The Lost Wife: An uplifting page-turner about grief, love and friendship Read online

  ‘Greg says—’

  ‘Greg! Who the chuff is Greg?’ I ask, just as the bathroom door opens, a cloud of steam escaping into the cold.

  ‘Somebody mention my name?’ says the guy Mo was dancing with last night. He strolls down our corridor, half dressed, with T-shirt in hand. I try not to notice his well-toned abs and incredible biceps… but fail.

  ‘We were just talking about your mate,’ explains Mo.

  ‘Ah, Ed. Yes. Complicated.’ Greg ruffles his hair with a towel, then drops it over a chair. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed some shampoo.’ He pulls on a tight, white T-shirt like some kind of reverse Diet Coke break, and I find something on the floor very interesting.

  ‘Course not,’ Mo says, standing. ‘Coffee?’ she asks.

  ‘Why don’t we go out for breakfast,’ he says, taking a step towards her. Mo gives him a coquettish smile and I wonder what on earth has happened overnight. Between my drunken-ness and her standing here – about to go for breakfast with a man she brought home but did not have sex with, something she has never done before – it’s like I’ve woken up in a parallel universe. And not a good one.

  ‘Breakfast sounds great,’ she flutters. ‘Let me change. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘No rush,’ he says, watching her walk away. Out of earshot, he turns to me. ‘Wow, your friend!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She’s…’ He stares down the corridor displaying signs of smitten that I’ve rarely seen in a bloke associated with my long-time, happily single best friend.

  ‘She’s pretty cool, yes, so, you know… watch yourself.’ I don’t know why I get all big sister on him. Mo doesn’t need it and I’m too hungover to follow anything through anyway. ‘So, how do you know Ed?’

  ‘Work colleagues really, but he’s a good bloke. We’ve been out a few times. More before…’ He stops himself.

  ‘Before his wife?’ I say, making it clear that I know.

  ‘Yeah.’ Greg pulls a chair from the dining table. ‘How did you know? Did he mention it?’

  ‘I look after Oli. At the nursery.’

  ‘Oh, right. Cool.’ He nods. ‘You know, I don’t think he’s ready for…’ Greg pauses, then apparently decides to just go for it. ‘He’s not ready for a relationship, you know… I don’t know if you two…’ He waves his hand in the air, suggestively.

  ‘Oh shit, God no! No! I wasn’t… we weren’t… He’s… I…’

  ‘Oh, right. Okay, sorry. It’s just, Mo said she saw you—’

  ‘Ha! Mo says a lot of things but no… God. I’m just… I sort of know what he’s going through.’ Greg looks confused. ‘My mum died, when I was a kid.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Yeah, no. I wasn’t trying to, eurgh, weird. I mean, not weird-weird. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with him. No, far from it.’ Stop talking, Rach. ‘In any other circumstance…’

  ‘Sure.’

  Oh God. ‘Yeah.’ I pin my lips together. I swallow. I wish the ground would do the same to my entire body. God, I’m an idiot. ‘Well, anyway. I’m just going for a shower so…’

  ‘Sure. Okay. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Yeah. Enjoy breakfast.’

  I walk down the hall, eyes half closed in pain at how bad that all just came across. Entirely confused as to why.

  Twenty

  Ed

  Rachel wasn’t there when I dropped Oli off this morning. I saw her briefly as I picked him up, but she was in one of the other rooms. She threw me a wave, and I don’t know why, but I pretended I hadn’t seen her. Then I felt bad and tried to look out for her as I left, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Actually, I do know why. I know exactly why. Saturday night’s kiss on the cheek still bothers me. I know it was perfectly innocent, that there was no agenda behind it, but it sits there, lingering on my skin. Replacing all the times Ellie kissed me on the cheek. The touch of Rachel’s hand as she led me through the club, my arm across her stomach – drink fuelling overfamiliarity on her part – as she wrote her number on my hand. Each touch still felt. Touch I’ve been immune to since the day Ellie died. I built a wall, I felt nothing from that day onwards. Except now I can feel Rachel on my hand, my arm, my cheek. And with it, I feel guilt.

  I place Oli’s bag on the kitchen side, unpacking and repacking what’s needed for tomorrow. But, as I pick each item out, I realise Oli’s bear is missing. The bear Ellie bought for him that he has had in his cot since the day he was born. He can’t sleep without it, or maybe I don’t want him to. What if it’s lost? My heart trips up. That bear is a piece of her that he needs, that we both need.

  It’s 6.30 p.m. I try calling the nursery but the number rings out until an answering machine kicks in. I leave a garbled message, just in case anyone picks up, but they don’t. Shit. Shit!

  I stuff everything back in the bag, checking again as I do, desperate that I missed it. Then pull it all back out again, one last time. Spare clothes, spent bottles, nappies and wipes are all scattered on the floor. His bag is now empty and there’s no bear in sight.

  The house phone rings and I leap on it in the hope it’s the nursery calling back. ‘Hello?’ I stuff Oli’s things back in the bag.

  ‘Ed. It’s Lisa.’ I freeze, which can be all that stops me from just hanging up. ‘Have you seen Simon?’

  ‘Why would I have?’

  ‘Because when he left the house this morning, he told me he was coming to find you. So, given that he isn’t home, and not in any of his usual pissed-up haunts, I thought that maybe he’d actually grown some balls to face you.’ Her voice is flat, as if she’s severed connection between feelings and words. ‘Well, that’s that then.’

  ‘That’s what then?’

  ‘I told him this morning that unless he came to talk to you, unless he was able to admit the truth to us all, I was not prepared to put up with his behaviour any more. I packed a bag of his stuff this afternoon. I have no choice but to sling it out onto the street.’

  ‘You’ve threatened this before. You never leave. He never leaves. It’s a pointless conversation and one I don’t need to be having. Goodbye.’

  ‘They were having an affair, Edward!’ she shouts down the phone.

  My heart rate quickens, forcing all air out of my chest, igniting a fire in my belly. ‘Who was?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, Edward. Simon and Ellie. It’s so obvious. Why can’t you see it?’

  I steady myself. I won’t let her get away with this. ‘How dare you talk about my wife that way,’ I hiss, my voice low, guttural. ‘You have no idea, do you, of the damage you’re causing, the destruction to lives already at rock bottom.’

  Oli murmurs, in the next room, then he begins crying. I move through to the lounge, picking him up with my free arm.

  ‘It’s all clear now, Lisa. Every picture makes up the story. The years you and Simon have been together… it was always awkward, clumsy. We could never quite get to the bottom of who you were, but I see it now. I see it.’ I pull Oli in close to me. ’Suggesting something like this is the single most spiteful, horrendous, vicious thing anyone could say to a grieving man. I don’t understand the kind of person that would do such a thing.’ My sneer, my hatred towards her, increases with every word.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to believe me, Ed,’ she starts.

  ‘Why would I? It’s not true.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I knew my wife, Lisa. And she would never, NEVER, do something like that.’ I kiss Oli on the forehead as he starts to cry again.

  ‘You can believe what you like, Ed. As the grieving husband you’re entitled to be confused, to be in denial. I don’t know why I put up with him, with his behaviour over the years. Except that I loved him and I forgave him every time.’

  Despite a sickness in my belly – a creeping sense of fear – I find I can’t hang up.

  ‘He is a shit, always has been. Ellie was no better. You might as well face it.’

  ‘You
can think what you like of my brother,’ I hiss, ‘but I knew my wife.' My voice is clipped and controlled; it’s in contrast with how I feel, but I won’t have her lambaste my wife. There is nothing I can do for Ellie now except protect her memory, and I will do that – I have to – until I take my dying breath. Till death us do part.

  On the other side of the kitchen window, Ellie’s next project, our garden, is wild and rambling – much like me now, in her absence. I seek out the last of the wild bluebells for strength. ‘Don’t call me again,’ I say.

  ‘She was empty, Ed. So empty, she couldn’t even be bothered with small talk. Me and your brother weren’t worth her time or effort, that’s how it felt, every time we saw her.’

  I should just hang up, yet I can’t move. I’m rigid with anger or fear, or a need, maybe; a need to hear what else Lisa has to say so that I can put it all together and discount it in one go. So I can process her words and see how much she makes up. So I can distinguish this fear that is wrapping itself around my heart. I do have to protect Ellie, I know I do.

  Yet… I have questions.

  ‘Ellie always thought we were beneath her,’ she sneers.

  ‘If you were beneath her, why would she fuck my brother?’ I sneer back.

  ‘You know what? I can’t imagine. It’s not even like he’s any good. If he was, maybe that would explain it.’ Bile rises. ‘All I do know is that I don’t trust the kind of person who can drop the need to be liked so quickly after we first met her. I knew something didn't ring true with her. That the Ellie she showed us wasn’t her full story.’

  I can see Lisa’s face in my mind. Distorted, spiteful, hateful. The corners of her mouth curling with every vile word spoken. ‘Of course they were having an affair, Ed,’ she says, low and firm. ‘She was in his car, days after giving birth. The signs are all there. What sort of woman isn’t at home, days after giving birth? And it wasn’t the first time. They had little meetings you know, little chats. They’d been meeting up for months, from what I can tell. I’m surprised you haven’t been asking questions yourself.’

  ‘Really? Months? And you know that how?’

  Lisa doesn’t respond.

  ‘Ellie being in Simon’s car that day proves nothing. Maybe I do have questions, who wouldn’t? You can think and feel what you like about Simon, but I know what I think and feel about Ellie, and I know what I know. She was my wife, she loved me. The person you describe is not the person I lived with… the kind of person who tried to fit in, who tried to be accepted… the reservation you saw in Ellie, the holding back, that was fear. That was nerves. That was being desperate to be liked and getting the distinct impression that she wasn’t.’ I take a deep breath, focus returning. ‘That’s self-preservation… and you know something? So is this.’ I slam the phone down, desperate to unhear everything Lisa’s just said. Desperate to unfeel every doubt, question or fear I’ve harboured since Lisa started planting these seeds. Annoyed I didn’t hang up sooner. Oli wriggles in my arms and I pull him closer, taking a breath of him in the hope it will revitalise me.

  Then there’s a knock at the door. I don’t move. Has Simon come to see me? Like Lisa said? If it’s him… if it’s him… If it’s him, I can clear up every lie she’s fed me and move on with my life, my grief.

  He knocks again. I go to answer the door, but as the glass panel comes into view, I see it’s not him at all.

  Twenty-One

  Rachel

  Ed opens the door.

  ‘Don’t panic! The cavalry is here!’ I hold up Oli’s bear in Lion King fashion, dropping to a kneel at the front door, before looking up with a wide grin. ‘Admittedly, I’m minus a chestplate and sword, but, you know, the principle’s the same. Oh—’

  Ed’s face is ghost-white, his eyes red-rimmed.

  ‘Sorry, is this a bad time? I just—’ I try to get up too quickly, but stand on my coat, which throws me into his arms, making a suddenly unfunny situation irritatingly slapstick. ‘Shit. Sorry,’ I say, breaking free from his grasp.

  He takes the bear from my hands. ‘Thank God, thank you,’ he says nestling it into the space between Oli and his own chest. ‘God, I…’ He steps back into the hallway, dropping onto the staircase, holding the bannister to steady his fall.

  ‘Ed, are you okay? Shit, Ed, what’s happened? Is it the bear? I figured you might worry, that’s why I came round,’ I explain. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I got your address from our files. I just thought you might have been worried. Though, really, Ed, it’s fine. The bear’s back. You can relax.’ I reach out to place my hand on his shoulder, but before I do, he’s shaking his head, and I can see this is not to do with the bear.

  ‘You did the right thing.’ He looks up to me, glassy-eyed.

  ‘Oh, Ed, are you okay?’

  He swallows, nodding, but I can see that’s not the case.

  I push the door closed behind me, then crouch down beside him. ‘What’s happened?’ I ask. ‘Do you need to talk?’

  Oli starts wriggling and murmuring, a noise that fast builds to a cry. I offer my arms up to take him. As Ed passes him to me, I can smell the problem – with Oli at least – so look around for evidence of somewhere to change his nappy. The door to the lounge is open, giving a glimpse of a beautiful, immaculate room, like something out of Elle Decoration. ‘He needs changing, would you like me to…’ Ed lets out a sigh. It’s deep – like he’s attempting a regeneration. New air, new strength. ‘Upstairs?’ I ask, seeing for myself that he needs to gather himself. He needs space. He points behind him, up the stairs, leaning to one side to make way for me to go past.

  Having changed Oli and put him back to bed, I come back downstairs to find Ed in his kitchen, his hand on the kettle, two mugs on the side. ‘Tea?’ he asks, pouring water.

  I stand on the threshold of kitchen and hallway, and possibly an unexpected evening. ‘I… I don’t want to intrude,’ I say, looking back at the front door. There’s something in the pit of my belly that makes me want to leave, and something in my heart that says Ed needs someone to stay. In the absence of any other candidates, leaving would be a bit shit.

  ‘You’re not intruding. I could do without being left alone with the noise of my thoughts, to be honest.’ He sounds exhausted, his shoulders are slumped. ‘In fact, fuck it, I’m going for something stronger. You want some?’ He pulls a bottle of wine from a rack and holds it up.

  ‘No, thanks. The tea is fine.’ In truth, I’d give my eye teeth for a glass of wine, but that doesn’t feel right either.

  ‘You don’t mind if I do?’ Ed isn’t waiting for my answer; instead he’s pumping the handle of an immaculate Sunday Times wine gadget and pouring. Heavy red liquid circles up the sides of a wide-brimmed glass as he fills it full. He lifts the glass and takes a long drink, before topping it up. He turns to face me, a realisation dawning. ‘Oh, I don’t normally… not with Oli…’

  ‘I’m not judging,’ I say, hands up, reaching for my tea. ‘So… do you need to talk about it?’ I ask, before having chance to stop myself. ‘Oh God, sorry. You don’t have to. I can just drink this and then go.’

  Ed stares into his glass. ‘How do you find the truth? When the one person you trust is no longer here to give it?’

  I wait, not sure if he’s really asking me for my opinion, not sure what the right thing to say is.

  ‘You know what, don’t worry about it. Ignore me.’ He takes another glug of wine before pushing the glass and the bottle to the back of the worktop. He rubs his face with the heel of his hands. ‘Would you excuse me a moment?’

  He walks out of the kitchen, down the hallway and up the stairs. A door closes and I’m left in his house, alone. Wishing I knew what to say. Wishing I had the tools to do the right thing. Wishing I could leave. Come on Rach, what’s wrong with you? I shake off the feeling that I’m in the wrong place, or doing the wrong thing.

  Photos take up wall space all across the kitchen. There are notes on the fridge, each one written in neat, curly wr
iting. A sketch, too: a pair of red heeled shoes and a rainbow. There’s a familiar mobile number scribbled on a scrap of paper, which I realise is mine. He must have written it down from the other night. Is that a good thing? That he thinks I can help? I feel a split-second swell of pride, a spark of confidence, which is quickly replaced with uncertainty again. Don’t be a dick, Rachel. You CAN help. You’ve been here. He wouldn’t keep your number if he didn’t think so.

  I look around for something to occupy my time until he returns, something to make me useful. Pots line the side, ready to be washed. I open cupboards searching for a dishwasher to load up. If I do a few jobs, I can excuse myself and leave. I pull open a few cupboards before eventually finding it, rammed full of clean pots. The walls are lined with more cupboards, which I open and close, trying to find homes for the clean stuff. When Ed finally reappears, I’m on tiptoes placing the last cup on a too-high shelf.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Rachel, you didn’t need to…’ He moves over to me, taking it from my hands. Our fingers brush, making me blush.

  ‘Thought I’d make myself useful.’ I smile shyly.

  ‘Thanks. Sorry. I just…’ He sighs heavily. ‘I was talking to my sister-in-law just before you arrived.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good, to have people on your side, I mean.’

  ‘She’s not really on my side. Nor on my brother Simon’s, for that matter. Which is part of the problem. She keeps making… accusations. About Ellie. About Simon. About… about why they were in the car together, the day of Ellie’s accident.’

  I sit down slowly.

  ‘And you know, I don’t believe it. I don’t, but… I keep thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. My brother won’t talk to me, Ellie’s not here. I don’t know how to get rid of these thoughts, this spite. I don’t want to think about it, I want my memory of Ellie to be the woman I knew. The one I loved.’