What Holly's Husband Did

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘He’ll be thrilled, Jeanie,’ I said warmly, knowing that Alex would be touched, if a little embarrassed.

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Let me see,’ she frowned, then put a finger up in the air, as if a light-bulb had just gone off inside her head. There was something theatrical about the pose. Almost – as I would wonder later when replaying this moment – deliberate. ‘I’m going to sing Genie in a Bottle.’ She looked at me speculatively. Defiantly? ‘Because I, for one,’ she waggled her eyebrows, ‘would secretly love to rub Alex the right way.’

  And in that moment, it was as if a pause button had been hit on a giant cosmic remote control. Everyday life around me froze. Jeanie’s mouth stopped working. Caro ceased offering me a slice of chocolate cake. Even the rain paused in its lashing against the window pane as my mind zipped back to last Christmas. Re-read that text. My eyes widened. No! Or… I gulped… was there an outside chance Jeanie could be Queenie? After all, she’d always been a flirt with the men, Alex included. I’d never really had reason to doubt the cheeky behaviour of one of my best friends before. Until now. Was this just a massive coincidence that Jeanie had mentioned the very words used in the sext messages? Or had she just made a massive faux-pas? I didn’t know. I knew I wasn’t particularly rational in in my thinking where those wretched messages were concerned. I wouldn’t confront Jeanie – I needed to be sure. But from this moment on, I vowed to watch Jeanie closer than a hawk hovering over a field mouse.

  10

  There must have been something in my expression that had Jeanie pausing. Looking at me uncertainly.

  ‘What?’ she asked, slightly on the defensive. ‘Is it my voice? Do you think I can’t sing? I can practice,’ she said, looking anxious, desperate not to have her moment under the spotlight thwarted.

  ‘N-no,’ I stammered, urgently recovering my composure. ‘You sounded great. Fabulous.’ I nodded.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she looked uncertain now, worried. ‘I don’t want to make a dick of myself.’

  ‘You can’t make a dick of yourself,’ said Caro, ‘because you haven’t got one.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jeanie, quietly, ‘I said “dick” because it sounds better than “twat”.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know!’ I said brightly, ‘nothing wrong with the word “twat” in the right place and the right sets of circumstances.’ I met her gaze. ‘And when in relation to the right person too, of course.’

  Jeanie blanched. She was looking at me apprehensively. Caro was frowning, her expression one of bewilderment. She couldn’t work out what was suddenly going on, or why the atmosphere had changed from fun chatter to edgy tension.

  ‘I won’t sing,’ said Jeanie, now looking visibly upset.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Caro, ‘it’s a karaoke-band. Anyone can sing. That’s the whole point of something like this. Having a laugh at people who are out of tune.’

  Jeanie looked horrified. ‘Was I out of tune?’

  ‘No!’ Caro and I chorused together.

  ‘Of course you must sing,’ I said, touching her arm, anxious to slap down the cow in me and restore pleasantness. I was imagining things. Making mountains out of molehills. I could almost hear my husband whispering in my ear. Upsetting your bestie now, Holly? What is it with you? You’re beyond paranoid. I mentally shook my head. ‘Your voice is wonderful,’ I assured Jeanie. ‘Just brilliant. You should audition on The X Factor.’ I meant it. She did have a great voice. It was just her chosen song that had touched a nerve.

  Jeanie swallowed. Nodded. Then exhaled shakily. ‘Okay. As long as you’re sure.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! I’m might even take the mic first and sing Happy Birthday. It will be dire and very off-key, but I don’t care. As long as everyone is enjoying themselves.’

  ‘I’ll sing something too,’ said Caro, grinning. ‘When I was a teenager, I used to dream of being a pop star.’

  ‘I think we all used to sing into our hairbrushes in the privacy of our bedrooms,’ I smiled, forcing myself to relax, tugging my mind away from last Christmas to the here, the now, in Caro’s kitchen.

  ‘What will you sing, Caro?’ asked Jeanie, now fully recovered and turning her attention back to the chocolate cake.

  ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ said Caro, without any hesitation. ‘I have a voice like a foot rasp, so it’s the perfect tune to growl into the microphone.’

  ‘Oooh, I love that song,’ said Jeanie, enthusiastically. ‘And what are we all going to wear? I’m definitely up for raiding the house-keeping and buying a new frock. The last time I partied I was only a size ten, which shows how long ago that was!’ She patted her generous curves.

  ‘I think the three of us should have a shopping day together,’ said Caro.

  ‘Great idea,’ said Jeanie, her eyes shining. ‘Perhaps we could ask Simon to come along, Holly? You know, for guidance. He’s very Gok Wan in his manner, isn’t he?’

  ‘Believe me, Simon is the last one we want to accompany us. He’ll be shredding our self-esteem faster than a kid tearing at birthday wrapping paper.’

  ‘But I like Simon,’ Jeanie protested, ‘he’s so funny.’

  I looked at Jeanie incredulously. ‘Well, if you don’t mind being told your breasts are like socks, and your buttocks resemble a sofa that’s lost its stuffing, then go ahead. But count me out.’ Perish the thought that my brother joined us. He’d love every moment. Be in his element. I could see him now, looking down his nose at something designer, making loud comments about putting me in trousers to hide the thread veins on my legs. Oh no. Definitely not. ‘Quite apart from anything else,’ I added, ‘remember he has his own online fashion business. He’ll be steering you into something hideously expensive and completely crazy, like fuchsia-pink covered in ginger feathers teamed with scarlet heels and saying, “Fabulous, dah-ling, now you’re speaking to the world and showing the colours of your soul”.’

  ‘Ok, ok. Shall we go to Bluewater tomorrow then?’ asked Caro. ‘Press our noses up to the brightly lit glass windows of Top Shop, before heading over to Evans?’

  ‘I quite like the sound of fuchsia-pink and ginger feathers,’ said Jeanie, pouting.

  Before I could contribute any further to the conversation, my mobile began ringing. I reached into my handbag. The display let me know it was Alex. Caro caught sight of the screen.

  ‘Look out,’ said Caro, ‘Alex is about to summon Holly to his surgery saying he can’t see another patient until he’s had the superior bonk.’

  Jeanie giggled, and I put a finger to my lips as I answered.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ I purred, letting the girls know I was thrilled to hear from my husband who I was still madly in love with and, if I’m absolutely honest, conveyed to Jeanie that no matter how many times she sang Genie in a Bottle she didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘Holly,’ said Alex, his voice full of irritation, ‘where are you?’

  I laughed seductively and said, ‘I can be anywhere you want me to be.’

  Caro and Jeanie raised their eyebrows at each other as if to say, “See! He really is summoning her for that superior bonk!”

  ‘Good,’ said Alex, ignoring my innuendo, ‘because my nurse has just gone home with migraine, and I need a dental assistant for this afternoon’s patient list. Can you get to the surgery as soon as possible, please?’

  ‘Your wish is my command,’ I said huskily.

  There was a pause before Alex spoke again.

  ‘Have you been on the sherry?’

  I grinned at Caro and Jeanie, letting them think that naughty flirtatious banter between Alex and myself was all in a morning’s work. Regrettably, I’d started something here, thanks to being privately embarrassed about sparse couplings with my husband. If I couldn’t prove to myself that all was well, if nothing else I’d make damn sure I’d prove it to my girlfriends. Especially Jeanie. I knew perfectly well they’d repeat it back to their respective husbands. I could almost hear Jeanie saying, “The Harts’ marriage
is alive and kicking.”

  What they didn’t know, of course, was that it was just kicking.

  11

  Jeanie kindly agreed to drop Sophie home after school, and the three of us promised to meet at Bluewater the next day. I arrived at the dental practice forty minutes later.

  As I walked into Alex’s surgery room, my husband looked up from his keyboard and gave me a grateful look. His tone, however, was brisk.

  ‘Get your scrubs on, Holly. There’s not a moment to lose. The next patient is due in two minutes.’

  ‘Give me a chance,’ I puffed, hanging up my coat and slipping my handbag into a corner. I wasn’t keen to leave it in the staff room. There were no lockers, and only last week somebody with light fingers had removed fifty pounds from another nurse’s handbag. Not that a thief would have much success with the contents of mine. Unless they liked stinky food jars.

  I headed there now though to get changed, emerging seconds later to catch a glimpse of a woman going into Alex’s surgery. His patient had arrived. She was tall and slim, with a waterfall of dark hair tumbling down her back. The door shut behind her. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my uniform, and moved down the hallway to Alex’s surgery. I was just about to press down the handle when I heard a throaty laugh on the other side of the wooden panels, followed by Alex joining in. I paused. He sounded so happy. It made me realise that, recently, we hadn’t done a lot of laughing in our marriage. The woman said something undistinguishable. I strained to hear:

  … ironed things out … questions … problem gone away … dangers of sexting …

  I gasped, quickly stilling the noise of my breath to glean any further key words, sifting through the muttering and furtive laughter coming from within. Alex was talking now, but mumbling. I couldn’t work out what he was saying and was forced to press one ear flat against the door. The woman was now speaking. It was little more than a murmur. And then she said an audible word that was never very far from the corners of my thoughts. Queenie.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Hart?’

  I jumped, bashing my forehead hard on the edge of the door frame. I turned, my face a picture of guilt, to see Alex’s receptionist Jenny – evidently on her way to the loo – frowning at the sight of the boss’s wife eaves-dropping.

  ‘Yes,’ I spluttered, rubbing my throbbing head, ‘just … just listening to see … if it’s clear to go in.’ I pointed one finger at the door. Made a stabbing motion. ‘Someone’s in there.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s the patient, Mrs Hart,’ said Jenny, as if addressing someone very slow, ‘and she’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Right, yes, thanks,’ I nodded. Blasted woman. I had never taken to Jenny. She had a haughty demeanour, and much of the time carried on like she owned the place. ‘Thank you for the reminder.’

  She gave me a strange look, but didn’t move. For goodness sake. Didn’t she have a pee to do? Or did she always loiter in corridors? A bit like you, said a little voice in my head. Ignoring it, I shouldered the door open.

  It was clear that Alex and his patient had stopped exchanging secrets to listen to me and Jenny outside. My husband’s expression was guarded, and the patient had arranged her features into one of neutrality. As I glanced at her, my eyes widened with surprise. I knew her. Well, not personally. But I definitely recognised her. She was one of Alex’s Facebook friends, easily recognised because in a sea of jowly-cheeked men and grey-haired women, her photograph had leapt out. I could see it hadn’t done her justice. She was, quite simply, stunning. And she knew about Queenie. I gulped. So, was Jeanie “Queenie”, or could this exotic creature be her instead? I checked her left hand. No wedding band. She was a free agent. And a very beautiful free agent at that. Bugger. And what was her name? Pretty sure it had an upper-class ring to it. Annabelle Arty-Farty-Something-or-Other.

  ‘At last,’ said Alex, ‘we’ve been waiting.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry,’ I said, meekly bowing my sore head, and scuttling over to the far end of the room where sterilised instruments were set out on a tray. I picked everything up and, moving to the right of the patient, set it down on a bracket table next to my husband’s elbow.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Alex. ‘Okay, we’re doing a white filling today.’ He pressed a foot pedal so the chair reclined backwards. ‘Let’s get you numbed up, Annabelle.’ He gave her his best chairside smile and picked up a syringe full of local anaesthetic. ‘Open wide.’

  Annabelle gave a little giggle, as if Alex had said something funny. And naughty. I was standing to her left, slightly behind her head, so couldn’t see if she was smiling with her eyes at Alex. I looked at my husband. His eyes were twinkling with… what? Humour? Amusement? I couldn’t see his mouth because he’d pulled his dental mask up.

  ‘Oh, that is fan-tas-tic,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s just find the right spot,’ he paused, as Annabelle made an appreciative noise, ‘there it is, now get ready for a big prick,’ he said, eyes widening and – did his eyebrows just waggle? – as Annabelle gasped like a porn star. What the hell was going on here?

  ‘Perfect,’ Alex sighed. ‘How was it for you?’

  Pardon?

  ‘Would you like to wash your mouth out?’ I said, shoving a plastic cup of pink mouth rinse under her nose. ‘Sometimes pricks can leave a bitter taste.’

  I glared at Alex over Annabelle’s head. He glared back.

  Annabelle took the cup, swished, but didn’t lean over the basin.

  ‘Er, you’re meant to spit that out,’ I said.

  Her head swivelled in my direction, and she looked me straight in the eye. ‘I always swallow.’

  Bitch! There was something going on here.

  She sat back again and Alex gazed at her adoringly.

  ‘Are we ready?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she murmured, ‘as ready as I’ll ever be.’

  ‘Let’s begin,’ said Alex, sotto voce. ‘I promise I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘You could never hurt me, darling,’ she whispered.

  Darling?

  ‘I’m ready,’ Alex nodded, ‘ready to drill into you.’

  ‘Yes, oh yes.’

  Suddenly the pair of them were vibrating away, Alex with a look of intense concentration on his face, Annabelle making little squeaks and grunts, gripping the arms of the chair, then digging her fingers into the padded fabric, now raking her nails back and forth leaving tiny scratches, and finally letting out a long, shuddering moan. The drill whirred to a stop.

  ‘I wish all my patients were like you,’ Alex crooned.

  I gnashed my teeth, aware that I’d been doing it throughout the procedure so far. At this rate I’d chomp through my crowns and need a mouth guard to protect them. Perhaps I should shove Annabelle onto the floor, prostrate myself in front of Alex and cry, ‘Quick, I’m grinding, ahhhhhhhh.’

  ‘And now,’ said Alex, ‘the best bit. I’m going to fill you.’

  ‘Oh, you wonderful man.’

  ‘All in a day’s work,’ said Alex modestly, as he took the burnisher from me.

  Nobody spoke while the cavity was finished off – bonded, light cured, shaped and finally polished.

  ‘All done,’ Alex smiled.

  Annabelle gave a contented sigh.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, in a little girl voice, ‘I’m all dribbly.’

  It was too much. I grabbed the aspirator and shoved it none to gently in her mouth.

  ‘Try sucking on this.’

  I’d had enough. First Jeanie telling me she wanted to sing just for Alex, and not any old song, but a song about a magical creature who rubbed phallic objects, and now this woman in my husband’s surgery, writhing away in his chair, making sex noises, with Alex doing the equivalent of pillow talk throughout the treatment. Without a doubt one of them was Queenie. And I was on red alert.

  12

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirl of root canals, extractions and amalgam. I had no chance to quiz Alex about Annabelle and, even if there had been a su
itable lull in work, I decided that the surgery wasn’t the place to interrogate my husband, especially with my emotions swinging wildly between hurt and boiling anger, and also a beady-eyed receptionist never very far away. I had no doubt Jenny would delight in gossiping to the other associates and their nurses about Mrs Hart making wild accusations about goodness-only-knew-what.

  I left the surgery before Alex. He had patient notes to finish off, and a till to cash up. But I wouldn’t have too long to wait until he was home. And then I’d resist the temptation to pull up a stool and shine a light in his eyes to ask exactly how he knew Annabelle, and what they had in common – other than a horizontal position in his surgery.

  Sophie was already home when I arrived. She was in high spirits and greeted me effusively.

  ‘Hiya!’ she beamed. Good heavens. Was this child actually my daughter, or an alien that had stolen her identity? ‘I’ve had such a fab day at school.’

  ‘Lovely, darling,’ I smiled at her exuberance. No tales today about bullies or bitchiness. A relief on both sides.

  ‘You know you said I could invite ten friends to Dad’s party?’

  ‘Er, yes?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mummy,’ said my daughter, in a sugary sweet voice, ‘but it might now be twelve. Is that okay? I just didn’t want to upset Amelia and Tara.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Good heavens, we mustn’t disappoint them, must we? Clearly it was much more important to keep friends happy, as opposed to me. I was about to protest, but then stopped. I didn’t want to rankle Sophie. I was still enjoying the novelty of having a cheerful teen. And – confession time – I just wasn’t up for any door slamming right now. I chucked my coat over the bannister and went into the kitchen, my mind on what to cook for dinner. Sophie padded after me, possibly anticipating a delayed negative reaction over the two extra friends, but she was pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Okay, darling, I’ll agree to Amelia and Tara, but if we could absolutely draw the line there, yes?’