My mouth curled into an involuntary smirk. It wasn’t because I found the situation funny – I was horrified and felt deeply sorry for Megan. It was the fact that this woman could brazenly visit not only Megan’s house but also her place of work. Don’t get me wrong, I admire brave, strong women who go after what they want but not when the thing they go after is a man who’s already spoken for.
With phase one of my plan successfully executed, I needed to work on my next move, so I went into Costa, ordered an Americano with skimmed milk, and scanned the edible offerings. To be honest, I’d normally select the fruit pot given it’s the most figure-friendly option, but I was too tightly wound so went for the gluten-free brownie instead, promising myself I’d eat just half and save the rest for James. With my order complete, I sat at a table by the window. Scarlet woman had gone inside at ten to one; chances were the class would last an hour, starting at one o’clock. Phase two: sit for an hour in Costa and drink my body weight in coffee.
I passed the time flicking through news and my Instagram feed on my phone, and at one point, I even went and got the complimentary newspaper off the rack and skimmed that. I wondered if I should just tell Megan what I saw and let her decide what to do but there was the possibility she wouldn’t believe me or that Mike would talk his way out of it. I disregarded the idea. The only way Megan could make a decision was by being in possession of the facts.
The last dribble of coffee was cold when I drank it, and the wrapper of the brownie lay empty on the table. I couldn’t believe I’d eaten it all, which was a) worrying because I never let my guard down, and b) a travesty because I’d not even savoured the delicious taste. I looked at my watch: it was 2 p.m. I shuffled on the chair, trying to relieve the numbness in my bottom as I sat, staring out of the window with my eyes fixed on the door. A few women of various shapes and sizes started to trickle out, and I scanned them one by one. No, no, no . . .
There! A slender figure emerged much sweatier than before and, unbelievably, she was chatting to Megan, like they were friends. Megan was showing her a stretch that looked like it was for a specific problem area in the lower back. I didn’t have to wonder how she got that particular issue. I wanted to run over there and throttle her. Of course, there was the possibility that Mike had hidden the wedding pictures at their house and she didn’t actually know Megan was his fiancée, but my instinct disagreed.
Megan left and the woman walked back to the bus stop. I assumed by her sweaty attire she’d be heading home for a shower. I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking of my next move. She wouldn’t be meeting him today because Megan had mentioned a quiet night in with Mike and a takeaway, so I decided to call it a day and then follow her again in the morning. With Megan working, chances were there would be another meet-up the next day, and if not, at least I’d be able to find out a bit more about this woman – where she worked and such. I gathered my things and returned to my car. It wouldn’t be long before I got my evidence.
James was working when I got home, so I tiptoed into the office and kissed him on the top of his head. He hair smelt fresh like he’d just showered – the distinctive scent of bergamot, jasmine, and cedarwood gave away the fact he’d used my ESPA purifying shampoo. As I hovered over him, he raised his right arm to rub my shoulder and I kissed him again before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. I had my speciality to prepare: roast lamb with all the trimmings. Of course, I mostly ate the veg since lamb is so fatty, but James loved lamb, and he’d been working so hard, he deserved his favourite.
When I’d put it out, I sat at the dinner table after calling him, sitting on ceremony waiting for him to join me. When he did come down he took his plate and said, ‘This smells delicious – you’re an amazing woman, Charlotte,’ and went upstairs. I sighed. It was just one more day, which shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things should it?
Perhaps I was fixating on James and his work because I was an only child and my parents were off travelling the world and had no intention of coming home until their money ran out. I had a close friend, Kate, who was more than capable of leading her own life and there were the women from the golf club who I mingled with for the benefit of my husband. If I had a baby, I’d have a purpose. Someone who needed me and loved me unconditionally and who I could love, protect, and teach about the world (and occasionally swaddle in baby Burberry).
The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock, and James had already left for work. I always felt a bit lost when I woke up in an empty house. He must have let me sleep in, which was thoughtful, but I loved making his breakfast and chatting while we ate, and when he snuck off, I felt robbed of that time. I’d been robbed of that time a lot recently.
Once I’d got up and completed my morning routine – shower, rejuvenating face mask, moisture regime, and yoga stretches – I was ready for the day. Megan had asked if she could see me later in the evening instead of my usual morning slot as she had a new client to see, and that suited me fine since I wanted to get to that woman’s house earlyish.
I was there by eight. By eight-fifteen, she was stepping out of her house in a nondescript outfit of black trousers and a white blouse, which meant she could be an employee almost anywhere within a commutable distance. Once again, I followed her as she took the bus towards Manchester city centre. Before we reached the centre, she got off the bus at a small retail park on the outskirts of town. I remembered Megan saying something about her fiancé working in a tile shop, and I noticed a large tile discount store on the park. It was too obvious.
I scanned the rest of the park; there was an electrical shop, a furniture shop, and baby shop, which gave me a small pang in my chest when I saw it. I made a mental note of it, just because. In the far corner, there was a small greasy-spoon café. I’d have put money on her working there, so when I saw her walk in, I wasn’t surprised. In need of a coffee myself, I wandered in a few minutes later, taking a table by the window. A waitress, not her, approached me soon after.
‘Hi there, can I get you anything to drink?’ asked the slightly plump lady. She had a friendly face, framed by fluffy yellow hair. I eyed the coffee machine, which had a digital display, push buttons, and not a fresh coffee bean in sight and dismissed the idea of a cappuccino.
‘Now this looks like the kind of place that serves wonderful fresh filter coffee,’ I said instead, smiling warmly in hope.
‘We do.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody orders it since I caved in and bought that new-fangled machine when people jumped on the cappuccino bandwagon. I’ll brew some fresh for you, love.’ She patted my hand and sauntered off before I had the chance to thank her.
‘This smells delicious,’ I said as she placed the steaming mug of black coffee in front of me a little while later. ‘Do you have any skimmed milk?’
‘We have semi?’ she said while I internally groaned.
‘Actually, I’ll take it black,’ I said, smiling politely. I was about to save Megan the humiliation of a cheating fiancé but I wasn’t about to risk looking like a sausage in my Herve Leger bandage dress for the cause.
The waitress left and I saw her come out of the back, tying a black apron around her tiny waist. She was quite pretty, which I hated to admit, and on closer inspection, I’d estimate her age to have been around twenty-eight. Still a good ten years younger than Megan and very attractive. She pottered behind the counter and I caught her eyeing the door every now and then, obviously looking out for him.
I sipped my surprisingly rich coffee, fixing my eyes on the entrance to the tile shop. Just before nine o’clock, the door swung open and Mike walked in before he’d even gone into the tile shop. Coffee and a kiss before work? My heart rate picked up as I watched him glide over to the counter, keeping my head down so he didn’t recognise me.
‘Good morning.’ He elongated the word ‘good’ in a way that made my skin crawl. His sugar-sweet smile was enough to bring on type-two diabetes.
‘Hey you,’ she said shyly. I couldn’t see her, but I knew if I could, she’d be twirling hair around her finger and kinking her knee coquettishly. I fixed my gaze on the window to appear dismissive of their exchange.
‘I missed you yesterday,’ he said quietly. I imagined him tracing his finger across her hand.
‘I missed you too.’ In my mind, she was looking up at him from beneath long fluttery eyelashes. It would’ve been a sweet exchange if it wasn’t for the next part.
‘Megan is out this evening and I have the house to myself if you want to come over. The client she’s visiting has a two-hour slot and always keeps her chatting afterwards.’ I don’t, for the record. Just as he finished speaking, two builders came in, talking several decibels above what was necessary. Frustratingly, I missed her reply.
‘Come about six,’ I just caught him saying as his words travelled through the sneeze of a workman. I drank the last of my coffee and left.
***
I got on top of all my chores at home, preparing the veg for a stir-fry dinner, ringing the handyman to come and look at the gate and finalising the details for my charity brunch. I just had the small matter of ensuring I’d still have some guests attending. By 6 p.m. I was in my gym gear, twiddling my thumbs with boredom when the intercom buzzed. I took a deep breath. For my plan to work, I had to time it right so that his company had arrived before I sent Megan home, without leaving it too late that Megan missed her again.
‘Hi, Megan,’ I said heavily as she approached the door, laying the foundations for my excuse.
‘You okay?’ she asked, picking up on my tone.
‘Just, you know, that time of the month,’ I lied, lowering my voice.
‘We can reschedule if you like?’
Not a chance. ‘No, you’ve come all this way. Let’s see how I get on.’
We walked through to the gym and she went easy on me for my warm-up, choosing to put me on the bike as opposed to giving me a few minutes’ worth of jumping jacks. As it approached six-thirty I started to slow down, momentarily clutching my stomach here and there.
‘Actually, Megan, I’m sorry but can we stop? My cramps are getting worse and I’ve already taken the maximum dose of painkillers. I’ll pay for the full session of course,’ I said, bending over to rest my head on the handlebar for effect.
She looked at me sympathetically. ‘Of course we can, but you don’t have to pay,’ she said, but I knew she needed the money and it was worth it to save her from cheating Mike so I thrust it into her hand and held up a finger to shush her when she tried to protest. She reluctantly left just after six-thirty after I told her she needn’t fill my hot water bottle or run me a bath. It was perfect timing.
I spent the rest of the evening cleaning anxiously. I needed to stay busy so I made up the guest bedroom with new bedding, even though Janine the cleaner had done it recently and it hadn’t even been slept on since we never had guests to stay. I cleaned the oven and reorganised the fridge.
Every now and then I checked my phone, not that I expected Megan would call me in the event of her whole life falling apart. Maybe I hoped she would. I played out the scene in my mind: her returning home early to find them in bed together, having to drag the girl out of her home then throwing out all of her fiancé’s clothes after cutting holes in them or setting them on fire on the front lawn or something. I wondered if I should go round, but that would’ve been overstepping the mark so instead, I paced the kitchen until James came home.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, kissing me on the forehead as he came in.
‘Nothing, I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you, hoping we could eat together?’
He replied with a smile and walked over to the wine fridge, pulling out an unopened bottle of Villa Maria. Without asking, he poured us both a glass of crisp Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc and handed me one, obviously aware I was tense.
‘My mother said she’d pop round tomorrow,’ he said casually.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. ‘Wonderful.’ A night of defending my own self-worth. I forced a smile. His mother had an opinion on everything and a tendency to be overbearing. She’d never said it but being from a wealthy, traditional family herself, she hated the ‘nouveau riche’, as she called anyone wealthy who wasn’t from old money – and I suspected that’s how she saw my family. Not that my family were even that wealthy or anything; my dad had just done ‘all right’ as her family had, just generations before. My parents spoke in a broad, local dialect, a trait I’d initially inherited and quickly adjusted in an attempt to fit in at school. They didn’t have degrees or ‘high-society standard’ social etiquette and always loved a good bargain, which horrified Frances. But if she’d ever given them a chance she’d have witnessed their kindness, generosity and sense of fun.
I think she’d always hoped that James and I were just having a fling and that he’d one day miraculously come to his senses and marry someone of higher social status but since that hadn’t happened she’d accepted her fate and thawed slightly. She’d gone from deep-freeze to refrigerator – meaning I could now breathe and speak in her presence, but it was still hard work through the chatter of my teeth.
‘I’m working late so I said you’d be around. She’s going to stay for dinner.’
Typical. There was a time I’d hoped to bond with James’s mother, especially after my own had left to go travelling with Dad, but it hadn’t happened and I was past caring.
‘That’s wonderful – I’ll do baked salmon.’ I took a long sip of wine. The crisp citrus taste cut through my tension, and I rolled my shoulders before taking my pre-prepared stir-fry ingredients from the fridge.
James snaked his arms around my waist and peered over my shoulder. ‘That looks good.’
‘So, have you time to eat at the dinner table or shall I bring it through to the office when it’s done?’ I tensed anticipating his reply.
He peered at his watch and twisted his mouth. ‘Better have a working dinner I’m afraid. You’re so good to me.’
‘Of course.’ I tried to keep my body from sagging when everything sunk inside. He did appreciate me at least.
After I’d cooked the stir-fry and taken James’s up to the office, I sat at the single place setting I’d laid out on the breakfast bar and ate my food dutifully, punctuating each forkful with a sip of wine whilst trying to remain positive.
***
The next morning, I awoke alone with a fuzzy head and the depressing thought of James’s mother visiting. I showered and dressed smartly in an oyster-coloured silk blouse and khaki capri pants and completed the look with my pearl necklace. It was the type of outfit I always wore in my mother-in-law’s company because she was a judgemental so-and-so. James thought it was a dowdy look and I agreed with him, but needs must if I didn’t wish to see a raised eyebrow. I slipped on some gold wedges and the dainty gold Tiffany bracelet that James had bought me for our anniversary the previous year, before grabbing my handbag and heading to the fishmonger’s for a fresh salmon.
Once I’d got back in my car, my fingers twitched on the steering wheel, fighting against my better judgement. I wanted to drive past Megan’s house to look for signs of drama: clothes on the lawn, a vandalised Merc . . . Despite being driven crazy with wanting to know what happened, I’d have to wait another day to see her. Instead, I pressed the call button on my steering wheel, rang Kate, and arranged to meet her at a Greek restaurant in Wilmslow for lunch.
‘Charlotte, darling, how are you?’ she said, air-kissing my cheeks when I arrived. She was dressed to the nines as she always was, in a pink mini-dress that, thanks to my Vogue subscription, I knew was Valentino. She also had the Valentino Rockstud shoulder bag, of which I was particularly envious because I had the matching sandals.
‘You’re looking as glamorous as ever,’ I said. Kate was the type of woman who’d have a Kir Royale for breakfast and a hotdog for lunch. She was gorgeous, wealthy, and did whatever the hell she pleased – James’s mother would call her ‘nouveau riche’ too and Kate would tell her to ‘eff off’.
She giggled and brushed off my comment with her hand. The waiter came over and took us to our table, predictably sitting Kate down first because she looked more important than I did in my drab mother-in-law-friendly attire. He probably thought she was some glossy celebrity and I was her dull behind-the-scenes assistant.
‘So, tell me what’s been happening since I last saw you. Are you . . .’ She circled her hand in the direction of my stomach, not concerning herself with etiquette.
I shook my head, placing a self-conscious hand across my middle while cursing that brownie I’d eaten at Costa. ‘Not yet. James is busy working a huge case and always comes home late and tired, so there just hasn’t been any time to try.’
‘No time to try?’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘You mean you haven’t got the right underwear.’ She winked. I laughed and shook my head. ‘Dressing like that isn’t helping your cause.’ She looked pointedly at my blouse. ‘I thought it was maternity wear.’
‘Frightful Frances is coming over later.’
She gave me a knowing look. ‘As long as you have something more fun to wear in the bedroom you’ll be fine.’
‘You’re obsessed.’ I laughed. Kate had landed on her feet with husband number two: wealthy property tycoon and renowned local businessman Carl, who worshipped the ground she walked on. You couldn’t blame him, though – her black glossy hair tumbled down her back, complementing her long, lean limbs. She had flawless olive skin, thanks to Italian heritage on her mother’s side, and although she’d hit her forties, had yet to discover a fine line anywhere on her face.
‘What does his mother want anyway?’
‘I’ve no idea. To wither my soul, to suck the life from me or to badger me about grandkids probably. That’s her “new thing” to focus on. Since James’s dad died she’s been visiting a lot, and it’s tiresome. She’s discovered a new sense of family and my lucky womb is suddenly part of her vision.’ I paused as the waiter approached and we ordered Greek salads and a glass of champagne each.
‘I thought she hated you? So she isn’t still crossing her fingers in the hope James will run off and leave you for some blue-blood horsey type?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she’s been banging on about grandchildren since James’s dad’s funeral. Maybe she thinks a half-breed grandchild is better than no grandchild at all. Anyway, enough of her. Are you going to Lauren’s ball?’
‘Er, no.’ Kate hated Lauren and Carl didn’t play golf so it was a desperate ask at best. ‘I can’t make it anyway; you know I’m down in London that weekend at some presentation thing with Carl.’
‘Lucky so-and-so.’
‘Not necessarily – I actually have to go with him to the ceremony and not just while the time browsing Liberty and if it’s anything like last time, I’ll spend the night drinking cheap wine that tastes like it’s trying to kill me.’ She winced at the memory. ‘I can’t believe that hideous mare had the gall to move the date to clash with your brunch.’
‘I know, but it’s typical Lauren. I don’t know what that woman has against me.’
‘Jealousy. Her husband barely has a pulse and still manages to shag half of Cheshire behind her back. You’re happy, you have a gorgeous husband who worships you, and she can’t bear it.’
‘I don’t think she’s jealous, I think she looks down on me,’ I said modestly but if Kate was right about the jealousy (I knew she was right about the husband) it would explain a lot and I’d feel sorry for her.
‘Why are you even friends with them?’
‘Other than you, they’re the only people I know.’
‘Just don’t go.’
‘We have to – she rang me up to make sure we’d be there, and I really don’t want the whole of Cheshire’s elite thinking James and I are tight-fisted and antisocial. We’ll have to show our faces. Anyway, I have something juicier to discuss.’ I filled her in on my situation with Megan’s fiancé. Kate had met Megan at my house on a few occasions when she’d been visiting while I had a training session.
‘Men can be utter pigs,’ Kate said in response.
‘It’s not just men, though. Women can be as bad,’ I said diplomatically.
‘I suppose, but cheating men are so cliché. Well, I think you’ve done the right thing.’
But hearing her say that made me question myself. I didn’t often suffer self-doubt, but Kate agreeing wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When we’d watched The Devil Wears Prada a few years back, she thought Miranda was the heroine and Andy the annoying antagonist. Fortunately, she’d mellowed some since then.
‘You don’t think I should’ve left it alone?’ I asked.
‘Of course not. Women should stick together. I’d want to know – wouldn’t you?’ Kate raised her glass, but I didn’t return the gesture.
‘We’ll see tomorrow.’