A Perfect Home (14 page)

Claire

She hoped she didn't sound too eager. She pressed send. Sally appeared in the doorway looking tired, face devoid of make-up, her wild cascade of hair unusually lank.

‘Mission accomplished,' she said, flopping onto William's wooden swivel chair. ‘Two children collected and delivered, apparently intact.'

‘Thank you,' said Claire, swiftly turning the computer off and getting up. ‘Let's go and get that cup of tea and you can tell me why you sounded so down on the phone.'

Sally didn't move. ‘I think Gareth's having an affair.'

‘What?' Claire sat back down. ‘Are you sure? How do you know?'

‘I don't know for sure.' Sally looked miserable. ‘I only suspect that he is.'

‘Why?'

‘He's cut his ponytail off.'

‘I thought you hated his ponytail?'

‘I did, but I want it back now. I hardly recognise him. He's had a proper haircut – in a salon – not just at the barbers round the back of the fish and chip shop in town.'

‘Maybe he wanted a change of image? Maybe he did it for you?' Claire suggested.

‘No, he'd never bother doing it for me. I know this is for another woman. There have been other signs too. He bought a polo shirt last week and a pair of jeans. He never buys new clothes. He's happy to go to work in trousers with the crotch hanging out and his Iron Maiden T-shirt that he's had since 1987. I have to nag him to wear anything different, even if we're going to a wedding.'

‘Who do you think would have an affair with him?' Claire tried not to sound as if the idea of anyone wanting to have an affair with Gareth was completely implausible – underneath his grungy exterior he was a lovely man and Sally had chosen to marry him, after all.

‘That's the bit I can't work out,' Sally replied. ‘It's not as if he works with any women in his IT department at work and he never goes out without me in the evenings.'

‘I think you're getting this all out of proportion, Sally. Gareth wouldn't have an affair.'

‘I know what you're thinking,' said Sally. ‘Too lazy.'

‘Well, no. I wasn't thinking that exactly.'

‘I always thought so too, but now I'm not so sure.' Sally looked as though she was about to cry. ‘I don't want to lose him, Claire. I love him.'

In all the years she had known her, she'd never heard Sally say anything good about Gareth, let alone declare her love for him, but Claire had never doubted that Sally adored her husband. Claire got up and came and put her arms around her and Sally let out a huge sob.

Claire itched to go and check her emails, and then mentally chastised herself for being such a terrible friend. She owed so much to Sally. In the bleak weeks after Jack had died it had been Sally who, heavily pregnant with her first baby, came to see her every day, bringing chocolate and cream cakes and she had held her hand while Claire quietly sobbed. Later it had been Sally who bundled Claire and Oliver into her little car and, together with her new baby boy, drove them to baby groups and tiny tots singing lessons and infant aqua classes – forcing Claire to get out and face the world. After all these years this was the first time Sally had ever turned to Claire for support herself.

‘I think this calls for something a little stronger than tea,' Claire said. ‘I've got a bottle of Jacob's Creek in the fridge.'

The sudden beeping of a lorry reversing up the drive heralded the arrival of the summer house.

The wine and two bare-chested lorry drivers unloading the timber helped distract Sally. By the time she'd had her fourth glass of wine and finished the lemon cake she started to smile again.

‘I wouldn't mind them at the bottom of my garden,' she slurred slightly, holding her hand up against the glare of the evening sun so that she could see the men as they carried the massive planks of wood down to the cement base William had already laid. ‘Better than fairies,' she said and doubled over laughing. ‘Do you get it, Claire? Fairies at the bottom of the garden.' Her wine sloshed over the table. ‘You've got hunky men at the bottom of yours.'

‘I think you've had enough now,' Claire said, putting the nearly empty bottle back in the fridge. ‘Let's have a cup of coffee and wait for William to drive you and the boys home.'

Sally yawned. ‘I feel much better now. I don't know why I thought Gareth was having an affair. Only horrible people have affairs and Gareth is not a horrible person.'

Claire felt suddenly cold. ‘You're right, Sally. Only horrible people have affairs.'

‘I've never understood how people could deceive their partners. I mean, if you're not happy with your marriage you either work it out or get out. You don't go off doing goodness-knows-what with other people behind everybody else's back, do you?' Sally hiccupped.

‘No, you don't.' Guilt crept over her. It
was
only an email or two.

‘Hello, girls.' William was home early. He kissed them both, filled with good humour at seeing his latest project taking shape. ‘What are we drinking to? The summer house?' He started opening a bottle of red.

‘Before you have a drink could you drive Sally and the boys home?' asked Claire.

‘Of course,' he said. ‘Come along, my chariot awaits.'

‘Now,
you
are a very nice man,' giggled Sally, getting up unsteadily from her chair and pointing a finger at William. ‘You would never have an affair would you?'

‘No, of course not. Why would I want to have an affair when I have such a lovely wife?' He smiled at Claire and guilt settled in her stomach like a dull ache.

He left with Sally swaying on his arm and the two boys wrestling each other across the drive and into the car. Claire knew she ought to get the tea. Instead she poured herself the last bit of wine from the bottle, went into the study, and turned on the computer.

Dear Claire,

Glad you liked the pictures.

Stefan

P.S. Let me bring the cakes. Do you like chocolate?

Claire pressed reply.

I love chocolate! Claire

Send.

One minute later:

I know a shop that sells the most delicious Devil's food cake – can I tempt you?

S

Reply.

Go ahead and lead me astray!

C

Send.

I'd love to!

S

It was suddenly too much for Claire. Were they still talking about chocolate cake? She shut down the computer, went into the kitchen, and starting to peel potatoes very fast.

‘What's for tea?' asked Emily, coming in from the garden.

‘I don't know,' she replied.

‘It must be potatoes, but what else?' said Emily. ‘Whatever you like,' Claire felt unable to think straight at all.

‘Fish fingers?'

‘Fine.'

‘No broccoli,' said Emily hopefully. Claire always gave them broccoli as it was the one green vegetable they would all grudgingly agree to eat.

‘OK. No broccoli.'

‘Sally's going to have a sore head in the morning.' William walked into the kitchen. ‘What's all this about Gareth?'

‘Sally thinks he might be having an affair,' she whispered, checking Emily was out of earshot.

‘I can imagine him doing that.' William poured his glass of wine.

‘Can you?' said Claire, surprised.

‘Oh yes. He seems the type who would.'

‘Is there a type?'

‘I think so. You can always tell the ones who will and the ones who won't.'

‘Is that true for women too?' Claire carefully laid the fish fingers in two neat rows on the baking tray.

‘Definitely. I could look at all the mothers in the school yard and tell you who would and wouldn't be unfaithful.'

‘That seems a bit of a sweeping statement.'

William came up behind her as she slid the tray into the oven. ‘Trust me, I can tell,' he said. He put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. ‘And I know that you, my darling, are one of the ones who wouldn't even dream of it.'

Chapter Thirteen

‘Colours flow tranquilly from room to room …'

Claire had planned to show William the pictures that Stefan had sent but somehow there never seemed to be the time. He spent every evening with the summer house, steadily erecting it with the help of a retired builder from the village. To Claire, the pictures were like a precious gift from Stefan which she wanted to cherish and not share with anyone for a little while.

All week she felt jumpy and anxious. When she put on an old denim skirt on Thursday morning it slid down low on her hips and she realized how little she had been eating. Her thoughts were constantly drifting to Stefan. Her sleep became sporadic and she spent many hours spent lying awake listening for the dawn, thinking of him.

She spent a long time making the apron for Stefan's sister, making sure every stitch was perfect, every detail of appliqué and embroidery exactly right, the pearl buttons in just the right position. When she had finished she folded it carefully and slipped it into the cellophane packaging, positioning the Emily Love label in the middle. Perfect. It was ready. Now she just had to wait.

By Friday morning Claire could hardly bear to stay still. Anticipation, excitement, fear, guilt – a mass of contradictory emotions threatened to consume her. She longed for time to speed up. The weekend seemed to be taking forever to arrive.

It was impossible to concentrate on the twenty-five metres of bunting she was making for a customer's garden party. Her sewing was all over the place; she hoped it would be going up on a windy day so that no one would notice the crooked stitching. Suddenly she didn't feel sure she wanted to see Stefan at all. Their email exchange had been exhilarating, but now she was frightened. She hadn't heard from him for a few days.

Claire had let herself imagine that she knew him much better than she really did. She realized that she didn't know him at all. Who was he, really? Beyond his kind, friendly manner and attractive exterior maybe he was cruel-hearted, sadistic even, or maybe by night he became a crazed axe murderer or a blood-sucking vampire – Claire knew she was letting her imagination run away with her but Celia's words about the many women in his life kept nagging at the back of her mind.

In her more sensible moments she told herself that she was a happily married woman with three children and she had always vowed never to behave as her father had done. Adultery? No, she could never do that. So what was the point of seeing him again, stoking the fire inside her, stirring up emotions she was determined not to express? But, try as she might, she couldn't help imagining what it might be like to be in his arms, to feel his limbs entwined with hers, to let herself melt into his kiss.

Somehow the bunting was finished and it was Friday afternoon. Through the open window in front of her, Claire could see white clouds puffing up from behind the bare timber shell of the summer house. Ben was asleep beside her on the study sofa. She was at the computer writing a reminder letter to the kitchen shop about their unpaid invoice, trying to keep her mind focused on business. Macavity sat purring beside her on the desk. She determinedly ignored the sound of a new email arriving until she had finished her letter and printed it out. As she searched for an envelope in a drawer with one hand, she clicked on to her emails with the other.

Claire,

Sorry but something has come up and I can't come to collect the apron this weekend. Could you send it to the following address instead? Shall I send you a cheque or would you prefer cash? Let me know.

Stefan

Claire felt her heart plummet. For all her fears about seeing him again she had somehow never imagined that he wouldn't come, and this email was more formal, colder than the others. She wondered if she should have been more complimentary about his photographs, expanded on how much she had enjoyed her time with him, but she hadn't wanted to appear too enthusiastic for fear he'd guess how she felt about him.

Claire tried to rationalise her thoughts. It was good that he wasn't coming. It would put an end to her ridiculous fantasies, an end to these feelings she had that were almost like an illness in their intensity. She would send the apron in the post and that would be the end of it.

As she slid the apron and an invoice into the padded envelope, she noticed her hands were shaking. Her head began to spin, the room tilting unnervingly. As she sat down on a chair, tears started to stream from her eyes. For a few minutes she gave into the sobbing and the feeling of despair that filled her. She could feel a real, physical pain in her heart.
Heartbroken
, she thought.

Rain was drumming down hard on the roof of the conservatory. Claire imagined what it would feel like to put her hand out of the window and let it pour over her palm, so cool and soothing.

Suddenly she had the idea of taking the apron to Stefan herself.
I could do that
, she thought. I could leave the children with Sally and go on the train tomorrow and find his flat.
And then what?
She closed her eyes tight to try to stop the images of him that still seemed to fill her mind.
This must stop
, she thought.
It's got to stop
.

She forced herself to take some very big deep breaths, stood up, and reached for a pen to write Stefan's address on the envelope. If she left now she'd catch the post office before she picked Oliver and Emily up from school.

Chapter Fourteen

‘Family heirlooms add a personal touch.'

A week passed. Oliver and Emily couldn't wait for the start of the summer holidays. Claire tried to keep busy – sorting out orders, gardening, cleaning, taking Ben swimming. She bought a pale green halter-neck dress in a sale and a pair of high-heeled sandals – thin green straps of soft suede that flattered her newly slim legs. The dress and sandals were an attempt to cheer herself up, but all she could think of was how much she'd like Stefan to see her wearing them.