My Husband's Wife

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘How’s your dad?’ Phil asked, almost over his shoulder, as he walked slightly ahead.

  ‘Good. The same. You know.’ She hated that she had nothing to say, nothing to offer. ‘I’ve spoken to your mum too. She sent me this bag.’ She held it up, but he ignored her.

  ‘These flats are upwards of a million.’ He pointed to the boxy, modern apartments to his right.

  ‘I’ll settle for our little house in Woolacombe any time.’ She knew how provincial she sounded, but it was the truth.

  He smiled briefly. ‘Dad says he’s making a bit of progress. He and Ross have started ripping out the timber that’s been damaged, took a good couple of skips away and more to come, he reckons.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so grateful, him and Ross will do a cracking job, I know it.’

  Phil laughed. ‘Yep. If Kayleigh doesn’t slow them down, coming up for a moan and a good old nose.’

  Rosie looked at the floor, not wanting to laugh with him, not wanting to be reminded of the old life that she had lost. ‘I’m worried about how it’s being paid for...’ she let this hang, wondering how she would face the dilemma if it were his girlfriend’s money that was putting her little house back together.

  ‘He’s getting materials at cost of course and they’re working for free when they have time off. I think he and mum have covered some of it personally and we need to work something out for the rest.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’ She felt quite choked.

  They followed the road as it curved round. She liked the London street sign, the distinctive black lettering on a white enamel background that read Marloes Road, with the borough, W8, in red beneath. They strolled on. She was finding the short trek quite exhausting, having been confined to her dad’s spare bedroom for so long and with her lungs not yet working at full capacity, but her eagerness to see the girls fuelled her out-of-condition muscles.

  ‘This is us!’ He stood back as if to admire for the first time the five-storeyed terraced house with its white columns and tiny roof garden above the front door, whose uniform bay trees in oversized zinc containers were just visible from the street. A wide path of black and white tiles led to the front door, which was flanked by another pair of bay trees in identical pots. Black, wrought-iron, arrow-tipped railings encased a front courtyard and basement, matching the rest of the street.

  The three middle floors each had a square bay window set in carved stone, painted white and fronted by a smaller zinc windowbox full of pretty pink flowers and trailing ivy. Rosie let her eyes travel the full height of the building, wondering what lay behind each window, particularly the smaller dormer in the attic, which had its own mini balcony. She noted that every window had a roman blind that was pulled to the exact same height.

  ‘Wow!’ It was hard not to be impressed. ‘It’s like the Mary Poppins house.’

  ‘Fourteen million quid’s worth!’ He nodded.

  ‘I don’t know about working for Gerri, you sure you’re not an estate agent, Phil? You seem quite obsessed with house prices around here.’

  He ignored her jibe. ‘Do you want to look round?’

  She remembered the grand tour Gerri had given her, the way the images had filled her brain for months. It had proved to be torture and she didn’t need more of that, especially now she didn’t have a home of her own.

  ‘Not really.’ She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She could sense his disappointment at being denied the chance to impress, but that was just too bloody bad.

  ‘Car’s just along here.’ He gestured down the street.

  She followed him past houses that were all remarkably similar.

  ‘Most of these are flats,’ he said. ‘There are only four houses in the street.’

  She found the pride he took in all this quite astonishing, as if he’d had a role in the acquisition of the property and hadn’t simply committed adultery with the woman whose name happened to be on the deeds.

  The familiar shiny Range Rover sat in the street in a residents’ parking bay. She pictured the side of it dripping with coleslaw. Phil pressed a button and it lit up like a Christmas tree. It was her first time in the car that she had both spied on and hidden from on more than one occasion. The girls were right; it was indeed high up, like sitting on a throne.

  ‘Comfy?’ Phil asked as she clipped the seatbelt into place.

  ‘Don’t think I’d be able to park it.’

  ‘Rosie, I’ve seen you trying to park your old banger and I would have to agree.’ He winked at her, again like they were on a jaunt together, happy. It made her feel uneasy, as if behaving this way together was illicit and they might get thrown out at any moment.

  ‘Are you happy, Phil?’ She felt bold asking.

  He stared ahead and breathed in. ‘I’m living in the best city in the world, in a mansion—’

  ‘Yes, you said. Fourteen million.’ She couldn’t help herself.

  He continued. ‘Work is easy, I’ve got money in my pocket and my summer will be spent somewhere hot, probably a private villa with a swim-up pool. What’s there not to be happy about? I’m living the life.’ He started the engine.

  Rosie placed her bag on her lap and wondered if he realised that not only had he failed to mention his daughters, his girlfriend or their impending new arrival, but also that he hadn’t answered her question.

  He threw the car around tight corners and down narrow residential streets with ease. She got the sense that he did so for her benefit, keen to show that not only could he handle the powerful engine, but also that he could navigate the streets of Kensington and Chelsea as if it was second nature. Eventually they pulled up outside a playground on an ordinary residential street. If you didn’t know it was a school, Rosie thought, you might easily have missed it. It was quite unlike the girls’ school at home, where signs, the staff car park, the football pitch and numerous sprawling, low-rise, felt-roofed buildings left you in no doubt.

  There was a square of tarmac with high mesh fencing reaching up to the sky; it reminded her of a cage. She thought again of the wide sloping field that their school had at its disposal and the vast expanse of beach on which they could run; this felt rather claustrophobic in comparison. Or maybe she was just trying to find the negatives.

  ‘I’ll go get them.’ He smiled, jumped down and walked through a side gate, into which he had to punch an entry code. She watched with her nose pressed to the tinted window as he joined a line of other mums, dads and, judging by their age, demeanour and the way they bunched together, a host of nannies and au pairs. She felt a little sad for Phil; he looked out of place among the tweed-jacketed, bearded hipsters in their skinny jeans and aged-leather lace-up boots and the uber-skinny, blonde mummies who reminded of her of Mummy von Trapp. She smiled at the thought of her: Phillippa, the woman who had saved her life.

  The front door of the large, higgledy-piggledy Victorian villa opened and out walked an upright woman with a serious face, who was a lot younger than her clothes and stance would suggest. She was wearing a soft, lavender-coloured wool suit and her hair was in a loose chignon. She stood to one side and a stream of little girls in identical hats and coats stepped in front of her. One by one, they shook her hand and then walked slowly with their head held high towards the person collecting them.

  Rosie laughed involuntarily as she compared this to the mass evacuation that happened when the bell rang at their school. She pictured the kids running, arms raised and hands clutching cardboard still wet with paint, lunchboxes and daps dangling from their fingers as they hollered at their mums and dads: ‘Did you bring me something to eat?’ She thought of Mel for the first time in a long time and felt an incredible sense of longing for all that was familiar to her.

  The girls continued to exit like a little trail of straw-boater-wearing ants. And then there was Naomi! Her beautiful girl was in her sights and she was real, no longer just the child of her dreams
whom she had missed every day and every night. Here she was, only a few feet away!

  Rosie opened her mouth and cried silently, overwhelmed by the sight of her child. Her body pulsed with the need to hold her. She undid her seatbelt and opened the heavy door. Climbing down from the seat, she hovered on the pavement by the car, waiting impatiently.

  Minutes later, Leona emerged, looking so grown-up and tiny all at once, doing her best to walk slowly and shaking hands solemnly with the lady in the doorway.

  It was only when the girls took their dad’s hands and made their way across the playground towards the security gate that Rosie realised what was so different about them. Oh no! For the love of God! No! Someone had cut off their hair.

  Her heart raced with nerves as her girls drew closer. Don’t be ridiculous! You’re their mum! she reminded herself, but still her insides churned. The trio walked across the square of tarmac and through the gate and there they were!

  Naomi broke into a run the second she saw her. ‘Mummy!’ she screamed, literally screamed, at the top of her voice.

  The entire playground looked in their direction – not that Rosie cared or even noticed. She was intent only on grabbing that child and holding her close. Naomi fell into her, burying her face in her mum’s neck as she cried.

  ‘Ssshhh... It’s okay, my little one. I’ve got you.’

  ‘My mummy,’ she breathed, as if just to be able to say the word was a blessed relief.

  They stayed there for some minutes, with Rosie kneeling on the grey London pavement, holding her little Devon maid tightly in her arms while they both gave in to the tears that flowed.

  ‘I missed you so much!’ Rosie whispered.

  Naomi held her tightly, almost as if she were afraid to let her go.

  Rosie ran her fingers up her daughter’s back and felt the ends of the blunt bob that sat beneath her chin. She would talk to Phil about it later; this was not the time for anything other than reconnecting.

  Leona stood by her dad’s side, burying her face in his jeans and stealing glimpses of her mum.

  ‘It’s okay, Leo,’ she cooed, over Naomi’s shoulder. ‘It’s only me! I look a bit different, don’t I?’ She smiled, swiping at her tears with the flat of her fingers.

  Leona nodded and turned her face back into her dad’s leg.

  Naomi unhooked her arms from around her mum’s neck and placed them on either side of her face.

  ‘They got rid of Truffle. They sent him to a farm.’ She spoke with such maturity and sadness, it was almost unbearable. ‘But Melody said they probably gave him an injection that killed him, that’s what happened to her dog who was old. And Tilda said that might be true and I asked Daddy and he said I was being stupid, but he did that looking-at-the-wall thing he does when he’s telling me a fib, like “Oh, sure, you can have a party” or like when I asked him if he could get One Direction to babysit for us. Do you know what I mean, Mum?’ Naomi kept her face inches from Rosie’s, as if only this proximity would suffice.

  ‘Yes.’ She knew exactly what she meant. ‘But I don’t think Daddy would do that. I really don’t.’ Again, she prayed this was the truth.

  Naomi nodded, clearly hoping so too. ‘You’ve got pinky-white funny bits on your face.’ She stuck the end of her index finger against the splotches near Rosie’s mouth and below her eye where the skin was shiny, taut and a little puckered in the centre.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You look like...’ Naomi looked upwards, considering how best to describe her mum’s face. ‘You look like a patchy cow, but a baby cow whose skin is not brown and white but pink and white and a bit wrinkly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She kissed her child, relieved and happy that Naomi had rationalised the way she looked now and wasn’t afraid to touch the affected areas.

  Leona continued to hide. Rosie winked at her when she peeked from the side of her dad’s leg. In response, Leona closed her eyes. Little Ostrich! Give her a bit of time, Rosie. It’s okay.

  Phil opened the back door and the girls climbed in. ‘Who fancies pizza?’ he asked.

  ‘Me! Me! Me!’ Naomi shouted, bouncing up and down on the seat.

  Leona buried her chin in her chest and kept her gaze pointing downwards.

  Phil started the engine and indicated.

  ‘They’ve had their hair cut.’ Rosie spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘Gerri said Daddy didn’t have time to do our hair in the morning and it was easier to get it cut off, so we did.’

  Rosie turned to the girls and smiled to show that it was fine, not wanting to alarm them or fight with their dad in front of them.

  ‘It feels weird, Mum. I can’t do bunches and when I shake my head I can’t feel it on my back.’

  ‘You look lovely. You both do. Very grown-up.’ She knew it would be hard to explain to anyone other than the mother of a little girl just how important their hair had been. She swallowed the sorrow, not wanting to taint any of their precious time together.

  ‘Who fancies Venicci’s?’ Phil shouted.

  ‘Me!’ Naomi yelled and even Leona managed to raise a half-smile.

  Rosie felt a spike of alienation, which persisted as they parked and then walked along a cobbled street at the back of High Street Kensington towards the little Italian restaurant that the girls were clearly familiar with. Naomi held her hand tightly, telling her how she could count to ten in French and going on to do just that, loudly. She stared at her daughter, who looked so much older without the tumble of baby curls around her face. Leona, too, looked more pointed, less rounded, as though she had grown up. Rosie didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘I’m sitting next to Mummy!’ Naomi shouted and pulled out one of two high-backed chairs.

  Leona climbed onto the one opposite her mum. Rosie could feel her staring at her, but when she looked towards her, Leona closed her eyes.

  A charming, portly, curly-haired man in a V-necked cashmere sweater and white shirt swooped over and slapped Phil on the back. ‘What’s going on here? You’ve traded in Miss Farmer already? I’ll tell her, you know!’ He laughed, winking at the girls to show it was all in jest, no harm done.

  Rosie again felt her cheeks flush at the fact that she was an interloper. She pictured the four of them visiting the place with such regularity that her kids knew where to sit and the owner felt comfortable coming over to make physical contact with her husband.

  ‘Can I have garlic bread and some Coke and a Hawaiian pizza. Please,’ Naomi said without looking at a menu. She beamed at the man.

  ‘Of course, bella. And for you, shy little one?’ He looked towards Leona.

  ‘She’ll take the same.’ Phil smiled at his new friend.

  Rosie registered the fact that she felt unable to answer for Leo, so quickly had she slipped from her role as primary carer. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself that it was temporary, the sense of loss was still acute.

  Opening the menu, she stared not at the food on offer but at the prices. Twenty-four ninety-nine, eighteen pounds, forty-three pounds a bottle... She considered the fourteen pounds in her purse, the remains of the money her dad had given her, looked up at the girls’ neat, short hair and then at Phil, the man to whom she was married, and her sadness threatened to crush her. This was a world that was unfamiliar to her and the thought that followed almost knocked the breath from her. They are leaving me behind and I can’t catch up even if I want to. I have a life of omelette and chips, eaten on my lap, of charity-shop bags and an uncertain future. I thought loving you was enough, but maybe it isn’t, maybe I was wrong.

  ‘Rosie?’ Phil prompted.

  She looked up to see all four faces turned towards her. The man was holding the others’ menus aloft, waiting.

  ‘Sorry. Just a coffee, please.’

  ‘Have pizza, Mummy!’ Naomi urged.

  ‘I’m not hungry, darling,’ she lied, ‘but a nice coffee would be great.’ She handed the tall menu back to the man and placed her hands in her lap.
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br />   ‘It was lovely to talk to you on the phone, Leo. And a little birdie told me that you lost a tooth?’ She bent her head low and caught her daughter’s eye.

  Leona opened her mouth to show her mum the gap where her tooth used to be.

  ‘Wow! That’s so grown-up. Did you have to tie it to a piece of string and then a door handle and get someone to slam the door? That’s what we used to say was the best way to get your teeth to fall out, but we didn’t really do it.’

  ‘It came out in my apple.’ Her response was almost inaudible.

  ‘Goodness me, you could have swallowed it!’ She gasped.

  ‘Mum...’ Naomi swivelled on her seat. ‘Gerri said that it was you that put the money under my pillow and not the tooth fairy, is that true?’

  Both girls were staring at her now, waiting for her response.

  ‘Well, sometimes there are things mummies and daddies do to make things exciting. You know, like when we used to build a tent in the lounge and eat our picnic in it. Or when we had pirate day and we could only use our pirate names.’

  ‘Aye aye, Captain Tipcott!’ Naomi showed she hadn’t forgotten.

  ‘Well, I guess it was a bit like that. We all pretended and it made us happy.’

  Leona continued to stare at her mum. ‘They sent Truffle away.’ And then her tears fell, like droplets of glass sliding down her perfect skin.

  ‘Don’t cry, Leo. Don’t cry, little one.’

  Rosie reached for her hand, but instead of taking it, Leona climbed down from her seat and walked round the table. Lifting her youngest child up onto her lap, Rosie held her fast, inhaling her scent and committing the feel of her to memory once again.

  ‘Oh, not this again.’ Phil sighed. ‘We’ve been over it so many times. It wasn’t fair on him. We travel and we’re out of the house all day and in the summer we’ll be away for months.’

  The girls ignored him, as if this justification had not only worn thin but did little to ease their loss.

  Rosie spoke over Leona’s head. ‘I think what is unfair is letting them fall in love with a pet, giving them the thing they had always wanted and then sending him away at a time when things were already new and uncertain for them.’