Work Wife Balance

by Jo Edwards

I felt so tired on Saturday morning that it took every ounce of strength I had just to lift my head off the pillow. What looked back at me from the bathroom mirror was like something out of the Thriller video. Large dark circles under blood-shot eyes, set against a ghostly white face. It didn’t look like me at all. It was going to take a serious amount of make-up to transform those features today. I don’t know why it mattered what I looked like, but it did. I’d been awake half the night just thinking about what I should wear. In the end I plumped for a ditzy print tunic (purchased after Gok had said these were on-trend) and a soft pink cardigan that I knew the Husband liked for some reason. I’d spent the other half of the night thinking about what I should say to him. I was still not sure about this, so I was going to have to play it by ear.

  I got to the coffee shop just before 11.00. It was very busy, but I found a table and ordered a double espresso - desperate times. He could buy his own. He arrived not long afterwards wearing a shirt I hadn’t seen before and even though it wasn’t sunny, a pair of Aviator sunglasses. He sat down and pushed them up onto his head. He looked a little apprehensive but he also looked, well, I think radiant was the word.

  “New sunnies?” I asked. How much did those cost?

  “Yeah, I got them off the Internet, what do you think?” He put them back down over his eyes, awaiting approval. They might look good on Tom Cruise, a fighter pilot in Top Gun, but on a 46 year old financial advisor they just looked ridiculous.

  “Nice,” I lied. The Husband still had them on as he ordered a latte, when did he start drinking lattes? and I could see the young guy who took his order was trying to hide a smirk. When he got behind his counter he said something to his young girly colleague who looked over at us and giggled.

  “So then,” I said meaning tell me what the fuck is going on?

  “So then,” he repeated, removing his sunglasses and looking all sincere. “How are you?”

  “I’m good” I replied automatically, then caught myself. “No, I’m not good. Not good at all. I know you said you wanted a couple of week’s space, but I’m afraid I just need to know what’s going on. I mean, what’s going on in your head. I don’t even know where you’re staying, you haven’t given me Bruce’s address.”

  “Haven’t I?” he looked surprised, but didn’t offer up the address. “But I thought we’d both agreed that this was a good idea, that we both needed some down time and it was a good opportunity whilst Bruce is away to take advantage of an empty house. You know it’s only temporary. Bruce will be back on 27th.” The 27th? But that’ll be three weeks not two.

  “And then what?” I asked.

  “Well, then I’ll be back of course,” he said, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “Do you think you’ll want to come back?” I asked, beginning to feel irritated.

  He paused whilst his coffee was delivered and stirred it thoughtfully. Buying himself some thinking time.

  “I really hope so,” he said, looking at me with such false sincerity I wanted to batter him to death with a piece of biscotti. “I’m sure I will want to.” He looked at me and smiled. “You never know, you might not want me to come back!” Yeah go on, make a joke of it, you twat. You’re basically enjoying doing whatever you want without a care, buying yourself shirts and idiotic sunglasses whilst I’m worrying myself into a frenzy. You’re a selfish sod.

  “How are Paul and Debbie?” I asked him.

  “Ok,” he said, taking a slurp of coffee. “Paul’s in Japan again on business.”

  “That must be difficult for Debbie,” I said, watching him carefully. “I mean she works full time doesn’t she? Who looks after the Devil Child?”

  “They’ve got a childminder,” he said “and Paul’s parents are very good, they live close by, so they have Chloë a lot.” He quickly added “I think.”

  “How are Karen and James?” he asked, a swift change of subject. “You saw them last night didn’t you? – Facebook,” he added when he saw I was about to ask how he knew that.

  “Yes, they’re fine. They’re worried about me of course.” I looked at him. “They think you’re having an affair.”

  “Do they?” he laughed and buried his face in his latte cup.

  “Yes, they think you’re seeing Debbie.” I put it bluntly, fed up with pussy-footing around. I watched his face. There was a very brief glimpse of something - surprise, fear, guilt - I couldn’t tell, but he quickly recovered himself.

  “God, Debs and I are just good friends,” he said, beginning to waffle. “We do get on very well, yes we do, we work together of course and have lots in common, not just work but other interests, she likes golf you know and, and, well just because we get on well doesn’t mean, well people shouldn’t think that...” I think he doth protest too much.

  “So you’re not seeing Debbie then?” I asked, aware he hadn’t actually denied it.

  “No, of course I’m not seeing Debbie,” he said, looking me in the eye. “And I’m really disappointed you would even think that of me.” Oh, that’s right, play the injured party now. Well, I’m not apologising.

  “It’s difficult to know what to think,” I muttered, picking up my cup. It was empty. There was an uncomfortable silence as neither of us knew what to say next.

  “What are you up to tonight?” I asked eventually, just because I couldn’t take the silence.

  “It’s your brother’s stag night,” he said, looking surprised. “I’m going to that. Aren’t you going to the hen night? That’s tonight as well - had you forgotten?” No, I hadn’t forgotten, I didn’t know about it as I hadn’t been invited. Not that I’d have wanted to go in a million years but I’d still liked to have been asked.

  “Oh yes, that’s right” I said, vaguely. “Oh God, I almost forgot. Stu asked if you’d do a reading at the registry office service on Saturday. It looks like the wedding might be happening after all. I said I’d ask you and let him know.”

  “Yes, of course!” The Husband looked pleased and puffed himself up, inflated by his own self-importance. I wouldn’t get too up yourself mate, it was a toss-up between you or Stammering Stan. “It would be my pleasure to do it.” He looked at me. “I think we should go to the wedding as a couple, don’t you? I mean, we don’t want to upset the family or anything like that, and it would spoil the day for us if we had to keep answering awkward questions. What do you think?”

  I felt too drained to argue that I thought we were a couple, so what did he mean by that - I realised I just wanted to get away from him. We agreed he’d pick me up next Saturday, he said he’d drive and not drink. That’s a heck of a sacrifice, why was he being so obliging - guilty conscience? We asked each other a bit about work and then we got up to go. I remembered something as we were leaving the coffee shop.

  “Can you let me have Bruce’s address? Just in case of an emergency.”

  He had his back to me so I couldn’t see his face. He said over his shoulder “Oh yes, I’ll text it to you.”

  We got outside. How awkward saying good bye under these circumstances - do you kiss, hug, walk away, what?

  He made my mind up for me by asking: “I was just wondering if you were using the iPad very much? I could really do with it for-”

  I cut him short.

  “Yes, I’m using it a lot I’m afraid, it’s a bit of a lifeline for me whilst I’m on my own. By the way, why do you refer to me as the WOW? What does it mean?”

  He did an impression of a goldfish. I’d given away the fact that I’d accessed his Facebook account, but I didn’t care. He looked as if he was desperately attempting to think up something plausible but gave up and plumped for the truth.

  “It stands for Work Obsessed Wife,” he said, embarrassed. “It’s just a joke, it’s not meant to be nasty or anything.”

  Right. Is that what everyone thought of me? I shrugged, pretending not to care.

  “I guess I’ll see you next Saturday then.” I turned and walked swiftly away.

  I phon
ed Karen when I got home and relayed the conversation. Her view: “He’s biding his bloody time to see if that Debbie bitch will leave her husband. He’s just keeping his options open.” She was furious I hadn’t got the address of where he was staying because she wanted to “stake it out.” She was still adamant I should do something with the joint bank accounts. I asked her if she thought I was work-obsessed. She shrieked: “For Christ’s sake Kate, just because you work bloody hard doesn’t mean you’re obsessed. He’d be the first to moan if you didn’t have a job and sat around on your arse all day watching Loose bleeding Women. He should support you, not go off and shag someone else.”