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

by Kristen Bailey

  ‘Meg mentioned something. Like kissing girls or sleeping with them?’

  ‘Who knows? A man has already approached her on the street thinking she was on the game.’

  I flare my nostrils in horror. ‘What on earth was she wearing?’

  ‘We were off to a BDSM night.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Don’t ask…’ she says, laughing. It’s so lovely to see her laugh.

  ‘And Lucy told me about the latest instalment with Satan.’

  ‘Is that what all you sisters are calling him now?’

  ‘Yes. Have you told George?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘Most definitely. This changes everything from a legal standing.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘If he has other dependants then it becomes an issue of finances. He’s not married to this Susie but what happens if he died tomorrow?’

  ‘You’d all throw a party.’

  ‘Well, yes but it should be clear how assets would be divided and also what rights Oliver and this new baby would have. Does the new baby have a name?’

  I pause before I say it. ‘Louis.’

  ‘Your middle name is Louise.’ It was no coincidence. According to Maddie, Susie cried all the way to the wards and once she got there, the staff were a little worried she was suffering from some sort of post-partum breakdown. But then something changed. Simon tried to visit and she raised merry hell to make sure he couldn’t get on the wards. It was quite a to-do apparently. My ex-husband threw all his weight around involving police and hospital board members but the ward supported and protected Susie all the way. That’s nurse code for you. I got a card and flowers the week after thanking me and introducing me to my name sake.

  Grace gives me a look that Beth, Lucy and my mother gave me. Don’t get involved. It was gracious of me to help deliver the baby but that’s as far as it should go.

  ‘Get in touch with George,’ she says. ‘Document all the new information that you have because that should be on record. You know why he kept a lot of this from people right?’

  ‘Because he’s a twat and he’s worried about how he’ll look?’

  ‘Hun, this is all legal collateral. If you wanted to fight for sole custody then you could drag him through the courts with this. You could argue he’s reckless, a danger to your girls, a pathological liar. I bet if you looked through his finances, he’s probably hiding earnings and assets from you. You could properly take him down with this if you wanted.’

  That was never my intention. It took the sisters long enough to get me to leave him but I wanted to do it quietly and without the show and fireworks. I wanted my girls. I wanted this house. What she says makes perfect sense though. All at once, I miss the sister with the logical train of thought.

  ‘Continue to protect yourself, get George on the case. Would you like me to talk to him?’

  ‘On your holiday?’

  ‘It’s not a holiday though, is it?’

  We pause for a moment. A voice pipes in from the background. ‘Oi, London bitch!’

  Grace turns around and rolls her eyes at our little sister.

  ‘You should have come with, Ems. I could have brought you to a sex club…’

  ‘Errrm, no. That’s how you catch things.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have been anything worse than what you would have caught off Stuart Morton,’ says Lucy.

  Grace turns back to the screen and looks at me in horror. ‘You slept with Meg’s brother-in-law?’

  ‘Yup, me and Ems are penis pals now.’

  I say nothing but I do hope my youngest sister catches a dose of Dutch crabs for that revelation.

  ‘I thought you were dating an Asian fella?’

  ‘I am.’

  It feels strange to say that out loud. Are we dating? Are we seeing each other? I feel too old to have a boyfriend but too square to have a lover. He shall be my man-friend.

  Lucy eyes me curiously. ‘Have you slept with him yet?

  ‘Why are you so desperate for her to have sex?’ asks Grace.

  ‘Before Stuart Morton, she hadn’t had sex in almost two years, Gracie. Your hymen can grow back after that long, you know?’

  ‘It can’t actually,’ I say with some medical authority.

  ‘At least prepare your bush for when the moment happens,’ Lucy tells me.

  ‘Yes, I shaved it all off this morning.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘No, I have not.’

  At that point, two little people run into the room and jump into my lap. ‘What bush does mummy need to cut?’ asks Violet, waving at the screen, Lucy blowing her all the kisses.

  ‘There’s a bush I’ve seen near your house, totally out of control,’ says Lucy.

  Grace tries hard not to break into laughter.

  ‘You should have a tidy bush like that woman who lives across the road, she trims hers every day,’ Violet continues.

  ‘That’s because her husband works and she stays at home so has time to do stuff like that.’

  Lucy shakes her head at me.

  ‘When are you coming back, Aunty Gracie?’

  ‘Soon piglets.’

  ‘We miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too.’

  Damn her being away, but it’s something she has to do. I get that.

  ‘Don’t give her too much grief, Luce,’ I say.

  ‘Moi? Never.’

  ‘Mum and the gang will be here soon for lunch, you want to say hello?’ I ask them both. They shake their heads in unison and grin smugly.

  ‘Good luck with that, tell them we said hi,’ they chant in unison. ‘Au revoir London!’

  You cows.

  We all wave at the screen as it fades to black, the girls snuggled into me.

  ‘Your lunch smells nice, Mummy,’ V says, sitting on my lap, her palms covered in colouring pen.

  ‘And why have you painted yourself?’ I ask.

  ‘So I can be Iron Man?’ This makes perfect sense. I kiss her palms in the hope she won’t kill me with her lasers. ‘What time are Nanny and Pops coming round?’ she continues.

  ‘Soon. Did you make your beds?’ Violet nods but I look to the ceiling and shake my head. ‘I can see them from here…’ Violet looks up. This will always be my best trick.

  Iris knows better and giggles. ‘You don’t have X-ray eyes, Mama!’

  ‘And how do you know this?’ I joke.

  ‘Because Daddy said so,’ she says.

  Damn him for stealing my best joke. She gives me the same look that Simon often used when I was attempting to be funny. How ridiculous that I can love these little girls so entirely even when they constantly remind me of someone who I hate with such bilious rage that I’d happily let him be eaten alive by rabid wolves. Iris comes over and we bury each other in a hug sandwich.

  ‘Mummy, can we ask you a question?’ asks Violet.

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  Iris looks reticent but Violet doesn’t seem to have that same filter. ‘Can you ask Daddy what happened with Susie?’

  I take a breath as her name is mentioned. I wasn’t even sure if Simon knew that I helped deliver that baby. ‘What did Daddy say happened?’

  ‘He said that they weren’t friends and we won’t see her and Oliver anymore?’

  Both of them look confused but sad by the revelation. ‘And we don’t even know if she had her baby. Daddy won’t talk about it.’

  Damn you, Simon. What has he told these girls? That him and Susie just met for play dates? That Oliver was just an occasional friend? This boy is a sibling. I look at the black screen where my siblings’ faces once were. Iris and Violet link arms in front of me. They’ve always been close, I don’t doubt for a second that’s how they got through the last couple of years. I would hear their voices whispering in their bedroom at night and sometimes sit in the hallway hearing their chatter, their worries, their fears, sobbing quietly at their conversations.

  ‘I’m not sure where Susie is,’ I say u
nconvincingly, ‘but maybe I can ask Daddy?’

  ‘Can you?’ asks Violet, hopefully. ‘What do you think they called the baby? I said they should call it Juan.’

  ‘That’s an interesting name…’ I say, smiling.

  Iris looks at me confused. ‘You’d really talk to Daddy?’

  Iris has always observed the details of our divorce a little more intently. Every time I handed the girls over to him, she looked hopeful. Maybe we could just hug it out and her world would be just as it was again.

  ‘He’s your daddy, of course I will. Do you miss Susie? Oliver?’ Violet nods, Iris looks like she doesn’t want to upset me. ‘She seemed nice?’ I say.

  ‘Was she Daddy’s girlfriend?’ asks Iris. Violet seems shocked by the revelation.

  ‘I think she was.’ Both of them are quiet. I hate this, fracturing their thoughts on the world and how the two people they love most are walking away from each other in different directions. Iris is quiet; I think that she always guessed that much, but you can see her trying to piece together parts of that puzzle, just like we all have. Damn you, Simon, for making our little girl do this. Violet is still bathing in the revelation.

  ‘So that means they’ve broken up?’ she asks.

  ‘I guess so.’

  They hold hands and I am suddenly cast back to a bench in a park a few weeks back where my little sister did the same to me. I think about two little brothers out there in London intrinsically linked to my girls through no fault of their own. I think about the four of them taking on the world. I click on the laptop and find an email from Susie. I open the photo attached.

  ‘This is Louis, Susie’s new baby.’

  ‘She had the baby!’ Violet squeals. ‘He looks like a puppy!’

  Probably not what anyone wants their baby to be compared to but I smile to see her excitement.

  ‘Louis and Oliver are your brothers.’

  Although this feels like quite the bombshell, they seem to quietly process the information. I hold them extra tightly.

  ‘So our daddy is their daddy?’ asks Iris. ‘Then why did they tell us something else?’

  They both look up at me and my instant thought is to cry for them. Your father told me something else for years. It’s what he does. I am trying to fix that with some simple honesty.

  ‘Our families were changing, I guess he didn’t want it to upset you…’ I say. ‘You’d have to ask Daddy about that.’

  I can’t tell if Iris is angry or not. She’s at that age when Father Christmas still exists but she knows the F-word and as simply as I relay the facts to her, I am not sure how she’ll react.

  ‘I hope that Daddy makes sure that you can spend some time with your brothers and get to know them though?’

  Iris seems confused. ‘Would that make you sad?’

  ‘Oh love… not at all.’ I curl her hair around her ear. ‘Siblings are great. I have four of them and it’s always a lot of fun.’

  ‘Except when Aunty Lucy is being cheeky?’ says Iris.

  ‘Well, there is that but imagine having a little gang. You’d be the awesome foursome.’ I can feel bad for how this little gang came to be but I can’t feel bad about their future. ‘What’s Oliver like?’ I ask.

  ‘He doesn’t like carrots, he really really hates them. He once threw some across a restaurant,’ Violet says animatedly. Not important information but still. ‘He’s got blue eyes and likes dinosaurs. Does that make him your son too?’

  I pause for a moment. ‘No.’ I guess he’ll be in my periphery though. It makes me wonder whether for the sake of modern families they need to address some label of who he may be to me. A son of divorce, once removed? ‘But I’d like to meet him one day.’

  ‘Maybe we can go to Wagamama together?’ suggests Iris. Violet nods. That was a lot of information there and a complete revelation of sorts but I suspect their way to process it for now is to try and con me out of some katsu and noodles.

  ‘We can.’

  They both high five. Iris looks me in the eye though. ‘I mean, you’ll always be our mama though, right? I won’t call anyone else “Mama”.’

  Damn right. Amidst change and new people coming in on the scene, that will always be the truth. I nod and embrace them both tightly. I’d fight people to the death for you two. Proper gladiatorial combat. I study their faces. Has this changed their landscape further? Has this news hurt them? I’ll never know but at least they can start to process it.

  The doorbell suddenly rings and I watch their attentions shift as they rush into the hallway and meet my parents at the door. I hear the murmur of voices and walk over, sticking my head through the hallway. The girls hang off them excitedly.

  ‘Emma, something smells nice,’ says my mother. She’s wearing a leopard print scarf which is very unlike her. She’s been on the florals since the late nineties. She looks around the hallway for evidence of cobwebs and dust.

  ‘Pork. You told me last time that chicken is too fiddly. Dad?’

  Dad comes over and embraces me tightly. All you need to know about my father is that his beard is fluffy and most likely, he’s bought his own slippers to change into today. He also spent thirty-odd years as husband to my mother and father to five daughters. He was outnumbered, he was overruled yet here he is, alive to tell the tale. All we really remember is that he acted as taxi service during our teens and he was always there to sit next to us on the sofa with a cup of tea and a Mars bar whenever exams had been failed, relationships had ended or he was trying to counterbalance my mother’s melodrama.

  ‘Emma.’

  ‘You look well, Dad?’

  ‘Your father has been singing this morning,’ mentions Mum. ‘He’s joined a male choir. They think they’re Westlife.’ This is classic Mum. The girls giggle at the thought of beardy Pops being a pop star. Good for him if it gets him out the house. He nods and smiles at me. There’s a commotion at the door and Iris goes to open it.

  ‘Joe!’ she squeals. Her little cousin hangs off Beth and there are hugs all round.

  ‘Shouldn’t he be wearing a hat?’ says my mother.

  I wink at Beth who goes to greet Mum with a hug and a kiss which is more than what I’ve been able to muster. Dad takes Joe who I feel will always be the favourite grandchild as he was the first to break the girl curse. Iris goes to close the door.

  ‘Not yet, sweetie. What about, Will?’ asks my dad.

  I give him a strange look. ‘But Will is living… ’

  ‘Living proof that someone can work too hard. He’s at the office today, deadlines,’ Beth says, looking at me with some urgency. You didn’t tell Dad? Why the hell not? I’m going to have to lie to lovely Dad?

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Yes, a real shame,’ says my mother through gritted teeth. Beth looks at me. This is going to be quite painful, isn’t it? Wine, I hope one of you brought sodding wine.

  The roast became a tradition that my mother started when we all left home. The idea was that any sister who was left in London would convene every two or three months for a family meal. We’d all take it in turns to host or meet out if needed. Of course, we don’t always have a roast but the name stuck given it was also a chance for our mother to check in on us and tell us how she disapproved of all our life decisions. Meg conveniently missed most of them now but Beth and I were the usual regulars. This month, Lucy was going as far as Amsterdam to sit this one out. I just wish that my mother could make these occasions more bearable. I look at her through the kitchen door, where she sits at my dining room table pretending to colour in with Violet but really glares at the picture of Simon on my mantelpiece.

  ‘You didn’t tell, Dad,’ I tell Beth.

  ‘No, Mum said don’t because she’s worried about his diabetes.’

  ‘How would him knowing affect his diabetes?’

  ‘Hell if I know. Maybe it will make him comfort eat but now he’s asking me lots of questions about him and now I want to drink. I’ve bought wine, much wine,’ sh
e says, searching for glasses.

  ‘You were also in charge of pudding,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yup, done that too. You got a dish I can put this pie on so it looks like I made it?’

  ‘Bottom left cupboard. Kitchen foil in the drawer above if you want to look proper authentic.’

  She winks and does a shooting hand at me. It’s exactly what I’ll be doing with the Yorkshire puddings later so I do not judge. She unpacks the pie, hides the packaging under a few layers of recycling then pours both of us a large glass of white.

  ‘Am I allowed to ask about Will?’

  ‘He came round the other day.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘To get a hoodie.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I look at her face, lost and forlorn. Any kindness I am supposed to show that man is shrouded by an intense desire to also attack him with a chair, in the face, like a wrestler. I pull her in for a hug, an extra toasty one given I’m wearing oven gloves. Mum interrupts us by walking into the kitchen and looks at the pie. ‘That looks… interesting?’ she comments.

  Beth and I smile as we know exactly what this word means. She uses it to describe new haircuts, a bright winter coat, an interior design choice that confuses her, a baking project that hasn’t quite risen. It’s her go to word when there are no negatives left. You can imagine that Lucy is her most interesting child.

  ‘It’s peach.’

  ‘Did you use tinned peaches or fresh?’

  ‘Fresh, naturally.’

  She nods and looks at my Yorkshire pudding packet on the counter. I’ve been caught out. Dammit.

  ‘You should have said, those are so easy to knock up. I could have brought some batter.’

  I smile in return as she gets a wine glass out and then studies the label on the wine that Beth brought along.

  ‘Have you heard from Will yet? About when he might be back?’

  I turn to Beth again, her face scrunched up with anxiety. I am supposing she’s told Mum something different too. Whether he would return or not was so up in the air. However, she also knew that Mum’s reactions would be full of fire so I don’t suppose she also does this to protect Will. I mean, she dislocated a thumb that Christmas and I had to take her to A&E where we had to sit next to a man who had tried to insert a Christmas bauble up his bum.