After the Honeymoon

by Fraser, Janey

  Sometimes it was homework that went missing. Or one of the children – usually Alice – would kick up a fuss because her jogging bottoms were still in the wash. It made his head ring. But worst of all was the discovery that Melissa, whom he’d first thought so sweet, turned into a harridan when it came to getting the kids off in the morning. It had certainly shown him a new side of her.

  Still, thought Winston, looking out of the window at the row of neat suburban gardens backing an identical row of spacious Edwardian semi-detached houses (so boringly smug compared with the colourful life-on-the-streets view outside his London flat), his new wife would probably say the same about him.

  Sweating, and not just from the exercise, Winston sat astride the rowing machine that he’d brought down from his place, along with a few of his other possessions, and grabbed the handles, working himself up to the maximum speed. Sheer hard graft was the only way to block this all out.

  ‘Who’s moved my car keys?’

  ‘Don’t blame us, Mum! Look after your own stuff!’

  Faster. Faster. Winston’s hands tightened. Thankfully, Melissa was going to do a makeover at the other end of town after the school run. It meant that, for a few hours at least, they wouldn’t have to pussyfoot around each other all day, with the kind of polite distance that he’d always abhorred in couples who had little to say to each other.

  What had happened to those lovely long conversations they used to have, not to mention the warm, melting kisses?

  Winston stopped rowing. The truth was that it had never been the same since that bloody newspaper series.

  Melissa might just have been able to cope with the news about Jack. As she reluctantly said, it wasn’t always easy for a man to know if a girlfriend was pregnant. But it was the story about Nick that had really done it.

  If only he could have hidden it. For one mad moment that day, Winston had considered the possibility of shredding every copy in the land, along with each iPad, like the fairy-tale character who had banished all spinning wheels from his kingdom.

  If only.

  Instead, Winston had woken up the morning after returning from Greece to find Melissa studying her iPad with a frown on her forehead.

  She’d glanced at him and then at the Google news item headed ‘Winston’s Shame’. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ she’d said in a voice that was scarily devoid of emotion.

  He’d felt a catch in his throat. ‘Yes, I do.’

  Bracing himself, he’d propped his pillow up next to hers. She’d edged slightly away.

  Not a good sign.

  Winston took a deep breath and began to talk.

  ‘I’d had girlfriends before you,’ he began.

  She gave a short laugh. ‘I think Jack is proof enough of that, don’t you?’

  Ignoring the barb, he carried on. ‘But none of them lasted, partly because of the nature of the job and partly because I didn’t feel ready to be committed. But then, one day, a new Wren was posted out.’

  Melissa cut in. ‘Nicola Thomas,’ she said quietly, glancing at the iPad with its picture of a young woman in formal uniform and hair knotted back in a bun, staring out at them both.

  ‘Nick,’ whispered Winston. ‘She was known as Nick.’

  A look of hurt passed over Melissa’s face. ‘She was pretty,’ commented his wife, chewing a wisp of hair like a child. It was a vulnerable gesture which, he’d noticed, she often made when describing how Marvyn had betrayed her.

  Now it was his turn. Betrayal could also mean not telling someone something, couldn’t it?

  ‘She looked a bit like you,’ he added, wondering too late if it was wise to admit this. ‘She had dark hair with a hint of red, although it was shorter than yours. She was easy to talk to. And there was something different about her.’

  Melissa’s lips tightened. But he had to go on. Not just for her, but for himself. ‘She was good at her job, too. Nick was a nurse in the Wrens. She was passionate about saving lives. If there was a risky operation, she was always up for it. It was what she’d been made for. That’s what she used to say.’

  Now his wife was edging further away. As she did so, his hopes plummeted even lower. ‘That was how you felt too, wasn’t it?’

  He nodded. ‘One scorching hot day, when our lungs were full of dust and our uniforms soaked with sweat, I was asked to lead a convoy carrying medical supplies to some men who had been injured. We all knew it was dangerous.’ He groaned inside. ‘It was a route that was still being cleared of landmines. I was told that it was virtually free but that if I wanted to be certain, we needed to wait forty-eight hours.’

  The silence hung heavily between them. ‘We didn’t have forty-eight hours, Melissa. Those injured men needed help urgently. I might have held off if …’

  ‘If Nick hadn’t pushed you.’

  He looked at his wife gratefully. He could see it now. Nick tugging at his sleeve as he stood in the tent, poring over the maps. ‘I can’t stand here doing nothing,’ she’d said fiercely, as though he was a coward.

  Sometimes, he wondered if Nick should have been a man. She had enough balls, and there was a certain boyish look about her. But there was also a vulnerable side, a tender one that only he knew about. A picture of her lying next to him in bed flew into his mind. That was definitely not one to share with his wife.

  ‘It was my decision, of course, but the rest of the team wanted to go too.’ He took another deep breath. ‘So we went.’

  Getting out of bed, he began pacing round the room. It was easier to make his confession on the move: it made him feel like he was doing something.

  ‘At first, we made great progress. The cars didn’t hit any of the usual obstacles like rocks, and, thank goodness, we didn’t come across any snipers.’

  Melissa gave a little gasp. ‘It must be scary knowing that someone could take a potshot at you any time.’

  Winston shrugged. ‘The strange thing is that there’s no time to be frightened. You’re too busy keeping your wits about you and making sure everyone is doing what they should.’ He paused by the foot of the bed. It had a pink counterpane: too girly and frilly for his taste. Had it been here when Marvyn had been married to Melissa? He didn’t like to think of that, any more than he liked to dwell on that hot, dusty day in Afghanistan.

  ‘Go on,’ she urged.

  Winston wanted to look Melissa in the eyes but couldn’t. Turning round, he addressed the wall. There was one of those black-and-white studio family portraits there, showing a younger, gappy-toothed Alice standing behind her little brother. Her hands were on the kid’s shoulder and she looked as though she was about to throttle him.

  Quite possible.

  Next to it was a slightly faded space and a picture hook, suggesting there had once been another photograph there. Marvyn and Melissa, perhaps. Maybe a wedding photo. He wouldn’t blame Melissa if she wished it was still there; that Marvyn hadn’t gone off and – more crucially – that she hadn’t met him, Winston.

  ‘I felt lucky that day.’ He laughed. ‘So did Nick. She told me before we set off that fortune favoured the brave. It was one of her favourite phrases. Far better to risk one’s life by helping others than lead some boring life in an office like her sister.’

  He glanced down at the iPad and the interview with Nick’s family. ‘Whatever that says, I can tell you that Nick’s sister hardly ever saw her; she couldn’t even be bothered to come round when we were back on leave.’

  Melissa’s voice had an impatient edge. ‘What exactly happened on that day, Winston? I need to know.’

  Focus on the wall. On the faded space. ‘I was in a jeep behind the car carrying Nick and another Wren. We were nearly there. Then suddenly there was the most almighty noise.’

  As if on cue, a shout came from Alice’s bedroom next door. ‘Get out, Freddie! You’re not allowed in here!’

  Wasn’t it possible even to make a confession in peace? Winston carried on speaking, louder and steadily. It was the only way
. If he allowed himself to waver, he would crumple. ‘Nick’s car was engulfed with flames. It was like one of those scenes you see on television.’

  Even as he spoke, it didn’t feel real. ‘I didn’t think. All I can remember is leaping out of the jeep and running towards Nick’s door, which was buckling in the heat before my eyes.’ He shuddered, putting his hands up to block out the mental image.

  ‘Inside, I could see Nick staring at me. She wasn’t screaming. Just looking at me, waiting, trusting. Certain that I would get her out. But I couldn’t.’

  He was weeping, dammit. Weeping tears that he’d kept in for all this time. Dimly he was aware of Melissa putting her arms around him. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all right.’

  Unable to stop himself, he rounded on her. ‘No, it’s not!’ She drew back as though he’d hit her. ‘Don’t shout at me, please.’

  He was tempted to point out that the children did it all the time. ‘I’m sorry. But don’t you see? I couldn’t get Nick out. I failed her. And even though the official report cleared me, saying that I’d made the convoy decision for the “greater good”, the guilt and the smell of that burning flesh will stay with me for life.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed now, head in hands.

  ‘What happened to the other Wren?’ asked Melissa quietly.

  ‘She was thrown clear. Don’t ask me how. There’s no rhyme or reason in war.’

  ‘Mum, she’s hurting me!

  Freddie burst through the door, closely followed by his sister. Ignoring him, they leaped onto the bed.

  ‘Get off, Alice!’

  ‘You get off!’

  Then the girl turned and gave him a nasty look. ‘I’ve been reading about you on Facebook. My dad says it’s your fault that someone died.’

  Melissa’s voice was quietly reproachful. ‘Alice! Don’t be so rude!’

  ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  The din was so loud that he almost didn’t hear his mobile ring. But he could see the name flashing on the screen. His agent.

  Leaving the bedroom, Winston headed downstairs for some peace and quiet. Melissa’s sitting room wasn’t to his taste with its red and green rugs and squashy blue sofas. They’d get a place of their own soon, they’d told each other during the honeymoon. They needed that. It was important for them to create something together. Now, as he perched on the edge of a stiff-backed chair that had once belonged to Marvyn, it all seemed horribly irrelevant.

  ‘Winston.’ Tara’s voice was politely distant, faintly condemning. ‘I presume you’ve seen the news. Look, there’s no easy way of putting this. The producer has been trying to get hold of you. It might be best if you didn’t go into the studio for a few days. Wait until the fuss has died down.’

  Not go into the studio? He felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. ‘What about the programme?’

  There was a short pause at the other end. ‘Don’t worry. They’ve got someone else to step in for you.’

  His pulse quickened. ‘Who?’

  ‘A new face.’ Tara was talking quickly, attempting to make light of it. No ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie’ this time, he noted.

  Clearly this was serious.

  ‘He’s quite young,’ she added.

  ‘How young?’

  ‘Twenty, twenty-one. Don’t worry! He won’t be as good as you. No one can be, whatever Poppy says.’

  ‘You know she admitted to messing up my honeymoon?’

  ‘And did you know she’s the producer’s niece?’

  No, he hadn’t.

  ‘I might as well tell you. This new chap they’re trying out is her boyfriend. I know, I know. But my hands are tied. The producer is insistent. Just sit it out. It’s the only thing to do.’

  Was it?

  ‘Definitely.’ His agent sounded like Melissa did when she was trying to get the kids to do something they didn’t want. ‘Have another honeymoon. Use the extra time to be with your new bride and her children. OK?’

  That had been a few weeks ago. Since then, Melissa had been very quiet. Yes, she understood, or so she said, but he didn’t believe her. Meanwhile, she was taking more and more makeover jobs, both locally and in London, while he was passing the time by working out, house-husbanding and ‘babysitting’. Every now and then he found himself turning on the television and watching this skinny kid running his show. Incredibly, the critics loved him, and so did the mums and grans, who saw him as a pin-up son.

  ‘Piss off, Freddie!’

  As for the kids, they were so noisy that he had a permanent headache. Thank heavens school had started now.

  The phone! He seized the landline with the desperation of a man who was utterly bored.

  ‘Winston?’ Tara rarely had to say who was calling. Her voice did that for her.

  ‘Any news?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘I’m afraid there is.’ Her flat tone gave him the news before she spoke. ‘The decision has finally been made. They’ve terminated your contract, Winston. And before you ask, they’re entitled to do so. There’s a small clause about a presenter’s conduct – either past or present – bringing the programme into disrepute.’

  ‘I see.’ He was already pulling on his jogging jacket. Out. He needed to get out. In the kitchen, he could still hear Melissa yelling something about missing shoes.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better,’ his agent was adding, ‘they weren’t going to renew next time anyway. The general feeling was that they needed someone younger …’

  His fingers pressed the red button, terminating the call. He could always blame poor reception, but the truth was that he simply couldn’t take it any more.

  ‘Hiya, Winston!’

  The man on the doorstep virtually walked right into him. Marvyn! ‘Kids ready for school?’

  The bloke was looking around as if he still owned the place, instead of having reluctantly ‘given’ it to Melissa as part of the settlement. ‘Said I’d do the school run today for Mellie as she’s under the weather.’

  Marvyn fixed him with a disdainful sneer. ‘All this nasty publicity over your sordid past has got her down. I have to say, I was never out of work myself. Never allowed myself to be, not when I had a family to support.’

  Winston felt his muscles tightening. ‘Don’t worry. I can look after my wife.’

  There was a nasty laugh. ‘Can you? Not if you believe all your hate mail on the net. Personally, I rather like your successor. And do you know why?’ His face hardened. ‘Because he’s not under the same roof as my own kids.’

  That was it.

  ‘You can keep them, especially your spoilt brat of a daughter.’ Pushing past him, Winston strode into the street, breaking into a jog. As he ran, he switched on his phone. He hadn’t wanted to make this call. But now there was no alternative.

  TRUE POST-HONEYMOON STORY

  ‘We had to live with our in-laws for the first six months. It was hell.’

  Angela, now living three hundred miles from her husband’s family

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EMMA

  ‘How could you?’ Emma had yelled at Tom after she’d discovered the payment slip from the newpaper. ‘How could you have sold a story about my friends?’

  He’d just come home from work, still in his greasy navy blue overalls and with oily hands that he was washing now under the kitchen tap, even though she’d told him time and time again to do that in the bathroom instead of mucking up the sink.

  The children had been having their tea, Willow reluctantly strapped into her high chair, banging her spoon on the food tray, while Gawain (who’d been sitting quite nicely on his booster seat for a change), leaped up on seeing his dad.

  ‘Lift, Dad! Lift!’

  Tom had scooped up his son – now his overalls would stain Gawain’s sweatshirt – and given a shrug. ‘It wasn’t a story, love. Just a tip-off. The paper runs a little box every day, asking readers to send something in that might be worth publishing.’


  ‘That doesn’t mean you have to stoop to its level!’ she’d spat back, furious at his lack of remorse. ‘And it wasn’t just a tip-off. It was a betrayal. I told you in confidence about all that Winston stuff. I was trying to divert you when you were feeling poorly. And now you repay me by making me lose a friend!’

  Two little red spots appeared on each of his cheeks. Good. So he knew he was in the wrong. ‘These celebrities set themselves up in the public eye, love. They get paid enough.’

  ‘Well, not now. Winston hasn’t been on telly since we’ve got back.’

  Tom’s cheek spots were crimson now. ‘That’s not my fault.’

  ‘How do you know? I suppose you somehow found out about Winston being Jack’s dad, did you, and told the paper about that too?’

  ‘What?’ She had seen he was genuinely perplexed. ‘No way. I was as surprised as you to read about that.’ He reached out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Em, but I thought it was a harmless way to earn a bit of spare cash after the wedding.’

  Turning away, she’d pulled Gawain out of his arms, despite his little hands hanging onto those filthy overalls.

  ‘Dad Dad!’

  In vain, she’d tried to get her son to sit down at the table. ‘Well, it wasn’t harmless,’ she threw out over her shoulder. ‘Like I said, Melissa isn’t talking to me any more, and I don’t blame her. Now go and change, cos to be honest, I don’t want to talk to you at the moment either.’

  She’d ignored him for the next few weeks, quietly seething inside. Part of her anger, Emma knew, was because she felt guilty herself. It was all very well Bernie advising her to ‘put it behind you’, but she wasn’t made that way. She’d been unfaithful during their honeymoon and Tom had caused problems with someone else’s marriage.

  They made a right pair.

  Just as well that she had the kids – and the after-school club – to distract her. In fact, she was really enjoying her little extra job. Unlike her lunchtime duties, this was more relaxed. All she had to do was make toast for the children (who came from both the primary and secondary schools) and put out some toys and games for the younger ones. The older kids had a special quiet corner to do their homework.