Page 27 of Seven Rules for a Perfect Marriage

‘I know that,’ I say, indignant. ‘I didn’t agree to join in lightly. I knew what it meant, I get that it’s a big deal.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Because I really do want to make things better.’ He leans down and touches his forehead to mine.

‘Me too,’ I say earnestly. ‘Me too.’

I asked for a bus to collect everyone from the station, so that they’d have a chance to chat and meet each other. I’m utterly vindicated when they pour off the bus and into the house already chatting and laughing. We need them to like each other at least a little bit because they’re going to have to spend the next forty-eight hours sharing their most personal, private secrets with each other. And, I remember with a twist in my solar plexus, so am I.

‘I’m Verity and this is Noah,’ the first woman introduces herself, shaking my hand then Jack’s.

‘Welcome.’ I smile. ‘Go straight through, and make yourself at home. They’ve been married for ten years,’ I whisper to Jack.

‘Ten years? But they look so young?’

‘Theyareso young. They got married at eighteen.’

‘Jesus. Why?’

‘Jesus.’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘No, as in, they got married because they were super Christian.’

‘Oh. Well, that explains the marital problems. Three people in their marriage and all that.’

I laugh, and then try not to, because I don’t want anyone to think that we’re standing in the hallway being judgemental and superior. Which I suppose we are a little bit, not that we have any right to be.

‘Well, there’s actually five of them, because they’ve got three kids under three. We got the publishers to front up some money to get them childcare while they’re here, so believe it or not, this is probably like a holiday for them.’

I smile at Sue and Ken, who are picking their way across the drive. They’re the oldest couple of the weekend. Ken is bald and serious, Sue tanned and smiley. He’s carrying her suitcase which is very sweet. I watch Jack, knowing he’s wondering whether he should offer to take the suitcase from him or whether that’ll seem ageist and patronising.

‘What’s their deal?’ he asks after he’s said hello and waved them through into the house.

‘Ken retired a few months ago and they’re struggling to know how to adjust to being at home together all the time. Sue had raised their three kids and stayed home while Ken worked on the trains so was away a lot. It sounds like it’s been a big change.’

Chloe and Ben are next. Jack shakes both their hands and Chloe goes in for a hug. Chloe filled out theirapplication. She explained that her family had issues with her marrying a black guy, so she and Ben cut the parents off. But then they had kids and she struggled and started taking them to see her mum and dad without telling Ben. Eventually one of the kids spilled the beans and it put a massive wedge in their marriage. It seems like Chloe applied to come here as a sort ofmea culpato Ben.

Last off the bus are Grant and Stuart. ‘Grant is twenty years older than Stuart, and they apparently met when Stuart was his PA and Grant was still married to a woman. Grant’s children are grown-up but won’t meet Stuart, and it’s all more complicated because Stuart wants to have kids and Grant thinks he’s too old. Plus there’s a bit of a mismatch about their sex drives.’ I convey this to Jack under my breath as they approach the house.

‘Are you going to be okay if they talk about wanting to start a family?’ Jack asks me in a hushed tone as we turn to follow everyone into the house.

‘What do you mean?’ I play dumb.

‘Their problems ... might be a bit close to home?’

‘I’ve never shagged my PA.’ I smile. It’s a defensive smile that Jack can probably see through but I can’t get upset and fall apart before the weekend has even begun.

Jack

At three minutes to seven, I’m standing in the kitchen, trying to work out what I should be doing while everyone else is unpacking and freshening up before the welcome drinks. There’s a load of champagne in the fridge, designed to be carefully distributed so that no one is plastered butthe awkwardness of what we’re about to do is dulled slightly. I start very slowly unwrapping the top of a bottle for something to do with my hands. I freeze as I hear footsteps behind me, and look up. It’s a very pretty dark-haired woman/girl with heavy eyeliner. She looks like a teenager who’s been dragged to the country for a holiday with her parents. Which one was she? Chloe? Verity? I should remember her name, given how recently I was introduced to her.

‘Thank fuck for that,’ she says. ‘I thought this might be the kind of place that doesn’t provide alcohol. I’m Verity.’

‘I’m Jack,’ I say, returning the favour of repeating my name. ‘Excited for the retreat?’

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘More so now I know it’s not going to be dry.’

I pop the bottle, as quietly as I can. ‘A no-alcohol policy was suggested by the people who organised this with us,’ I say, pouring the champagne into a glass and handing it to her. ‘But we insisted.’

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