The Almost Wife: An absolutely gripping and emotional summer read Page 22
‘Why don’t you pop over to Willow Manor and order us some lunch while I settle up with Helen, Claire? I won’t be long.’ Jessie’s voice is heavy with resignation, all the soon-to-be-married joy sucked right out of her.
‘Great idea! Thanks, Helen. I’ll see you over there.’ Claire gathers up her things, swings her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. Just as she reaches it, she tosses a glance back over her shoulder, her face now cold with distain.
‘You know what, Jess; the blue off-the-shoulder dress will do fine for your wedding day and you can pick whatever else you like for me. I don’t care what. Because unlike you, I’m not obsessed with what people think of me and how I look. But I hope you enjoyed our little shopping trip anyway. You certainly deserved it.’ And with that she is out the door, off to celebrate her little victory, leaving Jessie to scrape her mouth up off the floor.
‘Um… can I ask what just happened?’ Helen is looking at Jessie for some sort of explanation. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little confused. Are you taking the dresses or… not?’
But Jessie is in what can only be described as the brace position. Still sitting, she’s cradling her head with both hands and has allowed it to drop, defeated, between her knees. All the frustration, anger and humiliation are causing her whole body to shake as she lets out a pantomime-loud wail. Helen takes a seat next to her, folding an arm around her shoulders and easing her back upright with a gentle, ‘Come on, Jessie.’
‘I’m so sorry, Helen, I don’t even know where to begin with all that.’ Her face is flushed bright pink, a vivid stress rash starting to stain her throat and neck.
‘You don’t need to explain anything to me if you don’t want to,’ offers Helen. ‘I can see clearly enough what you’re dealing with. Some advice? You can’t control your family, Jessie. People are who they are and the more you try to push them into a corner, to make them conform to your way of thinking, the less likely they are to bend to your idea of perfection. Someone wanted to teach you a lesson today – one I’m guessing could have been avoided?’
‘I don’t know how things got so ugly. I love my family, I really do. Even Claire. She’s my sister, how could I not? But they get everything wrong. Everything. If Claire had just one ounce of ambition in her she might see that I can help her. Make her look better, feel happier with herself.’
‘From what I can see, she is happy, Jessie. But it’s not your version of happy, it’s hers. Didn’t you see her face in those dresses? She was in another world for a moment, totally swept up in the magic of it all. OK, she has some ulterior motives, but I’ve been doing this job for a long time and that was no playacting for your benefit or mine. She doesn’t see herself the way you see her, I’m afraid, and so she doesn’t share your view that there is a need to change or work to be done.’ Helen has pulled her chair closer to Jessie now, looking like she’s going nowhere until this is resolved and Jessie feels better.
‘It’s not just Claire, though, it’s my whole family. I’ve got a mum and dad I love dearly but they just don’t get it. My mum wants to turn up for dinner at Adam’s parents’ estate with a traybake she’s made with Tesco economy ingredients, for crying out loud. Adam’s family has a chef! But my mum can’t see that because she’ll be too busy telling Camilla how clever she is because if you shop well you can make it for 50p a slice. While Dad will be boring the arse off Henry with unwanted advice on the best way to get his car road-worthy for winter.’ It’s like Jessie has taken an honesty pill, a truth serum – call it what you like, it’s all pouring out. And while there is nothing terribly elegant about it, at least she’s airing it finally in all its undignified glory.
‘Let them.’ Helen is smiling as if this is a lot less of a problem than Jessie thinks. ‘Adam is marrying you. Does it really matter?’
‘Yes! I want them to think I am someone worth marrying. I don’t want to be the second class citizen, the girl who got lucky to bag him. I want to be Adam’s equal.’
‘But you are, Jessie, or Adam wouldn’t have proposed. You are luckier than you think. Look at everything you have. A man who loves you, wants to be your husband, have babies with you, grow old with you. And a family that love you too. Parents who are proud and a sister who is still prepared to stand by you, despite whatever has happened between you both. You are rich in so many ways, Jessie. Do you honestly think Adam’s parents are impressed by everyone they meet? They’ve sat through boring dinner parties just like the rest of us, been astounded at someone’s lack of intellect and probably felt inferior themselves at some point. They’re human. We all are! That stuff happens to us all. It’s not important.’
Jessie looks like she’s had the wind knocked out of her. ‘You’re right, Helen. I know you are.’
‘Unless you are planning to entirely rewrite history, Jessie, this is you. This is what they get and if they don’t love you already, they will come to. Apart from anything else, it’s in their interests to. Has it ever even crossed your mind that they might be nervous about what you make of them?’
‘Never.’
‘Don’t alienate your own family, Jessie. One day you will look around and they’ll be gone. Then when it’s far too late, you’ll see all this nonsense for what it is. Irrelevant.’
22
Helen
‘Hi Emily, it’s Helen again. I hope all is well and you’re feeling a little better. I just wanted to remind you that your dress is ready. As I mentioned in my email, I know you need it as soon as possible so I rushed it through for you. Please feel free to come and collect it as soon as you can. Any problems, just give me a call on the usual number. Have a lovely day. Bye.’
Helen hangs up. It’s the third message she’s left for Emily. And nothing. It’s completely baffling; especially considering the tearing rush Emily was in to get her hands on the dress in the first place. But then what was it she said that day? I may not need a dress at all. All very odd. Helen has a strict policy never to get involved in the family politics that often surface behind the fitting room curtains, unless she’s invited to, but this situation is different, intriguing in a way the more obvious jealous sister, overbearing mother or dominant best friend dynamics are not. Still, nothing she can do about it until Emily decides to get in touch so she resigns herself to simply waiting it out.
She zips Emily’s dress up into its protective silk carrier and places it towards the back of the boutique, next to the others waiting to be collected or ready for the final seal of approval. She has a few minutes to spare until Dolly Jackson is due in so rips open the note that has arrived in the post from Betsy this morning – she recognised the handwriting immediately. It’s a thank-you card for the last cash transfer she made to Betsy’s account. As she reads her daughter’s grateful words, Helen wonders if they can only be the precursor to the broken heart she will one day soon need to fix. The card is signed from Betsy alone but the loans have never been for her. Jacob has never thanked her for the money she sends. Perhaps he’s too proud? Perhaps he doesn’t know? But Helen knows the loans might not be necessary at all if he was earning something and surely that is a fault line no relationship can sustain for long?
She lifts the carrier marked for Dolly off the rail and takes it through to the fitting room, ensuring all her pins and clips are ready for her next appointment, just as the doorbell trills.
‘Come in, come in, Dolly! I’ve got everything ready.’ Helen has been looking forward to this appointment. It’s Dolly’s final fitting before she takes the dress away for its starring role on the pages of Brides magazine. Dolly was nothing short of ecstatic when she told Helen the news and, while Helen would never say as much, she is also thrilled, predicting a steady stream of new brides through the door once the coverage appears. That dress, on that body, coming alive with all the passion and go-getting energy that only Dolly could bring is going to ensure Helen remembers this girl for a very long time to come.
But Dolly looks very different today. For a start she’s dressed ra
ther low key, to put it politely. Helen’s used to Dolly swishing into the boutique in something fabulous – a far-too-short skater skirt or a pair of heels that force her right up on to her tiptoes – but today it’s a pair of leggings, Converse trainers and an oversized t-shirt that not only looks like it could do with a wash but which is also rather snug around curves that were definitely not there before. Helen can see immediately that they will be re-pinning the dress again today. Dolly’s loveably goofy smile has also disappeared, replaced by a large pair of dark eye bags that would look more at home on someone straight off a night shift. And now that she is in under the soft lighting Helen can also see Dolly’s skin has lost all its youthful glow. It’s blotchy, dotted with an irritable rash of small red spots and the colour of a corpse. Lifeless eyes are sitting under a bird’s nest of unbrushed hair.
‘Put the pins away, Helen. We’re not going to need them.’ Dolly’s bottom lip is already starting to tremble.
‘Oh dear. What’s wrong, Dolly? You really don’t look very happy.’ What on earth is going on today? First Emily goes AWOL, now the world’s happiest bride looks like someone sat on her wedding cake.
‘I wanted to come and tell you in person,’ mumbles Dolly. ‘The wedding is off.’
‘Oh, I see. Are you OK?’ It’s less a question and more of an offer to unload. Whatever has squashed Dolly’s spirit so it now has all the life of three-day-old wedding flowers, needs unpicking, Helen can see that.
‘Not really. It’s all gone a bit horribly wrong I’m afraid. Look at the state of me.’
Helen watches as Dolly makes no effort to hold back the tears now, allowing herself to completely unravel, like it was her sole purpose for coming here today. Helen knows Dolly could have cancelled the dress with one swift phone call, email even – but she didn’t. It’s not Helen’s wedding dress expertise that’s needed today, it’s her unbiased motherly support and a friendly shoulder to cry on. And Helen is only too ready to tap straight back into all that knowledge, all those skills that kept her own family knitted together so well for so long.
Needing no further invitation, Helen gathers Dolly up into a bosomy hug, squeezing her tightly, engulfing her in a comforting cloud of Jo Malone lily of the valley scent. Helen clasps a hand on the back of Dolly’s head as she succumbs totally to the kindness, resting her cheek on Helen’s shoulder where the sobs start to hiccup out of her. Helen can almost feel the sadness and upset shaking around inside the sorrowful, dishevelled mess that is now flattening her perfectly hair-sprayed do. As she steadies Dolly, Helen can also feel more flesh on her bones, a totally different girl to the almost skeletal one she first met.
And then it all falls into place.
‘I’m pregnant, Helen.’ Three words that bring everything clattering into perspective, they squeak out of Dolly through childish sniffs, an appeal to make everything better, make all this just go away. The reaction exploding inside Helen couldn’t be more different. From a generation who embraced motherhood as their own, taking ownership of every need a baby ever had, Helen is instantly transported back decades when every waking hour of her day was spent happily devoted to raising cheerful children. She pictures herself with a three-week-old Betsy, the two of them falling asleep on the sofa in each other’s arms, needing each other in equal measure, more content than she ever thought possible.
‘Wow! Well, that’s wonderful news, isn’t it? Why are you so upset?’ Helen pulls her upwards by the shoulders so the two women are nose to nose; Helen all smiles and raised eyebrows, Dolly attempting to wipe tear-sodden hair out of her eyes.
‘Josh doesn’t want the baby.’ Dolly’s eyes shift downwards, hiding what looks tragically like shame.
‘Ahh.’ Helen has sorted out some problems in her time: deceitful bridesmaids, fiercely protective mothers, but this one is not about to be resolved with a couple of shortbread fingers and a fresh brew of Earl Grey – although she’ll probably fetch them anyway.
‘Oh, Dolly, why ever not?’ Helen feels the heaviness in her own voice, laden with disappointment.
‘He’s not ready for it he says, too much going on with work and he just wants to be married, have fun without the apparently massive burden of starting a family so soon. It’s all my fault, I’ve messed everything up.’
‘Well, that’s certainly not true. It takes two people to get you pregnant, Dolly. But how do you feel about it?’ Helen is sitting Dolly down now on the chaise, the scene of so many tears and dramas over the years, and wonders for not the first time this week where all the good men have gone. The sort that would put Dolly’s happiness well above his own. Helen places a box of pretty floral tissues between the two of them – another invitation to let it all out – and allows Dolly to completely unburden herself. To hell with the ticking clock on their one hour appointment time.
‘It was the very last thing on my mind. I was so geared up for this wedding, so focused on whether the venue was cool enough or the drinks budget big enough and whether the bloody editor of Brides thinks my shoes are stylish enough, I just didn’t see it coming.’ Dolly is up, down, reaching in her bag for nothing in particular, then dropping it again, twitching away like a mad woman. ‘Perhaps if I didn’t have the world’s biggest asshole for a boss this wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have been trying so hard to get out of there. I might have remembered to take the damn pills.’
‘OK, slow down and sit down, let’s think about this rationally. Number one, I don’t think we can blame your boss for this one Dolly. He may be many things but he didn’t get you pregnant.’ As Dolly let’s out a disgusted snort at the mere suggestion this might ever be possible, Helen’s enthusiasm for problem-solving kicks in. Perhaps it’s because Betsy is so far away these days and she’s rarely asked to swoop in and pick up the pieces, but she can see a real opportunity to help, to save Dolly from the despair that is swamping her.
‘The real question is how do you feel about the fact that there is a baby inside of you? How does that make you feel?’ Helen can’t help it, she’s making this emotional.
Dolly says nothing for a moment while a fresh waterfall of tears builds behind her wet eyelashes. ‘So, so happy.’ The hint of a smile is back. ‘But then Josh made me doubt everything, endlessly running through his list of reasons why having this baby is a bad idea: cost, it’s career limiting, social suicide. We’ve spent weeks trying to be grown-up about it, talk it through. But it’s never long before the shouting, swearing and door-slamming starts. Or he just stomps out of the flat to the pub again.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Helen can see how Dolly’s own hopes for the future are so at odds with the reaction she’s getting at home.
‘The things he said have really made me question whether I want to be one of those women.’ She slumps down on to one of the ornate gold chairs usually occupied by a bride’s family and friends during fittings and Helen dutifully takes up the seat beside her.
‘You know, blocking the pavement with my enormous thousand-pound pram, handing out dirty looks to anyone who swears or smokes within a three-metre radius of my tiny precious one? One of those eyes-to-the-skies types who shoulders her way into Starbucks every day, full of self-importance because I have a baby you know, feeding a serious caffeine addiction, over using the word lovely about 400 times a day and buying clothes for myself on the basis of how easy they are to wipe clean.’
‘It doesn’t have to be anything like that! You’ll still be you!’ Helen is smirking now, she can’t help herself, not that Dolly’s noticed, she’s on a roll tearing down every new mum who might be struggling to make it to bedtime each day without bloodshed.
‘Will I spend all my time wondering what that awful smell is following me around before realising it’s the baby’s dinner from three nights ago still crusted on my shoulder? You know, they all pretend to the world they’re deliriously happy, thrilled that Finn has eaten all his sugar-snap peas. But you never see pictures of them on Facebook bawling into their pillow at 3 a.m. when the ti
ny terrorist won’t sleep do you? He may not have put it to me very kindly but maybe Josh has a point. Maybe we’re not ready. Maybe I’m not ready.’
That another woman could have such a different take on motherhood to Helen’s own experience is taking her breath away. Where do such staunch views come from, she wonders? And when did mothers become such a target of loathing and misunderstanding from other women? It’s almost laughable in its naivety. Helen shifts position in her seat, getting comfortable, ready to hit Dolly with a serious trip to the frontline of motherhood.
‘I understand your fear, I really do, but you are entirely missing the point. You will be living in a different universe to the pre-baby you. I remember those newborn days with my two like they were yesterday. Up feeding thirteen times a night, my head and heart a cocktail of love and fear all shaken up for days on end with no proper sleep. I didn’t leave the house for ten days after my first was born.’ Helen’s gaze has shifted off somewhere near the ceiling where it looks like her past is playing out in beautiful technicolour.
‘Oh Christ!’ there is nothing beautiful about this for Dolly it seems.
‘Yes, I prayed to him a few times. The truth is, if you’re not waking them, changing them or feeding them, you’re entertaining them, soothing them, educating them – or worrying about whether you are doing any of these things right. But once the fear starts to ebb away, it’s manageable and you can do this!’ Helen is so animated now, right back there reliving those treasured middle-of-the-night moments spent working out what her own little darlings needed from her.
‘You’re hardly selling this to me! And what about my body, Helen? It’s going to look disgusting forever isn’t it? I mean, look at me now and I’ve got months to go yet!’ Dolly is stretching the giant t-shirt tight across her middle, to accentuate the flabbiness already settling in for the long haul.
‘I’m not going to lie to you. Yes, your body will change beyond all recognition. It will just keep growing and growing until you can’t bend over.’