Alice watches them with envy. How exciting a relationship is when it’s this new, when you’re still discovering one another, when you still have the capacity to fall head over heels in love.
“Did you sleep well?” Alice manages an innocent expression, laughing as Emily blushes.
“I slept terribly, thank you for asking,” Alice continues. “That bed is a bloody nightmare. I can’t believe you haven’t changed it yet.”
“Why would I change it? I don’t have to sleep on it.”
“Oh, thanks a lot.” Alice harrumphs as Emily sits on Harry’s lap. “Can you two just try and keep your hands off each other first thing in the morning?”
“It’s not first thing in the morning,” Emily laughs, twining her arms around Harry’s neck. “It’s nearly ten.”
“Oh God. I’d better switch my mobile on. Joe’s probably standing at the station in a fury, waiting for me.” Alice runs out to her bag as Emily shakes her head sadly at Harry.
“See what I mean?” she whispers. “Joe says jump, Alice asks how high.” Her voice resumes its natural pitch. “Is there a message?” She looks up as Alice walks back into the room listening to her mobile.
Alice nods. “Yup. He’ll be at Stow at 10:55. I’d better get ready. Do you guys want to come?”
Emily looks at Harry. Harry grins at Emily and Alice groans in disgust. “Young love. Doesn’t it make you sick? I’ll see you later.” And she goes upstairs to get dressed.
Joe is an expert traveler. He likes planes, trains, and long car journeys. In first-class on a plane, he immediately pulls on the complementary socks, puts on the eye mask, and instructs the stewardess to wake him for the final meal before arriving. In the car he makes sure he has his favorite CDs and a good supply of snacks, and on trains he ensures he arrives early enough to buy a baguette sandwich and every newspaper he can lay his hands on.
Today he doesn’t bother with the newspapers. Today he spends the entire journey with his eyes closed, a faint smile on his face, lost in a fantasy world of what it must be like sleeping with Josie.
By the time the train pulls into Stow, Joe is in an excellent mood. It’s a clear, sunny day, there is his beautiful wife waving at him, and he’s about to embark on a sexual adventure—life surely does not get much better than this.
“This is it?” Alice pulls the Range Rover up on the verge opposite Brianden, and switches off the engine as Joe sneers at what he thinks is one of the ugliest houses he’s ever seen.
“Yes, this is it. Come on, Joe, don’t be nasty. It’s only one night.”
Joe shakes his head. “I can’t believe you dragged me to the Cotswolds to stay here. This is going to be awful.”
“It’s not awful, it’s lovely inside, and for God’s sake it’s one night.”
Joe sighs deeply and shakes his head as he reaches into the backseat for his Tumi overnight bag. “And to think we could have been at the Lygon Arms right now. Talk about the sublime to the ridiculous.”
Alice feels a flash of fury. She’s about to say something, but the front door opens and Emily waves excitedly to Joe, who composes his face and gives her his most charming smile.
“Emily!” he says smoothly, getting out the car. “How lovely to see you and how lovely to be here.” He leans down and kisses her on each cheek. “And you must be Harry,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Joe. It’s very, very nice to meet you.”
The four of them set off over the field with the dogs. Emily, Harry, and Alice all wrapped up in scarves, hats, and gloves, sensible boots on their feet. Joe is in a Barbour, a cashmere sweater, and John Lobb custom-made shoes on his feet. His entire outfit is probably worth about as much as Emily’s house.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Joe takes a deep breath. “Just breathe that fresh air. I love the country. Darling, why don’t we come to the country more often?”
“Because we’re always so busy on the weekends?” Alice ventures. “And because I thought you hated the country?”
“Hate the country? Who hates the country? This is marvelous.”
The dogs run ahead as the four of them cut across a field, ending up on a puddle-ridden path. Within minutes their boots are sinking into the mud, and Joe’s country-loving smile is replaced with a deep frown. “Shit,” he mutters, gingerly trying to avoid the puddles, his Lobbs now hidden under a thick layer of mud.
“Is anyone hungry?” Joe asks five minutes later. “Are we nearly there?”
“Hungry? We haven’t been out long enough to build up an appetite,” Emily scolds. “Anyway, the pub’s another two miles.”
Joe stops in his tracks, sinking an inch or two into the mud. “Two miles? You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Joe.” Alice can’t help herself, she starts to laugh. “What did you think we meant when we said we were going for a walk?”
“I thought you said walk. Not John o’Groats to Land’s End.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Emily chides. “It’s good for you.”
A few minutes later Joe has a horrifying thought.
“How exactly are we supposed to get back from the pub?” The three of them start laughing as Joe shakes his head. “Nope. Count me out. I’ll be getting a taxi.”
“He is charming,” Harry whispers to Emily as they stand at the bar, waiting to order, “but he’s a bit of a wuss, isn’t he?”
“He’s just not a country boy.” Emily leans into Harry as he puts an arm around her shoulders. “Shame. We almost would have had more fun if he hadn’t come.”
“Oh, I don’t know. That look on his face when he realized he’d be walking back was a classic—gave me the best laugh I’ve had in weeks.”
Two plowman’s lunches, two scampi and chips, three sticky toffee puddings, and one apple pie later, Alice, Emily, and Harry stand up and stretch, holding their stomachs and groaning, preparing to walk off some of the calories on their way home.
“Come on, Joe,” Alice says, standing over her husband, who is still sitting at the table, perfectly happy with a coffee and today’s copy of The Times, which someone has left on the neighboring table. “Are you coming?”
“Nope. I’ll get a cab back. See you at home. Cheers!” And he raises his coffee cup and smiles as the three others shake their heads and troop out of the door.
“I cannot believe what a total wimp my husband is.”
“I hope he’s prepared to stay there all afternoon.” Emily laughs.
“Really? Why?”
“Where does he think he is, Oxford Street? Does he think cabs grow on trees? My guess would be by the time he finds a cab to bring him home it’ll be dinnertime.”
“Good. Serves him right. Oh God. Dinnertime.” Alice moans. “Can we just not mention food ever again?”
“You mean you don’t want to go for a proper English cream tea this afternoon?” Harry smiles as the girls groan.
“Tomorrow,” Emily says. “Right now I just want to go home and sleep.”
“Are you sure that’s all you want to do?” Harry takes her hand and winks at her as Alice makes vomiting noises behind them.
“Can you just save it for the bedroom, please? Some of us are about to throw up.”
By the time Joe arrives a log fire is roaring, the dogs are stretched out asleep, and Harry and Emily have retired for an “afternoon nap.”
Alice is curled up in the armchair, reading, and she looks up with a smile as Joe walks in. He comes over to her and kisses her, as she makes a face.
“I can smell whisky,” she says. “Have you been drinking all afternoon?”
“I started talking to the farmer up the road”—Joe’s hands start to wander up her thigh—“and he bought me a drink and gave me a lift home.”
“Not just one drink, I take it. Look at you, you always get randy when you’re drunk.”
“Not drunk, just pleasantly mellow, and very turned on by my lovely wife. Where are the others?”
“Doing what yo
u presumably wish you were doing.”
“Come on, darling, let’s go upstairs.” Joe kisses Alice, and leads her, smiling, up the stairs to the lumpy, bumpy bed.
“Good sleep?” Harry looks up from the kitchen table, from a huge doorstop cheese and pickle sandwich he’s nearly demolished.
“I can’t believe you’re eating!” Alice shakes her head. “After that lunch you had? And yes, it was a good sleep.” She tries not to blush, knowing she cried out as she came, hoping that she couldn’t be heard. “And you? Did you sleep well?”
“Nothing like an afternoon nap to work up an appetite.” Harry grins. “Do you want some?” He proffers the remaining half of his sandwich, and Alice finds she’s suddenly ravenous.
“I’m going to be huge after this weekend.” She takes a big bite. “I’ll have to do the cabbage soup diet next week.”
“That sounds disgusting,” Harry says in horror. “What the hell is the cabbage soup diet?”
“It is disgusting. You make a cauldron of vegetable soup and eat it for five days. It’s completely disgusting but you lose pounds.”
“And presumably fart for your country at the same time.”
“Please!” Alice looks shocked. “Ladies don’t fart.”
“Oh, so sorry. What do ladies do then?”
Alice stops to think. “We do windy pops,” she says eventually as Harry bursts into laughter.
“What are you two laughing at?” Emily walks into the kitchen. “Alice! I can’t believe you’re eating after that huge lunch. I’m never going to be able to eat again. What are you eating anyway?”
Alice shrugs. “I don’t know but it’s delicious. Harry made it.”
“Cheese, ham, pickle, mayonnaise, tomato, cucumber, and the secret ingredient, onion,” Harry says proudly.
“It’s really good,” Alice says with her mouth full, offering Emily a bite.
Emily bends down and takes a small bite. “Mmm,” she says. “That is good. Harry, will you make me one too?”
“Of course,” he says. “Just as long as you promise me not to do the windy pop diet next week.”
“The what?”
“Promise me first, then ask Alice what it is.”
“Okay, whatever it is, I promise not to do”—Emily starts to laugh—“the windy pop diet next week.”
“Okay. One Harry ham and cheese special coming up.”
Emily, don’t take this personally but that bed is horrific.” Joe walks into the kitchen rubbing the small of his back.
“I know, sorry. At least it’s only one night,” apologizes Emily.
“What’s that?” Joe looks over with interest as Harry places another doorstop sandwich in front of Emily, who eagerly tucks in.
“A Harry special,” Alice laughs. “Do you want one?”
“God, no.” Joe leans back in his chair and rests a hand on his stomach as he shakes his head. “After that lunch? I’m completely stuffed.”
“That’s because you didn’t walk back,” Emily says through a mouthful of sandwich. “The country air has got all our juices going.”
“Oh, my juices are going”—Joe winks—“don’t you worry about that.”
They wander around the garden center at Burford on Sunday, Emily buying a few herbs to plant in her back garden, then on to Broadway to wander the cobbled streets looking at antiques.
“Isn’t this exactly what we’ve been looking for?” Joe stops in front of a window to gaze at a large ornate limed French armoire. “Wouldn’t that be perfect for the guest bedroom?”
“It is lovely,” Alice agrees, moving her face closer to the glass to block out the reflection and see it properly. “I didn’t think you liked that style.”
Joe doesn’t usually. The monolithic modernity of their house is entirely Joe’s taste, but Joe likes collecting, and Joe likes expensive pieces. Just last week he was reading an article in Architectural Digest about eighteenth-century armoires almost exactly like this one.
“Let’s go in,” Joe says. “See how much it is.”
Forty minutes later the four of them walk out of the shop, a large smile on Joe’s face. There’s nothing he likes more than a bargain, and, because he bought a Louis XIV chair as well, he managed to get the two pieces for just under ten thousand pounds.
“Did you see how much that thing was?” Harry is still in shock as the two couples split up for a while, Joe and Alice to do some serious shopping, Emily and Harry to window-shop. “Did you see how much he just spent?”
“I know,” Emily says. “That’s almost my annual salary.”
“Tell me about it.” Harry shakes his head in amazement.
“Joe’s hobby is spending money.” She shrugs. “I’ve accepted it now. I’ve decided that in this world there are the haves and the have-nots, and I’m definitely a have-not.”
“You have me.” Harry squeezes her hand as Emily’s face lights up.
“You’re right. Forget what I just said. I now definitely qualify as a have.”
“Do you know, I’m really having a nice time,” Joe says, four shops, one rolltop desk, and one Eames chair later.
“Good,” Alice says as he takes her hand. “I’m glad.” She doesn’t say that’s because you’re shopping, even though she knows that to be the case.
Alice is aware that Joe’s success has always been defined by material possessions. The more things he has, the more he can show off to the world, the better he feels about himself.
Everything in Joe’s life has to be the best. He can’t just wear socks, they have to be cashmere. He won’t stay in a hotel unless it’s a Relais & Châteaux or Four Seasons. His car has to be an Aston Martin DB7 Vantage, his wife beautiful and blonde. Even his mistresses are the crème de la crème.
Alice doesn’t care about any of those things. Alice just wants to be happy, and today, seeing Joe is in a good mood, having him take her hand and kiss her fingers affectionately, Alice forgets about his moodiness, his regular withdrawals. She feels grateful to have such a wonderful, caring husband.
“So you do carpentry?” They are sitting in a tea shop smothering homemade scones with thick clotted cream and jam, and Joe appears to be genuinely interested. “That’s an amazing coincidence. Our carpenter’s just let us down badly, and we’ve been looking for someone to build some shelves in my study.” Joe is eager. “Are you any good?”
Alice wants to kick him, but doesn’t.
“Yes, but I try not to work for friends,” Harry lies with a smile. “I find it usually leads to trouble.”
“Oh yes. I completely understand. Well, if you know anyone else, do let me know.” Joe drops the subject, for which Alice is grateful. It’s only later she groans when she remembers that Harry said he did most of his work for friends. He must think Joe is awful, she realizes.
“Not awful,” Harry says to Emily later that night when they are back in London and lying in bed. “Just patronizing, and from a different world. Not someone I could see myself socializing with on a regular basis.”
“But you liked Alice?” Emily snuggles closer into Harry’s side.
“Oh yes. Alice is great. I just can’t quite understand why she’s married to him.”
“I know,” Emily sighs. “But as long as she’s with him I’ll support her. I have to. I’m her best friend.”
9
There are days when the very last thing Josie Mitchell wants to do at five-thirty in the morning is go to the gym. At five o’clock, on the dot, Capital Radio screams from her bedside table, forcing her eyes open as she groans and throws the covers off, trying to muster the energy to move.
Throwing on a T-shirt, running pants, and sneakers, she scribbles a note for the cleaning woman before picking up her gym bag (carefully packed the night before), her work clothes carefully draped in a hanging bag, and heads out the door to the Harbour Club.
Her daily routine rarely changes. A brief smile and nod to the receptionists (and who could really expect more at that time in the mor
ning?), then Josie strides to her locker, hangs her clothes, and is in the gym doing her stretches by 5:40.
There are already numerous people in the Harbour Club. Mostly bankers, fellow workers in the City, and occasionally someone she knows, although she rebuffs anyone who wants to chat. She takes her exercise seriously and is in no mood for small talk when in the gym.
Twice a week she does weights, twice a week cardio, and once a week, on a Sunday morning, she does a spinning class.
She has breakfast on the way into work. Always the same thing, every day: a skim latte and a dry bagel. She doesn’t have time to sit and enjoy it, although food is not something she ever enjoys.
As a child she was overweight, never feeling as if she belonged, never feeling as good as her peers, turning to food for comfort, to stop her from feeling anything at all. At university she went to the other extreme and discovered that not eating empowered her unlike anything else had before, and the less food she ate, the stronger she felt, even as her body shrank to almost nothing.
She would refuse to eat anything that wasn’t “natural,” as she termed it, subsisting on lettuce, tomato and cucumber, apples and oranges, with the odd bit of whole-meal bread as a rare treat.
When she became ill, weighing less than ninety-eight pounds, she was sent to the university counselor who diagnosed anorexia, and although she now thinks she has a healthy attitude toward food and is a “normal” weight, she still feels uncomfortable eating in front of people, still worries that, despite being a small size ten, people who watch her eat will think her greedy, or worse, fat.
Her addiction to food has been replaced by an addiction to the gym. She fights to keep her gym visits down to five times a week—she could easily go every day, and occasionally, when she’s home early enough with nothing to do, it’s a battle not to go a second time in the evening.
And of course there is work. The more she can lose herself in work, the better she feels about herself, the less she has to think about a life outside the office.