by Lisa Jewell
‘I have got the most incredible news!’ she opened, and Vince knew immediately that it would be something that he would find exactly the opposite.
‘Jon Gavin’s been booked for Amnesia. In July.’
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That’s a club, right?’
‘Uh-huh – it’s the biggest club in Ibiza. And they’re giving him this big fuck-off villa in the hills. It’s got a pool, a gym, a chef. He gets a convertible fucking Lexus, this, like, millionaire gangsta-mobile, a chauffeur if he wants it. The works. For a whole month.’ Jess was bouncing up and down on the sofa with excitement as she spoke.
‘Wow,’ said Vince again. ‘That sounds really cool.’
‘It is,’ she said, ‘it’s so cool. And what’s even cooler is that he’s invited me to stay with him…’
‘Oh,’ said Vince, feeling the bottom of his belly lurching upwards.
‘And obviously I wouldn’t stay for the whole month. Although, shit, I’d love to. But I definitely want to go for a week. That’s OK, isn’t it? You don’t mind?’
‘Er…’
‘And he did say that it would be cool for all of us to come, you know, the three of us, but I just don’t think that’s a very suitable environment for Lara, you know, with the pool and the drugs and everything. Way too dangerous.’
Vince nodded his agreement.
‘So I’d probably go the second week of July – Puss and Dex are going then, too, so it’ll be even more of a laugh…’
Vince didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to say: For fuck’s sake, Jess, you’re a fucking thirty-three-year-old wife and mother, not a twenty-something beach bimbo. And actually, he wanted to add, isn’t Ibiza a bit passé, isn’t taking pills and dancing until the sun comes up just a little bit last millennium, aren’t you and Jon and your stupid friends with their stupid names just a little bit old to be carrying on like this?
Because it wasn’t the fact that Jess wanted to go away without him for a week that rankled. If she was going on a hen weekend, for example, or on a city break with some girlfriends, he’d be all for it. It was the nature of the time she wanted to spend apart from him that bothered him. It was the people she wanted to go with and the way she was going to behave. It was the sheer breadth of the disparity between what he thought constituted a good time and what she thought constituted a good time.
But he didn’t say any of this because a) he didn’t want to spoil Jess’s fun and b) it was pointless because Jess had already made up her mind that she was going, and there was nothing he could say to stop her.
‘So,’ said Charlene Okumbo, at the end of her forty-second lesson, ‘how’s married life?’
Vince turned to her and smiled wanly. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘it’s good.’
‘Does it feel any different?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really.’
‘You don’t sound that excited about it, considering,’ she complained as she manhandled the gear stick into neutral.
‘Considering what?’
‘I dunno. All that eloping stuff. Sounded really romantic to me.’
‘Yeah, well, you know. Weddings and marriages – two completely different things, aren’t they?’ He turned to Charlene and sighed. ‘Supposing your boyfriend… what’s his name again?’
‘Tarif.’
Tarif. Right. Supposing you and he were married…’
‘Yeah, right, in his dreams…’
‘Yeah, anyway. Just supposing. And supposing you had a baby.’
Charlene snorted disdainfully.
‘How would you feel if Tarif said that his ex-girlfriend, who looked like…’ – he scoured his memories of the latest edition of heat magazine, trying to find a suitable comparison – ‘… who looked like Beyoncé, was hiring a villa in Ibiza and she invited him and a load of their mates over for a holiday and they’d be clubbing every night and taking shitloads of drugs and stuff. And supposing Tarif said he was going and you weren’t invited – what would you do?’
Charlene’s eyes were bulging out of her head with the improbability of the imagined scenario. ‘Dump him,’ she squeaked, emphatically.
‘Really?’
‘Er, yeah. I mean, that, like, just so isn’t acceptable behaviour.’
‘Well, what am I going to do?’
‘Shit. I don’t know. It’s a toughie. But if you’re asking me what I would do, me personally, I wouldn’t put up with that shit. Seriously.’
Vince nodded slowly.
‘But, you know. It’s different for you. You’ve got a kid and shit. You’re married. You’re old. Maybe you’re gonna have to swallow it. Put up with it. The main thing is – do you trust her?’
Vince stopped for a second to consider the question. It was deeply fundamental, but failed to elicit an immediate answer. Did he trust Jess? Despite her tendency to keep the various elements of her life firmly separate, she was always up-front with him, gave him honest answers to open questions. He knew without a doubt that if he were to ask her if she’d ever been unfaithful to him, she would respond with the truth. She was secretive, but she wasn’t a liar. But, he pondered, most people were put off following their natural adulterous instincts by the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt and the lies, that the aftermath would make it untenable. But Jess was different. She would be able to carry on living her normal existence with Vince and Lara at the same time as conducting an affair; she would be able to maintain her composure, to juggle two separate lives. And that was what scared him.
It’s not that I don’t trust her,’ he answered finally. ‘It’s that I don’t really know her.’
Charlene’s eyes boggled again. ‘This is your wife we’re talking about?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And the mother of your child?’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘Jes-sus,’ she said, rolling her eyes, ‘that is sad.’
‘I know,’ said Vince, ‘I know.’
‘You know what it is?’ she said, looking him directly in the eye. ‘You’re too nice, that’s what it is with you. Too nice for your own good. You need to toughen up a bit.’
He shrugged. ‘Not going to happen,’ he said. ‘This is me. This is the way I am. I don’t do tough.’
‘Well, then,’ she sniffed and went to open her door, ‘you’re going to have to get yourself a nice girl, then. Because that one you’re married to – if you don’t stand up to her, then she’s just going to chew you up and spit you out. And I tell you something, come next week, I’ll be tearing up those L plates for good and you won’t ever see me again, so you’d better hurry up and get this shit sorted out before I go.’
Vince smiled and nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.
‘You do that,’ she said. And then she got out of the car and sauntered up her garden path, his sweet little nineteen-year-old dispenser of wisdom and counsel, leaving Vince feeling more confused than ever.
Fifty-Six
Vince’s approach to ‘standing up’ to Jess went something like this:
‘Jess. I’ve been thinking. About you going to Ibiza…?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I haven’t actually got a problem with it in principle – with you going away. But I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe we could all go…?’
‘Vince. I told you. It’s not the kind of place to take a baby.’
‘Yes. That’s why I thought we could hire a villa. The three of us. Near Jon’s place. But somewhere a bit more baby friendly. That way you could still do all your clubbing and stuff, but we could spend the days together – as a family.’
‘Oh, Vince, you are joking, aren’t you?’
‘No. Why – is that such a stupid idea?’
‘It’s not a stupid idea. It’s just… it’s not what it’s about. The whole Ibiza thing – it’s about staying up all night and chilling out all day. Not running round after a toddler every five minutes.’
‘Yes, but t
hat Jade Jagger – what about her?’ countered Vince, who’d done comprehensive research into the subject and had all his bases covered. ‘She’s got two kids and she’s always out clubbing all night.’
Jess raised her eyebrows. ‘First,’ she said, ‘Jade Jagger’s kids are much older than Lara, and secondly she’s probably got a full-time nanny.’
‘Yes, but that’s what I’m saying, I’ll be there. I’ll be your nanny. I won’t be coming out with you at night, so I’ll be fine during the day looking after Lara, and you can just lie around reading and sunbathing.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s not going to work like that. Lara won’t accept that Mummy’s feeling ill for a whole week. She’ll be demanding my attention. And I’ll feel too guilty lying around while you do everything. And besides, I don’t want to stay in some piddling little villa with you. I want to stay at Jon’s villa.’
‘Oh,’ said Vince, feeling the familiar kick in the gut of one of Jess’s classic blunt responses.
‘That’s the whole point. It’s all about the villa. About the experience. It’s more than just a holiday. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It’s a tick in a box. You know…’
And Vince did know. Of course he knew. But that still didn’t stop him feeling mortally injured.
‘Well, then,’ he countered desperately, ‘how about if Lara and I hire a villa, and you stay with Jon and we could just meet up for lunch and stuff?’
‘Vince. What the fuck is the matter with you? Have you actually gone mad?’
‘No,’ he answered, unnecessarily.
‘Then why the hell are you so desperate to crash this holiday?’
He shrugged. He didn’t really know why. It was as close as he could get to refusing to let her go, he supposed. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We’ve never been on holiday as a family, and I just think it would be nice to go away somewhere.’
‘And I agree with you. Let’s book ourselves a holiday. Let’s go to Italy in August. I’ll ask my mum to come along. Or you could ask yours. We’ll have a fantastic time. But for God’s sake, just let me have this time in Ibiza being myself’ And with that she disappeared into the kitchen from where Vince could hear her frantically opening a bottle of wine.
He considered following her in, continuing the conversation, but knew that it was completely futile. He’d blown it. He couldn’t reason with her now, not after that spectacular display of deranged desperation. ‘We could meet you for lunch.’ The words rang in his head. What was he thinking? What was he becoming? And more to the point, what had Jess turned him into?
He sighed and let his head drop into his hands.
He was a sap. A schmuck. A mug. And, quite possibly, a cuckold.
He wasn’t cut out for a woman like Jess. He wasn’t strong enough.
‘Why did you marry me?’ he asked, as Jess reappeared bearing a large glass of white wine.
‘What?’
‘I mean, you know so many men and they’re all into the same things as you. You’ve got nothing in common with me. So why did you marry me?’
Jess frowned at him. ‘Because you’re the father of my child. Because I wanted us to be a family…’
‘Yes, but we’re not, are we? We’re two single parents who happen to live together.’
‘Oh, that’s bollocks. We do loads of things together…’
‘Like what?’
‘Like seeing your parents…’
‘And when was the last time we saw them?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A couple of weeks ago…’
‘It was last month. I take Lara there every Sunday while you’re in bed. The last time you came with me was over a month ago.’
‘And we see your friends.’
‘No we don’t, I see my friends. You haven’t seen them since Christmas. And I can’t remember the last time I saw your mother…’
‘I see her every day.’
‘I know you do, but I don’t. We haven’t done anything together as family since Christmas Day. And you and I haven’t done anything as a couple since… since… I can’t actually remember the last time we went out together. I mean, what are we actually doing here? What is this?’
‘Oh, Christ, Vince,’ snapped Jess, ‘is this because of Ibiza? Are you jealous or something?’
‘No, Jess, I’m not jealous. I’m just… lonely.’ And it wasn’t until the word left his mouth that he realized that that was exactly how he felt.
‘Lonely?’
‘Yes. I’m lonely.’
‘Oh, Vince, don’t be so wet.’
He shrugged and shook his head at her. ‘But that’s the truth. I feel as if I’m all alone.’
‘Then why don’t you make more of an effort? See your friends? Get out a bit?’
‘That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to see my friends. They’re always in couples anyway. I feel like a fucking gooseberry. I want to see you.’
‘You see me every night, Vince.’
‘Yes, but not properly. I see the dregs of you. The bits that are left over after work and Lara and your precious fucking friends…’
‘Ah,’ she snapped, slamming her wine glass down on the table, ‘finally, we get to the crux of the matter. You are jealous. You’re jealous of Jon and you’re jealous of my friends and you resent me having a life outside this domestic fucking prison…’
‘What?’
‘You just want to me sit around with you playing the happy little housewife and seeing your prematurely middle-aged friends talking about nannies and organic fucking breadsticks. Well, I’m sorry, Vince, but that’s not the woman you married and that’s not the woman you will ever turn me into. Because I’m better than that.’
‘Er – sorry. But you think hanging around in nightclubs designed for people ten years younger than you and filling your body with drugs and alcohol every Saturday night is something to be proud of?!’
Yes, actually, I do.’
‘Well, then, I feel sorry for you, Jess.’
‘And I feel sorry for you, Vince. Because you think that this – ’ she gestured around the flat – ‘is enough. You think playing mummies and daddies is the be-all and end-all of life. Because you never once stop to think about the big wide world out there, the possibilities, the panoramas.’
‘Christ, Jess, I thought you’d seen everything you wanted to see of the “big wide world”. I thought you’d been there, done that. I thought you were ready for parenthood.’
‘I am ready for parenthood. I’m a fucking fantastic mother.’
‘Yes, you are. You’re incredible. I’m not disputing that. But, to me, having a baby is the greatest adventure you could ever have. To me, this – ’ he echoed her earlier gesture around the flat – ‘is everything. This is what it’s all about. You, me, Lara. I don’t need anything else.’
‘Well, I do. And if you don’t let me have it, then…’
‘Then what?’
‘Well, I’ll have to go.’
‘Go?’
‘Yes. Leave. Because this is who I am and, if you can’t accept that, then there’s no hope for us.’
‘And you’d do that, would you? Just walk away? Because I wouldn’t let you out to play?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Shit, Jess. Is that how little all this means to you?’
‘No. It’s not. But I can’t be controlled, Vince. I won’t be controlled. And the reason why you and I work so well together is because you’re the only man I’ve ever been with who’s let me be myself. That’s why I love you. That’s why I married you. That’s why I wanted you to be the father of my baby.’
‘Because I’m a sap, you mean?’
‘No. Because you’re an angel.’
Vince stopped and gulped. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Was there actually any difference between a sap and an angel? And did the fact that he liked being referred to as an angel in fact make him a sap? Whatever, the comment had effectively defused the incendiary path that the c
onversation had been taking. He sighed.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘all I’m saying is that I’d like a bit more of you. I’d like us to go out together occasionally’
‘OK,’ she soothed, crawling on to his lap and looping her arms around his neck. ‘We can do that. Let’s ask my mum to baby-sit. Let’s go out tomorrow.’
‘OΚ. And I’d like to see Jon. Remember you said you’d get him over for lunch one weekend?’
‘I remember.’ She ran a fingertip around the contours of his ear.
‘And you never did. And I haven’t seen him since the wedding. He’s such a big part of your life, I just think it would be really nice for us to see him more as family. You know…’
‘Absolutely,’ she purred, running her fingers through his hair, ‘I couldn’t agree with you more.’
‘I really like Jon.’
‘I know you do.’ She landed a soft, plump kiss on the back of his neck. ‘And I really like you.’ She pulled up her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘Now shut up and get your clothes off
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘right.’
Forty minutes later Vince had carpet burn on his knees, scratch marks on his back and a full, fresh and eager acceptance of his wife’s wilful, wayward ways.
Fifty-Seven
Jess didn’t come home at all the following Saturday.
Vince was accustomed to finding her on the sofa when he got up on Sunday mornings. She would groan as he opened the curtains, peel herself off the sofa, then stumble directly into the bed that Vince had just vacated.
He called her on her mobile when he realized that she wasn’t there, but it went straight through to her voice-mail.
He then called Jon, whose phone was also switched off.
He tried calling every half an hour until lunchtime, when he finally started to worry.
He speed-fed Lara her lunch, strapped her into the back of his car still eating a custard cream and drove over to Jon’s fancy apartment in a new canalside development in Walthamstow. They were buzzed in and directed to the fourth floor by someone with an American accent.
