How to Marry Your Husband

by Jacqueline Rohen

  ‘Have you put on weight?’ David asked.

  WHAT THE ACTUAL F—?

  ‘It suits you,’ he added. ‘Reminds me of when we met. All boobs and bum.’

  Rachel downed the rest of her cocktail, unable to think of the correct retort.

  For God’s sake, she thought to herself when she spotted red dots of rich Italian sauce across her white linen blouse. The liquid had spread already. The top was ruined.

  ‘Calm down, it’s only a shirt.’ David passed her a napkin.

  Rachel took off her top; the sauce had stained her bra too. She asked David to find her something else to wear. He threw down an old t-shirt that she wore for yoga and finally returned in a mood. He wolfed down his dinner before telling her he needed to work. Rachel sat in her French Connection skirt and crappy old t-shirt and wondered what she was still doing with him?

  Rachel poured her morning coffee into a flask. ‘Can we talk later? I’ve got to go, I’ve got Jojo’s dress fitting.’

  In contrast to his sulk the night before, this morning David had given her a long speech about being happy and ended with a suggestion: he wanted them to go to Paris. Rachel said she’d think about it. She couldn’t decipher his mood swings. Was he leaving her? Did he want to let her down gently? Had he been dumped by Little Miss Redhead? And then he gave her some spa vouchers.

  Rachel wanted to believe in David’s sincerity. They were a team, a good team, or they had been once. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe in him, and in his faith in them as a couple.

  She asked David if he wanted to join her and Kevin for Sunday lunch with their mother. David mumbled something about preferring to stick hot needles in his eyes. She kissed him goodbye and told him again she’d think about Paris.

  Rachel flicked through the rail of assorted wedding dresses. Pippa’s Bridal Emporium was the only go-to for wedding attire. Rachel owed her for fitting in a quick turnaround for the two dresses.

  ‘I will be demanding your everlasting soul in return,’ Pippa cackled before she left Rachel with Jojo’s wedding dress and a glass of Champagne.

  Jojo rushed in red in the face – not exactly the look suited to a wedding boutique. She didn’t apologise for her lateness. It was a given; Jojo was always late.

  ‘How can you stand this?’ Jojo nodded at the selection of exclusively white, cream and ivory gowns. ‘And you have to do it all again next week with Beth.’

  Pippa appeared silently with a glass of Champagne for Jojo and like an apparition was gone again.

  ‘You know what? I actually love it. Weddings are so joyful, and even the Bridezillas – not that you or Beth would ever be considered that – when you see the looks on their faces as they walk down the aisle, and cut the cake, and the first dance, and throwing the bouquet … it makes it all worthwhile.’

  ‘That’s … that’s beautiful,’ Jojo said, surprised by her own heartfelt reaction.

  ‘I didn’t have you down for a secret romantic, Jojo. So, are you going to try it on? It’s the final fitting – no eating whatsoever until the big day,’ Rachel joked.

  Jojo went behind the curtain into the changing room.

  ‘How is everything?’ Jojo asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  Rachel was glad she was hidden on the other side of the curtain. She had mental flashes back to her date with Luke and winced with embarrassment.

  Jojo looked beautiful in the magnificent dress and pretended she didn’t have a tear in her eye when she gazed at herself in the mirror. Rachel agreed. The dress was gorgeous as was her best friend.

  Jojo nodded to the other dresses on display and asked, ‘Which one has Beth gone for?’

  ‘You know a magician never reveals her secrets,’ Rachel said giving Jojo a wink. The bride and bride had picked almost identical dresses without any inkling of it, albeit Beth’s dress was roomier around the waist thanks to some guess-work alterations. No one knew quite what size her bump would be by the wedding day.

  ‘And for the finale …’ Rachel made a trumpet noise ‘… put your hands on your hips.’

  Jojo found a small opening. ‘No way!’

  ‘It’s Pippa’s pièce de résistance, a secret pocket.’

  Rachel ordered Jojo a coffee. She sat in silence and waited for the inevitable.

  Her friend played nervously with a napkin and folded it into an origami boat.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to David quite a bit lately. Anyway, I know you hate surprises, which is the only reason I am telling you this. He is going to surprise you with a trip to Paris. I didn’t want you to have other plans. He’s spent the last couple of weeks organising it. Don’t worry about our wedding and everything is in hand. Nothing is going to go wrong if you take the weekend off.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. It’ll do you good – time to reconnect.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s already mentioned it to me earlier as I was on my way out.’

  Rachel thought back to the recent times David had slammed his laptop shut when she entered the room, the sneaky phone calls … and wondered if he had been speaking to his sister?

  ‘Great – did you say you’d go?’

  ‘I said I would think about it.’ Rachel took a deep breath. ‘So you know then?’

  Jojo nodded.

  ‘Sorry, I was going to tell you – but I didn’t want to say anything before the wedding. You shouldn’t have to deal with our mess. Let’s get your wedding out of the way first.’

  ‘Look, if you need to talk, you know where I am, and that goes for Beth too. Especially if you need some time away.’

  Rachel nodded, afraid she might cry.

  ‘I’m really proud of you.’ Jojo squeezed Rachel’s hand.

  Rachel slept like the proverbial log, unaided by sleeping tablets, through until morning. She had amorous dreams and saucy entanglements with a faceless lover and woke with a crimson blush. She had overslept. Her phone had multiple messages and missed calls from Kevin. And one message from David.

  Kevin (three hours ago): I’ll be there at 11:00 to pick you up.

  Kevin (two hours ago): I’ll be there at 11:00 to pick you up.

  Kevin (ninety minutes ago): Did you get my previous messages?

  Kevin (one hour ago): You better be ready.

  Kevin (twenty minutes ago): I’m leaving. See you in twenty minutes.

  David (now): Heading back from the gym. X

  Roger sat in the living room wearing house slippers when they arrived. Rachel raised an eyebrow in her mother’s direction. Norma flapped away any suggestion of impropriety.

  Roger looked surprisingly dapper. His outfit was similar to something David had in his wardrobe. The salmon jacket had been replaced by a navy version, the financier’s blue shirt with white collars and cuffs exchanged for a white linen shirt with a granddad collar. His glasses were now a manageable size and no longer tinted, and his signet ring was absent. And he was wearing a cravat.

  Rachel joined Norma in the kitchen and watched her prepare lunch: roast beef – served pink.

  ‘Your brother didn’t bring Louise, she’s a heart surgeon, you know?’

  Rachel tried to nod and shake her head simultaneously. Kevin had broken up with Louise. He said it was because of her doctor’s on-call hours, but it was an excuse for their not being enough for each other. Kevin had told her, ‘Life’s too short to be riding the wrong horse.’ Rachel was tempted to give her mother the gossip but decided it would be best coming from the horse’s mouth.

  ‘Was it Kevin’s fault?’

  Rachel ignored the question. ‘This thing with Roger is all moving very fast,’ she said with a hint of naughtiness.

  ‘We’ve known each other for decades. We used to go on holiday together, you know.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know.’

  Rachel had visions of her mother conducting a forty-year-long affair with Roger the teacher cum sailor cum photographer cum art connoisseur cum prospective stepfather. Had Rachel and Kevin not
looked so much like their father and his side of the family, Rachel would already have been ordering online DNA tests.

  ‘Pass the mustard.’

  Rachel found the jar and passed it to her mother.

  ‘We went with Roger and his wife, me and your dad. To the coast.’

  ‘What happened to the first Mrs Halliwell?’

  ‘Cancer.’ The C word wiped the Cheshire cat smile from Rachel’s face.

  Rachel went to check on the boys. She could see through the crack in the door to the lounge that her brother was being kept enthralled by Roger’s stories until he whispered that he had been meaning to talk to Kevin on his own. It was all very cloak and dagger. Rachel watched Kevin move forward conspiratorially. Roger removed a ring box from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and divulged his sincere intentions towards Norma. He made it clear he understood very well that she wasn’t the sort of woman to enjoy an unwedded dalliance. Roger wanted to make an honest woman of her. Rachel covered her mouth to silence a gasp.

  ‘Keep it under your hat, old boy.’

  The drive home was filled with family gossip. Rachel told her brother Norma hated living in sin; she was atoning for it every other day.

  ‘They’re already living together?!’ Kevin exclaimed.

  ‘Where have you been all afternoon? It’s all very proper and above board – he’s in the spare room. Now, what did the ring look like?’

  ‘It looked like a ring.’

  ‘Kevin! What size and shape?’

  ‘I don’t know, it was an engagement ring. Old-fashioned, antique, the stone was square.’

  ‘Don’t you think Roger looked different – like his edges had been smoothed?’ Rachel asked. Kevin admitted he hadn’t noticed the house slippers or the second toothbrush in the bathroom. Or the mug with Roger’s name, or Roger’s post in the basket by the front door. Kevin hadn’t imagined her being interested in love and romance and all that again at her age. He couldn’t imagine her wanting to return to housewife mode. He also didn’t want to think of his mother with a man other than his father, as ridiculously old-fashioned as that sounded.

  Rachel told him that their mother couldn’t wait for Roger to make it official. Not that Norma had a clue he had already chosen and purchased a ring.

  David

  28

  David was manic. He thought he was making headway with Rachel, but it was one step forward and ten steps back. He replayed the conversations with Jojo in his head. Rachel did deserve better but what if he was too late? He couldn’t be alone. He didn’t want to turn forty-six on his own. He was too old to start again. What if his charm couldn’t win her round? What if one chicken dinner wasn’t enough? What if he’d ruined it with Rachel forever?

  ‘I was thinking,’ David said as he pushed open their office door with his feet. He was holding two coffees. Rachel looked up from her tablet and accepted the proffered mug.

  ‘Again?’ he asked, nodding towards the wall.

  The new, still unseen neighbours were going at it. The Jessops made love like it was an extreme sport. The carnal grunts and sighs of gratification gave Rachel the giggles. David suggested they communicate with Morse code.

  ‘Do you need help?’ he said to the wall. ‘Tap once for yes or two for leave us alone.’ He starting gently tapping. Rachel stopped him and they both collapsed into laughter.

  ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

  ‘I was thinking—’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘You first.’

  ‘No, you first,’ Rachel said.

  David conceded. ‘I get the impression that you’re not happy. I want to be a better husband. Also I need to let go of DC computing, they’re all so young there and have these mad ideas. I don’t work without you. I’ve already stepped away from the company. It was a temporary thing. They didn’t need a former CEO moping around the office. It wasn’t great for morale. I have less than a month before the handover is official, but everything is signed already. I’m looking ahead to the next challenge and I want you to be part of it. I miss us.’

  Rachel nodded and said they should talk about it when things calmed down.

  Rachel

  29

  Rachel called Eva to ask if she fancied joining her for a spa weekend. Rachel had been so busy executing her master plan lately that she hadn’t taken the time to spend the vouchers. It was an oddly thoughtful gift from David whose presents were normally mundane, perfunctory and kitchen-based. Had he been trying to get rid of her so he could have another of his precious shagfests? Or was it one of Jojo’s suggestions?

  ‘Come on, it’s our last weekend before open season on weddings,’ Rachel almost pleaded. Eva did not need asking again.

  The spa was heavenly. It was clean and light. Even the atmosphere was pristine. Women floated by silently in white robes and cotton slippers.

  Rachel had booked the weekend package; one night, two delicious days. They checked into their room. Two beds, an oversized bath and luxurious skincare miniatures. Eva claimed the bed nearest the window and they changed into swimming costumes and robes. There was a plate of chocolate-covered apricots and strawberries alongside a welcome note. There was nothing the spa staff hadn’t thought of.

  When Rachel unpacked her toothbrush and eye mask she found an envelope in her Breton holdall. It was a greetings card of a pug having its claws painted a shocking pink. And inside were the words: Relax. Love David xxx. She let out a big sigh and remembered the words of her acupuncturist: a sigh is negative energy stored in the chest. She tried to breathe out all the negative energy and only stopped when she had nothing left to give. Rachel checked her phone one last time. No important emails, no messages from David. She packed the phone away in her bag.

  Now she would finally get the time to enjoy the books she had been meaning to read; she felt she needed to escape with the help of Jack Reacher’s brawn and wayward streak. She dreamed of being alongside him, no baggage, just the two of them on the open road. Utter bliss. A gentle knock on the door interrupted her Reacher fantasy. Susie, head spa co-ordinator, welcomed Rachel and Eva with a glass of Prosecco and presented them with the relaxing programme they had pre-planned plus some complementary group sessions they could enjoy.

  She gave them vouchers for the restaurant to be used for afternoon tea (with more Prosecco) and high-lighted their treatment times for Rachel’s hot stone massage and a calming facial, and Eva’s mud wrap and rejuvenating facial. They investigated the labyrinth of steam and sauna rooms. Rachel started with the foot baths. The jets of water tickled her toes. Next she sat in the hot dry salt sauna and allowed the tears to fall unobserved. She swam in the pool. Washed away the hurt in the rain walk. Read on a waterbed. Recuperated in the mineral steam room.

  The spa’s serenity was momentarily disrupted by a gaggle of women on a hen party, all tittering with excitement and whispering loudly. She left the hens to it in the sage-infused sauna, dousing herself in cold water, which was warm by the time it reached her hot taut skin. The spa was working its magic; already she could feel the stored feelings of insecurity, sense of betrayal and bitterness seeping from her pores. Rachel and Eva had arranged to meet for a complementary mini-spa experience. They gave each other the look that said: ‘Please can we live here?’ Rachel felt the weeks of angst wash away.

  The session was taken by Spa Head Girl, Susie. It was in essence a sales pitch as Susie got the spagoers to try different products on various parts of their bodies, in the hope they’d order an overly-expensive facial exfoliant and body oil (to be used on face, body and hair) that afterwards would be stored in the bathroom and forgotten. The instructions for use were beyond Rachel. Masks that should be left for twenty minutes at night but only ten minutes if applied in the morning. She tried a facial exfoliant that needed to be left to dry before she gently rubbed away the dead skin cells. Her robe was left covered in face dandruff. No, thank you!

  She was taken by the mineral serum, though, and the lavender toning mi
st induced her into a state of total calm. The £40 price tag soon brought her back to a state of clear-headedness. Eva was impressed by a particularly fragrant aromatherapy body oil, and Rachel made a mental note to buy her the set as a thank you present. Soon they were joined by the increasingly raucous hen party. Eva rolled her eyes as she nodded towards the group’s matching robes and slippers, which were personalised with #BettyBride stitching.

  Susie described how a certain invigorating wash shouldn’t be used on any sensitive areas and she gave the bikini area as an example; she blushed when the hen party started giggling delightedly. Rachel couldn’t help but notice how young they were, without a single trace of wear on their faces or bodies. One of the women untied her hair and red curls danced around her shoulders. She looked vaguely familiar – a celebrity perhaps? Rachel did a double take. Could it be her?

  The bride, Betty, confirmed with the others in her group the running order for the rest of the day. ‘Amelia-Rose and I have massages now.’ She hooped her arm round the redhead’s.

  Astounded to be face-to-face with her husband’s lover, Rachel might have whispered, ‘It’s you,’ but she still wasn’t quite sure. She seemed to be existing a little outside herself, feeling light-headed and giddy from the potent aromatherapy oils and the hot sauna. Amelia-Rose was such a beautiful name … It suited her. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl – and she was just a girl really. Rachel actually laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was that or cry. She was transfixed; Amelia-Rose was even more stunning up close. Tempted to reach out and touch her face, Rachel attempted a smile towards her mortal Nemesis.