The Husband's Secret (37 page)

‘So where is he now?’ said Tess. There was a strident note to her voice. Felicity’s knowledge of Will’s whereabouts and plans was infuriating. ‘Is he in Sydney? Did you fly up together?’

‘Well, yes, we did, but –’ began Felicity.

‘That must have been very traumatic for you both. Your last moments together. Did you hold hands on the plane?’

The flicker in Felicity’s eyes was indisputable.

‘You did, didn’t you?’ said Tess. She could just imagine it. The
agony
. The star-crossed lovers clinging to each other, wondering if they should keep on running, fly to Paris!, or do the right thing, the boring thing. Tess was the boring thing.

‘I don’t want him,’ she told Felicity. She couldn’t stand her role as the stodgy, wronged wife. She wanted Felicity to know that there was nothing stodgy about Tess O’Leary. ‘You can have him. Keep him! I’ve been sleeping with Connor Whitby.’

Felicity’s mouth dropped. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’

Felicity exhaled. ‘Well, Tess, that’s – I don’t know.’ She looked around the room for inspiration and returned her gaze to Tess. ‘Three days ago you said you would not have Liam growing up with divorced parents. You said, you wanted your husband back. You made me feel like the worst person in the world. And now you tell me that you’ve just jumped straight into an affair with an ex-boyfriend, while Will and I, we never even –
God
!’ She thumped her fist on the side of Tess’s bed, her colour high, her eyes shining with fury.

The injustice, and perhaps the justice, of Felicity’s words took Tess’s breath away.

‘Don’t be so pious.’ She shoved Felicity’s skinny thigh as hard as she could, childishly, like a kid on a bus. It felt strangely good. She did it again, harder. ‘You
are
the worst person in the world. Do you think I would have even
looked
at Connor if you and Will hadn’t made your announcement?’

‘You didn’t muck about though, did you? Bloody hell, stop
hitting
me!’

Tess gave her one final shove and sat back. She had never felt such an overwhelming desire to hit someone before. She had certainly never given in to it. It seemed that all the
niceties that made her a socially acceptable grown-up had been stripped away. Last week she was a school mum and a professional. Now she was having sex in hallways and hitting her cousin. What next?

She took a deep, shaky breath. In the heat of the moment, they called it. She had never realised just how hot the heat of the moment could get.

‘Anyway,’ said Felicity. ‘Will wants to work things out, and I’m leaving the country. So do whatever you want to do.’

‘Thanks,’ said Tess. ‘Thanks very much. Thanks for everything.’ She could feel the anger almost physically draining from her body, leaving her limp and detached.

There was silence for a moment.

‘He wants another baby,’ said Felicity.

‘Don’t tell me what he wants.’

‘He
really
wants another baby.’

‘And I suppose you would have liked to have given him one,’ said Tess.

Felicity’s eyes filled. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, but yes.’

‘For God’s sake, Felicity. Don’t make me feel bad for you. It’s not fair. Why did you have to fall in love with
my
husband? Why couldn’t you have fallen in love with someone else’s husband?’

‘We never really saw anyone else,’ Felicity laughed as the tears rolled down her face. She wiped the back of her hand across her nose.

That was true.

‘He doesn’t think he can ask you to go through another pregnancy because of how sick you got with Liam,’ said Felicity. ‘But it might not be as bad with a second pregnancy, right? Every pregnancy is different, isn’t it? You should have another baby.’

‘Do you really think we’re going to have a baby now
and live happily ever after?’ said Tess. ‘A baby doesn’t fix a marriage. Not that I even knew my marriage needed fixing.’

‘I know, I just thought –’

‘It’s not really because of the sickness that I don’t want a baby,’ she said to Felicity. ‘It’s because of the people.’

‘The people?’

‘The other mothers, the teachers, the
people
. I didn’t realise that having a child was so social. You’re always
talking
to people.’

‘So what?’ Felicity looked mystified.

‘I have this disorder. I did a quiz in a magazine. I have –’ Tess lowered her voice. ‘I have social anxiety.’

‘You do not,’ said Felicity dismissively.

‘I do so! I did the quiz –’

‘You’re seriously diagnosing yourself based on some quiz in a magazine?’

‘It was
Reader’s Digest, not Cosmopolitan
. And it’s true! I can’t stand meeting new people. I get sick. I have heart palpitations. I can’t stand parties.’

‘Lots of people don’t like parties. Get over yourself.’

Tess was taken aback. She had expected hushed pity.

‘You’re shy,’ said Felicity. ‘You’re not one of those loud-mouthed extroverts. But people like you. People really like you. Haven’t you ever noticed that? I mean, God, Tess, how could you have had all those boyfriends if you were such a shy, nervy little thing? You had about thirty boyfriends before you were twenty-five.’

Tess rolled her eyes. ‘I did not.’

How could she explain to Felicity that her anxiety was like a strange mercurial little pet she was forced to look after? Sometimes it was quiet and pliable, other days it was crazy, running around in circles, yapping in her ear. Besides, dating was different. Dating had its own definite set of rules. She could do dating. A first date with a new man had never been
a problem. (As long as he asked her out, of course. She never did the asking.) It was when the man asked her to meet his family and friends that her anxiety reared its freaky little head.

‘And by the way, if you really had “social anxiety”, why did you never tell me?’ said Felicity with total confidence that she knew everything there was to know about Tess.

‘I never had a name for it before,’ said Tess. ‘I never had words to describe this feeling until a few months ago.’
And because you were part of my cover identity. Because you and I pretended together that we didn’t care what other people thought of us, that we were superior to just about the whole world. If I’d admitted to you how I felt, I would have had to admit that not only did I care what other people thought, I cared far too much
.

‘You know what, I walked into an aerobics class wearing a size twenty-two T-shirt.’ Felicity leaned forward and looked at her fiercely. ‘People couldn’t look at me. I saw one girl nudging her friend to check me out and then they both fell about laughing. I heard a guy say, “Watch out for the heifer.” Don’t you talk to
me
about social anxiety, Tess O’Leary.’

There was a banging on the door.

‘Mum! Felicity!’ shouted Liam. ‘Why have you locked the door? Let me in!’

‘Go away, Liam!’ called back Tess.

‘No! Have you made up yet?’

Tess and Felicity looked at each other. Felicity smiled faintly and Tess looked away.

Lucy’s voice came from the other end of the house. ‘Liam, come back here! I said to leave your mother alone!’ She was at a disadvantage on her crutches.

Felicity stood. ‘I have to go. My flight is at two o’clock. Mum and Dad are taking me to the airport. Mum is in a state. Dad isn’t speaking to me, apparently.’

‘You’re seriously leaving today?’ Tess looked up at her from the floor.

She thought briefly of the business: the clients she’d worked so hard to win over, the cash flow they’d tried so hard to maintain, fussing and fretting over the profit and loss like a delicate little plant, the ‘work in progress’ Excel spreadsheet they’d studied each morning. Was this the end for TWF Advertising? All those dreams. All that stationery.

‘Yes,’ said Felicity. ‘It’s what I should have done years ago.’

Tess stood as well. ‘I don’t forgive you.’

‘I know,’ said Felicity. ‘I don’t forgive me either.’

‘Mum!’ yelled Liam.

‘Hold your horses, Liam!’ called out Felicity. She grabbed Tess’s arm and said in her ear, ‘Don’t tell Will about Connor.’

For one strange moment they hugged, and then Felicity turned and opened the door.

chapter forty-seven

‘There’s no butter,’ announced Isabel. ‘No margarine either.’

She turned from the fridge and looked at her mother expectantly.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Cecilia. How could that have happened? She never forgot a staple. Her system was foolproof. Her refrigerator and pantry were always perfectly stocked. Sometimes John-Paul rang on his way home and asked if she needed him to ‘pick up milk or anything’ and she’d always reply, ‘Uh,
no
?’

‘But aren’t we having hot cross buns?’ said Esther. ‘We always have hot cross buns for breakfast on Good Friday.’

‘We can still have them,’ said John-Paul. He brushed his fingers automatically across Cecilia’s lower back as he walked past her to the kitchen table. ‘Your mother’s hot cross buns are so good they don’t need butter.’

Cecilia watched him. He was pale and a little shaky, as if he was recovering from the flu, and he seemed in a tremulous, tender mood.

She found herself waiting for something to happen – the shrill ring of the phone, a heavy knock on the door – but the day continued to be cloaked in soft safe silence. Nothing
would happen on a Good Friday. Good Friday was in its own protective little bubble.

‘We always have our hot cross buns with lots and lots of butter,’ said Polly, who was sitting at the kitchen table in her pink flannelette pyjamas, her black hair rumpled, her cheeks flushed with sleep. ‘It’s a family
tradition
. Just go to the shop, Mum, and get some butter.’

‘Don’t speak to your mother like that. She’s not your slave,’ said John-Paul, at the same time as Esther glanced up from her library book and said, ‘The shops are closed, stupid.’

‘Whatever,’ sighed Isabel. ‘I’m going to go Skype with –’

‘No you’re not,’ said Cecilia. ‘We’re
all
going to eat some porridge, and then we’re
all
going to walk up to the school oval.’

‘Walk?’ said Polly disdainfully.

‘Yes, walk. It’s turned into a beautiful day. Or ride your bikes. We’ll take the soccer ball.’

‘I’m on Dad’s team,’ said Isabel.

‘And then on the way back we’ll stop by at the BP service station and pick up some butter, and we’ll have hot cross buns when we get home.’

‘Perfect,’ said John-Paul. ‘That sounds perfect.’

‘Did you know that some people wish the Berlin Wall never come down?’ said Esther. ‘That’s weird, isn’t it? Why would you want to be stuck behind a wall?’

‘Well, that was lovely, but I really should go,’ said Rachel. She placed her mug back down on the coffee table. Her duty was done. She shifted herself forward and took a breath. It was another one of those impossibly low couches. Could she stand up on her own? Lauren would get there first
if she saw she was having difficulty. Rob was always just a moment too late.

‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’ asked Lauren.

‘I’ll just potter about,’ said Rachel.
I’ll just count the minutes
. She held out a hand to Rob. ‘Give me a hand will you, love?’

As Rob went to help her, Jacob toddled over with a framed photo he’d picked up from the bookcase and brought it over to Rachel. ‘Daddy,’ he said, pointing.

‘That’s right,’ said Rachel. It was a photo of Rob and Janie on a camping holiday they’d taken on the south coast the year before Janie died. They were standing in front of a tent, and Rob was holding his fingers up like rabbit ears behind Janie’s head. Why did children insist on doing that?

Rob came and stood next to them and pointed at his sister. ‘And who’s that, buddy?’

‘Auntie Janie,’ said Jacob clearly.

Rachel caught her breath. She’d never heard him say ‘Auntie Janie’ before, although she and Rob had been pointing her out in photos to him since he was a tiny baby.

‘Clever boy.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Your Aunt Janie would have loved you.’

Although, in truth, Janie had never been particularly interested in children. She’d preferred constructing cities with Rob’s Lego to playing with dolls.

Jacob gave her a cynical look, as if he knew this, and wandered off with the photo frame swinging precariously between his fingertips. Rachel put her hand in Rob’s and he helped her to her feet.

‘Well, thank you so much, Lauren –’ she began, and was disconcerted to see that Lauren was staring at the floor with a fixed expression, as if she was pretending not to be there.

‘Sorry,’ she gave them a watery smile. ‘It was just hearing Jacob say “Auntie Janie” for the first time. I don’t know how
you get through this day, Rachel, every year, I really don’t. I just wish I could
do
something.’

You could not take my grandson to New York, thought Rachel. You could stay here and have another baby
. But she just smiled politely and said, ‘Thank you, darling. I’m perfectly all right.’

Lauren stood. ‘I wish I’d known her. My sister-in-law. I always wanted a sister.’ Her face was pink and soft. Rachel looked away. She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t want to see evidence of Lauren’s vulnerability.