‘We’re a bit opposite, aren’t we?’ I ask. I am safe when it comes to clothes. I like a shift silhouette, a medium indigo jean, a sensibly cut shirt that washes well. Lucy knows as much.
‘I think he’d be a good influence on you. He’s not too London try-hard, I’ve met plenty of those. He just has a style about him. He’d push you out of your comfort zone.’
‘I like my comfort zone. What is an FKA Twigs? Is that an outdoorsy woodland thing?’
Lucy rolls her eyes at me. ‘British singer. Very cool.’
I don’t look convinced. I am many things in this world but cool is not a label you’d use when it comes to me and I’ve never really been that bothered about that.
‘I could help? I mean I tried with the last date but you still went looking like a Greek widow. We could buy you some cool threads, it’s all in the accessories.’
‘You bought those weird knickers for my first date. I’m not sure I trust your judgement.’
She pulls a face at me. Lucy was on the different end of the scale when it came to cool. She has things pierced, tattoos spread around her person and a mid-twenties figure that can carry off cropped tops and dungarees as displayed this evening. If I dressed like that, I’d look like some middle-aged dairy farmer.
‘I like the name too. It’d be an upgrade: Dr Emma Kohli. You’d sound worldly and global.’
I’m confused that she’s got that far. I don’t think I’ll ever get married again after what I went through. I don’t say that out loud though – she seems happy to imagine my future on my behalf.
‘He looks like he’d be fun in bed too.’
She always goes there.
‘Because he has nice trainers?’
‘Because he looks like fun?’
She brings up sex a lot because she’s Lucy: she’s brash and has no conversational limits. I feel she thinks her purpose is to not only feed me but revive a pretty dead sex life too. She can sense I don’t want to talk about such things but of course, that doesn’t stop her.
‘Did you reply to that man in Wandsworth?’
She’s referring to Giovanni. You see Lucy had signed me up to Tinder in an attempt to pique my interest in men again. It was after a boozy Chinese takeaway a few months after the separation when I joked that a spring roll was the most phallic thing I’d had in my mouth since 2016. I remember a dumpling rolled out of Lucy’s mouth in shock. It was, therefore, how I’d met Phil the Crier and look how well that went. Giovanni was her attempt to lure me back into online dating; he was a plumber from Wandsworth. He was lovely to look at but I was reticent to indulge in relations with a man who thought pictures of oiled abs and an erect penis could replace bad grammar.
‘He couldn’t string a sentence together, Luce.’
‘But it was such a pretty willy, and those cheekbones. Don’t have to talk to him, just fuck him.’
‘You’re so crass.’
She ignores my insult and continues to stalk Jag. Lucy thought that was the answer to all of this. Shag Simon out of mind. Replace him with sculpted plumbers from Wandsworth, heartbroken IT experts and soft-skinned anaesthetists with trendy shoes; their variety of penises healing my heartbreak. However, she forgets that sex was probably the reason I was alone. I’d often questioned whether it all ended with Simon because I was terrible in bed. Maybe I wasn’t attractive enough. Maybe I didn’t provide what he needed so he looked for it elsewhere. It’s a thought that niggles. Of course, it really ended because Simon was a shit but it meant that my sexual urges had flatlined and I was reticent, if not terrified, to repeat the experience with another man.
The sleeping beast on the bench next to me suddenly twitches. ‘Crapbags, did I fall asleep? How long was I asleep for?’ Beth sits up and reaches out for a wedge of buttered bread, stuffing it straight in her mouth.
‘Fifteen minutes tops?’
She reaches for her phone and seems to be searching for a text. ‘What did I miss?’ she asks, grateful that the baby is still asleep.
‘Ems has been set up with an Asian dude with a cool name.’ Lucy pushes her phone over to her to inspect.
Beth narrows her eyes. ‘That’s a good smile,’ she notes.
‘And we found her a fit Italian plumber in Wandsworth but Ems won’t shag him.’
‘Stop forcing Tinder on her. Have you not met Emma? She won’t even buy things out of a catalogue because she doesn’t trust the process,’ Beth says, shaking her head.
‘Sitting right here?’ I say. I get my phone out to open Tinder and show Beth Giovanni’s picture.
Beth’s eyes widen. ‘Geez, I’d have a go on him. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.’
Beth giggles and places her head on my shoulder.
‘The last time I had sex was nearly two years ago on Christmas Eve, girls. Do your maths, work it out.’ The next day, my marriage collapsed.
Both of them huddle into me like penguins.
‘Which is why you just need to get over yourself. Why don’t you go and shag some randoms and remember what sex is like? It can be fun and make you feel good,’ remarks Lucy.
‘Because I’m not you?’
She shrugs her shoulders.
‘And from all these men that you have me talking to, it would seem that sex has changed very much. I don’t understand all these acronyms and everyone just wants to take me up the arse.’
Beth and Lucy erupt into cackles at hearing me in my white shirt buttoned up to the top speak so frankly. We’ll thank the wine for that.
‘What does VWE mean?’ I ask.
‘Very well-endowed. Show me this man immediately,’ demands Lucy.
I shake my head, teasingly. ‘Not that I’d know what to do with him either.’
Lucy looks concerned for me now. She knows that Meg, our eldest sister, and Beth were the London sorts who had partied hard and got their youth’s worth of sexual experiences. She herself, still indulges in such escapades when the girls aren’t here. The last was a young man called D’Sean who I met at 5 a.m. in his pants, rearranging his tackle by the light of the fridge and tucking into my Greek yoghurt. I just hadn’t had those adventures. I’d studied. A lot. It wasn’t because I didn’t like sex. I guess it was because I’d always had a steady boyfriend who would become a husband who then became a cheater.
‘You’ve had an orgasm, right?’
‘LUCY!’ exclaims Beth.
I’ve enough wine in my system to talk about this now. ‘I have.’ My response doesn’t convince. As you can imagine with someone like Simon, my orgasms were always an afterthought.
‘Where’s the most interesting place you’ve had sex?’ Lucy asks.
‘York?’
Beth giggles. ‘Nah, like in a car, outside?’
‘We did it in the hospital once. In an on-call room.’
‘In a bed?’ asks Lucy.
Both sisters look a little disappointed. I don’t want to know the ridiculous places these two have had intercourse, sullying the family name. Beth, at least, seems more sympathetic to my plight.
‘Well, maybe the anaesthetist is a good idea. You can ease slowly into something, take your time?’
I grab her hand, she gets it. Lucy has taken to scrolling through my past conversations on Tinder.
‘This man wanted to spit on you,’ she says. ‘Like in your mouth. That’s even beyond what I’d do.’
I don’t really want to know what Lucy would get up to.
Beth is horrified. ‘That’s how people get ill,’ she comments.
‘You see why I don’t think it’s the best platform to build up a dalliance?’
‘Dalliance? Christ, you sound like Austen…’ Lucy says, resigned. ‘You don’t have to court them and move to an estate in the country, just get your rocks off. Do what Simon did?’
As soon as she says the words, Beth grimaces. Oh, Lucy. We do love her for her front and audacity but sometimes the words echo with naivety, littl
e one.
I take a large gulp of wine. ‘Do what Simon did? Lie, cheat and hurt people? I do believe that’s not my style.’
Lucy and Beth both sit there silently.
‘I just…’ starts Lucy. ‘I hate to think that man has the upper hand. That he’s going to hold you back forever. All those years you wasted on him.’
Beth looks like she doesn’t have the energy to stop the fight that may be potentially unravelling here.
‘Are you saying my girls were a waste of time?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I know I did everything wrong. I was stupid and wasted nearly a quarter of my life with him but I hope you look at those girls and know I tried to stick it out for them.’
Beth holds a hand in the air. ‘You did nothing wrong.’
Lucy nods in agreement.
‘I did. I ignored him and pretended it wasn’t happening. I should have called him out far sooner. I guess I just wasn’t brave enough.’
Lucy’s face reads sadness. ‘You cut out hearts of real people every day and save lives. You are the bravest person I know. I just won’t let you self-flagellate over that man. You’ve made the break so now you find something for you. And it starts with some decent cock.’
‘Luce, just leave her be. She’ll have sex when she’s ready, not as a way to get back at him.’
‘Exactly.’ I put a large dollop of dinner in my mouth. The fact is I’m not ready for random sex just yet; the thought of a real-life penis in front of me actually terrifies.
‘I’m soz, Ems. I just want you to be happy,’ confesses Lucy. She comes over to hug me in a baby Joe sandwich.
‘You think lying there naked and being spat on by an accountant would make me happy?’
‘Who knows? You might like it.’
Like I say, the girl has a way of making us all laugh.
‘Pour me more wine, that would make me happy. And let’s plan this party…’
‘What party?’ asks Beth.
‘For you, you old slag. It’s gonna kick off big style,’ Lucy replies in some strange patois accent throwing up what looks like a London gang sign with her hands.
‘I don’t want a big—’
‘Yes, you do,’ Lucy continues. ‘We all need a fuck-off big party to cheer us all up. Oooh, can I theme it? Can I make it a Magic Mike party?’
‘You want a magician? At the party? She’s a bit old for a magician?’ I say.
Both sisters look at me strangely.
‘I mean, how about some breaded prawns instead? Sausage rolls?’
Four
628 days since Lucy threw Simon’s phone out of a window, voiding his insurance
I awake to my phone ringing and the sunlight streaming through the cracks of my curtains. I don’t like Saturdays like these. I’m not working and the girls are with Simon so everything feels quiet. It’s the time I feel loneliness deep in my core. I miss the girls piling in here and us having cuddles and catch ups over the week just gone. I don’t look at my phone before answering it so am shocked to hear the other voice on the end of the line.
‘Ems, it’s me.’ He always says this. I know exactly who it is but the familiarity breeds contempt and a touch of morning bile.
‘Simon.’ I sit upright for a moment as I think why he would be calling. This could be about the girls, are they OK? But he once called me because he’d forgotten his banking password so I put little past him.
‘I’m sorry to have to dump this on you but I’m ill. I think it’s a virus, I’ve woken up with a temperature of 39.5. I’ve been feeling it in my throat all week. Mum is away. I can’t look after the girls like this.’
He states everything in facts. There are no requests or questions or enquiries, just the plain assumption that I will have nothing else better to do with my time. He’s not wrong. I was going to do laundry, iron and read but he still should have the courtesy to at least ask.
‘There’s some pony party too. I can’t handle it. When can you come round?’
I pause so he can try and relay some sense of politeness in his manner. He doesn’t, obviously.
‘An hour? The party starts at ten from what I remember. Did you find the gift? It was in her backpack.’
‘I’ll look for it. It’s number ten, you know where I am. I’ll bleep you in.’
He hangs up. My bedroom door opens and Lucy appears dressed like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin.
‘I thought I heard your voice. All OK?’
She sashays in to look at herself in my bedroom mirror then perches on my bed in her harem pants. This is Lucy’s weekend job – she’s employed by a kids’ party company to appear as Disney princesses, unicorns and fairies and dole out two hours’ worth of games, songs and dance. She’s brilliant at it; kids loved her energy but she also told me it’s a fantastic way to get numbers off fit single dads. Today, she’s gone heavy on the winged eyeliner and shows off an enviably flat midriff. I quite like the pointy silver shoes though.
‘Party?’
‘No, Tesco. Obviously a party…’
‘That was Simon. He’s ill. I think I’ll have to pick up the girls.’
‘Oh, what about his mum?’
‘She’s away. It’s fine. I had nothing planned really.’
‘I’d help but I’m doing this party with Darren and I have to get there early.’
‘Is he Aladdin? Do you have a rug? Are you going to find a whole new world?’
She pulls a face at my mocking. ‘No, this lot wanted a genie so I have to go and do full blue body paint. Does this mean you’ll have to…?’
‘Go to his place, yup.’
She stands there, a little lost at what to do. ‘I can ring Mum, she can go with you? Or Beth?’
I shake my head. ‘Go, I’m fine.’
‘One last thing…’
‘Yes?’
‘Can I borrow that giant tiger in the girls’ room?’
We both describe the end of our marriage differently. Simon tells people I threw him out but really he left of his own volition. My family all ganged up on him that Christmas. The ongoing drama involved mince pie vomit, having to lock my eldest sister, Meg, in a bathroom so she wouldn’t physically kill him and a visit to A&E with my mother. I didn’t go home that evening and stayed at my mum’s and then sister’s until the New Year but when I ventured back into our family home, he had left. He had packed a bag of clothes and sent his mother over in mid-January to collect the rest. Apparently, to do that much was generous. It would have been the perfect time to have started a blazing bonfire of his belongings with an effigy of him in the middle according to Lucy.
Three months later, he started renting his flat in Kew that he eventually bought. The girls always made it sound so glamorous, the fact there was a lift and that you could put your rubbish down a communal chute but I’d never seen the place before. I hadn’t had the need. We’d agreed to do all changeovers at our house and it’s not like he was going to invite me around for dinner any time soon. Come round for a coq au vin. We can talk about how you hate me and then I can die via indigestion.
As I drive into the car park now, there’s a mix of Audis and BMWs and I recognise his motor instantly with its personalised number plate: DR CHADZ 1. I remember when he came home with that car. I joked the number plate should have read TWAT100 instead. He responded that night by going out, shagging a random he picked up in a hotel bar and then letting me find out via our credit card bill. He could be cruel like that, to the point that he wanted me to react, to leave. It became a competition to see who’d be the first to break, who’d fail our children first. I didn’t want it to be me.
I approach the front door with caution and key in 1 and 0 and wait for a response.
‘Hello?’ calls out a little voice.
‘Iris? It’s me, Mummy. Can you let me in?’
‘Violet, it’s Mama. She came!’
There’s trepidation in her voice that I wouldn’t have come which throws me a little. S
imon always was a horrific patient; I wouldn’t put the girls through that. She buzzes me in and I head towards the lifts. Breathe, Emma. As soon as the lift doors open, little faces are there to meet me and they throw themselves at me in a three-way cuddle. They seem anxious. Did they think I didn’t want to be here? That I wouldn’t come when my kids needed me? Relations between Simon and I had been civil in front of the girls, at least.
‘You better come. We’re really worried about Daddy.’
‘How so?’
They hold my hand, leading me through the front door of the flat. ‘I drew the curtains and made our beds,’ says Iris as I scan the room slowly. There’s a tremendous view over the Thames but the decor is pretty plain and I reckon came as standard with the flat. In fact that’s what it feels like, a show flat. There are some dull prints on the wall, no photos, a palette of grey, stone and black. I’m not sure what I expected. When I heard that Simon had bought himself a bachelor pad, I assumed it would have a glow-up bar, a sex swing, and for it to be sheathed head to toe in leather.
I take my shoes off as that’s what I always do and Violet pulls me towards their room. He’s made an effort in here at least. It’s a big room with a river view, there’s a bunk bed draped in fairy lights, spotty purple wallpaper and angora soft furnishings.
I smile. ‘Well done for tidying up. Have you got your rucksacks?’
I have the urge to grab and run but Iris seems more concerned than usual. ‘Please can you check on Daddy? I got him a glass of water but he’s really hot.’
‘Maybe he just needs to sleep?’
‘Please?’
Violet appears at my leg. ‘We don’t have to go to the party. We could all stay here and look after Daddy.’
I look at her little expectant face. There’s no chance that I’m going to stay but the looks on their faces tell me what I need to do. Crap. I guess I did take an oath to do no harm. Taking a deep breath, I let Iris lead me to his room and I knock lightly on the door.
‘Simon?’
When I enter, the curtains are closed and packets of ibuprofen and empty bottles of energy drinks litter the floor. He lies spread-eagled in the centre of the bed in just his pants. This is the first time I’ve seen him in such a state of undress since our split and it jolts the system. He moans lightly. Our daughters peer through the door with looks of distress.
Can I Give My Husband Back?: A totally laugh out loud and uplifting page turner Page 6
