‘It’s not just that,’ I blurted.
‘Everything was fine until that happened.’
I shook my head, willing the tears back into their ducts. ‘The thing is, Alex, I don’t think things were fine even before that.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling, of course it was. We hardly ever had a cross word in all our years of marriage until that happened.’
‘Look, I’m going to say something that might… might…’ I gulped, ‘outrage you.’
Alex gave me an evaluating look. ‘Just spit it out, eh?’
‘It’s about our sex life.’
Alex frowned. ‘What about it?’
‘It’s rather… lacking.’ Oh God. I’d said it. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.
‘What do you mean?’ said Alex, looking offended. ‘Are you complaining?’
‘Noooo,’ I said hastily. I knew it, I should have kept my gob shut. ‘It’s… lovely. It’s just… we don’t, you know, do it very often.’
Alex sighed. ‘That’s because we’re busy people. We get tired. At our time of life we are winding down, not revving up.’
I wasn’t entirely sure about that. Lately I seemed to have been revving up like a boy racer’s old Ford Fiesta with a reconditioned engine. If my body was meant to be winding down, then why did I react so strongly to Jack being around me? Apart from anything else, I wasn’t yet forty years old. Surely women didn’t “wind down” until they’d gone through the menopause. And even then, there was hormone replacement therapy to keep one’s libido fizzing and popping. I was fairly confident fifty-nine-year-old Madonna didn’t invite her latest lover home for a mug of cocoa and game of Scrabble.
‘Yes,’ I nodded, not wishing to upset my husband any further. The male ego was a fragile thing. In that moment I dismissed suggesting marriage guidance counselling… at least for now. ‘You’re quite right.’ After all, I was a woman who wore old, comfortable slippers. Perhaps I’d do well to remember that the next time my libido decided to light up like a firework.
‘I know I’m right,’ said Alex, gently. His tone was one of tenderness. ‘Now can we please, darling, put aside these jealous outbursts you periodically have?’
I looked at my husband and nodded. He was right. The sexts had upset my world and, with it, my marriage. We were back to Square One. Everything boiled down to me and my misconceptions, misunderstandings, looking for problems where there weren’t any, and being jealous of women like Annabelle and Jeanie because of my own insecurities and lack of self-esteem. And regarding our romantic intimacy being scant, unfortunately the simple fact was we had mismatched sex drives. There wasn’t much I could do about that. But I had a lot to be grateful for. And then my husband said something that reassured me once and for all.
‘Look at me, Holly,’ he said. ‘No, really look at me … gaze into my eyes. I want you to see for yourself that I’m speaking the truth when I tell you that you are only, and I really do mean this, you are the only woman for me.’
‘Good,’ I whispered.
Alex hugged me tightly and then, just like Jack had the night before, brushed his lips against my hair. There were no zings or jolts of lust, which was probably just as well because Alex was already releasing me, ready to take himself off for a bit of telly time. But right now, I didn’t mind. My husband wasn’t sating Annabelle or Jeanie. My marriage was back on track. Alex had told me that I was the only woman for him. It was enough. And with that I buried my nose in the flowers and inhaled gratefully.
46
‘A pinch and a punch, first day of the month,’ said Sophie, thumping her fist painfully against my arm.
‘Ouch!’ I shrieked. ‘Heavens, child, you don’t know your own strength. And why are you rummaging in my bedside drawer?’ I asked.
I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, hastily applying a bit of make-up before going into work. Monday was always a busy day at the surgery. Alex had already gone ahead to open the practice and put the heating on. The weather had taken a dip over the weekend and was definitely nippy.
‘All my tights are laddered,’ complained Sophie, extracting a pair of mine from the drawer, ‘so I need to borrow a pair of yours.’
‘That means they’ll be wrecked by the end of the day,’ I smiled good-naturedly. My joy knew no bounds today. I felt so ecstatic, almost as if I could take a flying leap, ballerina-style, and travel through the air for hundreds of feet. What a great feeling! ‘Fine, take them, they’re all yours.’ I returned to the task in hand, mouth half-open as I stood in front of the mirror stroking mascara onto my lashes.
‘By the way, what on earth was Dad wearing this morning?’ said Sophie, extracting the tights and slamming the drawer shut. ‘He looked like a tangerine.’
‘Yes, well, between you and me, I think he’s having a bit of a mid-life crisis.’
‘What does that mean?’ Sophie frowned, running the tights over her hands and checking for ladders.
‘It’s something middle-aged people are meant to have at some point. It a sort of,’ I considered, ‘psychological phase where the person frets about getting older, and maybe hankers after lost youth. As a result, they sometimes do something rather drastic.’
I immediately thought about Jeanie, chasing lost youth as she pursued somebody else’s husband. In the old days, she, Caro and I had been svelte and beautiful, foot-loose and fancy free, embarking on the occasional one-night stand, flirting with as many lads as possible, boosting our egos, and knowing that no matter what hour we crashed into bed, we’d always look attractively wan the next day, rather than raddled old bags – which was now always the case if we weren’t in bed by eleven. I was overjoyed to know that, unlike Jeanie’s mid-life crisis, my husband was simply chasing lost youth by attempting to dress younger. I’d much rather he went to work in an orange shirt, hair parted in such a way to conceal the area where it was thinning, than pursue some woman in a short skirt and appease his ego by seeing if he could still pull. I finished putting on the mascara and noted the sparkle in my eyes. Good. This was the first time in a long time that I had felt so relaxed about everything.
‘I saw Dad hanging up his new shirts yesterday,’ said Sophie, sitting down on the edge of my bed, and sticking her left foot in one leg of the tights. ‘The lilac one wasn’t too bad, and the lemon was so-so,’ she see-sawed one hand in mid-air, ‘but that orange shirt made him look like he’d been tangoed.’ She rolled her eyes as she pulled up the tights.
‘Please don’t tell him that, darling,’ I said, my voice gently chiding. ‘Let him think he’s a bit cool, eh!’
Sophie snorted. ‘He should be so lucky.’ She stood up and smoothed down her school skirt. ‘I’m ready. Will you be long?’
‘Nope, another thirty seconds.’ I slotted the mascara wand back into the plastic tube and tossed it into my make-up bag. ‘You sort yourself out and get your shoes on, and I’ll make sure Rupert’s done a wee. He’s on his own for a good few hours today, so I don’t want him cross-legged.’
‘Okay.’
My daughter took herself off, leaving me to gather up handbag and keys. Downstairs, I was just shooing a reluctant Rupert outside, when my mobile dinged with a text message. It was from Caro.
Everything all right? Been worried about you! xx
I sent her a quick reply.
Yes. Alex and I had a chat. He bought me beautiful flowers and insisted I was the only woman for him. I believe him. So happy! xx
Caro replied almost instantly.
You silly goose for getting so worked up! Sooo pleased all is well xx
Humming, I popped the mobile into my handbag, and let Rupert back in. Feeling another wave of happiness engulf me, I dropped Sophie off at school, gave her a cheery wave and then headed off to work. Pausing at some traffic lights, I snapped on my favourite radio station – one that Sophie deemed uncool – and sang loudly along to Wham! How very apposite. The DJ was playing ‘I’m Your Man’. I grinned to myself. How fantastic. Alex was my m
an. Not Annabelle’s. Not Jeanie’s. The lights changed to green and I zoomed off, singing away, sure in the knowledge that all was well in the world of Mrs Holly Hart.
Little did I know then that in a few more days I would look back on this moment and realise that happiness can be very short-lived.
47
My little bubble of contentment lasted all through Monday, even when Jenny the receptionist visibly boggled at Alex’s orange shirt before he went off to change into his scrubs, and one or two dental nurses sniggered behind their hands. As the week progressed, Alex wore a different pastel-coloured shirt every day. His mood was buoyant, as was mine, and things remained calm in the Hart household. I was longing for Alex to make love to me, just to reaffirm that we were – in his own words – ‘good again’, but knew it would be unlikely after our discussion about winding down. Nor did I want to risk upsetting his ego by forcing the issue, so didn’t make any sexual overtures, instead telling myself that it was just as nice having my husband spoon into me a couple of times, especially when he nuzzled my neck for a whole ten seconds.
As I lay awake listening to Alex’s rhythmic snores, I plotted. I wanted my husband to be delighted with his surprise party – and I wanted to enjoy it too, for the right reasons. I would make sure that this wasn’t just a birthday celebration, but also a celebration of our marriage. Perhaps I’d even make a little speech to that effect. Great idea! Roll on Saturday night! And afterwards, once home, high on joy and tiddly on alcohol, who knew what might happen? I hugged myself with delight. This time Alex would catch plenty of glimpses of me flashing my thighs in the evening dress he hadn’t had a chance to appreciate last weekend, so that by the time we got home he’d be David Beckham to my Victoria and panting, ‘Quick, grab my golden balls’. My husband was going to forget about grumpy patients and astronomical overheads and, for one night, ride high on laughter and lust.
Suddenly it was Saturday morning.
‘Happy birthday, Daddy!’ cried Sophie, opening our bedroom door, Rupert at her heels. She was holding a tray with tea and toast for us both. ‘Breakfast in bed is one of my presents to you,’ she beamed, as Alex sat up, bleary-eyed, and pummelled his pillows into place against the headboard.
‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ he said, taking the tray from her. ‘Ooh, and I see birthday cards too! How lovely. Let’s be careful not to slop tea on them.’
‘The cards are from me and Mum,’ Sophie grinned, ‘but there are lots more waiting to be opened downstairs.’
‘Happy birthday, darling,’ I said, propping myself upright. I leant across and kissed Alex on the cheek. ‘Sorry if I’ve got dog-breath. I’ll go and clean my teeth before I do anything else.’ I flipped back the duvet, and Sophie immediately took the vacated side of the bed, snuggling into her dad.
‘Open my card first,’ I heard her say. By the time I returned, she had produced a present from her bulging dressing-gown pocket. ‘I think you’ll like this,’ she beamed.
Alex ripped open the paper. ‘Socks!’ he exclaimed.
‘And not just any old socks,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘These match your new shirts.’
‘Indeed they do,’ said Alex, gulping at the vision of custard yellow, bright purple and scarlet red. ‘They’re… colourful.’
‘And cheerful,’ Sophie nodded.
‘Budge up,’ I said, getting in next to my girl.
The three of us lay in bed, Sophie sandwiched between Alex and I, the glue in our marriage, and I felt a sense of contentment. Who needed sex and superior bonks when I had this – my handsome husband and beautiful daughter. Rupert chose that moment to jump on the bed and flopped down, tongue hanging out. I regretted not having my camera to hand to take a picture of the four of us. A happy family, complete with hairy mutt. It was a perfect blissful moment.
‘I’ll give you my present tonight,’ I said to Alex. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘Lovely,’ he said, smiling over Sophie’s head. ‘Shall I book the three of us a table somewhere?’
‘No!’ Sophie and I said in unison.
‘Ah,’ Alex beamed, ‘I think you two girls have been conspiring behind my back. You’ve booked us into the local Indian, haven’t you!’
‘Maybe,’ I said.
Sophie let out a squeal of excitement, causing Rupert to woof and leap off the bed. Sophie squealed again and, unable to contain herself, clambered out of the bed, nearly sending the tea tray flying. She ran off down the landing letting out little whoops of delight with Rupert who, caught up in her exhilaration, zoomed after her.
‘Well it’s nice to see our daughter in such good spirits,’ said Alex, taking a bite of toast. ‘I haven’t heard a door slam for at least a fortnight. And what’s up with the dog? Rupert is behaving like he’s found a new lamppost to sniff.’
‘He’s happy,’ I said.
‘Last week you said he was depressed.’
‘Yes, well, he must have been mood swinging.’
Alex threw back his head and laughed. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to stay in tonight and have a take-away? We can invite the family over. I’ll even suffer your brother, as long as you order an exceptionally hot Vindaloo to frazzle his tonsils so he can’t speak to anyone.’
I tutted, but smiled. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. By the way, the dress code is smart for where I’m taking you tonight.’
‘Okay,’ said Alex, looking puzzled as he licked a dollop of butter from one finger. ‘In that case, I’ll wear one of my new shirts again. I haven’t worn the raspberry one yet.’
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ I said, privately thinking that I’d have a few words to say to my brother tonight for making bitchy comments about my husband’s fashion sense.
The day passed without incident. Various family members rang to convey their birthday wishes to Alex, and said they hoped to see him soon and to have a lovely day. Both windowsills in the lounge were now full of colourful cards, and Sophie was still periodically emitting squeaks of hyper-excitement. I’d put on party make-up in between finishing off a pile of ironing and running the vacuum cleaner around, and my plan was to slither into my evening dress last-minute so Alex’s suspicions weren’t aroused to soon.
‘What time do you want to leave for the restaurant?’ he asked, flicking through the telly channels.
‘In ten minutes,’ I replied.
‘Okay, well I’m ready when you are.’
‘Good. I’ll just pop upstairs and change.’
When Sophie and I came downstairs again, dressed to party, Alex looked startled.
‘What sort of restaurant are we going to?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Dad!’ Sophie chided. ‘You’re meant to say, “Omigod, you both look stunning.”’
Alex clapped his hands together and jumped off the sofa. ‘OMIGOD-YOU-BOTH-LOOK-STUNNING!’ he shouted, grabbing hold of Sophie and dancing her round and round the room. She shrieked with delight, as Rupert bounded after them both, wanting to join in and barking his head off.
‘The taxi is here,’ I said, as the doorbell rang.
‘Oh, there was no need to do that, darling, I could have driven the three of us.’
‘Nonsense,’ I smiled. ‘It’s your birthday. You and I are going to celebrate with a few drinks, and not worry about our licences.’
‘Fine by me. Okay, which of the two lovely ladies in my life is going to take me by the hand and walk me to our awaiting chariot. I’m an ancient person now. Forty years old,’ Alex groaned in mock horror.
‘Sophie can do it,’ I said, laughing. ‘You both go ahead while I let Rupert out quickly. I’ll lock up.’
Five minutes later I was in the taxi with my husband and daughter. As we set off, I determined it would be a night to remember. And it was. For all the wrong reasons.
48
When the minicab drew up outside the golf club, Alex looked a bit surprised.
‘The restaurant here is quite pricey, darling,’ he said. ‘The Indian would have been cheaper.’
‘I know,’ Alex said, paying the taxi and taking me by the hand as Sophie ran ahead. ‘It’s nice of you to spoil me,’ he added, giving my fingers a quick squeeze.
‘This way,’ I said, as we went through the double doors of the main building.
‘The restaurant is over there,’ said Alex, tugging my hand and making to go in the opposite direction.
‘Dad!’ Sophie grinned. ‘Come with us, please.’
He followed obediently as I led him towards the Mayflower Suite.
‘But,’ said Alex, looking puzzled, ‘I don’t understand—’
‘Everything will become crystal clear any second now,’ I smiled, pulling the suite’s enormous door back on its hinges.
‘SURPRISE!’ shrieked a jam-packed room full of people as the karaoke-band launched into an incredibly loud rendition of Happy Birthday.
Alex did a fairly good impression of a fish, opening and closing his mouth several times as the crowd, already with a few sherbets in them judging from the flushed faces, sang to a rousing crescendo accompanied by the drummer beating his sticks against the snare drums before crashing them down on the cymbal.
Alex stared at the sea of strangers and then at me.
‘Who are all these people?’ he hissed.
I gulped nervously, anxious that the surprise party didn’t backfire.
‘Well, they’re friends, darling,’ I muttered, although I hadn’t a clue who at least half of them were. I caught sight of Sophie’s headmistress propped up against the bar, and boggled slightly. The Head was here? Gazing at all the beaming faces, I realised that most of them belonged to people I was barely on nodding terms with at the school gates. I glanced at Sophie who was looking at me and visibly cringing.
What Holly's Husband Did Page 23
