First wifes shadow, p.14
First Wife's Shadow, page 14
‘Oh, that’s a brilliant idea.’ His face lit up; relief and joy oozed from every pore. ‘You work so hard. You’re always under a lot of pressure. You do need a holiday. Where were you thinking?’
I had seen an advert on the side of a bus the last time I was in London. It had stood out like a beacon of serenity amongst the London crush and chaos. ‘The Maldives.’
‘Love that plan. Let’s do it. Soon,’ he added with a wide grin. He tilted my face towards his and kissed me. I thought we’d make love then, but instead we made plans. It thrilled me how much he wanted to formalise what we had. Make me his wife as quickly as possible.
‘But when you say you’re eloping, you don’t mean just the two of you?’ Heidi asks me now. ‘We’re obviously all coming along. And you’ll give us plenty of warning. Time to save up for the flights and accommodation, right?’ Her voice quivers with uncertainty on the word ‘right’. It’s not like us to feel unsure of one another. It’s not like us to lie to one another either, but somehow I can’t bring myself to tell her that the first-class flights are already booked. We’re going next week. Alone.
I shrug and fudge, ‘We haven’t absolutely finalised everything.’ This is clearly going to be a situation where it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. When I come back from the Maldives as Mrs Charlton, Heidi will deal with it. She’ll see I’m happy and that will be all that matters to her. Won’t it?
21
Lottie pushes past us as she heads towards her dad in an excited rush to tell him a joke that Fifi has just told her. Unfortunately, as she does so, she steps off the path and into a patch of nettles. She reacts badly to the stings, raw red bumps erupting all over her shin. She starts to cry, partially through pain but mostly because she doesn’t like the look of it. Mick hoists her onto his shoulders, and although we’ve only done about a third of the planned walk, we decide to head back to Woodview.
Matthew finds his way to my side and asks, ‘Have you told them our wedding plans?’
‘Mostly. Not the detail about timings.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘I think that will be fun to keep as a surprise,’ I add.
I drop back to walk with Leon and nervously watch as Matthew, Heidi and Gina form a cluster. I hope he doesn’t mention the date of the wedding. Whatever he does say makes them glance my way. Leon nudges me in the ribs. ‘I guess they’re plotting your hen, right?’
The three girls hop into the pool as soon as we arrive home. I encourage everyone to join them, as I feel the overwhelming heat of the day is creating an undefinable sense of irritation, even malaise. It turns out none of the adults have brought swimwear. Matthew says he can loan trunks to Leon and Mick – they’re all about the same size, and I bought him a few pairs from Paul Smith in preparation for our trip to the Maldives. Heidi clocks the fact that the tags are still attached and reads the price. I feel judged. I don’t offer my swimwear to Heidi and Gina; we’re not the same shape or size. Gina is tall and very long in the body, and Heidi has huge boobs that require supported swimwear that she refers to as her ‘boulder holder swimwear’. We know our figures are different; it’s never an issue, none of us care. I get the feeling that today it might be an issue. Heidi has been complaining that she’s piling weight on just looking at food, and I think she’s feeling more self-conscious than usual.
Matthew thoughtfully suggests we sit in the garden, leave Mick and Leon to supervise the swimming while he fixes drinks and puts the finishing touches to lunch. ‘What can I get you ladies to drink?’ he asks, the perfect host. ‘I have rosé chilling. Or maybe an Aperol spritz?’
Rosé is Heidi’s favourite tipple, Aperol is Gina’s. He checked with me yesterday.
‘I’m having a day off alcohol,’ says Heidi. ‘It’s too hot to drink. I’ll fall asleep if I do.’
‘I promised Mick I’d drive home,’ Gina adds. ‘He’ll have a beer, though, when he gets out of the pool.’
‘You could have just one,’ I suggest, aware that Matthew has made an effort to get their favourite drinks in, and also aware that a glass of something might make everyone a little more relaxed.
‘No, that’s stupid. She’s driving a child,’ snaps Heidi. ‘I think we can all cope with one day off alcohol, don’t you?’
I’m not driving anywhere, and in fact I was looking forward to a crisp glass of rosé, but her tone is so definitive that I tell Matthew I’m happy with sparkling water.
Matthew starts to bring out some of the food he has prepared. He emerges with tuna tartare and king prawns with garlic and chilli. I’m glad we opted for a tapas-style lunch, so we can all pick at it casually rather than sit formally around a table. With food in front of us, we seem to find a cordial groove, and some of our usual energy and verve. My friends talk appreciatively about the dishes. ‘This seafood is yummy. You really live your life like you’re in a magazine,’ comments Heidi.
‘Well done for finding a man who can cook,’ adds Gina.
Once we are settled with the first round of plates, I expect Matthew to peel off to join the men and kids in the pool. He doesn’t. Instead, he sits next to me and takes my hand, which is sweet but makes eating tricky. We are opposite Gina and Heidi. ‘There’s something else Emma has been wanting to talk to you about,’ he says. ‘Some weird things have been happening and she needs your support.’ My friends stop discussing which salad is the perfect accompaniment to garlic and chilli prawns and give me their full attention.
Matthew’s formal introduction to the topic isn’t how I would have approached it, but once I start speaking, the words flow freely. They already know about the plant pots and globes being smashed. Like Matthew, they suggested extra security cameras and being more vigilant when alone. I didn’t tell them about the bolognese sauce. It’s not that I wanted to hide the incident from them, it’s just that Matthew proposed the same night and that became the big news. Then we got into the prenup thing, so I never got round to telling them about the strange vandalism that was so upsetting. But now I must. Matthew holds my hand throughout. I realise he’s trying to show support and solidarity, but my palm is sweating and generally I’m the sort of person who uses my hands when I talk. I feel bound, restricted.
Heidi and Gina listen carefully, not interrupting, which leads me to reveal more than I was planning on saying. I tell them that I often get the sense I’m being watched; that sometimes I think someone else has been in the house. I am certain – OK, almost certain – that between us we’ll find an alternative explanation, something sane and probable. Something less devastating than the current ideas that are swilling around my mind.
‘Is this why you had the locks changed and sent us new keys?’ asked Gina. I nod.
‘What gives you that impression that someone has been in the house?’ asks Heidi stiffly.
‘Sometimes the place smells different – it’s a weird wet-dog smell. Sometimes something has been moved or is missing. My laptop vanished for a day and then reappeared the next. Two mornings in a row I wanted to go for a run but could only find one running shoe in the cupboard. At the end of the day, the second one was back in the cupboard again. Tell me that isn’t weird.’
‘Matthew, would you mind getting me a glass of rosé after all? I think I need it now. And maybe if you could prepare Gina an Aperol, a weak one.’ Matthew nods, happy to accommodate the request. That’s because he doesn’t know Heidi the way I do. I instantly know she’s getting him out of the way. Whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t want to say it in front of my fiancé.
The moment he’s out of earshot, she hiss-whispers, ‘Not much of a mystery. Do you actually need me to articulate it?’
We stare at one another. I knew this would be her first thought. ‘It’s not him. He was in London when the globes were smashed, upstairs when the bolognese was spilt, and with me when the graves were vandalised.’
‘Desecrated,’ she corrects. I squirm. I’ve considered that word too but tried to avoid it. It’s too much. It’s too bleak, cruel and threatening. Heidi, however, seems happy to embrace the darkness.
‘He loves me, Heidi. We’re getting married. Why would he ruin my stuff?’ I ask quietly and firmly.
‘Classic gaslighting,’ she pronounces emphatically. ‘All of these strange and cruel things have happened since you met Matthew. It’s blatantly obvious.’
‘No it isn’t,’ I rebut. ‘It’s only gaslighting if he says it’s not happening. He’s as worried as I am.’
‘OK,’ she concedes. ‘But if it’s not him, then it’s something to do with him.’ Her tone is ominous, dramatic.
‘Here are your drinks, ladies.’ We all nearly jump out of our skin.
‘That was quick,’ comments Heidi.
Matthew has in fact brought a tray with all the bottles and glasses on it. He pours Heidi’s wine and preps Gina’s Aperol. He clearly didn’t want to leave me alone with them; he’s trying so hard to support me. I notice that he hasn’t brought out a glass for me, but I don’t mention it. If I do, he’ll think I’m trying to get rid of him too.
‘Are we talking about the vandalism?’ he asks. His straightforward manner is uplifting.
‘Yes.’
‘Any theories?’
‘Well, the timing would suggest that this aggravation is something to do with you,’ comments Heidi boldly.
‘I agree with you.’ Matthew nods, holding her gaze. I know she won’t blink, so I interrupt.
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought. I wondered if it could be a friend or relative of Becky’s who is unhappy with Matthew moving on. Someone who really doesn’t want us to be together.’
My friends don’t dismiss the theory. I almost wish they would. I want to believe the vandalism is just a matter of bad luck, down to bored, mischievous kids. Not a real threat or worry so much as a nuisance. But how many bored kids are there in the world, and why do they all seem to be getting their kicks from destroying my property? Invading my space.
Gina nods. ‘It’s possible. Matthew, can you think of any likely candidates? Someone sad and mad enough to do this.’
‘No one comes to mind. Most of our friends live in New York. Her family are in South Africa. But I agree someone is trying to cause trouble, put a wedge between us. I just don’t think it’s one of Becky’s friends.’ He is still staring right at Heidi. It’s impossible for any of us to ignore his challenge. I really wish I had a drink right now. Something to help me slip through this awkwardness. I want to keep my gaze trained on the oily plates on the table, but I know I must force myself to look my friends in the eye. Gina first, she’s easier. Her cheeks are pink, but I know immediately that she’s embarrassed, not guilty. Embarrassed for who? Me, or Heidi? She knows what he’s saying. It appears they both do.
‘Are you for real? Are you accusing us of doing these batshitcrazy things?’ Heidi yells. My attention snaps to her.
‘No, no, of course he’s not. We’re not,’ I reassure quickly. And we’re not. Not exactly. When Matthew first mooted the idea that Heidi might be responsible for this hate campaign – that’s how he described it – I laughed. He quickly retracted the thought as preposterous, but since then I’ve racked and racked my brains and I can’t think of anyone else who might have a problem with our relationship. I’m simply not close enough to anyone else for them to care what I do with my life. ‘But you did just accuse Matthew of gaslighting me. That wasn’t very supportive, was it? You’re not his biggest fan,’ I stutter. It’s a hard thing to say. The truth often is.
‘You have known him for about five minutes. You’ve known us all your adult life.’ Heidi’s eyes are so wide I think they are going to pop out of her head on springs, like in a cartoon.
Matthew puts an arm around me. We’re a unit. He says, ‘I think since we’ve met there has been a sense that you feel you’re losing Emma, that I’m taking her away from you, and I just wanted to clear that up. Let you know that there’s room for us all to love her.’
Heidi jumps to her feet. Her thigh bangs into the table and upsets a wine glass. Gina starts mopping up the spillage, but I don’t think a couple of napkins can absorb the mess that’s pooling between us.
‘I’m just saying I have always rather got the feeling that you don’t like me.’ I feel so awful for him in that moment. I think of the effort he’s gone to today. He has been shopping and prepping for two days, he’s bought three tubs of ice cream to cover each of the girls’ favourite flavours. He’s trying so hard.
‘We don’t know you,’ corrects Gina carefully, her voice soft.
I feel a sense of dread creep through my body. I keep my eyes on Heidi. I’m trying to read her. It’s ridiculous to suspect her of doing these terrible things. She loves me. But that’s the point. She loves me and she doesn’t like him, not at all. She doesn’t trust him and she doesn’t want the balance of our intimate friendship altered in any way. Love makes people do extreme things. Silly, illogical things. Also, I know that Heidi’s mantra in life is ‘Sometimes the end justifies the means.’ She first said it to me when she set off a fire alarm at uni, to cut short a tedious lecture because we wanted to make our train as we were going to a music gig. More recently, she reported the headmaster of her kids’ school to the governors for having an affair with his PA. She said he was morally unfit to speak at school assemblies. I don’t know if that really was her objection, but I do know that he hadn’t accommodated Fifi’s GCSE choices and she’d had to take French instead of Spanish. Heidi was delighted when he was asked to resign. There have been dozens of other occasions when she’s muttered this mantra.
I am aware that Leon and Mick and the girls have emerged from the pool. I’m not sure if it was because they were hungry or if our shouting drew them out. Fifi and the men look concerned. They stand dripping, their faces wary. It’s time for me to show Matthew my loyalty, support and trust. He is my fiancé. It’s even more painful saying this in front of an audience, but I must.
‘It appears to be someone who knows my movements and it’s most likely to be someone who has a key.’ Then I drop a bomb on our long friendship. ‘You two are the only people with keys to my new lock.’
Heidi’s eyes flash with fury. She marches through the garden and into the kitchen. Everyone follows her. Her bag is lying on the breakfast bar, where she habitually dumps it whenever she visits. She reaches for it and scrabbles about until she retrieves her key ring. It’s a Tiffany screwball key ring that I bought her for her last birthday. She efficiently identifies my shiny new key on the bunch of seven or eight and then removes it. She slams it down. ‘And now it’s just Gina. Girls, get your clothes, we’re going.’
She doesn’t even allow them time to get dressed; she bundles them into the car in their wet costumes. Leon is stunned but does as she directs. As their car pulls away, I hear her bark instructions. ‘Sit on your towels.’ I feel saddened by the thought of their journey in wet clothes.
Gina looks like she is in physical pain. Torn as though she’s being split in two. Mick ushers Lottie into the wet room and emerges a minute or two later. Lottie is at least in her clothes, although her hair is dripping. After a beat, Gina says, ‘I’m going to go after her. I’ll call you tonight, OK?’ I nod and try not to think that Gina has chosen Heidi. I know she’s just trying to help make peace. She puts her hands on my shoulders. ‘Just don’t do anything rash, OK. Take a breath.’ I nod. ‘We’ll sort this,’ she assures me.
I turn away from her and bury my face in Matthew’s chest. He rubs my back. ‘It’s OK, we’ll be OK,’ he murmurs.
22
We marry within forty-eight hours of arriving in the Maldives. The ceremony takes place on the beach at ten in the morning, before it gets too hot. The morning sun spreads across the sand, making it look like buttercream on a birthday cake; the ocean is disconcertingly blue. Sunlight dances on the water’s surface; I find it hard to look at the sparkles and flashes popping like fireworks. The scene is idyllic. If I was the sort to run a personal social media account to showcase my perfect life, I know I’d be able to post the most stunning little tiles to make our friends sigh with longing and envy. As I think this, the horrible words ‘What friends?’ flip into my mind. I push them away. That is not a helpful thought on this day of all days. Anyway, I only have a work account on Instagram, which is run by the marketing team, so I won’t be posting anything. I am excited at the thought of our wedding photos, mounted in silver frames, dotted around the house. I’m already looking forward to looking back on this day.
I wear a white crocheted kaftan that I bought in a hurry at Heathrow, and an orchid in my hair. Matthew wears shorts and leaves his linen shirt open. He’s accessorised with a panama hat and looks unfairly cool. The photographer and hotel staff are our witnesses. After the ceremony, we eat freshly caught lobster under a silk canopy; we drink piña coladas and laugh about how we both think the naff nature of the cocktail and its sweetness is made all the more delicious because we are suiting ourselves and no one else. It feels like we are floating in a bubble. A private, delicate, iridescent bubble.
Of course, all bubbles pop.
When we return to the UK, I am busy at work, playing catch-up for the sudden, unexpected time away. I have to visit Scotland for a few days to make some in-person redundancies, which is hard, and even when I’m back down south, I spend most of my time in the London office, practically chained to my desk, barely looking up from my screen. It doesn’t make sense for Matthew to come into London with me, as I’m too busy for dinners out, let alone long sessions in sexy hotels. I go back to staying in Premier Inns when I finish late and can’t face the commute. It’s a relief to know he’s in Hampshire, looking after Woodview. Keeping it safe.
