What Holly's Husband Did Read online

  ‘No trouble at all, and it’s so lovely to see you, Holly,’ she gushed, clearly angling for an invitation over the threshold.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked politely, desperately hoping she’d say no.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said, as if I’d twisted her arm. ‘Oh, coo-ee,’ she waved to Alex as he stuck his head out of the lounge, his curiosity getting the better of him and wanting to see who it was with the highly elocuted voice ringing right up to the rafters of the house. Izzy made The Good Life’s Margo sound like a chav. Alex smiled pleasantly but then disappeared back into the lounge, firmly shutting the door behind him again. I let his indifference go over my head. My husband was nothing like Izzy’s. Alex couldn’t give a toss about what the other school mums thought of him, whereas I had once or twice briefly seen Sebastian in action. He was a charmer, and something of a flirt – not that he’d ever batted his eyelids at me – but I could imagine he held a certain appeal to many of the mothers, not least because he rubbed shoulders with the glitterati and had a celebrity-sized bank balance.

  ‘I’m going up to my room,’ Sophie said, yawning hugely. ‘There’s some homework to finish.’

  ‘Oh, okay, darling,’ I smiled at my daughter as she scampered up the staircase, leaving me with Izzy who was looking at me expectantly. ‘Um, well, let’s go into the kitchen. Sorry, Alex is…’ I gestured helplessly as we passed the lounge door.

  Izzy finished my sentence for me. ‘Watching football,’ she grinned. ‘Sebastian is the same. Works his little socks off all week, all hours God sends. Sometimes I don’t see him until midnight and come Sunday he’s exhausted. All he wants to do is hug a cushion and hold the remote control.’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ I said, pushing open the kitchen door. ‘Look who’s here!’ I trilled to Jeanie, as if Izzy was a long-lost relative we couldn’t wait to get into a bear hug.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ said Izzy to Jeanie, her dazzling smile shrinking to a thin line.

  Jeanie took one look at Izzy and was suddenly a whirring mass of movement, reaching for her handbag, casting around for her car keys, grabbing her mobile phone which she’d abandoned on the worktop, scooping everything together and nearly falling off the tall stool in her haste to be off.

  ‘You don’t have to go, do you?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ said Jeanie, clearly flustered. ‘I’ve left something in the oven. I’d better get back or it will be incinerated and set all the smoke alarms off.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said, leaving Izzy to sit on Jeanie’s vacated seat. I followed my friend through the hallway to the front door.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, when we were away from Izzy and out of earshot, ‘but I can’t abide that woman.’

  I nodded. ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Yes. Bye.’ Jeanie pulled the door shut after her as I stood, for a moment, watching her scurry towards her car.

  I walked back to the kitchen and gave Izzy a forced smile. ‘What a shame Jeanie had to rush off. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea, please, and I, for one, am delighted she’s left.’ Izzy smoothed down her top and then, echoing Jeanie’s words, said, ‘I can’t abide that woman.’

  As I put the kettle on again, I wondered why. It transpired that I wouldn’t have too much longer to find out.

  37

  The following week passed quickly. Alex was fully booked at the surgery, and my own Monday and Wednesday slots passed in a whirl of activity. I’d also put myself on a crash diet, aware that the charity dinner dance was looming. I didn’t want to be sitting next to the willowy Annabelle Huntingdon-Smyth looking like one of the Teletubbies. It was promising to be quite a flashy ‘do’, especially as Alex’s co-trustees wanted a last-minute celebrity to make a guest appearance and draw the raffle. Alex had ended up button-holing Izzy for advice while she’d had coffee with me. She’d been delighted to get Sebastian on the phone and sort something out with a local celeb, an ex-movie star who was making a come-back and would do anything for publicity so long as Alex and the trustees were in agreement to the paparazzi being there.

  ‘She’s a total diva,’ Sebastian had warned Alex, ‘and she’d sell her granny if it meant good coverage for her.’

  ‘Who have you got in mind?’ Alex had asked.

  ‘Harriet Montgomery. A name-dropping pain in the arse, but she knows how to work a crowd and your mob will love her. She’s apparently starring in Angelina Jolie’s next film.’

  I spent the days in between getting to grips with the house, a backlog of ironing, and going for long jogs with Rupert in an attempt to tone my thighs. By Friday they didn’t look any different, but Rupert’s were positively rippling.

  ‘Are you looking forward to the dinner-dance tomorrow night?’ I asked Alex conversationally, as we sat down to dinner that evening.

  ‘I could do without it, to be honest,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork. ‘It’s been a hell of a week, and I’m shattered.’

  ‘Have a lie-in tomorrow morning,’ I suggested.

  ‘Who’s looking after Sophie while we’re out? Please don’t tell me she’s going to Tabitha’s house for yet another sleepover. I’m very grateful to Izzy’s husband for providing a last-minute celeb, but Izzy isn’t my sort of person, Holly, and I’d rather not be indebted to her.

  ‘None of my friends are your type, are they?’ I said somewhat caustically.

  ‘Oh, is Izzy one of your new best friends then?’

  ‘As it happens, no, she’s not. But sometimes, Alex, it seems to me that you don’t like any of my girlfriends.’

  ‘O-kay,’ Alex tutted, ‘I can see my wife’s in one of her funny moods again.’

  ‘I am not in a funny mood,’ I protested. ‘Oh, for goodness sake, can we just forget it? And no, Sophie isn’t having a sleepover at Izzy’s place. She’s going to Caro’s instead.’

  Alex rolled his eyes, his body language conveying the unsaid message that he didn’t approve of that plan either.

  ‘It strikes me,’ he said, ‘that lately our daughter has been farmed out here, there and everywhere.’

  My fork paused, mid-air. ‘What’s that comment supposed to mean?’ I asked, stung. ‘Sophie has had a couple of invitations recently to a friend’s house. I didn’t ask for her to be invited, for heaven’s sake. You make it sound like I’m a negligent mother.’

  ‘Don’t start manipulating words,’ said Alex, with a resigned air of here she goes again.

  ‘I’m coming to the charity dinner dance to support you,’ I said, ‘what else am I meant to do regarding Sophie’s welfare this weekend? Leave her on her own for the night with Rupert?’

  ‘Now you’re being facetious,’ said Alex, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. ‘And you aren’t supporting me at all, Holly.’ My husband’s tone was suddenly cold. ‘You were the one who insisted I take you as my partner. I already had a plus-one, remember?’

  ‘Indeed I do, Alex,’ I said, my tone dangerously quiet. ‘But surely to take one’s wife to such functions is the done thing? Doesn’t it look a little odd parading another woman on your arm?’

  ‘Hardly,’ Alex snapped. ‘Annabelle is completely immersed in the charity’s work, as am I. Nobody raises an eyebrow at her being on my arm, or anybody else’s for that matter. It’s business. She will be talking knowledgeably tomorrow, not just at the after-dinner speeches, but mingling with those who have suffered TN – as has she. She can talk about drug therapies, treatment options, and generally reassure anybody investigating such avenues. Even Jack, as a neurosurgeon, will be able to talk intelligently to everyone. But what exactly are you able to offer, Holly? An opinion on the shade of nail polish you’re wearing, or the best shop to buy an evening gown for such an event?’

  ‘How dare you!’ I seethed. ‘You should be proud of me, instead of trivialising my role.’

  ‘Are we done?’ asked Alex, standing up. ‘I have some business to see to.’

  He stalked off leaving me sitting at the table, opening and closi
ng my mouth impotently, trying to form words and failing. How had an innocent enquiry, asking if my husband was looking forward to tomorrow night’s charity function, deteriorated so rapidly into a biting exchange of words? And exactly what business did my husband have to oversee on a Friday night, when his dental surgery was locked up and in darkness?

  I could hear Alex moving around in the hallway, retrieving his shoes from the cupboard under the stairs, searching for his car keys, the jingle as he picked them up, the pat-pat-pat of pockets ensuring his mobile phone was to hand, and it suddenly dawned on me where he might be going and, more importantly, who he could be seeing.

  Pushing back my chair, I quietly picked up my own keys that were languishing on the worktop just as the front door shut behind Alex. I tore out to the hallway and hollered up the stairs.

  ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Yes,’ came a muffled response.

  ‘I have to go out for half an hour. There’s been an out-of-hours emergency. Dad’s gone ahead. Will you be all right if I leave you?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the bored reply.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Oh God. Alex would go mad if he knew I’d left our young teen alone. My words about being a negligent mother who left Rupert to babysit our daughter were fast coming back to bite me on the bum. Anxiety was already gnawing at the pit of my stomach.

  Sophie came out of her bedroom and leant against the banister rail on the landing.

  ‘For God’s sake, Mum,’ she said huffily, ‘of course I’ll be all right. I’m nearly fourteen. Everyone else in my class is left on their own when their parents go somewhere. You are the only mother who insists I have a babysitter or sleep at a friend’s house when you are out. I’ll be fine. And anyway, Rupert’s with me.’

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded, aware that the dog was now definitely in the role of babysitter, and not necessarily even a good one. I had a sudden alarming vision of an opportunist burglar sitting outside the house, watching two parents leave, then smashing his way through the back door to be joyfully greeted by the family dog. Rupert would obligingly lead the burglar to the bedside drawer where a surplus of cash was kept, and then the other bedside drawer where a few pretty pieces of jewellery languished, before he stumbled upon my vulnerable daughter who would immediately be sold on to some human trafficker on speed dial. I let out a whimper of anguish.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Mum, your expression is so easy to read. Nobody is going to abduct me. Would it make you feel better if I put the burglar alarm on after you’ve left?’

  I nodded. ‘Thanks, darling. I promise I won’t be long.’

  Outside came the sound of Alex’s car engine turning over. There wasn’t a second to lose. Ramming my feet into my trainers, I peered through the front door’s spy glass and watched Alex’s car reverse off the drive and disappear around the corner. Darting out of the house, I almost threw myself behind the wheel of my car.

  The engine roared into life and, grinding the gears noisomely, I lurched backwards, then screeched after my husband. I thanked God in his Heaven for the cover of dark autumn nights that cloaked my trailing vehicle. I spotted Alex ahead, and took my foot off the accelerator. If I kept him in my line of vision, there was no need to get so close. The last thing I wanted was him reading my number plate in his rear-view mirror, and my cover being blown. Better to hang back, so all he saw was a pair of headlights some distance behind.

  On we drove, taking a left, then a couple of rights, out of the village and onto the main road now, heading towards Sophie’s school which was shrouded in darkness, padlocked chains around its metal gates. I wondered where we were going, my eyes firmly on the road as my mind replayed the image of Burglar Bill looking furtively at the family home and then getting out of his car, a twisted smile upon his evil face. No, stop it, Holly. You’ll send yourself mad if you keep catastrophising things that haven’t even happened. But the anxiety wouldn’t go away. I shouldn’t have left Sophie. Alex was right. I was a negligent mother, once again acting on impulse, never stopping to think things through, always assuming my husband was up to no good, getting ready to point the finger at him with wild accusations about meeting secret lovers … oh, hello … this route was looking extremely familiar.

  We’d crossed a roundabout and taken a couple of lefts into a residential road that I’d visited a thousand times before. I slowed the car down, dropped it into second, now first gear as, ahead, Alex appeared to be scanning the pavement. I glanced in my rear-view mirror to make sure no vehicle was coming up behind me. Nonetheless, I couldn’t stay like this, out in the road crawling along at three miles-per-hour. I found a gap and pulled over on a yellow line, my heart thudding painfully as I spotted a familiar figure standing under the glow of a street lamp. A hand came up, fluttering a wave at Alex, and his car rocked to a gentle halt. The passenger door opened, and the figure slipped inside. Moments later, Alex signalled, pulled out and accelerated off. The brake lights glowed red when the vehicle reached the end of the road, the left indicator blinking, and then the pair of them disappeared out of sight. I didn’t follow. I couldn’t, because suddenly my body was shaking so violently I wasn’t sure my feet would stay on the pedals of my vehicle. But I’d seen enough. My husband didn’t need his dental practice to conduct his out-of-hours affair. All he had to do was jump in his car and drive off to some lonely layby, recline his seats and merge with his lover. For the person getting into Alex’s car had been my dear friend. Jeanie.

  38

  In that moment, I was too shocked to cry. I simply sat in my car, not far from Jeanie’s marital home, shaking like Rupert on a day trip to the vet. A part of me wondered whether to take a deep breath and vibrate my way over to her front door, bang the knocker hard against its wooden panels and unburden to her husband. This wasn’t just about me, after all. Ray was as much a victim in all this, except he was an unwitting one, whereas I had had my suspicions for months. My marriage had been limping along but was now in injury time. The signs had been obvious – from sexting and excuses, to scant romance and physical absenting. But for Ray, had there been any clues? I wasn’t so sure about that. He had a wife who excused herself a couple of nights a week on the pretext of visiting the gym – nothing suspicious about that, thousands of women did it – but then returned home in high spirits, grinning manically from ear to ear as she led her husband up to their bedroom and stripped him down to his smalls. I was almost positive that Ray had no idea anything was amiss.

  So should I be the one to shatter his world? Break the dreadful news that not only was his wife playing away but, right now, she was in my husband’s car getting her leg over his gearstick? Would Ray cry out with pain as I told him? Would his children rush to see what the matter was with their father? Would their faces crumple as they heard that their mother was not only betraying her best friend, but their father too? Shouldn’t it be Jeanie herself sitting down, snivelling into a hankie, as she ripped her family apart? I gulped, tears now starting to spurt out of my eyes. As much as I wanted to unburden to Ray, I couldn’t. Jeanie was the marriage wrecker. It was her duty to deal with the fall out, not mine.

  The shaking had subsided enough for me to start the engine up. Numbness was descending over me, as if someone had given me an invisible injection, temporarily blocking the pain and allowing my brain to function enough to drive my vehicle past that group of teenagers laughing and joking as they strolled down the road, one kicking an empty beer can into the gutter. Not a care in the world for them. Just worrying whether they had enough money in their pocket to buy a few tinnies to sup with mates, and whether they might get to second base with a new girlfriend this weekend. I stopped at the traffic lights, watching a woman hasten across the pedestrian crossing, collar up against the chill night wind. What did she have to trouble her? Whether to have baked beans or mushy peas with tonight’s fish and chip tea? Around me, life was going on, but I felt peculiarly detached from it all. Did the man on the motorbike in front of me have murderous thoughts
screaming through his head? What about that van driver to my left? Was he sitting behind the wheel of his vehicle trying to calm an inwardly raging torrent of emotions, or was he listening to some music station and thinking about a Friday night pizza? I didn’t know. And I wasn’t sure how I got home without writing off the car, because whilst I went through the motions of driving it, my mind was a million miles away, and I had no recollection of the journey.

  Pulling up on the driveway, it came as no surprise to discover Alex wasn’t back. Struggling to compose myself for Sophie’s sake, I took a steadying breath then stumbled out of the car and up to the front door. My hands were so stiff from gripping the steering wheel for the last half an hour that, for a moment or two, I couldn’t get my fingers to work. Clumsily, I shook out the key fob, separating the house key from the others, then let myself into the warmth of the hall. Almost immediately there was a cacophony of sound, and I screamed loudly. Sophie erupted out of her bedroom brandishing her unplugged bedside lamp, Rupert at her heels barking hysterically. I fell against the wall, clutching my hammering heart, as Sophie darted past me and turned off the burglar alarm.

  ‘You made me jump,’ she said accusingly. ‘Why didn’t you phone ahead and let me know you were on your way back? Rupert, shut up, you’re giving me a headache. Honestly, Mum, sometimes I think you reside on a different planet and … oh! What’s the matter?’ My daughter came towards me and peered at my pinched face. ‘Oh God, what’s happened? You look awful. Tell me! Has someone died? Mum, speak to me!’

  I stared at my daughter in horror and, despite my best efforts not to, burst into a fresh round of tears. Sophie put the lamp down on the floor and threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly.

  ‘Mum, tell me what’s happened. Is it Dad? He’s not with you. Has he had an accident?’