I Invited Her In Page 16

  He put tomatoes in a colander, ran them under the tap, started to make a salad because it looked like his wife was doing pasta. ‘You must be so tired, Mel, after a day on your feet in the shop,’ he commented, throwing a glance at Abi. She could have offered to lend a hand but hadn’t. Rarely offered, never actually helped.

  He saw Mel catch Abi’s eye and wink. ‘Me? No. I’m not the one that hasn’t had enough sleep.’

  Abi giggled, like she was a teen. It irritated him. He wasn’t a fool, he could take a wild guess: Abi had shagged someone. So what? Put out the bunting.

  ‘I thought, after being at your mum and dad’s, you’d be whacked. I know you never sleep well there.’ He put a hand on Mel’s shoulder and squeezed. He knew she needed him to cuddle in to.

  Mel didn’t acknowledge him, other than to mutter, ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I called them,’ he added.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your parents.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had the decency to colour.

  She should have called them at lunch time – how could she have forgotten?

  He was aware he was point scoring, he just couldn’t stop himself. ‘They’re on the mend. They’ve eaten scrambled eggs on toast today.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ She didn’t seem that grateful. She was still bouncy and scatty. Untethered. She fried some mince and onions for a bolognese sauce. ‘Where’s Liam?’ she asked.

  ‘Not sure, at Tanya’s probably.’

  ‘How was he, today?’

  ‘Great. Why?’

  ‘Happy?’ she asked tentatively. Casting a quick glance at the girls, who were ostensibly still playing with their Lego but really, as always, just hanging about, listening in.

  ‘Seemed it. Very much so. Full of the joys of spring actually,’ Ben confirmed. He noticed his wife didn’t seem as delighted by this news as she usually was, as he’d expect her to be.

  ‘Just me then,’ she muttered.

  Ben found Mel’s secretive and skittish mood particularly irritating. Since Abi had started to live with them he wasn’t unused to feeling a little sidelined or out of the loop. Conversations did sometimes stop when he walked in the room; it was rude. This evening Abigail and Melanie both seemed to be particularly restless, sharing meaningful glances; he found it childish. By the time they’d put the girls to bed, Ben wasn’t in the mood for anything other than sitting in silence and watching TV. However, it wasn’t even possible to do that much, since Abi’s phone kept vibrating, as texts pinged through. Each time it did, she seized it and immediately tapped a response, which caused Mel to smile and Ben to tut. Whether Abigail was responding to Ben’s barely concealed irritation or Melanie’s barely concealed nosiness, was unclear, but at about nine p.m., she stood up and announced that she was going to take a long bath and get an early night.

  ‘Yeah, you must be knackered after your trip to London,’ Mel commented with another giggle. Really? Did they think he was an idiot, that he couldn’t guess what all this nudge, nudge, wink, wink business was?

  Abigail blew Mel a kiss and left the room.

  The moment they heard her tread on the stairs, Mel announced, ‘She’s met someone.’ Obviously, she was keen to tell Ben all about this development in Abi’s love life. He didn’t care enough to listen. He yawned, kept looking at the TV, did his best to make it clear that he was not interested.

  Unperturbed, Mel spilt details that Abi had apparently shared at lunchtime. ‘So, what do you think?’ Mel probed as she came to the end of her story.

  He thought he’d like his wife back, he thought he’d like his home back.

  ‘What do you want me to say? Hold the front page. She had sex with some guy.’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased for her?’

  ‘Ecstatic,’ he said sarcastically, clearly showing he was anything but.

  ‘This is great news.’

  ‘The only great thing about it as far as I’m concerned is that the up-shot is that she’s clearly knackered after her activities and so we’ve finally got some time to ourselves.’ He reached for Mel’s foot and squeezed it. They were sat, curled up on the sofa.

  ‘That’s it?’ asked Mel. He shrugged. ‘I think this is going to be such fun.’

  ‘It’s her that’s dating. Not you.’

  ‘Yes, obviously, I know that,’ Mel said, a little huffily. ‘I’m just saying it will be fun; picking out outfits, dissecting the dates.’

  ‘Grow up, Mel. You’re not kids anymore.’ Ben surprised himself at how aggressive he seemed. It was crazy to be churlish because he felt left out, tonight, and had for weeks now, but he couldn’t help it. ‘What do you want her to tell you about this date? The length and width of his dick?’ Ben stared at his wife, challenging her.

  ‘No of course not, don’t be smutty,’ she snapped back, blushing. He knew from the indignation behind the blush that was the sort of thing Mel hoped Abi might tell her, or at least hint at. He knew women swapped info of that nature. ‘I’m not some sort of perv wanting to know those particular details but . . .’ She didn’t finish the sentence. Yeah, of course, she was keen to know whether he was good in bed. Did he do anything special? Did he hold open doors for her? Was he funny? What did they talk about? Ben felt uncomfortable with the idea. He knew that if Abi was talking about her new man in this way, Mel would be talking about her old one, a.k.a. him. It was an unsettling thought. Mel stared at Ben; suddenly she didn’t look as playful or excited.

  ‘Ben, there’s something else I need to talk to you about,’ she said. ‘Last night—’

  He interrupted her, he didn’t want to know. It would be some ridiculous detail about Abi, what sushi she liked, what underwear she wore. ‘You’re obsessed by her,’ he accused.

  Mel looked shocked. ‘No, I’m not. That’s a crazy thing to say.’

  ‘She’s all you talk and think about.’

  ‘That’s not true. I was just about to tell you about something completely different.’

  ‘Oh yeah, like what?’

  She glared at him, angrily. ‘You are not in the mood to hear it.’

  He tutted. ‘You have nothing to talk about other than her.’

  ‘No, that’s not true.’ She sighed. ‘Look, it’s exciting having a friend to stay. She makes me feel . . . ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Young.’ Mel looked surprised that she’d spat that out. She’d probably never planned to do so, she must have been tired after all. Ben’s expression froze, turned rigid.

  ‘Don’t I make you feel young?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ She stopped herself from elaborating. Even though she wasn’t speaking, Ben could hear the truth of the matter. Rarely. He rarely made her feel young. She just wouldn’t say so because she didn’t want to hurt him. He knew he was right when she added, ‘It’s just, Abi and I knew each other when I was really young and being with her somehow takes me back there.’

  ‘Well, we were hardly pensioners when we met,’ he pointed out. ‘You were only twenty-five.’

  ‘Yes, but I had Liam by then. I was never young again after giving birth.’ She rushed on, ‘Eating tea at a restaurant or café occasionally, rather than preparing endless meals, is fun. Drinking cocktails and getting cabs feels reckless. She makes me feel young, Ben. I never had that before.’

  She must have instantly realised she’d said the wrong thing, because she clamped her mouth shut. Ben thought it was sad, because until recently, he hadn’t believed it was possible for them to say the wrong thing to one another. He thought they could tell each other anything, and no matter how clumsy or difficult, they both always had the confidence that they never intended to hurt one another. Where had that certainty gone?

  ‘Oh, I see. You revel in the good old days. Before Liam, or me, or the girls,’ Ben snapped.

  ‘Don’t be like that. I don’t mean that. How can you resent my attempts to recapture something everyone is entitled to?’

  ‘And what’s that exactly?’

  ‘Unbridled
optimism. Youthful, intense friendships.’

  Ben looked to the floor. He didn’t know what to say. Hadn’t she felt that with him? Didn’t she still? She was his best friend, he felt youthful, unbridled, intense things about her. Maybe not all the time but certainly some of the time, a good proportion. He didn’t want her to see how much she’d hurt him. He had his pride. ‘You know, I think I might go for a run now,’ he said.

  ‘At this time?’

  ‘It’s only nine thirty. I feel I need to get some air. I’ve been cooped up all weekend.’

  He didn’t mean it as a criticism of her, but she took the comment to have a licking of martyrdom. Irritated, she pointed out, ‘Well, I haven’t exactly been gadding about. I was at my parents’, cleaning puke, and then at work all day today.’

  ‘I know. I wasn’t having a go. I just need some air.’

  Ben sprang to his feet, keen to be out of the door before either of them said anything else that they’d regret. Mel seemed to be stuck to the sofa. She didn’t follow him upstairs and continue the conversation as he changed into his running kit but that was a relief – it would only have led to a row. Instead she turned to the TV and aimlessly flicked through channels until she found a re-run of The Simpsons. Ben heard the signature theme tune as he pulled the front closed door behind him.

  27

  Melanie

  Wednesday 4th April

  If it wasn’t for Abi I don’t know quite how I’d be managing to raise a smile right now. She is the only positive person in my life. Everyone else is in such a mood. Easter weekend has been and gone, offering none of the renewal and promise that it represents; even the glut of chocolate failed to cheer. The girls are tired and testy. I admit, their routines have been somewhat upended – that happens in the school holidays. Abigail is being a veritable saint covering childcare when I’m at work and Ben can’t work from home. I’m trying not to ask too much of Liam because I want him to focus on revising for his A-levels.

  The girls love spending time with Abi but it seems the novelty of meals out at cafés may be wearing a little thin. They’ve started to say that they miss my cooking, which is hilarious – they never appreciated it before. It was unfortunate that last week’s ballet lesson completely slipped my mind, but there are lessons to be learnt outside of classes. I’m teaching them about taking chances, enjoying life. Abi is a great role model for them. I want them to have careers and ambitions; she shows them what’s possible. Ben is just being ridiculous to say that their opportunities are being damaged because their regular seven p.m. bedtime has been a bit disrupted. It doesn’t kill a child to be put to bed at ten p.m. every now and again, although now the school holidays are over I should probably make an effort to get back to the seven p.m. thing.

  At the moment, Ben is finding fault in absolutely everything I do. It’s annoying. He’s not confrontational or antagonistic by nature but he’s walking around like a bear with a sore head. I mean, it was never written in stone that I’m the one who irons his work shirts; if he finds himself without one, that’s his own fault. And OK, in an ideal world I would find a way to go to the movies with him when he’s bought tickets, but the night he picked Abi happened to be in London, Liam ended up going out at the last minute and I couldn’t get a babysitter at late notice. It was awkward that he never received my text cancelling the date night; I honestly thought I’d pressed send. I only discovered my mistake when we were arguing about it that night and I grabbed my phone to show him that I absolutely had let him know I’d be a no-show, and I hadn’t deliberately left him standing in the foyer like an idiot. Only, that’s exactly what I’d done.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry, love. I’m just so tired right now and so busy. I was rushing about, trying to get the house sorted, I was late in from work because I had a late start, taking Abi to the station, and—’

  ‘Whatever.’ He left the room, didn’t let me finish.

  There’s a lot going unsaid. As Ben is in such a prickly mood I haven’t found the right moment to tell him about Liam’s outburst over his biological father the other week. Liam hasn’t said anything more on the matter and so I’m beginning to think it’s probably best to just let sleeping dogs lie. If I pull at that thread then the whole thing might unravel. I haven’t seen much of Liam since. He’s working hard on his A-levels, always at the library or at some college revision clinic and, if he’s not doing that, then he’s at Tanya’s house. I’m not stupid, I know he’s avoiding me. The only time he seems to be able to stay in a room with me is if there is someone else there, Abi or Ben.

  I’m so sad about this. I know I must reach out to him, find a way of reconnecting and getting back some of the closeness we’ve always shared. But on the other hand, maybe I should just ride this out. Accept that teen years mean that it’s usual, and necessary, for a child to demand a little space from parents as they become adults. And it’s his A-level year, he’s bound to be feeling the pressure. I fully intend to sit down and talk to him at some point. It’s wrong to just pretend the scene didn’t pass between us, but what more can I say about his biological father?

  I accept family life is sometimes just like this; things don’t always gel or flow, sometimes things are a little grittier and sticky. Abi is back from London today and she’ll have lots to tell about her progress there. She’ll have met her agent, her would-be investors, her producers and her lover. There will be so much to discuss.

  I am not working today, which is handy because it gives me time to tidy up a bit. I pop into the kids’ rooms, picking up loads of dirty washing. I put two loads through the wash and have some left over. It crosses my mind that I could do some washing for Abi. It’s a waste to run the machine for a half load. I’d be doing her a favour.

  I push open the door to her tiny room. I’m not snooping. I just want to help out. She lives like a teenager. A total slattern, even by my standards. Make-up spilling out on every surface, empty tins of Diet Coke and clothes scattered all over the floor – it is obviously going to be impossible to tell what is clean and what isn’t. I pick up the odd blouse and T-shirt and sniff gingerly, the way I do with my family. I know our smells. Our sweat, our perfumes, our mud and blood. Abi’s clothes smell different. They smell of smoke and sex. I think of the man she is sleeping with; I wonder what he’s like. He’s obviously making her happy.

  Because her underwear belongs to a happy woman.

  I didn’t touch her underwear, obviously, I’m not a weirdo, but I can’t fail to see it. Lacy, pretty bras, silky, strappy panties. She wears thongs. Thongs. Who does that? It’s like flossing your bum and besides all your cellulite is on show. I guess she can’t have that problem. The room is crowded with silky scarlets, provocative purples, tempting turquoises. I really need to think about buying something other than flesh-coloured sports bras.

  Suddenly, I lose confidence in the idea of washing her clothes. Most of the labels say dry clean only and I daren’t risk it, but it’s not just that, it’s the underwear. Even if I haven’t touched it, she’ll know I’ve seen it if I pop her blouses in the wash. I back out of the room, hoping that I haven’t disturbed anything. Hoping she’ll never know.

  I prepare a nice lunch for Abi. I’m sure that she won’t have had much time to eat well, if she’s been dashing around London, hurrying from one meeting to the next. I offered to pick her up at the station but she said she’d hop in a cab. I excitedly watch the clock drag around to one fifteen and then she walks through the door. I fling my arms around her.

  ‘So how did it go?’ I ask eagerly.

  ‘Fantastically well.’ Abi unwraps a beautiful pale-blue cotton scarf from around her neck, accepts the coffee I’m offering and collapses into a chair at the kitchen table. I follow her every movement, drink them up because she’s refreshing and addictive. She tells me a little bit about meeting up with some ‘really lit guys’ who are sure there are opportunities for her, who ‘love her ideas, just adore them’. It’s simply a matter of finance or ‘the grubby dol
lar’ as she describes it with a slightly self-conscious giggle. I think she’s a little pained to talk about cash. It’s understandable. She’s the talent, she’s famous. In America, she probably had a team of people who talked about the nitty gritty money matters on her behalf. Thinking about it, that team was probably headed up by Rob. This process can’t be easy for her. She briefly tells me about how the financing of the show might potentially be structured. I do not claim to know anything about the glamorous world of TV so I check that I’ve understood what she’s said.

  ‘So, they want you to put money into this show, the one that you’re going to present?’

  ‘Yes. It’s to demonstrate my confidence in the project.’

  It sounds to me as though it’s more a case of her paying to have a job, paying through the nose, actually. The figure she mentioned makes my eyes water. Abi buries her head in her handbag. She scrabbles around for her cigarettes, lights one and inhales deeply. I root about for the little ashtray I recently bought her. I keep it hidden at the back of the cereal cupboard because if Ben saw it he would go mad and say I was encouraging her nasty habit.

  I carefully ask, ‘Is it the best time to make such a huge investment?’

  For weeks now, Rob and Abi have been wrangling about her settlement. I hear her end of angry, accusatory phone calls, I see her outraged reaction to receiving an email from his lawyers, but she doesn’t go into detail and I don’t ask. I’m always conscious that if I bring up money it might seem like I’m hinting that she ought to be putting a bit our way, which Ben absolutely thinks she ought, since she’s been with us for six weeks now.