What Holly's Husband Did

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘RUPERT!’ I shrieked, as I crashed down on the hard pavement.

  It was all over in a second. There was a terrified squeal from Rupert, a horrible thud of metal on bone, the sickening sound of snapping and breaking, a mighty screech of brakes, and then a shape flying through the air and thumping down in front of me.

  ‘OH MY GOD, HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME!’ I screamed, scrambling to my feet. One hand accidentally touched the inert and twisted form silhouetted in the car’s headlights. Suddenly I was vibrating faster than one of my husband’s dental drills. For a moment the road spun, and I thought I might faint. There was a clunk of a car door, and the sound of heavy footsteps rushing towards me as I staggered, mindful not to tread on the lifeless body. Suddenly strong arms were holding me up.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ said a man’s voice. ‘You’re all right. Everything’s okay, but you’re in shock.’

  ‘My d-dog,’ I stuttered, teeth chattering like joke dentures out of a Christmas cracker.

  ‘Your dog’s fine,’ said the man, as Rupert slunk towards me, tail at half-mast, with a flicker of an apologetic wag. ‘Here, boy,’ said the man, grabbing Rupert’s collar. ‘May I?’ he asked, propping me up with one hand as, with the other, he took the lead from me and dextrously clipped it onto Rupert’s collar. I was staring at my dog as if he was Christ risen again.

  ‘B-but,’ I stared wildly at the shape on the pavement, ‘I thought …’

  ‘It’s a hare.’

  Rupert looked at it longingly, clearly still thinking of his stomach, but prepared to leave it alone in order to ingratiate himself back into my good books.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I said, and promptly burst into tears.

  ‘Listen, you’re not in any fit state to walk home. Let me give you a lift.’

  ‘Oh n-no, really, I-I’m fine.’ I swiped a fluttering hand across my face, rubbing away tears. ‘I-I can walk.’ Just as soon as my legs stopped doing an impersonation of blancmange.

  ‘Are you worried about accepting lifts from strangers?’ the man asked, kindly.

  The thought had flashed through my mind, but I hadn’t liked to say.

  ‘I’m a doctor,’ he said.

  So was Harold Shipman.

  ‘I can call someone, if you prefer?’ he suggested.

  ‘I-I’m not sure my husband is available,’ I answered.

  Alex had planned on ‘swinging by’ Annabelle’s for coffee. I looked up at the man, trying to read his face in the lamp light. Did he look like a serial killer? Were his eyes too close together? Instead, as I took in his features properly, I caught my breath. He was so indecently handsome, he made Alex look ordinary.

  ‘Let me wait with you while you try calling him,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit lonely here.’

  I was on a very isolated stretch of road. It occurred to me that if this man wanted to rape or murder me, he could pretty much do it right here and now without any interruption. It was also now pitch black and freezing. Even Rupert was shivering.

  ‘If it’s no trouble, then perhaps I will accept a lift,’ I said gratefully, thinking that Rupert would surely defend me if the man tried anything dodgy. Not that Rupert was aggressive, and anyway one whiff of his breath was enough to have even the strongest person running for the hills.

  The man smiled. Even in the gloom I could see he had very white, even teeth. He was so good-looking it was almost obscene. And unsettling. He reminded me of Patrick Dempsey in his heyday. I was feeling quite weird now, and wasn’t sure whether shock was still at play, or whether this man was having an odd effect on me.

  He opened the passenger door and I almost fell into the seat, so wobbly were my legs. The man strapped me in, as if I was a child, and then lifted Rupert onto my lap.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked, his voice full of kindness.

  ‘Yes. Thank you,’ I said, suddenly feeling shy.

  Seconds later he was in the driver’s seat and we were on the road home. I gave him directions, my voice occasionally catching as I hugged Rupert tightly, so glad that my smelly boy was still of this world. I buried my head in his fur, and he licked a salty tear from my cheek.

  ‘Here we are then,’ said my good Samaritan, a few minutes later. The car rolled to a standstill outside my home. ‘I recommend a stiff brandy and an early night.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘and I’m so sorry about everything. That must have been quite a shock for you too.’

  ‘I’ve had worse,’ the man smiled. ‘Stay there, I’ll come around and help you out.’

  ‘Oh, it’s fine, I’m—’

  But he was already out of the vehicle, striding round to the passenger side, and pulling open the door. Rupert was immediately scooped up and tucked under one strong arm, while the other hauled me out of the car. His hand was warm on mine, and bizarrely a ripple of tingles zinged up and down my spine. For heaven’s sake, Holly, this is not the time nor the place to let a good-looking stranger affect you so. You are very obviously sexually frustrated. Soon you’ll be prostrating yourself across the bonnet of any passing male driver, panting, “Take me, I’m all yours.”

  ‘Shall I walk you to the door?’

  Yes please, and would you like to share that stiff brandy with me?

  ‘N-no, I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘Okay, here’s your little chap then,’ he said, handing me Rupert, ‘be a good boy for your Mum, eh?’ he laughed, and rubbed his fingers behind Rupert’s ears. I had a sudden overwhelming urge to have my own ears rubbed. Perhaps Alex might like to give it a go the next time the moon turned blue and he had a testosterone surge.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said, gazing up at him. I had to crane my neck a bit too. He was well over six feet tall.

  ‘Take care.’

  Another friendly smile, and then he was gone. As I walked up to the front door, it occurred to me that I suddenly felt bereft. And I had absolutely no idea why.

  18

  When I walked through the door, Alex was already inside. He must have got home just a few minutes ahead of me because, from my viewpoint in the hall which opened straight into the lounge, I could see he still had his coat on. He was crouched down, in front of the coffee table, staring at his laptop and frowning.

  ‘Hello!’ I called warily, putting Rupert down. My heart was still banging away at an extraordinary pace. One way or another it was getting a bit of a work-out today. From shock, to attraction, to trepidation, and all in less than an hour. When Alex finally glanced up at me, he looked livid. My pulse quickened, but for all the wrong reasons. Cancel trepidation. Make that fear.

  ‘Have we ever lied to each other?’ he demanded.

  I stared at him with huge eyes. ‘No,’ I lied. ‘Have you ever lied to me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, but his eyes slithered away.

  Okay, we were both lying. And knew it.

  ‘Did you type these ridiculous messages to Annabelle?’ he demanded.

  ‘No,’ I lied again, and this time it was my eyes that slithered away.

  ‘Well somebody did!’

  ‘Is she Queenie?’ I blurted, my voice cracking.

  Alex rubbed a weary hand over his face. ‘Oh God, not that again, Holly.’

  ‘IS SHE?’ I demanded. ‘I heard you talking together about Queenie. Yesterday, in the surgery. When I was outside the door.’

  ‘She once knew the patient. She was just making conversation. Asking if I’d ever had any further problems. That’s all.’

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. This time Alex’s eyes stayed on mine. Was he telling the truth? Or was he still lying? ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Do you know what, Holly?’ My husband stood up and came towards me. ‘I don’t actually care whether you believe me or not. Nothing I say or do to reassure you about another woman is ever going to stop you periodically acting like a fruit loop, throwing your weight about, being all sweetness and light in one moment but, in the next,’ he clicked his fingers, ‘carrying on like someone auditioning fo
r a part in The Exorcist.’

  ‘How dare you!’ I glared, aware of Rupert creeping off to a quieter corner of the house. My poor dog, all he did was slink about.

  ‘Oh I dare,’ he said, stopping in front of me. Suddenly he thrust his face into mine. ‘I am fed up,’ he hissed, ‘of constantly being accused by you.’

  ‘And not without just cause,’ I hissed back. Our noses were now practically touching. ‘How would YOU feel, Alex, if I popped out for a pinta and YOU discovered a string of sexy messages on MY mobile phone, eh? Someone quoting lyrics from a song, telling me how they’d like to hit me one more time, baby?’ I paused. Was I muddling my lyrics up?

  ‘If you told me there was nothing in it, I would believe you.’

  ‘So it wouldn’t rattle you? Wouldn’t lay dormant in the back of your mind waiting for a stimulus from an over-familiar person who called your wife darling, and regularly accompanied her to dinner-dance functions that you had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA ABOUT!’

  Alex took a step back as some spittle flew into his eye. My heart was pounding away again. I clutched my chest, as if trying to slow the frantic beating to a more sedate rhythm. This surely couldn’t be good for one’s health. I stood there panting, feeling quite ill. Perhaps I was going to have a heart attack. Maybe the shock of thinking Rupert had been killed had finally caught up with me. I wondered, if I dropped down dead right now, if Alex would even care.

  ‘We’ve had this discussion a million times before,’ said Alex tersely. ‘And I’m done with the subject.’ He turned on his heel and stalked off to the kitchen. ‘Next time you decide to write messages to my Facebook friends,’ his voice floated back to me, ‘ask my permission first.’

  ‘And next time,’ I shrieked, just as the doorbell rang, ‘ask MY permission before you sail off for coffee with CHUFFING ANNABELLE HORNYCUM-STIFF.’ I staggered slightly, heart now threatening to bounce right out of my chest and boing across the hallway. The doorbell rang again, this time more persistently. I took a deep breath and attempted rearranging my features into one of pleasantness, before opening the front door.

  ‘Yes?’

  It was Annabelle Huntingdon-Smyth. She glared at me.

  ‘Could you give this to Alex, please?’ She thrust a scarf into my hands. ‘He left it at my place.’

  ‘Yes, will do,’ I said brightly.

  ‘And just to let you know, Mrs Hart, I detest tea.’

  19

  Annabelle’s beautiful face was suffused with anger. Looking furtively over my shoulder, to make sure Alex was out of earshot, I stepped outside pulling the door after me, so it was not quite shut.

  ‘I do apologise,’ I said earnestly, ‘for any strange messages you received from my husband, but it would seem Alex’s account was hacked.’

  I could never confess to Annabelle that it was me who’d done exactly that. She’d think I was barking. And let’s be honest, half the time I was. But not without cause, protested a little voice in my head, those sexts upset your world. And anyway, if there was an outside chance of Annabelle being Queenie, then consider your action as justifiable karma. Bloody right too! I straightened my spine.

  ‘He’s changed all the passwords,’ I said, blasé now, ‘so there should be no repeat of anything untoward.’

  She gave me a measured look. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded, as my heart did a few nervous somersaults in my chest. At this rate, the continued cardiovascular workout would make me a new woman.

  Her face softened, but only a smidgen. ‘No harm done. Whoever the hacker was, they weren’t malicious. Just immature.’

  ‘Quite,’ I agreed. ‘And, er, I’m so glad to see you again,’ I said, ignoring her sudden arched eyebrow, ‘because, well, I gather you’re a very good friend of Alex’s.’

  ‘Meaning?’ she said sharply.

  ‘Meaning that it would be lovely to have you at his surprise fortieth birthday party,’ I gabbled. ‘I do hope you can come. The party is three weeks today. But obviously he knows nothing about it and,’ I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder to make sure Alex wasn’t hovering, ‘obviously your husband is most welcome too.’

  ‘I don’t have a husband.’

  Oh, yes, I remembered spotting her ring-less fingers in the surgery yesterday.

  ‘Your boyfriend, then.’

  ‘Don’t have one of those either.’

  ‘Then any friend, it doesn’t matter who,’ I ploughed on, giving her a winning smile, anxious to ingratiate myself as that nice wife of Alex Hart’s and not Barking Mad of Sevenoaks.

  ‘I do have a partner,’ she drawled, ‘but he’s married.’

  ‘R-right,’ I warbled. ‘Well, um, if he’s not with his wife that evening, bring him along.’ Oh fabulous, Holly. Now you sound like you’re condoning her duplicity.

  She threw back her head and laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. I had the distinct impression she was laughing at me.

  ‘There’s no need to bring him along,’ she said, giving me a mocking smile.

  I was about to ask why not, but the words died on my lips. For just one split second I was riddled with doubt. Was she trying to tell me something? Was she … I blanched … dropping hints that Alex was the married man? Was that why there was no need to bring him along – because he would already be there? ‘Well, whether you come alone or accompanied, I’m sure Alex will be thrilled to see you.’

  I gave her the venue address and time, then watched her stalk off. What a horrible woman. What on earth did Alex see in her? She was the type who probably had loads of men friends, but few women pals. I tried to imagine her sitting down for a cosy gossip with Jeanie and Caro, but the very thought seemed incongruous.

  I shut the door after her and took off the coat I was still wearing from walking Rupert. I slunk into the kitchen – heavens, I was emulating the dog now – to start cooking our evening meal, even though I had no appetite. I felt unsettled, and thoroughly out of sorts. I was just washing my hands at the kitchen sink ready to start prepping food, when Alex came up behind me. Bracing myself for more angry words, I was surprised when he wound his arms around my waist and hugged me to him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Sorry? I was the one in the wrong, yet he was the one apologising? But I was too relieved to question my husband’s sudden change of mood, or how either of us had behaved. I was just overjoyed we were no longer fighting.

  He turned me round to face him.

  ‘My hands are wet,’ I protested, holding them away from his shirt.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, pulling me into his arms.

  It felt so nice, I melted against him. ‘I didn’t mean to make you angry,’ I said in a small voice.

  ‘I know,’ he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

  I closed my eyes. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ I felt his body tense. ‘No accusations,’ I added quickly.

  Alex leant back slightly, so he could look down at me. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you ever regret marrying me?’

  For a moment he was silent, and I felt my stomach knot with tension.

  ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘The only thing I regret is that you saw those ridiculous texts. It has caused a lot of trouble and upset. For both of us.’

  ‘So you don’t want a divorce?’

  Alex shook his head and gave a faint smile. ‘No, I don’t want a divorce. We have a nice life. Why would I want to change that?’

  ‘For love,’ my voice quavered. And passion and thrills, a voice in my head added.

  ‘I have love with you,’ Alex said. ‘You’re one of my best friends.’

  ‘Does that mean you tell me everything – all your secrets?’

  I saw the hesitation in his eyes before he answered. ‘Of course. Do you tell me yours?’

  I found myself hesitating too. Well, no. Not everything. Sometimes I confided in Jeanie and Caro. Other times, my mother. And on the very odd occasion, my brother Simon. It depended on what the secret was, a
nd who the best person was to entrust the secret with. It was no good talking to Alex about the undisclosed course of acupuncture I’d had to help with pre-menstrual tension. He’d have hit the roof at me spending so much money when, possibly, a pot of Evening Primrose Oil might have done the trick. But Jeanie and Caro had understood perfectly when I’d confided about my irrational thoughts and increasingly barmy behaviour. It was Jeanie who’d revealed she’d seen this marvellous man who made her look like a human pin cushion every few weeks but stopped her from murdering Ray when he walked over her newly washed kitchen floor in his grubby shoes.

  ‘That’s a long pause,’ Alex smiled. ‘Are you evaluating your answer?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I shrugged. ‘I mostly tell you everything. Some of it is girl talk, and you wouldn’t be interested.’

  ‘Ah, your partners in crime, Jeanie and Caro. So they know things about you that I don’t!’

  ‘Maybe,’ I grinned.

  ‘Leave dinner for now, darling,’ he whispered, cupping his hand under my chin and tilting my face up to meet his lips.

  Astonished at such spontaneity on his part, I didn’t dare to presume that it would lead anywhere, and simply enjoyed the moment, feeling his mouth on mine, as my heart once again started to palpitate, but this time in anticipation of pleasure. I instantly batted the thought away. I didn’t want to be disappointed. Didn’t want him to suddenly step back and say, “There, glad we got things sorted, you carry on with dinner and I’ll just grab the last of Everton playing Liverpool before I have an early night – I’m absolutely shattered.” But no, wait, something was happening on his part, oh my goodness … my heart was fairly galloping now as the tip of Alex’s tongue touched my lips, parting them, darting inside my mouth. This was unprecedented behaviour at seven o’clock in the evening. Suddenly he was pulling away. Took my hand.

  ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ he asked.

  Shall we? Why was he even asking! It was as much as I could do not to drag him up to the bedroom, throw him down on the bed, rip my clothes off and punch a fist into the air as I raised my face heavenwards and shrieked, ‘Yessssssssss!’ This was why I didn’t want to lose my husband and was desperate to save my marriage. For the love and warmth that I knew was there, below the surface, if only I could just let things be. There had been lovely times in the past, and I needed to let the good times roll again. Like now.