The Subsequent Wife by Priscilla Masters

Author:Priscilla Masters [Priscilla Masters]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2021-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

I felt so uneasy that on the following night I called in to see Stella after work. I wanted to pour my heart out to my best friend, but she was distracted and not in a listening mood. She appeared to be having a bad evening, even though I’d taken round a bottle of Prosecco which usually cheered her up. Not tonight. Geraint was in bed and quiet but there was no sign of Sonny. Maybe that was why she was having a bad evening?

When I told her about Steven’s first wife she took a gulp of Prosecco and pursed her lips. ‘So what happened to her?’

‘Cancer.’

‘Hmm.’ She was thoughtful. ‘When?’

‘Three years ago.’

‘So what’s your problem?’

And I knew I couldn’t put it into words. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

I shook my head. ‘Oh, Jenny,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t get into another pickle.’

‘Not if I can help it.’

I’d tried to make my voice sound positive but it sounded weak, defeated. Truth was I didn’t want to let this one chance of having a better life slip away from me. I liked Steven. He was sweet and kind and not at all aggressive. He was – I chose the word – unusual. But good chances don’t swing around twice. Call it greed if you like. I call it self-preservation. I was determined to cling on to this one chance. Stella looked at me pityingly. ‘Oh, Jenny,’ she said. ‘Can you never see what’s staring you in the face? If you feel there’s something weird about him there probably is.’

I threw up my weak defences. ‘You haven’t even met him. You don’t know him. You’re just jealous.’

‘Of what?’

‘Because I have a decent guy for once.’

She countered with, ‘You think so?’

I didn’t respond.

She took a huge swig of Prosecco. ‘Look at it this way,’ she said. ‘He’s giving you clothes obviously meant for her. He’s buying you her perfume. He tells you that you look like her. I mean, think,’ she appealed. ‘What is he up to? It seems plain to me he’s trying to turn you into her.’

‘Men usually go for the same type.’ I didn’t like the way I was sounding, weak and pathetic.

‘You think he’s still grieving for her?’

I shrugged.

She persisted. ‘So how long can you put up with a grief-stricken boyfriend?’

‘You’re being ridiculous. He isn’t like that at all. He’s good fun.’

‘Fun? Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

Her response was to take a disbelievingly large swig of Prosecco, eyeing me over the top of the glass.

I sensed something was wrong with her. I could hear Geraint grizzling upstairs and, although it was nearly ten, Sonny was nowhere to be seen. And there was something different about Stella. She’d lost her sparkle (in spite of the Prosecco). She’d lost her confidence too and her mouth looked smaller, tighter. Meaner. Unhappier.

Married woman A was merging, in front of my eyes, into married woman B.

She put her glass down on the coffee table. So hard the top shivered.

‘Stell,’ I said, feeling a flood of affection for my friend.

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