Rescuing Rose

‘Well, I went out with someone, on the rebound, but that didn’t work.’ Surprise surprise! ‘I’ve seen one or two old boyfriends.’ Hopeless! What a twit! ‘But I loved my husband and I just can’t get him out of my mind. What really gets me is the thought of him with her,’ she went on, in a drink-sodden drawl. ‘The thought of them having – uh-uh – you know, just makes me feel ill.’

‘So why torment yourself with that unpleasant thought?’ Bullseye!

‘Because I can’t stop myself from doing it – that’s why. I do these awful things,’ she confided with a wet sniff as I drove down Putney High Street.

‘What sort of things?’ said Lana.

‘I ring him then I hang up.’ Sad! ‘I drive past his flat as well.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Lana with a sigh. And now, my heart beating like a tom-tom, I drove slowly down Chelverton Road.

‘In fact I’ve driven past it so often I’ve worn a groove in the tarmac – but I just can’t help it,’ she wailed.

You are one very sad bunny, Betsey, I thought to myself as I turned left into Blenheim Road. Seventeen, twenty-five, thirty-one – mustn’t let him spot me: then there it was. number thirty-seven. Ed’s navy company Beemer was parked outside. Blackness filled my chest as I pulled into a space opposite and a little to the right, away from the tangerine glare of the lamp. Then I switched off my lights, turned up my collar, and sunk down into my seat. The downstairs curtains were drawn but a wedge of light shone through a chink at the top. Ed was at home. My husband. He was on the other side of that wall. And now I wondered with a crashing sensation in the pit of my stomach, if she was there as well. Perhaps she was standing at the Aga, cooking supper. I imagined sneaking up behind her and bashing her over the head, then chopping her into tiny pieces, mixing her with Kitty-Bics and feeding her to next door’s cat. I was interrupted from this pleasant reverie by a light going on in Ed’s room.

‘Your behaviour is very destructive,’ I heard Lana say. Yes it is, I thought. ‘Not only are you not trying to recover from this, you seem determined to pour acid in the wound.’ True. ‘I mean, why do you want to torture yourself? Why?’

‘Why?’ I whispered as Ed’s face suddenly loomed up at the window.

‘Yes. Tell me. Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ I wept, as he threw wide his arms and shut the curtains. ‘Oh God, oh God, I don’t know.’

Actually, I do know. You see, what I was doing was quite different from what that sad woman on the phone-in was doing. She was obsessing about her husband – poor thing – whereas I was actively trying to get over mine by laying a ghost. Because I thought that if I could just sit outside his house, and feel absolutely nothing, then that would help me move on. So I did. Okay, I cried at first, but then I dried my eyes and I sat there for – ooh, not that long, maybe half an hour or so – just watching as though I were a twitcher and the house some exotic bird.

‘I can do this,’ I told myself. ‘Yes, Ed’s there, and I’m still married to him, and yes, I was besotted with him, but the fact is I’m in control.’ Remembering some tips from the Breathe Away Your Stress book I shut my eyes and inhaled through my nose. As I exhaled, counting slowly to ten, I could feel my heart rate slow, and my eyes were still closed when I heard the throaty chug of an approaching cab. And I expected to hear it go past me, but instead I heard the squeal of its brakes. I opened my eyes. It had stopped right outside Ed’s house, and now the door was clicking open like the wing of a shiny black beetle, and Mary-Claire Grey stepped out. She paid the driver, then tottered up to Ed’s front door, her stilettos clacking up the path like sniper fire. And I was waiting, stomach churning, for her to lift her hand to the brass bell and ring it, when instead she opened her bag, took out a bunch of keys then proceeded to unlock the door. The bitch! She was letting herself into Ed’s house – my marital home – for all the world as though she lived there! Which she quite clearly did.

‘She’s moved in,’ I breathed, outraged, as the door closed behind her. ‘She’s known him three months and she’s already moved in.’ Ignoring the small voice telling me that I had moved in with Ed after only one month, I started the car and pulled out of the space, hands trembling like winter leaves. I was so distressed I almost pranged the car in front, then with a sickening, tightening sensation around my sternum, I drove away. Dizzy now with a blend of misery, panic and nausea I sped off to meet Henry at Ghillie’s on the New Kings Road.

‘Rose!’ he exclaimed, as I was shown to his table at the back. Still feeling sick and wobbly I allowed myself to be enveloped in one of Henry’s familiar, bone-crushing hugs. ‘It’s great to see you again,’ he said planting a trademark fat kiss on my cheek. ‘You’re a major media star these days!’ I began to feel better.

‘And you’re a Major – full stop!’

‘About bloody time!’ he laughed. ‘But then I always was a late developer,’ he added with a good-natured smile.

Now, as I had my one glass of champagne, my stress levels plummeted from their Himalayan heights and began to stroll calmly around at Base Camp. So what if Mary-Claire was living with Ed? It didn’t make any difference to me. In fact it’ll make it easier for me to get over him I thought, knowing that he’s moved on so fast. I’m not bothered about Ed, I said to myself. Ed’s over. The credits on our marriage have rolled. As things turned out, it wasn’t the major motion picture it was meant to be – it was only a short.

As Henry chatted away to me I gazed at his handsome face. His sandy hair was retreating a little, but he looked much the same as before. The lids above the forget-me-not-blue eyes were a tiny bit crinklier and there were two parallel lines etched on his brow. He’d put on a little weight since I’d last seen him, and there was an incipient jowl beneath his square jaw. But he looked so attractively manly in his sports jacket, smart cords and polished brogues.

Henry and I had met at a barbecue in Fulham five years before. We were involved for a while, but it didn’t go anywhere – well, he was always away. Which, funnily enough, was exactly the same problem I’d had with my previous boyfriend, Tom. He was a pilot with British Airways flying the Australian route; we’d had a few nice stopovers here and there but otherwise things didn’t really take off. Anyway, Henry was posted to Cyprus for a year, then Belize, then Gibraltar, so our affair soon fizzled out. But we’d remained in touch intermittently and I’d retained a soft spot for him the size of a swamp. It was two years since I’d last seen him and as we ate we reminisced about old times.

‘Do you remember the fun we had re-enacting famous battles with your old Action Men?’ I asked fondly.

‘With you doing the explosions!’

‘Playing Warships in bed.’

‘You always beat me.’

‘Making Lego tanks.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Watching reruns of Colditz.’

‘And The World At War.’

‘We had fun didn’t we?’

‘Ra-ther.’

He told me about the NATO manoeuvres he’d been on, the Balkan skirmishes – ‘Fabulous stuff!’ His stint with the UN Peacekeeping force in Bosnia – ‘bloody hairy!’; a recent tour of duty in the Gulf. Then I told him about my marital battles, and about Mary-Claire Grey; he squeezed my hand.

‘She’s moved in with him,’ I said dismally, feeling the shock of it all over again. ‘I’ve just found out. I can’t believe it, Henry. He’s only known her three months.’

‘That’s tough.’

‘Still, I guess it’ll make me a better agony aunt,’ I admitted grudgingly. ‘You know, been there – suffered that. And what about you?’ I asked as the waiter brought my lemon sole.

‘Well,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork. ‘I’m newly single too. I got dumped by my latest girlfriend.’ My ears pricked up. That was clearly why he’d wanted to see me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I lied.

‘Well, Venetia’s a super girl – but it didn’t work out.’

‘Wouldn’t she make the explosion noises?’

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘It wasn’t that. It was just that’ – he sighed, then pushed a piece of steak round his plate.

‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ I said quietly.

‘No, really, Rose, I do. I do want to tell you,’ he repeated sadly as I sipped my water.

‘So what happened?’

‘Well,’ he went on, awkwardly, ‘it was just that there was…’ he exhaled painfully then drew the air through his teeth, ‘…another woman.’ Oh. Now that didn’t sound like Henry at all – he’s never been a ladies’ man.

‘And Venetia found out?’

‘Yes. But it’s slightly complicated actually,’ he said, his face aflame. ‘In fact Rose, do you mind, if I…well, if I pick your brains a bit? You see I’ve got this, um…well…problem, actually.’ My heart sagged like a sinking soufflé. That’s why he’d wanted to see me again – he just wanted to ask my advice.

‘I don’t want you to think I asked you out under false pretences,’ he said with a guilty smile, ‘but it’s just that I know I can trust you. I know that you won’t judge. And I was feeling so dreadfully low the other night, and I couldn’t sleep, so I switched on the radio and, to my amazement, there you were. And you were giving such good advice to all those people, so I decided that I’d ask you for some too.’ I looked at his open but anxious face, and my indignation melted like the dew.

‘Don’t worry Henry,’ I murmured. ‘Of course I’ll help you. Just tell me what it’s about.’

‘Well,’ he tried again, with a profound sigh, ‘the other woman. You see…the other woman, as it were…’ he cleared his throat. ‘This other woman…’

‘Yes?’