An Ideal Wife: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  “You’re joking!” I breathed. “So what did you do?”

  “Well, I had to stop them,” Helen said, her hands going up in the air for dramatic effect. “So I burst into tears. And that made the first guy feel sorry for me. He was asking me what the matter was, and I had to make up this whole story while the other one was chomping at the bit. And I knew that at any moment they could have taken out a gun or something. It was pretty intense, I tell you.”

  “Wow,” Giles said. “You’re amazing.”

  “Oh, it was nothing,” Helen said airily.

  “Were they Russian?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Helen said. “I think so.”

  “What was the accent of the one you spoke to? Was it Russian?”

  “Oh, Um, yes. Yes, definitely Russian,” Helen said authoritatively.

  “Shit,” I said. “So they must be the Russian Mafia. I was hoping they might be something else. You know, like the police chasing me for a speeding fine or something.”

  “In a Hummer?” Giles asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I said ‘hoping,’ not ‘expecting.’ Actually, it was more like praying, to be honest.”

  “A Russian accent doesn’t mean they’re necessarily the Russian Mafia,” Helen said. “They could have been any Russian organized-crime gang. Or maybe they were former KGB agents.”

  I was about to tell her that didn’t exactly reassure me, but I felt my phone vibrate and saw Hugh’s number flash up. Quickly, I rejected the call. Then, for good measure, I turned my phone off. I’d said all I wanted to say to him in my message; frankly, I never wanted to hear his voice again as long as I lived.

  “And they came to your office, Jess?” Giles was saying.

  “Yes,” I said, feeling a little less confident, a little less in charge. “Yes, they did.”

  Helen turned around to look out the window. “Are they behind us now?”

  I checked the side mirror nervously. “No. No one there.”

  “Okay, then. We’ve shaken them,” Helen said, turning to Giles. “See? I promised you it would be exciting.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Giles pull a face.

  “Tell me again about this Lawrence person,” he said, apparently keen to change the subject. “Your mother met him on Facebook?”

  “I guess,” I sighed. “I mean, one minute she’s asking me how to upload photos, and the next minute some guy called Lawrence is in the kitchen kissing her and she’s hanging up on me.”

  “Sounds steamy,” Helen said.

  I cringed. “Please, Helen. We’re talking about my mother.”

  “So you’re going to chuck him out?” Giles asked, leaning forward. “Tell your mother to stop messing around and get married to Chester?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said.

  “But I thought that’s why we’re going down there.” Helen looked confused. “To make sure Chester doesn’t flip his lid when he gets back.”

  “It was,” I said with a little shrug, “but I’ve kind of changed my mind.”

  “You have?” Helen asked interestedly. “Why?”

  “Because …” I took a deep breath, then let it out again, slowly. “Because it’s not up to me how she lives her life. I mean, I’m hardly a shining example of how to go about things, am I?”

  “You’re not having an affair,” Helen said.

  “No,” I conceded, “but I am being blackmailed, and I do have the Russian Mafia on my tail, and I did just walk out of an interview that I needed to pass in order to salvage my husband’s advertising firm and retain our key client.”

  Helen digested this for a moment. “You walked out?”

  “There wasn’t any point in staying,” I said lightly.

  “What happened to being ideal, then?” Giles asked, leaning forward into the front seat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but walking out of the interview probably doesn’t constitute ideal-wife behavior.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not ideal,” I said. “I realize that now. I don’t think I ever will be.”

  “Thank the Lord!” Helen said. “And Max loves you all the same, right?”

  I shook my head. “Actually, I don’t think he does,” I said quietly. “But that’ll just make it easier when I tell him about Hugh, won’t it?”

  “But—” Helen looked thoroughly confused.

  “It’s okay,” I cut in. “Max said I’m not a looking-after sort of a person, and he’s right. He’ll find someone else, and I’ll … Well, I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not a what?”

  “A looking-after sort of person,” I said, choking up slightly as I remembered the way Max had looked at me—disappointed and resigned.

  “Max said that?” Giles asked incredulously.

  I nodded. “It’s no big deal. Actually, it’s a good thing. I’d never have measured up to Max. This way I don’t have to.”

  “But—” Helen protested.

  “But nothing,” I said firmly. “That’s the end of the matter.”

  “So we’re going down to Wiltshire to … what, meet Lawrence?”

  “To talk to Mum. And to hide the trunk,” I said.

  “Doesn’t sound very exciting after all,” Giles said disappointedly.

  “We’re still being chased by two men in a Hummer. Two Russian Mafia men,” Helen reminded him.

  “That’s true,” Giles said, brightening slightly. “And, on that point, is there any reason that we’re driving below the legal speed limit? Shouldn’t we be racing against the clock or something?”

  “I’m tired of racing,” I said. “Anyway, Ivana’s trunk is really heavy. I think that’s slowing us down. Besides, we’re here now. Look.”

  Giles’s eyes were out on stalks as we pulled into the drive. “Oh my God, is this it? It’s amazing. It’s huge. It’s like a stately home!”

  “Yeah,” I said, then frowned when I saw a car I didn’t recognize in the drive. Helen caught my look.

  “That’s his car?” she whispered.

  “I guess,” I said.

  “So are you ready to face your mother’s lover?”

  I nodded. “I’m ready,” I said.

  I got out of the car, and Helen and Giles followed. I didn’t know whether to ring the doorbell or use my key, or what on earth I was going to say when I saw my mother—or Lawrence, for that matter.

  But my mind was made up for me; the door opened and my mother appeared, her expression apprehensive. “Jess. You’re here.” She smiled at Helen and Giles. “Hello,” she said warmly. “So nice to see you both.” Then she looked back at me, her face anxious again. “I’m so glad you came. I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something.”

  “I know,” I said quietly. “But first let me say something. I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain yesterday. If you’re in love with this Lawrence guy, then that’s fine. I’ll be supportive. If you want me to tell Chester that the wedding is off, I will. You’re my mother and I love you, and so whatever you want to do is fine by me. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Mum said uncertainly. “If you say so. But—”

  “But nothing. You heard her,” a voice said; Lawrence was walking toward us. “She wants you to cancel the wedding, Esther. I say do it. I say let’s tell Jess here the truth and start our lives together.”

  “The truth?” I looked up in alarm. “So the wedding really is off?” I’d kind of hoped Mum would tell me that Lawrence had been a big mistake—or, better, a misunderstanding.

  “No,” my mother said quickly.

  “Yes,” Lawrence said, equally quick, then he smiled at me. “The thing is, Jess … The thing that your mother wants to tell you is …”

  “Is?” I asked, turning to my mother when he trailed off.

  She met my gaze awkwardly. “It’s about your father, Jess.”

  It took me a few seconds to digest what she’d said. “My father?” I eyed her suspiciously. As far as I knew, I had no father. Well, obviously I had a father, but not on
e I could track down. He was an impoverished student who had moved to the States when I was a baby. My mother was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to provide for us, so she’d dumped him and told one of her rich suitors that he was the father. It had worked, too—for all of a few months. Then she’d got tired of the drudgery of motherhood and started to gamble, using his money. When that dried up, she turned to dodgy moneylenders, who became so keen to get their money back that she faked her own death and dumped me with Grandma.

  “The thing is, darling, Lawrence … Well, he’s your father.”

  “Father?” Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. I looked at Mum uncertainly. “You’re joking, right? Because it’s not funny. It really isn’t.”

  “I’m not joking,” Mum said fretfully. “He found me on Facebook.”

  “On Facebook,” I said, turning to stare at this man—Lawrence—who was apparently my own flesh and blood.

  “He … he just turned up,” Mum said. “I tried to tell you, but—”

  “She’s right. I’m your long-lost dad, Jess,” Lawrence said, grinning at me. “The moment I saw Esther’s picture on that website I knew I had to see her, knew I had to find you. The fact is, Jess, I’ve come home.”

  I looked at them in disbelief. I could feel Helen and Giles standing stock-still behind me, waiting for my reaction. I watched my mother scrutinizing my face for a clue to what I was thinking. I didn’t know myself. I felt suspended in time, as if nothing was real, as if I was dreaming. I was finding it hard to breathe. It was the excitement. The fear. The surprise. I felt hot. I felt clammy. “Jessica? Jess? Jess, are you all right?” a voice said, and then there were dots in front of my eyes, dancing, getting bigger and closer. I tried to nod, I tried to speak, but I couldn’t; I was slipping downward. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the walls from closing in on me, blocking out the light as I fell to the ground.

  And then everything went black.

  “Jess! Jess, are you okay?”

  I opened my eyes groggily. I was on the doormat outside the front door. Oh God. I pulled myself up to sit. I felt terrible. I’d fainted. I mean, what was I, the heroine of some swoon-fest or something?

  “Darling, you look awful. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you like that.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, as Helen and Giles helped me to my feet and through the door. Mum led the way to the kitchen. “I don’t know what happened. I just …” I stopped suddenly; the dots were there again, closing in on me, threatening to topple me once more. I took a deep breath and leaned on Helen, letting my head drop, trying to work out what was going on. I was at the house. Mum had been telling me about …

  “He’s really …” I looked back to see Lawrence walking behind me. “You’re really—”

  “Your dad. Yes, I am,” he said. He spoke easily, as if it was no big deal.

  We’d gotten as far as the kitchen; Helen guided me toward a chair. “I think you need to sit down,” she suggested.

  “He’s my father,” I said, my eyes wide as I sank into the chair. “I’ve got a father.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  Father. It felt strange even hearing the word. I’d never had a father. Not even a surrogate father. Grandpa hadn’t been around when I was growing up, and I’d kind of gotten used to the idea that I didn’t have a dad, had convinced myself that I didn’t need one. But saying the word brought back a whole bunch of memories—of being at school and listening jealously to the other girls talking about their overprotective fathers, about their dads’ new cars, new jobs…. It had seemed like an exotic world that I would never enter, where the sun shined just a little bit more, where things were all a little bit easier. Fathers, as far as I could deduce with my limited experience, made decisions quickly, were strong, loyal, and protective. When they turned up at school, there was a different energy about the place. I felt awkward around the other girls’ fathers, self-conscious, as though they could tell I didn’t have one. And yet at night I dreamed that mine would come back for me and rescue me. He would turn up with a fast car, an easy smile, and strong arms to wrap around me.

  And now here he was. My real-life father. Part of me wanted him to scoop me up in his arms right that minute. I wanted that moment in The Railway Children when their father returns from prison and everything’s okay again. I wanted to see Pa Walton striding in, a look of grit, determination, and love on his face. I wanted Harrison Ford, Father Christmas, and my old headmaster, the man who’d told me I could do anything I wanted, who’d told Grandma that it would be a travesty if I didn’t go to university even if she thought it was time for me to stand on my own two feet. I wanted them all, wrapped up in one person.

  Except … Except …

  My mother was looking at me tentatively. Lawrence came in and leaned down to look at me. “You okay, kiddo?”

  “You’re …” I cleared my throat and stood to stare at him properly. “You’re my father?”

  He was older than I’d thought he was when I’d seen only his back. Fifty-something maybe. He had blond-gray hair, a tan, blue eyes. He was slim, fine-boned. Handsome, even.

  “Jess,” he said, reaching out his hands. “I can’t tell you how great it is to finally meet you.”

  “Really?” I didn’t know what to say, how to react.

  “Really,” he said, letting his arms fall back to his sides. Easily. Unfazed. Was I really related to this man? He was nothing like me. He was a stranger. There ought to be something, a feeling or an understanding; we should be looking into each other’s eyes with a deep recognition. Something. Instead, I was staring at him blankly, my nails digging into my palms, aware that everyone was staring at me and expecting something that I couldn’t deliver. “You okay?” he asked, a look of concern on his face. “I guess this is a lot to take in, me turning up like this. I’d have come before, only …”

  “Only what?” I asked quietly. “Why didn’t you come before? Why didn’t you get me from Grandma’s?”

  He looked slightly uncomfortable. “I guess it was difficult. I didn’t know where you were, for one thing. Esther here … Well, after she left with you, we lost touch. Then I heard she died, and—”

  “And you didn’t think that was a good moment to try to track down your daughter? Your flesh and blood?” My voice sounded more irritable than I’d intended it to. I noticed Lawrence shrink back slightly.

  “You’re right, of course,” he said, attempting a smile. “I should have. All I can tell you is that I was young. Young and pretty stupid, if I’m honest. I’d moved to the States, and I guess it didn’t feel real.”

  “It was real for me,” I said.

  “I know. I know that now.”

  I took a deep breath. “And now you’re back?” I looked at Mum. “He’s back? With you? After all this time?”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but Lawrence got there first. “After all this time,” he said, smiling again. “The three of us, Jess. How about it?”

  How about it? My long-lost father had dropped back into my life and wanted to know what I thought about it? I looked at him uneasily.

  “If you’re here for a kidney, you can forget it,” I said quietly.

  He looked at me strangely. “A kidney?”

  I nodded. “I’ve seen Lost. I know all about long-lost fathers who turn up out of the blue. And I’m not falling for it. So if you want a kidney, you’re going to have to find some other sucker, okay? Because you’re not getting one of mine.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned. “Okay, well, that’s good to know. No kidney. I’ll … bear it in mind. In the future, if I ever wind up needing one.”

  I realized he was laughing at me. His eyes were twinkling the way Max’s did when he was teasing me.

  “It’s not funny,” I said stiffly.

  “No, it’s not,” my father agreed, his mouth still creasing upward. “Well, only a little bit.”

  “Not at all.”

  “What about s
omething smaller?” he asked.

  I frowned. “Smaller? What do you mean?”

  “I can see how you wouldn’t want to give me a kidney,” he said thoughtfully. “Big operation, nasty scar. But could you maybe give me a wisdom tooth? Or, I don’t know, your appendix maybe? Something you don’t need so much?”

  I looked at him uncertainly. “No.”

  “Nothing?” He shook his head and whistled. “Man, you’re tough. Esther, are you hearing this? Not even a wisdom tooth for her old man.”

  My mother, who seemed rather flummoxed, looked at him anxiously. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You don’t want her teeth, do you? Why would you want her teeth?”

  I caught my father’s eye. And immediately I had a flash of something, of a life that could have been: of in-jokes, of teasing Mum, of being part of something that couldn’t be broken.

  Except it hadn’t existed, I reminded myself. And it had broken. It had never really been in the first place.

  But I knew one thing: He was my father. It wasn’t his eyes, or his lips, or his hair color, or anything else. It was his sense of humor. Grandma never got my humor, nor did Mum. They thought I was being stupid or ridiculous. They rolled their eyes and changed the subject or looked the other way.

  “You can have a bit of toenail, if you really want,” I said drily, looking up at him warily. In the pit of my stomach was something approaching excitement, and it scared me.

  “Toenail.” He nodded thoughtfully. “And would there be strings attached, do you think?”

  “I’d be wanting a cup of tea for that.” I shrugged. “And probably a biscuit.”

  “Esther? We got biscuits here?”

  My mother nodded. “Of course we have biscuits. But I still don’t understand,” she said. “Why do you want a toenail? Jess, is there something going on here that you’re not telling me?”

  I allowed myself a little smile. “No, Mum,” I said. “Nothing at all. But you,” I said, turning back to my father, “you have got some explaining to do.”

  He met my eyes and looked at me seriously. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he said, sitting down at the table and motioning for me to do likewise.