Page 6 of Perfect Wives
I couldn’t believe it – not one, but two other women on Magnolia Close had babies a similar age to Matilda. And then there was Lily at number two, with little Joshua already a toddler. We became a foursome. Play groups and rhyme time at the library. Coffees that turned into lunches, park trips that lasted until dusk. We forged a friendship in the trenches of motherhood – through every sleepless night, every milestone, every meltdown and row with our husbands. It was hard when it all fell apart with Lily and she and Kevin moved away, selling their house to Jonny. It was a difficult time for all of Magnolia Close, but I still have Georgie and Beth. Some days, it feels like these two women sitting with me now are the only two people who truly see me.
‘And they still won’t accept a carer?’ Georgie asks, dragging my thoughts back to the table. Typical Georgie, always so practical. It’s not her fault, but she doesn’t understand. Neitherof them do. Care is for family. Not strangers. And I’m the only family my parents have here. I am their everything.
They always planned to return to Galle at the southern tip of Sri Lanka to live with my cousin and the extended family when they retired. But then Mum needed her hip replacement and Dad was diagnosed with stage two prostate cancer. They still talk about going home, but deep down, they know they’re too frail.
I shake my head. ‘If only…’ I trail off, biting down on the inside of my lip, stopping the words from coming. It’s not like I haven’t said them before, a hundred times over since the summer when it all went from bad to worse.
Beth’s face hardens. ‘Jonny.’
I nod, taking another gulp of wine. Sod tomorrow!
‘I really hate that man,’ Georgie says, her voice sharp.
My gaze glances to the bar, scanning the faces for any other Magnolia Close residents. I don’t want to be overheard talking about our neighbour. However angry I feel, I’ll keep the peace for the sake of the Magnolia Close community.
‘I’m sorry, I know I’ve said this before,’ I say, unable to stop myself, ‘but I just can’t get over it. Why would he object to our planning permission for the extension, when he can’t even see our house from his?’
‘None of us would’ve seen the extension,’ Beth says. ‘Jonny just did it out of spite.’
I heave in a breath, swallowing down the anger threatening to consume me. The extension we’d planned was small. A single-storey with a bedroom, a kitchen-living room, and a bathroom. Somewhere my parents could’ve lived independently but still had me on hand when needed. It was the perfect solution. Saving me the hours driving across town and back every day to take care of them. All that time eaten up and it still doesn’t feel like I’m giving them enough. They need more.
‘Just be grateful you don’t live next door to him,’ Beth says, venom carrying in her voice. ‘Last night, Henry kicked his football over the fence. Jonny threw it back five minutes later, all the air gone and a massive slash through the leather. That was a brand-new ball Henry bought with his eighth birthday money. He was so upset.’
A frown pinches Georgie’s brows. ‘Why does he even live on Magnolia Close? He won’t even join the WhatsApp group. A single man in his forties living among all couples and families. All those women he has coming and going.’
‘I passed one coming through the gates once,’ Beth says, ‘and she was wearing a wedding ring. Strolled right up to Jonny’s door and was kissing him before she was even inside. It’s disgusting.’
‘And you never see the same one twice. It gives me the creeps.’ Georgie shivers.
‘It makes me miss the Gallaghers,’ I say, mentioning Lily and Kevin.
Georgie shakes her head. ‘No way,’ she says. ‘They’re still dead to me after what Lily did. What we need is Jonny gone and a new family in the close.’
We fall silent for a minute, and it feels like I’m not the only one fighting back my anger towards this man.
We all hate Jonny.
Georgie picks up her wine glass, swirling the liquid before her gaze lands on me. ‘Sometimes I think about doing something.’
‘Like what?’ Beth asks before shooting me a look.Typical Georgie, the look says, and the three of us burst out laughing. And just for a second, I forget my to-do lists and my guilt and I’m just me – just a woman enjoying a glass of wine with her friends.
Beth sweeps her long dark-red hair over one shoulder, still laughing. ‘Are you going to write him an angry letter like the oneyou sent to the council when the bin collections kept skipping our road?’
‘Hey.’ Georgie grins. ‘That worked, didn’t it? And no, I don’t mean a letter.’
There’s a mischief to her expression that makes me laugh again. ‘I’m sorry, Georgie,’ I say, ‘but you couldn’t even dispose of Oscar’s goldfish when it started swimming upside down. You made me come over and get rid of it.’
Beth laughs too, then she stands. She brushes a hand over her emerald-green corduroy skirt, looking effortlessly elegant and so serene. Nothing seems to rattle Beth. It’s like she’s been to hell and back these last six years and now nothing can touch her.
She nods in the direction of the toilets before she steps away. On the other side of the bar, a waiter clears a table, stacking plates and sweeping away crumbs. I should leave soon. I told Marc I’d be home by ten.
‘We really should do something about Jonny, Tasha,’ Georgie says again when it’s just the two of us.
‘I wish we could,’ I reply. Wish more than anything there was a way out of the frazzled, never-a-second-to-spare, too-many-things-to-do, everything-piling-up feeling I live with. A life Jonny trapped me in this summer when he objected to our extension.
But wishing and dreaming won’t get me anywhere.
I’m about to lighten the mood, make a joke about Georgie needing a new notebook if we’re planning…what? I’m not actually sure what Georgie means by ‘do something’. But there’s movement from the corner of my eye, and I turn to see a woman approaching the table. She’s younger than us – early thirties, I guess – with edgy, short black hair, a low-cut black top revealing creamy white skin, and a look on her face like she just overheard our conversation.
