You don’t need to earn; I can support us both.
But I want to work, she’d said, I want to have my own money, my independence. He’d looked her up and down and marched out of the room. That was seven years ago – it all started because Ed was changing, the umbilical cord was getting looser .
She heard the key turn in the lock and something inside her twitched. She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to lower themselves as she heard Tim, his heels clip-clipping on the wooden floorboards. Be a good wife.
‘Hi, darling.’ He was up behind her before she could turn around. She felt him snake his hands around her waist and hold her close. There was a fragrance she didn’t recognise.
‘Hello. Cup of tea?’ she said.
He kissed her on the head and let go. ‘Nope. I’ll just have a white wine – there’s a new one here I want to try. Fancy some?’
He knew she didn’t like white wine – just red or Prosecco or sometimes vodka and tonic; it drove him crazy.
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘You know I don’t like white wine.’
He looked up at her from studying the cork speared by the corkscrew. ‘Imagine being married to a wine salesman and not liking 50 per cent of the wine I bring home.’ There was that Welsh lilt again. He sniffed the cork.
She felt her shoulders rise again. She should be happy. She looked at Tim’s face, at his short brown hair, greying slightly at the temples, at his glasses perched on his nose as he studied the wine label intently – and she felt blank. What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she engaging?
Now was her chance. She felt an enormous surge of wanting to live life, of wanting to harness what she had. She wanted to get drunk, have sex, ride a speedboat – where had that come from? – anything, just something different.
‘Tim, let’s have sex. Now. In the kitchen.’
He dropped the corkscrew and stared at her. She noticed a strand of long hair on his jacket. Blonde?
‘Well, that’s a surprise.’
She came over to him, started to unbutton her blouse, then stood in her black bra in front of him. As he came over to her and started to kiss her neck, she relaxed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She inhaled his familiar smell and, despite everything, let herself be comforted by him, let her head fall on his chest and took a deep sigh.
Suddenly, he swept the contents of the table to one side and hoisted her up onto it. That was certainly a new technique. She let herself go, let herself find some magic in his arms. She thought about Olive, about being at the end of your life’s journey and how awful it must be to stare at four walls all day. She wanted more. She wanted some excitement. This could be it! And she wanted to feel real, and solid and living. Then he was inside her and she let out a small cry.
Afterwards, Tim looked at her. ‘That was nice, pet.’
Pet? Was this what she was looking for?
*
Tim had an enormous grin on his face as he took a slug of wine at the kitchen table. ‘Listen, Maddie,’ he said, straightening his collar, and her heart quickened, waiting for a romantic gesture. She gave him her most winning smile. ‘I bought those tickets to that classic car show last weekend.’
She was leaning on the kitchen table; she held on to the edge of it. Classic cars.
‘Right.’
‘Look, Maddie, I know I don’t always show you, but I do love you, you know?’ She knew this; she knew he was a good man. It had felt good to be held. It had felt right to be close to another human being.
‘I know.’ She touched his sleeve, but that little fuse, the one that flickered in her heart these days, it just twitched again. He was saying something. She tried to focus.
‘Maddie, what do you think?’
‘Sorry, about what, darling?’
‘The new car! You know, the brochure you were going to look at today?’ He looked up at her over his glasses. ‘The “S” class – does zero to sixty in three seconds; it handles really well, too. Good fuel economy, safety rating excellent.’
He might as well be talking Finnish. She managed a smile. S-class. Zero to sixty – do we need a getaway car?
‘Well?’ He was animated, vibrant.
‘Looks great, Tim. You know better than me what we need. In fact, you’re in it most of the time!’
‘Maddie, what’s wrong? You’re not yourself.’ He put his hands on her shoulders.
I haven’t been myself for about nineteen years.
Something had to give.
7
Tonight they were practising ‘Diva Classics’ and as Maddie walked into the church hall with Rachel she shivered. The heating was always a bit dodgy and even though it was a July evening, the room was chilly. The room smelt of teabags and baby wipes. Blue plastic chairs were set up in rows and there was a general hum of voices punctuated by the odd shriek.
Maddie lost herself in the music that night. As she belted out some of the Gloria Gaynor classics in the warm-up, she started to feel powerful. ‘I Will Survive’ seemed apt after today. Janet, their choir leader, was in front of them, waving her arms about, smiling and nodding her head. It was always cathartic to come here. They had started to practise for their big event – a flash mob number in the high street, on Christmas Eve. Maddie breathed in deeply, closed her eyes and belted out the second verse. She loved belonging to something bigger than her.
Later, at the Dog and Duck, Rachel and a few others were gathered at tables around the pub. It was one of the oldest buildings in the village and it had been the venue for many cosy nights out for her and Tim when they’d first moved there, as well as several loud New Year’s Eve parties. It had beautiful beams, there was always a real fire burning, and the smell of smoke and beer seemed to melt into the place.
‘So, how are you?’ Rachel placed a vodka tonic in front of Maddie.
Maddie took a sip. ‘I keep looking at Ed’s Facebook page,’ she said putting the glass back on the table. ‘I miss him! But it does seem like he’s having fun. It’s great that he’s having his year off.’ And the more she said it to her friends, the more it would be true, wouldn’t it? She took a sip of her drink and then fished around for the lime floating in it and gave it a squeeze. ‘Olive said something, you know – you don’t want any regrets. I want to be good at something, Rachel. Is that so odd?’
‘No it’s not, love. But don’t be daft, there’s loads you’re good at!’ Rachel took a slug of wine.
‘Like what?’ She fixed her with a gaze. The spectre of Mediocre Maddie was tapping her on the shoulder.
‘Singing!’ Rachel grinned, passing her a packet of salt and vinegar to share. ‘Um, a mother, you’re a fabulous mother, too!’
‘OK, I’ll take that, but what about me?’
‘Well, I don’t know…’ She narrowed her eyes at Maddie. ‘But why now. Why all this?’
Maddie shrugged, not sure herself why this cloak of discontentment had descended upon her after all these years. Yet part of her knew that the real Maddie was hiding in the shadows; she’d seen her at the reunion.
‘So what’s Ed actually doing?’ Rachel interrupted her thoughts.