The Dead Wife's Handbook (33 page)

Suddenly there’s movement below and I hear a familiar sound, a sound I haven’t heard for many months now, the sound of Max snuffling his way towards wakefulness. I panic, acutely aware of how wrong it is for me to be here, fearful that they’ll find me, hovering over their bed, watching them while they sleep, and the terror of them discovering that I’ve been spying on them, not just today but for months now, and them despising me forever for it.

But then I remember that they can’t see me, that I’m as invisible to them as I am dead, that I could be perched on the end of the bed or sitting naked in the bathtub and they’d be none the wiser. For a second I wonder which I’d prefer: to be discovered, right here, right now, and for my voyeuristic secret to be exposed or to remain invisible to Max forever more.

I look down to see Eve stir now, too, and turn her body to face Max. He opens his eyes, smiles as though he can’t quite believe his luck to have discovered he’s woken, yet again, next to her naked body, and kisses her tenderly on the lips.

‘Good morning, beautiful.’

‘Good morning, my darling.’

And that short exchange alone is the very reason I should have tried to leave when I had the chance, before it was too late to witness a scene which was only ever bound to haunt me.

That’s our morning greeting, mine and Max’s. It was our wake-up call, each and every day of the three-thousand-odd nights we spent together. It was one of the things that had made me fall in love with Max in the first place, that inaugural morning after the night before, when we’d woken up in bed together, neither of us yet sure whether this was to be the first of many or the one and only, when he’d kissed me on the lips and uttered those three affectionate words. He was the only man I’d ever known who’d welcomed me into the day with such tenderness, and I’d been certain then that Max was different, special, worth so much more than a single night.

And now those words, like all his other terms of endearment, belong to Eve rather than to me. It’s worse, somehow, witnessing this intimate morning ritual than it was hearing him proclaim his love to her for the first time. That’s a declaration that can, if necessary, be faked. This is an intimacy that cannot.

‘Thank you for this.’

Max strokes a strand of Eve’s hair from her cheek across her shoulder.

‘For which bit of it?’

‘For all of it. For booking this. For arranging for Ellie to stay at Mum and Dad’s. For being so thoughtful. You were right – this is just what we needed. A couple of days alone and away from it all.’

Eve grins and nibbles his ear. I wonder whether she’s discovered that proclivity for herself or whether Max had to tell her about it, like he did me.

‘You’re very welcome. It’s not like it was entirely altruistic. Eight months in and this is the first time I’ve had you all to myself for seventy-two glorious hours. And I intend to make the most of every second.’

Eve pounces on Max and kisses his neck in a way that somehow reminds me of a lion flooring a gazelle in a natural history documentary. Max gives in for a few seconds before pulling away distractedly.

‘I know it’s been hard, only getting whole nights together when Ellie’s at Celia’s. I do appreciate how patient you’re being. It’s not as if I wouldn’t love to spend every weekend with you if we could.’

Max pulls Eve back into his arms but it’s her turn now to extricate herself from their embrace.

‘Funnily enough, I’ve been thinking about that.’

‘About what?’

Max doesn’t seem particularly interested in what Eve’s been thinking about. He’s kissing each of her fingers in turn and it’s making me wonder what I’ve managed to do on other occasions to will myself away. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to be working now.

‘About our overnight dilemma. I was wondering whether it might be time for us to think about me staying at yours when Ellie is there?’

The inflection at the end of Eve’s sentence allows it to masquerade as a question even though both she and I know it’s anything but.

Max returns Eve’s hand to her, the light-heartedness on his face suddenly shifting down a couple of gears.

‘I … I thought you were okay with us taking it slowly. Easing Ellie gently into the idea of it.’

‘I am. I was. I just think there’ll come a time when we’ll want to have a bit more freedom about when I sleep over. And I wonder whether that time might be sooner rather than later?’

That inflection again. The statement disguised as a question.

Max sits up and spends a few seconds fussily arranging the pillows behind him before leaning back on them and pulling the duvet high up over his bare chest.

‘I don’t know. I’d love to. Of course I would. I just think it might be too soon for Ellie.’

Eve strokes her elegant fingers along Max’s naked arm.

‘Baby, I think Ellie’s probably a lot more robust than you give her credit for. I know you want to protect her and that’s one of the many reasons I love you but things have been going really well between the three of us lately, haven’t they?’

The three of them. She says it as though they’re a permanent triad.

Max nods half-heartedly in unconvinced agreement, leaving Eve to continue presenting him with the evidence.

‘Just think of the last few weekends we’ve had together, and all those days over the Easter break. She had a lovely time at the food festival and she was on great form at the water park. We’ve had – what? – about a dozen days together now. I think she’s dealing brilliantly with it all.’

A dozen days? Eve’s spent about a dozen days with my baby girl and I’ve only seen – or even known about – two of them. If there’s anything to fuel the frustration of maternal absence, it’s the awareness that you have no idea what your child’s doing, who she’s meeting, with whom she’s spending time without your knowledge let alone your consent.

‘I know. It’s fantastic how relaxed she’s become with you in the space of just a couple of months. You’re amazing with her. But I still think single days are a different kettle of fish to sleepovers. I really don’t want to provoke any setbacks. Last autumn I managed to nip things in the bud and I really don’t want to go there again.’

‘I completely understand and that’s the last thing I want too. But it was a completely different situation then – we’d barely started dating and it was only that one time she wet the bed. Things have moved on considerably since then and I honestly think she might be ready.’

She honestly thinks? What does she know? She doesn’t know my little girl or what she wants or needs or how sensitive she is to change. Come on, Max – I’m relying on you to do the right thing here.

‘I’m not sure. You know how much I’d love us to be together every weekend but I’d hate for us to rush it and screw things up, just as Ellie’s getting used to the idea of having you around.’

Eve leans forward on her elbows, the duvet slipping provocatively from her shoulders, and kisses Max’s nose.

‘I don’t think we’re in danger of that. We’re pretty invincible, me and you.’

Eve laughs and I’m struck by how much more confident and assured she is compared to the woman who only a couple of months ago was baring her darkest secrets, almost catatonic with the fear of rejection. I’m struck, too, by how much their relationship has changed since I last saw them alone together.

Max pulls her into his arms, allowing him to hold her close while avoiding her gaze.

‘It’s not just Ellie. I don’t want it to seem too soon to other people either. Like my mum and dad. Or Celia. I think we’d be the recipients of a raised eyebrow or two if you started sleeping over, don’t you?’

‘Oh baby, you know your mum and dad will be delighted for any indication that things are going well between us. They just want you to be happy. And as for Celia – well, it’s not like we have to formally announce it to her so it could be weeks before that’s a bridge we have to cross. Surely it’s something we can deal with when the time comes?’

My blood would be boiling if it was still somehow on the move. Surely Max is going to defend my position, my mum’s position, his own right to feel uncomfortable about this?

‘I suppose you’re right. You really don’t think other people might think it’s too soon, though? I don’t want to be … well, disrespectful, I suppose.’

Eve props her head up on Max’s chest and gazes at him with her Disney princess blue eyes.

‘Max, next week it’s going to be two years since Rachel died. I know you just want to do the right thing and I couldn’t love you more for being so honourable and
considerate to her memory, but you are allowed to move on with your life. And if anyone seriously doubts your integrity just because your new girlfriend sleeps over occasionally I really think that’s their problem, don’t you?’

With every persuasive word spoken I can feel Max slipping further away from me, yet another metaphorical mile stretching out between us.

‘I guess you’re right. It is only Ellie I should worry about really.’

‘So why don’t you ask her? It is her house after all and it wouldn’t be fair for me to come and stay without her agreement. Why don’t we let her decide for herself?’

Max looks contemplative but I know what his answer’s going to be before he utters a word.

‘You’re right. Of course that’s the right thing to do. And if she’s uncomfortable about it, you’ll be fine waiting a bit longer?’

‘Of course. I’ll wait as long as you need, as long as Ellie needs. I just think it’s worth testing the water.’

Max smiles gratefully at Eve as though she’s just solved a problem for him rather than creating one for all of us.

‘You are good at all this stuff, Eve. I’ll talk to Ellie next weekend.’

Another woman sleeping in my bed. With my husband. In my house. With my daughter asleep in the room next door. It’s my very own Goldilocks moment.

‘Now, what do you want to do today? There’s that stately home not far away or we could find a nice pub and settle down with lunch and the papers.’

Eve pulls Max back under the duvet before answering him.

‘Really? You want to go out? I can think of activities right here in the hotel that I’d much rather spend the day doing, unless you have any particular objections?’

I close my eyes as tightly as I can and try to think about anything that’s not my husband and his beautiful girlfriend about to make love just a few feet below me. I begin to hear noises that all but the most committed voyeur would seek to avoid and start humming to myself the first song that comes to mind, one of the songs I used to sing to Ellie when she couldn’t get to sleep.

A few seconds later and the only sound I can hear is my own voice. I don’t dare open my eyes just yet, though, for fear that the silence may indicate not the lack of access I’m hoping for but simply a different, quieter form of activity.

Eventually, cautiously, I peek out of the corner of one eye, determined not to assail myself with the full spectacle on display if I can possibly help it.

There’s nothing but whiteness. With growing confidence, I open my other eye and discover with overwhelming relief that I’ve been saved from becoming an invisible and inadvertent spectator of my husband’s sex life.

I mentally review everything I’ve just witnessed in forensic detail – the affection, the endearments, the intention for Eve to embed herself ever more deeply into my daughter’s life – and I realize that instead of the shock and denial or the fury and frustration I’ve felt before, there’s a sense of emptiness, of passivity, of inertia. The feeling that comes with having witnessed the undeniable intimacy
between the man who used to be my husband and the woman who may one day want to be his wife.

There’s a single thought going round in my head and I cannot escape it: this feels like the beginning of the end of my presence in the centre of Max’s life.

Chapter 24

‘I think you might need to stir the sauce a bit more, Daddy, or else it’s going to go all lumpy. And I hope you’re keeping an eye on the clock. You’ve only got five minutes left and the pressure’s on.’

Max obediently stirs the sauce before returning to the chopping board, where he attacks a courgette with a paring knife.

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten about the dessert, Daddy. Time is running out, you know.’

Max throws her a mock-terrified look before launching open the fridge door and providing evidence that dessert – chocolate mousse by the look of it – is ready and waiting for her delectation.

I’ve appeared in my kitchen to find Max and Ellie playing
MasterChef
. It’s one of Ellie’s favourite games and she, of course, is the judge. It’s a role she’s perfected over the years, amalgamating the most extreme characteristics of different adjudicators from various television reality shows into one, caricatured parody. She calls herself Miss Teri Judge – a name she came up with all by herself – and, when I was alive, barely a weekend went by without the preparation of at least one meal being subjected to Ellie’s playfully critical eye. It’s reassuring to see that nothing much has changed.

‘Be careful how thickly you’re slicing those courgettes, Daddy. You know it’s horrid if they’re too fat. And I
wouldn’t want to have to mark you down for a last-minute error, would I?’

‘Sorry, boss. You’re absolutely right. I was going to make an avocado salad but I remembered at the last minute that it’s not your favourite.’

‘I
hate
avocado. I’ve told you that a hundred times. And you still put it in my sandwich a few weeks ago.’

Max laughs.

‘That was months ago. But admittedly it was after you’d already warned me once or twice that you weren’t keen. It’s quite hard, you know, keeping tabs on everything you do and don’t like.’

‘It’s not that hard, Daddy. I like everything except avocado. And liver. And black pudding. That’s disgusting.’

Max pokes his tongue out at Ellie by way of a response, which she returns enthusiastically.

‘I was very careful today to select only the finest ingredients that I know are favoured by Miss Teri.’

‘I think that’s sensible. You’ve been ahead all series and you wouldn’t want to lose points when you’re so close to the title now, would you?’