3
Rachel’s mother Norma was late to the party, as usual. When she arrived she smelled like a hair salon and Rachel noticed that they had somehow managed to get matching haircuts; both of them had light brown hair bobbed to shoulder-level with similar subtle highlights. It was another reminder that Rachel was on track to turn into her mother, a thought that was simultaneously reassuring and petrifying.
Norma was always impeccable. After sixty-one years she had perfected the art of looking like she woke up divine. Rachel knew better; she could see her mother was wearing a new outfit and would have spent hours to achieve that flawless hair and makeup. Her mother kissed her on both cheeks and waved a half-hearted hello to David in the background.
Norma had never approved of her son-in-law. She didn’t like him when they first met, and after fifteen years of her daughter being married to him, Norma’s mind was unchanged. She was a staunch believer that eyes were the windows to the soul. Before they were married, she had warned Rachel multiple times that David’s were categorically shifty. Norma had never got over the ten-year age difference between Rachel and her husband. She hadn’t trusted him when he first set his sights on her then nineteen-year-old daughter and nearly had a stroke when they eloped on a fancy island holiday, less than six months later. She never missed an opportunity to reiterate her devastation at missing her only daughter’s wedding, but Rachel suspected that Norma’s real gripe was not having had the chance to talk Rachel out of it.
‘Are the boys here?’ Norma asked.
‘They’re in Geneva with their mother,’ Rachel said. She was certain she saw a flicker of relief cross her mother’s face when told that the boys wouldn’t be joining them. That’s not very grandmotherly, Rachel thought. Norma was not shy about stating she had already had her quota of grandchildren with Kevin’s teenage sons who were loud, annoying and always hungry. Norma didn’t know why her friends from the Bridge Club banged on about their own little blighters as much as they did.
‘I suspect you’re going to announce your own addition to the family any day now,’ she said suspiciously to her daughter. ‘This is just an anniversary party, isn’t it?’ she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
Rachel didn’t think her heart could drop any further but her mother’s words were like a punch to the gut. She and David had always said that they would start a family, once the time was right. And that time was supposed to be now.
After their anniversary weekend the plan had been for Rachel to cut out alcohol and increase her vitamin intake and folic acid, then they’d have endless bonks. It was planned – they had bought the thermometer and ovulation tests. She had downloaded a fertility app and had started tracking her daily temperature. David hadn’t stopped teasing about them getting lots of practice in. Now it seemed the joke was on her. Hilarious.
Rachel pinned her smile back in place and directed her mother through to the conservatory that was already filled with guests, circumnavigating David in the kitchen. He was hopping around, searching for the secret ingredient for his punch. It wasn’t much of a secret, hardly in the same league as Colonel Sanders’s signature fried chicken recipe. The drink was another in-joke, stemming from one of their many Paris trips. It was a story that was too filthy to repeat. It made Rachel’s neck turn red whenever she heard David offer a guest a taste of Parisian Sunrise.
PARISIAN SUNRISE PUNCH RECIPE
100 ml Vodka
100 ml White Rum
300 ml pink grapefruit juice
500 ml pineapple juice
500 ml bitter lemon
10 ml Triple Sec
One dash Grenadine
One pipette vanilla essence
David ferreted through drawers and cupboards. He couldn’t find the all-important vanilla essence. Rachel wondered if this was another excuse for him to go to the shops. He was always popping out for things she didn’t know they needed or had run out of. Yesterday it had been toothbrush heads. Rachel was no longer sure if they had been her suggestion; his treachery had fogged her brain.
Remembering her electric toothbrush pissed her off even further. It had been a Christmas present from David. It was no wonder he was having an affair. He had bought his wife a toothbrush for Christmas! A toothbrush! As her main gift! Had her teeth ever been cleaner? No, but it was an alarm bell ringing if ever there was one, and she had missed it. And that Montblanc pen – yesterday she had viewed it as the most exquisite fountain pen she had ever seen, while today it seemed heavily symbolic. Rachel was the kind of wife you buy a pen for. After fifteen years, all she was worth was a fucking pen!
She struggled to suppress the anger. It surged into her throat and she took three swigs of Prosecco to push it down. Once upon a time, David rooting around in cupboards on their anniversary would mean he was arranging a surprise for her. Well, she supposed, he had surprised her this year – his affair was something she definitely hadn’t seen coming. God, this afternoon was going to be difficult. One last hurrah projecting an image of marital bliss, and then she would have to let the cat out of the bag and inform everyone that their marriage was over. What was the etiquette for admitting to your friends that the last fifteen years had been a lie and your husband was leaving you for a younger woman? No matter how it was spun, it was humiliating.
‘Rachel?’
She ignored David’s call and the scuffling noises coming from the kitchen.
‘Don’t worry! Found it!’ he shouted.
Found what? Rachel sneaked her head around the doorframe and saw David standing in the kitchen laughing with a woman. Was he fucking her too? And then backpedalled as she saw that the woman was his sister and Rachel’s best friend, Jojo. Rachel realised that she hadn’t actually seen Jojo in person for ages and her friend looked amazing – she’d restyled her hair, with blonde curls now bouncing on her shoulders. She was practically unrecognisable without her trademark scrunchie top-knot. When Jojo saw Rachel, she gave her a huge smile and rushed over to give her a hug. How long had it been since they’d actually met? They talked most days, or sent silly memes and messages. They both apologised for not making more time for each other and in unison said they needed to catch up.
‘Big news,’ Jojo said with a wink.
Rachel gave an over-enthusiastic clap of her hands and tried to keep smiling.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she should simply throw her husband to the wolves, announce the news of his affair to his sister there and then, loudly and mercilessly, with their family and best friends watching. A dramatic exit from the marriage made even more piquant by the fact that it happened at their anniversary party. She knew that wouldn’t be fair. But then, his behaviour was hardly reasonable. For a moment she wished she was on a Saturday night game-show, where David’s punishment for infidelity was about to be decided by a public vote … The punch, wine and subsequent Prosecco had gone to her head, she thought. Keep it together.
Rachel planned to concentrate on her guests and avoid David as much as she possibly could. Easier than one might think considering it was their anniversary. Except for a quick speech, she wouldn’t need to interact with him at all. Leaving him to his cocktail-making and shaking, Rachel and Jojo joined the other guests. Rachel could see that cliques had already divided the guests. Her friends sat perched on the wicker furniture in the conservatory. His family stood nearest the buffet. Hers were inspecting the pictures. She wondered if any of the guests knew? Did they feel sorry for her? Was she a laughing stock?
From the window, she watched David join his friends who were milling about in the garden. Rachel spied him taking a crafty drag from his best friend Barry’s cigarette. She rolled her eyes at Jojo. Barry was a terrible influence on David. They had met at university and were still thick as thieves. So David still smoked on occasion? Yet another thing he had been keeping from her. Yesterday Rachel would have been appalled, but today she simply didn’t have the energy to confront him about it. What did it matter if he had started smoking again? So wh
at if he contracted a vicious strain of lung cancer? His new girlfriend could nurse him; it was no longer Rachel’s responsibility.
She caught David’s eye and he gave her a small wave. She could overhear Barry’s Sid James boom emanating from the garden and the tail end of a well-worn cliché about how Dave would have done less time for murder. Rachel liked Barry, in a warts and all way. He was very agreeable, charming even in his own fashion, and sincere. A decent bloke who remembered which one of your parents was ill and asked after their diagnosis. He always thought to wash up and Hoover, and she’d even caught him tending to a blocked toilet at her mother-in-law’s one Boxing Day. But she knew he had the potential to be a bad influence. Barry’s own marriage had imploded like a stack of cards only months earlier. Was that it? Had he been filling David’s head with the joys of bachelorhood refound?
Rachel was surprised to hear the doorbell. Surely everyone was here. She opened the door and was relieved to see Eva and her date, Terry. Eva was undoubtedly #Team-Rachel. Rachel hugged them both and gushed a welcome as she showed them in. Rachel often invited her staff to drinks and barbecues at her home and, in spite of polite nods of thanks, usually received last-minute excuses. She got it – who wanted to socialise with the boss at the weekend?
Eva had blossomed since her divorce. Terry the Fireman was twelve years her junior. He was also Eva’s consolation prize after the split from husband number three. Terry wasn’t marriage material apparently, but Eva boasted about her new boyfriend’s sexual prowess at every opportunity. Would Rachel find herself a younger lover after she and David separated? Someone with a carefree attitude and a love for long walks in the countryside?
Rachel thanked Eva for the aromatherapy oils. Eva then went into too much detail about how other oils could be used – not that Rachel had to worry at her age – when things started to dry up. She mouthed the words ‘down there’. Rachel nodded and prayed to a God she no longer believed in for Eva to stop talking quite so loudly in the vicinity of David’s mother. Lillian pretended to be deaf when it suited her but Rachel had established, at certain times, that her mother-in-law in fact had the auditory capacity of an owl. Rachel excused herself to top up glasses, namely her own. Norma was fidgeting and vying for her daughter’s attention. Rachel saw that her mother couldn’t help herself from straightening picture frames and brushing invisible crumbs from the table. It was Norma’s tell; Rachel’s mother was quite likely to drop a bombshell or throw a grenade into polite conversation, but Rachel already had enough to worry about. For the sake of her own sanity, she tried to dodge Norma until cornered by her next to the buffet.
‘I need to talk to you.’ She bustled Rachel away from prying ears. Rachel meanwhile tried to keep one eye on David’s movements.
‘Can you give me a minute?’ Norma insisted.
‘In a moment,’ Rachel replied.
She found her brother and tugged on his sleeve.
‘Please, Kev, look after Mum.’ Kevin filled a sherry glass to the top and headed towards an irate Norma. Rachel gave her mother an apologetic wave and ignored the eye roll from Kevin.
Suddenly, David appeared behind Rachel and patted her left buttock. It was the ultimate test of strength for her not to slap his hand away. She didn’t trust polite words to leave her mouth; instead, she pecked him on the cheek. He positioned his mouth to meet her lips but she swerved away. The idea that any part of her could touch the mouth that had recently kissed someone else’s made her stomach turn.
‘I love you, Mrs C,’ he whispered softly in her ear. ‘Come on, it’s time for the toast!’
She could taste the tobacco on his breath and was startled to see he was wearing his wedding ring. She hadn’t taken hers off since the day they were married, but David complained the gold band aggravated his skin. The sound of it chiming against the Champagne-filled flute to attract attention and summon their guests was almost too much for Rachel.
David reminded everyone of the story of how they first met and said how happy he still was all these years later. Rachel winced as the lies streamed from his mouth like a string of magician’s handkerchiefs. She wanted to tear apart his untruths one by one and ask everyone to leave; instead, she smiled a tired smile then covered her face with one hand to allow the muscles controlling her false expression a moment to relax. She hoped friends and family would assume that any tears that escaped were tears of joy. In a room full of loved ones, Rachel had never felt so alone in her life. She looked around at all the familiar faces and the picture seemed to tilt before her eyes. Jeez, how many glasses had she drunk? She stood next to David. There he was – eulogising their years together in front of all of their closest friends. Little did they know they were witnessing the final chapter of their marriage.
David’s speech seared her to the heart. Sadness turned to anger; his words were cheap and their sentimentality worthless. She raised her glass to his and they clinked. ‘Cheers!’ The guests followed suit and cheered their own salutations. Rachel spied one of Sylvie’s famous chocolate fondant cakes on the table and was tempted to smash it into David’s face. The room started to spin. She swapped her glass of bubbles for iced-cold water; that was enough alcohol for one day.
By the end of the night, everyone was tipsy and Eva was visibly drunk. Rachel spent ten minutes at the front door with her trying to say goodbye. Their extended fare-well was due to Eva’s deciding that their parting was the perfect moment for her to divulge to Rachel how much she liked her as a person and not because she was Eva’s boss. Eventually Terry the Fireman saved them both from the situation by throwing Eva over his shoulder and carrying her out into the night.
Rachel filled the dishwasher and left the remaining mess piled up in the sink. She said goodnight to David and his friends, who had started to play poker in the conservatory, and retired upstairs. Rachel wasn’t ready to sleep. The party had been the ultimate distraction. Now that it was over, there was nothing left for her to think about but the other woman.
When David delicately opened the door to their bedroom, Rachel pretended to be asleep. She heard him gargle mouthwash and brush his teeth before getting into bed. He started to snore seconds after his head hit the pillow. Rachel thought back to Eva gushing about her boss’s perfect life and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Rachel’s life was a charade.
She woke a couple of hours later. The bedside clock glared a demonic red – 04:13. Champagne-induced dehydration pounded behind her forehead. It was no use, she wasn’t going back to sleep. She thought about the times when David had been romantic – he would send her letters and cards even after they lived in the same house. On the occasions she went away without him, she would find that he had secreted a love note in her suitcase or her passport holder. Or when he went away, she would find notes in her underwear drawer or under her pillow. She was certain David had loved her once. Not being able to believe he did now left a painful black hole in her heart.
She pushed down the anxiety she felt about him not using condoms with the flame-haired bombshell … what if that meant Rachel herself had to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases? She would be mortified to go to the doctor’s with a mysterious itch. Was she just imagining she could feel an irritation there already? She pushed gently against the cotton gusset of her knickers. Were bacteria already multiplying down there? She picked up her phone again and searched the Internet for reasons why a man cheats. Google returned more than 179,000,000 results. The scale of these findings confirmed her worst suspicions. It was never good news for the wife. Quelle surprise. Rachel wanted to confront David and demand to be told what the hell was going on. Her recall of the details of the kiss in the street had already started to fade. She couldn’t remember what either of them had been wearing or how long the kiss had lasted. She couldn’t remember how they’d acted with one another and she didn’t know where they went afterwards. Rachel had spent the last couple of days in a haze, which she put down to post-traumatic shock. She was exhausted from it all.
<
br /> Rachel’s brain took over from her broken heart and she resolved they needed a quick divorce, like ripping off a plaster. That’s all there was left to do now the trust was gone. When she heard David stir, she slid her phone under her pillow and pulled the silk sleeping mask back over her eyes.
4
By the time Rachel woke up again and wearily descended the stairs she had two missed calls from her mother. She knew that she would have to tell Norma about David soon, but wasn’t ready to face the predictable ‘I told you so’. It had been years in the making. She could almost hear Norma’s voice saying something scathing about ‘wandering lips and travelling hips’.
Rachel and David had plans to meet friends for Sunday lunch but the middle-aged hangovers caused one couple to cancel and another to beg forgiveness and postpone. David and Rachel were both secretly grateful that they didn’t have to pretend to be sociable and were allowed to soothe their own sore heads.
Rachel distracted herself by reading the Sunday glossy mags. She turned the pages and stared at photos without getting past the headlines. Confronted with an article about anti-ageing serums, she pulled distractedly at her face. She couldn’t concentrate; she’d read the same paragraph a hundred times. Something about the importance of circular motions …
Rachel’s phone buzzed. Mother Dearest flashed across the screen and she was tempted to send the call to voicemail.
‘Hi, Mum, did you—’
‘I think it’s time,’ she cut in. No ‘hello’, no ‘How are you?’ Norma always got straight to the point.
‘Time?’
‘Time for me to, you know, get out there again.’
How to Marry Your Husband Page 3
