Nula was getting used to Charlie jetting off all over the world. She actually rather enjoyed his absence, it was peaceful. Charlie was like a whirlwind around the house; so noisy, so full of himself. While he was out in Morocco, Terry was in the big house with her, having stayed overnight at Charlie’s request.
She came down to breakfast while the au pair – of course she had an au pair – saw to baby Milly, and there he was in white shirt and well-worn jeans, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow showing his muscular forearms fuzzed so fetchingly with blond hair.
‘Morning, Nula,’ he said. ‘You sleep well?’
‘Yeah. Fine, thanks.’ She always slept well when Charlie was away, and she never had to get up in the night with the baby, she let the au pair do that. Milly’s birth had kicked the crap out of her, but she was feeling much better now. It was going to be her last experience of all that and she knew Charlie was devastated. He did care for his daughter Milly but he craved a son. Terry would probably have a son one of these days. Jill – the sainted beautiful Jill – would give him one, without any effort at all. But it was beyond Nula, she couldn’t deliver more children, she was a rotten failure as a woman, and that ate at her, dug deep into her insecurities.
‘Coffee?’ Terry asked.
‘Thanks.’
Terry poured her out a mug. ‘Sugar? Milk?’
Nula shook her head. She was working herself up to something bold, something major, and now was the time to do it. Charlie was due back tomorrow. She was over the birth now, she felt fine. Fully functioning. Figure back to normal. Tits still looking good.
She’d prepared for this, but now she felt nervous.
Fortune favours the brave, she thought. Didn’t they say that?
But now the moment had come, she wondered if she could go through with it. Yes, she’d planned this. She was wearing her sky-blue silk robe and she’d done her make-up, styled her hair. She’d checked herself out in the dressing room mirror before she’d come downstairs. She’d opened up the gap over her now quite spectacular breasts – she hadn’t breastfed Milly for an instant longer than completely necessary, no bloody way – then she’d fluffed up her hair, smiled at herself in the mirror. She looked good. Didn’t she?
‘Terry,’ she said, taking a sip of coffee.
‘Hm?’ He glanced up from the paper and his gorgeous green eyes met hers.
‘I’m going to say something to you. Just once. And if you don’t like the sound of it, that’s fine. If you do like it, that’s fine too and we’ll go ahead. But we won’t talk about it, ever again. It’ll be forgotten.’
He was frowning at her. God, he was handsome. Charlie was not bad looking, but he was dark and short. Terry by contrast was tall as a Greek god. For years Nula had been fantasizing about him. Oh, her and Charlie had messed about with some of their other ‘friends’. But Terry was Charlie’s closest buddy, in a separate league to all those others.
She remembered her arsehole of a brother saying that Terry had only taken pity on her that long-ago night in the dance hall. Maybe he had; but she was so changed now.
‘What I have to say is this,’ said Nula briskly. ‘Look. I’ve fancied you just about forever. So tonight, let’s sleep together. No strings, no commitment, it need never happen again. Just this once, OK? What do you say?’
Terry said nothing. The silence was thick in the kitchen all of a sudden, stifling. Nula could feel her face burning, could hear her heart racing in her chest. Why didn’t he speak?
Then Terry pushed his chair back and stood up, yanking his jacket from the back of it and slipping it on. He was breathing hard and when he looked at her his face was twisted with disgust.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ he said tightly. ‘Charlie’s my best mate. You’re supposed to be his wife. I can’t believe you’d say something like that.’
Nula stood up too, bile prickling in her gullet as anxiety tore at her. She’d misjudged things. Terry being polite to her as Mrs Charlie Stone didn’t translate into Terry fucking her. She could see that now. Terry, usually so even-tempered, looked furious. She tried a smile, a shrug, although inside she felt sick with humiliation.
‘As I said,’ she told him, ‘no problem. I’ve asked, you’ve said no. That’s good enough for me.’
But it wasn’t good enough. Once again she felt like the awkward one, the fat big-nosed flat-chested cow in the communal changing rooms at school.
Nula the loser.
She could still hear the girls chanting that, laughing at her in her vest when they were all in starter bras. All the good-looking boys at school had been beyond her, way out of her league. Now, with Terry, nothing had changed. She was still the same girl. The same loser.
‘I’m going to check the grounds,’ he said, then went to the kitchen door.
Everything was in lockdown these days. With the drugs game came the need for ever-increasing security. There were gates. Alarms. Heavy-looking blokes everywhere. Thinking of all that, Nula realized that she hadn’t felt truly safe in a long, long time. Sometimes she really wished they could step the whole thing back a gear. Expand the legit cover business, the furniture factories, and ditch the drug stuff. But this was Charlie. There was no chance of that ever happening, not while he drew breath.
Suddenly Terry turned back and stabbed a finger in her direction. ‘We won’t talk about this again.’
Then a horrible thought occurred to Nula. ‘You won’t tell Charlie?’ she said faintly. Now she really felt sick. Charlie would go ballistic, and that was a terrifying thought. Charlie in a rage was not a pretty sight.
Oh Christ, I got this wrong . . .
‘Tell him what? That he’s married to a cheating cow? I don’t know, Nula. I really don’t know.’
Then he was out of the door and gone.