by Kitty Wilson
She and Alice had become close, with the woman popping around at least once a week for a drink and a catch-up. Marion had found that instead of snarling when her doorbell rang, over time she had started looking forward to her visits, would buy in snacks, stock up on the wine she knew Alice preferred and get ready to share the things that had gone right that week, the things that had gone wrong and none of it with the expectation that she would have sex afterwards, so a bit like having your husband as your best friend but without the need to shave your legs.
Why was everything turning her mind to sex at the moment? Was this what happened? She knew full well that when married she had spent a lot of time thinking about sex and not always having as much as she would like, but when Richard would come home from working away, boy would they make up for it then. She had always assumed that single people had it easy, that whenever they felt an urge or an itch they could, quite literally, nip out and get it scratched. Having now been single for over four months she had learnt that that may not be the case. Or certainly wasn’t proving to be for her.
Instead of a new-found sexual freedom, every man she spoke to was sadly lacking and after only a minute or two of conversation with them her desire to flirt was seriously dampened, turning into a strong desire to wind up the conversation and escape. They would reveal some flaw, something about themselves that just didn’t measure up in her head and would put paid to any sexual flutterings she had in an instant. What was becoming abundantly clear was that no one measured up to Richard and that as other men spoke to her, she could only hear Richard’s voice in her head telling her a story, laughing over a shared memory or anecdote, picture him brushing her hair from her face, his hand creeping up her leg, unbuttoning a button.
When push came to shove, the only man she wanted to reach out and touch her in any way was Richard. It was not helpful and she hoped it wasn’t going to last long. At this rate she may never have sex again. That was not a thought she wanted to explore on her birthday.
Neither was the fact that Richard himself was being so goddamn adorable. Providing her with the perfect family she had always dreamed of. Being there for her and the boys, wordlessly meeting Marion’s day-to-day needs without a quibble, no prompting or clues needed. Just stepping in and up and making sure that home was running smoothly, despite not living there any more, so when Marion would return after a hard day’s work everything was in place to enable her to relax in the evenings and free for her work commitments in the day. He was like a nineteen fifties housewife; everything was done efficiently and uncomplainingly, and Marion was loving it.
‘Choreplay’ was a word she had heard recently and now she knew the truth of it. Having a partner doing the things that were needed and without the implication of it being a favour was remarkably sexually attractive. Everything Richard was doing made her want him even more than she had before. She wanted him beside her now, to help her celebrate her early birthday morning the way they always had, before the boys would wake and come in.
That was one birthday wish that wasn’t so simple to grant any more and annoyingly was the one thing she wanted. If she could have Richard back, back in her bed, without having compromised her principles then she felt she would be the happiest, most fulfilled woman in the world.
‘Raaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr!’ Her bedroom door opened and in rushed the three boys as if telepathically knowing she was awake. Rufus was the first through the door, battle cry escaping his lips, leaping onto her bed and straddling her, trying to peel her eyelids back despite the fact that she was awake and her eyes were fully open.
‘Hello, you.’ She grabbed her youngest boy’s face and kissed it. You didn’t have three boys and not learn how to respond quickly first thing in the morning. ‘How are you this morning?’
‘It’s your birthday!’ he screamed with excitement. Very close to her ear.
‘Happy birthday, Mum.’ Rafe and Rupert had followed their younger brother through the door, both too old to hurl themselves at her although Rupert looked like he was tempted to, just a little.
‘Hello. It is my birthday.’
‘And… ta-daaa!’ Rupert and Rafe pulled presents from behind their backs, causing Rufus to yelp in frustration, jump off the bed – managing to whack Marion in the face with a very bony six-year-old elbow as he did so – and run back into his room, returning seconds later with a badly wrapped gift.
Marion sat in bed and opened the presents from the boys. Richard had always been good at making sure the boys knew how important it was to make a fuss of their mother’s birthday.
This year Rufus had given her chocolates from her favourite shop, all the while hovering to see if he could have one, or two or six. Rupert had bought her a copy of the ancient How to Win Friends and Influence People – she’d read that at fifteen – along with Trump: The Art Of The Deal. Rupert was so business savvy, out of all her boys she imagined he would be the one to be a self-made millionaire by thirty, but she should probably schedule in a quick chat about appropriate role models. And Rafe, sweet Rafe, had given her a scented candle, a very grown-up gift from her very grown-up boy. He had explained that it was because he knew how she worried that the house smelt of dog whilst everyone knew Marion’s house only ever smelt of clean linen and perfection so he hoped this helped put her mind at rest.
Once they had established that she was properly awake they brought up a breakfast tray with croissants, Lady Grey and blackcurrant jam, a single red rose at the side. Richard had trained them well. And presumably had something to do with all of this happening even though he was no longer obliged. She tamped down any emotion she might be feeling over Richard and ate her breakfast gratefully.
The morning progressed well and once the boys had all scampered back to their rooms she put on a new dress she had spotted in Fowey the other day. It was beautiful, so her; she was loving the recent revival of animal prints. They made her want to purr.
It seemed weird putting it on, getting ready without Richard to do up the zip, to turn her around, holding her hand and arm aloft as he twirled her, to appreciatively look her up and down and give her a gentle kiss on the top of her head, on her lips. Birthdays were always such family affairs, a day surrounded by those she loved the most.
With today falling on a Saturday she had changed her birthday meal to lunch rather than dinner, hoping a change may stop the pangs that she was feeling. She had hoped these pangs would have lessened with time but Richard’s continued presence meant they seemed to be ramping up rather than dying a death.
She was taking the boys for a celebratory lunch at The Bay, a chi-chi restaurant in Treporth Bay. She imagined this evening she would probably drown herself in drink, get horny for her husband and sob herself gently to sleep. But for now, she was going to make herself look as glorious as possible, show her boys a fabulous time.
She figured they all had a clear hour for relaxing before they had to leave. As per birthday rules in their house that meant the children had to spend the next hour doing exactly what Marion wanted them to. She normally used this for further learning opportunities. Last year she had made them all watch a recording of Carmen. She had planned to escalate it to Tosca this year but hadn’t got around to locating a version she could approve, so with a grin, the new more relaxed Marion chucked on The Simpsons whilst she glanced over the wedding insurance she had arranged for Rosy and Matt and made sure it was all in order. Rufus looked as if he had died and gone straight to heaven.
The boys were sprawled out on the living room floor, unable to believe their luck, when the doorbell rang.
‘Shit! Turn off the TV, quick. Look like, I don’t know, you’re reading a book or something. Where’s Darcy? Oh for God’s sake, where’s the sodding dog?’ Marion hissed as she shut down her laptop and headed to peek through the spyhole to see who was at the door.
There at the front door was a gaggle of women: Alice, Sylvie, Rosy and Serena. She shot a quick look at her boys, who had obediently turned the TV off and grab
bed books, although in Rufus’s case it was The Art of the Deal and upside down. She supposed it was better than nothing. The doorbell rang again. She pulled the door open.
‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Marion, happy birthday to you!’ the women chorused as she stood there staring at them, almost paralysed by the unexpected nature of it. No one had ever turned up on her doorstep to sing to her before. Never.
‘Oh, oh… um, oh.’ Great conversational skills there. What was wrong with her? ‘Come on in. This is a surprise.’
‘A nice surprise?’ Alice asked tentatively, her lips twitching as she fought her smile, as if now she was more familiar with Marion this was an inside joke they shared, a nod to Marion’s slightly-brusque-but-developing friendship style.
‘Yes, a nice surprise. A lovely one. Come on in, the boys are just um… reading.’
‘We just thought we’d come and wish you happy birthday; shall I put the kettle on?’ Alice said.
‘Um, yes, that would be great. Sit down, sit down.’ Marion waved her arm at the sofa. She had been to Sylvie’s house many times, had even seen inside Serena’s – fought inside Serena’s – but couldn’t remember a time she’d had either woman over here and realized it might well have been never. It had never crossed her mind to invite them. Why was that? Why had she not reached out to people and brought them into her home? Was it a confidence thing? A sanctuary thing? She had the confidence to push right on into their houses, but had she been protecting herself from letting them do the same? Keeping her space safe?
She realized that all the women had carefully wrapped gifts and both Sylvie and Serena, despite having faces wreathed in smiles, were sitting on the edge of their chairs a little nervously, as if they weren’t sure they should be there.
Marion suddenly realized she had the power here; she could change the atmosphere by taking charge but in her new Marion way – more welcoming, less critical. She might not be able to pull that off. She’d give it a shot anyway.
She settled herself down on a pouffe and smiled across at them.
‘It’s so kind of you to nip in and say hello on my birthday, thank you so much.’
Simple words yet both women’s faces immediately relaxed.
‘We wanted to wish you a happy birthday, here.’ Sylvie proffered the gift she held.
‘And me,’ Serena piped up and gave Marion a smile. Marion felt like her heart may burst.
Chapter Thirty-four
It had been an odd kind of day and yet strangely magical. Richard had started by sending a text to Rafe to remind him to set the breakfast tray out for his mum. He sort of had faith that the boys would give Marion a happy birthday morning but he just wanted to make sure. He had then spent the morning being dead anxious about how the day would pan out, his involvement and overstepping the mark before dressing himself carefully and heading out to drive the boys and Marion to lunch.
He had also worried about what was an appropriate present. In the past, part of the birthday had been him gifting Marion something slinky and expensive from Rigby & Peller, but he was fairly sure that lingerie was not something a husband gave his wife when they were separated, and that if he tried Marion would be furious at him for not listening. That was definitely something that had been a common theme when they were together. He hoped that what he had decided upon instead would put a smile on her face.
He hadn’t been sure whether he’d be welcome or not today but the boys had insisted he come and when he had tentatively raised the question of whether he should join them for lunch or not, he had been surprised when his wife – ex-wife; one day he would add the ex automatically but he wasn’t there yet – had said it would be nice for him to be there.
It had taken a fair bit to ask, anticipating the response to be do sod off so her positive answer, and indeed her smile, had been unexpected and made him feel warm inside. But not as unexpected as the gales of laughter he had heard coming from the house as he approached it.
Even stranger, once he was inside, Marion informed him that they had changed the reservation and now Serena and Alice would be accompanying them along with Jenny and Sophie, who were due to arrive at any minute – Sylvie had to get back to her ballet classes and Rosy was out with Lynne again for the final dress fitting. Rafe had given him a triumphant grin and Richard could well imagine that his eldest son had been just as surprised by Marion extending the invite as he was.
Their greatly expanded party had walked over to Treporth to The Bay and spent three hours at their table outside, a linen parasol protecting them from the heat of the midday sun, giggling, ordering, eating and drinking. Richard had kept pausing to look around the table, his anxiety utterly lifted – although that could have been to do with the booze and holiday feeling that pervaded the table – as he looked around at his family and the people gathered here for his wife’s birthday. His Cornish life.
It was all so pleasing. He had always found the people Marion professed to be her friends a little brittle, on edge and not really showing their true selves. None of them seemed to stick around for long. And then there were those whose true selves were self-serving, self-promoting and narcissistic, Angelina being a great example, although he was warming to her over time.
But this, the people around this table now, felt right. Warm, lively, honest. Everything that made his heart happy and his soul dance. His boys were being witty, Rafe clearly besotted by Sophie but being respectful, caring as well as quick and funny, making him swell with paternal pride. Rupert and Rufus were joining in, also quick in their comebacks and participating as equals, able and happy to contribute.
And there was Marion. He was used to seeing her lording over everyone else and getting things done exactly as she wanted them, but today was different; today Marion was comfortable, joking, making actual jokes, and giggling like a teenager. And that was pretty amazing to see.
He had had a quick pang when he saw Serena. Had she told Marion what she had handed over to him? Would she tell her later today? But he had no control over Serena’s actions. If she chose to throw a bomb into the mix he would deal with it there and then; there was no point expending any more worry on today. He was happy right now and he wasn’t going to allow himself to lose that.
‘Right, let’s walk home across the beach instead of via the coast path; the tide is low and it’s ever so sunny out there today,’ Marion proclaimed as she pushed her chair back. ‘And thank you, that was the best birthday lunch. Most unexpected to have you all join me. It made me feel really special and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, especially as it’s been a’ – she didn’t meet Richard’s eye as she paused and he was glad for it – ‘funny old year. Right, let’s go!’
They collected jackets, scooped up bags, paid the bill and their party trundled off along the road, down the granite steps that led to Treporth Bay beach and in turn back to Penmenna. The beach was one of Richard’s favourite things about Cornwall, but then that was true of many people. The sea, that gentle lapping beast that surrounded the county and blended into the background a lot of the time, that parents let their children play in at the water’s edge with only half an eye on them, was actually the most powerful, most interconnected thing on the planet.
Richard loved to dwell on the fact that, whilst it could be millpond smooth here one day, the sea’s fickle temperament could be creating deadly uproar on the other side of the world, the whole mood of it changing in an instant, becoming a grey, murderous and snarling beast in one place, serene and turquoise in another. He had always been fascinated by the multi-faceted power of it, the sheer vastness, creating within him a wary respect for the sea combined with an utter love for lying back and sculling along on a gentle day, looking up at the cliffs rising stalwartly against it.
Richard inhaled deeply, breathing in the smells of saltwater and seaweed drying halfway up the beach, scents that contributed to years’ worth of memories and experiences, triggering an emotional response that f
elt like a homecoming. Walking along the beach now, his hand was itching to reach out and take Marion’s hand, to pull her close to his side and chuckle with her as their boys raced ahead of them, but today instead he was watching her laugh with Serena and Jenny as if whatever they had said was the funniest thing on earth. He watched the blonde head of his eldest son as it leant in towards Sophie’s, her curly dark hair – true good Cornish stock – bouncing off his as they walked, deep in talk. He watched his younger boys racing ahead to the rocks which separated the two beaches, which when the tide was out would be exposed, slippery with seaweed and crammed with rockpools and hidey-holes and all sorts of adventure for the inquisitive young mind.
‘Hey.’ He hadn’t realized that Marion had stopped walking and was waiting for him, the hem of her skirt gently whipping around her knee as the breeze coming from the sea calmed the searing heat of high summer’s shine.
‘Hey.’ He stopped alongside her, her friends thoughtfully wandering ahead.
‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘It is. It’s your birthday, it should be a lovely day.’ She shared a smile with him, her eyes holding his and he wished he knew exactly what it was she was thinking. If he had his way the next words out of her mouth would be…
