‘Oh,’ she says, giving him a broad smile as she kicks off her shoes and steps into the living room, ‘it’s good to see you, son. What a day it’s been.’ She flops down on the sofa and closes her eyes. ‘What a bloody day.’
8
Sarah
It was his long beard that caused it. She didn’t mean for it to happen, for the gasp to escape. She tried to stop it with her hand but it was too late. He had already spotted it. She could tell by his expression, by the quizzical look he gave her as she stepped away from him farther into the hallway, that he thought her ill-mannered. She didn’t mean to be. She isn’t a rude person by nature. It’s just that she isn’t used to receiving visitors, and he was so dark, his gaze so piercing. And the beard. It was all so unexpected.
She can see now that her reaction could have been misconstrued as impolite but that wasn’t how she intended it to be. She hopes he doesn’t hold it against her. If there’s one thing she prides herself on, it’s that she always tries to do the right thing, even if the right thing leaves her standing alone. She believes that being principled is an admirable trait and it is one that she is rather proud of. Malcolm doesn’t always agree, calling her unbending and severe but at least she can say that she sleeps at night with a clear conscience.
‘So, you don’t mind taking it and handing it over to her?’ The man at Sarah’s door is staring at her, his hand outstretched as he thrusts a small attractively wrapped parcel towards her.
‘No, of course not,’ she replies, all the while wondering who this man is and what is inside the gift-wrapped box. She can’t remember the last time she received a present, especially one wrapped as beautifully as this with its gold ribbons and soft cream tissue paper.
‘As I said, I wanted to hand it over to her myself but I’ve been called away to work and won’t get to see her. I’ll message her to let her know you’ve got it. She’ll probably pop over for it once she gets in from work.’
He is smiling now, his teeth gleaming as he watches her for a reaction. She manages a weak smile in return, nodding as she takes it from him, noticing how slim his fingers are, how long and perfectly manicured his nails are. No callouses or grazes. Not a manual worker then.
‘Anyway,’ he murmurs, his eyes sweeping over her as he turns to leave. ‘Thanks for this. It’s nice to know that Emily has such thoughtful neighbours. You can never be too sure, can you? It’s a lovely village this one.’ He stops and sucks at his teeth. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling. Anyhow, it was nice to meet you.’
‘I’m Sarah,’ she calls after him as he heads down the path towards the gate.
‘Mohammed,’ he replies. ‘But people just call me Mo.’
She flashes him a smile and closes the door, leaning back on it, the box clasped close to her chest. The soft thump thump of her heart seems to fill the whole house as she heads through to the kitchen where she places the present on the kitchen top, eyeing it with more than a small amount of envy. When was the last time Malcolm surprised her with a box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers? Too long ago to remember, if at all. He prides himself on being practical, not the sort of man who would ever make false promises; not the sensitive sort at all, which can be interpreted as cold and selfish depending on your perspective.
She thinks about Mohammed, or Mo as he called himself. She’s seen him around recently but hadn’t realised his connection to Emily. He must be a recent addition to her life. Her new partner no doubt. Either that or he’s a random friend who has taken it upon himself to drop gifts off at her house. Even that sends a stab of jealousy through her. Despite Emily’s lackadaisical attitude and tardiness, she still manages to snag a man who is thoughtful enough to bring her gifts in the middle of the day. She will come in from work, tired and frazzled and be greeted with whatever is inside this box. Whatever the contents, Sarah herself would be overjoyed to receive it. Jewellery or chocolates is her guess. It’s the right size, the correct weight. She’s usually pretty good at guessing these things. Not that she’s had much experience when it comes to receiving them of course. Not with Malcolm and him being the way he is.
The way he is. She considers that phrase and then thinks about spending more nights on her own while he works away doing God knows what with God knows who. A hot fetid breath shudders out of her. She stops, silently reprimanding herself. That was a few years ago and as far as she is aware, Malcolm has never been unfaithful since.
As far as she is aware.
Because of course, it’s all about trust, isn’t it? When your husband has a job that conveniently takes him away for long periods of time, you have to switch off to the possibilities and all the temptations that are out there. She has told herself this many times to reassure herself and also to move on from his previous indiscretion. Either that or every time she has a glass of wine to try and unwind, it will all come spilling out, every hateful thought, every spiteful poisonous idea that she has had about divorcing him or stabbing him while he slept, would slip from her mouth unbidden. And then, with Malcolm being the practical no-nonsense type, he would up and leave her, unable to take her toxic corrosive ways, unable to put up with her horrid malicious words. He would make a clean break and start a new life without her.
So after it happened, she made a conscious decision to forgive him, to move on and try to be the best wife she can be by being biddable and compliant, acquiescing to his demands to stop him straying again. If they go for a meal and he wants to go to a certain restaurant then they will visit it without question. Should he wish to go for a night out with the boys, he will go and she will make no demands on what time he will be returning.
She does her utmost to be pleasant, to be the sort of wife he wants to be around, to keep her distance and not interfere in his affairs while managing to always be there when he needs her in the hope that it’s enough to keep him by her side. But there are times when it proves difficult. When he extends his time away for instance, or when she gets bored at home after taking redundancy from her job at the local council. Or if she sees other women getting treated with gifts when she can’t remember the last time her husband bought her anything at all.
She fights back tears as she recalls how he forgot their wedding anniversary earlier in the year. And of course, rather than nag him about it, she chose to be silent, to simply hand over the card she bought for him and accept his limp apology as he ripped open the envelope and placed the specially chosen card on the mantelpiece without even reading the message inside. Still, at least they’re together. An affair would have been the end of many other marriages, but they have ridden the storm. They have lived to tell the tale as the saying goes.
Sarah trails her hand over the smooth tissue paper, stopping to stroke the gold satin ribbon. Her fingers itch to untie it, to rip open the paper and see what’s inside. The contents might reveal the nature of Mo and Emily’s relationship, the depth and intensity of it. But she can’t. It would be a terrible invasion of privacy. Tipping it upside down she can see that it’s neatly wrapped, precisely so with sharp exact corners and not a rip or tear in sight. There’s no way she would be able to unwrap it and then rewrap it again without it looking as if it has been tampered with.