A Crowded Marriage

by Catherine Alliott

  I paused. “You still think of her as your darling wife?”

  He looked surprised. “Oh, no. I use that term in the heavily ironic, historical sense. I got over Marina long ago. Getting over Isobel was harder.”

  “Will you…still see her?”

  He put the china rabbit down on the bed beside him and narrowed his eyes at the wall. “I don’t know. Let’s see how her life pans out. Marina has a boyfriend now, I gather from my brothers. A nice chap, a local GP. I wouldn’t want to complicate things if he became Isobel’s stepfather. It wouldn’t be right.”

  No. No, it wouldn’t. And at the end of the day, we have to do what’s right. My own heart lurched for Rufus. I’d make sure he saw as much of his father as he wanted. And actually, I realised with surprise, seeing Alex wouldn’t bother me. I wouldn’t feel the need to glam up on the Sundays he came to pick Rufus up, slick on the old lippy and blast the perfume behind my ears. No, I could be feeding the cows in mudsplattered jeans as his car rocked up. The sound of the engine coming down the track wouldn’t twist my heart, wouldn’t screw me tight. I’d just feel rather cross and exasperated.

  “I heard about your own sadness, Imo. I’m sorry.”

  “You did?” I glanced at him, surprised. “Who told you?”

  “Rufus.”

  “Oh!”

  “We were tending the puppies, and I, rather casually, but with sheer, scheming self-interest, asked if Daddy was coming back this weekend. He said, no, Daddy’s not coming back at all. He’s gone off with Mum’s best friend. I think she’s going to divorce him.”

  I gulped. Blimey. Tell it like it is, son.

  “There’s obviously a lot of it about,” I muttered.

  “The best-friend scenario? Oh, I believe it’s a well-worn theme. And it’s no real surprise, is it? If we like someone a lot, chances are our husband or wife will too. After all, we’ve got similar tastes.”

  “I suppose. And…” I struggled, “Rufus’s reaction. Cold and matter-of-fact. It makes him sound like a tough, hard-nosed kid, but he’s not. It’s just that he’s known about it for a while. Two years, in fact.”

  “Ah. So his heart’s been hardening gradually.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you? Did you know?”

  I looked at him. “Like you say. You always know in your heart. Just depends on whether you want to hide from it, ignore it. Yes, I knew.”

  We were side by side on the bed. Our elbows were touching. Our legs. Just.

  “It—won’t do the paint any good, you know,” I breathed, looking through the open doorway to my picture in the bathroom. “The condensation.”

  He followed my eyes. “No, I know. Needs glass. But I like to lie and look at it, you see. When I’m in the bath.”

  I caught my breath, imagining that, then frantically tried not to imagine. Tanned knees sticking up through the bubbles. A bucketful of adrenalin shot through me.

  “Glass might steam up too,” I managed, in a squeak.

  “No more than I do.”

  We turned to look at each other. He raised a hand and tucked a bit of hair behind my ear. I almost stopped breathing. Almost passed out. I could hear Rufus in the next room.

  “Oh, KitKat, don’t sit on Dodger!”

  Pat leaned forward and kissed me, very gently, twice, on the lips. I shut my eyes and felt my pulse race.

  “Rufus,” I breathed.

  “I know.” He kissed me again.

  “Oh, hi!”

  We sprang apart. Leaped up from the bed like two deflecting magnets. Molly was wheeling her bicycle past the window.

  “Oh!” She got the picture. Her face broke into a broad grin. “Oh, good. How marvellous. Just what I had in mind.”

  “Thank you, Molly,” said Pat evenly, “for that vote of confidence, and since you’ve clearly masterminded this whole thing, perhaps you’d like to baby-sit a nine-year-old boy and some puppies. They’re in the next room. Imo and I are going for a walk.”

  “With pleasure!” She parked her bike against the wall, smiling widely, and slipped inside through the front door. Pat and I, hand in hand, left by the back.

  We walked out of the tiny garden via a little wooden gate and on towards the water meadow, through the long grass dotted with cornflowers and buttercups, their nodding heads brushing our knees.

  “I thought you were going to ravage me on the bed back there, in front of my son.”

  “Would you have let me?”

  “Certainly not!”

  He grinned. Squeezed my hand. I felt weak with longing.

  “Anyway, what would be the point? I’ve seen it all before.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  “Sure I have. First time I met you you fell out of your dress at a dinner party, then you took your knickers off and threw them in a flowerbed, then you ran after a herd of cows stark naked. You’ve never stopped revealing yourself to me.”

  I cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. He laughed, caught my hand, kissed it hard, his eyes dancing into mine. As they did, I remembered what it was like to look at someone who looked at you the same way back. Who liked me back. Something very close to heaven was happening to me. A dark, lonely place hidden deep inside that had been sad and dormant for a long time was opening its doors, letting its captive go free, and this man, this lovely, kind, caring, funny man was doing the opening; not with a creak, but with a flourish. I had a very certain feeling, one I was almost too scared to identify, but was equally sure I was right about. We turned and walked on, towards the water meadow, the sun getting lower in the sky, sinking into a rosy glow over the horizon.

  “Pat, we appear to be walking off into the sunset.”

  “Relax. Thousands have done it before us, and thousands more will do it after us. Just keep smiling and don’t look at the camera. As I told you before, there’s no new material. Nothing ground-breaking here. It’s a well-worn theme, love.”

  Love. Ah, yes, that was it.

  As he slipped his arm around my shoulders, I smiled up at him, and then we moved on together, as one, into the pink light.

  About the Author

  Catherine Alliott worked in London as a copywriter in advertising. She now lives in Hertfordshire with her husband, a barrister, and their three children.

  Catherine’s first novel, The Old-Girl Network, was chosen by WHSmith for their fresh talent promotion in 1994 and became an instant bestseller across the UK, as did her subsequent novels, Going Too Far, The Real Thing, Rosie Meadows Regrets…, Olivia’s Luck, and A Married Man.