My Husband's Wife

by Amanda Prowse

  Lying on the floral bedspread of the single bed, Rosie looked around the small room in the cold, silent house. Several dolls sat in a row on the windowsill, all wearing Victorian high-necked blouses, full skirts and high-buttoned boots and each either holding a dinky parasol or sporting a large hat with a feather. She found them creepy, and being stared at by unblinking glassy eyes did nothing to change this. A shelf opposite the bed held several large trophies, faux-brass columns topped with dancers that were yet more proof of her dad and Shona’s prowess on the dance floor.

  She sat up and slid from the bed. Reaching up, she opened the wardrobe doors to find a rack of padded satin hangers bearing elaborate dresses in every garish shade of the rainbow. She let her fingers trail the sequins, net and diamante that sparkled under the light. Then she sank back down on the bed, feeling so lost and alone that she thought her heart might break.

  *

  For the next couple of days she kept a low profile, hiding away in the spare room, sneaking to the bathroom and down the stairs to fetch a glass of water, eating alone in silence, trying to be invisible. The monotony was broken when the phone in the hallway rang.

  ‘It’s for you!’ Shona called, sounding slightly harried, Rosie thought, as if the novelty of having her under their roof had already worn off.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosie whispered as she made her way downstairs.

  ‘Mummy?’ Naomi’s voice asked a little uncertainly.

  ‘Yes! Yes, my baby, it’s me!’ She tried hard not to let her distress be heard in her voice.

  ‘Daddy said you were at Grandad Roy’s?’

  ‘Yes, I am, just for a little while, until the house gets sorted out and then we can all head home.’ She bowed her head, her voice catching and still a bit crackly as she wondered if she was telling the truth. ‘How’s school?’ she managed.

  ‘It’s good. My teacher is called Madame Froubert and she is French, from France.’

  ‘Oh wow! That’s exciting.’

  ‘But Leo is in a different class, she’s in Mr Dobrey’s and he is just English.’ She huffed, as if this was suboptimal.

  ‘Have you made friends?’

  ‘I’ve got Melody and Jess and Tilda and Melody is from China.’

  ‘China? Goodness me, Nay, it sounds fantastic!’ She closed her eyes, trying to picture a school, a life in which she had no part. ‘Are you having a nice time in London?’

  Rosie knew every nuance in her child’s vocabulary and the pause before she answered spoke volumes. ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘But what, Nay?’

  ‘Truffle had to go and live on a farm,’ she squeaked.

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yes, and I miss him too,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, darling!’ She closed her eyes, wishing she were there to hold Naomi tight, kiss her better and make promises.

  ‘I can’t even visit him because it’s far away and he’s not allowed any visitors.’ Her voice cracked.

  ‘Don’t cry, little Naomi. Don’t cry. Truffle will be thinking about you too, so when you miss him, just think about him and picture him and he’ll get that message and that will make him feel better as well.’

  ‘You’d take me to his farm, wouldn’t you, Mum?’ Her voice was barely audible.

  ‘If I could, darling, then I would.’

  ‘I know.’ Naomi hesitated. ‘I’ve got to go now. I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  Rosie sat holding the phone, oblivious to the tone that indicated the call had ended, hoping for more. How could they give a child a dog, a pet, something to love and then take it away? Who would do that? Kev’s words floated into her mind unbidden. ‘He gets fed up, bored, has a change of heart, flips his mind and bails. He bins things. He’s always done it and he always will.’

  ‘Your tea’s ready,’ her dad called from the kitchen.

  ‘I’m not hungry, thanks Dad.’ Naomi’s tears were still fresh in her mind.

  ‘I’ve made you a nice omelette and chips. Come and eat it off a tray with us, in front of the telly.’

  It sounded so much like a request from her smiling dad that she nodded and plodded through to the lounge. Shona budged up on the sofa, even though there was plenty of room. She took her place and stared at the television.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  It could have been her imagination, but the way Shona asked the question suggested to her that what she really wanted to know was, ‘When will you be better? When will you leave?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ was the best she could offer and in truth she didn’t want the discussion. She was utterly sick of the spiral of thoughts that swirled in her mind, trying to figure out how she’d been reduced to this shell of a person.

  ‘Tell you what...’ Shona shuffled off her seat. ‘Why don’t I put one of our DVDs on and you can see us in competition.’ Without waiting for a reply, she pulled open the drawer in the TV unit and selected a DVD from one of a dozen.

  Rosie listened to the little tray whir open and watched as Shona gently placed the disc in the holder. And suddenly, there they were: bodies touching, heads arching away from each other, hands interlocked, grins fixed, hair set and sequins sparkling. Shona’s yellow frock swished and swirled with every step, folding around the couple and enveloping them in a froth of baby-duck-coloured tulle.

  ‘That was the regionals two years ago. I’d say we’ve come on even since then.’

  Her dad entered the room bearing two trays. He handed one to Shona and one to her. ‘Mind out, the plate’s hot.’ He smiled.

  Rosie stared at the pale omelette and mountain of oven chips and pictured the little girl who’d set a place at the table every night for her mum, a place that remained empty. For the first time she wondered what that must have been like for her dad, cooking to the best of his ability, keeping a routine going, while being reminded daily of the woman who’d left.

  ‘I was just saying...’ Shona nodded her head at the screen. ‘I think we’ve come on, since this video was taken.’

  Her dad beamed. ‘I’d say so. Look at my footwork – shocking.’

  ‘Not shocking, Roy, just not polished.’ She smiled at him, then placed a large chip in her mouth. ‘We still won though,’ she noted with pride, her eyes fixed on the screen, her head moving in time to the music.

  Rosie wondered how her life had gone so wrong. Even Roy and Shona, with their obsessive ballroom dancing and shiny shoes, even they had found love and happiness, and she was all alone...

  Roy sat down with his own tray and looked aghast at his daughter. ‘Oh, Rosie! Oh, love! What is it?’

  She hadn’t realised she was crying until he pointed it out.

  17

  With no one else in the house, Rosie reluctantly rose from her bed and trod the stairs at the sound of the doorbell. It would probably be a delivery that needed signing for or one of their neighbours dropping off the parish magazine. She considered hiding away, but knew that was unfair on both her dad and Shona, but also on whoever was making the delivery. She planned on making as little small talk as possible. It was, however, Keith who stood, a little sheepishly on the doorstep.

  ‘Keith!’ Crying seemed to be her natural default and the sight of him set her off.

  ‘Now, now, we’ll have less of that, Rosie.’ He smiled.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ She sniffed and stood back, wishing she had got washed and dressed. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea.’ She hated the formality of their surroundings, the awkwardness in front of the man who was her father-in-law.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not stopping love. I’m on me way to Bristol, but I wanted to stop and see you.’

  ‘It’s lovely to see you. The girls seem okay? I do speak to them.’ This fact, again caused new tears to pool, she pictured the card they had made him for his birthday and her sitting in the car with Kev.

  ‘Well, you mustn’t get upset Rosie, Mo sends her love and I wanted to tell you that I’ve started work on the house, Ross has been
helping me. It shan’t be quick mind, but we’ll get there.’

  ‘But... but I haven’t got any money! I don’t know what Phil’s got, but I don’t know how we’ll pay you!’ she gushed.

  ‘We’ll work out a plan, don’t worry. Is Roy not in?’ He looked past her, down the long, neat, narrow hall.

  ‘No. They must have gone shopping.’

  ‘Give him my best regards. And I mean it, try not to worry, we’ll work out the money, somehow. You’ll be home before you know it.’

  ‘I... I don’t know what to say!’ She felt a wave of love for the man who was throwing her this lifeline. ‘But thank you.’

  Phil had called a couple of times to let her know he was dealing with the house, the insurance company had again denied their claim and it was indeed going to be down to Tipcott and sons to try and get things moving. Christmas was slowing work down, but come the new year, they would crack straight on, as and when they could.

  It can’t come soon enough! I want my home! I want my girls! She wished silently.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ His concern sounded genuine.

  ‘Much better, thank you. Less sore and my skin’s healing well.’ She didn’t confess to the black hole of emptiness that she had tumbled into, the loneliness that threatened to send her mad.

  ‘You sound much better. Less gravelly, less wheezy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He fed her snippets of information about her girls that she stored away, dipping into them in her darker moments, which were not getting any less frequent.

  ‘When are you coming back to Devon?’ She closed her eyes and waited for the answer.

  ‘Not till they break up in a few weeks, but you should come and see them, they’d love that.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

  Rosie nodded, as if he could see her. ‘What, get a train up?’

  ‘Yes, it’s easy. You just get the train to Paddington and then jump on the District Line. We can meet you at the Tube.’

  It was odd to hear him speak with confidence about routes and train lines, telling her to “jump on the District Line” like he’d been doing it his whole life. ‘I don’t have any money, but I’ll try and sort something out.’ I don’t even have a purse to put money in. I don’t have anything.

  ‘I can transfer some to your bank account. Shall I do that?’

  ‘I’ll have a think and let you know, thank you.’ She kept it polite, it was one thing asking him to help out financially with the girls, but when it was for her? She didn’t want to be beholden to him and Gerri in any way. They were both silent and it was awkward.

  ‘Oh, I meant to say, Leo lost a tooth!’ he gushed.

  ‘She has? Oh! Was she excited?’ In her mind’s eye, she replayed the rigmarole she had always gone through, watching them place the tooth under their pillow and then sneaking in in the dead of night, easing her hand under their sleeping head and putting a fifty-pence piece and a note from the tooth fairy in its place, trying not to catch their long curls that tumbled over the edge of the pillow. Then waiting patiently in the morning for the squeals of happiness and excitement. She pictured the destroyed rooms in which she had performed this ritual.

  ‘Not really. It was a bit of a disaster. Gerri kind of let slip that there was no tooth fairy.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s not her fault, she’s new to this whole parenting thing.’

  Rosie didn’t know what to say. Her sadness for Leo was edged with dislike for the woman who’d spoilt the joy for her little girl. ‘Well, she’ll need to get better at it now she’s having a baby.’

  A few days later, Rosie woke early and lay staring at the window. She now recognised the signs and rhythms of the neighbourhood: the woman next door who stood at the back door every night at ten o’clock calling ‘Oscar! Oscar!’ over and over until her cat crept home; the sound of the milk float’s electric engine that, like Oscar, purred as it roamed the streets in the early hours; the wheeze of the bus’s brakes as it pulled into the layby further down the road to collect shoppers with their pull-along trolleys. She was of course grateful to her dad and Shona for having scooped her up in her hour of need, but she still hated being there and couldn’t wait to return home.

  There was a light rapping on her door. ‘Are you awake, love?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sat up and tied her hair in a knot at her neck.

  Her dad poked his head around the door, uncertain and tentative. They were still awkward with each other; it was difficult, sharing a house for the first time as adults.

  ‘I wanted to give you this.’ He handed her an envelope.

  ‘What is it?’ She stared at it, turning it over to confirm that it was indeed blank on both sides.

  ‘Open it!’

  Rosie poked her finger under the flap and tore it open, revealing a return train ticket to London and a twenty-pound note.

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  ‘I thought it was about time you got up there, love, and I know those girls will be missing you just as much as you’re missing them. The tickets are valid for any weekday, so pick one and I’ll drop you at the station.’

  She looked up at him. ‘That’s brilliant. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I think seeing them will be good for you. It’ll either help you settle or stir you into action. Either way, you should go.’ He made his way sheepishly out of the room, embarrassed by the love that cocooned them inside the small space.

  She smiled after him. The thought of seeing her children filled her with a rare burst of joy.

  *

  Rosie anxiously trod the stairs and walked through the barrier of the Tube station, grabbing embarrassingly at her ticket as it disappeared for good at the end of her journey. She found herself in an elegant glass-roofed arcade where shops and cafés clustered around the wide walkway, each with a fancy glass fanlight above its entrance, patterned plasterwork beneath the ceiling and a festive garland of spruce and holly dotted with gold and red baubles. Despite the familiar names of the shops and cafés, which could be found on any high street, the whole place felt very Victorian.

  She was nervous, clutching the bag Mo had sent her and pulling the back of her jumper down over her jeans, worried about how she looked. The pixie boots and tight jeans were charity-shop finds, but she was grateful to have something to wear other than the clothes she’d left the hospital in and her pyjamas.

  Walking out onto the crowded pavement, she felt overwhelmed by the throng of people coursing towards her. Everyone looked glossy and well dressed, kitted out in branded items, and they all seemed to be talking into or staring at smartphones. She stared up at the high shopfronts with two or three floors of offices or accommodation above them. Someone grabbed her arm. Gasping, she spun round, instantly relieved to find herself staring into Phil’s face. She was very happy to see him, unsure what she would have done if he’d neglected to meet her as promised.

  There was a split second when she forgot their new circumstances. The way they looked at each other reminded her of when she used to welcome him home after a long day of labouring; it was as if he’d walked into their kitchen and the girls were playing in the sitting room while she prepared his supper. ‘Hello, love, how was your day? Cup of tea?’ He smiled at her in the way he had when he’d walked into his parents’ kitchen that first day with his army rucksack over his arm and his face and arms tanned, his expression cocky, as if he knew what he wanted and how to get it.

  ‘Look at us, eh?’ She smiled at him, glancing over his head at the ornate fascias and rooftops where Christmas lights twinkled. There was bustle all around them: taxis beeped, neon-clothed cyclists whizzed by and couriers on motorbikes weaved in and out of the traffic with their engines revving. It was chaos, but with his hand on her arm, she felt quite calm.

  ‘You look really well, much better.’ He leant in towards her so he could be heard above the din.

  She could smell his natural scent, as familiar to her as her own, and to be this close hit her like a punch to the g
ut. Stepping back from his grasp, she placed her hand over the scars around her mouth, the skin pale and shiny against her lips. ‘I am a lot better. Getting there.’

  ‘I thought we could go and pick up the car and then go and get the kids from school. How does that sound?’

  ‘Is... Will Gerri...’ She stumbled on the words.

  ‘No, she’s away for the night. Paris, on business.’ He said this matter-of-factly, as if nipping off to Paris was a normal thing; maybe it was in the new world he now inhabited, but to her it was just another reminder of how glamorous Gerri was and how she fell well short of the mark.

  She felt her shoulders unbunch with relief at the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to encounter her. The thought of having to suffer more derogatory comments and mocking nastiness had filled her with a cold dread, although she’d decided before she set off that if that was what it took to see her girls, then she would do it.

  She followed Phil along the pavement, stopping every few yards to say sorry to the people she bumped into and to allow them to cross her path, which they did without offering thanks or even acknowledging her. She had yet to master the purposeful stride that Phil had perfected. They turned immediately left into Wrights Lane, where concrete and glass-fronted offices stood opposite a row of red-brick mansion blocks. The doors had shiny brass plates and a concierge hovering in front of them; he was wearing a green hat and matching greatcoat, with gold braid on the peak of his cap and his epaulettes.