by Liz Lawler
When they first arrived she had gazed at the house waiting for him to say he was only joking, but when he took a key out of his pocket she was stunned that the house she was looking at was really theirs. They’d driven along a wide road of walled and gated properties and then Daniel slowed the car and drove it through wrought-iron gates that were open. She’d thought he was making a U-turn until he carried on up the driveway and parked by a wide garage. She’d looked to where he was pointing at a pale stone Georgian house rising three floors to chimney stacks atop a grey slate roof. Tall windows in perfect symmetry gave a glimpse into some of the rooms, and in the one above a pillared porch she’d seen a chandelier hanging with a long drop from the ceiling. She’d felt herself floating until the thought of how did one change the lightbulbs? helped pin her back to the ground.
Completely thrown, she could only stutter when she asked how many bedrooms it had. He’d laughed and said not enough once children arrived, and she’d been reminded of her guilt for letting him think it could happen soon. On their honeymoon he’d suggested they start trying, that neither of them were getting any younger. He’d been delighted when instead of her swallowing her contraceptive pill she spat it out in the sink before getting into bed. In the night she’d taken another one as he lay sleeping, as while she wanted a family she didn’t want one straight away. She wanted to be a wife first and to have time with just him as they’d only been together a few months. As selfish as that seemed, with him nearing forty, it was important to Tess to feel she was wanted for herself alone.
She’d shrieked with laughter when he picked her up and carried her over the threshold of their new home. Where yet another surprise waited.
The house was fully furnished, and looked lived-in. So much so, Tess expected to meet its occupants. He’d set her down on a black-and-white chequered floor next to a tall ebony grandfather clock, and her eyes had taken in the sweep of the wide wooden staircase, backed by a dark red wall. When the clock gave a resounding bong she’d laughed with nerves. The hallway was long and rectangular with three doors either side. Tess slowly wandered along the hall, peering in through the open doors. On the left and from front to back was a drawing room, library and a study. On the right a dining room, a cloakroom and the kitchen. A short passageway next to the stairs led to a back door and a downstairs bathroom. Hanging over the radiator in the bathroom she’d found a heavy cotton skirt in a khaki brown as if left there to dry.
In a daze she’d walked around the rooms gazing at sofas and armchairs, tables and ornaments and lamps and clocks. Many paintings hung on the walls in all the rooms, and in the corner of the drawing room a baby grand piano was hidden under a velvet cover. The kitchen cupboards brimmed with china and silverware and crystal, and pots and pans hung on hooks above an old stove. She’d climbed the stairs to the first and second floors and found all the beds made ready with white linen. She counted them and wondered why on earth would they need seven bedrooms?
It was as if the family who lived there before had upped and left the house and all their possessions behind a hundred years ago – the furniture was old and the white linen threadbare. Daniel had laughed at her bafflement before telling her the contents came with the house, leaving her to imagine how much it all cost, and feeling guilty for not being able to financially contribute. In London she’d only ever rented her flat and had come to this marriage almost empty-handed after spending her savings on the wedding.
Tess returned from her reverie when she heard the front door opening, and waited eagerly to greet her husband. He looked immaculate as he walked into the kitchen. His tall figure moving fluidly towards her gave her butterflies. His black hair, free of any grey and cut short, had a hint of a side-parting, and his naturally pale skin drew attention to his dark eyebrows and sea-green eyes. In a suit cut from cloth that bore a label with only the tailor’s name and their location in Mayfair, he looked like someone very much in charge, and very sexy too. She went to kiss him, but stopped at the look he passed.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
He gestured towards her clothing. ‘It’s still early. Anyone could knock on the front door.’
She laughed lightly. ‘Well, it would be no one we know. No one knows where we live yet. And anyway, you like these pink pyjamas. I’ve only just put them on after getting out of the bath. It’s seven o’clock in the evening in case you didn’t know.’
He didn’t laugh back, but instead raised his eyebrow at her. He removed his suit jacket and hung it carefully over the back of a chair before joining her at the stove. Tess knew her face had gone red. He’d made her feel embarrassed and now she didn’t want to tell him her good news. Instead, she mumbled that dinner would soon be ready.
He eyed the two steaks waiting to be cooked, the dish of tinned peas waiting to be popped in a microwave and the frozen chips she was placing in the oven. He waited while she adjusted the oven temperature before giving his unimpressed opinion.
‘Is this what we’re eating?’
Tess was startled. She’d never heard him being peevish before, and she was mildly shocked by his manner. It wasn’t like she was offering him beans on toast. He was getting steak. She turned to tell him he should be grateful for what he was getting, but he was ready for her.
‘Look, Tess, I don’t want us to get off to a wrong start here, so things need to change.’ His tone of voice was careful, as if it were important that she listen to him. ‘I’m not saying this to sound unkind, but coming home and finding you dressed like a teenager isn’t appropriate. We’re not living at my flat anymore. We live in this house now. You should dress for dinner. We have different standards. No doubt we will be entertaining in the future and how you present yourself will be noticed. I don’t want you judged as…’ He frowned, sighed, screwed his eyes shut, before quietly saying, ‘Slovenly.’
Her eyes could not have got any rounder, or her heart thud any harder. Her husband had just told her she was an embarrassment to him. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Standing there in her Asda pyjamas with him in his sophisticated attire was a stinging reminder of how ordinary she was. She had no answer for him. She’d been dressing like this when they were on their own in the evenings from day one. Had he been thinking all the time that she shouldn’t be? She felt an unbearable ache in her throat from holding back tears and wanted to hide away fast.
‘Look at me, Tess.’
She didn’t want to look at him and let him see how wounded she was. Instead she bowed her head and heard him sigh again.
‘Look, this shouldn’t upset you. You’re perfect. I just want to make sure everyone sees that. We just need to work on the small stuff.’ He lightly plucked at the material of her top. ‘You needn’t look for cheap goods anymore. You’re top-shelf, Tess.’
Her insides squirmed. He’d made it sound like she was penny-pinching, but she wasn’t mean, just mindful that bills came first and buying a bargain was better than being broke.
She stood rigid when his arms went around her, not wanting this hug, and shut her eyes to hide her tears of shame. His fingertips brushed her wet lashes, and she heard him breathe out yet another sigh, lasting longer this time.
‘Tess… let’s not allow this to be a point of argument between us. Please see that I am only trying to help.’
His voice gentle and his words unrushed made them no easier to hear. He smoothed her hair back from her face, and then gently clasped the nape of her neck.
‘Work with me, Tess,’ he urged in a soothing tone. ‘You’ll see I’m right. I promise.’
She kept her eyes closed when he stepped away from her, wondering when she should make her escape. With her appetite gone she just wanted to be alone under the covers of her bed with the lights off to hide her humiliation.
‘Tess,’ he called out lightly. ‘Stop standing there, I’ve said my piece. Don’t let it spoil the whole evening. I’ve got you a present. So open your eyes like a big girl and come and see it.’
&nb
sp; She opened her eyes to see him fetching something out of his briefcase and felt bewildered. Another perfume. The third in as many weeks. Was he spoiling her or did he think she stank? Slovenly. She couldn’t get the word out of her head. He’d have been better off buying her some fancy pyjamas seeing as the ones she wore offended him. Or an invisible cloak to hide her for when she embarrassed him. The pale pink box he handed her was tied with a tiny black bow and with trembling fingers she untied it, wishing she didn’t have to do this right now as this scent would remind her of this horrible feeling of lowliness.
He took the perfume from her and trickled a drop on the inside of her wrist. Then, raising her hand near his face, he breathed in the fragrance before pronouncing his judgement.
‘Not quite as I imagined. Not quite what I was hoping for.’
Later in bed, a tear in her confidence gaped wide as she wondered if he was referring to her and not the perfume. Was she not quite as he imagined, she not quite what he’d hoped for?
Sara, her best friend and sole bridesmaid, had jokingly quoted, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure,’ but she hadn’t meant it. She thought Tess was the luckiest girl in the world. And so had Tess. She had met a man, enjoyed a whirlwind courtship, and hadn’t once thought things were moving too fast. She’d thought him the most elegant-looking man she had ever seen. He was thirty-nine and a successful doctor and had wanted her as his wife. Was he now regretting that?
Her mind wouldn’t stop dwelling on the things he’d said. Everything had seemed perfect considering the upheaval they’d just gone through of moving to a new house in a new city, and a new job for him. Had she missed something that might have alerted her? Had he been quieter or different with her? Was he stressed by it all? His new position as a consultant vascular surgeon held more responsibility. He was in charge of a team of doctors and his time was spent training and supervising, whilst carrying out his own clinical duties and managerial roles. He was responsible for running outpatient clinics and coordinating complex theatre lists. The operations he performed were as physically taxing as they were mentally draining. The patients were the sickest in the hospital and went ahead of any other ‘urgent’ cases. When they went wrong, they went spectacularly wrong. Vascular surgeons had a reputation around the hospital for having the God complex, not surprising considering the pedestal their patients put them on after saving their life.
She looked at the sleeping face on the pillow beside her, making out his features in the dark, wishing she’d not let tonight happen. She’d fallen into the complacency trap and had taken for granted this new beginning. He may have hoped that by living here they’d live differently, be different people, dressing for dinner like in a bygone age? Not that she’d carry on wearing her pyjamas during mealtimes. Tonight, old fears had raised a finger of doubt in her mind, making her feel like a child again. She was not good enough to have been chosen for this grand house. She was letting it down. While he, with his bearing, epitomised the characteristics of someone who should be there.
What if he were to fall out of love with her? She had taken his love for granted until he revealed she wasn’t always so pleasing. She could lose him if he found other things about her not to like. A sickness settled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of that. It would destroy her. She could lie there in self-pity for being embarrassed and having her feelings hurt, or she could take heed of his words. Show him she loved him.
Sighing quietly, she wondered at the ways she would have to change, pondering this dismantling of her, and how this new version of her would all come together. In separate pieces or as one whole part? Bits of her old self piled in a heap as the assembling began. What if it didn’t fit her properly? What if a missing part couldn’t be found to fit? Would the bits and pieces piled in a heap of her old self be put back together again? Or would they be discarded as damaged and tools put down?
Chapter Three
The following day she rose early, determined to show her husband that she had taken on board what he’d said. The slight against her character still stung, but she was moving on from it, mindful of how new they still were, mindful of the gamble they’d taken to love each other after so little time getting to know one another. Whirlwind romances leading to marriage needn’t end at the first hurdle, if they were both mindful of avoiding the problem happening again.
Last night needn’t have been an issue if she had known from the start he wanted to introduce some changes into their marriage. Then he could have told her in a more teasing manner without any upset being caused. She would lose the habit of throwing on her pyjamas after a bath and get into the custom of dressing more properly until bedtime. And in future be mindful of any undercurrents.
Hopefully, after tonight, he’d have a better opinion of her and wouldn’t say anything to spoil this overture she was making. He was lucky she was not spending her day sulking and that she was the forgiving kind. And he was lucky she was resilient and able to get over hurt like that.
This gesture today was her being mindful. She had dinner already planned (no peas or chips on this menu) and the ingredients already prepped for something delicious. She’d been working steadily throughout the morning to get things ready, to have food and the dining room all sorted, leaving her time for some pampering. She’d waxed her legs and treated her hair to a deep condition. Her skin was silky soft from bathing in aromatic oils. Her toes and fingernails were painted a metallic blue, and her favourite jeans, the ones he liked best, were out ready on the bed. She would wear her hair down and wear her most feminine top – a baby blue affair that hung from her shoulders with long flowing sleeves. Her silver summer flip-flops, far too pretty to wear on any beach, which was why she never had, would suit perfectly the look she was aiming for. With everything now decided on she was left at imagining his surprise, and anticipating the reaction she’d get when he walked through the door and got a look at her. Yesterday was the first time she hadn’t kissed him goodnight. She’d feigned sleep so as not to have to while she nursed her wounded pride. She’d feel differently tonight dressed up. She’d be confident again.
Making her way back downstairs she heard the doorbell ring. A delivery van was parked on the driveway, and boxes were piled up outside the door. One extremely large one was standing to the side. The delivery man handed her a small screen to sign, before pointing to the large box. ‘Looks heavy, but it’s not,’ he informed her. ‘I’ll bring it into the hallway if you like?’
Tess thanked him, telling him she’d manage on her own, shocked by the sight of so many boxes with her name on.
A short while later their presence in the hallway was an obstacle to get around. What had he bought her? she wondered. It seemed like an awful lot of parcels and boxes if they were ‘sorry’ gifts. A one-word text message popped up on her phone. Enjoy. One word, but it was enough to put a gleeful grin on her face and send her in search of some scissors.
She slid the largest box to the centre of the floor and set about peeling off tape, before running a blade of the scissors through the sellotaped seam of the lid. She raised up the flaps and saw at the top of the box a quality dress bag folded carefully and felt a thrill. She lifted it out and hung it by its hanger over a door. She repeated this action five more times, getting more excited by the minute. He must have spent a fortune on her. Eager to see what was in them she unzipped the first one.
Her face grew comically alarmed at the colour of the dress – a shade of washed-out lavender a granny might wear, and in a style that would also suit one. A for fuck sake went off in her head. Had he gone out to find a granny to choose it or had he one in mind that could wear it? She hoped to heaven they were not all the same. By the time she came to the last one she was fizzling with disappointment.
Out of six dresses not one of them was to her taste or what she would wear. Each dress, undoubtedly elegant, with sensible hemlines and modest necks and nipped-in waists, screamed out the same thing. Not her. Not now, not ever. They were dresses for an
older woman, an old-fashioned woman, an afternoon tea of cucumber sandwiches and Earl Grey type-of-woman. Was this how he saw her, dressed like this? Was this the change he was after?
Despondently, she opened the other parcels. Court shoes in flats and medium heels, in black and navy. Open-toe sandals that only a woman with a crippling foot problem would wear if it came down to a choice of comfort or fashion. They were ugly and brown with wide straps and silver buckles at the sides. Cardigans and jumpers spun from softest wool were spoiled by the drab colours he’d chosen, no doubt picked to go with the plain A-line skirts and pleated trousers. Pure silk blouses with round lace collars had her eyes popping in despair at the thought of finding matching pearls and clip-on earrings. Where were the designer jeans and hoodies and pretty tops, the modern styles in shops she could never afford?
Rubbing her face in frustration at the complete let down, she picked up the last package. Feather-light considering its size – comparing it to the last one she had opened, which contained a pair of ladies’ leather slippers in a horrible burgundy red – she ripped it open without a care and frustration turned to bewilderment at the sight of exquisite lingerie. The satins and silks and delicate lace slipped through fingers like a waterfall. All in exquisite colours she could love.
She stared around the hallway at her wardrobe of new clothes and saw the conflicting directives. The ugly clothes were for how he wanted others to see her, while the delicate scraps of material in her lap were for his personal viewing only. She could take it as a compliment that he spent such time choosing these clothes, and wondered when he had. From his office at work this morning, or last night after she’d gone to bed? Choosing it all would have taken a while, and again she could take this as a sign he cared, and she might have – regardless of whether she liked them or not – if it didn’t feel like she was being controlled. If she gave in to this and accepted them, was she not in danger of losing herself? Or was she reading this all wrong and it was simply a case of poor taste? On someone like Kate Middleton they might look divine. She was a beautiful willowy brunette. On Tess they’d hang past her knees and make her look like a frump. He was asking a lot of her because he cared. All she had to do was not mind having to change.
