by Sarah Long
‘Matt, wake up, it’s eleven o’clock!’
‘So what?’ he said groggily, from beneath the duvet.
He threw his leg across hers and pulled her towards him.
‘Have you forgotten, I don’t have to get up any more. I can stay in bed all day, just like you.’
‘I never do that.’
‘More fool you. I intend to never get up early again.’
She snuggled into him, and watched the sun shining out from the sides of the curtains. They’d thought about blackout blinds, but Tessa said it was too depressing to be entirely sealed against the outside world.
‘Reminds me of the old days,’ Matt said, ‘when we never got up before midday if we could help it. Remember I used to call you the bed slug?’
She slowly pieced together the events of last night, when he’d staggered in and tripped over the blanket chest, before falling into bed and declaring his undying love. She had been lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what on earth she was going to do when he’d climbed in beside her. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he’d said, ‘I’ve been a complete shit, I realise that. I didn’t like myself so I took it out on you. Please forgive me, I literally don’t know what I’d do without you.’ They had then had the best make-up sex ever. His clothes were still scattered over the floor where he’d discarded them in a loutish litter trail.
‘Coffee?’
She ran her fingers through his hair, still as thick as when she’d first seen him outside that pub on Hampstead Heath. It had been what caught her eye, a dark curtain hanging over his beer glass. That and his slim, strong hands.
‘And some Nurofen,’ he said.
‘Bad as that?’
‘Almost as bad as nearly losing my wife.’
He wrapped his arms round her.
‘I had a horrible dream that you’d gone off with an American.’
‘What a ’mare.’
‘Totes.’
She went downstairs to make the coffee, the uneaten risotto was congealing on the hob, an unpleasant reminder of their conversation last night. She took a miniature bottle of champagne from the fridge – a legacy from Matt’s recent business flight, there wouldn’t be any more of those – and poured it into two glasses, topping up with orange juice.
‘Hair of the dog,’ she said, kicking open the bedroom door and placing the tray carefully on the chest beside the accumulated contents of Matt’s trouser pockets – business cards, memory sticks, laminated labels on neck ribbons that proclaimed him a Visitor to various important companies.
‘You spoil me,’ said Matt, sitting up to take a glass. ‘On the other hand, you do owe me. Big time. How big was he, actually?’
‘I don’t think we want to go down that route,’ said Tessa. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry and you’ve accepted my apology, let’s leave it at that.’
She got into bed beside him and clinked her glass against his.
‘The reason I decided to forgive you is based on chemistry,’ said Matt.
‘Sorry?’
‘It was on my third pint, I think. I was trying to Google my way to understanding why you’d done it, and I found this really interesting piece of research. Apparently, when you’re a teenager, your emotional receptors are super-responsive. So when you have a romantic encounter at that age, it leaves a chemical imprint on your brain. And if you get to meet the fucker later on when you’re a sad middle-aged person, it triggers the same feelings.’
‘So I was a victim of chemistry.’
‘A hostage, I’d say. And that’s why I’ve found it in my heart to forgive you. Also, I couldn’t bear to give you all my money. Do you know, there’s a bloke at work – sorry, the place where I used to work – who’s just got divorced and he had to give eighty per cent to his wife. And half his pension.’
‘Too mean to get rid of me, then.’
‘It’s not just that. I love you, I always have, you must know that. It’s why I couldn’t bring myself to leave you that time—’
She spun round.
‘What time?’
‘You never guessed? A few years back, there was someone at the office. Quite a babe actually.’
‘Christ, what is this, the Jeremy Kyle show? Who was she?’
‘Amanda. Marvellous gerundive name, thing requiring to be loved. But in the end, she wasn’t you, so what was the point. Plus she wanted children.’
Tessa was surprised how unmoved she was by this revelation.
‘So we’re quits then,’ she said.
‘I guess we are. Equal partners. Also, both unemployed.’
‘Yes, I didn’t see that coming.’
‘Too busy with your own mucky business obviously, no time to worry about me.’
‘I know you’ve not been enjoying it. And that life coach business—’
‘Don’t knock it, I’m going to be needing some more of that.’
Tessa had a fleeting unwelcome vision of flow charts and personal goals. With Matt at home full time to indulge himself in his pursuit of the perfect career, as if such a thing existed.
‘Anyway, I was already in a bit of a state, I think, that satnav business, though I didn’t know then the full extent of it. So, I was in this meeting and they were all talking in that bullshitty language you hate so much – I know I’ve always gone along with it, but something inside me was just dying, and then Steve said that we should reach out to the client on this. And I suddenly thought, what a load of old bollocks! REACH OUT to the client, what the fuck does that actually mean if you’re not in a Tamla Motown band? So I said to him, “are you a member of the Four Tops?”’
‘Haha, I love that song, wish I’d been there!’
‘I wish you’d been there too. As it was, half the room didn’t know what I was on about as they’re twelve years old and Richard just gave me this look, and I thought, sod it, I can’t do this any more. So I walked out. Then handed in my resignation.’
‘My hero, how very stylish!’
‘And afterwards I came home to find my wife had been screwing around with her teenage heart-throb. What does he look like now by the way?’
‘Burly. Nice eyes.’
‘Show me his picture.’
‘Why?’
‘I just want to see.’
‘No.’
‘Go on.’
‘Only if you show me what’s her name, gerundive Amanda.’
‘Deal.’
Tessa passed her phone to Matt.
‘That’s him? It can’t be!’
‘Give it back. What do you mean, it can’t be?’
‘Look at his clothes! And he’s completely bald, he looks ancient!’
‘Stop it, I’m taking it back.’
‘How tragic! I mean I know it was a chemical reaction and all that but, honestly, you would never choose him off a dating site, would you?’
‘I wouldn’t ever be on a dating site so the question’s irrelevant.’
‘You don’t know, I might die and then you’d need to find someone new, now you’ve burnt your boats with old lover boy there.’
‘Don’t be gloomy, I thought this was a new beginning for us, that’s what you were saying last night in your cups. Or was it the drink talking?’
‘Not at all, in vino veritas.’
Tessa thought back to when she’d last said those words, then dismissed the memory.
‘In fact, I thought we should start our brave new world with a winter holiday,’ he continued. ‘Have you noticed how second-time-round couples are permanently going on holiday?’
‘I know, they behave like fun-grabbing teenagers. Holding hands on side-by-side sun-loungers. As opposed to miserable first-time-round couples who are bound together by obligation.’
‘Like us. Except now we’re going to have fun together, aren’t we? Spend the kids’ inheritance like there’s no tomorrow. How about Vietnam? We can climb down those tunnels.’
‘I might get stuck.’
‘I’ll rescue you.’
>
‘Thanks.’
She settled comfortably back on the pillows. It really was so easy to be happy, she thought.
‘We’ll need to have some kind of income though. And from what you’ve been saying you’re not too optimistic about finding another job.’
‘Correct, I’m what is referred to as an industry veteran. Bring on the trench foot. Nobody wants to hire one of us when you can get a cheap young person to do it instead.’
‘Like Amanda. I thought you were going to show me her photo.’
‘If you insist.’
He took his phone and brought up a photo of a good-looking young woman with the obligatory swinging hair, smiling beneath the caption announcing her promotion.
‘Blimey, it says she revolutionised the onboarding process. What is this, the Titanic?’
‘She’s a high-achiever. Learned from the master.’
‘Spare me the details. She would have left you behind, though, you’re much better off sticking with the old model.’
He kissed her shoulder.
‘You’re so right.’
‘And I’ve been thinking, it’s just come to me. It’s my turn now, to earn the money.’
‘Can’t argue with that.’
‘And what I’m really good at is cooking. And being a hostess.’
‘You’ve got the Girl Guide badge, as you’ve often reminded me.’
‘And you’re sick of London, or so you say.’
‘Especially now. No point living here without a job, having my nose rubbed in the success of others.’
‘And you don’t want to retire to Spain, or somewhere, you’ve also said that.’
‘No I don’t, we’d drink ourselves to death with boredom. My friend Ian did that but he came back. He said there’s only so many times you can paint your villa.’
‘So let’s sell the house and buy a place in the country. I’ll do bed and breakfast with optional evening meal. You can fry the bacon.’
He propped himself up on his elbow.
‘I’m liking the sound of this.’
‘Somewhere in Sussex, maybe. We could target the Glyndebourne crowd. Offer luxury hampers, with my signature smoked eel mousse.’
‘We’ll need a sturdy local woman to do the rooms. You’re a shit cleaner.’
‘Of course. And Lola and Max can wait tables in their holidays.’
‘Make them sing for their supper for a change. This is a fantastic idea, I’m going on Rightmove straight away.’
She snuggled into him as they scrolled through likely looking properties.
‘We could be up and running for the summer, here, look at this one!’
‘Gorgeous. Those Georgian windows.’
‘And a walled rose garden. Eight en suite bedrooms, it’s perfect.’
‘Done.’
‘I’ll ring the agent right now. So exciting.’
He beamed at her.
‘You know, I really don’t mind about you and the yank. In a weird way, it’s done us a favour. Shaken us out of our stagnant torpor.’
‘Proved that I’m not invisible.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you remember? When we were in that hotel in Cornwall. We were reading about women over fifty being invisible, and you said there was more chance of me being hit by a bus than finding a new partner.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I was right. You haven’t found a new partner. You’ve rediscovered your existing one. In all his fabulousness.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Of course you have. And we’re going to have a fantastic time running the Rose Garden guest house, the first choice for Glyndebourne guests. I’m already thinking about the website, we need to get a proper market segmentation done, make sure we strike the right note.’
Tessa took his phone off him and put it on the bedside table.
‘Here, what are you doing?’
‘I’m initiating our first planning meeting. Blue sky thinking. Under the duvet.’
And with that, she pulled the covers over them, and launched their new joint venture in a prolonged session of joyful marital collaboration.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Long is a London-based author of two previously published commercial fiction novels and one hilarious memoir about her ten years living in Paris. She is a married mother of three.
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Zaffre Publishing
This ebook edition published in 2017 by
Zaffre Publishing
80-81 Wimpole St, London, W1G 9RE
www.zaffrebooks.co.uk
Copyright © Sarah Long, 2017
The moral right of Sarah Long to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-78576-266-6
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-78576-265-9
This ebook was produced by IDSUK (Data Connection) Ltd
Zaffre Publishing is an imprint of Bonnier Zaffre, a Bonnier Publishing company
www.bonnierzaffre.co.uk
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