Can I Give My Husband Back?: A totally laugh out loud and uplifting page turner

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘Do you know that Elsa?’ asks Beth.

  ‘Never seen her before in my life.’

  ‘Lucy, it was a children’s event. Never mind that, you should generally always be wearing underwear.’

  No one won the money and performance contract in the end after today’s Frozen Fiesta Fracas. Probably rightly so. After a couple of men in Nordic dress split up the warring Elsas and the St John Ambulance tended to the cuts and bruises, the Elsas were called out onto the stage to apologise to the crowd and be told the prize money was being donated to charity. Lucy got a verbal caution from a policeman on duty there but also got two telephone numbers from audience members, so not a complete loss for her. She walks ahead of me now with the girls as we trek home. Naturally, she didn’t bring a change of clothes so it also made for an entertaining ride home on the Tube.

  ‘Isn’t your foof cold if you don’t wear pants?’ asks Iris.

  Beth nods and looks at Lucy. It’s a valid question, no one likes a cold foof.

  ‘I was in a rush this morning,’ she explains.

  ‘If you’re in a rush, you forget your phone, not your pants,’ my eldest explains and I laugh so hard that my breath fogs the air.

  ‘Is Olaf OK?’ I ask. ‘We should have invited him round?’

  ‘He’s fine. He had another gig this evening. He’s being Spiderman in Wandsworth.’

  ‘He could have borrowed that girl’s silly string.’ Beth giggles.

  Lucy gives her an evil. ‘All tricks and gimmicks. And I know that Elsa, she doesn’t just do kids’ parties dressed like that if you know what I mean? She likes a bit of snow on her.’

  Beth and I know exactly what she means, but I cock my head to one side to let her know she has my daughter’s hands in hers.

  ‘And Leo. You invited Leo today?’

  ‘He was there?’ she says, looking interested.

  ‘I thought you told me you weren’t going after school run dads anymore?’

  ‘I like the school run dads. They’re more grateful for the attention.’

  ‘Why are you saying dads in plural?’ Please don’t be shagging multiple dads, Lucy.

  Beth glances upon the two of us. Don’t start again. Not in the cold when one of us isn’t wearing knickers.

  I suddenly bump into Iris, who stops in her tracks.

  ‘Mummy, there’s someone at our front door!’ exclaims Violet.

  Lucy is saved my lecture for now. All three of us sisters look up but the street light doesn’t quite let us see this person’s face. I jog up to greet them.

  ‘Linda?’

  I smile to see her, the girls running past me to say hello and into her arms.

  ‘Granny Linda! Why are you here?’ asks Violet.

  ‘I thought you weren’t in.’

  Lucy catches up, looking suspiciously at her with a snarl. She looks back at Beth to join in so I’ll have some girl gang muscle to prop me up. You can ram her with the buggy and I’ll summon up some snow.

  ‘We weren’t. Why are you here?’ Lucy asks. I put an arm to her to try and calm her down, realising she wasn’t here this morning.

  ‘You mentioned a cup of tea,’ she tells me.

  She looks at me with sad eyes. I go to approach her but Lucy is quick to get in between us. We don’t fraternise with the enemy, sis. She turns her back to her.

  ‘There’s a perfectly good Costa five minutes down the road, she can get her tea there.’

  But Beth rolls past us with Joe in his buggy and I see her studying Linda’s face. It’s often the way: Lucy gesticulating with wild anger in a corner but Beth is different in her approach, dripping in empathy, knowing when someone is hurt and withdrawn.

  ‘You should come in, Linda,’ she says. Lucy looks surprised. Beth turns to me. ‘We haven’t had dinner. She could join us for dinner?’

  I can see Linda’s eyes glazing over. I mean I was just up for tea but I see why Beth does this. It’s her birthday for a start but there’s something about Linda’s expression that reads loneliness and Beth knows all too well how that feels at the minute. My heart hurts to see my sister respond so openly to her. I nod my head.

  ‘Come in,’ I say. I realise there’s a conversation we need to finish having, the need to make some sort of amends. We all pile up the steps as Lucy glares at Beth who shakes her head at her.

  ‘Come and see my science project, Granny… it’s in the kitchen,’ says Iris as she gets through the door, taking her hand and leading her through the house. I watch them tentatively. All the other girls (and Joe) are perched on the stairs, removing winter coats and shoes.

  ‘That was the best day ever!’ Violet proclaims. I worry if this means there was entertainment had from watching a real-life fight. ‘Would you do my party, Aunty Lucy?’

  ‘Anything for you, chicken nugget.’

  She looks curiously at her. ‘You and mummy like your food names.’

  ‘We do. Anyway, talking of food, we all voted on the Tube and we all want Domino’s for dinner, Mum,’ Lucy says in my direction. Beth looks up and nods.

  Violet giggles. ‘She’s not your mummy.’

  ‘We wish she was… ’ says Lucy.

  I laugh. Violet scurries away to find her grandmother and I spy them hugging through the kitchen door. I hope Linda won’t mind a stuffed crust.

  ‘Is that a good idea?’ Lucy asks Beth.

  ‘You weren’t here this morning, she was pretty cut up. Give her a break,’ says Beth.

  ‘I’ll break her legs if she’s here to cause a scene.’

  ‘Lucy, she’s like seventy,’ Beth retorts in horror.

  ‘Seventy three,’ I add, horrified but secretly curious as to how Lucy would beat up an OAP in my house.

  ‘Can I lick her garlic bread before I give it to her?’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ I reply.

  She pouts in disappointment, making Joe laugh.

  ‘They like to spoil my fun, JoeJoe. You know I’m looking out for you both, right? You’re both so civil and want to play nice but sometimes, you need someone with a bit of bitch fire for when it gets ugly. This is when I need Meg.’

  I look through the kitchen door again to hear peals of laughter.

  ‘And what sort of merry hell is Linda going to unleash on us?’

  ‘I just don’t trust someone who spawned something as horrific as Simon.’

  ‘Mum spawned you. I trust her,’ adds Beth.

  ‘Such a cow,’ she replies.

  We turn to face Lucy, sat on the fifth step up. Oh, Elsa. What a sister you are. The one we’d all call if we woke up next to a dead prostitute or got our tangas in a twist. But you’re a very good Elsa. I’m also really glad I’m not your mother. She sees us gazing and flashes us, laughing.

  ‘Put your bloody minge away,’ Beth pleads, shielding Joe’s eyes.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘That’s how you catch stuff,’ I tell her.

  ‘That’s how you catch dick.’

  ‘You’re awful.’

  ‘It’s why you all love me.’

  We don’t reply.

  Sixteen

  679 days since Meg told me I was better than Simon/that wanker

  ‘Well, the X-ray looks good, ECG readings are also stable. Drugs are working, let’s see you in six months?’

  Lewis sits in a chair opposite in an electric blue dinosaur hoodie but this isn’t the lad who was huddled in the floor of my kitchen a month ago. He’s back in the room with all the warmth and energy that I always associated with him. His parents are with him and there is something about them that makes me jealous, the ease with which they both sit here in each other’s company without animosity or tension. I guess not all marriages fracture so violently. I feel like I need to ask them for tips. When the tide turned in my relationship, it felt like a tsunami completely submerging me.

  ‘OK. How’s Jag?’ Lewis asks, hopefully.

  His parents look confused.

  ‘Last time Lewis was here, we bumped
into a man I was dating…’

  ‘Was? What happened? He seemed nice?’ he enquires sadly.

  ‘Lewis! We spoke about being nosey. I’m so sorry Doctor C,’ exclaims his dad.

  ‘It’s fine. It just wasn’t meant to be.’

  ‘My dad has a brother who’s single. He’s a tree surgeon?’

  I laugh, heartily to his parents’ relief. I think about Lucy and all the tree-based sex jokes she could make about stumps and wood.

  ‘You are sweet to think of me but I am going to stay single for a while.’

  Lewis pouts for a moment. ‘Well, his name is Adam and he’s on Facebook, isn’t he Dad?’

  Mum shakes her head at me. ‘We are so sorry.’

  ‘Never apologise to me about this one. Get to reception and we’ll book you in for that review.’

  I’m rewarded with a Lewis hug.

  Look after yourself, kid. I let them take their leave with a nurse and see Maddie stood at the door of the room. It’s one of those days where paperwork has caught up on both of us so she’s staying longer to assist.

  ‘How is Lewis?’ she asks.

  ‘Cheeky as ever.’

  ‘And all the stuff about his parents?’

  ‘Sorted, I think. Or at least they’ve found a way for it to work. Look at them, you wouldn’t know they’re divorced, eh?’

  I shake my head as we see them head for the main entrance, still a family, still connected, just people trying to get along. Can it really be that simple? Maddie and I head for a lift.

  ‘It’s just easier to be divorced these days,’ Maddie adds. ‘Only twenty years ago, it was a dirty word. Divorce was acrimonious and filled with hate. Now people are braver when they know their relationships aren’t working. They don’t stay in them, unhappy. They move on. Life is too short.’

  I study Maddie’s face. ‘You sounded like Oprah there for a second.’

  ‘That was actually off Loose Women.’

  We both laugh. She grabs my arm and gives me a side hug.

  ‘And why didn’t you tell me about Jag?’

  ‘Beth?’

  ‘Lucy, who heard it from Beth.’

  The protective huddle have all been chatting, I see.

  ‘I mean I officially hate him now. If I see him in the cafeteria, I’ll throw coffee at him,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t do that. The burns unit is busy enough as it is.’

  I see the guilt in her face. She set us up, she tried to make this happen but none of this is her fault. She was just trying to get me to dip my toes in the dating waters again. I hug her, letting her know none of this is on her. On paper, he was a safe bet. But then on paper I guess everyone is the best version of themselves. Nowhere on paper do I have to say that I’m a bit of a dweeb, have an irrational fear of pigeons and am wildly insecure.

  When we get to the top floor of the hospital, there’s a steely quiet punctuated by empty offices and the hum of everyone’s computers on sleep mode. It’s how Maddie and I like things. It’s calm and we can get the best, non-stained mugs in the kitchen and scavenge the fridge for good snacks.

  ‘Tea?’ she asks.

  ‘Always.’

  I head for my office. Sometimes Dan Carver’s wife makes cake and leaves it there for everyone to help themselves. I hope she’s made cake. I better check in on the girls. And think about what train I should aim to get home. I turn the corner. But there’s a figure stood by my door, silent. I look up. Oh. You.

  ‘Emma?’

  I nod. ‘You’re Susie.’

  ‘I am.’

  I have no reaction. I exhale deeply and just try and compose myself. This is how people get killed. Is she here to kill me? However, the expression on her face is different to the one I’d seen in the M&S Food Hall that day. None of that hatred but more a look of resignation, of fatigue.

  ‘Were you just headed home?’

  She’s in light pink scrubs with a large padded coat over the top, a few lanyards around her neck, and her hair pulled back from her face. She’s very pretty, dusky blonde hair, with clear skin and pale blue eyes. She leans against the door frame and instinct takes over.

  ‘You look knackered. Come in. Have a seat.’

  I’m not sure why I am encouraging her to stay, but she obviously came here for a reason and I think she may be too pregnant to actually kill me. I unlock the office door and she waddles in and sits in front of my desk where I normally consult patients.

  ‘That day at the M&S, that was you, wasn’t it?’ she asks.

  ‘It was.’

  Was that all she wanted to know? Or maybe she’s here to parade herself in front of me. Look at me carrying your ex-husband’s baby. I’m going to be a stepmother to your girls and they will like me more.

  ‘How far along are you?’ I ask, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘Thirty-six weeks. Today was my last day.’

  ‘My girls tell me it’s another boy.’

  ‘It is.’

  She carries her bump neatly to the front, not all around her hips and backside like I did. She adjusts herself in her seat.

  ‘I’m sorry, Susie. I don’t know why you’re here… Did Simon send you?’

  ‘Oh god, no. It’s just…’

  And that’s when her eyes glaze over and she struggles to hold in the tears. I hand her the box of tissues from my desk and she takes one. She was sleeping with my husband when I was still married to him. I should feel nothing for her but spite. However, I also know that expression. That one where you realise you’ve been totally duped, of feeling lost and broken.

  ‘You’ll never guess what? Someone left some Hobnobs!’ I look up as Maddie dances into my office, holding biscuits aloft. She spies Susie and then stops. ‘Emma?’ she asks. I look at her pleadingly. The girl is broken. Give her a minute. I mean, leave the biscuits, but I’m OK. I nod reassuringly to her as she puts a mug of tea down on my desk, eyeing Susie up.

  ‘I’ll just be outside if you need me.’ She edges away but leaves the door open and I see her hovering. Susie obviously knows she’s a marked woman and proceeds in whispers through her tears.

  ‘In the past weeks, some things have unravelled. Things that Simon has said to me, about you, about your marriage. We had an epic row last night about it all, his mother hates me. So I guess I just needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth.’

  She’s referred to me as a horse but I’ll forgive her for the moment. I respond with a furrowed brow.

  ‘When did you separate? Officially?’ she asks.

  ‘I asked him to leave on Christmas Day 2017.’

  She catches her breath a little.

  ‘He told me you weren’t together at that point. That you were separated but living together for the sake of the girls.’

  I laugh under my breath, she’s right, technically, but it would have been nice to have been informed by Simon that that was the official arrangement while I was trying to flog our dying marriage.

  ‘What else did he say?’ I ask.

  ‘He said that if you ever found out about Oliver then you’d ruin him and take his girls and all his money. He said you called my son a bastard.’

  ‘I found out about Oliver at a parents’ evening, about six weeks ago.’

  Her tears flow freely now.

  ‘Linda. When did Linda know about you?’ I ask.

  ‘I was introduced as a girlfriend right after your decree nisi went through. But we always kept Oliver from her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Simon told me to. He said you had this fierce divorce lawyer who’d jeopardise access to your girls if anyone knew about him…’

  The fiercest thing about George were the patterns in his knitwear.

  ‘So you kept that poor boy a secret?’

  I don’t think my sanctimony sits well with her. I guess it’s already dawned on her that she abetted the situation and allowed Simon to control what the world saw of this boy. Her face reads regret.

  ‘He lied to both of us,’ I
say. We should sit here and possibly link hands that we are joined by this tragedy but I don’t know what to say to her. Apologies feel a little misplaced.

  ‘What did he say about our marriage then?’

  ‘He said it was all for show. That you weren’t sleeping together, that you’d fallen out of love.’

  To hear those words out loud, even now, feels like a barb in my side. Were we ever in love? Maybe he never really loved me and needed something more. Something like the girl sat right in front of me. I can’t respond to anything she’s just said because we literally had sex the night before I kicked him out and she doesn’t need to hear that. Even just piecing this all together is sad enough for her.

  ‘Where are you living at the moment?’

  ‘Ollie and I have a small house in Brentford. Simon’s going to sell his flat and we’ll look for somewhere together. I think…’

  Is that what he told her? This girl is not me and her experience is not mine but every ounce of me wants me to tell her, Run. Run as fast as you can from that man.

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘I can’t process anything right now. I just can’t believe he lied, to me, his mother. I’m so sorry because he made you out to be this horrible controlling bitch and all the while…’

  ‘It was him?’

  As awful as I feel, it dawns on me that all this time, she was the other woman. She lived off false promises and under some veil of secrecy. In the competition of who has it worse at the moment then I think she may just have inched it.

  ‘Can I ask a question…? Has he proposed? What are your plans?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s not said much. I love him. I… I think he loves me too.’

  ‘Is he faithful?’ The words don’t mean to slip out but it dawns on me that if things are unravelling then maybe we need to get that ball of string and just find the end bit, let her really work this out.