Who Needs Men Anyway?

by Victoria Cooke

  It was probably just as well he was busy since I still had to catch that cheating rat of a fiancé of Megan’s. I couldn’t believe how I’d messed it up the previous evening. I never messed up. I’m the type of person who’d once spent a whole twenty-four hours feeling like a failure because I’d forgotten to put the wheelie bin out in time for collection.

  Leaving James at the table eating his breakfast, I went upstairs to get my phone. My first thought was to get in touch with Megan to see if she had any idea about her fiancé’s indiscretions. I tapped out a quick text:

  Megan, I accidentally ate a full Hotel Chocolat pistachio and honey slab last night. My thighs have swollen to double their size. Any chance of an extra session today?

  Admittedly, it was far-fetched because I always try to eat healthily and would never wolf down a bar of chocolate that size, but I did eat a good quarter of one yesterday afternoon. A long run afterwards had probably dealt with the calories but to be honest, Megan was unlikely to question it – she knew I could be overdramatic at times. Knowing Megan wouldn’t turn down the extra thirty quid, I slipped into my gym kit and waited. Bingo. Less than five minutes later I got her reply:

  Okay, be there in thirty minutes

  Right on time, she was buzzing at my gate, and I went out to greet her on the driveway. Megan looked fresh in her colourful geometric-print workout leggings and matching cropped top, which showcased her lean stomach and visible six-pack. Her honey-coloured hair was scraped back into a high ponytail and her flawless caramel skin required no make-up. Why Mike felt the need for an affair was anybody’s guess. I’d never understood why men took such risks when they already had the perfect woman by their side. I was so fortunate to have found James.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming over on a Sunday. I’ve been consumed by chocolate-induced guilt.’ I shook my head – not so much for effect, but more because the thought of eating that much chocolate really did make me feel like a glutton.

  She gave me a wry smile. ‘Is this as bad as the time you ate two bread rolls and thought you were nine months pregnant with a loaf?’

  I knew she thought I was being over-the-top, but Megan knows I’m conscious of how I look. She would say vain, but that’s only because I don’t know what else to talk to her about other than weight and exercise. She’s a personal trainer for goodness’ sake! James loves my figure and he gives me so much that staying in shape is something I can do to keep him happy in return. Besides, once you hit thirty, you really have to work a little harder to keep the pounds off and the bread rolls do make more of a difference than they perhaps would have done a decade before. Ageing is a bitch.

  ‘I thought you and James were trying for a baby?’ she asked, like it was an excuse.

  ‘Trying being the operative word, and only once it happens will I allow myself to put on weight.’ Frustratingly, getting pregnant was the one thing I couldn’t control.

  ‘You’re like a size six already!’ Megan said, shaking her head. ‘Come on, let’s get those thighs working.’

  I was more of an eight to ten, but it was sweet of her to say, and I was hardly going to argue.

  We headed to the room off the kitchen that James and I had built behind the garage. It was going to be a snug, as that seemed to be the trend, but then I had the amazing idea of turning it into a mini gym after watching one of those ‘celebrity homes’ programmes. We’d kitted it out with a running machine, cross-trainer, and bike, plus all the kettlebells, dumbbells, and fitness stuff you could ever need. It sometimes irritated me when Megan ignored the equipment altogether and made me do burpees, but just that once, I let her have her way without complaining.

  ‘Let’s get you warmed up. Start with forty seconds of jumping jacks.’ No pain, no gain.

  ‘Okay.’ I began. ‘Did you enjoy the Sam Smith concert last night?’ I asked, panting as I jumped.

  She smiled and gushed for well over the specified forty seconds about how amazing it was. I carried on jumping with a smile fixed to my face – it never seems right to stop until told to, does it? I must’ve jumped for at least eighty seconds (it felt more like ten solid minutes) and it was hard, trust me.

  ‘Who did you say you went with? Your fiancé, was it?’ I asked when she’d finally finished extolling the virtues of Mr Smith.

  ‘No, he’s not a fan. Besides, it was a girls-only night. I went with Mike’s brother’s wife.’ She smiled. I hoped she didn’t remember that she’d already told me who she was going with.

  ‘Well, at least he could pick you up afterwards,’ I prompted.

  She laughed. ‘We were out too late for that. He was already asleep when I got in.’

  I’ll bet he was. Worn out no doubt! The poor woman had absolutely no idea what her husband-to-be was up to. I had to catch him out. I allowed her to inflict burpees upon me and then surprisingly, we did actually use my kettlebells. By the end of the workout, my muscles burnt and my chest felt light. I felt good.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming over.’ I handed her three crisp ten-pound notes.

  ‘Not a problem. Same time tomorrow?’

  I nodded. Mondays were one of our regular days along with Wednesdays and Fridays – I just hoped I’d be able to move my legs by then.

  After Megan left I took a shower then sat in the orangery to work on my plan. The garden views always instilled in me a state of calm but the grass was looking a little longer than I liked, so Jim the gardener obviously hadn’t been. Recently, he’d missed a few weeks here and there, and I’d started to wonder why he called himself a professional since he wasn’t very good or reliable. I made a mental note to contact Sam, the owner of the gardening company, to let him know. With any luck, he’d send someone else. Sam and James were old university acquaintances so I was sure he’d be accommodating.

  My phone buzzed with a message.

  Charlotte, I’m terribly sorry. I’m unable to make the charity brunch. I’ve popped a donation in the post and we’ll catch up at the ball. Emmy x

  I sighed. I knew guests would drop like flies when they caught wind of Lauren’s ball date clash. Coiffured curls and Charlotte Tilbury smoky eyes were more important to those shallow types than showing support for a good cause and a ball always trumps a brunch. I was furious with Lauren, and Emmy Walters wouldn’t be the only one to back out. After her recent lipo, she was probably petrified of eating two full meals in one day. I grit my teeth and tapped out a response.

  Not to worry, Emmy, I appreciate the length of time it will take you to get ready. Thank you anyway for your generous support. Since I’m attending the brunch and the ball, perhaps I’ll see you in the evening. Xx

  I deleted the kisses, because nothing makes a point better than the number of kisses at the end of a message.

  Right, back to business. My first task was to find out who the scarlet woman was. From there I’d decide how best to tell Megan.

  ‘I’m going shopping,’ I called to James, knowing that wouldn’t rouse suspicion on his part. I wasn’t sure how I’d justify my actions to James – he could never understand why I got involved with problems that weren’t my own, which was silly. I was helping people just like he did every day. Outside I saw that the drizzle had dampened the small red bricks of the house, transforming them into a murky brown colour. I couldn’t wait for summer. Winter had been months of spirit-inhibiting grey drizzle, so some heat and sun would be quite welcome.

  I pressed my key fob and the black cast-iron gates at the end of the driveway creaked open. I made a second mental note to call the handyman to oil them. With James being so busy, I really had to take care of all these things.

  I drove to the house that Mike had dropped the mystery woman off at the previous night. It looked even worse in the stark light of day: weeds had sprung up between the broken slats of the cheap wooden fence. The upper half of the small property was pebble-dashed, and part of that had chipped away. The door had been painted purple. Purple? Had I liked the woman, I’d have probably arrang
ed for a few of my contacts to spruce the place up for her.

  Small and simple plans are the key to success; long, elaborate plans leave too much room for failure. Quite frankly, I didn’t even have a plan. I snuggled into my heated seat and contemplated what to do. I had a few options to consider, including knocking on the door under the pretence of having got the wrong address; waiting in the car until she came out and then following her to get a feel for her routine and how I might catch her; or giving up and going home. But giving up wasn’t in my nature.

  As it happens, the decision was made for me, when the door opened and a young woman came out. Younger than me, anyway. Around twenty-seven give or take. She had thick shiny chestnut hair and was wearing some kind of yoga attire. Well, if you live in a place that looks like that I suppose one has to achieve a relaxed state somehow, I thought, already stressed just looking at the unkempt appearance of the house.

  The sun broke through the clouds, glinting off the moist pavement and privet hedges. Squinting a little – an action that would definitely deepen my emerging crow’s feet – I rummaged in the glove box for some sunglasses, pulling out some old Chanel cat’s-eye ones that I kept in there for emergencies. I wondered absent-mindedly if they were still in style. Despite my fashion-crisis interlude, I never took my eyes off the woman. She had a mat-roll slung over her shoulder and walked briskly to the end of the street. As she turned the corner, I fired up my engine and crept along the street until I spotted her again at a bus stop.

  Pulling over, I checked my make-up in the mirror. It was difficult to tell, but there was a slight possibility the lady at the Lancôme counter had recommended the wrong colour eyebrow pencil. It looked more orange than beige, but it could have been the light.

  Debating whether to return the offending pencil, I belatedly realised that a single-decker bus had pulled up at the stop and had set off with the woman on board. My heart started to race as I turned the corner to follow it with no clue as to where we’d end up. As I drove, my mind wandered through the what-ifs: what if she’d noticed the car, knew I was following her, and was leading me to some dodgy disused warehouse on the outskirts of town so she could bump me off before I could disclose her sordid affair? I laughed out loud at my own imagination. Too many thrillers, Charlotte! I shook my head. Plus, she’d hardly be taking the number 84 if that was her evil plan.

  The bus was heading away from the town centre, towards the outlying village where Megan lived. Interesting. I knew she wouldn’t be heading to see Mr Megan in the cold light of day, and, of course, I was right. She got off the bus on the high street, which was convenient for me as there was a Costa Coffee there where I could top up my caffeine levels.

  I pulled over and watched as she entered a door set between a bridal shop and a children’s shoe shop. Adrenaline coursed through me as I climbed out of the car and approached the door. There were no prizes for guessing she was on her way to a Pilates session. What was puzzling, however, was the choice of venue: Megan’s studio.

  Chapter Two

  My mouth curled into an involuntary smirk. It wasn’t because I found the situation funny – I was horrified and felt deeply sorry for Megan. It was the fact that this woman could brazenly visit not only Megan’s house but also her place of work. Don’t get me wrong, I admire brave, strong women who go after what they want but not when the thing they go after is a man who’s already spoken for.

  With phase one of my plan successfully executed, I needed to work on my next move, so I went into Costa, ordered an Americano with skimmed milk, and scanned the edible offerings. To be honest, I’d normally select the fruit pot given it’s the most figure-friendly option, but I was too tightly wound so went for the gluten-free brownie instead, promising myself I’d eat just half and save the rest for James. With my order complete, I sat at a table by the window. Scarlet woman had gone inside at ten to one; chances were the class would last an hour, starting at one o’clock. Phase two: sit for an hour in Costa and drink my body weight in coffee.

  I passed the time flicking through news and my Instagram feed on my phone, and at one point, I even went and got the complimentary newspaper off the rack and skimmed that. I wondered if I should just tell Megan what I saw and let her decide what to do but there was the possibility she wouldn’t believe me or that Mike would talk his way out of it. I disregarded the idea. The only way Megan could make a decision was by being in possession of the facts.

  The last dribble of coffee was cold when I drank it, and the wrapper of the brownie lay empty on the table. I couldn’t believe I’d eaten it all, which was a) worrying because I never let my guard down, and b) a travesty because I’d not even savoured the delicious taste. I looked at my watch: it was 2 p.m. I shuffled on the chair, trying to relieve the numbness in my bottom as I sat, staring out of the window with my eyes fixed on the door. A few women of various shapes and sizes started to trickle out, and I scanned them one by one. No, no, no . . .

  There! A slender figure emerged much sweatier than before and, unbelievably, she was chatting to Megan, like they were friends. Megan was showing her a stretch that looked like it was for a specific problem area in the lower back. I didn’t have to wonder how she got that particular issue. I wanted to run over there and throttle her. Of course, there was the possibility that Mike had hidden the wedding pictures at their house and she didn’t actually know Megan was his fiancée, but my instinct disagreed.

  Megan left and the woman walked back to the bus stop. I assumed by her sweaty attire she’d be heading home for a shower. I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking of my next move. She wouldn’t be meeting him today because Megan had mentioned a quiet night in with Mike and a takeaway, so I decided to call it a day and then follow her again in the morning. With Megan working, chances were there would be another meet-up the next day, and if not, at least I’d be able to find out a bit more about this woman – where she worked and such. I gathered my things and returned to my car. It wouldn’t be long before I got my evidence.

  James was working when I got home, so I tiptoed into the office and kissed him on the top of his head. He hair smelt fresh like he’d just showered – the distinctive scent of bergamot, jasmine, and cedarwood gave away the fact he’d used my ESPA purifying shampoo. As I hovered over him, he raised his right arm to rub my shoulder and I kissed him again before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. I had my speciality to prepare: roast lamb with all the trimmings. Of course, I mostly ate the veg since lamb is so fatty, but James loved lamb, and he’d been working so hard, he deserved his favourite.

  When I’d put it out, I sat at the dinner table after calling him, sitting on ceremony waiting for him to join me. When he did come down he took his plate and said, ‘This smells delicious – you’re an amazing woman, Charlotte,’ and went upstairs. I sighed. It was just one more day, which shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things should it?

  Perhaps I was fixating on James and his work because I was an only child and my parents were off travelling the world and had no intention of coming home until their money ran out. I had a close friend, Kate, who was more than capable of leading her own life and there were the women from the golf club who I mingled with for the benefit of my husband. If I had a baby, I’d have a purpose. Someone who needed me and loved me unconditionally and who I could love, protect, and teach about the world (and occasionally swaddle in baby Burberry).

  The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock, and James had already left for work. I always felt a bit lost when I woke up in an empty house. He must have let me sleep in, which was thoughtful, but I loved making his breakfast and chatting while we ate, and when he snuck off, I felt robbed of that time. I’d been robbed of that time a lot recently.

  Once I’d got up and completed my morning routine – shower, rejuvenating face mask, moisture regime, and yoga stretches – I was ready for the day. Megan had asked if she could see me later in the evening instead of my usual morning slot as she had a new client to see, and that su
ited me fine since I wanted to get to that woman’s house earlyish.

  I was there by eight. By eight-fifteen, she was stepping out of her house in a nondescript outfit of black trousers and a white blouse, which meant she could be an employee almost anywhere within a commutable distance. Once again, I followed her as she took the bus towards Manchester city centre. Before we reached the centre, she got off the bus at a small retail park on the outskirts of town. I remembered Megan saying something about her fiancé working in a tile shop, and I noticed a large tile discount store on the park. It was too obvious.

  I scanned the rest of the park; there was an electrical shop, a furniture shop, and baby shop, which gave me a small pang in my chest when I saw it. I made a mental note of it, just because. In the far corner, there was a small greasy-spoon café. I’d have put money on her working there, so when I saw her walk in, I wasn’t surprised. In need of a coffee myself, I wandered in a few minutes later, taking a table by the window. A waitress, not her, approached me soon after.

  ‘Hi there, can I get you anything to drink?’ asked the slightly plump lady. She had a friendly face, framed by fluffy yellow hair. I eyed the coffee machine, which had a digital display, push buttons, and not a fresh coffee bean in sight and dismissed the idea of a cappuccino.

  ‘Now this looks like the kind of place that serves wonderful fresh filter coffee,’ I said instead, smiling warmly in hope.

  ‘We do.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody orders it since I caved in and bought that new-fangled machine when people jumped on the cappuccino bandwagon. I’ll brew some fresh for you, love.’ She patted my hand and sauntered off before I had the chance to thank her.

  ‘This smells delicious,’ I said as she placed the steaming mug of black coffee in front of me a little while later. ‘Do you have any skimmed milk?’

  ‘We have semi?’ she said while I internally groaned.

  ‘Actually, I’ll take it black,’ I said, smiling politely. I was about to save Megan the humiliation of a cheating fiancé but I wasn’t about to risk looking like a sausage in my Herve Leger bandage dress for the cause.