How to Win Back Your Husband. Vivien Hampshire

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СКАЧАТЬ He hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, had tried to push thoughts of her and what she might be doing out of his head. He didn’t want to be faced with the reality of her, especially now the solicitors had pulled their fingers out and the divorce was finally underway, with the end quite frighteningly in sight. Knowing she was out there somewhere was one thing. Seeing her for himself, walking, breathing, going about her life, and in that funny old coat too, was quite another.

      The lights turned green and the bus moved off. He bent to peer through the window on the opposite side, trying to see where she had gone, but she had already disappeared from his line of sight, melting into the throng across the road. Where had she been? Where was she going? They weren’t near to the house or to the nursery where she worked. And where was her car? Maybe she was off to meet that Jason again, or maybe some other bloke? But it wasn’t long after six-thirty. A bit early. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for a date.

      It was no good. He had to stop this. He needed to move on. Get her out of his head. Get the house sold, the money divided, the last of their connections broken. He should be looking to the future now, not agonising over the mistakes of the past.

      ‘Goodnight, Mark.’ It was Amanda, squeezing past him, edging towards the door, ready to get off the bus. ‘And I will follow up on the house viewing.’ She gave him a little cheeky grin as if, just for a second or two, she was flirting with him. ‘I promise!’

      Mark watched her step down onto the pavement and walk away. She was a nice girl. Blonde, slim, attractive. She had a beautiful smile too. Wide and warm and genuine. And she’d aimed it right at him. He wondered why he had never really noticed her properly before. He must have seen her loads of times, in the shop. But, of course, he’d been married then, hadn’t he? Not in the market for pretty girls. Back then, he had eyes only for his wife. And why go out for burgers when you have steak at home? Someone famous had said that, but he wasn’t sure who. All he knew was that it was something his dad said often, patting his mum on the bottom and winking, whenever the latest celebrity or footballer had been caught cheating and been plastered all over the front pages of the tabloids.

      But, when he thought about it, things were different now. Looking at other women, thinking about other women, was allowed, wasn’t it? And Amanda was just his type. Or she would be, if he was looking for someone else. Which, of course, he absolutely wasn’t. And, besides, even if he was no longer married, she most certainly was.

      His mind flashed back to the day Nicci had told him what she had done. Kneeling in front of him on the carpet. The look on her face. The tears in her eyes. The pleading in her voice as she begged him to forgive her. The steely cold stab at his heart that had utterly floored him in that moment, and had never really gone away.

      A married woman? No, he couldn’t contemplate that. Couldn’t do that to some other poor unwitting bloke. Not now he knew how it felt. That was one line he knew he would never ever cross.

      He jumped off as the doors opened at his stop, and walked the few yards through the puddles to his flat. The rain had stopped at last. There was a distant bang as a firework flared across the black starless sky somewhere in the direction of the park and burst into a shower of silver sparkles. Why? It had been a while now since Bonfire Night. Must just be someone celebrating something. And why not? If you’re happy, flaunt it. Shout it out to the world! That’s what his mum always used to say. Not that she’d had much to say about happiness lately, especially his. He only had to mention Nicci and her face went into that sour lemons look that seemed to pinch her cheeks right in and half close her eyes.

      There was a smell of cooking onions in the shared hallway, and a heap of takeaway leaflets on the mat. Typical! Delivery boys too lazy to walk inside and deposit them through individual letterboxes, even though there were only four of them and the main door was rarely locked.

      Mark took the stairs to the first floor, fumbled in his pockets for his key and went inside the flat. It was cold. He’d left the heating off to save money, but being cold just added to the unwelcome feel, the silence and emptiness of the place. That wasn’t what he wanted any more. The bare temporariness of a place that he’d made no attempt to turn into a home. He wanted to bring some fun and warmth back into his life, to experience those firework moments again. He wanted to see his mother smile at him, with her eyes wide open, and mean it. The same way Amanda had just now.

      He took off his coat and flipped the thermostat up to high, turned on all the lights and pulled the curtains closed. He didn’t want to be the poor saddo who lived alone among a heap of unopened cardboard boxes any more, getting by on trashy TV and takeaways and tins of own-brand spaghetti. He deserved better.

      It was time to get some proper food in the fridge, investigate how to operate the oven, and start unpacking his stuff. This was home from now on, at least until the house was sold and he had some money to consider his options and plan what happened next. He would be here for Christmas, New Year, maybe even Easter. Time to pretty the place up a bit, get a few houseplants, put a picture or two on the plain magnolia walls, invite friends round, turn the music up, cook…

      In short, it was time to forget about Nicci, once and for all, and to get on with his life. It was just too late, and things had gone way too far, for him to contemplate doing anything else.

      ***

      Hannah buried her face in Nicci’s shoulder and wrapped her small arms tightly around her neck. ‘I don’t want to,’ she whispered, her lips close to Nicci’s ear. ‘Don’t like it.’

      ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ Nicci soothed. ‘No one will make you eat anything you don’t like. But you could give it a try, couldn’t you? We could pour lots of honey on top to make it really yummy. Here, look, just a teeny spoonful.’

      ‘It’s not yummy. It’s yukky!’

      Nicci tried not to laugh. It was only a pan of porridge, but the little girl was adamant she was not going to like it, even if it was Baby Bear’s favourite food in the whole wide world and all the other children were demolishing big bowls of it as if they hadn’t eaten for days, and were already asking for more.

      They’d all enjoyed listening to the story and acting it out with different-sized chairs and piles of cushions made to look like beds, even if there had been a bit of a tussle over who was going to be Goldilocks. It was probably losing that particular battle that had got Hannah so upset. The need to gain attention, to be centre stage, to get her own way. Nothing to do with the porridge at all. Her mum was in hospital for a few days and she was probably feeling a bit insecure, that was all. Still, watching Nicci mix up the oats and milk and all taking it in turns to stir had been an added treat that all the others had taken to eagerly, so one unhappy child out of a group of fifteen wasn’t too bad a result.

      As Rusty led the children away for some outdoor play, Nicci stood at the sink and started the washing-up. She could hear Hannah giggling as she rolled a ball across the grass outside. How quickly they forget, she thought. Bouncing back the way kids always seemed to do. If only we adults could forget so easily and cheer up so quickly when things don’t work out the way we’d like, she thought, putting the clean bowls back into the cupboard.

      No amount of cajoling was going to get Hannah to try that porridge, and why should it? Even kids should be allowed some choices, and it was true what she’d said. Some things are just yukky!

      She remembered the first time she’d ever tasted a snail. Just the thought of that slimy little creature entering her mouth, let alone swallowing it, had made her want to throw up, but they’d been in a lovely new French restaurant, celebrating their anniversary – was it their fifth or their sixth? She couldn’t remember – and Mark had waved the fork in front of her and promised it would be all right. And somehow СКАЧАТЬ