked her out. Not that they went anywhere in particular in those days – the odd trip to the cinema, the occasional walk with the family dog in order to talk without parents around. And smoke more (stolen) cigarettes, obviously.
Annie’s university years took her to Scotland to study Art History. James, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get on with it (his words) and soon got a job with a small advertising firm in London. Despite the distance between them, the relationship worked. There were a few tricky patches but ultimately, they were mad about each other. Whenever they could afford it, they’d meet up and spend hours in a tiny restaurant in James’s neighbourhood in north London, making a bottle of wine last for as long as possible so they could stay and talk without having to go back to the flat. Not that the flat was that bad; rather James’s flatmate, Stig, an old university friend of his brother, loved to do yoga at night. Naked. James and Annie would put off returning to the flat until they were sure Stig had finished his sun salutations and downward dogs.
By the time Annie moved to London three years later, she knew that she, too, wanted to share a flat with some friends. So it was that she lived with two university friends, Bee and Louise, in a dingy place near Vauxhall, where cups fell off the shelves every time a train went past. There was always a bottle of sparkling wine in the fridge, thanks to Bee’s job with a city catering company. Louise was studying medicine and knew exactly what to do to shift a hangover. They worked hard during the week, partied on Saturdays and slept on Sundays. It worked perfectly.
By the time they reached their late twenties, Annie and James had been together for over ten years. So when he proposed, no one was surprised. Apart from Annie, that is: it was almost as if she wasn’t expecting it.
‘But how could you not know he was going to ask you?’ cried Bee, as they sat on the sofa of their flat just a few days after the proposal.
‘I don't know. I know it sounds weird, but I just didn’t want to assume it would happen. I mean, I knew. I knew it was going to be him. But I couldn’t be sure he knew that too.’ This was Annie’s best explanation.
‘But can you really marry someone if they’re the only person you’ve ever been with? And that includes sex, by the way,’ said Louise, in her usual no-nonsense, medical manner.
‘Well, I’d always thought that if we met someone else along the way before we were married, that would be the test. But the thing is, the idea of being with anyone but him makes me feel a bit sick. I’ve loved him since I was seventeen. Being apart from him all that time, surrounded by lots of other people, made me love him more. Does that make any sense?’ Annie looked at her friends for some kind of understanding.
‘Darling, I think it’s the most gorgeous thing,’ said Bee, with tears in her eyes.
‘Personally, I think you’re both mad. It’s not normal. But you’re so happy. Cheers to that,’ concluded Louise, topping up her pint glass with more free Moët.
The wedding was a spit-and-sawdust affair, much to Annie’s in-laws’ disapproval. Their budget was spent mostly on lots of booze and a really good band. The marquee (more a big tent) was borrowed from the village cricket club and decorated with branches pinched from the nearby woods. Old jam jars were crammed with meadow flowers. It was June, but it poured with rain. The photographer got lost, so most of the photographic evidence from the day was thanks to Stig, a keen amateur photographer. He’d been close enough to capture the bride and groom as they lef
t the church, both with enormous grins on their faces and an undeniable light in their eyes.
This particular picture was now framed, just one among a sea of faces crammed onto the biggest wall in the house, at the far end of the kitchen. The wall had started with just a few photos in odd frames when Annie and James first moved into the cottage, but over the years the collection had grown. There were plenty of dodgy haircuts and questionable outfits on display during Annie and James’s late teenage years. There were shots of Annie or James, rarely both of them (this was pre-selfie days), in various locations from Venice to Vietnam, all holidays before the children were born. After children appeared, the backdrops behind them were noticeably less exotic. But the grown-up faces in the photographs were just as happy, if a little more tired.
And for Annie, it was the tiredness that tested their relationship the most. Nothing had prepared them for the sheer exhaustion of having small children. From the day they brought their first-born back to their minute, hastily bought one-bedroom flat, life had not been the same.
‘Where shall I put it?’ asked James, motioning to the car seat. It was as if a new but unexpected piece of furniture had been given to them, and they didn’t know where it should go.
‘Him, you mean. Not “it”.’ Annie eased herself into the only armchair in the room. ‘Leave him in there for now, so we can look at him.’ They both stared in wonder and slight shock at the tiny creature in front of them, fast asleep in the seat. The baby’s hat had slipped over one eye; his fingers curled into tight little balls.
‘Hello, Rufus,’ James whispered.
‘Hi, Rufus,’ said Annie, barely audible. She felt her heart would burst with love. She was elated and terrified all at the same time.
Those early days with just the three of them, in that flat, went by in a haze of broken nights along with the smell of those hideous little plastic nappy bags. Annie spent hours sitting on various sofas in friends’ flats and houses across town over the next few months as they drank endless cups of lukewarm tea. Swapping birth stories, Annie realised hers was mercifully straightforward – the epidural was so effective, she was able to read an old copy of Hello! magazine that James had found in the waiting room – in fact, she sometimes felt obliged to make it sound a little more dramatic than it really was. The nearest they’d got to a moment of drama was when James had sprayed deodorant in Annie’s face instead of water, having got the cans in the hospital bag mixed up. But then the drugs had kicked in and the baby appeared before Annie had even got to the cookery pages.
By the time Rufus started walking and talking, the decision to move to a bigger place had been made. Except that finding somewhere even remotely in their price bracket in the area was impossible. When another mother at Rufus’s nursery suggested Annie change religion to get Rufus into a good school – bearing in mind he was still in nappies at the time – she knew it was time to move. Not just down the road, but really move. Out of the city to the countryside.
Annie really hadn’t grown up thinking she would end up living in the same village as her parents. In fact, she’d spent most of her teenage years thinking how unbelievably boring it was. But when her mother turned up on the doorstep for a last-minute visit (‘I might be in the area, darling’), she brought with her a copy of her local paper. And Annie spotted a cottage just outside the village where Julia lived, available for rent. It was utterly beautiful, with a small garden and a duck pond on the village green nearby. Suddenly, the idea didn’t seem so bad after all. It wasn’t as if Annie was going to have her mother there all the time; Julia was far too busy. But she would be nearby, and that felt right. Putting the idea to James had been planned with precision. Beef stew, mashed potato and lots of red wine first, propose move to the country second. It meant an hour’s daily commute for James to work, who was by now in the office of a much bigger firm of advertisers, but it also meant more space than they could ever have dreamed of. That and the promise of the odd free night’s babysitting from Julia swung it. James agreed it was time to make the move.
Pulling the van up outside Wisteria Cottage just before Rufus’s second birthday on a warm day in July was marred by just one thing. The week before, as Annie and James sat in the waiting room of the London hospital waiting for their scan appointment, she’d known something was wrong. What had started as a dull ache in her stomach the night before was now so painful it scared her. Running to the loo in the hospital just before her scan, Annie saw the flash of red in the water and, feeling like her skin was actually crawling, called out quietly for her husband. What followed was a blur of voices and pain as Annie had a miscarriage right there in the hospital on the day of her twelve-week scan. Waking up after the D&C operation (had two letters ever sounded so cruel?), she looked out of the hospital window at a cloudless blue sky. She’d felt hollow. Depleted. James was at her side. He was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers right back.
A year and a half later, Ned was born. Not quite the stress-free delivery enjoyed with Rufus. Instead Ned made an early appearance, two months before his due date, thanks to pre-eclampsia. Annie spent weeks in hospital, both before and after the birth, most of the time by Ned’s bedside, once he’d arrived. Eventually they bought him home at a healthy weight. As he grew older, he grew fast. To everyone else, Ned was bulletproof. But for Annie, the memory of watching his frail little body attached to wires and monitors, with the incessant beep-beep-beep and steady flashing lights was never far away. The sounds of those machines should have reassured her, given that they signalled everything was as it should be, but instead they had made her feel sick. Still, with two healthy boys, Annie knew she had much to be grateful for. And she really was.
Just as soon as she’d finished folding at least the top layer of the basket of washing on the table, Annie planned to head to the shed at the bottom of the garden to do some work. The shed was stuffed with old bits of furniture, pots of paint and dustsheets, and had a strong smell of white spirit. As much as she wished she could earn a living as a painter, it turned out that sanding down old bits of furniture and painting them was more lucrative in the short term. In the corner of the shed stood an easel and a blank canvas, which she hoped one day she might find the time to paint for pleasure. But in the meantime, she had a set of bedside tables rescued from the tip on the go, which would be perfectly sellable once she’d given them a makeover.
As she fished around the basket trying to find the partner to the sock she had in her hand, her phone rang. It was Jess.
‘You will not believe what Julia’s doing now. I mean, for fuck’s sake, seriously, she’s…’
‘I know,’ said Annie, calmly.
‘Oh my God, has she told you?’
‘Yes, I got a text from her this morning. In capitals, obviously.’
‘Same! Did you tell her she’s completely mad?’ cried Jess.
‘Not exactly, no. I don’t think that would have stopped her. She’s very bright and breezy about the whole thing, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to go all the way to Rome to meet someone she hasn’t seen for over fifty years. It’s weird, but it was like she was telling me she’s going to the shop down the road to pick up the paper and a pint of milk, only she’ll be gone for a bit longer.’
‘Did you ask her why she was going?’
‘Yes, but she just said it was something she had to do. And that if we were in her position, we’d do the same.’
‘What position does she mean? I just don’t get it. I mean, do you think she’s being blackmailed to go? He might be a lunatic! He might cut her up into pieces and put her in the boot of a car, for all we know!’
‘Jess, I think that’s definitely the worst-case scenario,’ Annie laughed.
‘Well, you read these stories and God only knows what might happen… What if he really is a lunatic? Or even a conman? Seriously, Annie, please can you talk some sense into her?’
‘I don’t think it’ll do any good, honestly. Soun
ds like it’s all organised. She’s going next week.’
‘Next week? In that case,’ said Jess, inserting a dramatic pause, ‘I’m going to follow her out there.’
‘You’re what? Why? What about work?’
‘Well, actually, I was planning on taking some time off anyway. I need to—’ another pause ‘—get away for a few days. From the office, I mean.’
‘Why? Jess, what’s happened?’ Annie frowned.
‘Nothing dramatic, I just need to… I think it’s a good idea if I… I’ll tell you when I see you. It’s complicated but, really, nothing bad. It’s just… I could do with a change of scene. Stalking Julia in Rome will be a fantastic distraction, if nothing else.’
‘What are you going to do? Hide behind statues? How will you find them? You don’t even know where they’ll be!’ cried Annie.
