Vivien Hampshire

How to Win Back Your Husband


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western stuff, not really his scene, and he dreaded the almost inevitable rendition of D.I.V.O.R.C.E that was bound to come up in the second half.

      ‘So, it’s all over then, is it? No going back?’ Paul took a swig from his drink and started playing with the beer mat, flipping it up from the edge of the table with the back of his hand and trying to catch it before it fell. It was obvious that talking about emotional stuff didn’t come easily. Mark could almost feel the thumping great feet of the elephant in the room.

      ‘Looks that way. I got the decree thingy a couple of days back, so less than six weeks to go and it can be made final. Just got the house to sell and then I can start putting my life back together.’

      ‘Jeez, I’m sorry, mate. Can’t be easy after – what is it now? Seven years, is it? Eight? God, it only seems like yesterday we were all dressed up in those penguin suits and trying to get the flowers to stick in our buttonholes. Mine fell out halfway up the aisle, and Nic’s mum caught it in that enormous great handbag of hers that was lying open on the floor, remember? Like a blooming Venus fly trap, that thing. What a laugh! And that joke I told in my best man’s speech. The one about the sick cow and the two horny bulls. Remember that one? Had everyone wetting themselves!’

      ‘I’d rather not talk about it, really. Any of it. The wedding. Nicci. Her mother. It’s still a bit raw, you know?’

      ‘Fair enough. Nice girl though, your Nicci. Quite fancied her myself! Not that I would have…you know. Not what mates do, is it? But I don’t suppose you really want to hear about that either, do you?’

      ‘No. I don’t.’

      They sat in silence for a while, Paul none too subtly eyeing up a couple of girls in short skirts who had just wandered in and were trying to jostle their way into a narrow gap at the crowded bar.

      ‘Mmm, nice arse,’ he muttered, not quite to himself. ‘I bagsy the blonde.’

      ‘Don’t even think about it, mate. A quiet drink, you said. We are not here to pull.’

      ‘Speak for yourself! Anyway, it would do you good to get back in the saddle. You might be a bit out of practice after all this time, but you never forget, you know. It’s just like riding a bike, if you’ll excuse the expression. Not that you’ll get far with that ring still on your finger.’

      ‘Habit, that’s all.’

      ‘Right. But, as I was saying, when I’ve broken up with a girl, I always find that there’s no better cure than a bit more of the same. Hair of the dog, works every time, if you know what I mean.’

      Mark couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah, right. Not that you’ve ever had to properly break up with anyone, because you’ve never actually had a relationship that’s lasted more than a couple of months! And can I remind you that I’m not just breaking up with some girl? Nicci’s my wife, my supposed to be forever girl. Or she was, anyway.’ He took a slug of beer and gave Paul a gentle nudge with his elbow. ‘Oh, go on, get over there and fill your boots if you must, but leave me out of it, okay? I’m not ready for any of that stuff. Not yet. And the way I’m feeling right now, not ever.’

      ‘No, you’re all right. I’ll leave it. Male solidarity, and all that. I’ll stop here with you. I figure your need is greater than mine. And they came in as a pair, so you can bet they won’t want to be separated. And even I, Casanova that I am, don’t have enough charm to take on the two of them by myself. And, besides, the next round is on you, so I can’t miss that. Just waiting to see those moths come flying out when you open up your wallet!’

      ‘Ha! The amount of money I’ve had to pay out lately, I’d be surprised if they can find anything left in there to feed off. What with the solicitors, and the deposit for the flat, and the rent. And I’m still having to cough up for half the bills at the house, not to mention the mortgage payments. It’s not where I’d imagined all our savings ending up. I’ll be glad when the whole sorry business is over, I can tell you.’

      ‘And you were always so sure exactly where you were heading. Your famous ten-year plan, remember? Fancy church wedding at twenty-five. A small house to get you started, then a move up to something bigger. With a real gardener’s garden, you said, whatever that meant. Two cars. And your first kid at thirty-five. A boy first, then maybe a girl later. As if you could pick and choose! I can still remember the day you drew it all out on the back of that soggy beer mat the night of your stag do. Before you got pissed, obviously. Like some kind of spider diagram, it was, your whole adult life sewn up before it had hardly started. Mr Organised!

      ‘I laughed about it then. We all did, but you nearly achieved it, didn’t you? Okay, so you didn’t actually get the bigger house but, let’s be honest, that was a bit ambitious on a bank clerk’s wages, and the one you’ve got – sorry, had – is still a darn sight better than the poky place I like to call home. It just seems a shame, that’s all I’m saying. You and Nic. A waste, you know…that you didn’t make it all the way to the two point four kids and the happy ever after. Don’t you think there might still be a chance…’

      ‘No, mate. Let’s not go there, okay? It’s over. The plan’s not worth the paper it was written on. Or the cardboard, to be more accurate. I may as well have ripped it up right from the start and saved myself all the hassle. And the cash. End of. It didn’t work out, but I’m okay about it. Over it. Really. Or I will be. Just give me time, that’s all.’

      And then, to the sound of raucous clapping, mainly from their own family and friends hogging the front row, the band came back on and, even though he couldn’t see much, Mark was able to turn his chair in their direction, which meant turning his back on Paul for a while, and he let his thoughts take over.

      End of? Was it really? He couldn’t forgive Nicci. Of course he couldn’t. And he couldn’t contemplate taking her back. What bloke could? But he did love her. Always had. Whatever she had done, and whatever he may have said to the solicitors and to his worried parents and to anyone else who asked, he wasn’t over her, and he definitely wasn’t okay.

      ***

      When Nicci woke up it was already ten o’clock and her head was banging. What time had they all gone home last night? She couldn’t remember. She wasn’t even sure if they actually had all gone home, so it was with some trepidation that she hauled herself out of bed, checked that she was decent – big T-shirt and a pair of pants, so that was okay – and peered into the guest bedroom. She didn’t like to think of it as Mark’s bedroom, even though it was where he’d slept for those horrible final nights before he’d moved out. If only he was still here. Better in a separate bedroom than not in the house at all. At least they could have talked, tried to work through it, had some sort of chance…

      But this morning she was pleased to find both the room, and the bed, empty of everything but the usual clutter. The third bedroom, the one she had always secretly thought of as the nursery, was currently full to the rafters with boxes containing a lot of the odds and ends that Mark wanted to take with him but didn’t yet have anywhere to put. God help anyone who’d decided to crash down in there! She took a cursory peep inside, just in case, but it was all she could do to ease the door open. Nobody there.

      Kicking a few strands of silly string and a lone balloon out of the way on the landing, she wandered down the stairs, not at all sure what, or who, she might find when she got to the bottom. She yawned so hard she felt she just might dislocate her jaw.

      In the living room, the curtains were still closed, which was probably a good thing as she wasn’t sure her bleary eyes were quite ready for the glare of sunlight just yet. ‘Yuk!’ Her bare foot sunk down into something decidedly squishy. She lifted it and bent down to take a closer look at the mess between her toes. Cake!

      ‘Sssh! Some of us are trying to sleep here.’ The long shadowy body of Jilly slowly uncurled itself from the sofa. ‘What time is it anyway?’ she mumbled, groggily, rubbing her eyes. ‘I have to be at work by nine. Big order to finish.’

      ‘Well, you can forget that. You’re an hour late already. Should’ve set the alarm on your phone.’