by B. A. Paris
‘So what are your other hobbies, apart from painting, gardening and reading?’
‘Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that,’ I say, realising how lame it sounds.
‘What Grace hasn’t told you is that she makes a lot of her own clothes,’ Jack intervenes. ‘Just the other day, she made herself a lovely dress.’
‘Really?’ Esther looks at me with interest.
Used to thinking on my feet, I don’t bat an eyelid. ‘It was just a dress to wear around the house,’ I explain. ‘Nothing fancy. I don’t make clothes to wear out in the evening or anything too complicated.’
‘I didn’t know you were good with a needle.’ Diane’s eyes gleam. ‘I’d love to be able to sew.’
‘Me too,’ says Esther. ‘Perhaps you could teach me, Grace.’
‘Maybe we could start a sewing circle with you as our teacher,’ Diane suggests.
‘I’m really not that good,’ I protest, ‘which is why I’ve never mentioned it before. I’m too worried people will ask to see something I’ve made.’
‘Well, if you sew anything like you cook, I’m sure the dress you made is beautiful!’
‘You’ll have to show it to us sometime,’ Esther says.
‘I will,’ I promise. ‘But only if you don’t ask me to make you one.’
The constant need to field her remarks makes me feel so tense that I consider skipping dessert, something I wouldn’t normally do. But if I don’t have one, Diane won’t, and because Esther has just professed herself too full to eat another thing, it means that the meal can be rounded up quickly. I weigh the pros and cons but in the end the lure of chocolate fudge cake is too strong. I take another sip of wine, hoping to stave off more of Esther’s questioning, wishing she would turn her attention to Diane for a while.
As if reading my mind, she asks Diane about her son. His eating habits is one of Diane’s favourite topics of conversation, so I get a few minutes’ reprieve while the conversation revolves around how best to get children to eat vegetables they don’t like. Jack listens attentively, as if the subject is of real interest to him and my mind turns to Millie, worrying how she will take it if I’m not able to go and see her over the weekend, because it’s getting harder and harder to explain my absences to her. Once, it would never have occurred to me to wish her to be any different to how she has always been. Now, I’m constantly wishing that she didn’t have Down’s, that she wasn’t dependent on me, that she could live her own life instead of having to share mine.
Called abruptly back to the present by Diane ordering my dessert for me, I tell Esther, when she asks what I was dreaming about, that I was thinking about Millie. Diane asks if we’ve seen her recently so I tell her that we saw her the previous Sunday and that Jack took us out for a lovely lunch. I wait for someone to ask if we’ll be going to see her again this weekend, but nobody does, so I am none the wiser.
‘She must be looking forward to coming to live with you,’ Esther says, as the desserts arrive.
‘Yes, she is,’ I agree.
Jack smiles. ‘We’re looking forward to it too.’
‘What does she think of the house?’
I reach for my glass. ‘Actually, she hasn’t seen it yet.’
‘But didn’t you move in a year ago?’
‘Yes, but we want everything to be perfect before she sees it,’ Jack explains.
‘It looked pretty perfect to me when I saw it,’ she remarks.
‘Her room isn’t quite finished yet, but I’m having so much fun doing it up, aren’t I, darling?’ To my horror, I feel tears welling up inside me and bow my head quickly, conscious of Esther’s eyes on me.
‘What colour will it be?’ asks Diane.
‘Red,’ says Jack. ‘It’s her favourite colour.’ He nods at my chocolate fudge cake. ‘Eat up, darling.’
I pick up my spoon, wondering how I’m going to be able to do as he says.
‘It looks delicious,’ says Esther. ‘I don’t suppose you want to share it with me, do you?’
I hesitate, feigning reluctance, wondering why I’m bothering because I won’t have fooled Jack. ‘Help yourself,’ I say, offering her my fork.
‘Thank you.’ She spears a piece of the cake. ‘Did you and Jack come in separate cars?’
‘No, we came together.’
‘Then I’ll drop you back, if you like.’
‘It’s fine, I intend taking Grace home before going into the office,’ Jack says.
‘Isn’t that a bit of a detour?’ she frowns. ‘You can get straight on the motorway to London from here. I’ll take her home, Jack, it’s really no problem.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but there are some documents that I need to pick up before seeing one of my clients later this afternoon.’ He pauses. ‘It’s a shame I didn’t bring them with me, because I would have let you take Grace home with pleasure.’
‘Another time, then.’ Esther turns to me. ‘Grace, perhaps we can exchange telephone numbers? I’d like to have you all around to dinner, but I need to check with Rufus to see when he’s free. He has a trip to Berlin coming up and I’m not sure when it is.’
‘Of course.’ I give her our home number and she taps it into her mobile.
‘And your mobile?’
‘I don’t have one.’
She does a double take. ‘You don’t have a mobile?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t see the need for one.’
‘But everybody over the age of ten and under the age of eighty has one!’
‘Well, not me,’ I say, amused—despite myself—at her reaction.
‘I know, it’s incredible, isn’t it?’ says Diane. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to buy one but she isn’t interested.’
‘But how on earth does anybody get hold of you when you’re out and about?’ wonders Esther.
I shrug. ‘They don’t.’
‘Which is quite a good thing,’ says Diane dryly. ‘I can’t go shopping without Adam or one of the children phoning to ask me to get them something, or to find out when I’ll be back. The number of times I’ve been standing at the checkout in Tesco trying to load all my shopping into bags while trying to sort out something at home doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘But what if you have a problem?’ asks Esther, still trying to get her head round it.
‘People managed perfectly well before without mobiles,’ I point out.
‘Yes, back in the Dark Ages.’ She turns to Jack. ‘Jack, buy your wife a mobile, for God’s sake!’
Jack opens his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘I’d be only too happy to. But I know that if I did, she wouldn’t use it.’
‘I can’t believe that—not once she realises how practical they are.’
‘Jack’s right, I wouldn’t,’ I confirm.
‘Please tell me you have a computer.’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘Then could I have your email address?’
‘Sure. It’s [email protected].’
‘Isn’t that Jack’s address?’
‘It’s mine too.’
She raises her head and looks at me quizzically from across the table. ‘Don’t you have your own address?’
‘What for? Jack and I don’t have any secrets from each other. And if people email me, it’s usually to invite us for dinner, or something else that concerns Jack too, so it’s easier if he sees the messages as well.’
‘Especially as Grace often forgets to tell me things,’ Jack says, smiling indulgently at me.
Esther looks thoughtfully at the two of us. ‘You really are a joined-at-the-hip couple, aren’t you? Well, as you haven’t got a mobile, I suppose you’ll have to resort to pen and paper to take my numbers down. Have you got a pen?’
I know that I don’t. ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, intending to make a show of looking for one. I reach for my bag, which I had slung over the back of my chair, but she gets there first and hands it to me.
‘Goodness, it feels empty!’
‘I travel light,’ I tell her, opening my bag and peering inside. ‘No, sorry, I don’t have one.’
‘It’s all right, I’ll get them.’ Jack takes out his mobile. ‘I already have your home number, Esther, from Rufus, so if you just give me your mobile?’
As she reels it off, I try desperately to commit it to memory, but I get lost somewhere near the end. I close my eyes and try to retrieve the last few numbers but it’s impossible.
‘Thanks, Esther,’ says Jack. I open my eyes and find Esther looking at me curiously from across the table. ‘I’ll write it down for Grace when we get home.’
‘Wait a minute—is it 721 or 712 in the middle?’ Esther furrows her brow. ‘I can never remember which it is. The end is easy enough—9146—it’s the bit before I have a problem with. Could you just check, Diane?’
Diane gets out her phone and locates Esther’s number. ‘It’s 712,’ she says.
‘Oh yes—07517129146. Did you get that, Jack?’
‘Yes, it’s fine. Right, anyone for coffee?’
But we don’t bother, because Diane has to get back to work and Esther doesn’t want any. Jack asks for the bill and Diane and Esther disappear off to the toilet. I would like to go too, but I don’t bother following them. The bill paid, Jack and I take leave of the others and walk towards the car park.
‘Well, did you enjoy that, my perfect little wife?’ Jack asks, opening the car door for me.
I recognise one of his million-dollar questions. ‘Not really.’
‘Not even the dessert you were so looking forward to?’
I swallow hard. ‘Not as much as I thought I would.’
‘It’s lucky Esther was able to help you out then, wasn’t it?’
‘I would have eaten it anyway,’ I tell him.
‘And deprived me of so much pleasure?’
A tremor goes through my body. ‘Absolutely.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Do I detect a renewal of your fighting spirit? I’m so glad. To tell the truth, I’ve been getting quite bored.’ He gives me an amused glance. ‘Bring it on, Grace—I’m waiting for you.’
PAST
That evening, the evening of my wedding day, when I stepped into the bedroom after my bath, I was dismayed to find it empty. Presuming that Jack had gone off to make a phone call, I felt irritated that something could be more important to him on our wedding day than me. But my irritation quickly turned to anxiety when I remembered that Millie was in hospital and in the space of a couple of seconds I managed to convince myself that something terrible had happened to her, that Mum had phoned Jack to tell him, and that he had left the room because he didn’t want me to hear their conversation.
I ran to the bedroom door and flung it open, expecting to see Jack pacing up and down the corridor, trying to work out how to break some tragic news to me. But it was empty. Guessing he had gone down to the lobby and not wanting to waste time going to find him, I searched through my luggage, which had been dropped off at the hotel by the chauffeur, dug out my phone and rang Mum’s mobile. As I waited to be connected, it occurred to me that if she was talking to Jack, I wouldn’t be able to get through to her anyway. I was about to hang up and call Dad’s mobile instead when I heard her phone ringing and, soon after, her voice.
‘Mum, what’s happened?’ I cried before she’d even finished saying hello. ‘Has there been a complication or something?’
‘No, everything’s fine.’ Mum sounded surprised.
‘So Millie’s all right?’
‘Yes, she’s sound asleep.’ She paused. ‘Are you all right? You sound agitated.’
I sat down on the bed, weak with relief. ‘Jack’s disappeared so I thought that maybe you’d phoned with bad news and that he’d gone to talk to you in private,’ I explained.
‘What do you mean, “disappeared”?’
‘Well, he’s not in the room. I went into the bathroom to have a bath and when I came out he was gone.’
‘He’s probably gone down to the reception for something. I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute. How did the wedding go?’
‘Fine, really well, considering that I couldn’t stop thinking about Millie. I hated that she wasn’t there. She’s going to be so disappointed when she realises that we went ahead and got married without her.’
‘I’m sure she’ll understand,’ Mum soothed, and I felt furious at how little she knew Millie, because of course she wouldn’t understand. I was appalled to find I was near to tears, but after all that had happened, Jack’s disappearing act was the last straw. Telling Mum that I would see her at the hospital the next morning, I asked her to give Millie a kiss for me and hung up.
As I dialled Jack’s mobile, I told myself to calm down. We had never rowed before and shouting at him down the phone like a fishwife wouldn’t achieve anything. Something had obviously come up with one of his clients, a last-minute problem that he needed to sort out before we left for Thailand. He would be just as annoyed at being disturbed on his wedding day as I was.
I was relieved when I heard his phone ringing, relieved that he wasn’t on the phone to someone, hoping it meant that the problem—whatever it was—had been sorted. When he didn’t pick up I stifled a cry of frustration and left a message on his voicemail.
‘Jack, where on earth are you? Could you phone me back, please?’
I hung up and began to pace the room restlessly, wondering where he had gone. My eyes fell on the clock on the bedside table and I saw that it was nine o’clock. I tried to imagine why Jack hadn’t answered his phone, why he hadn’t been able to take my call and wondered if one of the other partners had come to the hotel to talk to him. When another ten minutes had gone by, I dialled his number again. This time it went straight through to his voicemail.
‘Jack, please phone me back,’ I said sharply, knowing he must have turned his mobile off after my last call. ‘I need to know where you are.’
I heaved my suitcase onto the bed, opened it and took out the beige trousers and shirt I planned to wear for travelling the following day. Pulling them on over my camisole and knickers, I dressed quickly, put the key card into my pocket and left the room, taking my telephone with me. Too agitated to wait for the lift, I took the stairs down to the lobby and headed for the reception desk.
‘Mrs Angel, isn’t it?’ The young man behind the desk smiled at me. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Actually, I’m looking for my husband. Have you seen him anywhere?’
‘Yes, he came down about an hour ago, not long after you checked in.’
‘Do you know where he went? Did he go to the bar, by any chance?’
He shook his head. ‘He went out through the front doors. I presumed he was going to fetch something from the car.’
‘Did you see him come back in?’
‘Now that you mention it, no, I didn’t. But I was busy checking in another client at one point, so it could be that I didn’t see him.’ He eyed the phone in my hand. ‘Have you tried phoning him?’
‘Yes, but his mobile’s switched off. He’s probably in the bar, drowning his sorrows that he’s now a married man.’ I smiled, trying to make light of it. ‘I’ll go and have a look.’
I made my way to the bar but there was no sign of Jack. I checked the various lounges, the fitness room and the swimming pool. On the way to check the two restaurants, I left another message on his voicemail, my voice breaking with anxiety.
‘No luck?’ The receptionist gave me a sympathetic look as I arrived back in the lobby on my own.
I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t find him anywhere.’
‘Have you looked if your car is still in the car park? At least you’d know whether or not he’d left the hotel.’
I went out through the front doors and followed the path round to the car park at the back of the hotel. The car wasn’t where Jack had left it nor was it anywhere else. Not wanting to go back through the lobby and face the recept
ionist again, I went in through the back door and ran up the stairs to the bedroom, praying that I would find Jack already there, that he would have arrived back while I’d been out looking for him. When I found the bedroom empty, I burst into tears of frustration. I told myself that the fact the car was missing went someway to explaining why he hadn’t answered his phone, because he never answered his phone while he was driving. But if he’d had to go back to the office on urgent business, why hadn’t he knocked on the bathroom door and told me? And if he hadn’t wanted to disturb me in my bath, why hadn’t he at least left me a note?
Increasingly worried, I dialled his number and left a tearful message saying that if I didn’t hear from him within the next ten minutes I was going to phone the police. I knew that the police would be my last port of call, that before phoning them I would phone Adam, but I hoped that in mentioning the police Jack would realise just how worried I was.
They were the longest ten minutes of my life. Then, just as I was about to call Adam, my phone beeped, telling me I’d received a text message. Letting out a shaky sigh of relief, I opened it and when I saw that it was from Jack, tears of relief fell from my eyes, making it impossible to read what he had written. But it didn’t matter because I knew what it would say, I knew it would say that he’d been called away unexpectedly, that he was sorry I’d been worried but that he hadn’t been able to answer his phone because he’d been in a meeting, that he’d be back soon and that he loved me.
I reached for a tissue from the box on the desk, wiped my eyes, blew my nose and looked at the message again.
‘Don’t be so hysterical, it doesn’t suit you. Something’s come up, I’ll see you in the morning.’
Stunned, I sat down on the bed, reading the message over and over again, convinced I had misunderstood it in some way. I couldn’t believe that Jack would have written something so cruel or been so cutting. He had never spoken to me in such a way before, he had never even raised his voice to me. I felt as if I’d been slapped in the face. And why wouldn’t he be back until the following morning? Surely I deserved some explanation and, at the very least, an apology? Suddenly furious, I called him back, trembling with anger, daring him to answer his phone and, when he didn’t, I had to force myself not to leave a voicemail that I would later regret.
