Husband Sit (Husband #1) (30 page)

I
nodded, and kidded myself that I would be. I’d only known Finn for a month. But
Ange had been married to Danny for fifteen years. It was ridiculous to imagine
she could get over a betrayal like this. What man goes behind his wife’s back
and has a vasectomy anyway?

Missy
Lou would say,
A cheating man, that’s who,
but I ignored that thought.
Ange had enough on her plate. I wasn’t throwing that idea into the mix.

I
took her arm. “Come inside and tell me where we’re up to. Arsenic in his
cornflakes?”

She
laughed at that, a dry, tired laugh as if tears had dehydrated her. Then she
pulled my car keys out of my hand, used them to lock my car and handed them
back. “You’re hopeless with security. This is Sydney remember?”

I
pulled a face. “Traffic. How could I forget?”

“Whisky?”
It was 2pm.

“Sure.”

My
friends knew me so well.

Ten
minutes later we were settled at her tiny kitchen table surrounded by
wall-to-wall shelves of spices, condiments and bottles of traditional Indian
sweets that Ange’s mother had taught her to make. Each time I saw Danny he was
chubbier, and I’d assumed, happier. Clearly, something had gone wrong.

I
took a sip from my tumbler of straight
Chivas
and said, “So let’s get
this out of the way. I had sex with Finn. Then
after
he’d bonked my
brains out, he told me he’d cheated on his wife before he met me, and the girl
is pregnant.”

I
wanted Ange on my side, so I figured it was okay to leave out parts of the
story.

She
shook her head, clearly not able to comprehend the situation, which I thought
I’d made crystal clear.

“So
I left him. I mean, who wants to be with a guy who goes behind his wife’s back,
right?”

“But...all
this happened before he met you? He hasn’t been unfaithful to you, has he?”

“No,
but the girl is pregnant.” I conveniently omitted the fact that she was in a
committed lesbian relationship. “I don’t want to get into the middle of that.”

Ange
nodded and took a sip of her spiced tea. “It is messy,” she admitted, and
looked at me thoughtfully.

I
took a good long slug of whisky. “So now that we’ve finished talking about my
brief and tragic romance, do you want to talk about Donny?”

“One
day you’re going to say that to his face, and you know he hates Donny Osmond.”
She managed a miniscule smile. “
Danny
.”

“Dan
the man.” I nodded. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”

“You
don’t have a ‘best’ behavior,” she shot back. “But if you try not to insult him
in his own home, that would make my life easier.”

“So...a
vasectomy? He clearly doesn’t want children.”

“With
anyone,” she said, and looked down into the delicate china cup in her hands.

Okay.
I could pretend not to understand, or I could grab the bull by the proverbial.
And seeing as subtlety had never been my thing, I said, “Is he cheating on you,
Ange? Do you have proof?”

She
shook her head and her glossy black hair slid over the shoulders of her yellow
chiffon sundress as she looked down into her cup, still wrapped tightly in her
hands.

I
touched her wrist. “Then, honey, why do you suspect him?”

“We
haven’t made love for months.”

Okay.
That wasn’t good. I decided to backtrack. “How did you find out about the
vasectomy?”

“Old
paperwork. He was away fishing one weekend so I decided to sort out the attic.”
She shrugged, as if she was apologizing for wanting to clean. “I found an old
surgery bill with his tax accounts.”

“How
old?”

Her
lips pressed together tightly. The bottom one was trembling, but she managed to
say, “It was done two months before our wedding.”

I
felt the breath slide out of my lungs in shock. “But… he was twenty.” For a
terrible second I was sure she must have made a mistake. “Who would do a
vasectomy on a twenty year old?”

“His
uncle.”

I
remembered that creep from the wedding. He’d tried to grope the bridesmaids. I
shook my head. “Why would he do that? Danny,” I clarified. “Why would Danny do
that?”

She
shook her head, staring at me so vacantly she almost seemed to stare through
me. “He clearly never wanted children.”

“But
you do. You always have.”

She
refocused on me. “So why did he marry me?”

“Sex?”
Ange had always been hot. Danny might have simply wanted the sexiest Indian
girl he could get.

She
shook her head again and we were both silent—her lost in the past and me trying
to come to grips with the present. At last, I said, “Have you confronted him?”

She
shook her head, and looked even sadder, if that was possible. “I’m scared he’ll
leave me if I do.”

“And
you still love him.”

She
nodded.

“Fuck.”

What
a mess. I shook my head, because I had not the slightest clue what she should
do. I didn’t even know what I’d do in that situation.

“I’m
glad I’m here,” I said at last. Even if I couldn’t do anything, I could be with
her, offering whatever moral support I could. “We could eat lots of food and
lie around watching chick flicks.”

“I
don’t want to be fat.” Her hand dropped to her belly self-consciously, and it
was then that I noticed she’d lost weight. Ange never wore slutty clothes—as I
did on occasion—but despite that, she’d never been able to hide a figure that
would put Beyonce to shame. She’d drawn more wolf whistles than the other three
of us combined, but there was a gaunt look about her now that I hadn’t noticed
straight away. And that showed me clearly how low her self-esteem had
plummeted.

“Honey,
if they’re gonna go,” I quoted Missy Lou, “They go younger, not necessarily
thinner.”

“Maybe.”
She took another sip of her
masala chai
, spreading delicious scents of
nutmeg and ginger across the table. It smelt so I good I grabbed the teapot and
topped my whisky tumbler up with it—an Indian version of Irish coffee.

Ange
sighed. “I just know that something’s wrong. And if he
is
looking
elsewhere, then it can only be me. I mustn’t be exciting him anymore.”

“Or...”
I raised a finger. “He could simply be a selfish and ungrateful ass.”

She
smiled at that, as I’d hoped she would, and suddenly I knew what she needed.

“We’re
going out.” I put down my whisky with a decisive bang.

“Are
we?”

“We’re
going to get all sexified up in our highest heels and go shopping. We don’t
need to buy anything!” I didn’t want her getting into trouble. I knew she’d had
credit card debt in the past. “We just need to sashay around looking hot until
you’ve had so many wolf-whistles you stop thinking the problem is you. Because
it’s not. You are an Indian goddess. Like Shiva—”

“Shakti.
Shiva is male.”

“Right.”
I always mix them up. “Shakti, personification of...”

“Divine
feminine creative power.” By the time she’d finished the recitation she was
smiling a genuine smile.

“Perfect!”
I picked up my keys. “I’ll grab my suitcase. You go find something sexy and
Shakti-ish.”

An
hour later we were in Leichhardt, showing leg at an outdoor table of one of the
trendy Italian restaurants on Norton Street. We’d taken our time wandering up
and down, as though we weren’t quite sure where we wanted our cappuccinos. I’d
gone classy rather than slutty, in a peach a-line floral Missy Lou had talked
me into years ago, matching it with six inch bone courts and ivory pearls.

Ange
looked stunning in a seemingly demure, knee-length halter-neck, but the soft
lime voile hugged every curve, and I’d insisted on curling her long black hair
into ringlets down her back. When she smiled, I swore the sun came out, she was
so hot. She’d already had five men ask her out on a date, despite her
conspicuous wedding band. As cars crawled past us on the busy street, I could
see men eyeing her appreciatively.

“Told
you,” I said when the cute waiter left. He’d just brought us water—because we
might want it—and had asked for the third time if she’d like anything else.

She
grinned across the table at me. “I love you J,” looking relaxed at last.
“You’re always a prescription for whatever ails me.”

“We
aim to please,” I said, and raised my coffee cup in a salute.

She
put hers down and leant forward, lowering her voice. “It’s not me then, is it?”

I
shook my head. “You’re sex on legs, honey. If he’s not bonking you, he’s the
only man in Sydney who doesn’t want to.”

She
tried to smile but her eyes were dewy. “Maybe it’s familiarity.”

“Maybe.”
But I knew other couples who’d been married for fifty years with no sign of
straying along the way.

“So
what do I do?”

I
leant forward as well, so she could hear me over the drone of passing traffic.
“If you want to keep him—and I’m not saying you should—all you can do is
concentrate on yourself. Stay happy and busy, getting on with life even when
he’s around. Don’t worry about what he’s doing.”

I’d
read that on a dating website.

“Okay.”
She frowned. “That’s not what I’ve been doing. I gave up singing in the club,
and I’ve been home every night making delicious meals, thinking that would
convince him I was worth keeping.”

“Oh
sweetie.” I grabbed her hand. “You are worth
adulation
, not just
keeping. He’s such a fuckwit.”

The
attentive waiter chose that moment to return to our table with his dark Italian
eyes, buff young body and sexy ponytail. He stilled when he saw our joined
hands. “I brought the dessert menu,” he said, as if we’d asked for it. His gaze
licked up Ange’s arm and lingered on her breasts beneath their thin lime
covering, before skittering to her face. “I can recommend the gelato. But on a
hot day like today, you have to...lick it quickly if you order a cone. I
suggest the bowl if you want to
linger
over the flavors.”

He
was not only suggesting, he was suggestive, but Ange merely let go of my hand
and smiled at him. “What flavors do you suggest we
linger
over?”

I
didn’t know whether to kick her under the table or high-five. I was
so
pleased
she was enjoying herself despite Danny’s fuck-wittery.

“There
are Italian flavors I could recommend,” he said, looking so delightfully
earnest I was sure she’d want to take him home, like a puppy she’d found
abandoned in a park.

“Mmm.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure my husband would want me eating gelato. I might get
fat.”

The
waiter shook his head. “
Gattina
, what man does not love curves?” He was
clearly busting to say
Especially curves as sexy as yours,
but somehow
he managed to keep that in.

Still,
the endearment was sliding over into
too familiar
territory. I snapped
the menu out of his nerveless fingers. “So, I’ll have...” I glanced down the
list. “...the pistachio biscotti and another skinny cappuccino. Angel?” I
handed her the menu.

“
Angel,
”
he breathed softy, and then seemed to hold his breath, waiting for her order.

She
didn’t even look at the menu, just handed it back to him. “You pick something
you think I’d like.”

“
Bella
angel
.” He nodded, still gazing at her adoringly, before he realized he’d
been there too long and backed away.

When
he was out of earshot I said, “You naughty minx.”

She
grinned at me. “I’ve missed that.”

“You
need to get back to singing.”

“I
do like external validation.”

“And
if Donny’s not
giving it to you
,” I said with a raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe it’s time you found it elsewhere.”

She
slapped my hand, but she was smiling, and I was so glad I’d been able to cheer
her up. When a car horn tooted a minute later, followed by a wolf whistle aimed
in our direction, she grinned at me and I felt like I had the old Ange back.

We
discussed the club then, and how easy it would be for her to slot back in
there, but as the conversation continued, I found my attention flagging. I
started remembering how Finn would look at me, as if he wanted to eat me up,
exactly the way that young waiter had devoured Angel with his gaze. An ache
opened up inside me, and although I reminded myself that I’d been asked out
too, I didn’t get the same buzz out of it that Ange did.

She’d
clearly forgotten that she was desirable, whereas I’d had men fucking me for
weeks, lusting after my body, but only one of them had touched my heart.
Unfortunately, there was no way I was taking up with a man who had a baby on
the way. And because he hadn’t told Katinka before he’d done it, my mind had
filed him into the ex drawer labelled
cheating bastard
.