by Sandie Jones
Sylvia: I thought it might be our daughter’s, but I can’t ever remember buying her anything like that. It may be the babysitter’s, as Paul often gives her a lift home . . .
Anne: Is it definitely not yours?
Sylvia: No, it’s definitely not mine. Though I do recall having something similar when I was a teenager. I wonder if it could be that?
I absently turn the ring on my right hand, its significance slowly burning into my brain. I stare at it, as if shocked by its presence. Am I not as culpable as the man I’m accusing? This ring, that I’ve not been without for almost ten years, immediately consumes me with guilt. How can I have the audacity to be so self-righteous? To denounce my husband for an imagined wrongdoing, when all this time I’ve been wearing another man’s ring. And I’ll not take it off, come hell or high water.
It was from Tom, wrapped and ready to give to me when he got back from his skiing trip. But he’d never made it home – instead I found it four months later when I eventually mustered the strength to go through his things. It had been in the inside pocket of a suit jacket, wrapped in gold and tied with a perfect red bow. I’d left it untouched for days, putting it on his pillow, silently willing him to come back so that he could give it to me as he’d intended.
When I finally built up the courage to open it on our tenth wedding anniversary, I asked my mum to have Sophia for the night. I cooked beef stroganoff, Tom’s favourite, laid the table for two, lit a candle and played Elvis’s ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, our first dance at our wedding. If I tried really hard, I could see him, sitting there opposite me, smiling.
‘How was your day?’ I had said aloud as I sipped on a chilled glass of white wine. I left time for him to answer.
‘Do you want to see your present?’ I asked. I imagined him nodding his head as I got up and walked towards the fireplace. With a flourish, I pretended to pull a sheet off the painting that hung proudly above it. ‘Ta-dah.’
I could see his wonderment, feel his elation as he looked up at the Venice scene in awe. He would marvel at how the delicate brushstrokes brought the magical city on water alive, depicting perfectly the memories of our honeymoon there. We would reminisce about the gondola ride we took through the waterways, the exorbitantly priced pasta arrabbiata we had in St Mark’s Square, and his morbid fascination with the Bridge of Sighs. But mostly, he would praise my ingenuity, for always knowing him so well.
‘So, what’s in the box,’ I’d said, lifting it from his side of the table to mine. My fingers wrapped themselves around it, knowing that he was the last person before me to touch the shiny paper and tie the tiny bow. If I put it to my ear, I could almost hear his heart beating from inside.
I carefully unwrapped it, knowing that even the Sellotape that he used would be going in my ever-increasing keepsake box. The anticipation of what was inside was almost palpable. I didn’t want to lift the lid, so I could savour the moment forever.
‘Oh Tom, it’s beautiful,’ I gasped, as the diamonds on the platinum band sparkled in the candlelight. I had slid it on my finger, vowing never to take it off. ‘It’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.’
And it still is, despite another, even shinier engagement ring and wedding band on my left hand. The admission fills me with remorse.
I’m still sitting up in bed when I hear the front door shut and Nathan’s shoes as he crosses the hall, dropping his keys into the bowl on the console table. I hurriedly close my laptop, turn off the lamp and lie down in the darkness, my heart thumping. I don’t know what I’m scared of. I guess it’s the thought of being presented with the truth.
Four ice cubes fall noisily into a glass from the fridge’s inbuilt ice maker and I picture him going through the post that I left propped up against the vase on the kitchen island. He’s at least ten minutes away from coming upstairs; he’ll need to check through his emails, lock all the internal doors, perhaps call his mistress to say goodnight?
I banish the last thought from my mind; Nathan can’t be having an affair. When would he have the time? If he’s not in the office, he’s with me and the girls, and if he’s not with us, he’s away on business. The poor man barely has a minute to himself. Yet he manages four hours on a golf course and dinner afterwards, I think, my brain contradicting itself. And are all his work meetings really work meetings?
Stop! my brain screams, just as Nathan comes into the bedroom.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he places the glass on his bedside and goes into the bathroom, careful to put only the low-amp wall lights on. I can’t help but marvel at how considerate he is. Would he bother if he loved someone else?
He slides into bed and straight up to me, spooning me. I hear his breathing in my ear, smell the alcohol on his breath. His hand reaches out, stroking me. Despite myself I feel a pull in my groin, but I’m not going to respond.
He plants light kisses on my neck and I will myself to stay unmoving. His hand travels up and down my leg, around the curve of my bottom and I arch my back. He knows I’m alert to him, my body disappointingly letting my mind down. I murmur, and he gently turns my face towards him. I turn back but his lips are on my neck, his mouth working its way up to mine.
‘I’m tired,’ I say sleepily, pretending he’s woken me up.
‘Okay, so just close your eyes . . .’ he starts, as his head moves down to my breast.
‘Not tonight,’ I say, rolling away from him.
‘Seriously?’ he asks, surprised by the refusal.
Him and me both. I can’t remember a time when I’ve rejected him. But if he thinks he’s going to go out, do what he wants, and have me as a subservient wife to come home to, he’s got another think coming.
8
With other things occupying my thoughts, I completely forgot that my car still hadn’t come back from its service, and it’s not until the morning that I realize I can’t drop Olivia over to Beth’s house like I normally do on a Saturday.
‘Is there any chance you can pick Olivia up from here?’ I ask when I call her.
‘Mmm, it’s going to be a bit tricky,’ she says. ‘Is Nathan there?’
‘Er, yes,’ I say absently, wondering when, and if, I’m going to be brave enough to ask him about the earring.
‘So, can you not borrow his car to drop Olivia over?’ says Beth.
‘I guess so,’ I reply, wondering why she can’t pick up from here, just this once. ‘Actually, I might see if Nathan can drop her over. I think he’s got a few things to do out and about this morning.’
There’s a muffled silence at the end of the line. ‘No, don’t worry,’ she says, suddenly. ‘I’ll come and get her, but can you have her ready to come out? I’ll text when I’m outside.’
‘Yep, sure. Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m just running really late and I’ve got a million and one things to do.’
‘Okay, well if you’re sure you don’t mind. I’ll pick them up after dance class and drop Millie back.’
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘That would be great.’
I’m in the hallway, helping Olivia with her shoes, when the doorbell goes.
‘Oh God, that’ll be Beth,’ I say as I struggle with the buckle. ‘Quick, get your ballet shoes. They’re in the bag in the utility room.’
I swing open the door to find a beaming woman standing on the other side, peering through the foliage of a huge bouquet of flowers.
‘Are you the lucky lady?’ she asks.
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, though my brain is working overtime as it tries to recall today’s date and its possible significance. Have I forgotten our wedding anniversary, or the day we met? Both of which we normally celebrate.
‘I guess so,’ I say, holding out my hands.
‘Mind, they’re heavy,’ she says. ‘There’s been a fair few quid spent on these.’
I don’t need her to tell me how generous the sender has been. That much is obvious. ‘Thanks,’ I say, as I take the weight in my arms.
To my darling Rachel
Sorry, please forgive me.
I love you.
x
I re-read the card a couple of times in confusion, but the message is too short for me to have misread.
‘Blimey, what have you done to deserve those?’ asks Sophia sleepily as she comes down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. I quickly shove the card into my jeans pocket.
I smile tightly at her, my lips pressed firmly together. ‘I have no idea.’
My phone is pinging with messages from Beth to say she is outside.
‘Go, go, go,’ I say to Olivia as she rushes past me in the hall, only to get to the front door and turn around to come back and give me a kiss.
‘See you later,’ she says. ‘Love you.’
‘Oh, you really didn’t have to,’ jests Nathan as I walk into the kitchen, the flowers weighing heavily in my arms. I watch him closely as he looks at them, waiting for some kind of recognition. ‘I don’t even think we’ve got a vase big enough. What’s the occasion anyway? Who are they from?’
I look to him, to Sophia and back again. She must see the expression I’m trying so hard to disguise as she grabs a banana from the bunch going brown in the fruit bowl and scoots out of the room.
I resist the temptation to fix myself a stiff drink, even though I could kill for the shot of confidence that alcohol usually gives me. I reluctantly fill the kettle instead.
‘Oh, by the way,’ I say flippantly, though inside I’m anything but. ‘Thanks for letting me use your car yesterday.’
Nathan looks up from his iPad and waits for me to continue.
The earring is burning a hole in my pocket. ‘I’m not sure what it is, but I found this in it.’ I fish around in my jeans and hold it up in front of him.
He looks at it quizzically. ‘I’d suggest it’s an earring.’
‘Well, yes, I appreciate that, but whose is it?’
He looks to me then back at the earring. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, who’s been in your car? Perhaps we can narrow it down that way and get it back to them.’ I’m aware of an edge creeping into my voice and try harder to keep my tone neutral.
He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re implying here.’
‘I’m not implying anything,’ I say. ‘I’d just like to get the earring back to its rightful owner.’
‘Perhaps it’s Sophia’s,’ he says.
‘No, I’ve checked with her.’
‘Well, it’s probably one of her friends’ then.’
I watch as his brain goes into overdrive, much like mine has been doing for the past eighteen hours, the only difference being, he must know the answer.
‘Have any of them been in your car?’ I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders.
‘You know what it’ll be,’ he says suddenly. ‘I bet it’s the valet parking company at the airport.’
Funny how our minds think alike.
‘You hear all sorts of crazy things going on with them; some cars get taken home by the staff for the weekend, or even worse, get written off by some nineteen-year-old employee who thinks he can handle a three-litre engine.’
I nod, unconvinced.
‘So, who are they from?’ he asks, tilting his head in the direction of the flowers.
‘You, I guess,’ I say, bluntly.
He smiles. ‘If I’d known what kind of mood you were going to be in this morning, I can assure you I would have sent them to put a smile on your face, but alas, I’m not a psychic. Maybe they’re from lover boy.’
I look at him, momentarily bewildered.
‘David Phillips.’ He smiles. ‘Crikey, how many possibilities are there?’
I pull the florist’s card from my pocket and throw it across the worktop towards him.
‘Who’s Rachel?’ I ask tersely.
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Where did this come from?’
‘You must think I’m stupid,’ I hiss.
‘What on earth . . .’ he starts, as I snatch the card from his grasp.
‘Please forgive me,’ I mimic snidely. ‘I love you.’
He looks at me as if I’m mad.
‘What have you done wrong, Nathan? Why do you need to apologize to Rachel?’
‘This is ridiculous. What the hell has got into you?’
‘Don’t make this my problem,’ I say, unable to stop my voice rising. ‘Just tell me what’s going on.’
He makes a good show of looking baffled and I can almost hear his brain whirring. ‘I have no idea who Rachel is or what you’re going on about.’
‘So, these flowers –’ I pick them up and throw them back down angrily – ‘have absolutely nothing to do with you? That’s really bad luck on your part if they’ve inadvertently been sent to your wife instead of your mistress.’ I laugh sarcastically. ‘You couldn’t make it up, could you?’
‘Are you honestly being serious?’ He attempts to laugh. ‘Where is all this coming from?’
I snigger derisively and shake my head. ‘So you’ve no idea who they’re for or who they’re from?’
‘No,’ he says eventually. ‘But if it makes you feel better, I’ll give the florist a call – see what’s going on.’
‘You do that,’ I snap.
Sophia gingerly puts her head around the kitchen door and I immediately hate myself for giving into my insecurities, knowing that they will only manifest themselves in her as well. I pack my anxieties away and resolve to only reveal them when she’s not around.
‘I’m going into town with Megan,’ she says quietly.
‘Do you want me to drop you at the station?’ asks Nathan. ‘I’ve got to get the car cleaned anyway.’
And check it for any other jewellery? I say to myself.
‘Can we get Megan on the way?’
‘Sure,’ he says, and Sophia offers a smile before heading up the stairs.
I busy myself with wiping down the worktops. ‘If I haven’t got my car back in time, I’ll need you to pick the girls up from ballet and drop Millie back to her house.’
He groans. ‘Do I have to? That means I’ll get stuck talking to another nutty mum from school.’
‘It’s Beth,’ I say. ‘She’s as far removed from a nutty mum as you can get.’ Though if he knew her life story he might beg to differ. ‘She’s the one I go out with.’
‘You see her a lot, don’t you?’
I nod. ‘We get on really well. She’s the only mum at that school who is remotely on my wavelength.’
‘Yet I still haven’t met her?’ He poses it as a question, and when I look at him, he raises his eyebrows as if he expects an answer. ‘For all I know, she could be a completely fictitious figure that you’ve invented as a cover story.’
‘What?’ I say, incredulously. ‘Do you want to come on one of our girlie nights out?’
‘Well, how do I know that’s where you’re really going? You could be doing anything. You certainly claim to see “Beth” a lot.’ He puts her name into speech marks with his fingers.
I can’t help but laugh.
‘It sounds preposterous, right?’ he says.
‘Absolutely.’
‘So imagine how I feel when you bandy ridiculous accusations around. It wouldn’t ever occur to me that you’re doing anything other than what you tell me. I trust you with all my heart and I thought you did me.’
I bow my head, almost embarrassed for the way I’ve behaved. I’m not a vulnerable teenager in a tempestuous relationship. I’m a grown woman who has never questioned Nathan’s loyalty in the nine years we’ve been together. So, why am I so quick to now?
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, going towards him and cupping his face in my hands. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. The earring and then the flowers . . .’
He kisses my forehead. ‘Why don’t you take some time out this morning?’ he says
, with a look of genuine concern on his face. ‘Have a breather – sit down and put your feet up?’
Maybe that’s exactly what I need. How could I have believed, for just a second, that Nathan would be unfaithful to me? I chastise myself for allowing my drug- and, if I’m honest, alcohol-addled brain to think the worst. I have enough neuroses to deal with – I can’t afford to let paranoia, created by the very poisons that I take to dull my nerve endings, overwhelm me. How pathetically ironic.
‘Okay, let’s go, Sophia!’ Nathan says, as he stands up and reaches for his car keys on the worktop.
‘See you later, Mum,’ Sophia calls out, just before the front door slams.
Overcome with relief, I sit at the kitchen island and contemplate the jobs I need to do with a renewed sense of purpose. There’s the washing, the food shop and all the other wonderfully banal chores that Saturday mornings bring. But first, I should let Beth know that Nathan is dropping Millie back home.
I text:
Thanks for coming to get Liv this morning. Hope you’ve caught up with everything you needed to do. Just to let you know that Nathan will be dropping Millie back after ballet x
Even as I type it, I feel a little uneasy, after the conversation I’ve just had with Nathan. Of all the days for him to finally meet Beth, he goes and implies that she might not even exist!
I receive a message back from Beth almost immediately.
No, don’t worry – I’ll grab the girls x
Me: It’s honestly not a problem x
Beth: I’ll drop Olivia home, but can’t stop x
Me: Okay, if you’re sure x
Beth: Yep x
I leave a message on Nathan’s voicemail and then call the florist to let them know of their mistake. I’d hate for poor Rachel to be none the wiser about the olive branch that was being offered by whoever had upset her. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.
‘Hello, Roses Florist, how can I help you?’ I can hear Elton John’s ‘Tiny Dancer’ playing in the background.
‘Oh, hi,’ I start. ‘I’ve had some flowers delivered today, but they’ve come to me by mistake.’
