Who Needs Men Anyway?. Victoria Cooke

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СКАЧАТЬ Had I liked the woman, I’d have probably arranged for a few of my contacts to spruce the place up for her.

      Small and simple plans are the key to success; long, elaborate plans leave too much room for failure. Quite frankly, I didn’t even have a plan. I snuggled into my heated seat and contemplated what to do. I had a few options to consider, including knocking on the door under the pretence of having got the wrong address; waiting in the car until she came out and then following her to get a feel for her routine and how I might catch her; or giving up and going home. But giving up wasn’t in my nature.

      As it happens, the decision was made for me, when the door opened and a young woman came out. Younger than me, anyway. Around twenty-seven give or take. She had thick shiny chestnut hair and was wearing some kind of yoga attire. Well, if you live in a place that looks like that I suppose one has to achieve a relaxed state somehow, I thought, already stressed just looking at the unkempt appearance of the house.

      The sun broke through the clouds, glinting off the moist pavement and privet hedges. Squinting a little – an action that would definitely deepen my emerging crow’s feet – I rummaged in the glove box for some sunglasses, pulling out some old Chanel cat’s-eye ones that I kept in there for emergencies. I wondered absent-mindedly if they were still in style. Despite my fashion-crisis interlude, I never took my eyes off the woman. She had a mat-roll slung over her shoulder and walked briskly to the end of the street. As she turned the corner, I fired up my engine and crept along the street until I spotted her again at a bus stop.

      Pulling over, I checked my make-up in the mirror. It was difficult to tell, but there was a slight possibility the lady at the Lancôme counter had recommended the wrong colour eyebrow pencil. It looked more orange than beige, but it could have been the light.

      Debating whether to return the offending pencil, I belatedly realised that a single-decker bus had pulled up at the stop and had set off with the woman on board. My heart started to race as I turned the corner to follow it with no clue as to where we’d end up. As I drove, my mind wandered through the what-ifs: what if she’d noticed the car, knew I was following her, and was leading me to some dodgy disused warehouse on the outskirts of town so she could bump me off before I could disclose her sordid affair? I laughed out loud at my own imagination. Too many thrillers, Charlotte! I shook my head. Plus, she’d hardly be taking the number 84 if that was her evil plan.

      The bus was heading away from the town centre, towards the outlying village where Megan lived. Interesting. I knew she wouldn’t be heading to see Mr Megan in the cold light of day, and, of course, I was right. She got off the bus on the high street, which was convenient for me as there was a Costa Coffee there where I could top up my caffeine levels.

      I pulled over and watched as she entered a door set between a bridal shop and a children’s shoe shop. Adrenaline coursed through me as I climbed out of the car and approached the door. There were no prizes for guessing she was on her way to a Pilates session. What was puzzling, however, was the choice of venue: Megan’s studio.

Chapter Two

      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 СКАЧАТЬ