(Ebook) Would You Ask My Husband That? by Kathleen Whyman ISBN 9781471414602, 1471414604 download https://ebooknice.com/product/would-you-ask-my-husbandthat-51280940
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Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter 1: Sarah Chapter 2: Will Chapter 3: Sarah Chapter 4: Will Chapter 5: Sarah Chapter 6: Will Chapter 7: Sarah Chapter 8: Will Chapter 9: Sarah Chapter 10: Will Chapter 11: Sarah Chapter 12: Will Chapter 13: Sarah Chapter 14: Will Chapter 15: Sarah Chapter 16: Sarah Chapter 17: Will Chapter 18: Sarah Chapter 19: Sarah Chapter 20: Will Chapter 21: Sarah Chapter 22: Will
Chapter 23: Sarah Chapter 24: Will Chapter 25: Sarah Chapter 26: Will Chapter 27: Sarah Chapter 28: Sarah Chapter 29: Sarah Chapter 30: Will Chapter 31: Sarah Chapter 32: Will Chapter 33: Sarah Chapter 34: Will Chapter 35: Sarah Chapter 36: Will Chapter 37: Sarah Chapter 38: Will Chapter 39: Sarah Chapter 40: Will A Note from the Author Acknowledgements About the Author About Embla Books
First published in Great Britain in 2023 by
Bonnier Books UK Limited 4th Floor, Victoria House, Bloomsbury Square, London, WC1B 4DA Owned by Bonnier Books Sveavägen 56, Stockholm, SwedenCopyright © Kathleen Whyman, 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. The right of Kathleen Whyman to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: 9781471414602 This book is typeset using Atomik ePublisher Embla Books is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK www.bonnierbooks.co.uk
To the loves of my life, James, Eve and Elena (Just as a matter of interest, how many books do I need to publish before this is considered ‘a real job’?!)
Chapter 1 Sarah ‘Mind if I have a quick word, Sarah?’ My stomach plummeted. Being singled out by the HR Director was never good, especially not at an event. I was supposed to be relaxing and letting my hair down, which everyone knew was code for ‘getting sozzled’. I nodded and Clara gestured to a quieter corner of the function room – well away from all the fun. The colleagues I’d been talking to gave me sympathetic smiles. I returned them with a grimace, picked up my glass and followed Clara. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her – she could be a good laugh – but one-to-ones were rarely laughing matters. ‘I know we shouldn’t be talking shop when you’re trying to let your hair down’ – see, even Clara knew the code – ‘but it’s hard to track you down in the office, so I thought I’d seize this opportunity, as you’re here.’ So that’s what this was about. Not being in the office enough. My face grew warm. This wasn’t fair. It had been agreed that I could work flexibly when I came back full-time. It was the only way I could make it work with school drop-offs and pick-ups. And I worked most evenings, at my laptop or on calls to overseas clients, once Evie and Fred were in bed. I wasn’t just meeting my targets, I was smashing them. It was killing me, but I was doing it. Clara’s snide comment was completely unjustified. Clara took me to an empty bar table so far away from everyone else, we were practically in another building. I sat down and tried to zone out the laughter and general merriment going on in every other
area of the huge room. Clara wiped the table with a napkin and smiled at me. ‘I might not physically be in the office full-time, but I’m working at home when I’m not there,’ I said defensively. ‘You can contact me any time, including evenings and weekends. I’m always available.’ Just the night before, I’d taken the children trick-or-treating while listening in on one of my team’s marketing pitches. Thankfully, the blood-curdling screams in the background hadn’t put him off. Clara’s sleek bob barely moved as she shook her head. ‘That wasn’t a complaint. It’s hard to track you down because you’re always in meetings. I’ve seen your calendar. It’s crazy.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Speaking of time …’ Oh no. She’d seen me sneaking into the autumn conference late that morning. Usually, Evie and Fred went to breakfast club on the days I came into the office, but Will and I were staying in a hotel tonight, so it hadn’t felt right doing my usual drop-and-run when I wouldn’t be seeing them until tomorrow. I’d made myself even later by dropping my case off at the hotel en route. But missing two hours was nothing compared to the number of extra hours I’d worked. I nudged the side of my glasses up. ‘Time?’ I asked innocently. I’d pretend I’d been at the conference from the very start. Setting up even. Someone had to put out the name badges, corporate notepad and cellophaned croissants with the texture of a rubber band. Clara nodded. ‘You shouldn’t have to work evenings and weekends regularly.’ Easy for her to say. I had no choice. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be meeting my targets, let alone smashing them. It was impossible to work when Evie and Fred were home from school, and Will didn’t get in until they were going to bed. Later, if he had to take clients out. I forced a smile. ‘Working evenings and weekends to get the job done means I don’t feel guilty about spending time with the children after school on the days I work from home, or leaving at five when I’m in the office. I don’t mind.’ I did mind. It was exhausting going back to my desk after falling asleep while reading the children’s bedtime stories, or turning down
the offer to watch Netflix and chill with Will. I meant that in the genuine sense, not with the expectation of sexual activity. We’d been together for twelve years, with children in our lives for the past seven. The prospect of watching something that didn’t involve a puppet or talking animal was much more appealing than sex most nights. Not tonight, though. We’d booked that hotel for a reason. And that reason most definitely involved sexual activity. Although I wouldn’t mind watching the next instalment of The Crown if we could fit that in too. ‘I hear what you’re saying.’ She leant forward. ‘I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying.’ Au contraire. I’d politely listened to everything she’d said. Despite the fact it was about as interesting as the house-rules section of the conference and I should have been ‘letting my hair down’ with my friends. Clara motioned to a waiter. ‘Could we get a bottle of champagne, please.’ I perked up. If I had to attend an enforced, impromptu HR meeting, I may as well attend it with a decent drink. Pre-Will, my friend Tonya and I had been known to endure some very boring conversations with city slickers who sidled over with a bottle of bubbly by way of introduction. If I could get through those conversations, I could get through this. Not only was Clara much more interesting than they’d been, but she was also unlikely to go off in a strop when she didn’t get a hand job afterwards. The waiter left and Clara smiled. ‘Let me start again. I’m not explaining myself very well.’ I took a large drink of my wine. Partly to prepare myself for her explanation, but mainly to get it out of the way before the posh stuff arrived. ‘You’re working long hours,’ she said. ‘Many more hours than a Manager at your level is expected to work.’ I gulped into my wine. Did I work too slowly? Did other Senior Managers achieve more in less time?
‘Why not get paid for those extra hours?’ Clara eyed me over her glass. ‘You’re giving me a pay raise?’ I asked excitedly. This was unheard of mid-financial year without a promotion. ‘No,’ Clara said. My excitement drained away even more quickly than I’d drained my glass. ‘Then what—’ The waiter arrived with our champagne and I stopped talking. Just as well, as the obvious next two words were ‘the actual’ and we all know what came after that. My heart pounded with frustration while the waiter poured the champagne. Was Clara playing some sort of game with me? If so, what was her aim? To dangle the carrot of a pay raise to make me work even harder? To wind me up so much I handed in my notice? To get punched in the boob? Clara handed me a flute. ‘Cheers.’ I couldn’t bring myself to return the ‘cheers’, although I managed to find it within me to drink the free champagne. I didn’t believe in cutting off my nose to spite my face. I needed it to stop my glasses falling off. ‘I’m confused,’ I said. ‘First you say I deserve more money, then you say I can’t have it. With all due respect, what are you talking about?’ I love the disclaimer ‘with all due respect’. You could pretty much get away with telling someone they were a total arsehole if you tagged ‘with all due respect’ onto the sentence. Clara grinned. ‘I think you should apply for the Director position.’ I gripped my glass. Director? Was she serious? Directors were only one down from Partners. They worked on the company’s biggest and best accounts. Their roles involved wining and dining clients, jetting overseas to attend very important meetings, and basically living a life of prestige. Mind you, Will had been promoted to Director a couple of years ago and, having seen him in a unitard for a client’s charity bike ride, I knew it wasn’t all glamour.
‘You’re already working the hours expected of a Director,’ Clara continued. ‘You may as well get paid for them.’ The prospect of a Director’s salary was massively appealing. If I earned the same as Will, we’d be so much better off. We could look into converting the garage into a playroom. As well as our annual family holiday, Will and I could have the odd city mini-break. We could take the kids to Center Parcs during school holidays. We could … Actually, I’d have to check Center Parcs’ prices. Even two Directors’ salaries might not stretch to that. But the rest might be achievable. Clara laughed. ‘I’m guessing that look on your face means you’re interested.’ I realised my expression was on par with Scooby-Doo’s when he’s presented with a giant Scooby Snack. I looked down to hide my eagerness and realised my wrap dress was gaping open, revealing my bra. Scooby-Doo wouldn’t look so excited if presented with that view. I pulled it back into position and sat up straight. ‘Yes, I’m interested.’ That was the understatement of the year. Becoming a Director had been my long-term goal since joining the company fifteen years before. It had been tough watching Will become Director first, considering he’d started three years after me. But that was what happened when you took nine months’ maternity leave twice and worked part-time until both children were at school. ‘I didn’t realise there was an opening,’ I said. ‘Is someone leaving?’ This was rare. Becoming a Director was as out of reach for most people as the art of turning base metals into gold. If you were privileged enough to become one, you hung on tight. Clara leant closer. ‘Don’t say anything, but Jasper’s for the chop. He was caught on CCTV stealing stationery.’ My stomach tightened. I’d pilfered a few notebooks and pens in my time. Not to mention highlighters, Post-it notes, a hole punch and enough Tipp-Ex mice to open a laboratory. ‘How much stationery?’ I asked nervously. ‘Some envelopes.’
I fiddled with the arm of my glasses. ‘He’s being sacked for that? Seems a bit excessive.’ I was never taking anything again. If Jasper was getting the boot for pinching a few envelopes, I’d be put on death row for my haul. ‘They were premium, A3 gusset envelopes.’ I commended Clara’s ability to give that sentence gravitas. ‘But, between us, it was an excuse. He’s been on borrowed time since he lost his work laptop.’ I relaxed slightly. I didn’t have a blot on my copybook (not that anyone would know, as I’d probably taken that home, too) and Clara wouldn’t be offering me Jasper’s job if I’d popped up on CCTV too. ‘What do you think?’ Clara asked. ‘Honestly.’ Honestly, the prospect excited me more than anything had for a while, even the time I got a Pointless answer – and I hadn’t been sure anything would ever top that. If I became a Director, my years of experience and hard work would be validated. I’d have to work even harder, but that didn’t faze me. I loved to be stretched and challenged. It brought out my creativity and drive. I knew I was capable of doing the job and that I’d love it. There was just one problem. Well, two actually: Evie and Fred. I clasped my hands together. ‘Would there be any flexibility with the hours? Could I work from home some of the time, like I do now, so I’m around for the children?’ ‘Afraid not.’ Clara smoothed down her already-smooth bob. ‘The big clients expect you to be there for them. Doesn’t cast the company in a good light if their direct contact is on the school run when they need them.’ Well, that was the end of that dream then. The children already moaned about having to go to a childminder after school three days a week – the toilet paper wasn’t as soft as what we have at home, apparently. They were clearly talking out of their bottoms (which weren’t remotely chafed, despite the prison-like facilities they were forced to endure), but it wouldn’t be fair to make them go every day and there wasn’t anyone else to help. My widowed mum had relocated to sunny Spain when she remarried, Will’s parents were elderly, and his sister Tonya, also my best friend from school, worked
erratic hours as a chef. She was having them for a sleepover that night so Will and I could stay in London after the conference, but that was a rare Friday night off for her and it had been extremely kind of her to give it up to help us. Without reliable after-school care, there was no way I could take the job. My disappointment must have shown on my face, as Clara reached over and refilled my glass. ‘Please don’t just dismiss it because of childcare. Bet Will didn’t think twice when he went for it, did he?’ ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But he had—’ I paused. He had me to sort everything out and make sure our lives ran smoothly. It’d never cross his mind who was going to pick the children up if a meeting overran, or what he was going to give them for dinner because he hadn’t had time to go to the supermarket. He could focus fully on his job, knowing that everything at home was taken care of. And when he had to travel, which he did fairly often, his only consideration, outside of what he needed to prepare for the project, was which box set to watch on the plane. Will worked very hard. I wasn’t trying to belittle that. But he could, because that was all he had to think about. He was oblivious to the volume of life admin that raising children and running a household involved. The amount of paperwork that came home from school would make Greta Thunberg weep. And Will never got woken up by the children in the night when they’d had a bad dream or needed a wee, or a drink of water and then another wee. I knew all of this was part of being a parent, but Evie and Fred had two parents. Why was it all on me? Why was I the one who always had to sacrifice my career? ‘You’d be brilliant in the role,’ Clara said. ‘You’re determined and passionate and unstoppable.’ I briefly wondered if this was based on how I was working my way through the champagne. ‘We need more female Directors,’ Clara continued. ‘It’s the twenty-first century, the era of #metoo, yet only ten per cent of the Directors at Ballas & Bailey are women. That needs to change.’
I sat up straight, clutching my glass. Only ten per cent? That was disgusting. Clara was right. On behalf of all women, I should take the job. What kind of role model would I be to Evie if I didn’t go for it because I chose to stay at home with her and Fred? My shoulders slumped. This was a hopeless situation. If I accepted the job, taking a stand for women everywhere and championing equality, then Evie and Fred would practically be raised by childminders and babysitters. If I turned it down, then I’d be doing the right thing for them, but not for my career or for the sisterhood. ‘Why not get a nanny or au pair?’ Clara said. ‘Works for me. They do all the housework and cooking too, so the time you have with the children is quality time, not spent doing boring jobs.’ Now, that was appealing. I hated that I couldn’t give Evie my full attention when testing her spellings because I was preparing dinner at the same time, and that I’d be folding laundry while reading Fred his bedtime story. I ate my breakfast while unloading the dishwasher, did the online weekly food shop on my phone at the park and had, on one occasion, planned an entire birthday party during sex. Poor Will would be crushed if he knew. Although he might perk up if he knew he was the inspiration behind the horseshaped piñata. ‘And you’re not dropped in it if one of them is ill,’ Clara added. She was good. Being at the mercy of the school secretary, Mrs Manning, was the bane of being a working mum. She could ring at any moment and insist I collect Evie or Fred that instant because they had a slight temperature or had sneezed. No matter what I was doing – giving a presentation, closing a deal, stealing from the stationery cupboard – I had to stop and race to the school, where I’d find them sitting forlornly in reception with the sick bucket on their knees, while Mrs Manning shot me daggers for sending an ill child to school. Within thirty seconds of getting home, they’d be racing around the living room, asking me to play because they were bored. I was convinced it was a tactic the school employed when they didn’t have enough school dinners to go around. Never mind what disruption and distress it caused the parents, so long as Mrs
Manning got her toad-in-the-hole. A nanny would free me from this tyranny. ‘I’m very tempted,’ I said. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted, but I need to talk it through with Will. There’d be a lot to work out logistically, with the children.’ ‘Of course.’ Clara raised her glass to mine. ‘You’ll make it work, I know you will.’ I leant closer to Clara. ‘When’s Jasper going?’ ‘He was told last night,’ Clara said in a low voice. ‘Thought it best he didn’t sit in on today’s conference, given that it’s outlining our strategy for the next year.’ ‘He’s gone already?’ Clara put a finger to her lips. ‘It hasn’t been officially announced, so don’t say anything.’ I nodded. ‘If you go for the job,’ Clara continued, ‘we’d want you to start straightaway. You’d need to hand your existing clients over to someone first, but the sooner the better.’ My stomach lurched. Straightaway? I couldn’t make such a massive decision that quickly. There was too much to consider. How would Evie and Fred feel about me not being around so much? How would I feel about being away from them? How could I find someone to look after the children – someone they liked, Will and I trusted, and who used quilted toilet paper? My heart pounded and I grew breathless, as panic rose within me. ‘Smell the flower, blow out the candle,’ I told myself, employing the breathing exercises I used to help Evie and Fred calm down when they were stressing out. Clara refilled our glasses. I focused on the bubbles chasing themselves up my flute and felt my breathing regulate. ‘Of course there’ll be an interview process first and the partners will take a little time to reach a decision,’ Clara said. I frowned. Why did I need to be interviewed for a job she’d just offered me? I cast my mind back to the start of our conversation. Oh yes, she’d asked if I’d like to apply for the job. I’d forgotten the small print.
‘Have many people been invited to apply?’ I asked. If it turned out that everyone in the company, from me to the guy who delivered the water-cooler refills, had been asked, then the invitation lost its kudos somewhat. ‘Just two of you.’ Clara nodded her head to the other side of the room. I followed her gaze to where my colleague, and now rival, Tom Page was also sitting with an HR representative, away from the throng of the party. Tom and I had worked together on several projects before, and he was hard-working and easy-going. He’d only been with the firm for a few years, but he’d won and led an impressive number of marketing projects by taking risks and giving the client something they weren’t expecting. What he lacked in experience, he made up for in balls. Although, as Clara was keen to increase female representation, that might go against him. ‘You’re the stronger candidate,’ Clara said. ‘Tom’s career-hopped his way here, moving companies every few years. You’ve demonstrated your loyalty, both to us and your clients.’ I assumed a loyal expression. Clara didn’t need to know I barely had the energy to change the bedding, let alone jobs. ‘The Partners know they can depend on you,’ Clara continued. ‘You’re not going to get what you can out of the company, then run.’ I nodded. Definitely didn’t have the energy to run. ‘Remind me how old you are,’ Clara said. ‘Forty-two,’ I replied. ‘Five years older than Tom,’ Clara said. ‘That means you have five years’ more experience.’ She gave a satisfied nod. ‘He might be dynamic, but you’re dependable.’ Clara clinked my glass again. ‘And don’t forget that you’re a woman.’ ‘I won’t,’ I said solemnly, though there was a risk I might forget if I kept drinking. Clara slid off her bar stool. ‘Give it some thought over the weekend and let me know on Monday.’ I smiled. ‘I will. Thank you for thinking of me.’
Clara smiled back. ‘You’re the obvious choice, in my eyes. It’d be a shame if you didn’t apply. These opportunities don’t come up very often.’ She gestured to my chest. ‘Don’t wear that to the interview, though. Might give the wrong impression.’ I looked down and cringed to see my bra on display again. I was never wearing this wrap dress again. Clara walked away and I looked around for Will, desperate to speak to him. To get his thoughts and see if, together, we could make it work. The room now contained an assortment of well-dressed marketing professionals in various states of drunkenness. A disco had been set up and I spotted Will throwing some shapes on the dance floor. Not even a mathematical genius could tell you what shapes they were, though. Any thoughts he might have about the Director job probably wouldn’t be coherent ones. I’d talk to him about it when we got to the hotel. I took a sip of champagne, a smile growing on my lips. I could be a Director. This was amazing. And exciting. And what I’d worked so hard for. And, my smile faltered, impossible. We couldn’t both put in such long hours. It wasn’t fair on Evie and Fred. It’d never work. Would it?
Chapter 2 Will Someone was shaking my shoulder so hard that it was making my head jerk back and forth. ‘Will, wake up,’ Sarah hissed in my ear. I grunted and shrugged her off. Why was she so loud and grumpy? I was the one who should be grumpy. I’d been having a lovely sleep before she woke me. ‘Will.’ She was using her sternest voice. The one she used on the kids when they were being annoying. Well, I wasn’t annoying, so she didn’t need to use it on me. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. ‘If you don’t get up, I’m leaving you. This is your last chance.’ Talk about dramatic. I wouldn’t dignify that ultimatum with a response. ‘Come on, mate,’ a male voice said. Tom? Urgh. Now, he did qualify as annoying. But what the hell was he doing here? He’d flirted with Sarah earlier, when he thought I wasn’t looking, but she wouldn’t have brought him to our hotel room. We’d outgrown piling into someone’s room and raiding the minibar after a night out, and she wasn’t into threesomes. She was so precious about her sleeping space that it was a wonder she let me in the bed. No way would she sacrifice any more of the mattress to someone else. So why was Tom in our room? I couldn’t remember him coming back with us. Although, I couldn’t remember getting back at all. ‘Will, please.’ Sarah sounded desperate now. ‘The train’s about to go.’
My eyes sprang open. No wonder I couldn’t remember getting to the hotel. It hadn’t happened yet. ‘Fuck.’ I launched myself out of my seat and hurtled towards the door as it started beeping, grabbing Sarah’s arm on the way and hauling her off onto the platform with me. She stumbled in her heels, recovered herself and waved goodbye to Tom through the glass door. He grinned and tapped the side of his head in a salute. Arsehole. Sarah’s smile dropped the moment his carriage passed. ‘You promised you wouldn’t fall asleep,’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t mean to. Just closed my eyes for a moment.’ It was all coming back to me now. The stagger to the station from the conference centre. The exhaustion that hit me as soon as I sank into a seat. The inability to keep my eyes open once the train had started moving. ‘You do this all the time.’ Sarah strode towards the exit. ‘No, I don’t.’ I hurried after her. ‘It hasn’t happened for ages. Wouldn’t have done tonight if you hadn’t been there.’ ‘Don’t blame this on me. If I hadn’t woken you, you’d have ended up in the sidings again.’ ‘That was years ago. Before the kids,’ I said. ‘No, I mean if you hadn’t come, I’d have left earlier and wouldn’t have drunk so much.’ ‘Well, that’ll teach me to arrange a sleepover for the children and book a nice hotel, so we can have a proper, grown-up evening.’ Sarah’s heel caught on the escalator. I put out a hand to steady her, but she snatched her arm away. This didn’t bode well for any proper, grown-up activities when we got to the hotel. ‘I’m sorry.’ Showing contrition was the best way to get the evening back on track. ‘Sitting down was a mistake. I wouldn’t have, if I’d been on my own.’ ‘Next time you will be on your own.’ She stared pointedly ahead as the escalator whirred upwards. She must be pissed off. Usually, she loved studying the posters as we passed them and commenting on which West End shows she wanted to see – Moulin Rouge, Mamma Mia, Dirty Dancing. All the crap ones, basically. Although the women
didn’t seem to wear much in Moulin Rouge, so maybe that one wasn’t as crap as the others. I was so distracted by the posters that I didn’t realise I’d reached the top and almost toppled over. Sarah didn’t wait as I steadied myself and I had to run to catch her up. Was it my imagination or did she walk even faster? ‘Were you OK dropping the case off at the hotel?’ I asked breathlessly, tapping my rail pass and following her through the turnstile. ‘Course I was. I’m not a moron.’ The look she gave me as she put her wallet back in her bag implied that I, however, was one. She gripped the strap of her bag tightly and headed out of the station. I reached up for the strap of my man bag and instead fumbled my shoulder. The strap wasn’t there. And if the strap wasn’t there, then the bag wasn’t either. ‘My man bag,’ I shrieked. Sarah stopped and turned. I looked over each shoulder in the vague hope my bag was somehow hanging at my side without me having noticed. It wasn’t. ‘It’s been stolen.’ ‘It can’t have been. No one’s been near us to take it.’ Sarah looked me up and down, clearly of the same mindset that it must be somewhere on my person and I was too pissed to realise. She couldn’t find it either. ‘Maybe I left it at the conference centre,’ I said. My memory of leaving the bar and staggering to the train station was a bit hazy. ‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘You definitely had it. It got wedged in the train door when it closed.’ Oh yes. I remembered Tom laughing as I’d lurched forward. Immature tosser. Sarah crossed her arms. ‘And the engineer had to force the doors open so you could get it out and the train could leave.’ Cue more childish cackling from Tom. None of the other passengers had found it remotely funny.
‘So where is it now?’ I asked, dumbfounded. Sarah nudged up her glasses. ‘You must have left it on the train.’ Fear jolted through me so intensely that I actually felt my testicles contract. ‘No.’ I clutched the sides of my head. ‘It’s got my laptop in.’ Sarah closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. ‘Bugger,’ she murmured. A whimper escaped me. If my level-headed, practical wife was worried, then this was bad. ‘We have to go back.’ I spun round and started running towards the turnstile. ‘Stop,’ Sarah shouted after me. ‘The train’s gone. You can’t run after it.’ I turned back and charged towards her. ‘We’ll get an Uber to the end of the line. Where does it go?’ ‘Peterborough. We’d never get there before the train and it’d cost a fortune.’ Sarah took her phone out of her bag. ‘I’ll call Tom.’ ‘Why?’ I spluttered. ‘He can’t get to Peterborough quicker than the train.’ Tom might do loads of triathlons, and he might have fixed the water cooler that I’d noticed was leaking and ignored, and he was, some might say (not me), kind of good-looking in that conventional, chiselled jaw, piercing blue eyes Henry Cavill way, but he wasn’t actually Superman. Sarah gave me a withering look. ‘If he’s still on the train, he can get your bag for you.’ ‘Oh, right. Yes.’ My balls relaxed slightly. There was still hope. Sarah called Tom and I heard it go to voicemail. Superman’s phone wouldn’t go to voicemail. Sarah hung up. ‘I’ll message him.’ ‘He won’t get it if he’s not getting calls.’ My heart rate quickened. If I didn’t get that work laptop back, I was screwed. ‘I’ve got to get to Peterborough.’ I thrust an arm in the air to hail a cab. ‘Stop,’ Sarah said. ‘The train might go through pockets of reception. Sometimes I get messages when I’m underground.’ She tapped out
a message and pressed send. ‘Just give it a couple of minutes and see if he replies.’ The happy, drunken buzz that I’d had when we’d left the conference centre was long gone. The shock must have sobered me up. Sighing, I slumped against the wall, slid down it and landed heavily on my arse. Not exactly sober then. Sarah studied her phone. ‘One tick. Ooh, two ticks. It’s gone through.’ I looked up at her from my new resting place on the floor. She was gripping the phone as enthusiastically as a scratch card that had revealed she only needed one more matching symbol to win a trillion pounds. Poor, deluded Sarah. Always so positive and willing to believe in the best possible outcome. She’d save herself so much wasted energy on disappointment if she accepted that life was pretty much a shitshow most of the time. ‘The ticks have gone green,’ she said excitedly. ‘He’s read it.’ I scrambled up. ‘Really?’ Hope was restored. Maybe I’d treat Sarah to a scratch card as a thank you. Her phone vibrated. ‘He’s ringing!’ She pressed the phone to her ear. ‘Tom,’ she said breathlessly. What was with the breathlessness? That wasn’t the voice she used when I rang her. She spoke in a resigned, weighty way when I called to say I’d be working late or had to take a client out, as though I’d engineered it deliberately to get out of putting the kids to bed. If I wanted breathless, I had to sit through a long rant about how fed up she was with doing everything, till she ran out of oxygen. ‘Will left his bag on the train,’ she said into the phone. ‘Navy, rectangular. Shoulder strap. Just a standard bag, really.’ ‘Man bag,’ I corrected. ‘Tell him to check the luggage rack,’ I added. ‘That’s where I usually put it.’ Sarah nodded. ‘Can you—’ She paused, then mouthed to me: ‘He’s looking.’ I stared at her, willing Tom to find the bag. A burning sensation grew in my chest. Oh God, I wasn’t going to have a heart attack, was I? It didn’t go down well at work when people were off sick.
Although, it might deflect from losing a laptop. I made my hand into a fist and tapped my chest, encouraging the discomfort to manifest. A little heart attack could be just what I needed to get me out of this. The burning grew – it was working. Sarah gasped. ‘He’s got it.’ She grabbed my arm. ‘He’s got the bag.’ Relief flooded through me. Thank fuck. Or thank Tom. Same difference, really. ‘Thank you so much, Tom,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re a lifesaver. Don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t been there.’ I grimaced at her gushing. Urgh. He must be loving this. She turned to me with a wide smile on her face and I forced myself to reciprocate, despite the heartburn and the fact she was behaving as though Tom were the new Messiah. Sarah’s gratitude was over the top – picking up a bag did not elevate him to the same status as other lifesavers, such as firefighters, police officers, surgeons or Iron Man – but he had helped me out. I opened my mouth to say thank you and an enormous belch erupted into Sarah’s face. She stepped back, disgust on her face, wafting the second-hand aroma of bar nuts and ale away with her hand. ‘Sorry,’ she said into the phone. ‘That’s Will’s way of saying thanks, apparently.’ Not my finest moment, but at least she couldn’t put on a sexy voice while she was gagging. She laughed at something Tom said and I resisted the urge to wrestle the phone from Sarah – instead, I held my hand out for it. She looked at it with disdain. ‘Can I thank him?’ I asked politely. She hesitated, then nodded. ‘Will has something he’d like to say,’ she told Tom, as though admonishing a five-year-old for pissing in his auntie’s pond. At least Tom couldn’t wallop me with the back of a brush the way my auntie had. She handed the phone over and I cleared my throat by hiccupping loudly. ‘Thanks, mate,’ I said. ‘I owe you one.’ ‘No worries,’ Tom said. ‘It’s no big deal to pick up a bag.’
Exactly. Even an egotistical prick like him could see it wasn’t worthy of the moniker lifesaver. ‘Well, I appreciate it.’ I could feel another hiccup (OK, burp) brewing, so spoke quickly to cover it up. ‘I don’t want to do a Jasper.’ ‘A what?’ ‘You know, Jasper Si-iii-mmons.’ My burp exited halfway through his name, but I ignored it. ‘Got sacked for losing his work laptop. Confidential client data and all that.’ Sarah looked at me sharply. ‘How do you know that?’ I shrugged. ‘Everyone knows.’ ‘Your laptop’s in here?’ Tom asked down the phone. ‘All right, don’t tell the whole carriage,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t want anyone nicking it just when you’ve saved it. I mean, picked it up,’ I corrected. ‘Don’t worry. It’s safe. Your bag’s tucked securely under my arm.’ ‘Man bag,’ I mumbled. ‘What?’ ‘You’ll bring it to work on Monday?’ ‘Yep, no worries.’ ‘Great. Thanks again.’ ‘Can you pass me back to Sarah?’ Tom asked. I hung up and tucked the phone into Sarah’s bag. Sarah pushed her glasses up. ‘Thank you?’ I must have put the phone in the correct pocket in her bag. ‘You’re welcome.’ Sarah closed her eyes, took a deep breath and released it slowly. I could almost hear her chanting ‘smell the flower, blow out the candle’ that she’d got from her mindfulness app. She opened her eyes. ‘You should be saying thank you to me,’ she said. ‘For contacting Tom and getting your bag back.’ As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, now I was in Tom’s debt. He’d be crowing over me forever about this. ‘I would have got it back,’ I said defensively. ‘You jumped in and took over, like always.’
Sarah took another deep breath. ‘You’re drunk and talking rubbish,’ she said. Bet she didn’t get that line from the mindfulness app. ‘Accept that you messed up and be grateful I helped you.’ ‘He read your message fast enough,’ I blurted out. ‘Takes him hours to reply to mine.’ ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘What have you got against Tom?’ ‘He was flirting with you all night.’ Sarah sighed. ‘I spoke to him for half an hour at the end of the evening and it was about work.’ ‘He laughed when I got caught in the train doors.’ ‘You laughed when he tripped over the flip chart in the meeting room.’ ‘That was different.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because he’s a prick.’ Sarah clenched her fists. ‘I’ve had enough,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m removing myself from this conversation. Don’t even think about trying anything when we get to the room.’ She strode off in the direction of the hotel and I ambled after her. This night was screwed. And, sadly, I wouldn’t be.
Chapter 3 Sarah ‘I feel terrible.’ Will sank down onto his knees as soon as I’d closed the front door behind us. He leant forward, as though in prayer, his shoulders and forehead on the floor and his bum up in the air. I fought the temptation to kick it and headed upstairs. ‘Are you going to bed?’ Will asked, a note of hope in his voice. Even in his roughest state, he could summon up the enthusiasm for a shag. I’d issue a summons against him if he dared try. Even if he hadn’t been a complete idiot the night before, the stale alcohol infused with garlic fumes emanating from his pores wasn’t exactly a turn-on. ‘No.’ I stomped up the stairs. ‘Need to change the children’s bedding before Tonya drops them home.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because no one else is going to do it.’ ‘No, why do you have to do it now?’ Will whined. ‘We should make the most of the kids being out to, you know, be together.’ I almost threw the pile of bedding I’d just taken out of the airing cupboard down the stairs at him, but stopped myself. I’d only have to go and pick it up again. Instead, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Smell the flower, blow out the candle. ‘The whole point of last night was to be together,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘But you ruined it, you … you silly man.’ The mindfulness advice didn’t advocate calling people dickheads, which was a serious flaw in my eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ Will said quietly into the floor.
It was going to take more than that to make it up to me. Although Will didn’t know it, I’d been desperate to talk to him about the Director job. Instead, I’d ended up talking to Tom. He’d sought me out to say that he looked forward to working for me in the future, as I was clearly the better candidate. It was charming nonsense, of course. He was hungry for the role; I could see it in his eyes. The only hunger Will had displayed of late was when we’d passed a kebab shop en route to the station. He’d passed out on the floor as soon as we’d got to the hotel room. As sex was off the cards, he clearly couldn’t see any point in retaining consciousness. By contrast, I’d lain awake most of the night, wondering what to do about the job. I’d alternated between thinking that it was impossible and I should forget about it, and deciding that it was worth giving the interview a shot. And giving Will a shot of something lethal if he didn’t stop snoring. I went through to Evie’s room, and stripped and changed the bed, shaking out the duvet and pillows vigorously. I did the same with Fred’s bedding, then ours, sneaking a quick right hook into Will’s pillow. Not very mindfulness-friendly, but sod it. Will was still kneeling, face first, in the hall when I came down the stairs with the laundry basket. A snore that sounded like a warthog devouring a carbonara vibrated against the floor. I grimaced. Could he be any more disgusting? He farted loudly. That answered that question. Muttering obscenities to myself – I wasn’t going to open my mouth to mutter them, with Will’s toxic gases in the air – I fed the first lot of bedding into the machine. This was so typical. We’d both worked all week. We’d both been at the conference until late and got up early to be back for the children. We were both hungover. But he got to sleep his hangover off, while I had to revert straight back to the mum/cleaner/cook role the second I walked through the door. Speaking of which, Evie and Fred would want lunch when Tonya dropped them back from their swimming lesson. As I switched the washing machine on, a beeping outside signalled the Tesco van reversing into our drive.
I nudged Will with my foot. ‘Get up. The food delivery’s here.’ Will didn’t move. The doorbell rang and I answered it, an apologetic smile on my face in readiness for explaining why my husband was lying comatose on the floor. As well as the delivery driver, Evie, Fred and Tonya stood on the doorstep. ‘Mummy,’ the children cried, throwing their arms around me. I knelt down and hugged them back. ‘I got my twenty-five metres certificate!’ Fred waved a piece of paper in my face. ‘I’m starving.’ Evie rubbed her stomach dramatically. ‘Where shall I put these?’ Tonya asked, juggling about fourteen bags. ‘Have you checked your substitutions?’ the delivery man asked. I shook my head. ‘I’m sure they’re fine. Just bring it through.’ I took a couple of bags from Tonya. ‘You can dump the rest on top of your brother.’ ‘Ow,’ Will shrieked a moment later. I had no idea if this was caused by Evie and Fred jumping on his back, Tonya taking me literally and dropping their bags on him, or the delivery man walking over him on his way to the kitchen. And I didn’t care. Half an hour later, Tonya and I sat at the breakfast bar with coffee and freshly delivered pastries. Will had retreated to the sofa, but instead of having a nap, as he’d clearly intended, Evie and Fred were talking him through whatever they were watching on CBeebies, while spraying him with ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Tonya tapped her nails against her mug. ‘Aside from my brother ruining the end of the night, was the rest of the conference good?’ I nodded. ‘Thanks again for having the kids so we could go.’ ‘Pleasure,’ Tonya said. ‘They’re growing up fast. Unlike my brother.’ She rolled her eyes in the direction of the living room. ‘He won’t stay a Director if he gets that wasted at work events.’ ‘In fairness, everyone was wasted. He let himself go because he didn’t need to worry about getting home. If I hadn’t booked the
hotel, we’d have left earlier.’ I felt slightly guilty at having had such a go at him the night before. He’d had a tough time lately. All the Directors had. Speaking of which … I leant closer to Tonya. She raised her eyebrows and leant in, too. ‘Clara, the HR Director, approached me about applying for a Director’s position,’ I whispered. Tonya widened her eyes. ‘About time! You’ve been there longer than Will has.’ ‘I know, but he hasn’t had to take two lots of maternity leave.’ ‘So unfair.’ Tonya tutted. ‘It’s bad enough that our fannies get a battering, without our careers getting one too.’ I giggled into my coffee. Tonya rubbed her hands together. ‘Tell me about the job.’ ‘One of the Directors has been sacked for losing his work laptop and stealing envelopes.’ Tonya frowned. ‘Envelopes?’ ‘More to do with the laptop, to be honest.’ I glanced through the kitchen door to the living room to check that Will couldn’t hear. He was lying on the sofa with a cushion over his head. I wondered if he’d managed to fall asleep despite the blaring TV. As Fred was sitting on the cushion, it was unlikely. ‘Clara thinks I’d be perfect for it. I’ve got the experience and have been loyal to the company, and they want more women in senior positions.’ Tonya whooped. ‘This is so great.’ I put a finger to my lips. ‘I haven’t told Will. Don’t know if there’s any point. I couldn’t take it if I got it.’ ‘What?’ Tonya shrieked in the same way Will had when he thought he’d lost his bag, but less high-pitched. ‘You have to. This is why you’ve stuck with that company for so long, working crazy hours.’ I nudged my glasses up. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on the children. They already have to go to breakfast club before school and the childminder afterwards three days a week. It’s always rush, rush, rush, and such a long day, especially for Fred. He’s still getting used to starting school and is exhausted. So am I,’ I added. ‘I love it, but it’s taking everything out of me.’
‘How different would it be if you were a Director?’ Tonya asked. ‘Doesn’t sound like you could work harder than you already are. You may as well get more dosh and the title.’ ‘That’s what Clara said. But I couldn’t work flexibly anymore, and I’d have to travel and take clients out. You know what it’s like for Will. Some weeks I barely see him outside the office. Who’d look after the children if we both worked such long hours?’ Tonya shook her head. ‘You’ve taken a back seat for years, and not complained when Will’s career took off and yours stagnated. It’s not right that you miss out again.’ ‘It’s not right that the children are abandoned either.’ ‘Stop thinking about what’s right for everyone else and think about what’s right for you.’ Tonya reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘What do you want?’ She splayed her free palm over her heart. ‘What drives you? What motivates you? Search deep within yourself. What do you really want?’ ‘A night with Regé-Jean Page,’ I sighed. ‘Not that kind of deep within yourself.’ Tonya tutted. She gave my hand a firm shake. ‘Take it seriously this time. What do you want professionally?’ She emphasised the last word to ensure I didn’t go off on any more lustful tangents. ‘To be a Director,’ I said. She smiled. ‘There you go then.’ ‘But I want to be a good mum too.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘I’ve been through every scenario of how to make it work. The only way is with a nanny or an au pair, which I really don’t want.’ ‘But if you got someone the kids loved and you trusted? It might not be as bad as you think, and you wouldn’t be disappearing from their lives if you took the job. It’s not like they never see Will or don’t know that he’s their dad.’ ‘I know it works for lots of families and that’s great, but it doesn’t feel right for me. For us.’ I looked through to where Evie and Fred were still tormenting Will on the sofa. ‘Also, it’s pretty much mandatory for the nanny and husband to have an affair, and I haven’t got time for all the paperwork that comes with a divorce.’
Tonya snorted. ‘He’d never cheat on you.’ I grinned. ‘I know.’ Will might be an idiot at times – when he fell asleep on the train, for example – but he was loving and loyal, and I knew our marriage was solid and secure. I sat up straight and adjusted my glasses. ‘The job would be great, but it’s not the right time. There’ll be other opportunities when the children are older.’ Evie wandered into the kitchen. ‘I’m starving,’ she said, pointedly staring at Tonya’s pastry. I was beginning to wonder if Evie had any other vocabulary. She must be on the verge of a growth spurt. Or on the verge of exploding. It could go either way. ‘Have it, sweetness.’ Tonya handed the croissant over and Evie was out the door before I could take it away and give her an apple instead. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ I asked Tonya. She stood up and patted her hips through her jeans. ‘I need to keep this figure tight.’ ‘You look amazing,’ I said, admiring her toned arms. She’d helped the Tesco man carry in the food crates and had managed much more ably than he had. Although, admittedly, he’d had the one with all the wine. I couldn’t resist stocking up when there was a twentyfive per cent discount on purchases of six bottles or more. Not that there had been one of those offers on, but no one needed to know that. ‘Those PT sessions have paid off.’ ‘Come with me,’ Tonya said. ‘It’s tough, but you feel amazing afterwards.’ ‘Will’s never back from work in time. Running for the train or to school will have to be my exercise for now.’ ‘You could afford your own personal trainer if you got the Director job.’ Tonya wound a coil of her long, black hair around one finger. I laughed. ‘Not going to happen.’ I stood up and put the rest of the pastries in the bread bin before Evie polished them off. ‘No guarantee I’d get the job anyway,’ I added. ‘This other guy, Tom Page, is in the running and he’s a real high-flyer. Moving his way up the firm quickly and impressing everyone.’ Tonya’s eyes widened. ‘Page? As in—’