‘I wonder where they went?’ mused Caro. ‘It certainly hasn’t been her house. There’s no way Jeanie would risk bringing a bloke home, not with the sort of neighbours she has. You can’t stand on her doorstep and ring the doorbell without all the net curtains in her road twitching like your Rupert when he’s asleep. Whoever he is, the pair of them must be having evening trysts. But, equally, they can’t be going to his house either. After all, he has a wife. And unless she’s the very understanding sort, it’s hardly likely he’d say, “Alicia, darling, just popping upstairs for a bit of rumpy-pumpy with my floozy. Put the kettle on, because I won’t be long”.’
‘Alicia?’ I queried. ‘Is that her name?’
‘No, Holly,’ said Caro patiently, ‘I made it up. I have no idea what the name of this guy’s wife is, any more than I know what he is called. It’s just a mystery how two married people can conduct snatched moments without having a handy convenient bed. I don’t imagine Jeanie is the sort of person to check in to a cheap motel for an hour, do you?’
‘No,’ I whispered, as a horrendous thought occurred to me. I knew exactly how my husband could orchestrate snatched moments with a lover, if he so wanted. At the dental surgery. There was all manner of suitable places to flop down upon once hemlines had been lifted and trousers dropped. From the squashy sofas in Reception, to the reclining dental chairs in the surgeries, to Jenny’s enormous meet-and-greet desk. And after hours there would be no interruptions. None whatsoever, thanks to the front door being firmly locked and the key tucked safely in Alex’s pocket.
‘Let’s do coffee tomorrow morning,’ said Caro, interrupting a horribly vivid image of Alex sitting on the receptionist’s typing stool, Jeanie astride my husband, and the chair spinning round and round and round as they noisily climaxed. ‘Let’s see if she confides in you, Holly, and then the two of us can press her to reveal who he is.’ She made a clicking noise with her tongue. ‘I still can’t believe it. I thought her marriage was rock solid. Like ours,’ Caro added.
I chewed my lip. One thing I could privately admit to without any shadow of a doubt was that my marriage was not solid. Had I once thought it was? Yes. Absolutely. I’d never doubted Alex’s reasons to stay married to me until last Christmas… and if he’d wanted out, he could have said so there and then. Indeed, only the other day, after my meltdown over Annabelle Huntingdon-Smyth, I’d asked him if he wanted a divorce, but he’d said no... pointed out we had a lovely life. Was it that? Simply that divorce was expensive and he didn’t want to dismantle the “lovely life”? That it was cheaper and more preferable to stay married to wifey who had never set his boxer shorts on fire but, as a family, collectively gave stability to their child, whilst he quietly got his thrills elsewhere – as Jeanie was apparently now doing? I gulped. Jeanie. With her big smile, buxom hips and billowing cleavage. Stop it, Holly, stop it. Jeanie is one of your best friends. One of the closest. She wouldn’t do that to you! Wouldn’t she? How many times in TV soaps, films, reality shows, was a good friend weeded out to the audience and shown to be a traitor who had smiled to the victim’s face and laughed behind their back?
I caught sight of my reflection in an overhead mirror. The woman looking back was pale with scared eyes and a tense expression. I’d been on edge for months. Three-quarters of a year to be precise. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that something wasn’t right in my marriage. And it didn’t matter how many times Alex vehemently denied it, someone else held his affections in the palm of their hand, had enjoyed his kisses on the curve of their lips. The question was… who? Annabelle or Jeanie? I was ninety-nine-point-nine per-cent certain that my feminine intuition was right. And in that moment, I knew it was vitally important to stop confronting Alex, to cease behaving like a suspicious wife, to abandon hissy fits, to forget cross-examination and meltdowns, and instead to sit in the wings quietly. Watching. Observing. And not just him, but Annabelle and my dear friend Jeanie too. Because sooner or later, one of them would make a wrong move. And when they did, they’d reveal themselves. And I’d be there to catch them out.
27
When I awoke the following morning, I couldn’t wait to wave Alex off to the office. I wanted a quiet moment to think. And to trawl through Facebook. To do, as my daughter would call it, stalking. I felt myself go slightly hot at even acknowledging that I was consorting with such a word. It conjured up a mental image of a paranoid person, desperately flicking through photographs of others, looking at their faces, scrutinising expressions, seeking hidden meanings. Was she touching his arm in such a way because she was claiming ownership of that man’s heart? Or was she innocently pulling him round to simply smile at the camera?
Such thoughts raced through my head now as I started by checking Jeanie’s Facebook page. She hadn’t updated her status for a couple of days. Was that because she’d felt too miserable? Too tearful? Sometimes it was hard to put on a brave face to the world, and no place more than social media. I’d quickly discovered that there were people who forever posted pictures of themselves with their other halves … look at me with Derek, aren’t we a fabulous couple! … or pictures with their kids … we are the perfect family! … but I’d read somewhere that sometimes, underneath such look-at-me postings, was an unhappy marriage or a dysfunctional family. Privately I believed that it was those who didn’t put their husbands and kids under the spotlight of social media who probably had the best relationships.
Sifting through Jeanie’s Timeline, she was doing a lot of the former. There were stacks of recent images of her with hubby Ray. My cursor hovered over the last and most recent posting. She’d captioned it: Me and my “Ray” of sunshine, ha ha! The pair of them were laughing into the camera, Ray with a hand around Jeanie’s shoulders, squeezing her tightly to him, a soppy look about his eyes which said it all: This is the only woman for me, whereas Jeanie looking radiant, positively blooming, and… triumphant. Would that be because currently she had not one, but two men bolstering her ego? I scrolled through her list of friends and was amazed to see a headshot of in-crowd Izzy, which didn’t make sense considering she and Jeanie barely acknowledged each other outside the school. I clicked on Izzy’s profile picture and, as expected, up came photograph after photograph of her family … aren’t we wholesome! … right down to everyone wearing matching festive sweaters last Christmas … aren’t we hilarious! … then, later, grouped around the in-house cinema screen sharing popcorn from a bowl the size of a small pond … aren’t we having fun! … then under the glass dome at the rear of Izzy’s house by the pool, all jumping off the side, holding noses as an upward spray of chlorinated water was snapped and forever suspended in mid-air … don’t you wish you were like us? … before disappearing underwater, vast ripples fanning out on the pool’s surface. Izzy’s husband, Sebastian, perfectly counteracted her fragile beauty, with his battered good looks and the height and build of somebody who regularly played rugby.
I clicked off Izzy’s Timeline and moved on to Annabelle Huntingdon-Smyth. But … oh, the bitch! She’d changed her privacy settings. All I could see was her profile picture, a professional portrait, studio lighting haloing her glossy mane and emphasising glowing skin, teeth pearly white thanks to either Alex’s dental tricks or a spot of photoshopping. Bugger. How could I keep an eye on her now? A part of me wondered whether to try logging on as Alex. I knew my husband’s email address, but was clueless about his password. If I tried to hack Alex’s account and he found out, he’d go ballistic. Apart from anything else, it would blow my cover on quietly catching him out. After all, I’d already vowed to be more cunning than a stealth aircraft. However, I was also a firm believer of that old saying action speaks louder than words. Annabelle’s action of changing her privacy settings smacked of something to hide. She was therefore still a suspect.
I looked at my watch. It was time to leave for coffee with Caro and Jeanie. This morning I was going to have an up-close-and-personal opportunity to question Jeanie – obviously I’d have to be careful that I
didn’t let on I knew her secret. I wasn’t yet sure how to lead her into dropping her guard and confessing that she was Queenie of the saucy sexts, but where there was a will there was a way. And right now, I was feeling very wilful.
I went to sign out but paused as a friend request notification caught my eye. I clicked on it. My eyes widened at the image of Jack smiling out from the computer screen, his eyes seemingly locked on mine. The hormonal effect was instantaneous – armpits instantly breaking out into a muck-sweat and my heart turning into a rubber ball that bounced against the underside of my ribs.
‘You,’ I said, pointing my finger at him, ‘need to stop having a strange effect on me. Do you understand? I’m with Alex, and I’m fighting to save my marriage. Stop distracting me with your come-to-bed eyes and sexy smile. Do you hear?’
His profile picture continued to stare unblinkingly at me, and I felt faintly ridiculous speaking aloud. Thank goodness nobody but Rupert was home to hear me talking to a computer image. I looked at Rupert. He’d been trailing me for the last half an hour, and now wagged his tail uncertainly.
‘Your mother’s going mad,’ I told him. His tail picked up speed, and he cocked his head to the side, one ear comically standing up, listening intently to a language he didn’t speak but was desperately trying to understand, picking out the odd word that made total doggy sense – walkies and din-dins being the top two all-time favourites. ‘Do you know what Alex is up to, Rupert? Have you heard him making secret phone calls to my friend Jeanie or his beautiful patient, Annabelle?’ Rupert replied with a deep baritone bark, as if to say, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Tell me something I understand – like meaty chunks, or chasing squirrels and meaty chunks, or hassling the postman and meaty chunks.”
I sighed and turned my attention back to Jack’s friend request and pressed the confirm button. At a later date I would reflect on this moment and wish I’d left time to do some stalking through Jack’s Timeline. If I’d done so, I’d have discovered something that would have sent shockwaves through me sooner, rather than later.
28
Sitting in Caro’s kitchen, I noticed Jeanie looked happier today. More relaxed. Gone was the tear-stained face, along with not quite being able to meet my eyes, and her body language no longer screamed she’d rather be anywhere except around me.
‘How’s the cold?’ I asked, before taking a sip of my coffee.
‘Much better, thanks,’ she smiled over the rim of her cup. ‘I suspect it was probably one of those twenty-four-hour things. But never mind me, how are you? And how’s the party planning going?’
I privately acknowledged the change of tack on her part. If you didn’t want to answer questions about yourself, bend the chit-chat to those around you. But I wasn’t going to be so easily deflected.
‘The party planning was going splendidly until Izzy and her in-crowd spoilt things. They cornered me at school.’
Jeanie was suddenly looking wary. Was this because I’d managed to steer the timeline of our conversation back to yesterday, when she’d been crying?
‘I don’t understand,’ said Caro, joining in the conversation. ‘What’s Izzy got to do with Alex’s party?’ She plonked a plate of biscuits on the table, and then settled down beside us.
‘Thanks to my darling girl sucking up to Izzy’s daughter, Tabitha, and wanting a bit of Miss Popular’s stardust to rub off on her, Sophie just happened to mention to Tabitha that good old Mum was planning a secret party for dear old Dad – and then asked Tabitha if she would like to come along as her guest. Whereupon Izzy presumed that she and Sebastian were also included, along with the rest of the in-crowd who, needless to say, have all said how much they’re looking forward to the occasion – even if it is at the lowly golf club,’ I added, my expression souring.
‘You’re kidding!’ said Caro, half-eaten biscuit suspended on its way to her mouth.
‘I only wish I were,’ I said, folding my arms across my chest.
‘Have you seen Izzy’s house?’ said Caro. ‘It’s incredible. I went there once when the glow of Tabitha’s spotlight fell briefly upon Lizzie. She was invited to tea and a swim in their pool. Do you know it has mood lighting?’ Caro’s eyes rounded in wonder. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Who the hell wants to do front crawl in purple water with rainbows arcing across the glass ceiling? When I went to pick Lizzie up, she couldn’t resist bragging and showing me. I half-expected a unicorn to wander in and Izzy to say, “And this is Sebastian’s latest acquisition. Meet Glitter. Fancy fondling his horn?”’ Caro snorted, taking another bite from her biscuit and dropping crumbs all over her lap. ‘The whole place must have cost a fortune. Sebastian is seriously loaded. So how are you going to stop Izzy from coming?’
‘I can’t,’ I said, shrugging. ‘If I put my foot down, Sophie will be sent to Coventry by the entire class. She’d never get an invitation to anybody’s house again. I can’t do that to her. So be aware, girls, I’ve cancelled the free buffet and bar. Apologies. Make sure you eat before arriving and have a bottle of gin in your handbag.’
Jeanie blinked, and I noticed she had gone quite pale. ‘It’s outrageous that Izzy should invite not just herself but the rest of the school mothers. Are their husbands coming too?’
‘Yes. I don’t even know them, never mind Alex!’
‘Then you must be more assertive,’ said Jeanie, shifting in her seat.
‘Unfortunately Holly cannot do that,’ said Caro. ‘Apart from risking Sophie being reviled by Tabitha and her cronies, you have to remember that Izzy has serious clout at the school. She’s on the board of governors, and a big influence with the Head. Where do you think all the celebs come from when it’s prize-giving day? It’s all down to that husband of hers. Sebastian has shedloads of media connections with the luvvies.’
‘Oh,’ said Jeanie, in a small voice. ‘I don’t care for Izzy at all.’
I saw my moment and swooped. ‘But you must like her, Jeanie,’ I said casually, ‘after all, you’re Facebook friends!’
‘Are you?’ said Caro, looking astonished.
Jeanie instantly arranged her features into an expression of vagueness. ‘Oh, yes. That’s right.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘It was when Charlotte had a very brief friendship with Tabitha and was invited to the house. I’ve seen it and, yes, it is gorgeous. Afterwards, Izzy friend-requested me. It was yonks ago. I suspect she only did it to add to the swell of her Facebook friends.’
‘She hasn’t friend-requested me,’ I said, frowning.
‘Nor me,’ added Caro.
‘Well aren’t I the lucky one?’ said Jeanie lightly.
‘Poor you,’ I joked. ‘It’s enough to make you weep.’ I looked directly at Jeanie. ‘Talking of which, I could have sworn you’d been crying in the playground yesterday.’
Caro kicked me under the table. I flinched. It wasn’t lost on Jeanie.
‘You’ve been blabbing,’ she said accusingly to Caro.
Caro opened her mouth to protest, but I didn’t want her telling porkies on my behalf.
‘Jeanie, how long have we known each other?’ I asked. ‘A long time,’ I said, when she didn’t answer. ‘What does Caro know that I don’t?’ The question sounded innocent enough, but I could feel my stomach muscles knotting. On a scale of nought to ten, my question felt like being only two down from asking Jeanie outright if there was something going on between her and my husband.
‘Very well,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘As I’m sure you already know – ’ she scowled briefly at Caro – ‘I’ve been having an affair.’
I feigned surprise, but I’m no Oscar-winning actress and Jeanie’s expression conveyed that she didn’t buy my pretence of astonishment. A tiny part of me wondered if Jeanie would crack and go the whole hog with her confession, revealing Alex to be her lover. I felt quite faint at the thought.
‘Don’t ask me how it started,’ she said airily, ‘because I don’t really know. Actually,’ she fro
wned, ‘yes, I do. It was after Ray and I had a row about something ridiculously stupid. I snatched up my car keys and stormed out of the house, then drove around for a bit and, well, to cut a long story short, I had a car crash. Nothing major,’ she said quickly, as Caro and I gasped together in alarm. ‘It was just a little shunt. I went to pull out on a roundabout, stalled the car, and the vehicle behind went into the back of me. Thankfully, neither of us were hurt. There wasn’t a mark on either car, so Ray never knew anything about it. The guy was mortified and kept trying to give me his insurance details, but when I told him not to be silly and refused, he insisted on taking me out to dinner by way of saying thank you. So,’ Jeanie paused, and her gaze shifted from us to somewhere beyond the kitchen window as her features softened, recalling the memory, ‘I accepted. He was very easy on the eye, plus I wasn’t ready to go home. I was still livid with Ray and needed to cool off. The reason for my absence was covered. I certainly didn’t have to explain myself to Ray as to my whereabouts for a few hours. Anyway,’ she said, giving a bark of humourless laughter, ‘you know me and my appetite. Always hungry.’
I would have smiled if it hadn’t been so serious. But I didn’t. Like Caro, I was hanging on to Jeanie’s every word. But for entirely different reasons.
‘So you went to dinner together,’ I prompted.
‘Yes,’ Jeanie nodded, smoothing down her skirt in a demure fashion, as if the action made her more ladylike rather than an unfaithful wife and potential marriage wrecker. ‘And he was lovely company. He told me I was funny and wonderful to talk to. He made me feel special.’ She flicked back her hair, body language now defiant. ‘And then he complimented me on my looks, and said he hoped I didn’t think him forward, but he thought I was very beautiful. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me,’ she lowered her eyes, suddenly pleating her skirt with anxious hands. ‘Ray never tells me I’m gorgeous. I’m good old Jeanie with the ample bottom that, if he’s feeling affectionate, he slaps heartily whilst making stupid comments like, “That’s a fine bit of padding on your rump, love”. I don’t want to be reminded I’ve got a fat arse, thank you very much.’ She was indignant now, looking for any excuse to justify her actions. ‘Whereas this man made me feel incredibly sexy, and not fat but voluptuous. He told me he loved a girl with big curves in all the right places. We drank champagne and he toasted me in the candlelight. Consequently, neither of us could drive immediately afterwards. He suggested we sit in his car and chat for a while. We didn’t stop talking, but don’t ask me what we were nattering about,’ she shook her head slightly, eyes faraway now, ‘everything and nothing. He said I was fascinating and he wanted to know all my secrets, and what made my heart sing. By now it was him doing the latter to me, and I dared to tell him so,’ she said, her voice starting to shake with emotion as she recalled the tipping point, where the conversation took a very different route, from flirting to one of no return. ‘I also said he was having a catastrophic effect on not just my heart strings but my entire body. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at me intensely, searching for the signal, the green light, and I nodded, hardly able to breathe as he pressed a button and sent both seats whirring backwards. Our bodies shifted together. Our mouths met. Suddenly we were kissing passionately.’ She paused, trying to describe the impact on her emotions. ‘It was like… like somebody flicking a switch on the Christmas lights in Oxford Street, except it was going on somewhere internally in my body,’ she whispered. ‘I honestly felt like every particle of my being was lighting up. It was mind-blowing. I can’t remember the last time I felt so desired, or desirable. We didn’t go all the way. Despite the privacy glass of his car, we were parked in a side street and neither of us were up for risking arrest with a stationery vehicle’s suspension shifting like a rocking horse. But that was the start. The beginning of clandestine meetings. And despite us both being married to other people, and telling ourselves the next time would be the last time, unfortunately it never was. It’s proving increasingly difficult to give each other up.’ She stopped talking, and hung her head, contemplating her hands that were still worrying at her skirt. For a moment nobody spoke.
What Holly's Husband Did Page 13
