An Ideal Wife (7 page)

“I … You … We …” Giles stammered, seemingly unable to string a sentence together. “I …”

“Vat?” Ivana asked, her hands on her hips and her dark eyes flashing. “Vat is it?”

I looked at her in amazement. “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head in bewilderment. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that … It’s so … I don’t—”

“Recognize the place,” Helen finished for me, looking triumphant at being able to finally talk properly. “See? I told you.”

“Is a bit different.” Ivana shrugged. “Is clin.”

“Clean?” I asked. “You call this clean?”

The truth was, it was like a hospital. A good hospital. It smelled of disinfectant; everywhere you looked were pastel colors and soft fabrics. I couldn’t believe it was the same apartment I’d been to in the past. It looked bigger, better, like a completely new place.

“This is beyond clean,” Giles breathed. “It’s—”

“Bebe is asleep,” Ivana cut in, rolling her eyes. “You vant tea? Coffee? Drink hot drinks now. Once bebe is awake, you not have anymore. Okay?”

We nodded in unison. “Tea,” Helen said. “Tea would be lovely.”

Ivana disappeared into the kitchenette; we walked into the main room of the flat—a bedroom-cum-sitting room-cum-general reception area. The last time I was here, there’d been a heavy veil of smoke over the place, a smell of incense, of … well, not to put too fine a point on it, of sex. Now it smelled of pine. Of tea tree oil. The whole place was bathed in a white glow, bottles were neatly stacked up on the side, and a bright-colored rug lay on the floor. In the corner, looking angelic in a little Moses basket, was a baby.

Ivana appeared again, carrying a tray with three cups of tea and some biscuits, along with a glass of water.

“This is for me,” she said, placing the tray carefully down on the rug and swiping the water, gulping it down. “You sit. Here. Here. Here.”

We duly sat where Ivana pointed.

“You look amazing,” I said. “And this place, it’s …”

“Yes,” Ivana said with a shrug. “I chenge a few things. Now, drink please. Baby wek up in ten minutes. Then feed, then play. Then I heff washing to do. Ironing.”

“Ironing?” Helen arched an eyebrow but was met by a stony glare.

“Ironing,” Ivana confirmed. “Good mother is ironing clotheses, no?”

“Sure,” I agreed immediately. “I mean, definitely. I guess there must be a lot more of it to do now.”

Ivana stood up. “I get muslin and bottle ready. You stay, plis.”

We nodded silently and watched in astonishment as Ivana disappeared back into the kitchenette. Doors began to clank.

“I nid tumble dryer,” she said, emerging again a few seconds later. “But is no room in flet.” She eyed Giles’s present, which was taking up almost the entire hallway—which wasn’t really a hallway, more a gap between doors. “And vat is thet?” she asked darkly.

Giles attempted a smile. “It’s for the baby,” he said. I could see that his hands were shaking slightly; he was terrified of Ivana, always had been.

“Is very big.” Ivana’s voice was flat.

“Yes, it is,” Giles said. “But it has to be big. It’s a music station.”

“A vat?” Ivana’s eyes narrowed.

“A music station. Look!” He jumped up and opened the box, transporting the contents into the sitting room, where he quickly set it up. “I had a practice run at home,” he said with a nervous smile. “There. What do you think? Giorgio goes here; he can kick his legs, and look what happens!” Giles pressed the side of the station, and immediately the flat was full of the sound of nursery rhymes. “So what do you think?” he asked.

We all looked at Ivana; to our shock and surprise, she started to cry.

“Oh God, it’s not what you wanted,” Giles said immediately. “You hate it. Oh, I should have known. I should have asked someone. What do I know about babies?”

“No.” Ivana shook her head miserably. “No, I do not hate it. I em loving it. Is just … I should be buying this for Giorgio. I no work, I heff no money. Giorgio no heff best toys.”

“Don’t be silly,” Giles said with a soothing voice. “He has you, and that’s better than any toys. Anyway, that’s the point of presents, isn’t it? Getting other people to buy stuff for you?”

He was grinning, but Ivana didn’t raise a smile. “Sean no like other people buy stuff.”

“He doesn’t?” I asked, curious. “What, he doesn’t like presents?”

“He no like presents from my friends,” Ivana said.

“So he’s not going to like the music center?” Giles sounded worried. “Should I pack it up again?”

“Not you,” Ivana said dismissively. “Other friends. Friends I use work with. He say they Mefia. He say we no nid they money.”

None of us said anything for a few seconds.

“The … Mafia?” I asked tentatively.

Ivana rolled her eyes. “Russian Mafia, not Italian. And I don’ know. Mebe they Mefia, mebe not. They use come to club, use pay me money to be friendly, to be sexy. Sometime I do them favor. Special favor. Now Sean say no more do favors for them, no more working for money. I heff ask him for money instead. I no like.”

I cleared my throat uncertainly. She’d been doing special favors for the Russian Mafia? No wonder Sean wasn’t keen on her working. “Ivana, do you want to borrow some money?” I asked. “I mean, I’ve got loads just sitting around doing nothing if you—”

“No!” Ivana snapped, her eyes blazing. “I no borrow. I em not cherity. I wan work for my money. Is better. Independent.”

“You … you want to go back to work?” Giles sounded incredulous. “Do the … I mean, would the hours work?”

Ivana shrugged. “Sean say escort stripper no job for mother. He no think is
appropriate.”
She said the word with distaste.

“Still,” Giles said quickly. “You’re obviously brilliant at this motherhood lark. Isn’t she, Helen?”

“God, yes.” Helen was nodding furiously. “Amazing. The best.”

Ivana contemplated this for a few seconds, then nodded. “Is true. I em best mother. End I like music station. Giorgio will be very good musician, I think. He will be very good everything.”

I took out a little parcel from my pocket. “This is for Giorgio, too,” I said. “From Max and me.”

Ivana took it and unwrapped it. Then she looked at me, a frown on her face.

“It’s a frame,” I said. “An antique silver one. It was one of Grace’s. I thought you could put a photograph of Giorgio in it.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then she rushed over to me and threw her arms around me. A few seconds later she released me and walked back to her ironing board as though
nothing had happened. “So, I hef ironing to do,” she said, matter-of-fact. “You talk, plis.”

“You really do have this under control, don’t you?” Giles said in amazement as she took out an ironing board and started to iron T-shirts as if her life depended on it. One by one they were laid flat, ironed, folded, ironed again, then placed on a pile of equally neat, precisely folded white garments. “I mean, usually when people have babies, they’re in a mess for months. I can’t believe how organized you are. How on top of everything.”

Ivana nodded. “Yes,” she said flatly. “Yes, I em very good mother. I heff book.”

She took a book off the shelf; it had been sitting between a large dildo and an Ann Summers catalog. “Meking heppy baby,” she said, handing it to us. “It tell what to do.”

I took the book interestedly. Inside were chapters on sleeping, feeding, washing, playtime; there were pages and pages of routines.

“Ten
A.M.:
Have a piece of toast and some water,”
I read.
“Baby should sleep for no more than one hour.”

Ivana looked at her watch immediately. “Thet mins twenty T-shirts ironed.”

“You can iron twenty T-shirts an hour?” Giles asked in amazement.

Ivana shot him an incredulous look. “Of course. Now, talk. I no hef talking very much. You tell me about things. I nid hear things other than waahhh. Yes?”

“Jess wants to learn how to iron,” Helen said, sitting back in her chair. “You should teach her.”

Ivana looked at me closely. “You no iron?”

I reddened. “Not really,” I admitted.

“And you want learn?”

I nodded firmly. To be honest, I was pretty sure that ironing came pretty far down the list of attributes of the perfect wife, but
at least it was something tangible. Being a good listener was so much more difficult to measure.

“She thinks it’s going to save her marriage,” Helen said, grabbing a magazine from a neat pile, then putting it down again when she saw that the title was
Mother and Baby
.

“Merriage? What is wrong with your merriage?” Ivana asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Nothing!” I said, shooting Helen a meaningful look, because the last thing I wanted was for yet more people to know what was going on. “I mean, not specifically with our marriage. It’s more that—”

“Hugh Barter,” Helen cut in. “And don’t look at me like that, Jess. Ivana knows already. She was in the bar when you went off with him, remember?”

Ivana looked at me curiously. “You still fill guilty about kiss gay boy?” she asked. “You no boom-boom, no?”

“No,” I said wearily. “We didn’t boom-boom, so to speak. But I never told Max the truth about it. And now Hugh’s … He’s …” I didn’t want to say the word, didn’t want to accept what it was he was doing.

“He’s blackmailing her.” Helen’s voice was serious. “Fifteen grand so far.”

Ivana’s eyes darkened. “He bleckmail you? You want me get rid of problem? I do it. I do it now for you.”

I shook my head and cleared my throat. It wasn’t the first time Ivana had made such an offer, but Ivana’s way of “getting rid of the problem” involved making a call to people I really didn’t want to know existed. People who wouldn’t just get rid of the problem but would get rid of Hugh himself. “I appreciate the offer,” I said carefully. “But I don’t think that’s quite what I had in mind.”

“So you learn how to iron instead?” Ivana folded her arms and stared at me, incredulous. “This will help?”

“No,” I sighed. “It isn’t going to help. Not really. I just thought
that if I could be the ideal wife in every way, then when Max does find out—or even if he doesn’t—it’ll kind of make up for it. Does that make sense?”

“Perrrfect,” Ivana said dismissively, rolling her R dramatically. “You want feel better. You learn to iron, so no feel guilty. Yes?”

I looked uncertain. “No, it’s not about me. It’s about being more worthy of Max.”

“If you say so,” Ivana said.

“I do.”

“Okay.” It was a stalemate; Ivana had returned to her ironing, evidently not at all convinced. Then she looked up. “So what else on plen?”

I frowned. “On what?”

“Your plen,” Ivana said irritably. “Your plen be perrrfect wife.”

“Oh, right. The plan.” I dug out my list, slightly embarrassed. Helen grabbed it and started to read it out.

“1. To be honest. As far as possible.”

“Why only as far as possible?” Giles asked.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably.

“Because she’s not going to actually tell him about Hugh,” Helen said knowingly. “Are you, Jess?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Ah,” Giles said carefully. “Good point. And, anyway, white lies are the fundamentals of most relationships. Tell people what they want to hear, that’s what I say.”

“You don’t really think that,” I complained. “And what if Hugh tells him?”

“He won’t. If he tells, he’s got nothing on you,” Giles said firmly. “So, what next?”

Helen continued:

“2. To learn to cook fabulous food and to cook a lovely meal
every night. Some nights
. On occasion.

3. To make sure Max’s shirts are always dry-cleaned. Or just laundered. Beautifully. And ironed.

4. To learn to iron.

5. To listen to Max, to hear what he actually says instead of hearing what I think he says or, worse, what I want him to have said.

6. To be a better person generally. To give my time to others. Soup kitchen, maybe?

7. To make life easy for him, not run to him every time I have a problem and expect him to sort things out.”

Helen raised an eyebrow.

“Like if something’s broken,” I explained. “Or if my car tax is up for renewal.” The truth was that before I’d met Max, I’d done everything myself, had been so independent I didn’t know how a boyfriend, let alone a husband, would offer me anything I didn’t have already. But bit by bit, Max had started to do little things—take the rubbish out, change lightbulbs, take my clothes to the dry cleaner with his stuff—and I discovered how lovely it was being looked after, having someone else there to turn to every so often. He knew more about cars, so he’d started to check my oil on a regular basis; he liked shopping, so he regularly went to the supermarket on Saturday mornings to stock up the kitchen. The trouble was, I’d gotten used to it. He did loads of things, all the time, and I’d begun to let him. “I don’t want to take him for granted. Don’t want him to feel as if he does everything.”

“If you say so,” Helen said, looking back at the list.

“8. To pay him little compliments every day, so he knows how loved he is.

9. To be supportive. Always. Unwaveringly. To be on his side no matter what.

10. ???”

Then Helen cleared her throat. “Okay, I’m beginning to see why your marriage needs help.”

“You think my marriage needs help?” I asked worriedly.

“Of course. There’s nothing in there about sex.”

“Sex isn’t the problem,” I said immediately. “I mean, everything’s great on that front. It’s the … other fronts that I think I need to improve on.”

“Sex good, no nid improve anything else,” Ivana cut in.

“Exactly,” Helen agreed. “And look at what you’ve got in there instead! Ironing! Cooking! What are you trying to be, a Stepford Wife?” She shook her head wearily.