Читать книгу How to Win Back Your Husband - Vivien Hampshire - Страница 12

‘So, three coming at the weekend? That’s promising.’ Mark tipped his head over towards his right shoulder and held the mobile against his ear, trying to hear what the estate agent had to say as a lorry thundered by. It was starting to rain again and there was still no sign of a bus. ‘And have you spoken to my wife? Is she okay about showing them round? I’m happy to go over there and do it myself if necessary.’

It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be, he thought. It was an away game this Saturday, and Simon was going, but he couldn’t justify the expense of the travelling, let alone the match ticket. Paying rent on the flat and half a mortgage side by side was starting to take its toll, but he had to do it, for now at least. Moving back in with his mum and dad was not an option that appealed to him at all, and giving in and going back to live with Nicci, even if it was just in the spare room, was simply unthinkable. Just the thought of it made him feel uncomfortable. No, the sooner the house was sold the better.

‘Right. I see. Fingers crossed for an offer, then, eh? Let me know if you hear anything.’

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, and shook the rain out of his hair. If this went on much longer, they’d have to drop the price. Someone would get a bargain, that was for sure.

‘It’s late tonight.’ The girl in front of him in the queue had turned towards him and was pulling her sleeve back and peering at her watch in the dark.

‘Sorry?’

‘The bus. Should have been here five minutes ago. Must be the weather. Rain always seems to slow the traffic, doesn’t it? I can’t think why.’

‘Yes, I suppose it does. Sorry, but do I know you? There’s something familiar…’

‘Not exactly. But I’ve seen you often enough. You work in the bank, don’t you?’

‘Yes. And you?’

‘Newsagents on the corner. Extra strong mints and the Daily Telegraph, right?’

‘Yes, that’s me! I don’t actually read much of it though. I only buy it for the crossword, but I don’t know why. I’ve never managed to finish it. But yes, I remember you now. Piles of used fivers and the odd bag of pennies, right?’

‘Well, I prefer to be called Amanda. Sounds better than the odd bag! Or the piles, come to think of it! But yes, that’s me.’

‘And I’m Mark.’ He laughed. The girl was funny! He held out a hand and shook hers. It was small and cold.

‘Pleased to meet you properly at last, Mark. And I couldn’t help overhearing, but are you selling a house?’

‘You interested?’

‘That depends. I might be. We only moved back to the area a few months ago and we’re renting for now, but there’s nothing like having your own place, is there? We’ve looked at quite a few online, but my husband always seems to find some reason to turn them down before we get anywhere near having a proper viewing. What is it? Three bed?’

‘Yep. Quiet road. Good-sized garden. Garage. The lot!’

‘Sounds ideal. So, if it’s that good, why are you selling? It’s not got dry rot or a leaky roof, or a noisy Alsatian next door, has it?’

‘Nothing like that, no.’

‘Moving away?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Sorry. I’m being too nosy. Price?’

‘Negotiable. Look, Amanda, here comes the bus, and it looks pretty full, so I don’t suppose we’ll be able to sit together. It’s Grove Road. Number 37. Ring the agents. Parker’s, on the high street. They’ll tell you everything you need to know, and sort out a viewing for you if you like. With or without your husband! It’s a lovely house, believe me.’

‘I might just do that.’ She stepped aboard the bus ahead of him, the pointed tip of her wet umbrella just missing his arm as she hastily shook it closed. ‘Thanks.’

He watched her edge forwards and find a seat up at the front. The last seat, by the look of it. Oh, how he hated crowded buses. He’d drive to work, but there was nowhere to park that wouldn’t cost him five times the fare, and walking the three miles there, and the same back again, was out of the question in this God-awful weather. And then, there was the little matter of not being able to drive when he’d had a drink. He’d stopped off for a quick one after the bank closed tonight. Only a half, but, even so, he knew it was becoming a bit too much of a habit. Still, at least he wasn’t a smoker, so his lungs were safe even if his liver wasn’t, and having just the one bad habit had to be better than two.

The bus lumbered its way through the slow-moving traffic, stopping and starting every few yards, almost toppling him into his fellow passengers on more than one occasion as the driver slammed on the brakes again, assorted briefcases and shopping baskets bashing against his legs. He clung on to one of the upright bars and gazed unseeingly into the dark wet void outside the window, watching the rain slant diagonally over the grimy glass.

Hang on! Wasn’t that Nicci? They’d stopped at the lights and people were swarming into the road, heads down, bumping and jostling, trying to reach the other side before the traffic moved off again. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that shape, that walk, that bright red raincoat they’d hurriedly bought together from a funny little market stall years ago, when she’d gone out in a thin summery dress and the heavens had suddenly opened and threatened to drench her. Never been known to plan ahead and check the weather forecast, his Nicci. Fancy her still wearing that old thing!

He was surprised by the jolt of emotion that hit him pretty much instantly. What was it? Nostalgia? Love? Pain? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it, and he didn’t want it. He hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, had tried to push thoughts of her and what she might be doing out of his head. He didn’t want to be faced with the reality of her, especially now the solicitors had pulled their fingers out and the divorce was finally underway, with the end quite frighteningly in sight. Knowing she was out there somewhere was one thing. Seeing her for himself, walking, breathing, going about her life, and in that funny old coat too, was quite another.

The lights turned green and the bus moved off. He bent to peer through the window on the opposite side, trying to see where she had gone, but she had already disappeared from his line of sight, melting into the throng across the road. Where had she been? Where was she going? They weren’t near to the house or to the nursery where she worked. And where was her car? Maybe she was off to meet that Jason again, or maybe some other bloke? But it wasn’t long after six-thirty. A bit early. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for a date.

It was no good. He had to stop this. He needed to move on. Get her out of his head. Get the house sold, the money divided, the last of their connections broken. He should be looking to the future now, not agonising over the mistakes of the past.

‘Goodnight, Mark.’ It was Amanda, squeezing past him, edging towards the door, ready to get off the bus. ‘And I will follow up on the house viewing.’ She gave him a little cheeky grin as if, just for a second or two, she was flirting with him. ‘I promise!’

Mark watched her step down onto the pavement and walk away. She was a nice girl. Blonde, slim, attractive. She had a beautiful smile too. Wide and warm and genuine. And she’d aimed it right at him. He wondered why he had never really noticed her properly before. He must have seen her loads of times, in the shop. But, of course, he’d been married then, hadn’t he? Not in the market for pretty girls. Back then, he had eyes only for his wife. And why go out for burgers when you have steak at home? Someone famous had said that, but he wasn’t sure who. All he knew was that it was something his dad said often, patting his mum on the bottom and winking, whenever the latest celebrity or footballer had been caught cheating and been plastered all over the front pages of the tabloids.

But, when he thought about it, things were different now. Looking at other women, thinking about other women, was allowed, wasn’t it? And Amanda was just his type. Or she would be, if he was looking for someone else. Which, of course, he absolutely wasn’t. And, besides, even if he was no longer married, she most certainly was.

His mind flashed back to the day Nicci had told him what she had done. Kneeling in front of him on the carpet. The look on her face. The tears in her eyes. The pleading in her voice as she begged him to forgive her. The steely cold stab at his heart that had utterly floored him in that moment, and had never really gone away.

A married woman? No, he couldn’t contemplate that. Couldn’t do that to some other poor unwitting bloke. Not now he knew how it felt. That was one line he knew he would never ever cross.

He jumped off as the doors opened at his stop, and walked the few yards through the puddles to his flat. The rain had stopped at last. There was a distant bang as a firework flared across the black starless sky somewhere in the direction of the park and burst into a shower of silver sparkles. Why? It had been a while now since Bonfire Night. Must just be someone celebrating something. And why not? If you’re happy, flaunt it. Shout it out to the world! That’s what his mum always used to say. Not that she’d had much to say about happiness lately, especially his. He only had to mention Nicci and her face went into that sour lemons look that seemed to pinch her cheeks right in and half close her eyes.

There was a smell of cooking onions in the shared hallway, and a heap of takeaway leaflets on the mat. Typical! Delivery boys too lazy to walk inside and deposit them through individual letterboxes, even though there were only four of them and the main door was rarely locked.

Mark took the stairs to the first floor, fumbled in his pockets for his key and went inside the flat. It was cold. He’d left the heating off to save money, but being cold just added to the unwelcome feel, the silence and emptiness of the place. That wasn’t what he wanted any more. The bare temporariness of a place that he’d made no attempt to turn into a home. He wanted to bring some fun and warmth back into his life, to experience those firework moments again. He wanted to see his mother smile at him, with her eyes wide open, and mean it. The same way Amanda had just now.

He took off his coat and flipped the thermostat up to high, turned on all the lights and pulled the curtains closed. He didn’t want to be the poor saddo who lived alone among a heap of unopened cardboard boxes any more, getting by on trashy TV and takeaways and tins of own-brand spaghetti. He deserved better.

It was time to get some proper food in the fridge, investigate how to operate the oven, and start unpacking his stuff. This was home from now on, at least until the house was sold and he had some money to consider his options and plan what happened next. He would be here for Christmas, New Year, maybe even Easter. Time to pretty the place up a bit, get a few houseplants, put a picture or two on the plain magnolia walls, invite friends round, turn the music up, cook…

In short, it was time to forget about Nicci, once and for all, and to get on with his life. It was just too late, and things had gone way too far, for him to contemplate doing anything else.

***

Hannah buried her face in Nicci’s shoulder and wrapped her small arms tightly around her neck. ‘I don’t want to,’ she whispered, her lips close to Nicci’s ear. ‘Don’t like it.’

‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ Nicci soothed. ‘No one will make you eat anything you don’t like. But you could give it a try, couldn’t you? We could pour lots of honey on top to make it really yummy. Here, look, just a teeny spoonful.’

‘It’s not yummy. It’s yukky!’

Nicci tried not to laugh. It was only a pan of porridge, but the little girl was adamant she was not going to like it, even if it was Baby Bear’s favourite food in the whole wide world and all the other children were demolishing big bowls of it as if they hadn’t eaten for days, and were already asking for more.

They’d all enjoyed listening to the story and acting it out with different-sized chairs and piles of cushions made to look like beds, even if there had been a bit of a tussle over who was going to be Goldilocks. It was probably losing that particular battle that had got Hannah so upset. The need to gain attention, to be centre stage, to get her own way. Nothing to do with the porridge at all. Her mum was in hospital for a few days and she was probably feeling a bit insecure, that was all. Still, watching Nicci mix up the oats and milk and all taking it in turns to stir had been an added treat that all the others had taken to eagerly, so one unhappy child out of a group of fifteen wasn’t too bad a result.

As Rusty led the children away for some outdoor play, Nicci stood at the sink and started the washing-up. She could hear Hannah giggling as she rolled a ball across the grass outside. How quickly they forget, she thought. Bouncing back the way kids always seemed to do. If only we adults could forget so easily and cheer up so quickly when things don’t work out the way we’d like, she thought, putting the clean bowls back into the cupboard.

No amount of cajoling was going to get Hannah to try that porridge, and why should it? Even kids should be allowed some choices, and it was true what she’d said. Some things are just yukky!

She remembered the first time she’d ever tasted a snail. Just the thought of that slimy little creature entering her mouth, let alone swallowing it, had made her want to throw up, but they’d been in a lovely new French restaurant, celebrating their anniversary – was it their fifth or their sixth? She couldn’t remember – and Mark had waved the fork in front of her and promised it would be all right. And somehow she had let him do it, let him pop the snail between her lips, because she’d trusted him. More than little Hannah trusted her, obviously! But it had been okay. Not as she’d expected at all. To be honest, she’d tasted the garlic and the cream more than anything else, and the kiss they’d shared straight afterwards had soon taken her mind off it anyway. Not that she’d ever eaten a snail again since, of course. Once was quite enough!

It was surprising just how often she still thought about Mark. He had moved out weeks ago, and she’d hardly seen him since, but he was still there, all the time, nudging his way into her head every time she opened a cupboard or a drawer at home and found one of his discarded paperbacks or a mug he’d liked to drink from, or a CD he’d accidentally left buried amongst her own. No matter how many times the bedding had been through the wash, she was sure she could still detect a whiff of his aftershave on the pillows. Of course it might just be wishful thinking, but if she couldn’t wish for Mark, then what else was there?

‘Snack time!’ Rusty was leading the children back inside for their usual mid-afternoon fruit, and they were all giggling as they kicked off their boots in a muddy pile at the door and padded across the room in their socks.

‘Snacks?’ Nicci laughed. ‘Haven’t you all got full-up tummies from eating so much porridge?’

‘No!’ fourteen little high-pitched voices chorused as they pulled their mini-sized plastic chairs up to the table. Only Hannah hadn’t answered, her eyes already trained on the banana Rusty was chopping into chunks. She knew what she liked, that girl! And what she wanted. Perhaps there was something Nicci could learn from her after all.

Soon after six o’clock the last couple of parents had finally arrived, mumbling apologies and excuses about traffic and trains, and bustled out again, and all the children had gone. Everything had been cleaned and tidied during the last hour when a lot of the children had already left for home and those who remained had settled down in the book corner for a final story. Now all was quiet and Nicci was about to grab her coat from the hook in the staffroom when Rusty stopped her.

‘So, what’s it all about, girl?’ Rusty had slipped her shoes off and was rubbing a rather large corn on the side of her big toe. ‘God, my feet will be the death of me!’

‘About?’

‘Come on, my love. There’s something playing on your mind lately, that’s for sure. Tell your Auntie Rusty, or I’ll just have to tickle it out of you.’

‘You’ve been around kids too long!’ Nicci smiled. ‘I do not succumb to tickles!’

Unless they come from Mark, she thought, an image of a play fight they’d had on their honeymoon popping into her head, where he’d tickled her so much she’d wet herself. Not the most romantic way to present herself to her new husband, but he’d just laughed and tickled her some more. Hurriedly, she pushed the memory away.

They said their goodbyes to the other girls and took a last check around, making sure all the windows were closed and the sockets switched off. Rusty rescued the last of the porridge from the fridge, now looking decidedly lumped together and unappetising in a blue plastic tub, and stowed it in her enormous bag. ‘That’ll save me making any breakfast for my lot tomorrow,’ she quipped, licking her lips. ‘Okay. Seriously, though, Nic. Porridge aside…’ Rusty wasn’t about to give up.

‘Yes, I would love to put the porridge aside. I’m sick of the sight of the stuff. How could you even contemplate eating another morsel?’

‘Stop changing the subject, you. I’ve seen definite tears in your eyes more than once this week, and the porridge wasn’t hot enough to make your eyes water, that’s for sure. Come on, it’s never a good idea to bottle things up. Is it Mark? Has he said something? Done something?’

‘Oh, Rusty, I only wish he had. He’s kept himself so distant, it’s as if we’re strangers.’

‘Then you must say something or do something. It’s no good waiting about hoping for things to change. Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns and give it a good seeing-to… Ooh, that sounds a bit rude!’

Nicci laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I know what you mean. And I do want to do something. I really do. In fact, last night…’

‘Go on, love.’

‘Well, I went through the calendar and worked out how long my marriage has got left if I don’t.’

Rusty took hold of her arm, just as it was about to disappear down a coat sleeve, and guided her towards a chair.

‘Right! This sounds serious. I’m putting the kettle on, and then you are going to explain. And we are not locking up and leaving here until you do. Okay?’

‘But don’t you need to get back to your own kids?’

‘My Carl is there. He’s making us one of his curries. And Thursdays are Maths homework night so, believe me, I am in no hurry to get home! So, here’s your tea, here’s your chair, and here’s my ear. All yours. Now, talk to me, girl. Once in a lifetime offer!’

Nicci gave in. It wasn’t as if she had any plans to be elsewhere and she knew Rusty was a good listener.

‘I did a stupid thing. I know that. You know that. Everyone I know knows that. And I hate myself for it, and I know that I will never ever do anything like it again, but it was unforgiveable, wasn’t it? And that’s the trouble. Mark’ll never forgive me. I can understand his anger; of course I can, but he’s completely closed me out. He won’t see me, or let me even try to explain…but I really want him back, Rusty. I’ve only got twenty-nine days left now – less than a month – before that decree nisi can be made absolute, but Mark sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to try to stop that happening, is he?’

Rusty patted her shoulder and reached over to pull a chunk of kitchen paper off the roll beside the sink. ‘Here!’ she said. ‘Have a cry if you need to, but this is going to be the last time. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, and sobbing about what’s happened in the past and can’t be undone, never got anyone anywhere, did it? Twenty-nine days, is it? You can move mountains in that time, girl, you’d be surprised. I’ve seen whole houses built quicker, from the first brick right up to the roof. And a hamster can grow a whole litter of babies and pop them out in less time than that. I know. My kids’ pair produced enough of the little critters, before I moved them into separate cages. So, let’s see what can be done in your twenty-nine days, shall we?’

‘But, Rusty, I don’t even know where to start. My friend Jilly is constantly trying to steer me away from him, talking about new starts and finding ways to forget. I thought she knew me so well, but she’s got this all so wrong.’

‘You’d better find a way to put her off and get talking to him then, hadn’t you? Nothing is ever going to get itself sorted while you’re living apart and not even seeing each other. And you never know, he may have calmed down a bit by now, be ready to talk, and to listen. He might even be missing you as much as you’re clearly missing him.’

‘You think so?’

‘I have no idea, my love. But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’

‘So I should get him round to the house?’

‘Well, unless you want to turn up unannounced on his doorstep and risk having the door closed in your face, yes. Home territory, somewhere you’ve shared good times, has to be your best bet, surely? You’ll probably have to get him round on some made-up excuse though. The central heating’s not working, or there are tiles off the roof, or some other disaster only a man can put right. He still owns half the place, doesn’t he? So, he’ll want to make sure it’s in good order, especially if he’s after selling it. And, besides, it’s your chance to do the poor little helpless woman act. Make him feel all manly and needed.’

Nicci laughed. ‘I’m not sure he’ll fall for that one. We put away all that gender stereotyping long ago, about the same time the nursery world stopped pushing all little girls towards playing with dolls and boys with trains! But you do have a point. I don’t want to trick him into it, but getting him over to the house has to be my first step.’

‘Glad to have helped. Now, I really should go. Quadratic equations and vegetable curry await.’

‘Enjoy!’

‘I will, although one more than the other, I suspect!’

They locked up together and separated at the gates.

‘See you tomorrow, Nicci, love. Good luck.’

Nicci watched Rusty walk away into the darkness, open her car door and climb in. Would it work? Just talking, on home ground? Hoping there was still some tiny spark buried inside Mark that might burst back into life, given half a chance? Was it really that easy? Well, anything was worth a try. Anything was better than doing nothing, as she had been until now. Now all she needed was that excuse Rusty had talked about.

By the time she arrived home, she had decided what it was. The For Sale sign, on its wonky post. As she stepped out of the car, it seemed, if anything, that the post was leaning even further across the path than it had before. It had to be a safety hazard, left tilting like that. Another windy night and it could fall over altogether, maybe even hit some poor passer-by. She leaned against it, making a token attempt to straighten it, but it was heavy, and a jagged splinter dug its way into her hand as she pulled away. Ouch! No, Rusty was right. She couldn’t deal with this on her own. This was a job for a man. Her man.

***

‘But, Nicci, shouldn’t we ask the estate agents to do something about it? They erected the thing, after all.’ Mark turned the gas down under a pan of peas and bent to peer through the glass door where a frozen chicken pie was slowly turning a satisfying golden brown in his previously untested oven.

‘They’re closed, Mark. It’s gone seven. And I’m not sure it will stay standing until tomorrow.’

‘Can’t you just pull the whole thing out of the ground and dump it on the grass?’ Mark freed the phone from where he’d been balancing it under his chin and sat down at the table. He didn’t want this. Her calling up, wanting things done, and him expected to go running over there. Those days were over and, from the way he’d felt just glimpsing her from the bus yesterday, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to cave in and start caring again. He didn’t want to go backwards. That way lay nothing but pain, and it had been hard enough coming this far. ‘It’s not as if we really need it for advertising the house sale, is it?’ he said, a bit too abruptly, but what the hell? ‘I’m sure most people either find us in the agent’s window or online.’

‘But it’s heavy, Mark, and it’s got nails sticking out of it. I’ve already got a gash in my thumb from trying to get hold of it. Please, couldn’t you just come over for a few minutes and help? It is your house too, you know.’

He closed his eyes and let out a long slow sigh. He could feel himself weakening. Yes, it was his house too, and it wasn’t fair to leave her to deal with everything on her own. Maybe just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. He could grab whatever hammers and nails and stuff he needed from the garage when he got there, and sort it out easily enough. Nail it back where it was meant to be, or take the damn thing down altogether.

‘Oh, all right. But I’m about to eat, so give me a while, will you? I’ll be over as soon as I can.’ He rang off, dropped the phone on the table and went back to the hob to inspect the peas.

The pie looked great, its comforting meaty smell drifting through the flat as he drew it out of the oven, but suddenly he seemed to have lost his appetite, and after forcing a few mouthfuls down he left half of it congealing in its own gravy on the plate, the last of the peas swimming about at the edges like little lost bubbles.

It was cold outside as he fastened his jacket and headed for the car. He could walk round. It would only take twenty minutes or so, and the fresh air would do him good, but at least driving gave him a good excuse to refuse a drink if one was offered. He couldn’t allow himself to come under the influence of alcohol, even a small amount. He’d probably get all soppy and cry or something. Oh, God, why was seeing her so hard? Even the thought of it screwed his stomach up in knots. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Was she trying to trick him, worm her way back into his life, his heart? He thought he’d made his feelings pretty clear when he’d packed up and left. No, if anything, she had just sounded annoyed. The last thing on her mind would be any kind of reconciliation. Or on his.

‘Evening.’ Billy, the bloke from the ground floor flat, was out walking his dog. Billy was probably only about forty or so, but he looked older. He was divorced too, and had been for years, or so he’d said when they’d first encountered each other the week Mark had moved in. Mark wasn’t sure he looked too good on it though. His shapeless straggly beard needed a good trim and his old corduroy trousers were fraying at the hems. Classic signs of a man too long on his own. He must make sure he didn’t let himself get like that, although he could already see how easy it would be.

The old spaniel had obviously once been black but was now greying around the ears, a bit like his master. Mark seemed to remember the dog was called Sausage or Salami or some such meaty-sounding name. It was cocking its leg against the base of a tree, a thin stream of urine already running downhill across the pavement towards Mark’s shoes. ‘Sorry about that.’ Billy laughed. ‘I’ve only just got home and old Hot Dog here’s been holding it in all afternoon, poor little sod!’

So that was the dog’s name. Mark dodged out of the way and nodded.

‘Bit nippy tonight.’ Billy pulled a tatty football scarf tighter around his neck, tugged a hat down further over his ears and turned his coat collar up. ‘But at least there’s no sign of any more rain to come, eh?’

‘Let’s hope not. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush. See you!’ Mark opened his car door and jumped in.

‘Yeah, you too.’

As he drove off and glanced back in his mirror, he could see Billy light up a cigarette, its tip glowing in the darkness. The dog snuffled about in a pile of dry dead leaves at the side of the road. A pale narrow light spilling out from a hallway illuminated a young couple kissing goodbye – or maybe it was hello – in the open doorway of a house across the road. He saw the young man’s hand travel to the girl’s miniskirted bottom and give it a squeeze. He heard her giggle and the front door slam behind them as they tumbled inside. Just ordinary people, doing ordinary things.