My Husband's Lies Read online

  Knowing he’s prattling again, Dan opens the window to release the new rush of heat. The aroma of coconut wafts away, but the tension’s still stifling as he heads towards home. Aware of Seb’s scrutiny, he chats inanely about pasta and pesto and parmesan, but the need to eat has clean gone.

  The clench in his gut is no longer hunger. It’s excitement; dangerous bloody excitement, tight and tingling in his belly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jen

  Anna’s green anorak at the far end of the damp playground catches Jen’s eye. She briefly lifts her hand to wave before dropping it again. Holly is no longer at the primary school; she’s been in high school since September, but old habits die hard. She hated having Jen there at her school. It was bad enough if your mum was a teacher, but a lowly classroom assistant! It was just so embarrassing. So Jen acknowledges her pretty red-haired daughter discreetly on lunchtime duties, even though she’s only eight and still loves her mummy.

  It’s the start of Jen’s second year. She’s still glad of her decision to train as an assistant rather than a full-blown teacher. For now at least. She works two and a half days in a job-share, giving her time to cram in the cooking, the shopping and the bills in the remainder of the week. Though in fairness, Ian does his bit; he irons if there’s sport on the television and he hoovers at weekends, pretty fair in her view. But then Ian is a good man. Except when he’s watching his beloved United play football, he’s an even-tempered, easy-going guy; they make a good team.

  A football approaches and she runs, hoofing it accurately to a boy from her class. His freckled face colours with embarrassment. Jen should know better than to interrupt the boys’ game, but she was sporty as a girl and finds herself with daughters who prefer their mobile phones, television and music to sporting activities. ‘Do you wish we’d had a boy?’ she used to ask Ian, pretending a boy would have been nice for him rather than her, but now that Anna is nearly nine, capable of creating a website, let alone dressing and feeding herself, she can’t imagine wanting another child, either boy or girl; it would be too much like hard work.

  The sudden spurt of activity has left her breathless. She knows she should lose a few pounds, but dieting feels like hard work too. Her daughters are all skinny. She wasn’t ever thin, not that she minded. Girls like to be skinny for boys, but in her experience, males prefer a little flesh. But the fact is Holly is too thin. She eats well enough, but doesn’t put on weight. Would it be weird to take her to the doctor? A sort of Munchausen by proxy? Plump mother taking skinny daughter to the doctor’s? And anyway, would Holly comply with such an embarrassing request?

  She glances at her watch, a fake designer brand bought on their last holiday to Turkey. It’s Wednesday, her half-day. Toasted teacakes for lunch, she thinks. Thank God butter’s back in vogue.

  The doorbell rings at two. Jen licks her fingers and flings open the door, but it isn’t Ian’s Amazon delivery of books. It’s Will Taylor, looking smart. Like a rugby player setting off on tour, the central button on his suit jacket looks precarious, as though it might pop any moment.

  Her heart jumping, she steps back in surprise. ‘Oh, Will. Hello!’ She glances at the kitchen, catching the breakfast disarray and the second half of her teacake on a plastic Disney plate. ‘Was I expecting you? Did you text?’

  A shadow passes across his face and he turns briefly to his car. ‘No. Sorry, I was passing, so I thought I’d see if you were in.’ His eyes come back to hers. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘Of course. No problem, come on in.’ She tiptoes in her socks and pecks him on his cheek. ‘Excuse the mess. I was just having my lunch.’ She examines his tense face, anxiety replacing surprise. ‘Is everything OK? Is Penny OK? I’ve been really worried.’

  He smiles but looks weary. ‘I know. Thanks for your texts. I’m sorry I haven’t phoned for a proper chat since the wedding but …’ He follows Jen through, sits at the table and rubs his forehead. His hair is receding, but he keeps it cropped short. His head is the right shape, she always finds herself thinking, he suits it like that.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asks brightly to cover her embarrassment. She changed into a hoody and jogging bottoms the moment she arrived home. The outfit isn’t as clean as it could be and the fresh butter mark doesn’t help. ‘How about a teacake? Toasted or plain?’ She presents the open tin with a flourish. ‘You can smell the sultanas. Mum baked them and they’re delicious. My fingers are still buttery.’

  She makes for the kettle but Will catches her wrist. There’s a frown on his face and his voice is low. ‘To be honest, I’d rather …’

  The burn of his touch rushes to her cheeks. ‘Talk?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiles faintly. ‘Talk like we used to.’

  She sits down on the chair next to him. Takes a deep breath. Tries to look him in the eye. ‘No, Will, we promised.’

  ‘I just need you right now.’ He puts a hand to her cheek, his eyes hollow and dark. ‘I never stopped needing you.’

  Flinching from his touch, Jen tries to swallow the flood of emotion before speaking. ‘No, Will. You’re not being fair. To any of us. We said a clean sheet after your wedding.’ She gazes at his face. ‘It was hard, really hard, but we’ve done so well—’

  He drops his hand, sits back and closes his eyes. ‘Fair dos. I miss you. I miss us. That’s all.’

  She turns away to the sink and busies herself with the kettle as she steadies her breathing. His suggestion’s a surprise, his lack of fight even more so. She wishes she could ignore the clutch of concern mixed with ache in her chest. She starts to count to ten but turns after five, returns to her chair and takes his large hand. ‘Are you OK, Will?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m OK.’

  His drained handsome face doesn’t match his words; she can feel herself falling.

  ‘Are you really OK?’

  He lifts her hand to his lips. ‘You’ve no idea how much I miss you,’ he sighs.

  Will lies on his front; he always lies on his belly after sex. He closes his eyes, sighs with a smile and nods off. In the old days Jen didn’t like it; his turning away made her feel slighted and used. She wanted to be cuddled and kissed, to be told how great their lovemaking had been. Perhaps it was because sex in a bed was so rare; she counted it up once: sex in a bed with Will before marriage to Ian and after. The after far outweighed the before. In her marital bed too. Yet she never felt guilt, at least not the guilt she should have. What did she and Will always say? That it wasn’t really betrayal because they’d been together forever. But of course that wasn’t strictly true.

  She leans over, inhaling the familiar smell of mild sweat and deodorant, kissing the back of his broad shoulder. ‘I have to leave at three to collect Anna from school.’

  He immediately turns, his face closed and sleepy. ‘But we haven’t had a chance to talk.’ He hitches up the bed and puts his arm around her, pulling her close. ‘I shouldn’t have broken up with you before uni,’ he says into her hair. ‘I have no idea why I did it. I should have begged you back before … before it was too late.’

  Before marrying Ian Kenning at twenty-one. Giving birth to Maria three months later.

  Like his visit, the words are a surprise; Will hasn’t said them for a long time, but still she doesn’t reply. There’s no point reminding him that he thought the grass was greener, that he wouldn’t have as much fun in his fresher’s year with a girlfriend holding him back.

  That he broke her bloody heart.

  ‘Tell me about Penny,’ she says instead, needing to know sooner or later. She takes a breath and steels herself. ‘Tell me what happened at the wedding; tell me why.’

  He’s silent for a while, then he kisses her forehead. ‘I had to pay for the cost of the door the other day. Thank God Dan came with me to the room. My legs were like jelly. Another minute and who knows?’

  ‘Do you really think she would’ve done it?’ Jen asks, but Will stares ahead, saying nothing. ‘It’s OK,’ she adds, her heart racing with the
sudden need to know everything. ‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  Will inches down the bed, pulling her with him. He looks at her thoughtfully, then leans forward with a gentle kiss. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, if I’m honest. But then I’m offended no one is asking me about it. It just adds to the weird embarrassment of it all. She’s remarkably fine, actually. Her doctor arranged a home treatment team for the first few days, prescribed medication, and now she’s having counselling, on her own to start with and then with me, if she wants. Of course, it should be her bloody mother, but I doubt she’d agree …’

  Jen’s heart slows. She pictures Penny in her underwear, pale-faced and dead-eyed, on the hotel window ledge. Over the past couple of weeks, she hasn’t let herself dwell on reasons why she would do something so extreme and so public, but still there’s a huge sense of relief. ‘Oh right, so she did it because of her mum?’

  ‘Not directly, but in Penny’s head … God, I don’t know what goes on between them. Penny says it’s bad. In her face all the time. Constant criticism, nagging, pressure. Comparing Penny to her bloody perfect brother.’ He stares at the ceiling, a pensive frown on his face. ‘Of course, she doesn’t do it when I’m there. Or if she does, it’s more subtle, disguised as concern. You know – she only wants what’s best for Penny, she only wants to help.’

  Jen nods, surprised if she’s honest. Her girls were bridesmaids at Will and Penny’s wedding, so she saw a fair amount of her mum in the run-up. She was a bit distant, if anything. Friendly enough, but mad busy with all her volunteering commitments. But in fairness, she never hid her preference for Penny’s brother. ‘Boys are so much easier, Jen,’ she’d say. Which was a bit rich said to a mother with three girls.

  ‘So her mum thinks she’s done nothing wrong?’ Jen asks eventually.

  Will pauses and rubs his head. ‘I don’t really know if she has. Penny’s an adult, not a child anymore. She can’t blame her mother forever. Can she? I really don’t know, Jen. We’re all in our thirties. Shouldn’t we be past all that parental angst by now?’

  He falls silent again and Jen drifts for a while. Parental angst isn’t something she likes to contemplate; thoughts of her father are best hidden deep. But her mum Nola is a star; a constellation in fact.

  ‘I’m trying, Jen. I’m trying to be supportive.’ Will’s clotted voice jerks her back. ‘I’m going through the motions, but if I’m honest, I don’t get it. I mean, what the fuck did Penny think she was doing? At someone else’s wedding? Disappearing without saying a word, going into our hotel room, locking herself in. If Dan hadn’t kicked in the door, who knows?’ He stares at the ceiling and rocks his head. ‘But then again, even if she’d jumped … We were on the third floor, for fuck’s sake, not the thirteenth.’ Abruptly leaning forward, he puts his face in his hands. ‘I didn’t know it was coming, Jen. She never said a word. Just that blank polite face she’s had for months. She might do it again. How will I know? I have to work; I can’t be with her all the time, watching her, hiding the window keys, counting the kitchen knives. It’s a bloody nightmare.’ Then, with a shuddery sigh: ‘I know she’s the one who’s ill and needs help. I know I’m being selfish, but it’s doing my head in.’

  Jen puts her hand on Will’s back and rubs gently. ‘Maybe the counselling will help you as well as Penny,’ she says after a time. ‘Perhaps you have to say how you feel, you just have to be honest.’

  Will turns his head and smiles wryly. ‘Not completely honest, though, eh?’

  Before leaving the house, Jen opens the bedroom window and changes the bedding. Smoothing the duvet cover, she contemplates how she feels about Will’s unexpected visit. Wistful, she supposes. There are other words to describe the act itself. Almost immediately gratifying would be apt today. Not that sex with Will wasn’t always satisfying in the end, but it was more routine, the slow burner of regular sex. But it has been a while since they were last together. There was a period after Anna’s fourth birthday when he’d drop by almost weekly. He was auditing then and they’d go to bed for his lunch hour and chat before making love, rather than the other way around. Then he met Penny at a medics’ ball; she’d gone at the last minute to make up the numbers on the table. The lovemaking seemed to intensify then. Perhaps they both knew the end was imminent. Handsome, gregarious and charming, Will had plenty of girlfriends over the years, but Penny seemed to stick.

  Fighting a sudden urge to sob, she strips the pillow, puts the soft case to her face and breathes in his smell. When pregnant with Holly, Will sent her an email out of the blue. It was a period when she was consumed with the highs and lows of motherhood and she’d seen little of him for many months.

  ‘Went to Edinburgh for a conference yesterday,’ his message read. ‘On the way back I napped on the train and dreamed of us at eighteen.

  Woke up very confused. You were there; you were real, in sharp focus. Amazing how a dream can bring back the past with such clarity. As soon as I got home I dug out the old Canon. Too emotional to try it, but there in its case was my favourite photo of the most beautiful woman ever, taken with said camera. I thought I’d lost it forever.

  Even now I’m welling up. Just SO in love with you and captured on film.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nick

  Nick pulls his car into the flagged driveway of his childhood home feeling a mixture of relief and guilt. Relief that he’s left it; guilt for feeling relieved.

  Being the much younger child hasn’t been easy. Although Patrick visits their parents regularly, he moved to his Cheadle flat years ago, leaving young Nicky Quinn with their doting parents. Of course, Nick didn’t mind then; he was cushioned and loved. But he returned after university and found himself glued, a strange sticky mixture of love and dependency.

  ‘You need to break free from your parents, obviously,’ Lisa said, not long after they met. ‘But they need it too. I’ve seen it with other people’s parents. Their kids finally leave home and they have to learn to live with each other again. You know, without the crutch of a child. Your mum and dad are getting older, so they need to adjust before it’s too late.’

  He moved into Lisa’s small semi two months before the wedding, but spent some time each evening at home with his parents.

  ‘I get it; a weaning period,’ she said. ‘But after the wedding you’re all mine.’

  It was how he saw it too. He knew the umbilical cord had to be cut, but felt the severance wouldn’t be complete until he was married to Lisa, until he’d said the vows out loud to everyone listening in the church. But now he’s done it, he suspects life isn’t quite so black and white. He’s glad he’s left, and of course he’ll always love his parents, but he craves their approval as much as ever.

  He rings the bell and stands at the frosted-glass door, rubbing his hands against the cold evening as he waits. Eventually he sees the smudged outline of his father leaning down to insert the key in the lock. There’s a latch on the door but his parents have taken to locking it with a key even during the daytime. It finally opens, revealing the addition of a safety chain since he was last here.

  It feels like reproof.

  A blast of warm air fragranced with emulsion and cooking hits his face. ‘You should at least leave the key in the lock, Dad. If there was a fire or an emergency you’d have to find the key. The delay could make all the difference.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been telling him,’ his mother calls from the kitchen. ‘He won’t take a blind bit of notice. And he can never remember where he’s put them. Now you’ve mentioned it, no doubt he’ll listen.’

  Breathing in the oily smell of roast potatoes, Nick thinks about crutches. The bickering between his parents had got pretty bad before he left; he can’t imagine it has got any better.

  His father turns away and hobbles back towards the small sitting room at the front of the house. ‘You finally decided to visit, then? I believe you’ve been back for a week,’ he says over his brushed co
tton shoulder. Then after a moment, ‘Arsenal and Spurs. Two nil. Are you coming to watch?’

  ‘Hello, love,’ his mother says, pulling him into a hug. ‘Careful of the walls. They should be dry by now, but you never know. Oh, it’s lovely to see you. How was the honeymoon?’

  He looks around the hallway. Sees the usual Artexed white walls behind the Lowry prints. He opens his mouth to say something nice, but his father’s voice interrupts.

  ‘Where are you, Nicky? Watch this replay.’

  ‘It’s fine, love,’ his mum says. She throws a crisp tea towel over her trim shoulder. ‘Dinner is ready in ten minutes. Then the television is going off, football or no football. We can talk then.’

  After a few minutes of sport, Nick takes his usual place at the dining table, his back to the manicured square of grass through the open curtains of the large window. ‘How’s Patrick?’ he asks over the prawn cocktail starter. ‘I sent him a text. I thought he might be here to say hello. I’ve brought him a bottle of Barbadian rum.’

  ‘Not tonight. He still comes on a Wednesday for his dinner,’ his mum replies, offering him buttered triangles of brown bread. ‘You know how he likes his routine. So, tell us about your honeymoon. Was it as lovely as you’d hoped?’

  Nick tells his parents about Barbados, the unrelenting sunshine, the glossy hotel and their room looking onto the almost white beach. The fabulous food, especially the soup, the cheeky small birds that begged at the table, the symphony of crickets at night. And even though he says we, he’s conscious when he mentions Lisa’s name. Lisa, who is now his wife, as though she doesn’t belong. He should have brought her with him tonight; he should have insisted.

  The main course is his favourite food; roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, even though it’s a Friday and his parents usually eat fish. His mum puts the last two crispy potatoes on his plate and passes him the gravy. He feels inordinately full from potatoes and nerves.