My Husband's Wife

by Jane Corry

  ‘I think it’s sweet,’ one of the girls at the antenatal class had said when Carla had confided that her new husband would not let her do anything in the house. What Carla stopped herself from saying was that he wouldn’t even allow her to her put out his empties. Ed now drank far more than he would admit. It had led to a spectacular argument at an art critic’s party, right in front of everyone. Later, of course, he’d apologized profusely.

  ‘I am doing it for two,’ he had joked, putting his hand over Carla’s own glass when she had reached for the bottle herself. ‘No, you mustn’t. I don’t care what the latest report is. These so-called medical experts change their minds all the time. Far better to play safe and avoid alcohol altogether during pregnancy.’

  Then he had stroked her stomach. ‘You’re carrying my child,’ he said in a reverent tone. ‘I promise to look after you. Not long now, my darling.’

  Six weeks. Yet each day seemed to pass so slowly. How uncomfortable she felt! How heavy. Carla could not even bear to look at herself in the mirror, even though Ed told her, with the smell of whisky on his breath, that she was beautiful. Nor could she bear the touch of his hand on her stomach so he could feel the baby move like some monster inside her.

  Soaping her breasts (so huge and the nipples so dark that they were scarcely recognizable), Carla allowed her mind to wander back to when she’d bumped into Rupert soon after the wedding. ‘How are you?’ he had asked.

  They were in court at the time. She was there to support the barrister. (It was, ironically, a case involving a man who had got drunk at an office party and been sacked for making inappropriate advances to his boss. Rupert was on the other side.)

  She found it hard to concentrate on her argument, constantly looking over to where her old friend was sitting. He appeared to be looking at her too. During the break, they sought each other out. ‘I am …’ she began. And then stopped. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I am married to a near-bankrupt drinker. A man whose child I am expecting.’

  Rupert’s eyes widened. ‘I heard you had married Ed,’ he said quietly. ‘But I didn’t know about the other developments. I think we need a coffee once the case is over.’

  Carla hadn’t meant to be so open. But it all came spilling out. Ed’s controlling ways, which could be interpreted as simply caring. The constant worry about money. (At the bank’s insistence, the house was finally going on the market, but they hadn’t had many viewers.) The uncomfortable feeling about living in another woman’s home.

  ‘In the end, Lily left almost everything, even her clothes. It’s as though she was trying to tell me that I couldn’t replace her.’

  And then the note which had arrived out of the blue, threatening her for hurting Lily.

  Rupert was clearly shocked. ‘What did the police say?’

  ‘I haven’t told them.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Her eyes welled up again. ‘Because then Ed would make a fuss and not allow me back to the office. He would keep me at home, shut up like a bird, in case someone hurt me.’

  Rupert took her hand. ‘This is terrible, Carla. You can’t live like this.’

  ‘I know.’ She stared down at the now visible bump in her stomach. ‘But what can I do?’

  ‘All kinds of things. You could go –’

  ‘No.’ She had interrupted him fiercely. ‘I cannot leave. I cannot be like my mamma. I will not allow this child to grow up without a father as I did.’

  Rupert dropped her hand. Don’t, she wanted to cry. Don’t.

  Then he reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed over a card. ‘This is my private mobile number. I’ve changed it since we last knew each other. Ring me. Any time. I will always be there for you. My fiancée would like to meet you too.’

  ‘Your fiancée?’

  Rupert blushed. ‘Katie and I got engaged last month. It was a bit sudden, but we’re very happy.’

  So that holding of hands and the flush on his face … Carla had got it all wrong. Rupert really was just being a friend. Nothing more.

  That had been several weeks ago now. Carla kept the card close to her. Often she thought about ringing the number. But every time she did, a sentence came into her head. My fiancée would like to meet you.

  Carla shivered. She had had enough of stealing other people’s things. This intolerable situation was her cross to bear for snatching Lily’s husband.

  ‘Carla?’ There was a persistent knocking on the bathroom door. ‘Darling? Are you all right in there?’

  ‘I am fine,’ she said. Then she turned on the taps so she couldn’t hear his reply, and lowered herself down so that her head was under water, allowing herself to think clearly without Ed’s voice hammering through the door.

  49

  Lily

  I pause. Grip the railings on the front. Try to steady myself by looking out over the sea and watching the light of a boat moored there. Bobbing on the surface of the water against the apricot sunrise.

  Then I turn round.

  Joe Thomas doesn’t look like a former prisoner. He seems much older than he did at our last meeting, but it suits him. Gives him a certain gravity. He’s grown a moustache, although his hair is still short.

  But one thing hasn’t changed. Those eyes. Those black-brown eyes which are focused right on me.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  A chill passes through my bones.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

  He reaches towards me. For a minute, I think he’s going to grab my arms. I step back. One of my nodding-acquaintance jogger friends goes past.

  Joe waits a few seconds. ‘I need to tell you something. Please.’

  He is actually begging. Momentarily, I am swayed. ‘Not here.’

  Uncertainly, I lead him across the road to a group of tables and chairs outside a cafe with an OPEN AT 9AM! sign. We sit opposite each other, away from the promenade and the occasional runner. ‘What is it?’ I say curtly.

  His eyes are boring into mine. As though they are trying to suck me into him.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about Carla.’

  At first, his words are so unexpected that it takes me a second to absorb them. When I do, I am both scared and – I have to admit this – excited.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your ex and Carla won’t last.’

  My mouth is dry. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Just do.’

  He moves his chair closer to the table. Without looking down, I can feel our legs are almost but not quite touching. A man goes past, his dog sniffing a stray chip left in the road then running on. To its owner, we might be any pair of runners sitting down, catching our breath, admiring the view. Or maybe we could be a pair of tourists staying at one of the hotels on the front, taking a stroll before breakfast.

  ‘I know it can’t be easy,’ says Joe. ‘Your husband has married someone else. And now they’re having a baby.’

  ‘So what? I’ve moved on now.’

  Those eyes are peeling away my pretence. ‘Are you sure?’

  No. Of course I’m not sure. I want Carla to have never existed. I want the old me to have told her mother that I’m very sorry but we couldn’t possibly look after her child at weekends.

  But that’s not me. At the heart of things, I need to help people. To make up for not being able to help my own brother. For having failed him. For having failed myself.

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’ I ask. ‘To see how I am?’

  ‘Partly.’ Little beads of perspiration are breaking out on his forehead. I can feel the same thing happening on my back.

  I wait like a mouse waiting to be pounced on. Knowing what is to come.

  ‘I want a paternity test, Lily. I didn’t believe you last time when you said he wasn’t mine, and I don’t believe you now. I’ve been watching you, Lily, like I’ve always been watching you and everyone you mix with, since I got out of prison.’

  This is ridiculous. How? Where? ‘Is this one
of your lies again?’ I say sharply.

  He laughs. ‘Even introduced myself to Carla at Tony’s funeral.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. She wasn’t there.’

  Another laugh. ‘Then you couldn’t have been looking very closely.’

  He draws his chair nearer. I edge back.

  ‘I’m not far away, Lily, when you pick up Tom from school on Friday nights. Or when you take him for walks along the beach, with Ross.’ His mouth tightens.

  My heart leaps into my throat. Surely he wouldn’t …

  ‘And just how have you been spying like this without us noticing?’ I snap. Fear is making me angry.

  ‘Spying?’ He seems to consider the word. ‘I’m no James Bond, but I was inside, wasn’t I? You learn things there. I even paid one of my contacts to do a check on you when I was thinking of hiring you. I wanted to see if you were up to the job.’

  There’s a flash from the past. That feeling, when I was newly married, of being followed on the way back from the bus stop. My shock when Joe had known I’d just got married.

  Could it be true?

  Or is this just the dreams of a fantasist? But then how do I explain his knowing so much about me? About Tom. About Ross.

  ‘Tom looks like I did as a kid, Lily.’ Joe’s face is twisted with pain. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him express emotion. ‘I’ve seen him. He does the same things. He doesn’t like it when things aren’t ordered. I know he’s mine. I’ve given you time because of your marriage break-up. But I deserve to know. Don’t you think?’

  I’d see his point of view if I wasn’t so scared of him. If he wasn’t a killer.

  A pair of joggers run past on the other side of the road, holding hands. I see them every day. Mr and Mrs Newly-Wed, I call them to myself. Joe observes me watching them.

  ‘Are you lonely, Lily?’

  This change of tack throws me. Maybe that’s the whole point. My eyes suddenly blur. Of course I’m lonely. It’s so unfair that Ed, the guilty party, has found happiness whereas I am destined to be alone. Who would want to take on a child like Tom?

  ‘You don’t have to be on your own, you know.’ Joe’s hands suddenly take mine. They are warm. Firm.

  ‘I’ve always loved you, Lily. In my own way.’

  The raw loneliness inside me screams in my ears. I’d like to say I don’t know what I’m doing. But I do.

  I lean towards him. Let his hands pull me towards him. Let him lower his lips to my neck. Feel his breath against me, sending heat straight to my groin.

  A jogger appears in the far distance by the lifeboat station. I jerk back. Joe’s eyes snap open. I leap to my feet, appalled by what I have just done. As I do so, a key falls out of my pocket. It’s one I always carry, even though I no longer have use for it. The spare key to my old house with Ed. If you are attacked, I once learned at a self-defence course, you should jab someone in the eye to give you time to run. A key is always good, the instructor said, or else a finger. It’s a piece of advice that has stayed with me, whether in London or running along the seafront in the early morning.

  Joe bends down to pick it up.

  This is a murderer before me. A man who should have been convicted of killing his girlfriend. Yet this polite picking-up-the-key gesture suggests courtesy. And that’s the nub of it. Of course Joe is bad. But he also has shades of not-so-bad.

  I like to think I am good. But – there’s no getting away from it – I have also done wrong. Not just a wrong that affects me. But one that touches Ed too. And, more importantly, Tom.

  And as I run back across the road towards the front, the sea now washing smoothly against the pebbles, I finally allow my mind to go back to that evening after the case.

  Forget the pain in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  It’s nothing, compared with the agony of waiting.

  My body is tense. Stiff with apprehension.

  I can hear her now. She’s coming.

  50

  Carla

  The pains started the following day, when Carla was in the office, going through her post. There was always something, thank goodness. A letter, a contract, a phone call, a meeting with counsel. Anything to block out the image of Ed waiting for her at home, his eye on the clock, his hand on the bottle.

  ‘Got another one here,’ announced Lily’s old secretary, popping her head round the door. ‘Just been delivered by hand.’ Carla’s heart quickened, although there was no need. Many letters were hand-delivered. Couriers were nothing out of the ordinary. Yet she could see as she took the envelope that her name hadn’t been typed, but written by hand in spidery capital letters. She opened it.

  YOU AND YOUR CHILD WILL PAY.

  Carla felt the baby launch another kick, far bigger this time. ‘Who dropped this off?’ she heard herself say in a strangled voice.

  The woman had made it clear that she didn’t care for Lily’s successor. ‘A motorbike courier. Didn’t say which company he was with.’ Flouncing off, she left the door wide open.

  Getting up to shut it, Carla suddenly felt a trickle of water running down her legs.

  How embarrassing! She had wet herself. Was this what her body had come to? Stuffing the letter in her bag, she scuttled past a partner in the corridor and dived into the Ladies. To her horror, the same secretary was there, drying her hands.

  The woman gasped. ‘Have your waters broken?’

  Of course, she knew that waters breaking was a sign of labour. But the teacher of her antenatal class had described it as more of a flood than a trickle.

  ‘This happened to me too with my second,’ said the woman. Her tone was grudgingly kind. ‘Sit down while I call the ambulance.’

  Carla felt as though the walls were coming towards her. ‘But it’s too early. I’m not due for another six weeks.’

  ‘Even more need to get you into hospital.’ The woman was already on her mobile. ‘Ambulance, please. Urgent.’ Then she turned round to Carla. ‘Shall I call Ed? I’ve still got his number in Lily’s old address book.’

  Lily … Ed … Would they never go away! Was she destined to be trapped for ever in this marriage of three?

  ‘I am sorry,’ she called out as the ambulance sped its way through the streets.

  ‘No need to apologize, love,’ said the voice next to her. ‘It’s our job.’

  It’s not you I’m apologizing to, she tried to say. It’s the baby who’s coming into this terrible mess we’ve created. Go back. Go back to where you came from so you are safe. But strange pains had started in her belly. Wave after wave of pain, each one beginning almost as soon as its predecessor had finished.

  ‘We need to slow her down,’ said another voice (female this time).

  The urgent yet calm tone reminded Carla of the time she had been taken into hospital as a child. You could have died, the doctor had told her strictly at the time, as if she and not her mother were responsible for failing to react to her symptoms fast enough. Maybe she was dying now. Perhaps that would be best. What kind of life would the baby have with parents who were already fighting before it was born?

  ‘Carla, can you hear me?’ The first voice was hovering over her. ‘We’re just going to give you a little injection to try and keep baby inside for a bit longer. All right?’

  And then it went black.

  51

  Lily

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Joe said after we’d won the appeal, all those years ago. Such innocent words.

  We began to stroll across the Heath, breathing in the cool night air after the tension of the court.

  ‘Do you remember,’ he said, his eyes straight ahead, ‘when our hands touched in the prison?’

  How could I forget? He had made it seem that the advance was all mine, rather than the other way round.

  ‘You know,’ he continued, without waiting for an answer, ‘there are very few people in this world whom I can bear to touch. I’ve always been like that, even as a child.’

  And th
en I found his hand – strong and firm – taking mine as we continued to walk into the dark, leaving the pub lit up behind us.

  Of course, I should have withdrawn it. Made my excuses and gone home, right there and then. But I was on a high after our victory. And a low because of Ed. I had to face it. My new husband wasn’t interested in me. He and Davina had been much better suited. It was her he should have married. Not me.

  There was something else too. There are very few people in this world whom Joe could bear to touch. That’s what he said. Yet I was clearly one of them. And I was flattered. Why not? This was a man whom I believed had been wrongfully imprisoned. A man who was to be pitied and also admired – not least because he had decided not to press for financial compensation. Nothing, he had told the court, would bring back his ‘poor’ girlfriend, Sarah Evans. All he wanted was justice. And his freedom.

  ‘You’re crying,’ Joe said when I found my hand squeezing his in return.

  And that was when I had told him. Told him everything about my marriage. Let down my guard. I’d like to say it was because I don’t normally drink a double on an empty stomach. I’d like to say it was because of the flush of success at winning my first big case. But the truth is that Joe was someone I could talk to.

  As I had discovered, prison can do that to you. It creates a common bond. The very act of being in a place where most people fear to be makes you feel different. It creates some unlikely pairings. The fraudster and his rapist cell mate. The teacher and the murderer. The solicitor and her client.

  And of course there was also that one thing that you can’t impose rules or laws upon. That physical energy which sizzled between us. An electricity I’d first felt in the visitors’ room below that HOPE poster. Something that should never exist between prisoner and lawyer. Except Joe was no longer a prisoner. He was a free man.

  We were both free to do what we pleased.

  I can’t even say it was rape, although I did try to resist for a few seconds. All I knew was that suddenly I was lost. I didn’t even try to pretend to myself it was love, because it was far better. Why? Because love is too fragile and can be broken too easily. Lust is more robust. Immediately gratifying. Hadn’t my past taught me that all too well?