A Crowded Marriage

by Catherine Alliott

  “But Charlie Cotterall. I mean, he’s quite a lad, isn’t he?”

  “Not any more,” he said with his mouth full, one eye on the football. “He and Trisha are blissfully happy, although word has it she’s keen to have children.” He grinned. “I’m not sure how old Charlie feels about that. He’s already got two from his first marriage, and when I had lunch with him today, he was talking about having the snip without telling her.”

  I stared. “That’s an awful thing to do. If he’s planning on marrying her.”

  “It’s only a joke, Imo,” he said, glancing away from the match. “Old Charlie wouldn’t do a thing like that. No, he was just, you know, bemoaning the fact that however hard you try, you always end up with the trouble and strife and a couple of kids in the bargain.”

  “Like you, you mean. Two kids the first time round, and now Rufus, and golly, who knows, maybe another one. Yes, how dreadful.”

  He put down his fork. Looked at me, surprised.

  “How much more entertaining would it be if you and Charlie could just—just shag around to your hearts’ content, with as many women as you liked and have absolutely no ties or responsibilities at the end of it.”

  “Imo—”

  “Wouldn’t that be bloody marvellous!” And with that, predictably, I threw down the tea towel I’d been clutching, burst into tears, and rushed upstairs.

  A bit later, as I sobbed piteously, face down in my pillow, Alex came up and sat beside me. He stroked my back. Rubbed between my shoulder blades.

  “I won’t take it, Imo. Won’t take the flat.”

  “No!” I sobbed, flipping over, my face wet. “Of course you must. It’s hopeless going on like this. You’re exhausted. Of course you must take it. It’s just, I wish—”

  “That I didn’t have to. I know.” He sighed. A great weary sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. “Imo, I don’t want to share a flat with Charlie Cotterall. Don’t want to live with an overgrown schoolboy who still grades his farts for potency and picks his toenails and leaves the trimmings on the carpet. I don’t want to be in some ghastly dive in Chiswick where the washing-up piles up in the sink and there’s never anything in the fridge except beer and the only nourishment arrives on the back of a motorbike. I don’t want to sleep in a tiny single attic room, listening to Charlie and Trisha humping away below. Believe it or not, it was not part of my plan at this particular stage of my life.”

  His voice broke slightly at this. I had a sudden mental image of Alex ten years ago; leaving his elegant Chelsea town house in the morning for his job in the city; kissing the beautiful Tilly good-bye on the doorstep, dropping his two little girls in blazers and boaters at their private school in Eton Square. I wondered, not for the first time, if he regretted the breakup of the old order? Missed his old life? Even if he didn’t, I could see that sharing a flat in Chiswick was not something he’d envisaged for his later years.

  “But needs must,” he went on firmly, looking steadfastly at the carpet, “and frankly, at the moment, darling, I can’t afford to look this gift horse in the mouth. Charlie doesn’t want any rent, and—”

  “I know,” I said quickly, sitting up and interrupting him, “you must. Of course you must take it.” God, this was humiliating enough for him; I mustn’t emasculate him further by making him spell it out to me. “I’m just being selfish, Alex. It’s terribly kind of Charlie and I’m just being…well…”

  Insecure, was the word I couldn’t say. I couldn’t say I was scared: I mustn’t let him think I was a clinging wife who couldn’t let her husband out of her sight for fear of him chatting up a pretty girl. And let’s face it, that’s all Alex would do, chat. He did flirt, yes—God, who didn’t—but he was absolutely all gong and no dinner. I mustn’t lose sight of that. I must be confident and secure about this.

  I reached for a box of tissues by the bed and blew my nose. Smiled at him.

  “Of course you must take it, darling. And I’ll tell you what. I’ll pop up occasionally, shall I? Leave Rufus with Hannah, and maybe spend one night a week in the flat. Give Charlie and Trisha something to talk about.”

  He hugged me delightedly. This was absolutely how he liked me to be: funny, positive, spirited—like Eleanor, I thought with a pang. And it was how I was going to be in future, I determined. Classy. Confident. Not needy and cringing.

  “In fact, why wait for Charlie and Trisha?” he’d murmured in my ear. “Why not give the cows something to talk about now?”

  And with that we’d slipped under the covers. He’d kissed my tear-stained face and then my lips, and then we’d made love: seamlessly, beautifully, wonderfully.

  As I was running myself a bath afterwards, though, still smiling foolishly, I did wish that one day I could make love to my husband without congratulating myself. Did other wives monitor their love lives so closely, I wondered, dipping my toe in the water? Perhaps they did. Or, perhaps second wives did.

  I turned to Hannah now as I put the milk away in the fridge, remembering my new, positive frame of mind: my half-full glass.

  “Oh, yes, I persuaded him to take it, actually. Told him it was madness to pass up such a terrific offer. He’d be suffering from exhaustion, otherwise. I don’t want him laid up in the Priory.”

  “Yes, but a flat in town,” she said doubtfully. “With Alex’s track record. Slippery slope, surely?”

  I rounded on her, slamming the fridge door shut.

  “Hannah, do I make snide references about Eddie’s lack of control? Do I raise my eyebrows at him teaching at an all-girls’ school, suggest he might be touching up some sixth former when he shows her how to scan iambic pentameters on a trip to see King Lear? Do I imply he might be bonking the science mistress in an empty staffroom when he’s late home at night?”

  “No, no, you’re quite right,” she said hastily. “I said that without thinking. Just—a figure of speech.”

  “We don’t have a choice, I’m afraid. We don’t want to have flatmates at our time of life, believe me,” I said, shamelessly parodying Alex. “We don’t want to live a—a beer-and-biryani lifestyle, any more than we want to live in a crappy little grace-and-favour cottage in the sodding countryside, thanks to Lady fucking Muck!”

  Hannah stared at me, frozen. Her grey eyes were huge with meaning and her head jerked slightly to the left. Towards the back door, behind me. I swung round and nearly swallowed my tonsils. Eleanor was hovering, embarrassed, on the back step.

  “Sorry, only I would have knocked, but the door was wide open so I—”

  “Oh God, yes, come in, come in!” I said getting up, flustered, and knocking my chair over backwards. I picked it up, horrified. Golly, had she heard? She must have. How awful. “How lovely to see you. You know my sister, don’t you?” I was aware that my face was burning.

  “Yes, we have met, haven’t we?” smiled Eleanor, stretching her hand across the table. “It’s Hannah, isn’t it?”

  “That’s it,” said Hannah, getting to her feet to clasp her hand, clearly surprised she knew her name. She pulled down her skirt and flicked her hair back as she sat down again.

  Despite my confusion, I couldn’t help noticing the startling disparity between Hannah, huge and lumpen in her ethnic dress, and Eleanor, glowing with good health, copper curls shining, slim figure encased in skin-tight jodhpurs and a red shirt.

  “Been riding?” I hazarded stupidly.

  “Well, it’s such a glorious day I thought I’d take Cracker for a gallop. I’ve tied him to your fence outside. Hope you don’t mind!”

  “No! Not at all. I mean it’s…your fence,” I said awkwardly.

  There was a silence as we all digested this. My face, by now, was the colour of her shirt.

  “Cup of coffee?” I rushed on, brightly. “We were just finishing lunch, but there’s some cake, so do—”

  “Oh, no, I wo
n’t stay, you’re very kind. No, I just came to see if you were around this weekend. Only the weather’s supposed to be wonderful on Sunday and we thought we’d have a barbecue. Do say you’ll come.”

  Well, if she had heard me, she’d obviously forgiven me pretty swiftly.

  “That’s very kind, but actually, Hannah and Eddie are coming for lunch here on Sunday. They’re bringing Mum with them.”

  “But that’s marvellous—come too!” She turned to Hannah. “Do, it would be great to see you both. I don’t feel I’ve really got to know you and Eddie, and you only live in the next village. I’ve heard so much about you from friends. You’re a potter, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, well,” Hannah demurred, “that’s putting it a bit strongly. I dabble.”

  “More than dabble. I know people who’ve bought your pots and I’ve seen them too—they’re beautiful. I’d love to come and have a look one day.”

  “How kind,” Hannah murmured pinkly, flicking her hair again, clearly deeply charmed. “Yes, you must come. I don’t have many at home because there isn’t room, but I’ve got a wheel at school. And we’d love to come to lunch, only as Imogen says, we have got Mum…”

  “Oh, but I adore your mother! And she can give me advice on my hideous formal garden with her marvellous plastic flowers.” She giggled. “I do think that’s inspired, don’t you?”

  “Mum is…full of inspiration,” Hannah agreed.

  “Good, well, that’s decided then. We’ll see you all on Sunday. About one o’clock? Dead casual.”

  “As long as Alex hasn’t got too much work,” I said firmly. “He’s so busy at the moment, he’s working weekends. I’ll have to check.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve already spoken to him. I couldn’t get hold of you so I rang, and he said he’d get everything done on Saturday and leave Sunday free.”

  I stared. “Right.”

  “And isn’t it marvellous about the flat?”

  “The…flat?”

  “Well, it’ll ease the commute, won’t it? Honestly, I don’t know how these men do it. I get completely exhausted whenever I pop up to London.”

  “Are you there a lot?” asked Hannah in a pally-wally way, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her face prettily in her hand. I shot her a look that went beyond loathing.

  “Far too much at the moment,” groaned Eleanor. “We’re working on the winter collection, you see. I don’t know if you know, but I’ve got this shirt business. We only do white shirts, but in lots of different styles. I started it with a friend.”

  “Yes, I’d heard,” said Hannah eagerly. “It’s The White One, isn’t it? Haven’t you had some publicity recently in the Guardian?”

  “We have! How clever of you to know that.”

  They glowed at each other. Puke. I seized a knife to cut the cake, holding it like a dagger and wondering which breast to plunge it into. Would it take more than one stab, I wondered, to kill? And would it make a terrible mess? Blood-splattered windowpanes?

  “And at the moment, we’re frantic. Completely rushed off our feet. So much so that I’ve decided to stay in London for a bit. I really can’t be doing with all that to-ing and fro-ing.”

  “Oh, right. Have you got a place there, then?”

  “Piers’s mother has a flat in South Ken.”

  “Oh, perfect. No, thanks, Imo.”

  “No cake?”

  “No.” She gave a prim little shake of her head as if she never touched the stuff and turned back to Eleanor. “Sorry, you were saying?”

  “Yes, it’s just sitting there, and she never uses it, just down the road from the Natural History Museum. And actually, I quite fancy getting away from all the mud for a bit. I sometimes long for a cappuccino on a pavement, long to get a bit of good old carbon monoxide into my lungs!”

  “Oh, I know the feeling,” groaned my sister. “Yes, it would be nice to take the straw out of one’s mouth occasionally. Imogen even found a piece of straw in her knickers the other day, didn’t you, Imo?”

  “No,” I said icily.

  There was a silence.

  “Right, well, I must go,” determined Eleanor, slapping her whip against her leather boot. “Cracker will be getting impatient. It was lovely to meet you properly.” She shot Hannah a special smile. My sister looked captivated. “Toodle-oo. See you on Sunday. I’m so pleased you’re all coming.”

  And with that she gave us a cheery wave and the benefit of her pert little backside as she sashayed off across the grass, back to her mount. I watched her untie a huge bay gelding and spring effortlessly into the saddle, and then she spun him round on the spot, pointed his nose up the hill, and galloped off over the horizon in a cloud of dust.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When she’d disappeared from sight, I swung round to face my sister. “Why didn’t you snog her?”

  “What?”

  “Well, you were flirting with her, chatting her up—why didn’t you go the whole hog, wrestle her to the floor and stick your tongue down her throat?”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

  I was so furious I could hardly speak. I slammed around the kitchen, throwing plates in the dishwasher, chucking the salad bowl in the sink.

  “I can’t believe you said yes to lunch,” I fumed, my voice shaking with emotion. “I thought you didn’t like her, couldn’t bear her and Piers and their stuck-up ways!”

  “Actually, I thought she was charming,” she mused, cutting herself a slice of cake and picking the chocolate icing off the top with her nails. “Sweet of her to comment on my pots.”

  “Flattery,” I spat, snatching the cake from under her. “And you’re not having that.”

  “Why not?” She looked up, astonished.

  “Because you said you didn’t want it!” My eyes blazed at her as I threw the cake in a tin, jamming the lid on and tossing it in the cupboard. “God, you were the one who told me to watch out for her, said she was after my husband!”

  “Yes, but I think I was wrong about that. I mean, after all, it was years ago, wasn’t it? And I very much doubt she’d have you down here if she was after Alex. Too obvious. No, I’ve revised that theory.”

  “Oh, have you?” I snarled. “When it suits you!”

  “Be interesting to see the house, though.” She narrowed her eyes speculatively and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms against her large bosom. “I’ve never been up there before.”

  “And that’s what she’s banking on,” I spat. “That your nosey-parker instincts will get the better of any real instincts you might have about her!” I scraped the remains of the coronation chicken noisily into the bin with a fork.

  “Don’t you want that? I could have taken that home for Eddie’s supper.”

  “Tough.” I threw the bowl in the sink. Swung around to face her. “And how dare she have spoken to Alex already?” I was trembling with rage. “Christ, I only knew about the flat last night, and there she is telling me about it. What is she—phoning him every day?”

  “I think she said she rang him to ask about lunch when she couldn’t get hold of you, remember?”

  “Couldn’t get hold of me? I’m here the whole frigging time! I’m welded to the place, never go anywhere except to feed her bloody cows!”

  “Do calm down, Imogen. You’re sounding like a jealous schoolgirl. And anyway, if she was after him, she’d hardly be mentioning the fact that she’d rung him, would she? She’d be keeping that very quiet.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I hissed, a little too manically perhaps, waving a dirty fork in her face. “That’s where she’s so clever! It was the same with Tilly, the same pally friendship, the same holidays abroad and then—wham!—in she goes, under the wire. It’s a smokescreen, you see, a cover—what, me and Alex?” I opened my eyes innocently, aping Eleanor. “Lord,
no, we’re just good friends, always have been. Oh, she is so smart, Hannah, so smart, you have no idea. She manipulates people, draws them into her web. It’s her forte. I mean, Christ, look at you! A couple of days ago you thought she was scheming and untrustworthy. Remember the gymkhana lady, Sue, who had a team Eleanor wanted Theo in, and—and the one she got to make curtains right before Christmas and then snubbed at church? Blimey, didn’t take you long to forget them, did it? Didn’t take long to get round you!”

  “She didn’t get round me, she simply asked me and Eddie to lunch and I accepted. Now grow up.”

  “And now she’s going to be staying in London at the exact same time as Alex,” I seethed.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

  “And wasn’t she quick to tell me that, hmm? Very quick off the mark to get that out into the open so I can’t turn round and say—I didn’t know! Didn’t know I’d be the one parked down here, stuck in the frigging mud while they’re both up in town. It’s her modus operandi, Hannah, can’t you see that? She doesn’t sneak around, ever, she’s so much bolder than that. She’s, she’s brazen!” I fixed her with feverish eyes.

  She shot me a pitying look as she got to her feet, plucking her handbag from the back of her chair. She swung it over her shoulder.

  “Imogen, she’s staying in London because she’s got a business to run, she told you. A winter collection to get out. Honestly, you’re starting to sound a bit unhinged. I’m beginning to wonder who needs the counselling around here.” And so saying, she gave me an arch look then swept past me out of the cottage, stalking off through the mud in her heels to her car.

  When she’d gone, I stood at the window, staring blankly at the wet fields encased with little dry-stone walls, arms crossed, my hands clutching the tops of my arms tightly. I was trembling slightly. Suddenly, on an impulse, I went to the kitchen drawer. I pulled out a pad and a pencil and sat down at the table. I chewed the end of the pencil feverishly for a bit, then I wrote a list of all the reasons I should worry about Eleanor, and all the reasons I shouldn’t. When I’d finished, I stared at it. Under “Should Worry” I’d written: