The Desperate Wife’s Survival Plan (4 page)

‘Probably.’

‘Blimey.’ There was a short silence. ‘Maybe I could buy some of that designer gear off her. I’m sure she’s got some Stella McCartney in her wardrobe. I wonder what her shoe size is?’

Julie was amazed by her friend’s
reaction. ‘I think fashion is the least of her problems.’

‘I know that,’ said Samantha quickly. ‘I was just being practical. I mean, she’s gonna need the money. And she’s not going to need any cocktail dresses in the foreseeable future, is she?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Julie. ‘But don’t mention any of this yet, will you? She’s pretty cut up about it all.’

‘’Course not. God, I’m just grateful that
we can help her out in some small way. I mean, it’s not like any of us have money problems.’

Julie didn’t reply, thinking about the poor state of her own bank account. But her friends didn’t need to know about that.

‘
CHARLOTTE? IS THAT
you?’ shouted her mother down the phone. ‘I won’t have that thing in this house!’

Charley held the phone away from her ear. Only her family called her ‘Charlotte’ these days.

‘Mum,’ she said, staring down at the paperwork in front of her, ‘I haven’t got time for this at the minute.’

‘It’s your father and his latest, you know, thing. What are you doing for dinner?
Do you and Steve want to come over?’

‘I don’t think he can spare the time either.’

But her mother wasn’t listening. ‘I’ll do chicken, shall I? See you at six.’

‘We really can’t,’ said Charley, before realising that only the dial tone was listening.

She sank back in the kitchen chair, trying not to tremble. Her mother’s phone call had been only one of many that Monday morning. Every other call
was someone else wanting to be paid. It was horrifying how much money they owed to so many people.

It was also upsetting how many of them appeared to know her mobile number and were prepared to use it when they were unable to get hold of her husband.

Charley knew how they felt. She had barely seen Steve since their meeting with the Official Receiver the previous Friday. He had spent the whole
weekend in his friend’s pub. She could hardly blame him. Yes, because of the personal guarantees that Steve had signed, they would have to sell the house. Unfortunately, they had taken out a second mortgage and some additional loans to cover all the renovation work. Therefore any other assets they owned would also have to be sold.

It was still quite sketchy to her at that point. Charley had nagged
Steve to talk through everything with her but he was too drunk every night when he finally came home. And she wasn’t going to discuss their personal life in the pub in front of his mates. She knew he was avoiding her out of guilt, but she had countless papers to go through for the Official Receiver and could not answer the innumerable questions without him.

She sent Steve a text message telling
him about the invite from her parents for dinner but didn’t expect a response. Besides, it was probably best he wasn’t around when she told them the very bad news about the state of their finances.

Later that afternoon Charley clambered out of her BMW, shivering in the cold air as she walked up the driveway. Her parents had lived in the same house in Little Grove for over forty years. Little
Grove was a small hamlet on the outskirts of the main village, with only a cricket green, farm shop, church and post office to its name.

Charley turned her key in the lock and stepped inside.

‘Hello,’ she called out, dumping her car keys in the pale green bowl on the hall table.

It was a family ritual. Like everything else in the house, the bowl had stood in the same place for decades. Charley
and her younger sisters had carried on placing their keys in the green bowl long after they had left home.

‘Charlotte?’ Her mother came rushing out of the kitchen in a whirlwind of smoke. The air was filled with the smell of something burning in the oven.

Maureen Summers gave her daughter a hug before trying to smooth down a wild tendril that had escaped from Charley’s ponytail. But they both
knew she was fighting a losing battle. Whereas her mother’s dark hair was kept under control by being cut short, Charley’s long hair had reverted back to its natural unruly state. She had eked out her last salon blow dry as long as she could, but in the end nature had won.

‘You look terrible,’ said Maureen, frowning to see her eldest daughter’s pale face.

‘I’m fine.’

‘What’s the matter? Where’s
Steve?’

‘Busy at work. He sends his love,’ lied Charley. She had received no reply from her text earlier. ‘So, what’s this about Dad?’

Her mother clutched one hand to her heart. ‘It came this morning.’ She shuddered and pushed her daughter through the kitchen and towards the back door. ‘You’ve got to talk to him. You know he listens to you.’

Charley stepped out of the house alone, clutching
her coat around her for warmth as she walked slowly towards the garage at the end of the garden, which had been converted into a workshop a few years previously. There her father could have a quiet smoke, listen to his old music and potter about undisturbed.

She pulled open the metal door and went inside. ‘Hi, Dad.’

Her father looked up from the workbench and smiled. A tall man in his early
sixties, his silver hair matched his years but his soft grey eyes retained a youthful twinkle. Retired for over a year, his days were now divided between gardening, fishing, and the cause of his wife’s despair.

He came over to give his daughter a hug. ‘Hello, love. You look tired.’

‘I’m fine.’

Charley’s eyes moved across the table to the glass case he had been working on. Next to it stood an
immobile grey squirrel which was poised in the act of eating a peanut.

‘Just finished him last week,’ said her father, following her gaze. ‘Isn’t he terrific?’

‘Great,’ said Charley faintly.

Taxidermy. The loss of their family cat had started all the trouble eight years ago. Her father had done a bit of investigating and poor old Marmalade hadn’t been given the chance of a decent burial in
a flowerbed. Instead, she was stuffed and put on show. Now she held pride of place on the opposite wall, curled up on a red cushion.

His collection of immobile friends had grown ever since. Rabbits, squirrels and fish now adorned the walls next to Marmalade. His wife confined her displeasure at his hobby to pursed lips and maintaining a distance from the workshop.

Charley found her eyes magnetically
drawn to a large crate standing near the door.

‘Ah, come to see what the fuss is about, eh?’ Her dad went over to the wooden box and lifted the lid. ‘What do you think?’

She peered cautiously inside.

‘My first badger,’ he said proudly. ‘And look at the size of it!’

Still lost for words, Charley took a step backwards.

‘Dinner’s ready!’ came a shout from the top of the garden.

A dozen pairs
of glassy eyes watched them head back into the twilight of a cold February afternoon.

‘The chicken’s been in the oven for hours,’ muttered her father in a low tone. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

It wasn’t that her mother was a bad cook – she was a terrible cook. Charley had grown up believing that food was merely fuel for the body and certainly not to be enjoyed or lingered over. But once she
had begun taking cookery lessons at school, a miracle had happened. Suddenly food tasted fresh and full of flavour. Each recipe she followed turned out perfectly. Her mother’s culinary genes had, thankfully, skipped a generation.

As she grew older, she began to find individual ingredients interesting. Spices and herbs fascinated her and she sampled as many different foods as she could lay her
hands on. Gradually, she stopped following recipes to the exact letter. Instead she used her own instincts and loved to experiment.

The march of time hadn’t improved her mother’s cooking skills but at least the supermarket ready-meals had become more edible. Unfortunately, Maureen always tried to make an extra effort whenever the family visited. Thankfully misery loves company and Aunty Peggy
had joined them for dinner, which was a welcome distraction from the food.

Aunty Peggy wasn’t a relation but Maureen’s best friend who lived just around the corner. Now they were both retired, their days were spent in a whirlwind of bazaars, jumble sales and WI meetings.

Charley and her father sat down at the dining-room table, struggling with the inedible food on their plates whilst her mother
and Aunty Peggy caught up on the latest gossip.

‘Ethel Mitford was up at the hospital again yesterday,’ said Maureen. ‘Visiting the sick, apparently.’

‘If they weren’t feeling bad before, they’d have felt a lot worse once she arrived.’ Aunty Peggy speared a rock-hard potato with her fork. Maureen’s food never appeared to trouble Peggy’s constitution. Perhaps her stout body was immune to it after
so many years of close friendship.

‘I told you that Dukan diet was bad for the breath,’ replied Maureen. ‘Don’t you think she looks terrible? Our Charlotte, I mean.’

‘It’s not morning sickness, is it?’ said Aunty Peggy.

Maureen’s face lit up. ‘Is it?’

Charley gulped back a tear. ‘No, Mum. I’m not pregnant.’

She had been desperately putting off telling her parents about the bankruptcy but
knew the time had come.

‘But I do have some news.’

Her parents glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows.

‘Unfortunately it’s not good news,’ added Charley.

Maureen’s face dropped back into a worried frown.

‘It seems the business hasn’t been going so well,’ began Charley.

Three faces stared back at her in silence.

Charley took a deep breath. ‘In fact, we’re not doing very well at all.
We are, actually, erm . . . well, we’re bankrupt.’

She exhaled a long breath as her parents and Peggy stared back at her, their eyes widening.

‘But we’ll be fine,’ she quickly added. ‘Really, we will. So don’t worry.’

She gave everyone her bravest smile. Perhaps she would mention a small loan at a later stage.

Charley had expected many reactions to her words. Tears, hugs, words of worry and
concern. But the reaction she hadn’t expected was anger. And it wasn’t even directed at Steve or herself.

She watched as her mother spun round to glare at her father. ‘You idiot!’

The ferocity of Maureen’s anger was shocking to her daughter.

Aunty Peggy was shaking her head. ‘Terrible it is, how your own family can take advantage. And now what do you do? Cancel that cruise, I suppose. Still,
I hear the buffets aren’t what they used to be. Sheila Morris said they were rationed to three profiteroles each at suppertime.’

Charley was baffled. ‘Why have you got to cancel your holiday?’ she said, turning to look at her parents. ‘I’m the one that’s bankrupt, not you.’

But Maureen was still staring at her husband who was glugging down his glass of red wine in order to avoid her glare. Finally,
he put down his glass. ‘It just makes things a bit tight for us, that’s all,’ he told his daughter.

‘A bit tight!’ snorted Maureen. ‘Forty thousand pounds gone! Our life savings! All without any discussion with your wife because you know I would have said no!’

Charley stared at them, trying desperately to follow the conversation.

‘We won’t get it back,’ carried on her mother. ‘Not now they’re
bankrupt. I knew it was a bad idea. Knew it wouldn’t turn out well. So now we’re stuck with nothing to live on but our state pensions, and they’re worthless.’

‘Let’s not discuss it now,’ muttered her father.

‘She’s got to know sooner or later,’ replied her mother, standing up. ‘You kept it secret long enough from both of us.’

Aunty Peggy also stood up and put her arm around Maureen as they
walked out of the room. Charley just managed to catch her mother’s words before they left.

‘I knew it was a bad idea the minute he told me. We’re broke, Peg. There’s nothing left . . .’

Still sitting at the table, Charley’s mind felt ready to explode.

‘What’s going on? What’s Mum talking about?’ she asked.

‘She’s just mad because I didn’t tell her.’

‘Tell her what?’

Charley’s father stared
down into his empty glass. ‘He came to me a few months ago. Said business was tight and could I help him out? He said he would pay us back with interest. A bit of extra money for our retirement.’ He looked up into his daughter’s eyes. ‘He said it was for both your sakes.’

‘Who said . . . ?’ But Charley knew the answer before he spoke.

‘Steve. I lent £40,000 to Steve.’

CHARLEY SLAMMED THE
front door behind her and rushed from room to room in search of her husband.

‘Steve!’ she yelled.

She could hear movement upstairs so took the stairs two at a time and sprinted towards their en-suite bathroom.

Steve was in the large walk-in shower. She flung the door open so quickly that it almost smacked her in the face.

‘Jesus!’ he swore, spinning around.
‘I thought you were an axe murderer or something.’

‘Well, I’m sure as hell ready to kill you,’ spat Charley. ‘You took money from my parents without telling me!’

‘Oh. That,’ said Steve, switching off the taps.

‘Yes, that! Forty grand! Do you know what that kind of money means to them?’

He pushed past her to grab a towel from the heated rail. ‘They’ll be okay. They must have paid their mortgage
off by now.’

‘So?’ Charley was shocked by how little he appeared to care. ‘What are they supposed to live on until you can pay them back?’

‘I can’t pay them back, can I? We’re bankrupt, remember?’

‘How could I bloody forget?’ she shouted into his face.

‘Calm down, would you?’ said Steve. ‘I’ll think of something.’

As Charley stood there, incensed, she heard the front doorbell ring and turned
around, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

She stomped down the stairs and away from her husband before she could strangle him with his soap on a rope. Perhaps that was why they were so popular. Perhaps they were the last resort of desperate wives looking to kill their husbands. ‘The rope got caught around the shower rail, your honour, and he slipped.’