A Perfect Home (22 page)

‘Wet hair, Mummy!'

‘You do look rather damp,' said Sally looking Claire up and down.' And a little more dishevelled than usual. Is that a new necklace?'

‘Sorry it's taken me so long,' William appeared beside them. ‘Looks like things aren't quite as serious as they seemed at first anyway.' He turned to Sally. ‘Thanks, you've been a star. I don't know how we would have managed without you.

‘Any time,' smiled Sally. ‘Family crisis? I'm your girl!

‘Let's get everyone home,' William had on his most authoritative voice, the one he usually reserved for public fatherly duties. ‘Who's going to go in whose car? Emily and Oliver, would you like to go with Mummy and Ben?

Claire stiffened. The car; it was still in the car park miles away, how was she going to explain that?

‘The car has broken down,' she said.

‘How did you get here?' William and Sally said at the same time.

Claire paused desperately trying to think of an explanation, were there any buses round here any more?

‘I hitched a lift.'

William looked incredulous.

‘What a dangerous thing to do. You don't know who might have picked you up.' He marched towards the huge revolving doors, shepherding Oliver and Emily in front of him. Claire hung back, still holding Ben in her arms.

‘Come on,' said Sally putting her arm around Claire's shoulder. ‘I'm sure he doesn't mean to sound so pompous – you've got to remember the sort of mother he had to grow up with – he's turned out well considering that!'

Claire laughed but inside she felt leaden with self-loathing and incompetence. It only she hadn't been with Stefan, this would never have happened. She vowed to forget him, never to see him again.

Sally steered Claire towards the doors,

‘I think we all could do with a stiff G&T right now, but I also think you ought to know you have a squashed cherry tomato on the back of your dress.'

Chapter Twenty

‘The taupe and cream décor of the landing is cool and refined.'

Days passed and Claire's sense of guilt began to fade. Stefan sent a text asking about Ben, she answered politely and tried not to encourage him in any way. Stefan sent another text but when she didn't reply he didn't try again.

After a week she slowly started to let herself remember the picnic and the river and Stefan's hands on her skin.

On a hot and humid evening, while William put cladding on the summerhouse roof, Claire sat at her dressing table and took the button necklace out from the back of the drawer where she had hidden it. She held it at her bare throat and looked at her reflection. The buttons felt smooth and cool, their pearly sheen complimented her summer tan. She thought of Stefan's fingers as he had undone the buttons on her dress and felt her heart twist with desire. She wished she'd been calmer when she heard about Ben's accident; she thought that Stefan must have thought she was some sort of lunatic woman. If only she'd managed to tell him about Jack then he might have understood.

I'm sorry I was so rude to you. I miss you. X
. She sent the text as soon as she'd written it so there'd be no time to change her mind.

I miss you too. X
, came back immediately followed a few minutes later by:
Can I see you again?

Meet me at the hotel with the lovely cakes.

Next Thursday?

Yes. 2 p.m. X

At last Thursday arrived.

Everything had been arranged. Sally had agreed to have the children, yet again. Claire hoped her friend had been joking when she made her promise to have the twins to stay for a week to pay her back.

Claire woke up early, not sure if she'd managed to sleep at all. At last every bit of her seemed to ache with longing to see Stefan. Was she ready to be that sort of woman?
Yes, yes, yes,
said Bad Claire in her head.
Maybe
, said the respectable housewife and mother she tried so hard to be.

The early morning dragged. She unloaded the dishwasher and swept the floor. William got up and Claire made him coffee and set the table for his breakfast. The children woke up and she sorted out the usual arguments about cereal. Her husband left for work and she checked her phone.

I can't wait to see you. X.

She watered the red geraniums on the kitchen windowsill, looking out at the bright blue sky which heralded a perfect day. She heard a new text arriving and picked up her phone.

Claire hadn't started reading when suddenly the back door was flung open and Sally's boys tore through the kitchen, shouting for Oliver and demanding games on the computer. She barely had time to feel confused before Sally walked in and threw herself down on a chair.

‘I've chucked him out,' she said.

‘Who?' asked Claire. She still had the phone in her hand, message half unread. She turned it off and slipped it into her pocket.

‘Who do you think?' Sally threw her arms up in exasperation. ‘That bastard husband of mine.'

‘Gareth?'

‘I hope that he's the only bastard husband I have, otherwise I'm more unlucky than I thought. Yes, of course I mean Gareth – the sneaky, no-good lump of pigs' crap.'

‘Oh, Sally,' said Claire. ‘So, he has been having an affair after all?'

‘In his dreams he has.' She got up and opened Claire's biscuit tin. ‘He's having a virtual affair. I might have known he'd be too lazy actually get off his backside and exert himself in some other woman's bed.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Even you must have heard of cyber-sex, Claire.' Sally finished chewing a mouthful of flapjack and took a deep breath. ‘The lying piece of shit got himself onto a dodgy internet dating site calling himself Big Bad Bear and has been sending dirty messages to some woman who goes by the name of Sweet Betty.'

‘He told you this?' Claire had to resist the urge to laugh at Gareth's cyber-name.

‘Oh no.' She took another flapjack. ‘I found out for myself last night. He forgot to turn off the website before he went to the pub. I sat down to do my Tesco shop online and found this message from Ms Betty, or whoever she is, telling me that all she's wearing is a pair of crotchless knickers and an eight-foot boa constrictor – did I want to turn on the webcam to see her?'

Claire did laugh then; she couldn't help it. It seemed too ludicrous to believe. Sally shot her an angry look.

‘I can tell you, Claire, there was nothing funny about reading the whole backlog of messages they've been sending back and forth for weeks. It was disgusting, tasteless, tacky stuff. No wonder Gareth started smartening himself up a bit – not to go and meet this woman but rather to sit in our back room while she ogled him on her computer. Probably while I'm upstairs checking the boys' heads for nits or in the living room with a pile of ironing.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I turned on the webcam and told her where she could shove her bloody boa constrictor and what she could do with her crotchless knickers – and believe me, by the look on her scraggy face, I don't think it was what Gareth would have told her to do with them.'

‘Oh, Sally, this is awful.' Claire gave her a hug. Sally's well-upholstered body felt tense, as if she were trying to keep herself from breaking down. ‘What did you say to Gareth when he came home?'

‘There wasn't much to say.' Sally moved back to the chair, sat down and put her head in her hands, burying her fingers into her unbrushed mane of hair. ‘By the time Gareth came home I'd put all his stuff in bin liners and dumped it in the front garden, apart from his Iron Maiden T-shirt which I cut into little pieces and sprinkled up the path.'

‘What did he do?'

‘He was upset about the T-shirt, but when I told him I'd found out about Sweet Betty he just turned around and started loading the black bags into his car. Obviously it didn't all fit in – there's only so much of a man's life that can fit into a Ford Fiesta – so I expect he'll be back this morning to collect the rest. I didn't want to stay around to see him.'

‘Where do you think he's gone?'

‘Absolutely no idea. And do you know what? I just don't care. I'm so angry.'

‘Is it that bad?' Claire asked. ‘It's not as if he actually met up with her. Couldn't you try and work things out together?'

‘No way,' said Sally. ‘It doesn't matter if he met her or not. It's what was going on in his head that counts.' She sat up straight in the chair and tucked her shirt into her jeans in a businesslike manner. ‘He's not getting any second chances. That's why I've made an appointment to see a solicitor at two o'clock this afternoon. I want to know where I stand when I divorce the cheating ratbag.'

‘Two o'clock?' Claire said quietly. ‘What about …' Her voice trailed off. Suddenly she realised what Big Bad Bear's cyber-infidelity meant for her: she wouldn't be able to see Stefan today.

Sally seemed oblivious. ‘Obviously I'd be entitled to the house. It's the twins' home and I reckon he'll have to pay quite a lot towards their upkeep. But what I'd really like to know is how often he legally has to have the boys to stay with him. I'm hoping it's every weekend at least. That reminds me, would you have the boys this afternoon while I see this solicitor? I know I said I'd have yours but the last thing I expected was this marital bomb going off. I'm sure the gallery you were going to see will understand.'

‘Don't worry,' Claire said, sitting down beside Sally and taking her hand. ‘You do whatever you have to do and I'll help in any way I can.' Inside she wanted to weep with disappointment and frustration.

Sally stayed all morning drinking tea, eating flapjacks, and pouring out her fury and pain in a tirade of insults about Gareth and bravado about her future as a single woman.

After a couple of hours, Claire managed to extricate herself with the excuse of needing the toilet. Once in the bathroom she took her phone out of her pocket and sent a text.

So sorry. Something's come up. I can't make it today x

After lunch Sally set off for the solicitor's office, leaving Claire to deal with her boys; the youngest one had somehow got up on to the roof of the summer house. Once she'd lured him inside with a bowl of microwave popcorn, put on a DVD, settled all the children in front of it, and locked the back door, she turned on her phone again. One new message.

Don't worry, it's fine. I understand.

Claire read it three times. She could have done with more regret, more disappointment.

What about tomorrow?
she replied.

I've made plans. I'm free on Sunday afternoon?

Can we rearrange for Sunday then? x

Fine. 2 p.m?

Great, I'll look forward to seeing you. Xx

And that was it; no more. Claire spent the rest of the day trying to shake off a sense of unease, though it was hard to pinpoint exactly where it came from.

Sally came back from the solicitors full of determination to file for a divorce.

‘Don't you think you should wait?' said Claire. ‘Let things settle. Talk to Gareth. What about counselling?'

‘I'm not having some soft-spoken counsellor tell me I should try and understand Gareth because he's still coming to terms with being weaned from his mother, or once found his father dressed in a twinset and pearls, or some other rubbish I no longer care about. I've decided. As far as I'm concerned Sweet Betty and her overgrown grass snake are welcome to him.'

Chapter Twenty-one

‘Mixing textures in similar tones ensures a versatile and interesting finish.'

‘I need to go out on Sunday afternoon,' said Claire as she sat opposite William at the kitchen table. She topped up his wineglass and passed him another slice of ciabatta.

‘Why?'

‘I've had an enquiry from another shop a few miles away, a really good one, and I've said I'll go over and show them samples. They're too busy in the week, but the shop is closed on a Sunday, so they said that's the best time.' She'd been practising the line all day.

‘I thought I might make a start on sanding the living room floor,' he said.

‘I thought you were going to do that when we're away?'

‘I've got loads of other things to do as well. I want to repaint the wall on the landing where Ben has scribbled in Biro and I'll have to mow the grass.'

‘OK,' said Claire, playing what she hoped would be her trump card. ‘I'll ask my mother to come over and look after the children.'

‘All right,' he said. ‘I'll do it. But you won't be too long, will you?'

Leaving the children was like a military operation. Claire had given them all an early lunch and loaded and turned on the dishwasher. Oliver and Emily both had birthday parties to go to in opposite directions. She had presents wrapped, cards written, step-by-step instructions printed out on how to find each venue, with arrival and pick-up times highlighted. The children were dressed – Oliver in a pirate costume and Emily in a pink T-shirt and tutu skirt with her brand new school shoes, which she insisted on wearing. Claire left Play Dough and a ‘magic water' painting book on the kitchen table to keep Ben occupied while he was on his own with William. The biscuit tin had been refilled with home-made jam tarts and a big pan of tomato soup sat beside the Aga for the children's tea. The house was clean and tidy, Macavity fed, plants watered. Claire had hardly had a chance to think about where she was actually going.

It wasn't until she was in the car driving out of the village that she let herself remember what she was doing. In the last few days, her emotions had swung wildly from ecstatic joy to guilt, despair, terror, and back to joy again. For days she had been numb with indecision, completely unable to think of what to do or what she wanted, but in the last forty-eight hours she had emerged from a fog of confusion and the future seemed clearer. Again. She dared to imagine a life without William, a life without the house. A life with Stefan.