My Husband's Wife (9 page)

The street in which the Tipcotts lived was like many within walking distance of the town centre, with six out of its fourteen houses owned by out-of-towners and used as second homes. Many of these families were city dwellers who visited on the odd weekend, at New Year and for most of the summer. Rosie, unlike those who were quick to bemoan the rising price of property and the lack of community spirit, rather liked it. Her street was quiet in the non-occupied months and if her house was going up in value because Woolacombe was getting more fashionable, well, so much the better. It made her laugh, though, to see how the houses had been altered. Originally identical to hers, they now boasted glass-roofed extensions out the back that ate up the gardens, loft conversions to provide master suites, and Juliet balconies to make the most of the glimpse of sea from the upstairs windows. That was if you stood on a bucket and craned your neck. Tipcott and Sons had themselves worked on a couple of the houses, adding a few quid onto the price of the job – ‘the townie tax’ they called it.

As the three rounded the corner, nearly home, their occasional neighbour was unloading her Mercedes estate. Children of various ages, all wearing blue-and-white-striped items from the Joules catalogue, were ferrying bundled duvets and boxes of food across the pavement. They reminded Rosie of modern-day von Trapps.

‘Hi, Rosie!’ Mummy von Trapp shouted as she unfurled her skinny limbs from under the tailgate. ‘How
are
you?’

‘Good, thanks. Is it that time of year already?’

‘Yes, thank goodness. Just
had
to get out of town.’ The woman swiped her brow as if her life was spent down a mine and not sprinting up and down Chiswick High Road in search of organic quinoa. ‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘And you.’ Rosie nodded, noting that she looked decidedly younger than she had the previous year and was now suspiciously wrinkle-free.

‘We should get the kids together for a play date!’ Mummy von Trapp smiled at Naomi.

‘Oh, they’d love that – wouldn’t you?’ She directed her question at the girls.

‘I wouldn’t, no,’ Naomi said bluntly.

Rosie felt her cheeks flame. ‘Don’t be daft, Nay, of course you would. She’s kidding!’ She addressed the last bit to the rather taken aback Mummy von Trapp.

‘I’m not, Mum. I don’t want to play with them. The last time I went there, she gave us rice cakes and told us they were biscuits, but they weren’t, they were rice cakes and I hate rice cakes.’

‘I only give them organic, sugar-free,’ Mummy von Trapp whispered, almost apologetically.

Rosie couldn’t get into the house fast enough. Phil was in the kitchen.

‘Oh my God, Phil, I have just nearly died. You won’t believe what Naomi said to the woman two doors down.’ She looked up for the first time. ‘Oh, you’ve had a haircut!’ She deposited bags, summer cardigans and lunchboxes in the usual fashion.

‘Yep, went this afternoon. I needed it.’ He ran his hand over his newly shorn locks.

‘Very swanky. Different. Looks nice.’ She smiled. ‘Your dad said you’d left early.’ She opened the freezer to grab the oven chips.

‘What, you checking up on me now?’ he said.

‘Course not! I just took the girls to the site to say hello and you weren’t there. No big deal.’ She put the corner of the plastic bag in her mouth and ripped it open with her teeth, before shaking out the entire contents onto an oven tray.

‘Well, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but apparently it is, if you need to go and ask my dad where I am! What do I need, a note?’ He raised his voice.

‘Are you and Daddy having a row?’ Leona called from the sitting room.

‘I think Daddy might be, but I’m not,’ Rosie called in response.

‘Very funny.’ Phil grabbed his car keys and swept out of the kitchen.

She heard the front door close behind him. ‘What on earth...?’ she whispered as she shoved the chips in the oven and tried to think of something to serve with them.

He was gone for three hours. Rosie put the girls to bed and tried to keep the mood light, hiding the rising tide of angst that threatened to engulf her. She found herself continually glancing at the clock on her phone and she sent him three messages, asking simply,
WHERE ARE YOU?
To which he declined to reply. The lack of response sent her anxiety rate even higher.

It was just after nine o’clock when she heard his key in the door.

He crept into the sitting room and flopped down on the other end of the sofa, holding his hand over his eyes.

‘I’m sorry.’

Rosie twisted her body and tucked her legs beneath her, so she faced her husband. ‘What’s going on with you, Phil? I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be.’ He reached out and took her hand, laying it on his thigh; he ran his fingers over hers.

‘But I am and saying “don’t be” won’t stop that. You need to talk to me, Phil, tell me what’s up. You’re not yourself.’

He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again. She continued to prompt.

‘Is it because of the baby thing? Because I understand that it’s a pressure you don’t need and I purposely haven’t mentioned it, not since that day. I can see that the timing’s not right and you know what? I’ve got more than I ever imagined I would have with my little family in our lovely house and if the thought of having another child is making you feel—’

‘It’s not the baby thing.’

‘Oh. Is it work?’

‘Why does it have to be something, Rosie? Why do I have to have one reason for feeling a bit out of sorts?’ He let go of her hand.

‘Because I’ve known you since I was a teenager and we’ve been married for nearly twelve years and I’ve never seen you like this – stroppy, snappy. It’s just not like you.’

‘I think I’ll go up.’ He smiled briefly and stood up, making it clear the conversation was over, or so she thought.

‘It’s not even ten o’clock.’ She pointed to the window, trying to emphasise the summer evening light and the relatively early hour.

As if she hadn’t spoken, he walked slowly to the door and with his hand resting on the frame he turned to her. ‘Don’t you ever want a life that’s more than cleaning caravans?’

‘I do have a life that’s more than cleaning caravans. That’s just one tiny part of my life.’ She sat up straight, her face tilted to one side, as if in question.

‘You know what I mean.’ He placed his hands on his hips. ‘More than eking out a living in the summer, with me working on houses I could never afford for people rich enough to know they should get the hell out of here in the winter. We haven’t even got a proper supermarket!’

‘You want us to move near a supermarket?’ Rosie stared at him; she was trying to follow his thread.

‘No! Jesus Christ, Rosie!’ He twisted his jaw and shook his head, as though she was stupid, and she thought she might indeed be stupid, because despite him talking, using words she understood, she was no closer to understanding what was going on.

She studied her husband. He turned his body to the left and right, almost pacing on the spot, highly agitated, as if warming up for a run. His eyes darted to the clock and the window, as if he had a place to be. Rosie would have found it hard to describe how he looked to anyone that didn’t know him as she did. But it was as if he was already a stranger. She felt no more able to touch him, hold him, kiss him than any man on the street, and at that realisation, she felt the beginnings of fear.

‘I want more. I just want more for us both.’ He turned his head in her direction, but she noticed that he looked to the left of her, avoiding her face. ‘Don’t you ever just want to jump in a car and...’ His mouth flapped as he searched for the words. ‘Go to London!’ He raised his palms.

‘London?’ She let out a little laugh. ‘We’re not the sort of people who go to London! Not on a whim. I mean, that takes big planning and you know we’d rather be here, at home, away from the hustle and bustle.’

His expression told her this was not the response he wanted. Her mind rushed into solution mode. She loved him, and he was probably tired, what could be done? She thought about a particular weekend a couple of years earlier, when Naomi had asked her what it was like to be on holiday in their town and not live there, and why so many people came there in the summer. After a quick word with Doug up on the site, the grand plan had been launched and she had surprised her husband and two kids with a weekend break in a silver-category six-berth caravan with the best view. It had been cosy in a way the house wasn’t. The gas fire had pumped out heat and they had played cards and eaten chips as their laughter steamed up the windows.

‘Do you want me to have a word with Doug, see if we can get a caravan again? The kids loved that night and it might be a fun thing to do?’

He gave a slow blink and for a second she thought he might be about to cry. He composed himself and shook his head, tapping his wedding ring against the wood, whispering his response before he left the room and trod the stairs to bed.

‘No, Rosie, I don’t want to do that.’

As Rosie threw her bag in the car ready for her annual daytrip to see her dad, she became aware of the racket the girls were making. She pictured the stripy von Trapps having their peace shattered and she cringed, convinced they’d be sitting tutting beneath the wisteria that clambered over their aged oak arbour.

The girls were running in and out of the back garden, jumping into their paddling pool, screaming, splashing around until they were sodden and then darting through the kitchen and diving onto the sofa to huddle under a fleecy blanket for warmth.

‘Girls! You are literally soaking the whole house!’ she yelled from the kitchen. ‘Can’t we keep the water outside? Just dry yourselves off with your beach towels before you come inside, please!’

‘You sure you don’t want the girls to come with you?’ Phil asked as he made the sandwiches for lunch. ‘It might be nice for them to spend a bit of time with your dad and Shona and it’s company for you in the car.’

‘That’s lovely of you to think of me, but I’d rather they didn’t. It’s going to be a pig of a drive, in a hot, stuffy car and it’s not exactly fun when we do arrive. The girls are more than happy here and I’ll worry less knowing it’s only me that’s having a rubbish day. God, I feel awful saying that.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Besides, Dad and Shona are off to one of their dancing competitions this afternoon, so it will literally be a quick cup of tea, show my face, have a bit of cake and back in time for supper.’

‘Well if you’re sure.’

‘I am.’ She nodded. After the unnerving events of the previous month, things still hadn’t returned to normal, but what with the summer holidays and everything, there just hadn’t been the time to get to the bottom of it. She hoped that having the day with the girls might cheer him up a bit. Quite probably he was a little jealous of her being able to spend time with the kids while he was busy up at Mortehoe or wherever, this she understood. Mel had quite rightly pointed out that men were allowed a funny five minutes too, and that Andy had had similar wobbles in the past. Rosie took comfort from her words.

‘Right, girls, I’m off. See you later and please be good for Daddy.’

‘We will.’ Naomi tutted, as if offended by the very suggestion. ‘Have you said goodbye to Moby and Jonathan?’

Rosie smiled. She might have guessed that allowing the girls to name their own goldfish would produce hilarious results. Moby she understood, but Jonathan? According to Naomi, he was a boy in the year above her at school who looked a bit like a fish.

‘Yes, I did. I said goodbye earlier.’ She had to admit that the two little fishes were a lot less bother than a pony.

As she sat at the Mullacott roundabout waiting to pull out, a large shiny black Range Rover swept past. The registration was GF38. Geraldine Farmer. Even in the few seconds Rosie had to take in the car and its driver, she could see that both looked very impressive. She raised her hand to give a little wave, a hello to the friend she had made in the Spar, but Geraldine didn’t look in her direction. The car simply zoomed past. It was the kind of vehicle that would always look brand new and stand out in the car park. And the woman with the red lipstick and big black-framed sunglasses, well, she would stand out anywhere. She had the upright posture and particular flick of the head of someone who was confident in this knowledge.

*

The drive to Exeter took just over two stifling hours, far longer than usual because of the holiday season. At one point her car was chugging up a hill behind a caravan, a bus and a tractor. She had laughed loudly, wondering if a couple of cyclists were going to appear, just to give her a full house.

She texted Phil to say she’d arrived, then took a deep breath before abandoning the car on her dad’s precariously sloping driveway.

‘Hello there, Rosie.’ Shona opened the frosted-glass front door to their flat-fronted nineteen seventies home and ushered her in. A burgundy-and-gold-patterned runner sat in a narrow strip in the middle of the hall floor and the white walls were devoid of pictures, making the place feel cold despite the sunshine.

*

The house Rosie had grown up in had been similarly soulless, but in a different way. Her dad had had little clue about making the environment cosy, and items were functional rather than pretty. Kindly neighbours donated their unwanted furniture to the poor motherless home, which meant that nothing matched and everything echoed with a history that wasn’t theirs. When Rosie had set up her own house-hold with Phil, she had worked hard to make sure Arlington Road was as welcoming and personal as possible.

The house Roy shared with Shona was not so much odd and mismatched as too clean, and chilly, like a sparsely furnished holiday home, as if they too were only passing through. There was a similar lack of warmth in the way Shona behaved towards Rosie. She was always polite and attentive, but even though she’d been her dad’s partner for some eighteen years, Rosie still found it hard to relate to her. She always felt like a visitor rather than a daughter returning to see her dad.

She followed Shona down the hall, slowing her pace accordingly. Shona always moved as if she was about to take her place on the ballroom floor, keeping her legs stiff and giving a little kick at the ankle after every step. She took her hobby very seriously and was always well turned out, never without her spray-on perma-tan, which kept her skin a nice shade of mahogany. Rosie was thankful she’d not encouraged her dad to follow suit.