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‘Maybe I should have an affair with him,’ Michelle was saying. ‘He’s cute enough to be a threat. Whereas if I told Chad I was having it off with my pensioner landlord, I’d just sound like a desperate saddo.’
She pushed the cake plate across the kitchen table. Aishe shook her head and Michelle set the plate to one side with some reluctance.
‘What do you think?’ Michelle asked. ‘Would it be worth doing the whole Mrs Robinson routine?’
Aishe silently blessed her years of practice at keeping a straight face. When you were pretty, authority figures were often more inclined to believe you were innocent, but not always. That’s when the ability to confidently deliver a bare-faced lie while maintaining steady eye-contact came into play. Aishe had even once convinced a customs official on the German/Swiss border that her visa details were out of date because of a bureaucratic cock-up in Italy. It was her choice of Italy that swung it. Everyone knew how useless the Italians were. Could not find their ridiculous handmade shoes if their feet were in them. The German customs official even chuckled a little as he stamped her through.
Her talent for clear-eyed deception was being fully utilised at the present. As Aishe pretended to consider Michelle’s request, her mind was being bombarded with memories of yesterday afternoon.
Benedict had been a little alarmed at the speed at which she’d initiated the removal of clothes. She’d not thrown him on the bed exactly, but he’d been taken sufficiently unawares to emit a small yelp of surprise. He’d even let her roll on the condom.
‘Ah — foreplay?’ he’d just managed to ask before the question became redundant.
Then it was Aishe who’d been surprised. She’d expected him to be boyishly inept — after all, how often must he get the chance to practice? The odd quick shag in a doorway with a drunken chalet girl did not a competent lover make.
But he’d been good. Quite astonishingly good. Intuitive, thoughtful, skilful. Aishe had found her self-control slipping away like the end of a climbing rope on which she hung suspended. For a panicked instant she’d made a last grab, but then had simply given up and let go.
Afterwards, they’d lain there, side by side, not saying a word. Then Benedict had checked his watch, and in the scramble to get dressed before Gulliver came home, there’d been no time to say anything but ‘Quick, throw me those!’
He’d turned up today as usual, in time for her to leave for her waitressing job, but there had not been a Gulliver-free moment. Now, Benedict was soon to arrive at Michelle’s house. He had taken the children to the playground, and it would be less than half an hour before he walked in the door. This time, they’d be surrounded. Unless they locked themselves in the bathroom, there’d be no chance to talk freely.
Aishe wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him anyway. Her entire plan had been to use sex to keep Benedict onside, so he could help mend her relationship with Gulliver. Sex that was purely physical, not personal. After yesterday, she felt that some part of that plan had gone awry.
But in the meantime, here was Michelle, waiting for an answer. Aishe doubted her question had been serious, but decided it was best to respond as if it were.
‘Would your marriage survive an affair?’
‘It certainly wouldn’t if Chad had one!’ Michelle’s mouth turned down with glum resignation. ‘Sod it,’ she said. ‘I suppose I could drop hints to unsettle him, but even that might backfire. He might confront the poor boy. Worse, he might insist I fire him!’
‘What exactly,’ said Aishe, ‘are you aiming to achieve here?’
‘No idea.’ Michelle confessed. ‘I suppose I want to jerk Chad out of this complacent bloody routine of his. I suppose I want him to notice me again.’
‘He noticed you that night you went to dinner,’ Aishe said.
‘Yes, thanks for that,’ said Michelle sourly.
‘It’s a tactic, though, isn’t it?’
‘What? Getting shit-faced and embarrassing everyone?’
‘If you kept it up, he’d have to do something.’
Michelle sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘Hmm. I see what you’re getting at. Sort of the Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf approach. The mutual hatred was what kept the marriage together. That and the flagrant alcoholism, of course.’
‘Probably at the extreme end of what you’re aiming for,’ said Aishe. ‘Although there is something to be said for hate sex.’
‘God yes, isn’t there?’ Michelle agreed. ‘Mind you, any sex would be good right now.’
Aishe couldn’t quite meet her eye.
Suddenly, Michelle sat up. ‘What about the opposite approach? What if I became the best wife ever?’
‘Like who? Marion from Happy Days? The Brady Bunch mother?’
‘Close. Very close. By God!’ Michelle gave a grim smile. ‘He’d certainly notice that. He’d sit up like a dog and bark!’
‘And how do you plan to pull this off? No offence.’
‘None taken,’ said Michelle. ‘And in answer to your question, my plan is not to make it obvious that I’m trying to manipulate him. I’m going to make subtle, incremental changes. Take it step by Stepford, you might say.’
‘Do you have Phil’s home phone number?’ Michelle asked Chad.
It was Saturday night, and Harry and Rosie had just been put to bed. Michelle was now dishing out the adult portions of a chicken pie that was Chad’s favourite. The smell of buttery pastry and creamy filling was driving him temporarily insane with hunger, thus preventing him from fully focusing on her question.
‘Phil?’ Chad was sitting at the table, resisting the impulse to grab his knife and fork and suspend them skywards like fighter planes ready to zoom down on the food. ‘Phil who?’
‘Phil at your work.’
Chad paused in the act willing a plate of pie to appear right now in the space in front of him. ‘Why would you possibly want to talk to Phil?’
‘I don’t.’ Michelle said. ‘I want to talk to his wife. You know — what’s her name.’
‘You want to talk to her but you can’t remember her name?’
Michelle turned and faced him. His plate of pie was in her hands, emitting a mouth-watering savoury steam. The message was clear: co-operate or watch this sucker congeal.
‘Connie,’ he said. ‘Phil’s wife is Connie.’
‘Great.’ Michelle placed the plate in front of him and flashed a bright smile. ‘You can give me their number after dinner.’
‘You’re going to call Connie?’
Even pie now safely within reach couldn’t distract Chad from the alien nature of this concept.
Michelle joined him at the table. ‘I’d like to make up for the other night.’
‘You mean — apologise?’
His wife gave a casual shrug. ‘I guess.’
Chad felt an urge to look around to see if there was a camera crew hidden in a corner. He studied his wife’s face, but that held no clue either. She was already getting stuck into her own plate of pie.
Oh, what the hell. Chad picked up his fork. ‘OK. Well. Great.’
Devoting his full attention to his plate, Chad failed to see his wife give a quick triumphant pump of her fist.
After dinner, Chad didn’t retire immediately to the living room, but helped Michelle stack the dishes. Michelle ignored the surreptitious questioning glances he was giving her. She needed to act as if nothing was awry. Even though her skin was crawling at the thought of talking to that acid-peeled freak, this was how the new good wife would be from now on. Until Chad and she I were back on an even keel again, of course. Then she could go back to being a demanding harridan.
‘So, um . . .’ Chad set the dishwasher as Michelle gave the kitchen bench a final wipe. ‘How’s the new nanny working out?’
Michelle suppressed a smile. After his initial protest, Chad had not asked her one question about Benedict. She suspected he’d asked Harry lots, but knew that her young son adored Benedict almost as much as he did his hero, Gulliver, and would most likely have exalted him to the skies. Doubtless to his father’s irritation.
‘He’s great,’ she said. ‘A natural.’
‘Is that code for “not trained”?’
‘No, he’s had some training,’ said Michelle. ‘In Australia, I think.’
‘I thought you said he was English?’
‘That’s right,’ Michelle shaped her smile to be admiringly wistful. ‘He’s very well-travelled. A worldly young man, is our Benedict.’
Judging by Chad’s expression, “worldly” fell into the classification occupied by “unwashed” and “organic”.
‘And the children love him,’ added Michelle, her expression innocent.
‘You should still have done a background check,’ muttered Chad.
‘He came recommended,’ said Michelle. She pulled open the fridge door and extracted a beer, which she handed to him with a smile. ‘I’d have thought you’d be more worried about the fact your wife is home alone with an eligible young man.’
Chad took the beer and gave her an even stare. ‘How do you get time alone without the children?’
‘Ha. Funny man.’ Michelle slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. To her gratification, Chad bent his head and kissed her more intently than he had for some time. Michelle responded in kind, and Chad quickly set his beer on the bench so he could have both arms free to pull her to him.
‘Bed?’ he murmured.
‘Too far,’ breathed Michelle, and began hastily to unbutton her jeans.
Michelle knew that Chad’s upbringing had convinced him that sex in any place but the bedroom was testing moral, societal and possibly legal boundaries. The first time Michelle had persuaded him to do it in the back seat of the car he’d spent a week refusing to open the front door in case it was the pervert police. Michelle knew that moving quickly was the trick — he must be given no chance to change his mind. A hand in his pants wasn’t subtle, but it instantly redirected the blood flow from an anxious brain to parts that were less conflicted.
‘Lift me up,’ Michelle instructed. ‘And — oh God. Yep. That’s it.’
As they were nearing an energetic end, the phone rang. It was right next to them on the bench, within easy reach.
‘Don’t you dare stop!’ Michelle hissed.
Even if Chad had been capable of a reply, events swiftly overtook him. Neither of them registered when whoever was calling gave up.
‘Your knees are shaking,’ Michelle observed after a while.
Chad’s voice was muffled by her shoulder. ‘Any wonder?’
The phone pealing again made them jump.
‘If that’s your mother,’ warned Michelle, ‘I intend to describe exactly why we couldn’t answer before. With luck, the thought of kitchen hygiene being compromised will kill her.’
Chad stretched out a hand towards the receiver.
‘Oi! Buckaroo! I thought we’d agreed that you do not speak to your mother when you are inside your wife!’
Chad grinned. ‘We agreed I wouldn’t stop to talk to her.’ He ran his free hand up under her top. ‘Hello?’
He frowned. ‘Sorry, who?’
He rested the receiver against his shoulder. ‘Darrell’s boyfriend. Calling from England.’
His wife made a throat-slitting gesture, but Chad just smiled. ‘Here she is,’ he said into the phone, and passed it over.
Michelle had no choice. ‘Hi there!’
‘Hi.’ Anselo’s voice was tense.‘Um, look, if this isn’t a good time . . .’
Chad had resumed running his hands up under her top and nuzzling her neck. But despite the distraction, Michelle recognised that on the phone was a man in quite another kind of need. Why else would he be calling a woman who lived over five thousand miles away, whom he knew only as a tiny face and belligerent voice on a computer screen?
‘No, it’s fine. Just hang on a minute.’
She hit the mute button and put a hand on her husband’s chest. ‘Come on, shove off.’
Chad continued to nuzzle. ‘He can call back.’
‘He needs to talk. I can tell.’
‘You’re a trans-Atlantic agony aunt now?’
‘Come on. Please. You know you’ll need at least another hour to recharge, anyway. My backside will be completely numb by then.’
Chad lifted his hands away from her. ‘OK. Fine.’
Michelle winced as he abruptly extracted himself.
‘Sorry, she said, as he zipped his pants.
But he snatched up the beer and headed off to the living room without a word.
Michelle swore under her breath and quickly straightened herself up. She hit the talk button and barked. ‘Right. What can I do for you?’
There was a pause. ‘This isn’t a good time, is it?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Michelle repeated. She checked her watch. ‘But my God, it’s like four in the morning where you are! What the heck?’
Anselo hesitated. ‘I wanted to be sure Darrell was asleep.’
‘And this is to do with Darrell?’
‘Shit.’ He expelled a breath. ‘I shouldn’t be calling you.’
‘Well, you have now,’ said Michelle heartlessly. ‘So, go on — what’s up?’
‘Has, um — has Darrell said anything to you lately?’
Michelle was glad of the five thousand miles between him and her guilty blush.
‘What kind of thing?’
‘Anything that she was worried about?’
‘Why do you think she’s worried?’
‘She’s just, I don’t know, really distant, preoccupied. Like she’s got something serious on her mind. I suppose it could just be my usual rampant paranoia,’ he added, ‘but – she definitely hasn’t said anything to you?’
Michelle rolled her eyes. There was no way she could betray Darrell, but if she didn’t smash it home, this verbal lob-fest might go on all night.
‘OK, here’s a starting point,’ she said. ‘What would Darrell consider serious?’
There was a long silence. ‘I don’t know. Me, maybe. Whether I’m right for her.’
‘Jesus!’ Michelle pinched her nose. ‘Men! Why does it always have to be about you?’
Anselo bridled. ‘Well, what else could it be?’ Then he said, ‘Shit. You mean — you don’t think she’s sick, do you?’
Michelle could hear the panic in his voice and her heart went out to him.
‘Anselo,’ she said. ‘Have you actually tried talking to Darrell?’
‘Yeah, of course! I ask her how she is all the time. But she just says she’s fine!’
‘That’s what everyone says when you ask how they are! That response is trained into us from the womb! Have you told her how concerned you are?’
‘Not as such,’ he said after a moment. ‘Not – directly.’
‘Look,’ said Michelle, ‘mostly we don’t talk about the stuff we’re worried about because we’re afraid to. I think mainly we’re afraid that if we let our fears out into the open, somehow that will ensure they come true.’
The pause was so long Michelle wondered if the connection had been broken.
‘I’m terrified of losing her,’ he said. ‘And I’m terrified that she’s trying to find a way to tell me to get lost. If that turned out to be true, I don’t think I could bear it.’
‘Talk to her,’ Michelle ordered him gently. ‘Be honest. It’s the only way.’
‘Like removing a sticking plaster? Do it quick and it’s supposed to hurt less?’
‘That’s the theory.’
Michelle heard him breathe deeply, in and out. Then he said, ‘Thanks.’
‘I’d say I’ve been sod all help,’ she replied. ‘But you’re welcome.’
Michelle hung up the phone and leaned against the bench for a while. Here she was, giving advice about honesty when, at the same time, she was trying to get back into her husband’s good books through deviousness and manipulation.
Oh, well, she decided. Each to his own. Now how could she get Chad off that couch and onto his knees, begging for more?