The lunch seemed to be endless, the conversation with her sisters more trying, more difficult than usual to pretend an interest in. Her sisters were the ones who’d gone to university, the ones who’d had bright, exciting lives before they married. Why was it that she found them dull? Or was it her? Yes, of course, it was her. She was dull. The childless mother, the stay-at-home wife whose husband had lost interest.
That was the truth, wasn’t it? Nothing to do with Drew. Mark had simply lost interest in her. Not surprising since she was so dull.
‘Goodness, is that the time,’ she said, shoving her sleeve back and glaring at her watch as if it had cheated her out of minutes. ‘I have to go.’ She grabbed her mobile and dropped it into the opening of her bag. ‘Sorry to rush, girls. There’s someone coming at two.’
‘Someone?’ Jan looked bemused.
As well she might, these lunches were organised weeks in advance; they never booked anything to clash with them. ‘An electrician. Impossible to get hold of a good one so I had to grab him when I could.’
‘Right.’
‘If you have to go, you have to go,’ Emma said.
As if she didn’t care whether Susan stayed or not. In fact, she’d probably be relieved to see the back of her. She and Jan could settle down to the kind of nitty-gritty chat they preferred. They’d no doubt rip Susan to shreds before moving on to gossip about mutual friends: who was having an affair with whom, who was getting divorced, gambling, drinking too much. The tawdry underbelly of the circle they mixed in.
Luckily, neither asked why they needed an electrician; she wasn’t sure she could have conjured up a suitable answer. She could have shopped for the things she needed for dinner in the shopping centre but that would risk bumping into her sisters, requiring more explanations. Instead, she drove to a supermarket she didn’t normally use which meant she had to search the aisles for what she wanted. She felt frustration, irritation, sadness; it oozed over her, great waves of emotion that almost swamped her before receding into the empty hole that seemed to be at her core.
In her attempt to shake it off, to prove to herself how damn lucky she was, she went overboard with the spending, buying more expensive steak for the beef bourguignon than was necessary, plump scallops for the starter she’d not planned on doing, late British strawberries, expensive vanilla ice cream and a selection of cheeses from the delicatessen counter, getting carried away with herself as she pointed and pointed.
‘You having a party?’ the server said.
He took his time, cutting a segment, then wrapping each piece individually until it seemed to Susan there was a mountain of packages. What on earth was she going to do with it all? ‘Yes,’ she said, conscious the man was waiting for her answer. ‘Just a small one. But they like cheese; it’ll all be eaten.’
If it was a small party of mice, perhaps. She piled the cheese into the trolley and went in search of wine. She took her time, picking up bottles, reading the labels, finally deciding on a Merlot that sounded like it would be a perfect match. It was more expensive than she’d normally pay for wine. A lot more. She dropped it into the trolley, then hesitated before adding a second. Normally, she’d buy a cheaper wine to make the beef bourguignon. But it didn’t need a full bottle; she could have a glass while it was cooking and why shouldn’t she have a glass of decent stuff? Anyway, the meat was so expensive, it seemed silly not to keep the quality of the wine equally good.
Packing all her purchases into the boot of the car, she felt a little better, calmer. She had to stop letting things get to her. She was being silly. She and Mark were fine. ‘Fine,’ she said firmly, driving from the car park too fast and forced to slam on the brakes when she reached the road.
By late afternoon, the beef was cooking on the hob, the aroma making her mouth water. The scallops would be cooked when Mark arrived. The cheese was in the fridge, taking up almost a whole shelf. The strawberries were in a bowl, hulled and ready to go.
When Drew had been home, she insisted they had dinner together in the dining room. If it was just her and Mark, they’d often have it on a tray in front of the TV. But she wanted that night to be special. A new start, she supposed. A romantic dinner à deux would be the first step in reclaiming her life. Because she’d lost the way. Just for a while. But she’d get it back. She’d grab it back.
The conservatory off the dining room was often too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. But with the recent mild days and evenings, it would be the perfect place.
With the decision made, she scurried around to arrange everything. There were three chairs around the conservatory table, a fourth sitting in the far corner. With a sigh, she took the third chair and put it beside the other, arranging a small table between them, satisfied when it looked like a cosy reading spot. Perhaps they could read the Sunday papers there. It was a thought. For the future.
From the dining-room sideboard, she took a selection of candles and placed them on the windowsills and set a large one in the centre of the table. Mark was usually home just after six. She’d light them a few minutes before, set the room glowing.
With all the preparations done, she ran upstairs, had a quick shower, and searched for something suitable to wear. The built-in wardrobe stretched the length of the wall. The interior was well designed with hanging space and multiple shelves. She knew what she wanted, how she wanted to look: sexy, desirable, interesting.
There were a couple of formal dresses she’d worn to events thrown by Mark’s firm. She pulled them out. They’d been expensive. She’d felt good in them. They were smart though, not sexy. Conservative, not desirable, not even particularly interesting. Dull, housewifely garments, she hung them back in the wardrobe. She should have gone shopping, bought something new. Too late now.
With time ticking by, she opted for skinny, black jeans. There was a black chiffon blouse she hadn’t worn for a while; she pulled it out and held it up. The material was so fine, she needed to wear a camisole underneath. With a smile, she slipped on a black bra, and pulled the blouse on over it. She left her hair loose. It was long enough to curl onto her shoulders. Looking in the mirror, her smile widened. Hell, she looked good!
A glance at her watch told her time was running out. Leaving her feet bare, she hurried downstairs, grabbed the box of matches, and lit the candles. The scene was set; let the play begin.