Who Needs Men Anyway?. Victoria Cooke

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      ‘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'd 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.’

Chapter Three

      When the intercom buzzed later that afternoon, a feeling of dread engulfed me. On my way to press the button, I checked my hair and make-up. The intercom feed was monochrome and grainy, but James’s mother would still notice if a hair was out of place.

      ‘Hello, Frances,’ I said as I pressed the button, forcing a smile.

      ‘Charlotte,’ she said without a hint of pleasantry. I opened the gate, inwardly cursing James for not being home early, and waited at the door as Frances breezed in.

      ‘James not home?’ she asked, walking straight to the kitchen. Why she couldn’t use a full sentence when she spoke to me both puzzled and infuriated me in equal measure.

      ‘Not yet, he’ll be back a little later.’ I followed her reluctantly down the hallway.

      She heaved two bulging carrier bags up onto the worktop, which I regarded with curiosity. ‘I brought dinner.’

      ‘Oh, Frances, thank you, but I’ve prepared dinner already. You should take that home and use it all another day.’

      ‘Well, James mentioned something about salmon, and I wasn’t sure where you’d be buying it. You can’t guarantee low mercury levels if you don’t know where it’s from.’ She pulled a salmon out from one of her bags whilst I stared on in disbelief. She plonked the fish next to my ready-marinated one and rolled up her sleeves. Heat seared through my chest but I remained calm, for James’s sake.

      ‘What did you use?’ She pointed to my version of a Jamie Oliver marinade.

      ‘Err . . . red chillies, lemongrass, garlic, soy sauce.’ As I spoke, she rummaged in the fridge, pulling out the ingredients as I reeled them off, plus the rest that I was too shocked to recall.

      ‘It looks fairly adequate. I’ll whip something up while you pour the wine.’ Pour the wine – that was the first decent thing she’d said since she arrived. The wine fridge was a particular favourite of mine and James’s, made even better by the fact it was in the utility room, giving me a brief respite from Frances. I poured two glasses and threw half of mine down my neck before topping up my glass and heading back into the kitchen, where Frances was bashing coriander and ginger with the mortar and pestle I’d washed and dried only half an hour earlier.

      I handed Frances a glass and affixed a smile. ‘That smells wonderful.’ It smelt exactly the same as mine had when I bashed exactly the same ingredients together earlier.

      ‘I’ve just added my own twist,’ she said, but a quick scan of the ingredients revealed nothing different to what I’d used, so I assumed she was referring to the dash of bitterness her personality brought. ‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you alone for a while,’ she added as she proceeded to rub the salmon with the marinade.

      My heart sunk a little. Surely she hadn’t left it until now to offer to pay me off? ‘Oh?’ My stomach knotted tightly – I wouldn’t have put it past her.

      ‘Sit down.’

      I slid onto the bar stool dutifully and waited for whatever it was she had to say. She pushed the salmon to one side, and if it wasn’t for the extra decorative lemongrass sprigs she’d dumped on hers, we’d have been at serious risk of consuming a mercury-laden main course.

      ‘It’s about this baby situation. You’re thirty-six now, Charlotte, and in my day, anyone over thirty was admitted to elderly confinement when they were in labour. In other words, you’re getting old and if you wait much longer, you may be too old altogether.’

      ‘Frances, people have babies well into their forties now. I think times have changed.’ I felt my cheeks burn.

      ‘Perhaps they do, but it’s not happening for you and James and I know it’s what you’ve both wanted for a while now.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘I wanted to suggest fertility treatment. You know, the menopause could be just around the corner. It does happen to some women in their thirties.’

      As I sipped my wine, I had an overwhelming urge to bite a chunk out of the glass. I clenched my teeth as the next best option before mumbling, ‘I will talk to James about it.’ How was I supposed to tell my mother-in-law that the conception problem preventing her from having a grandchild was her son’s lack of sex drive?

      ‘I’d like to think the Emsworth family name will continue.’ She raised a well-shaped and highly expectant brow at me. Before I could answer, the front door opened, and as I craned my neck around the door, was relieved to see James putting his briefcase down in the hallway.

      ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He walked in, looking as handsome as ever. He loosened his tie as he came over and gave me a kiss, squeezing my arm knowingly.

      ‘Oh, James, it’s good to see you.’ His mother beamed at him as he walked around the breakfast bar to greet her.

      ‘You too, Mother,’ he said, kissing both of her cheeks dutifully.

      ‘We were just talking about children.’ I cut into their little embrace, so James would know what I’d been dealing with. He gave me a quizzical look.

      ‘Oh, let’s not bother him with that. He’s just walked in.’ Frances waved a dismissive hand. ‘Why don’t you sit down, James, and Charlotte will get you a glass of wine.’ She shot me a look before putting the salmon in the oven, and I dutifully went to get wine. The last thing I wanted was to cause more tension. I returned to find Frances telling James how wonderfully hardworking he was. I handed him his wine, and as his mother turned her back to finish chopping some salad, I felt his hand graze my bottom. I smacked it away playfully and went to set the table, feeling a little bit lighter.

      ***

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