And then I stopped for a second. There were curtains pulled around his bed, from which Emily was emerging.
“Hi!” I said, rushing over. “I’m not too late, am I? I really need to see Max, if it’s okay.”
“I’m afraid he’s asleep,” Emily said with a little shrug. “It’s probably not a good idea to disturb him.”
I met her eyes and took a deep breath. “Actually,” I said, my voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
I moved to step past her, but she put up her arm to stop me. “He’s been in quite a lot of pain today,” she said firmly. “He’s just fallen asleep. The best thing for him is to be left alone.”
“The best thing for him is to see his wife,” I said, equally firm, forcing back the tears that were threatening to tumble down my cheeks.
She smiled tightly. “There are only another fifteen minutes of visiting time. Do you really want to disturb him just for that? I can tell him you came and pass on anything you’ve brought him.” She looked down at my empty hands and her eyes glinted triumphantly. Or maybe I imagined it, I didn’t know. “Or not,” she added.
“I didn’t have time to pick anything up,” I said unhappily. And it was true—I’d been in the car for more than four hours and had rushed back to the office to somehow pull together some policies for Eric in time to meet his deadline. I’d wanted to be here earlier, with delicious treats and magazines. Instead, I was here empty-handed and too late to even see him. None of my plans was working out at the moment, but the one that was failing the most was my plan to be an ideal wife. Right now I couldn’t be further from one. “But I want to see him. Even if he’s asleep.”
“Jess? Jess, is that you?” A voice came from behind the curtain. Max’s voice.
“Max!” I said, pushing past Emily. “Darling, I’m here.”
I pulled back the curtain and saw Max looking up at me groggily. “I was asleep,” he said. “God, it’s a nightmare getting to sleep in this place. Things beeping all the time, beds being moved about. What time is it?”
I looked at my watch, even though I already knew. “Um, a quarter to nine,” I said.
Max frowned. “Don’t visiting hours end at nine?”
I nodded uncomfortably. “Yes, they do. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here before. It’s been a bit of a day, really. But I’m here now.”
“Did you bring me any muffins?” he asked, his eyes lighting up hopefully.
My heart sank. Muffins. I’d forgotten the bloody muffins. My eyes started to well up. “No,” I said miserably. “No, I didn’t. I …”
“Not to worry,” Max said, with a little shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“But it is a big deal,” I said unhappily. “I said I’d bring you muffins and I meant to bring you muffins, and now I’m here without them—”
“It’s okay,” Max said. “You’re busy. I understand. How are things at the office, anyway?” His eyes closed briefly, then opened again.
“They’re fine,” I said, reaching out to take his hand. “You look tired.”
He nodded. “It’s the pain,” he said. “They keep me doped up.”
“Is it still very bad?” I asked gently.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, his expression suggesting that it probably wasn’t. “So you’ve had an awful day, have you? Are things tricky at work?”
I shook my head. “Work? No. Nothing tricky at work. Just traffic jams,” I said, managing a smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. But I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”
“Me, too,” Max said quietly, and closed his eyes again. I watched as he fell back to sleep, and then listened to his breathing become steady and soft.
Emily poked her head around the curtain. “We really are going to have to ask you to leave now,” she said.
“I know,” I said with a lump in my throat. “I’m going. He’s asleep again.”
“Best thing for him,” Emily said. “See you, then.”
“Tomorrow,” I said firmly. “Tomorrow I’ll be here early.”
I felt very lonely going home. I’d never minded being on my own before I fell in love with Max—I’d grown up pretty much friendless, with only Grandma for company, and had always thought of my independence as my biggest strength. But right now I didn’t feel very strong. I felt vulnerable, afraid, and confused. I wanted to pull a big blanket over my head and go to sleep and not wake up until things were better again. So much for being the ideal wife. So far I’d failed on nearly every count. I wasn’t honest—I still hadn’t told Max about Hugh, and now I wasn’t telling him about my mother, either. I wasn’t good—I was having dark thoughts about Emily and was obviously a terrible “companion.” Now it seemed I was the worst carer in the world, too. My husband was lying in a hospital bed and I couldn’t even remember to bring him muffins. How long would it be before I stopped being loved, too?
Sighing miserably, I looked in my rearview mirror and indicated left. The car behind me indicated, also. It was large black car, a Hummer—I’d noticed it parked outside the hospital. Funny, I thought, that it should be on the same road as me now, twenty minutes later. Strange how closely strangers’ lives could come together sometimes. The driver was no doubt visiting someone in the hospital, too—perhaps they lived on the same road as Max and me. I indicated again; sure enough, the Hummer did, too. I smiled. Sure I felt lonely, I thought to myself, but no one’s ever completely alone.
And then with a start I remembered that I’d promised to go to the resource center that evening. Yet another opportunity to show what a failure I was, how useless and pathetic, I thought, despondent. Yet another thing I was rubbish at. But then I sat up a bit and shook myself. Self-pity wasn’t going to help matters any. If anyone was to be pitied, it was the poor people relying on me for companionship, or Max alone in the hospital. Not me.
Looking in my side mirror, I did a U-turn and made my way back to the main road. Ten minutes later, I parked around the corner from the resource center and went inside.
“Jessica!” Christina waved as I walked in. “Lovely to see you!”
I found myself smiling. She looked as if she really meant it. “Don’t you ever go home?” I asked her sheepishly.
She shook her head and returned the smile. “Rest is for the wicked. Always leads to trouble.”
My smile got slightly bigger as I made my way to the living room and sat down. It was packed and the smell was horrendous, but I barely noticed; what I did notice was the sense of camaraderie, of relief at being inside, warm, and fed. Maybe Jerome D. Rutter had a point, after all, I found myself thinking. Maybe freeing yourself from all your stuff let you focus on what was really important.
Then again, I guessed most of the people in the room wouldn’t have said no to a bit of stuff. New clothes, warm bedding. No, stuff wasn’t the enemy; audits were. Audits and mothers having affairs, and husbands laid up in the hospital with nurses who were overattentive … I took a deep breath and looked around the room. No one appeared to be looking for a companion to read to them or listen to them talk.
I turned to the woman sitting next to me. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jessica.”
She looked at me, a bewildered expression on her face. “No thank you,” she said. “Not today.”
“No, I don’t want anything,” I said quickly. “I just wondered if you wanted to talk. Or play a card game or—”
“No. Thank you. Not today,” the woman repeated, then stood up. “No thank you. Not today, thank you. No. Thank you. Thank you, but no.” She wandered off, muttering, and I shrank back in my chair. I was obviously terrible at this companionship lark. I was scaring people away, not helping them. Maybe it had been a bad idea coming here. I was meant to be helping; instead, I was using the center to avoid going home and facing up to the stark reality that I was not only not an ideal wife but not an ideal anything, that everything was falling apart around me and I didn’t know how to put it all back together again.
I would go;
I’d make an excuse to Christina and promise to come back soon, I decided.
“It gets easier.” I looked up uncertainly; the person who’d spoken was Greta. “This seat taken?” She motioned to the chair beside me, the one that had been vacated by the muttering woman.
“No,” I said. “Actually, I was just going, so …”
“Takes a while, but it does get easier,” she said, easing herself into the chair.
“Thanks,” I said, slightly embarrassed, not sure if she meant being a companion got easier or if she, too, had mistaken me for another homeless person.
“Don’t thank me. I’m only stating the obvious. That’s all,” she said. “But sometimes you’ve got to, haven’t you? State the obvious. Sometimes it’s staring you in the face and you still can’t see it.”
I looked at her uncertainly. “The obvious being that it gets easier?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Everything does. Stands to reason. Things become familiar. Familiar is easier. I used to hate this place. People asking me questions. I thought they were trying to catch me out.”
“Catch you out?” I asked, curious.
She shrugged. “Find reasons to send me back home. I didn’t like home.”
Her voice was higher than I’d expected; as I looked at her more closely, I realized that she was much younger than I’d thought—mid-twenties, maybe, when I’d had her in her mid-fifties.
“You didn’t?” I asked.
“I just said that.” She frowned.
“Of course you did. I’m sorry.”
“’S all right,” she said with another shrug.
She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “Does living on the street get easier?” I asked eventually. I didn’t know if she’d bite my head off or not; to my surprise, she laughed.
“Living on the street’s the easiest thing I’ve done. You’ve got to find out where you can go. But you’re safe.”
“Safe?” I looked at her uncertainly. “On the street? Really?”
She laughed again. “Matter of degrees, I suppose. Where I left—home—wasn’t safe.”
“Not safe …?” I asked tentatively, not sure how to ask the question.
“Father beat me. Then my boyfriend beat me. Dunno what I did. Didn’t matter, I suppose.”
“That’s awful,” I said quietly.
“Maybe,” Greta said. “But I’m here now. And it’s easier. Keep to myself. I like it that way.”
I looked at her for a moment. “But you’re talking to me,” I said gently. “You must get lonely sometimes.”
“Me?” She laughed again, this time loudly and heartily. “I’m never lonely. Just a bit of peace and quiet. Not you, though. I see it in your eyes. You need to talk.”
“I … You think I need to talk?” I asked, slightly taken aback. “No. I mean, I’m here to … No, that’s not it at all. Please don’t worry about me.”
“Worry? I don’t worry about anything,” Greta said. “But I think you need to talk. Everyone does sometimes. Even me. Not now, though. Now I’m hungry.”
She winked and stood up, shuffling out toward the kitchen. I watched her go, then stood up uncertainly. Did I need to talk? Maybe Greta was right.
I got up and made my way out; at the door, Christina stopped me. “So, how are you getting on?”
I smiled awkwardly. “I’m not sure I’m a very good companion,” I said. “I think the people here feel a bit sorry for me. Greta thought I needed to talk.”
Christina laughed. “She’s very perceptive, our Greta,” she said. “Although if you’ve been talking to her, you’re better at this than you think. Greta doesn’t talk to anyone. She’s only ever said a handful of words to me in all the time I’ve been here.”
“Which is how long?” I asked.
“Oh, years,” Christina said. “Eight or nine now. Greta was one of our first. Lots of them are rehabilitated—they find jobs, get housing, get their lives back on track. But some, like Greta, don’t want that; this is the only home they need. It’s just a shame we can’t cater to all the Gretas in the world.”
“You’re sure you don’t want help securing funding?” I asked. “You’re absolutely sure?”
“Funding, yes. Partnerships, scrutiny, and demands for publicity, no.” Christina smiled. “Unfortunately, it’s rare to get one without the other.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I guess you’re right.”
“So, you’re going?”
I nodded uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I think maybe I need to get some sleep.”
“Good idea,” Christina said warmly. “You come back when you’re rested.”
I looked over her shoulder; Greta was carrying a plate of hot food back into the living area. Behind her, two men were arguing over a sleeping bag.
“Bye,” I said, turning to leave. “And thank you.”
By the time I got outside, I already felt more positive. I might be an appalling companion, but at least I had a roof over my head and a job—for now, at any rate. I had a mother who loved me, even if she was fundamentally flawed, and after all, wasn’t I flawed, too? Plus I had money in the bank. A ridiculous amount of money in the bank, actually. I took a deep breath of the cool night air and let it fill my lungs. I would tackle the issue with Mum in the morning, and I would also start fresh with Eric. I would get to the hospital in the afternoon. And as for Hugh … I grimaced uncomfortably as I realized I hadn’t responded to his text. Well, I’d do that tomorrow, too.
A car door slammed behind me and I turned, surprised to see it was the Hummer, parked on the other side of the street from me. At least, it looked like the Hummer that had been behind me earlier. I eyed it curiously, then shrugged and walked toward my own car.
I got to my car and opened the door. Just as I was about to get in, the doors to the Hummer opened and two men got out, both dressed in black. One of them was wearing sunglasses, which struck me as odd since it was dark outside. They were large men—not particularly tall but broad. Both had crew cuts, too; they looked like soldiers. Or bodyguards. They had started to cross the road and were walking toward me. Quickly, I got into my car and started the engine. They were probably only going to ask for directions, I reassured myself as I pulled away; as Greta had said, the streets were perfectly safe, and running away was a very silly thing to be doing when they might have needed my help.
But I didn’t care; what I cared about was getting home, having a hot bath, and then getting into bed. What I needed, I told myself firmly as I pulled out and started to drive, was to see the end of this day and to hope that tomorrow would be considerably better.
Chapter 14
THE NEXT DAY, after a fitful sleep, I woke with a sinking feeling in my stomach but did my best to suppress it. I just needed some perspective, I decided, needed to see the big picture. The trouble was, even the big picture looked terrible to me. Nothing was going right; no area of my life was chugging along nicely.
I showered, did my best not to focus on the bags under my eyes as I brushed my teeth and pulled back my hair, then got out my black suit. The power suit, Max called it—it was the suit I wore to impress clients or whenever I had a difficult meeting. Today, I hoped it would act like a suit of armor, letting the world believe I was tough and strong and not falling apart inside.
And as I put it on, it began to work its magic. Just as the skirt seemed to hold my butt in place, it also seemed to streamline my thoughts, pulling them together into coherent strands instead of a huge muddle of consciousness. As I slipped the jacket on, I was already beginning to think more clearly, developing a strategy instead of sinking into a puddle of despair.
What I needed to do, I decided, as I suddenly got the urge to put on some makeup and even some earrings, was to take control. I was letting my problems get the better of me, and that was the worst thing I could do. Quickly, I grabbed an old envelope from the kitchen table, found a pen, and started to write.
Problems:
1. Max
and Emily
Solution: Visit him early today. Prioritize it above everything else. Bring muffins. Bring his laptop and some DVDs. Make him feel looked after. You are his wife; Emily is his nurse. End of story.
2. Mum
Solution: Go and see her. Force her to realize how stupid she’s being. Tell her to ditch the Facebook guy before Chester comes back.
3. Eric
Solution: Breathe deeply, and it’ll be over soon. Do your best in the interview. Pray.
4. Trunk
Solution: Take it when you go to Mum’s.
5. Hugh
I sighed. This one was the hardest.
Solution: Tell Max.
I bit my lip.
When he’s better. When everything is back to normal.
I looked back at the list. Written down, it all looked pretty straightforward and easy. The trouble was, I knew it wasn’t either of those things. I needed to be strong, clearheaded, and determined.
I picked up the phone. What I needed was Helen.
“So tell me about this guy with your mother again. Are you sure there wasn’t some other explanation?” Helen asked me half an hour later, at a coffee shop near where she lived. “Could he have been a plumber or something?”
I shook my head wearily. “It’s pretty hard to make that kind of mistake, Hel. He wasn’t standing over something that required fixing. Or talking about something of a legal or accounting nature. He kissed her. And they were talking about telling me. His name was Lawrence.”
I didn’t know why that last fact was important; it just was. Luckily, Helen seemed to understand.
“Lawrence,” she said, as though it explained everything. “Hmmmm.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “‘Hmmmm’ pretty much sums up my life right now.”
“It’s really that bad?” Helen asked, concerned.
An Ideal Wife: A Novel Page 14
