How to Win Back Your Husband. Vivien Hampshire

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СКАЧАТЬ Nicci held up her right hand, tucked her thumb under, and started pointing her fingers up, one at a time, to make her points crystal clear. ‘I hope that’s the only picking up you’re talking about. Just new skills, because I am definitely not interested in picking up new men. Or old ones! And, secondly…’ another finger popped up ‘…for the record, I never had any intention of joining any internet sites. Not of the dating kind, anyway.’

      ‘Can you put those two fingers down? It looks rude, like you’re making a V sign!’

      ‘And, thirdly…’ Nicci went on, quickly sticking finger number three up to join the others, ‘I thought we were supposed to be reliving our youthful past. As far as I can remember, we have never been to an evening class in our lives.’

      ‘No, that’s true. I was thinking more of a grown-up version of school. We met all our real friends there, didn’t we? Friends we’ve hung on to more or less for life. People who share our history. Our memories.’

      ‘People like Jason Brown, you mean?’

      ‘No, of course not. Why did you have to bring him into it? He wasn’t even in our year, was he? No, there’s just something about school. Not school reunions, obviously. That’s a whole different thing, chucking us back together as adults, as you well know. But school, actual school, when we were kids. Still innocent, still learning, everything ahead of us like a great big mystery yet to happen. We all had something in common then, didn’t we? Sniggering about Miss Randall’s big nose, passing smutty notes around in class, trying to make things explode in the Chemistry lab… An evening class might give us some of that again. Togetherness, solidarity, whatever you want to call it. And we’d be improving ourselves at the same time. What do you think?’

      ‘Improving ourselves?’ Nicci laughed. ‘And what subject did you have in mind for this great self-improvement programme of yours? Brain surgery? Advanced car mechanics? Marine biology?’

      ‘Don’t be such a wet blanket. I’m serious. There are loads of perfectly ordinary things we could learn. Indian cookery, for instance, to save all that money we waste on takeaway curries. Beginner’s Spanish, for when we go on our hols. Self-defence classes for women, so we can feel safer when we’re out late at night. There are a lot of nutters about nowadays. I’m sure it would help to know just how to kick them where it hurts.’

      ‘I find straight in the balls works pretty well.’

      ‘Or straight in the wallet. That’s what seems to hurt my Richard the most. Tight-fisted old devil!’

      ‘Okay. Let’s leave evening classes on the back burner for now. And Richard’s supposed failings, ’cos you know you love him to bits really. If he’s short of the readies it’s because he’s spent it all on you! Now, what’s number two on the list?’

      ‘Right. Number two is…’ There was a long pause as Jilly drained her glass and drummed her fingernails on the table top.

      ‘You don’t actually have a number two, do you?’ Nicci reached across to stop her friend from making that irritating sound, then spotted the wedding and engagement rings still gleaming ominously on her own hand and withdrew it quickly. She knew what Jilly would say if she noticed those. Take the bloody things off, let go of the past, and move on!

      ‘Well, no. Not as such. I’m sort of waiting for ideas. And you’re supposed to be helping me. It’s all for your benefit, you know. That’s why we’re making the list in the first place.’

      ‘Here’s an idea for you. Something we used to do a lot of, so it can be number two if you like. We’ll get another bottle, and a couple of plates of something tasty to nibble, and we’ll just talk. Okay? But we won’t mention the words Mark or Richard or divorce – definitely not divorce – again tonight. Just work, clothes, shoes, who’s going out with who, all the girly gossipy fun stuff. Deal?’

      ‘I suppose so. I do fancy a good old-fashioned moan, as it happens. About work. Well, about Sheila, mainly. God, what a day I’ve had, having to listen to her going on and on about me being late. Anyone would think I make a habit of it. But keep thinking about the list, won’t you? It is a great idea. Honest!’

      ***

      When Mark got to the front of the queue in the fish and chip shop he only just stopped himself from ordering two portions, and the mushy peas and extra gherkin that had been Nicci’s favourite part of their regular order for as long as he could remember. He asked for it to be wrapped, promising himself he’d only open it up when he got home and could use a proper plate and cutlery, but once out in the street he couldn’t resist. Peeling open the paper, breathing in that strong vinegary smell, feeling the grease warm on his fingers, he dipped in, telling himself he’d just have one or two chips to keep him going, but by the time he had reached the front door of the flat it had all gone, fish and all.

      So, what now? His meal had been eaten, Simon had gone off to meet his mates, and that just left Match of the Day. Probably the same match he’d just seen live. He chucked his chip wrapper in the already full-to-bursting bin in the kitchen, squashing the contents down hard to make a bit more room, thus avoiding having to go outside again to empty it, and flipped the kettle on. What would Nicci be doing now, he wondered? He’d bet that she wouldn’t be moping about at home by herself. Probably out with that Jason bloke.

      Oh, yes, she’d sworn it had been a one-off, that there was nothing going on, that it had all been a terrible, stupid mistake, but how was he supposed to believe a word she said any more? And he’d seen that Jason. Made it his business to seek him out and watch him in action. From a distance, of course. If he’d gone any closer he probably would have decked him. But anyone could see the bloke had an over-confident, cocky way about him, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. It came with the territory, he supposed. A look-at-me type in a fancy suit, used to getting his own way. Not that he could see the attraction himself. No, he wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Oily git!

      He seemed to represent everything Mark himself was not, and never wanted to be. God knows why Nic had fallen for his patter. Not satisfied any more with what she had at home, presumably, the ordinary kind of life he had believed without question they’d both wanted. Sometimes he felt like he’d never really known her at all.

      Mark poured himself a coffee, slopped some cheap brandy into it and swallowed a mouthful. Oh, boy, that was strong! What was he trying to do? Get blind drunk? Sink into oblivion, in his own armchair? No, if he was going to drink, he’d rather it was among friends. Well, acquaintances, anyway. Or total strangers. What the hell? He may have never met this Rudy character before, but he knew Simon, right? Simon had said it would be okay to tag along. What else was there to do, on a Saturday, when your flat is a soulless shell, your wife is a cheat, and the life you thought you were living had turned out to be a sham?

      A stag do sounded exactly what he needed. Not strippers, though. He hoped it wasn’t going to be that kind of an evening. He’d not had one sexual thought since he’d walked out on Nicci, and he didn’t fancy any of that false in-your-face stuff tonight. Being surrounded by cheering, leering blokes, with a phoney policewoman pulling a pair of fluffy handcuffs out of her cleavage or some old scrubber’s bare arse waving about in front of him would just put him off his beer. But a few drinks and a laugh would be good. Male bonding at its best. Barring football, of course, and they’d already done that today.

      He knocked back the coffee, which was so hot it would have burned his throat if not for the almost instant anaesthetic effect of the brandy chasing it down his gullet, then he picked up his phone and dialled Simon’s number.

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