Page 34 of Perfect Wives
Another wave of relief floods my body. I didn’t realise how much I needed to hear him say that.
‘I’m sorry too.’ I squeeze his hand before I step into the kitchen and place Lanie in her high chair, handing her a breadstick.
‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘I was upset about Jonny, and I lashed out.’ He pulls me into his arms and holds me for a long time. Lanie shouts, hands up to be lifted from the high chair and join in our embrace.
A part of me – the part thinking about everything I have to do – wants to kiss Marc’s cheek and carry on with my day. I’m already running late, and there is so much to do. But our neighbour is dead, and Marc’s reaction last night was so unlike him.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’ I ask, pulling back and searching his face. ‘What did you mean last night when you said I have no idea what you’ve done for me.’
Marc freezes. I feel the muscles in his back tense beneath my hands.
Oh God.
I want to take back the words. I want Marc to tell me everything is fine. But, instead, he’s stepping out of my arms. His dark eyes are glassy and wide, and the anguish is back on his face.
Lanie shouts again, and I lift her from the high chair, kiss the top of her head, hold her close as I carry her through to the living room then place her in the playpen. She grumbles for a moment, but then I switch on the TV and she’s lost toPeppa Pig.
Only when she’s settled do I turn back to Marc. He’s running a hand through his hair, and when he looks at me, a strangled noise escapes his throat.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and even though he doesn’t say it, I know it’s not another apology for last night but for whatever he’s about to tell me. Fear slams into me. I glance at Lanie, making sure she’s happy with the TV, then nod to the kitchen.
He pulls me to the table, not letting go of my hand as we sit down.
‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ he says, his voice breaking.
EIGHTEEN
TASHA
My heart pounds in my chest as Marc’s hand squeezes mine. For a horrible second, I think he’s going to tell me he’s having an affair. He’s going to tell me he’s leaving. My throat starts to close, but I force myself to speak.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, barely recognising my own voice.
‘I wasn’t in Brussels last week,’ he says.
I shake my head, not understanding. ‘But the client?—’
The words spin in my head. Not landing. But already I see another truth – my husband was lying to me but not to his friend because Jonny knew.
‘There is no client,’ Marc says. ‘There’s no job. I…was made redundant.’ The devastation contorts his features, making him look smaller somehow.
‘Oh, Marc,’ I breathe. ‘I’m so sorry.’ A shaky relief starts to weave through me. He’s lost his job. It’s awful for him, but he’ll get another. He’ll?—
He squeezes my hand gratefully, and the movement causes my thoughts to catch on his words.‘I’ve made a terrible mistake.’
My gaze fixes on him, trying to read every flicker of emotion in the face I have loved for twenty-five years. The man I thoughtI knew as well as myself. ‘They flew you out to Brussels just to let you go?’ I ask, knowing even as my thoughts spiral that my question is dumb. He wasn’t in Brussels.
There’s a long pause. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. ‘I was made redundant in July.’
‘July?’ I repeat. ‘Three months ago?’
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ Marc replies in a strangled voice. ‘Not until I had something else lined up and a plan. I didn’t want you to worry.’
My stomach twists. Three months of getting up early, running around with the girls, juggling Lanie and school drop-offs and playdates and dinner. Three months of rushing to after-school clubs and swimming lessons, cooking dinners, caring for my parents, driving back and forth, and back and forth. All while he pretended. All while he kissed me goodbye and came home talking about a job he didn’t have.
‘But you’ve been going to work. I’ve been ironing your shirts.’ My voice rises, like the shirts are the important thing here and not the lies beneath them.
His hand is suddenly too hot, squeezing too tight. I yank mine away, hugging my arms to my body. Sitting back, trying to gain some distance. Three months of lies on top of lies.
