Walking Back to Happiness (21 page)

‘Wear those.’ Peter’s eyes were bright with excitement. ‘Please.’

‘They’re not really the right kind of knickers, though. I need something smooth under this dress.’

Peter made a ‘do I care about VPL?’ face, and Louise knew she’d fed him the wrong line. He was watching her, now waiting for her to do just that – try them on in front of him.

It was what a good wife set on revitalising her comatose marriage would do: she’d drop her towel and slowly pull on the gossamer knickers, keeping her eyes locked on her now wildly aroused husband, and then they’d fall on the bed and have frantic, urgent, honeymoon sex in the minutes before Juliet arrived.

The only problem was that Louise didn’t even want Peter to see her naked. She was too guilty and ashamed and confused, and above all, the sight of those knickers in particular inflamed every single one of those emotions to unbearable levels.

‘Let’s leave it as a surprise,’ she said.

Peter looked at her, trying to work out what she was up to. Then he grinned, manfully, and nodded.

‘Go and see Toby’s OK,’ Louise went on, clinging to her towel. ‘I’ll be down in two minutes.’

‘Two minutes,’ he said. ‘Or I’m coming up to get you, knickers or not.’

There was a pause for them both to hear,
preferably not
, then he trotted down the stairs. One-two-three. One-two-three.

Louise kept the smile on her face until he’d left the room and then, quietly, she closed the door and ripped a hole in the pants until they were unwearable.

She looked at the treacherous purchase in her hands, her breath too painful in her chest.

A lifetime of knowing right from wrong, being meticulous about details – how had she made so much mess in just a few weeks?

But what really scared Louise was the way her plan wasn’t working the way she’d intended. She was looking forward, but things from the past kept springing back up in front of her.

Juliet wondered why she felt so discombobulated on her way to Louise’s, but couldn’t put her finger on it till she was walking up the path and knocking on the shiny green door with the ‘subtle’ security-camera thing that they had had fitted the week before Toby was born.

She didn’t have Minton with her.

It felt stranger than when she’d taken her wedding ring off for the first time. His small white, watchful presence by her heel, or in the corner of her eye, was a constant she hadn’t thought she could get used to, like the heavy gold band on her finger. When it wasn’t there, she couldn’t stop fidgeting.

She’d left him curled up on the sofa in the kitchen, with QVC on for soothingly upbeat company. Lorcan had promised to let him out for a wee if she wasn’t back by eleven, or if he heard any barking.

‘Or if he starts buying any high-value Diamonique items,’ he’d added, deadpan.

I should have brought him, she fretted. He could have stayed in the kitchen. What if something happens at home? What if he has a fit? Or a fire starts? Or—

‘Hi!’ Louise flung the door open, with Toby in her arms.

She looked slim in a paisley-patterned silk dress, her hair shiny and freshly blow-dried. Toby was cosy and sleepy in an all-in-one with a Jack Russell on the front. Together, Juliet thought with a twinge of envy, they made a perfect
Red
magazine photo spread of a working mum with an active social life and a go-anywhere haircut.

‘Look who it is!’ Louise went on, pointing rather unnecessarily. ‘Auntie Juliet!’

‘Hi, Toby!’ said Juliet, in the same high, baby-addressing tone. She never meant to talk to him like that, but she couldn’t help it. ‘All ready for bed?’

‘In the jim-jams you gave him,’ Louise carried on. ‘With the doggy. Who’s this, Toby?’ she asked, squishing the appliqué dog on his fat little tummy.

‘Minton,’ said Toby solemnly, and Juliet’s heart melted, despite herself.

‘Ah! Here, have a cuddle.’ Louise dumped her son into Juliet’s arms and ushered her through to the kitchen. ‘We need to rush – the taxi’s nearly here.’

‘Evening, Juliet.’ Peter was leaning against the counter, flipping through the business pages of the paper. He stopped when she came in, and politely directed all his attention to her.

Juliet’s brain emptied. She never knew what to say to Peter; he didn’t have the usual bloke hobbies. They usually ended up talking about his iPhone.

‘Thanks for giving up your Friday night,’ Peter went on. ‘We both really appreciate it, and I know Toby’s happy to see his Auntie Jools. Aren’t you?’

‘No problem,’ said Juliet, shifting a compliant Toby further up her hip. Peter was looking very magazine spread too, in his suit and . . . blimey
, yellow
shirt. House looked like
Elle Decoration
. Mum and baby looked like
Red
. Husband was like cover star of
Men’s Health
, but without the surf shorts. ‘I hear it’s date night?’

She looked over at Louise, but she was busy putting emergency milk bottles together on the side, and didn’t react.

Peter laughed his quick, controlled laugh. ‘I don’t remember dates taking this much organising in the old days. Still, I think it’ll be worth it. The wine’s meant to be excellent. Maybe we should do it again, and you can come too?’ He glanced between his wife and her sister. ‘Hey, how about you two girls go one evening? I’ll pick up the tab. Call it a late birthday present?’

Louise turned round and this time Juliet thought she caught an expression of constipated horror on her face.

Either Louise hates Peter saying, ‘Hey,’ too or she’s appalled at the idea of a night out with me, she thought, and was surprised by the hurt that needled her chest.

Well, she wasn’t thrilled by the idea either. What would they talk about? Louise’s guilty secret or hers? Great night out.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘So, what do I need to know?’

Peter pointed to Louise. ‘Over to you, Lou. Don’t you have one of your famous lists?’

‘Oh, it’s not a list,’ said Louise hurriedly. ‘It’s just . . . well, it is a list, but it’s more for me than for you, so I don’t miss anything off. Some numbers – you’ve got our mobiles, of course, but this is where we are, and that’s Peter’s mum’s number, in case you need her . . .’

‘Would you like me to water any plants?’ asked Juliet. ‘Check any vegetables? Move post?’

Louise’s expression was blank.

‘It’s what I do for pet-sitting,’ explained Juliet. ‘It was a joke.’

God, it was depressing, having to explain jokes the whole time. It really made her think twice about bothering. If it wasn’t for her mother and Louise worrying about her ‘mood’, she wouldn’t.

‘Oh! Ha ha! No, it’s fine,’ said Louise, although she looked a bit askance, probably at having Toby put on the same care schedule as Bianca and Boris Cox. ‘But feel free to eat whatever you like out of the fridge, and make long-distance calls to your boyfriend.’ She stopped, and added, anxiously, ‘Joke. It’s what we used to do when we babysat the McGregors. Sorry, it’s not a joke at all now I think about it.’

‘It’s OK. You stick to the lists.’ Juliet gave Toby a heave up her hip. He was heavy, and getting heavier by the second as he started to go to sleep. It was nice, but she was bothered that one of her runaway emotions – broodiness, or regret – might ambush her before Louise and Peter had a chance to leave, and it’d get back to their mother. ‘Should we get him into bed? His batteries seem to have run flat.’

‘Yes.’ Louise reached out her arms and Juliet gratefully handed him back, just as a car sounded its horn outside.

‘Perfect timing! That’ll be our taxi,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll nip out and grab him, before he decides to take off.’

‘Great,’ said Louise. ‘I’ll be three minutes!’

Was there something a bit off about the pair of them tonight, wondered Juliet. Too many exclamation marks, too many shiny smiles. Or was she just accustomed to the silent, non-exclamation-marked company of pets?

Probably that, she thought, following Louise upstairs.

Toby went down obediently, and Juliet and Louise crept out of the blacked-out nursery.

‘I’ll call you, let you know how it’s going,’ whispered Louise as she shrugged her cropped jacket on. It matched the dress. It had probably been bought all at the same time in an ‘outfit’. Louise always bought in outfits, and she always looked coordinated, even when she was on maternity leave, living in her Sweaty Betty yoga separates.

‘No need. We’ll be fine. Have a nice time.’ Juliet found something nice to say. ‘It’s good to see you guys spending time together.’

Louise paused at the door, keys in her hand, and suddenly her face was vulnerable beneath the perfect make-up. ‘We’re not . . .’ she whispered, then stopped. ‘I mean, Peter’s calling it a date, but we’re . . .’

‘You’re allowed to have a nice night out,’ said Juliet, firmly. ‘Life goes on, as Mum likes to say, when she forgets she’s not supposed to say it any more.’

That wasn’t quite what Louise had meant, and she knew it, but it wasn’t the time to get into that.

Louise chewed her lip. ‘We won’t be late.’

‘Go,’ said Juliet, pushing her out as the taxi hooted.

Babysitting was actually less stressful than pet-sitting, as it turned out.

Juliet settled herself on Louise’s huge leather sofa, with the television remote and a stack of Diet Cokes, a pile of glossy magazines and the baby monitor parked in her sight line. She didn’t even have to talk to Toby, as she did with Hector, or the Cox cats. She just had to listen in now and again to check he was breathing.

Peter and Louise had the full Sky package, and Juliet enjoyed flicking through it for half an hour or so, before realising that she’d seen most of it already on terrestrial TV. She didn’t really mind. As ever, just being in someone else’s house was entertainment enough. Only this felt weirder than usual, because she was in the framed family photos that filled the wall around the phone table. The old version of her, where she was half of a pair.

Juliet heaved herself off the sofa, to give it a closer, house-investigator inspection. Unlike the jumbled wall in her bedroom, Louise had clearly arranged hers with the help of a spirit level, and the frames were an artful selection, rather than a mish-mash.

There she was with Mum and Dad at Louise’s wedding, in the ‘bride’s side’ photo, with Ben standing by her, arm slung round her shoulders, beaming with pride.

Ben had been an usher, but he hadn’t hired a dove-grey morning suit, like all Peter’s university mates. He’d gone in a suit she’d bought for him, a pale-blue linen one that had matched her own simple sunshine-yellow bridesmaid’s dress much better. He’d worn it again, just a few months later, for their own spur-of-the-moment wedding.

Well, not exactly spur-of-the-moment. Not after nine years. But after the enormous complicated shenanigans of Louise and Peter’s big day, Juliet had decided that she couldn’t put her parents through that again, not for a ceremony that wasn’t really her anyway, and so she and Ben had practically eloped. The thing that she remembered most about their wedding day was the ramshackle bunch of cuttings he’d brought her in the morning, each one meaning something symbolic.

Ben wasn’t the most academic man in the world, but he knew the language of flowers better than anyone.

‘Rosemary, so you’ll remember all the happy times we’ve had. Heliotrope, for lifelong love. Eucalyptus, because I’ll always protect you . . .’

Juliet closed her eyes in Louise’s sitting room, hearing Ben’s voice in her mind, as he held each stem between his thick fingers to show her, his open, honest face full of love, and her thumbnail went automatically to her third finger, where her wedding ring had been, until seeing it every day had hurt too much, and she’d taken it off.

Everyone freaked out, but she couldn’t stand to be reminded that she was still there, the ring was still there, but the other warm, breathing part of her marriage was gone. Maybe on the anniversary, she thought, I’ll be strong enough to put it back on. On a chain round my neck, maybe.

There was a crackle on the baby monitor and Juliet sprang back to attention, her ears twisting for a cry.

Nothing. Better check, she thought, slipping off her shoes to creep upstairs as quietly as possible.

There was more photographic evidence to inspect and enjoy on the way up: Louise’s university netball team, debating team, all gilded and lettered. Peter’s too. Peter had been in Bridge Club, Badminton Club, Orienteering Soc., all the nerdy kids’ teams, crouched in awkward poses around various Oxford courtyards.

At the top were Louise’s BAGA gymnastics certificates from school, lavishly framed as a Christmas gift from her and Diane, to go with the rest of the hall of fame. Neither Louise nor Peter did irony, so the gilt frames had been a bit wasted. They’d just thanked them, bemused, and hung it with the rest of their certificates.

Juliet felt uncomfortable now, looking at it. It was meant to be an affectionate joke, but maybe Louise had thought they were being sarcastic? Cruel, even? It was tempting to take it down, now she was here on her own. It would be even better if she could say to Louise, ‘you do know we love your high-achieving, box-ticking ways, don’t you?’ but since their big row, she felt as if Louise was reading double and triple meanings into everything she said, and the gulf between them was growing every day.

The sad thing was that their falling out had come at the end of a few months when they’d been closer than they’d ever been, on the back of their weddings, and Louise having Toby, and her and Ben talking about starting their own family. Maternity leave had suited Louise; she’d loosened up a bit, let herself eat bread and watch daytime telly. When she and Ben had gone through a hard patch, it seemed very natural to open up to her big sister, but then Louise had taken a slug of wine and come out with her own bombshell.

Juliet frowned, remembering. Louise had confessed that she had a crush, and that it was getting out of hand. That in itself was bizarre enough, coming from Judgey McJudgeson, but she’d been so cagey about who it was, where they’d met and so on that Juliet had started to think that maybe the object of Louise’s crush was someone she knew.