Who Needs Men Anyway?. Victoria Cooke
‘I missed you yesterday,’ he said quietly. I imagined him tracing his finger across her hand.
‘I missed you too.’ In my mind, she was looking up at him from beneath long fluttery eyelashes. It would’ve been a sweet exchange if it wasn’t for the next part.
‘Megan is out this evening and I have the house to myself if you want to come over. The client she’s visiting has a two-hour slot and always keeps her chatting afterwards.’ I don’t, for the record. Just as he finished speaking, two builders came in, talking several decibels above what was necessary. Frustratingly, I missed her reply.
‘Come about six,’ I just caught him saying as his words travelled through the sneeze of a workman. I drank the last of my coffee and left.
***
I got on top of all my chores at home, preparing the veg for a stir-fry dinner, ringing the handyman to come and look at the gate and finalising the details for my charity brunch. I just had the small matter of ensuring I’d still have some guests attending. By 6 p.m. I was in my gym gear, twiddling my thumbs with boredom when the intercom buzzed. I took a deep breath. For my plan to work, I had to time it right so that his company had arrived before I sent Megan home, without leaving it too late that Megan missed her again.
‘Hi, Megan,’ I said heavily as she approached the door, laying the foundations for my excuse.
‘You okay?’ she asked, picking up on my tone.
‘Just, you know, that time of the month,’ I lied, lowering my voice.
‘We can reschedule if you like?’
Not a chance. ‘No, you’ve come all this way. Let’s see how I get on.’
We walked through to the gym and she went easy on me for my warm-up, choosing to put me on the bike as opposed to giving me a few minutes’ worth of jumping jacks. As it approached six-thirty I started to slow down, momentarily clutching my stomach here and there.
‘Actually, Megan, I’m sorry but can we stop? My cramps are getting worse and I’ve already taken the maximum dose of painkillers. I’ll pay for the full session of course,’ I said, bending over to rest my head on the handlebar for effect.
She looked at me sympathetically. ‘Of course we can, but you don’t have to pay,’ she said, but I knew she needed the money and it was worth it to save her from cheating Mike so I thrust it into her hand and held up a finger to shush her when she tried to protest. She reluctantly left just after six-thirty once I'd told her she needn’t fill my hot water bottle or run me a bath. It was perfect timing.
I spent the rest of the evening cleaning anxiously. I needed to stay busy so I made up the guest bedroom with new bedding, even though Janine the cleaner had done it recently and it hadn’t even been slept on since we never had guests to stay. I cleaned the oven and reorganised the fridge.
Every now and then I checked my phone, not that I expected Megan would call me in the event of her whole life falling apart. Maybe I hoped she would. I played out the scene in my mind: her returning home early to find them in bed together, having to drag the girl out of her home then throwing out all of her fiancé’s clothes after cutting holes in them or setting them on fire on the front lawn or something. I wondered if I should go round, but that would’ve been overstepping the mark so instead, I paced the kitchen until James came home.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, kissing me on the forehead as he came in.
‘Nothing, I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you, hoping we could eat together?’
He replied with a smile and walked over to the wine fridge, pulling out an unopened bottle of Villa Maria. Without asking, he poured us both a glass of crisp Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc and handed me one, obviously aware I was tense.
‘My mother said she’d pop round tomorrow,’ he said casually.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. ‘Wonderful.’ A night of defending my own self-worth. I forced a smile. His mother had an opinion on everything and a tendency to be overbearing. She’d never said it but being from a wealthy, traditional family herself, she hated the ‘nouveau riche’, as she called anyone wealthy who wasn’t from old money – and I suspected that’s how she saw my family. Not that my family were even that wealthy or anything; my dad had just done ‘all right’ as her family had, just generations before. My parents spoke in a broad, local dialect, a trait I’d initially inherited and quickly adjusted in an attempt to fit in at school. They didn’t have degrees or ‘high-society standard’ social etiquette and always loved a good bargain, which horrified Frances. But if she’d ever given them a chance she’d have witnessed their kindness, generosity and sense of fun.
I think she’d always hoped that James and I were just having a fling and that he’d one day miraculously come to his senses and marry someone of higher social status but since that hadn’t happened she’d accepted her fate and thawed slightly. She’d gone from deep-freeze to refrigerator – meaning I could now breathe and speak in her presence, but it was still hard work through the chatter of my teeth.
‘I’m working late so I said you’d be around. She’s going to stay for dinner.’
Typical. There was a time I’d hoped to bond with James’s mother, especially after my own had left to go travelling with Dad, but it hadn’t happened and I was past caring.
‘That’s wonderful – I’ll do baked salmon.’ I took a long sip of wine. The crisp citrus taste cut through my tension, and I rolled my shoulders before taking my pre-prepared stir-fry ingredients from the fridge.
James snaked his arms around my waist and peered over my shoulder. ‘That looks good.’
‘So, have you time to eat at the dinner table or shall I bring it through to the office when it’s done?’ I tensed anticipating his reply.
He peered at his watch and twisted his mouth. ‘Better have a working dinner I’m afraid. You’re so good to me.’
‘Of course.’ I tried to keep my body from sagging when everything sunk inside. He did appreciate me at least.
After I’d cooked the stir-fry and taken James’s up to the office, I sat at the single place setting I’d laid out on the breakfast bar and ate my food dutifully, punctuating each forkful with a sip of wine whilst trying to remain positive.
***
The next morning, I awoke alone with a fuzzy head and the depressing thought of James’s mother visiting. I showered and dressed smartly in an oyster-coloured silk blouse and khaki capri pants and completed the look with my pearl necklace. It was the type of outfit I always wore in my mother-in-law’s company because she was a judgemental so-and-so. James thought it was a dowdy look and I agreed with him, but needs must if I didn’t wish to see a raised eyebrow. I slipped on some gold wedges and the dainty gold Tiffany bracelet that James had bought me for our anniversary the previous year, before grabbing my handbag and heading to the fishmonger’s for a fresh salmon.
Once I’d got back in my car, my fingers twitched on the steering wheel, fighting against my better judgement. I wanted to drive past Megan’s house to look for signs of drama: clothes on the lawn, a vandalised Merc . . . Despite being driven crazy with wanting to know what happened, I’d have to wait another day to see her. Instead, I pressed the call button on my steering wheel, rang Kate, and arranged to meet her at a Greek restaurant in Wilmslow for lunch.
‘Charlotte, darling, how are you?’ she said, air-kissing my cheeks when I arrived. She was dressed to the nines as she always was, in a pink mini-dress that, thanks to my Vogue subscription, I knew was Valentino. She also had the Valentino Rockstud shoulder bag, of which I was particularly envious because I had the matching sandals.
‘You’re looking as glamorous as ever,’ I said. Kate was the type of woman who’d have a Kir Royale for breakfast and a hotdog for lunch. She was gorgeous, wealthy, and did whatever