My Husband Next Door

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Gosh. No, I didn’t know that.’ Poor Ginnie. I was pretty sure she didn’t, either. I’d only recently had that conversation with her.

  ‘He’ll come round,’ said Peggy calmly, puffing on an electric cigarette. The end glowed red. ‘He just needs to be given time. Let him go at his own pace and he’ll slowly do a U-turn, you’ll see. And maybe he’s thinking of them? Maybe he doesn’t want to give his parents a shock?’

  ‘He shaved his head last week,’ Jennie explained. ‘And he’s got a tattoo now. Right here. A dragon.’ She pointed to the side of her neck.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Well, no, I wasn’t thinking of that,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s more – the whole sea change within him. What he’s doing.’

  ‘He’s working at the livery yard,’ Jennie told me. ‘Peggy’s fiancé’s place, Peter Mortimer. Hugo’s an excellent rider – well, of course you’ll know that – and Peter’s getting too old to fall off fresh young hunters.’

  ‘I don’t want him falling off fresh young hunters!’ laughed Peggy. ‘Although I still love him to ride. But it’s a young man’s game and Peter and I want to travel a bit. Go out and stay with his daughter in Italy, get some sun. Hugo wants to take over the yard.’

  ‘Take over the yard!’ I stared at her. ‘But … he’s so young.’

  ‘I know!’ wailed Jennie. ‘And riding flipping horses for a living, for heaven’s sake, instead of doing a Classics degree! What a waste!’

  ‘But if it’s what he wants to do,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘If it’s helping. And, as I say, he might change his mind later.’

  ‘But it’ll be too late!’ Jennie cried.

  ‘It’s never too late,’ said Peggy with feeling. But I had a hunch she wasn’t talking about university.

  ‘Won’t they be appalled?’ Jennie asked anxiously. ‘His parents? I know I would be.’

  ‘They won’t be thrilled,’ I admitted nervously. ‘Although, in a funny sort of way …’ I gave it some thought. ‘The thing is, Hugo’s been brought up with horses. So at least it’s a world Ginnie knows. Hunting and all that sort of thing. Her children have been immersed in it since they were tiny. I mean, it’ll be a terrible shock to hear he’s dropped out, but …’

  ‘Perhaps he hasn’t,’ said Peggy. ‘Perhaps he’s just playing on a different field.’

  What was it Ginnie had once said? That of both her children, Hugo was the one who had a special relationship with horses, even though it was Araminta who won the cups?

  ‘And horses are great healers,’ said Peter, the twinkly-eyed man, who’d appeared at Peggy’s side. ‘If he’s not been well, it’s the best thing he could do. He’s a clever boy and he may well go back into the mainstream eventually, but at the moment this is helping him. He’s spent a lot of time at my yard and I’ve seen him around the horses. They respond to his pain. They’re the most sensitive creatures on earth and he’s one of the most sensitive human beings. You’ll laugh, but they talk to him. He’s on the mend already, you mark my words.’

  A mental vision of Hugo, Ginnie’s golden boy, head shaved now, tattoo creeping up his neck, leaning over a stable door as a noble thoroughbred blew sympathetically into his hand, sprang to mind. It brought tears to my eyes.

  ‘And there’s a certain amount of brainpower involved in running the yard, too; I could never get it right. If he’s got the nous he’ll make a profit rather than a loss, and then hopefully he and Frankie can knock the house down and build another. Build a proper life for themselves. Oh, dear, have I said too much?’ He saw my startled face.

  ‘They wanted to get married,’ Jennie told me quickly. ‘So silly. Of course they’re much too young and it’s all too soon, and we’ve told them so. Told them to wait a couple of years, at least, but you know what the young are like. Impetuous. Think they know everything. Anyway, we’ve talked them out of it for the moment. I’m quite sure he hasn’t mentioned that to his parents. And, of course, a bit of me just wants to ring her up and talk to her, but Frankie says no, and Hugo really says no. Looks horrified. And I’ve heard – well, I’ve heard stories …’ She trailed off, embarrassed.

  Heard stories of my sister’s hauteur, her condescension, her arrogance. Rudeness as well, perhaps. But Ginnie had changed too. Hugo had seen to that.

  ‘I’ll ring her,’ I told her. ‘Or go and see her. But let me talk to her first. Break the various bits of news gently. Pave the way. And then I’ll let you know. I’m sure it would be a good idea for you to meet, though. Have lunch or something.’

  Jennie’s face cleared as if a whole bank of black cloud had lifted. ‘Oh, would you?’ she said eagerly, gripping my arm. ‘I’d be so grateful. I – well, I feel like I’ve stolen her child or something, like some ghastly kidnapper, and I know how I’d feel if someone took over Frankie. God, I’d be livid. She’s my stepdaughter, by the way, but no different to my own. And so often my hand has hovered over the phone but I’ve stopped, thinking the last time we spoke we almost had an argument, when I suggested the psychiatrist was doing more harm than good, and she said it was none of my business and, anyway, her best friend saw him once a week and he was absolutely marvellous. Very highly regarded.’ She swallowed as she recalled. ‘But if you could have a word. Let her know I’m naturally as appalled as she is at the idea of them getting married, can’t think of anything more silly, then maybe she won’t think we’re – I don’t know – thrilled to bits to have bagged him. Which is what I suspect she thinks. They’re determined to live together, though – at our place obviously, there’s nowhere else – and there’s not much I can do about that. And I don’t want to make too much of a song and dance in case they run off to some ghastly registry office or something. Oh, I would so love to talk to her – here.’ She whipped out her phone and I found mine and, together, we set about swapping numbers.

  It was at that moment that Ludo, looking rather cross and wind-blown, came striding back into the bar, a good forty-five minutes earlier than I was expecting him. Our eyes collided in surprise across the crowded room and he looked more than a little taken aback to see me surrounded by a group of convivial new friends, apparently exchanging phone numbers. More than anything, though, he looked harassed and in a hurry.

  ‘Forgot the bloody drawings!’ he mouthed across their heads, pointing to the sofa where we’d recently been sitting and where, indeed, a blue folder was tucked down the side.

  ‘Oh!’ I felt my colour rise as I made to move round the group towards him; but the bar was crowded and it wasn’t that easy. Jennie looked surprised as I left but it was my father’s eyes which were of more concern. Very much attracted by developments and having seen our exchange, he was crossing to intercept me.

  ‘You didn’t tell me it was a foursome, Ella,’ he boomed. ‘That must be Lottie’s husband, no? Ferreting about in the sofa?’ Before I could stop him he was bearing down on Ludo, hand outstretched, all tweedy and avuncular. ‘I say, I was just saying to Ella, I didn’t know it was a foursome! You’ll be the husband, no?’

  Ludo turned from retrieving the folder. He looked startled to see this red-faced, cheery gent advancing with a beaming smile. He glanced nervously at me but could do little more than shake the hand that was being proffered.

  ‘Husband … ?’

  ‘Um, Ludo, this is my father,’ I said, finally muscling through the scrum, face flaming.

  ‘Oh!’ Ludo reddened dramatically too.

  ‘Angus Jardine, dear boy,’ said my dad, pumping away at his hand. ‘I say, is Sebastian about too, then?’ He turned to me. ‘Didn’t know that was the state of play these days? But, good, why not! Have another go, that’s what I say. These things need sticking at; it’s all about perseverance. I should know – ha! Children all well?’ He’d turned back to Ludo now, rocking back on his heels, hands deep in his trouser pockets, churning loose change. ‘Got two, haven’t you?’

  ‘Um, yes,’ Ludo admitted, on slightly firmer ground now.

  Dad nudged me in the ribs. ‘
Impressed, eh, love? Oh, I keep abreast of these things. I might look like an old buffer but I do listen occasionally. Left the little devils at home, I suppose? You wouldn’t want them tearing around a smart place like this, would you? Or are they a bit more grown-up these days?’

  ‘They’re – fifteen and seventeen,’ Ludo said, bemused.

  ‘As much as that, eh?’ Dad’s eyes widened. ‘Golly, doesn’t time fly! I seem to remember it wasn’t long ago they were still in short pants. Well, you certainly wouldn’t want them with you now, would you? Ruddy teenagers, they’d be running up an expensive bar bill and putting it all on your tab! But what have you done with the wife, that’s what I’d like to know? Not still on the throne, surely!’ He roared with laughter.

  ‘My … my wife?’

  ‘Yes, Ella said she was in the lavatory. Powdering her nose.’

  Ludo looked aghast. He gazed at me, ashen. ‘My wife is in the lavatory?’

  ‘No – no, she’s not. She – she’s gone up to her room,’ I said wildly.

  ‘My wife has?’ All the blood had left Ludo’s face. But I couldn’t help him. Couldn’t help him at all. Not yet.

  ‘Thought a little lie-down before dinner would do the trick, eh?’ Dad nudged Ludo, who was so shocked at the thought of his wife being upstairs he nearly fell over. ‘Well, better before dinner than after, laddie. You haven’t come all this way and shelled out good money to have her fall asleep on you tonight, have you? That really would put the kibosh on the weekend!’ He rocked with laughter. Then puckered his brow thoughtfully. ‘Can’t remember what it is you do, Ludo. Knitting machines, last I heard, I think. Still plugging away at that, are you? Making baby bonnets? Bootees and what have you?’

  ‘I’m a – a landscape gardener.’ Ludo said, terrified. He was inching towards the door, folder under his arm, giving me desperate looks. I was trying to give him reassuring ones back, ones that said clearly: Your Wife Is Not In The Building, but it was hard, given that I had only body language at my disposal, and was pretty wild-eyed and terrified myself.

  ‘Ah!’ Dad’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Gardening, is it, now? Well, why not, why not? You always were a man for a swift career change. Modelled for a bit, didn’t you? Still do, I thought Ella said. Long johns on the back of the Sunday Express and what have you. Striking a pose in a posing pouch? Ha! This the sort of thing?’ My father adopted a Mr Atlas pose, fists together, elbows at angles, muscles clenched. Ludo gazed at him, dumbstruck.

  ‘The – the thermal-underwear ads you once did, remember?’ I breathed, begging him with my eyes. ‘Years ago? For the newspapers?’

  Ludo looked horrified.

  ‘Remember?’ I implored him with my eyes.

  ‘Oh! Um … yes. Thermals,’ Ludo agreed dumbly, his eyes huge.

  ‘Not much of a shelf life in modelling, though, I imagine? I mean, as a career?’ hazarded Dad, dropping the pose and picking up his drink again. He leaned on the wall and folded his arms, really settling in to get to the bottom of this modelling lark. Here for the duration. ‘All right for a few years, but there’s always some young stud coming up behind you, eh? Well, not literally, one hopes! Ha!’ He snorted with mirth at his own joke. ‘Although, I dare say, in that world you have to keep your back to the wall at all times!’ He slapped his thigh and nudged Ludo again, who, this time, really did topple.

  ‘Y-yes – I-I mean … no,’ Ludo faltered, desperate with confusion as he righted himself.

  ‘So it’s gardening now, is it?’ Dad gulped his gin and French. ‘Well, good, that’s good. There’s always going to be a demand for that, and, I must say, it’s a great deal healthier to be out in the fresh air rather than flouncing around in your shreddies. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind getting someone to look at the old herbaceous borders myself. They took a hell of a battering in those storms. I say – you haven’t even got a drink, dear boy, what can I get you?’

  ‘N-no, I won’t, thank you. I have to go.’

  ‘Yes, he has to go,’ I echoed faintly.

  ‘Back to the wife, eh? See how the land lies up there. Not a bloody headache, I hope. That’s all you need! I say, why not give her a call and see if she fancies a glass of champagne? That’ll set her up for the evening. Ella, you give her a call, see if she’ll come down for a sherbet. I’d love to see her. Still sticking pins in people, is she?’ He swung abruptly back to Ludo.

  Ludo blanched. ‘P-pins?’

  ‘Yes, I thought Lottie was into all that mumbo-jumbo?’

  ‘Lottie?’

  ‘Your wife,’ I told him, wide-eyed. Quietly praying. Ludo stared back at me. We communed silently. There was long silence. Endless, it seemed. Finally he spoke.

  ‘Oh! Yes! Lottie. Yes, she is … still sticking pins in people.’ He licked his lips. And such was his relief that his real wife wasn’t in the lavatory, or even upstairs, and that he was, in fact, married to Lottie, he became verbose. ‘And of course it’s not all mumbo-jumbo, you know. Witchcraft goes back centuries.’

  Dad boggled. There was a startled silence.

  ‘Not those sorts of pins,’ I spluttered. ‘He means acupuncture. Lottie’s acupuncture!’

  ‘I say, old boy, I knew she was a bit alternative,’ Dad murmured doubtfully, ‘but witchcraft? Bit rum. I’d nip that in the bud, if I were you. Leave that to Johnny foreigner. The voodoo boys might know what they’re about, but you don’t want to be messing around with all that funny business.’

  ‘No – no, quite,’ Ludo said hurriedly. ‘I – I meant acupuncture. Forgot she did that. No, not forgot, obviously. How could I forget? I just – just call it witchcraft sometimes. To – to, you know –’

  ‘Tweak her up?’ Dad’s face cleared in a jiffy. He looked delighted. ‘I say, splendid! Couldn’t have put it better myself! Load of old tommyrot, eh?’ He clapped Ludo enthusiastically on the back. ‘First class! Witchcraft – ha! You and I are going to get on famously. Let me get you a drink.’ He tried to frogmarch him to the bar.

  ‘No – really, thanks awfully, but I must go.’ Ludo hastened door-wards. ‘I’ve got a client who’s waiting to see my drawings for their garden and I’m terribly late as it is. It was lovely to meet you, Mr Jardine.’

  ‘You, too. You, too. Witchcraft! Capital!’

  And leaving my father gazing delightedly after him, Ludo fled. Dad rocked back on his heels. Thrust his hands in his pockets and jingled his change some more.

  ‘Nice chap, that,’ he told me reflectively. ‘Lottie’s husband. Don’t think I’ve met him before. Bit tongue-tied occasionally, but a good sort.’

  ‘Yes,’ I breathed. ‘He is. And um, no. No, you haven’t met him. I’ll – I’ll be back in a mo, Dad. I forgot to tell him what time we’re having dinner. Back in a jiffy.’

  And feeling as if my nerves had been scrubbed to a glaring sheen with a Brillo Pad and then hung out to dry, I left the bar, hastened through reception, and bolted after Ludo.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ludo was already hotfooting it down the road, head bent against the drizzle that was accompanying the wind, folder tucked under his arm, as I ran after him. ‘Ludo! Ludo!’

  He swung round halfway down the street: face cross, hair wet. He waited for me to catch up. ‘What the hell was all that about?’ he demanded as I reached him.

  ‘Ludo – I couldn’t help it!’ I gasped, keeping pace as he turned and hurried on. ‘He just arrived, with all his neighbours, vintage-car enthusiasts. So stupid of me not to think! It’s where I first heard about this place. It’s a regular haunt of theirs apparently, but I couldn’t say: I’m here with my lover, could I?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He shot me a horrified look. ‘But all that Lottie’s husband business and the underwear modelling. I don’t know, Ella. I hate lying.’

  ‘So do I!’ I squealed angrily. I pulled him to a halt in the street by his arm. He turned round and we stood regarding each other, the rain soaking our faces. ‘So do I, Ludo, but I had to think of something, d
idn’t I? Don’t you see?’

  ‘Yes, of course, my love, of course you did. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.’

  ‘And we are lying, anyway. At least – you are, to Eliza.’ I wasn’t, actually. Would tell Sebastian if he asked. Although maybe not the children.

  ‘Yes – yes, I know,’ he said quickly, clearly not relishing being reminded. He hastened on again and once more I kept up, but it occurred to me we were in a bit of a pickle here, and he was still very keen to keep his business appointment. But men were like that, weren’t they? Work came first and women were … what, a distraction? No. That was uncharitable.

  ‘We’ll change hotels,’ I was telling him now as I leaped a puddle at speed. I didn’t quite make it to the other side and one foot got soaked. ‘I’ll go to the car and ring a few places.’

  He stopped abruptly. ‘Do you really think that’s necessary?’

  I blinked at him. ‘Ludo, if you think for one moment I’m conducting a steamy affair with my father down the corridor. Christ – he could be in the next room or something!’

  The prospect patently alarmed Ludo. He rapidly capitulated.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I do see.’ He made tracks again. ‘But it’s such a bore, isn’t it?’ he said, almost petulantly. ‘It was so cosy there. At the Bunch of Grapes.’

  Was it my imagination, or was this my fault? For running into my father in the bar? I kept my temper, because perhaps it was.

  ‘No, no, it’ll be no trouble,’ I soothed, as I’d soothed countless times in countless situations over the years. Children, husband, family. I sped on beside him. Dodged round a couple coming arm in arm towards us. ‘I’ll find a really nice little place in the centre of town. The Crown, perhaps. I hear it’s good. Or what about the – Ludo, could you please slow down for a moment! You’re late already, so please just give me two minutes of your time!’