Lets not be friends, p.6
Let's Not Be Friends, page 6
‘No. What did she say?’
‘Basically, that you ought to be having sex with both Becky and me. If I’m not able to produce an heir, maybe Becky can.’
His head goes back into his hands. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
‘Nope. It does beg a question, though. I thought we weren’t going to tell her about the fertility thing. Why did you tell her, and why did you lead her to believe that it was me who was infertile?’
‘It just came up. She was banging on about wanting a grandchild, and I kind of lost patience slightly and said she might have to wait a while longer because we were having a bit of trouble. I was deliberately careful about how I phrased it, so her putting it down to you is just her jumping to conclusions.’
I eye him suspiciously. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes! Look, I didn’t want to tell her that I was infertile. It’s not the sort of thing you like to boast about, is it? But I was very careful not to make it seem like it was your issue either. I deliberately chose ‘we’ in every sentence.’
‘Well, I can tell you that your mum isn’t going to be on my BFF list any time soon. It was like being in the ring with a heavyweight boxer. You and Becky were the first punch and, before I’d even had a chance to register it, in she came with the second.’
‘I really am sorry. I don’t know what got into her. The weird thing was that she didn’t even think she’d said anything wrong. I had to spell it out to her, and I could tell she was still a bit confused even when I’d explained how she would have sounded to you.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She kept telling me that I was being silly, that she was only telling you things you already knew to show you why you were better off with me. I think she genuinely thought she was being helpful.’
‘Dear God, if that’s her being helpful, I’d hate to come across her when she’s being unkind!’
We both laugh, and it’s a good sound. I realise that there hasn’t been much laughter in our little cottage for a while. When did we stop laughing?
The rest of the evening passes surprisingly well. James is very attentive, and the Aga manages to produce a meal that is perfectly cooked, for once. Even though it’s a Monday night, we decide to open a bottle of wine and, after we’ve eaten and cleared up, we slump on the sofa together. As we sit and chat about nothing in particular, James’ eyes sparkle with the reflections from the wall lights.
As we talk, I veer from wanting to lean in and kiss him to wanting to throw things at him again. On the one hand he’s the husband I love, back to his old self, and it’s wonderful to see. But he’s also the cheating bastard who I caught shagging the groom. I wish I could just choose for him to be one of those things and forget the other, but I can’t. Not yet, at least.
The wine does its work, and it’s only just after nine thirty when we both realise we’re exhausted and head upstairs to bed.
‘I do want us to be able to fix this.’ I tell him as he heads for the spare room. ‘But it’s going to take time, and I’m not making any promises, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Want to fix this.’
‘More than anything.’
‘You’ll need to prove that you’re serious. If I sense you’re just going through the motions, it’s not going to work. Do you understand?’
‘I do.’
‘One last thing, James.’
‘Yes?’
‘If you ever do this again, I’m not going to stick around like your mother did, okay? I’ll be out of here so fast you won’t see me for dust. Get it?’
‘Understood.’
8
‘Tom and Audrey were on form tonight, weren’t they?’ I say to James, as we make our way back to the car from the church hall where the marriage counselling sessions are held. This is our third week, and James is holding up surprisingly well. I hesitate to say it, but I think he may even be enjoying them, at least when the focus isn’t on us.
‘Mm. I can’t understand why they don’t just give up. She patently hates him with a passion. Also, he is the most boring man I think I’ve ever encountered. How on earth did she not spot that before she married him?’
‘They’ve been together for thirty years. Maybe he wasn’t that boring to begin with?’
‘Even so, it doesn’t sound like either of them are having any fun now, does it? She’s just bombarding him with thirty years’ worth of built-up resentment and he’s pretty much ignoring her. If I were Tess, I’d tell them to get a divorce. It would be the kindest thing, both for them and for the rest of us who have to listen to them.’
I link my arm through his as we walk. ‘I’m not sure she’s allowed to do that and, who knows, maybe Audrey will get to the end of her list of things she hates about Tom at some point, and then she’ll start thinking that maybe he’s not so bad. Although, having said that, I would have smothered him with a pillow by now if he were my husband.’
‘Jane and Andrew are nice, though. I hope they make it,’ he remarks, as we reach his truck and he unlocks it.
‘You just like him because he’s a dirty philanderer like you. He’s a kindred spirit, hence the bromance,’ I reply, as I climb in and fasten my seat belt.
‘Unfair!’ he retorts. ‘Anyway, what do you think about what Tess said to us?’
I knew he was going to have locked on to this. Although we’ve been getting on well and James has continued to be attentive, I don’t feel that I trust him enough yet to restart physical intimacy. The STD tests came back clear, but I still get occasional flashbacks to him and Becky in the hay store and, each time it happens, any physical desire I might feel for him goes out like a light. He’s been very understanding, but I can tell he’s keen to re-start that aspect of our marriage. Tess, the counsellor, told me in no uncertain terms tonight that I need to balance my current aversion to sex with him against the fact that, if I leave it for too long, sex might never restart or James might get so pent up he’ll seek refuge back in Becky’s arms.
‘I know what she said is right,’ I tell him. ‘I just need a little more time, okay? We will get there, I promise.’
‘Hey, no pressure from me. I can wait a bit longer, don’t worry.’
I lean across as he drives and plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you. I tell you what, why don’t you come back into our room tonight? Just to sleep, for now, but at least you’ll be there when I’m ready.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so. It’s a step we need to take at some point, and it might as well be tonight.’
‘Okay thank you.’
The cottage is warm when we arrive home; since Terry from ‘Aga Saga’ came, the Aga has been on its best behaviour. His bill made James’ mouth drop open, but he did have to replace quite a lot of the internals and delivered a lengthy lecture to me about how much cheaper it would have been if we’d had it serviced regularly instead of waiting until it was pretty much on its last legs. I was sufficiently embarrassed to book him to come back next year, much to James’ consternation.
I open the warming oven and check the cottage pie I’d stuck in there before we went out. It looks perfect, so I set about boiling some peas to go with it. Although the Aga is now fully cured, it’s still a juggling act to get anything to simmer on the hotplates, so I perform my now customary dance of moving the pan around, trying to find a sweet spot where the water is bubbling but not boiling over.
‘What’s up with Tony?’ I ask, as we settle down to eat. ‘I went out wearing a fitted shirt earlier when he was in the yard, and I swear he only spoke to my face.’
‘He’s in love,’ James replies.
‘Really? When did this happen?’
‘The dairy sent a different driver a couple of weeks ago. A woman by the name of Monica. You know Tony’s obsession with what he calls ‘capable women’, and a woman driving an articulated lorry probably ticks all his fantasy boxes. His eyes were certainly out on stalks the first time she reversed up. Anyway, she’s our new regular driver, and he always makes sure he’s doing something in the yard when she arrives.’
‘I bet she’s loving his special brand of attention!’ I laugh.
‘She seems to like him too. It’s funny, because he’s weirdly polite and attentive around her, like she’s some exotic goddess that he can’t quite believe is real. He’s managed to find out that she only lives an hour or so from here, so he’s psyching himself up to ask her out for a drink.’
‘Well, here’s hoping she keeps him distracted. He’s much easier to get along with when he’s not ogling me all the time.’
‘I saw Mum earlier,’ he tells me. ‘She asked after you.’
‘Did she? What did you say?’
‘I said you were fine, and that the counselling sessions were really helping. I think she was quite impressed actually. She said that Dad would never have gone to anything like that, and she admired you for making me go.’
Rosalind and I seem to be pretending that the extraordinary conversation between us never took place. She obviously finished off my cakes for me, as Pauline thanked me for them at WI a couple of weeks ago. I’m still avoiding her as much as possible though and, when we do see each other, I would describe us as warily polite. She knows I was upset but, according to James, she’s firmly holding on to the opinion that this is because I’m being over-sensitive rather than anything to do with her being incredibly offensive. I have to say that I don’t really care what she thinks of me. I’m never going to be good enough in her eyes, so why bother trying?
It’s rather liberating, in a funny kind of way.
9
Tonight’s the night! It’s supposed to be our fourth marriage-counselling session, but I’m planning to skip it. I have something much more important in mind, namely that I’m going to welcome James back into the bed again, and not just to sleep. I’m still not completely sure I trust him, but I’ve been pondering what the counsellor said to us last time, and I think she’s right. I’ve planned the whole evening meticulously. Since our conversation about Rosalind’s allowance, James has done some jiggling of the finances and we now seem to have a bit more money available. Not enough to go wild, but enough to swap the local Co-op for something a bit more exciting every once in a while. James’ favourite dish is steak and chips, so I’ve bought two rib-eye steaks from the butcher and I’m going to serve them with some upmarket oven chips I found in Waitrose, grilled tomato, mushrooms, and a green salad. I’ve even bought a bottle of red wine that the assistant in Waitrose assured me would be a good match for the steak. Finally, I also swallowed my pride and phoned Rosalind to get her recipe for James’ favourite treacle pudding and custard. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but we were both on our best behaviour. The Aga continues to behave impeccably, so I’m confident that the food will all come out as I want it to.
Naturally, the food and wine are just the first stage of the seduction. I’m also going to be wearing my wedding lingerie underneath my normal clothes. It came from a boutique in Paris that my mum raved about, and we flew over there before the wedding just to get it. It seems ridiculously extravagant now, taking Dad’s private jet, spending two nights at the Hotel George V and blowing nearly a thousand pounds on underwear that I’ve only worn once but, at the time, it was exciting choosing something special to wear under my wedding dress. It was definitely a different world back then. Even though James had seen me undressed loads of times before we got married, this underwear did something special, and I remember him being particularly eager to remove it on our wedding night. So, it seems only right that it should take a central role in our sexual ‘reset’.
There’s just one small issue. James won’t be able to see the lingerie under my normal jeans and jumper, so I need something to give a little clue, to help him get the message. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I reckon I’ve come up with the perfect solution. Initially, I was going to greet him wearing the lingerie and nothing else, but I quickly dismissed that idea as impractical. For one thing, what if I opened the door and it wasn’t him? Even in his new loved-up, no longer leering at me state, I don’t want to give Tony the accidental benefit of my wedding lingerie. Also, if the steaks spit at all while I’m cooking them, I’m going to be very vulnerable in just knickers and a bra – and that’s assuming I get as far as cooking. James might take one look at me and haul me upstairs straight away, and that doesn’t fit with my plans at all.
I have a beautiful Tiffany Victoria necklace that Mum bought for me to go with my wedding dress. Like the lingerie, I’ve only ever worn it once, but I’m sure James will notice it around my neck. I’m going to light lots of candles to set the mood as well, so hopefully he’ll guess that something is up. I’m pretty sure he will, but men can be surprisingly dense about these things sometimes. In my favour, he’s so pent up that I could just say ‘hi’ suggestively and he’d probably get the message, but I want to do something a bit more meaningful than just giving him the go-ahead. I want him to remember our wedding day and how we felt about each other then. Hopefully, all these little links and clues will do that.
I’ve got some prosecco in the fridge for afterwards. I know it should be Champagne, but even my improved budget doesn’t run that far, and James can’t tell the difference between the two anyway. It’s symbolic more than anything else, so prosecco will do fine. I hum along to the radio as I beat together the golden syrup, butter, eggs, and flour to make the pudding. Once it’s in the steamer, I head upstairs to get ready.
The lingerie is in a cardboard box in the top of our wardrobe, and I bring it down carefully. I open the lid and peel back the tissue paper to reveal the matching satin knickers and bra. They really are exquisite, and I feel a bit of the excitement of my wedding day as I wriggle out of my everyday pants and slip them on. Thankfully, I’m still the same size as when I got married, so they fit perfectly. The bra gently enhances my cleavage and gives me a lovely shape. I have to confess that I waste a certain amount of time twirling in front of the mirror before I get a grip and put my jeans and jumper back on. Even under the jumper, the enhancing effect of the bra is obvious to me, but I sincerely doubt that James will notice. It takes me several goes to get my make-up right. The first attempt is not over the top exactly, but too different from my everyday look. Eventually I settle for a natural shade of lipstick, a touch of foundation and just a hint of eyeliner and mascara. It’s normal me, but with the volume turned up a little.
Satisfied, I retrieve the over-sized cash box that serves as our safe from the back of the wardrobe, enter the combination and open it up. It only takes me a couple of seconds to realise that something is very wrong. James’ grandfather’s medals are in here, as is his father’s signet ring and a few other bits and pieces. But my Tiffany necklace and the Patek Philippe watch my parents gave him as a wedding present are both missing. My heart is in my mouth as I open the bedside drawer where we keep the boxes for them, and my mounting suspicions are confirmed when I see that the boxes are also gone. Suddenly, I don’t feel sexy at all. If he’s done what I think he’s done, I am going to kill him.
In the hour I have to wait before James comes home, I try to think of alternative scenarios. Maybe he’s taken them up to put them in the proper safe in the main house but, if he’s done that, why hasn’t he told me? My heart is banging away in my chest; I really don’t want us to have a fight now, but if he’s sold my wedding necklace without consulting me, we are definitely going to have a difficult conversation. I’m trying hard to be optimistic, and I continue preparing the meal, just in case I’m wrong. God, I hope I’m wrong.
‘Something smells amazing, are we eating before marriage counselling tonight?’ James asks, as he breezes through the front door and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. ‘Give me ten minutes to shower and change, and I’ll be with you, okay?’
He bounds up the stairs before I have a chance to say anything, so I carry on with what I’m doing. In a funny way, the delay is welcome, because I’m feeling increasingly uncertain about confronting him and ruining what was supposed to be a special evening. Equally, I know I can’t just pretend nothing has happened and go through with my original plan; I’ve got to ask him, at least.
I’m still dithering when James reappears. The table is laid and the bottle of wine stands unopened on it. The pudding looks perfect, the chips, tomatoes, and mushrooms are in the oven, and all I have to do is cook the steaks.
‘This is a bit posh for a Tuesday night,’ James observes. ‘We might have to leave the wine until we get back though.’
‘I thought we’d have a night off from counselling,’ I tell him, and I can hear my voice trembling slightly. ‘I thought I’d cook you all your favourites instead. We’ve got steak and I’ve made you a treacle sponge to your mother’s recipe.’
‘A night off from counselling? Are you telling me that I don’t have to listen to more of Audrey’s moaning, and that I get to stay in with you and have this feast? What have I done to deserve such a treat?’ He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my forehead. I feel sick with nerves, but press on regardless.
‘Well, we’ve been doing pretty well, haven’t we?’ I tell him, as I ease myself out of his grasp. ‘I thought we’d earned a night off, and I wanted to do something special for you. In fact,’ I steel myself, ‘I was going to put on the necklace that I wore on our wedding day, but I couldn’t find it. Do you know where it is?’
He looks shifty. I can see him trying to think what to say, and my suspicions are confirmed.
Eventually, he speaks. ‘I’m sorry, Sophie, but something had to give. I tried to talk to Mum about reducing her allowance, but she just got all emotional and said that I was going against what Dad specifically requested. Then there was the massive bill for the Aga, and you wanting more. I didn’t want to let you down either.’
