Page 44 of Perfect Wives
If you’re accusing one of us, just come out and say it!
Ryan (No. 9)
Fine. Andrea – you always want to know what’s going on, and you’re the one who is always out there trimming the bushes around the gate. Is the camera yours?
Andrea (No. 7)
How dare you! I’m not the one who hated Jonny because he objected to our planning permission.
Marc (No. 12)
That’s completely uncalled for.
TWENTY-THREE
TASHA
Where the hell is Sofia’s reading diary? I had it in my hand last night. I really don’t want to have to explain to her teacher, Mrs Pepperbridge, that I’ve lost another one. It’s her second since the start of the new school year. I mustn’t forget to reschedule Mum’s hospital appointment so it’s not in half-term week. We’re out of bananas. And the good bread. If I’m popping into a supermarket, then I really need to get something different for dinner. I swear we had fish fingers and potato waffles nearly every night last week.
I abandon the hunt for the diary and grab a pen to make a shopping list. Even as my mind races, I wonder how I have the capacity to think about anything other than Marc buying a vineyard without telling me. It’s all I’ve thought about over the weekend. Through cleaning and tidying the house on Saturday and cooking his parents a lunch yesterday, pretending everything was normal for the sake of the girls and his parents. At least I wasn’t the only one Marc lied to.
‘They’ll be devastated with us moving away,’ Marc said on Sunday morning. ‘Let’s not upset them today.’
I’mdevastated, I wanted to reply.
Three months of juggling bath times and school trips and the summer holidays and Matilda’s clingy nights, and Marc’s been chasing a fantasy. Lying to me. Drinking coffees in cafés and sitting in pubs, letting all those quiet hours slip away while I was doing everything. How could he have lied to me like that?
I can’t decide if I’m angrier with him for the lies or the fact he’s made this huge life decision for all of us. Spent our savings and decided to move us across the country, without a single conversation.
Why didn’t he just tell me at the start of all this when he was first made redundant in July? I rake over the events of the summer. It’s a blur. Writing and rewriting the planning application. Long days of trying to entertain the girls. The heatwave that didn’t seem like it would ever end. My dad’s radiotherapy. Yes, I was stressed. But I still would’ve listened and supported Marc.
There’s a niggling voice in the back of my mind that questions if that’s true. If Marc had asked me to pause the planning application, would I have done it?
I glance up as Marc walks into the kitchen. He’s holding something in his hand. He lifts it wordlessly. Sofia’s reading diary. I breathe a brief sigh of relief. That’s one thing at least.
‘It was under the sofa,’ he says. His voice is cautious as though he’s not sure what he’s walking into. Tears and hurt or anger and accusation. I don’t know myself half the time. It’s been six days since Jonny’s murder. Only four days since Marc confessed his lies. I need more time.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur, taking it from him and setting it on the counter.
He lingers. Not moving. ‘How are you?’
It’s not the question he’s really asking. He’s asking where my head is at. It’s the same gentle prod he’s given me every day sincehis confession. He’s lied for three months, but I’m not allowed three minutes to process them.
I sigh and lean back against the worktop, retying my hair in its ponytail. It needs a wash. ‘I know you’ve already bought the place, Marc, but?—’
‘I did it for us,’ he cuts in. ‘I know the vineyard was my dream, but I did it for you and the girls and for your parents. This is the solution, Tasha. This is a life of outdoors and calm. No more manic mornings and rushing around. You’ve seen the photos. Imagine all that space for the girls to play in. Imagine Christmases with your parents in the annexe, walking into the village for carols. This is a whole new kind of life we can have.’
I fight back the tears as I think of the property description Marc showed me on his phone last night in bed. The house and the annexe need freshening up, but they’re not in bad condition. And the views…they’re breathtaking. I want to want it. I really do. There’s a longing in me for exactly what he’s describing. But it’s been built on lie after lie.
‘I’m trying,’ I tell him. ‘But I can’t get past all the lies. It isn’t just that you went ahead and bought a property without telling me. It’s that you deceived me for three months, Marco. You made me think you were exhausted from long hours in the office when you weren’t. Then you asked Jonny of all people for a loan when it was him who blocked the planning permission for our extension here.’
Marc freezes, his expression morphing into guilt once more.
‘What is it?’ I ask, already dreading the answer.
He swallows hard. ‘Jonny objected to our extension because I asked him to.’
The world tilts. Hurt cuts through my chest.
