An Ideal Wife (18 page)

He grinned and leaned over to kiss Mum; she turned slightly so that he got her cheek, not her lips, but that was enough. I felt sick to my stomach suddenly. This man Lawrence wasn’t a criminal. Mum hadn’t met a stalker online; she’d just met a man. A normal, red-blooded, cheating man. Of course he wasn’t a bloody stalker. I’d been so determined to believe that my mother wouldn’t be stupid enough to have an affair that I’d let Gillie convince me of some ridiculous, paranoid story.

I shook my head in disgust. I felt so foolish, so pathetic. I’d driven all this way to see her, had worried myself into a nervous
wreck—I was even holding a frigging replica ax, for goodness sake—and for what? So that I could witness her hanging out with her new lover. In my house. Behind Chester’s back.

I stepped into the kitchen, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. I wasn’t afraid anymore; I was angry. I looked at them incredulously, shaking my head in disbelief, in crushing disappointment. I’d thought that Mum had grown up since she ditched me with Grandma, since she gambled her way into debt, since she faked her own suicide to get away from her problems. But she hadn’t grown up at all. She was acting like a teenager and cheating on Chester. Chester, who’d offered her a proper life; Chester, who was patient and sweet; Chester, whom I liked. Really liked. Who had started to call me his prospective stepdaughter, with this little twinkle in his eye that made me want to hug him, even though he was actually a client and I was far too grown up to need a father now, step or otherwise.

They still hadn’t seen me, had no idea I was looking at them. I took a deep breath. I was going to be calm. I was going to be calm, collected, and cool. In fact, I was going to be frosty.

“I can’t believe you,” I screeched. I wasn’t cool and frosty at all. Or calm, or collected, for that matter. “I can’t bloody well—I drove all the way here. I was worried. And you’re … you’re …”

“Darling!” My mother pulled away from Lawrence, shock plastered across her face. “Darling, what are you doing here? Lawrence, let go. Jess, let me explain. I really have to—”

“No, you don’t,” I said angrily, grabbing my car key from the floor.
Lawrence
. I hated him already. “You don’t have to explain anything. I understand. And now I’m going.”

“No, Jess. Don’t go. You see—”

“I see what?” I said, stopping and turning on my mother. I felt furious, as if all my frustration at everything that was going wrong in my life right now (pretty much everything) finally had a focal point, a chance at release. “You know, Mum, Chester asked me to
come here. I had other things to do. Other more important things to do, like visiting my husband in the hospital. But I came, because Chester was worried about you. Because I was worried about you. Because Lawr—Because you called me Shona, and this man”—I shot a derisory glance at Lawrence—“answered the phone and I thought he might be a gangster. Or a kidnapper. Or … Or …”

I turned toward the door. I was shaking. “I just can’t believe you’ve been so stupid. Again.”

I started to run. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be at home, wanted to be with Max. “Wait,” I heard Mum call after me. “Wait, Jess, let me explain. Lawrence is … We …”

But I didn’t wait for her to finish. I didn’t care if he was the love of her life. She was supposed to be marrying Chester. She was supposed to be happy and settled for once in her life, not shagging some bloke called Lawrence. I ran out the door, down the drive, and to my car; once in, I started up the engine so quickly it nearly stalled. And it was only when I put my foot down on the gas that I realized I hadn’t even mentioned the audit. Or dropped off the trunk.

I’D NEVER BEEN MORE DESPERATE to see Max, never been more in need of his friendly face, his strong pair of arms to hug me. I drove straight to the hospital, parked terribly, and dashed up the stairs to Max’s ward.

And then I stopped for a second. There were curtains pulled around his bed, from which Emily was emerging.

“Hi!” I said, rushing over. “I’m not too late, am I? I really need to see Max, if it’s okay.”

“I’m afraid he’s asleep,” Emily said with a little shrug. “It’s probably not a good idea to disturb him.”

I met her eyes and took a deep breath. “Actually,” I said, my voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

I moved to step past her, but she put up her arm to stop me. “He’s been in quite a lot of pain today,” she said firmly. “He’s just fallen asleep. The best thing for him is to be left alone.”

“The best thing for him is to see his wife,” I said, equally firm, forcing back the tears that were threatening to tumble down my cheeks.

She smiled tightly. “There are only another fifteen minutes of visiting time. Do you really want to disturb him just for that? I can tell him you came and pass on anything you’ve brought him.” She looked down at my empty hands and her eyes glinted
triumphantly. Or maybe I imagined it, I didn’t know. “Or not,” she added.

“I didn’t have time to pick anything up,” I said unhappily. And it was true—I’d been in the car for more than four hours and had rushed back to the office to somehow pull together some policies for Eric in time to meet his deadline. I’d wanted to be here earlier, with delicious treats and magazines. Instead, I was here empty-handed and too late to even see him. None of my plans was working out at the moment, but the one that was failing the most was my plan to be an ideal wife. Right now I couldn’t be further from one. “But I want to see him. Even if he’s asleep.”

“Jess? Jess, is that you?” A voice came from behind the curtain. Max’s voice.

“Max!” I said, pushing past Emily. “Darling, I’m here.”

I pulled back the curtain and saw Max looking up at me groggily. “I was asleep,” he said. “God, it’s a nightmare getting to sleep in this place. Things beeping all the time, beds being moved about. What time is it?”

I looked at my watch, even though I already knew. “Um, a quarter to nine,” I said.

Max frowned. “Don’t visiting hours end at nine?”

I nodded uncomfortably. “Yes, they do. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here before. It’s been a bit of a day, really. But I’m here now.”

“Did you bring me any muffins?” he asked, his eyes lighting up hopefully.

My heart sank. Muffins. I’d forgotten the bloody muffins. My eyes started to well up. “No,” I said miserably. “No, I didn’t. I …”

“Not to worry,” Max said, with a little shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“But it is a big deal,” I said unhappily. “I said I’d bring you muffins and I meant to bring you muffins, and now I’m here without them—”

“It’s okay,” Max said. “You’re busy. I understand. How are
things at the office, anyway?” His eyes closed briefly, then opened again.

“They’re fine,” I said, reaching out to take his hand. “You look tired.”

He nodded. “It’s the pain,” he said. “They keep me doped up.”

“Is it still very bad?” I asked gently.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, his expression suggesting that it probably wasn’t. “So you’ve had an awful day, have you? Are things tricky at work?”

I shook my head. “Work? No. Nothing tricky at work. Just traffic jams,” I said, managing a smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. But I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”

“Me, too,” Max said quietly, and closed his eyes again. I watched as he fell back to sleep, and then listened to his breathing become steady and soft.

Emily poked her head around the curtain. “We really are going to have to ask you to leave now,” she said.

“I know,” I said with a lump in my throat. “I’m going. He’s asleep again.”

“Best thing for him,” Emily said. “See you, then.”

“Tomorrow,” I said firmly. “Tomorrow I’ll be here early.”

I felt very lonely going home. I’d never minded being on my own before I fell in love with Max—I’d grown up pretty much friendless, with only Grandma for company, and had always thought of my independence as my biggest strength. But right now I didn’t feel very strong. I felt vulnerable, afraid, and confused. I wanted to pull a big blanket over my head and go to sleep and not wake up until things were better again. So much for being the ideal wife. So far I’d failed on nearly every count. I wasn’t honest—I still hadn’t told Max about Hugh, and now I wasn’t telling him about my mother, either. I wasn’t good—I was having dark
thoughts about Emily and was obviously a terrible “companion.” Now it seemed I was the worst carer in the world, too. My husband was lying in a hospital bed and I couldn’t even remember to bring him muffins. How long would it be before I stopped being loved, too?

Sighing miserably, I looked in my rearview mirror and indicated left. The car behind me indicated, also. It was large black car, a Hummer—I’d noticed it parked outside the hospital. Funny, I thought, that it should be on the same road as me now, twenty minutes later. Strange how closely strangers’ lives could come together sometimes. The driver was no doubt visiting someone in the hospital, too—perhaps they lived on the same road as Max and me. I indicated again; sure enough, the Hummer did, too. I smiled. Sure I felt lonely, I thought to myself, but no one’s ever completely alone.

And then with a start I remembered that I’d promised to go to the resource center that evening. Yet another opportunity to show what a failure I was, how useless and pathetic, I thought, despondent. Yet another thing I was rubbish at. But then I sat up a bit and shook myself. Self-pity wasn’t going to help matters any. If anyone was to be pitied, it was the poor people relying on me for companionship, or Max alone in the hospital. Not me.

Looking in my side mirror, I did a U-turn and made my way back to the main road. Ten minutes later, I parked around the corner from the resource center and went inside.

“Jessica!” Christina waved as I walked in. “Lovely to see you!”

I found myself smiling. She looked as if she really meant it. “Don’t you ever go home?” I asked her sheepishly.

She shook her head and returned the smile. “Rest is for the wicked. Always leads to trouble.”

My smile got slightly bigger as I made my way to the living room and sat down. It was packed and the smell was horrendous, but I
barely noticed; what I did notice was the sense of camaraderie, of relief at being inside, warm, and fed. Maybe Jerome D. Rutter had a point, after all, I found myself thinking. Maybe freeing yourself from all your stuff let you focus on what was really important.

Then again, I guessed most of the people in the room wouldn’t have said no to a bit of stuff. New clothes, warm bedding. No, stuff wasn’t the enemy; audits were. Audits and mothers having affairs, and husbands laid up in the hospital with nurses who were overattentive … I took a deep breath and looked around the room. No one appeared to be looking for a companion to read to them or listen to them talk.

I turned to the woman sitting next to me. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jessica.”

She looked at me, a bewildered expression on her face. “No thank you,” she said. “Not today.”

“No, I don’t want anything,” I said quickly. “I just wondered if you wanted to talk. Or play a card game or—”

“No. Thank you. Not today,” the woman repeated, then stood up. “No thank you. Not today, thank you. No. Thank you. Thank you, but no.” She wandered off, muttering, and I shrank back in my chair. I was obviously terrible at this companionship lark. I was scaring people away, not helping them. Maybe it had been a bad idea coming here. I was meant to be helping; instead, I was using the center to avoid going home and facing up to the stark reality that I was not only not an ideal wife but not an ideal anything, that everything was falling apart around me and I didn’t know how to put it all back together again.

I would go; I’d make an excuse to Christina and promise to come back soon, I decided.

“It gets easier.” I looked up uncertainly; the person who’d spoken was Greta. “This seat taken?” She motioned to the chair beside me, the one that had been vacated by the muttering woman.

“No,” I said. “Actually, I was just going, so …”

“Takes a while, but it does get easier,” she said, easing herself into the chair.

“Thanks,” I said, slightly embarrassed, not sure if she meant being a companion got easier or if she, too, had mistaken me for another homeless person.

“Don’t thank me. I’m only stating the obvious. That’s all,” she said. “But sometimes you’ve got to, haven’t you? State the obvious. Sometimes it’s staring you in the face and you still can’t see it.”

I looked at her uncertainly. “The obvious being that it gets easier?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Everything does. Stands to reason. Things become familiar. Familiar is easier. I used to hate this place. People asking me questions. I thought they were trying to catch me out.”

“Catch you out?” I asked, curious.

She shrugged. “Find reasons to send me back home. I didn’t like home.”

Her voice was higher than I’d expected; as I looked at her more closely, I realized that she was much younger than I’d thought—mid-twenties, maybe, when I’d had her in her mid-fifties.

“You didn’t?” I asked.

“I just said that.” She frowned.