Chapter Ashleigh Brett and Remy Hughes 2012 Aged 50 #7
‘Well, whether or not you meant it is another thing entirely, Remy, but nevertheless you have.’ Her mum stood and reached for her handbag. ‘What are we, monsters? So terrible that you couldn’t tell us?’
‘No! Not that, it was just this pressure . . .’ she started, unsure how to finish.
‘Come on, Den.’ Her mum made the call to leave.
She watched her parents, shoulders sloping downward, trundle out into the darkness.
Remy looked around the room, the beautiful bunting Sophie had gone to so much trouble to make, the cake still on its stand, yet to have the candles lit or be cut.
Her tears were drawn from deep inside, as she flopped down on to the sofa, riddled with regret, and wishing she had kept her big gob shut.
‘Where is everyone?’ Harper asked as she came down the stairs, reading book in her hand.
‘They’ve gone, darling. Evie and Bertie are in his room, Ashleigh’s gone out, your dad’s upstairs and everyone else is travelling home.’
‘What happened? Why are you crying?’ Harper tucked her hair behind her ears nervously and put her fingernail between her teeth to rip it. A habit Remy deplored.
‘I think I messed up, Harps.’ She nodded through her tears.
‘Wanna talk about it?’ Her daughter sat next to her, and Remy laid her head on her child’s narrow shoulder.
‘I love you, Harper Hughes.’
‘Love you, Mumma.’
These were the sweet words she needed to hear right now as this changed world settled around her.
It was nearly midnight and Midge was yet to appear.
Remy had sobered as she scrubbed, having spent the latter part of the evening clearing up the kitchen, pulling down the bunting, sweeping the wooden floor, stacking the dishwasher, and washing glasses in the sink.
All while Harper read her book on the sofa.
The cake she left on the countertop with a knife next to it, should anyone fancy a slice.
Cowardly as it was, she was still plucking up the courage to go and face her husband, having fully expected him to appear at some point.
Whether they would row, chat or cry, she had no idea, possibly all three, but either way, she was dreading the interaction, unable to get the way he had looked at her out of her mind.
With tiredness now pawing at her muscles and her thoughts a little less than crisp, she knew she couldn’t delay it any longer; it was time for bed and to go and face the man who was everything to her.
‘I’m going up, Harps. Will you be okay?’
‘Yep. I’m not sleepy, just going to sit here and read.’
‘Okay, my darling.’ She peeled the soft blanket from the arm of the sofa and placed it over her daughter’s legs. ‘I love you. I’m so proud of you.’
‘See you in the morning, Mum.’
‘See you in the morning, and don’t bolt the door, Ashleigh has a key.’ She wondered where her sister had got to and checked her phone again. Still no reply to the two texts she’d sent asking where she was and if she was okay.
It was as she held the banister and put her foot on the first stair that she heard the clatter and bang, as Ashleigh more or less fell through the front door. Her dress had ridden up and her eye make-up was smudged; she was certainly making a good go of ridding herself of that golden girl image.
‘What the hell!’ Harper’s anxious tone was one of concern, as she jumped up, alerted by the crash.
‘She’s fine!’ Remy smiled, to show there was nothing to worry about, knowing her girl was sensitive to any extreme situation, easily overwhelmed.
Rushing towards the front door, her sister lay laughing on the mat, hair falling over her face and with too many buttons of her frock undone, revealing her lacy cupped bra.
She was giving off more booze fumes than The Dog and Duck at chucking out time on market day.
‘You’re fine, aren’t you, Ash?’ she asked through gritted teeth, smile fixed.
‘Fine is debatatatable!’ Ashleigh snorted. Harper smiled awkwardly, concerned, on high alert, yet it was undeniably funny to see a sloshed adult on the hall floor.
‘Harps’ – she clapped – ‘why don’t you go and read upstairs? I’ll be up in a bit.’
‘Sure.’
Her daughter had given her a sideways glance, indicating she understood it was not actually a suggestion, but more of an instruction.
‘For God’s sake, get up!’ Remy hissed, watching as her sister managed to haul herself into a crawling position and, on all fours, slowly made her way into the kitchen.
She came to rest by the table, slumped against the wall with her legs straight out in front of her.
It was then Remy noticed she had one shoe missing.
‘What on earth? Look at you!’ Remy ran her a glass of water, knowing there was little point in getting angry or even expressing an opinion; her sister was too drunk to take anything in.
‘I’ve hadalovelytime.’ She beamed.
‘So I see.’ She handed her the water and decided to make coffee.
‘I’ve got something to . . . t’ tell you.’ Ashleigh hiccupped.
‘Is it that you’ve consumed your body weight in wine? Because I hate to be the spoiler, but I already know this.’
‘Funny!’ Her sister pointed at her, before trying to stand on her booze-addled pins, and swaying, resting her hand on the wall to steady herself. ‘It’s a secret that I think might make you mad.’
‘Oh, you know me and secrets.’ Remy felt a headache pulse; this was the worst possible end to the worst evening.
‘You can’t keep them, can you! You told everyone!’ Her twin laughed as if this were the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
‘You wanted me to, and I did! So don’t throw it back at me, Ashleigh. You’ve wanted me to come clean for years, and now I have. And thanks for sticking around to help me deal with the aftermath!’
‘Ssssh! You’re very shouty.’ Ashleigh put her finger over her lips and slid back down the wall, landing with a thump in a sitting position.
‘So what’s your secret? Spit it out,’ she snapped, wanting to get the interaction over so she could go upstairs, wanting her sister to sober up enough so she could send her to bed, out of the way.
‘I have been to the pub!’
‘No shit.’
‘Come here! Come here!’ Ashleigh beckoned her over, as if about to reveal big news. Remy bent down.
‘I have had sex,’ her sister whispered, and Remy caught the full whiff of sour wine notes on her breath. It was far from pleasant.
‘Two things: you’re a mother and therefore I guessed this might be the case.’
Again Ashleigh roared her laughter. ‘Wha’s the second thing?’
‘You need to use mouthwash, that’s the second thing. You smell like an old brewery mop.’
‘I want to tell you more about my secret, Remy.’ Her sister pulled her arm, until she was sitting next to Ashleigh on the floor, suddenly a little tired, her body flagging.
‘Go on then. Just tell me.’ She was running out of patience.
‘I had it just now! Tonight! When I went out, I ended up in the pub and had sex! The best kind of sex, unexpextedsex!’
‘You met someone in the pub and had sex?’ Remy didn’t know how to process this. Her sister was a grown woman, and yet she felt horrified. Had someone taken advantage of her? Her gut churned with all the terrible possibilities.
Ashleigh howled her laughter. ‘No! Well, yes, but I knew him already.’
‘You don’t know anyone here.’ She was confused, Ashleigh was a London girl. Who did she know who might be drinking in a pub in Amesbury?
‘I had sex with Jamie!’
The words were easy enough to understand, yet made little sense.
‘Jamie?’ She felt her mouth go a little dry, and was confused, because the only Jamie she knew was Jamie Aller and . . . surely not! ‘My Jamie?’
‘He’s not your Jamie anymore, but that Jamie, yes. Sophie’s dad, Jamie the bozo!’
Remy stood and held the edge of the countertop. ‘That’s . . . are you actually kidding me?’ It was a thought as yucky as it was surprising. Not only was Jamie a dipstick, but Ashleigh knew exactly how he had treated her when they were married.
She shuddered; the connection was revolting for her. She had been married to Jamie, had a baby with Jamie, it was . . .
‘Are you angry?’ Now her sister looked close to tears.
‘Go to bed, Ash. Go to bed and sleep it off and we can talk about it in the morning.’
‘You are angry with me.’ Her sister stifled a sob.
‘No, no. I’m not angry.’ Remy turned away, unable to look at her, and pausing by the door, she spoke plainly and loudly. ‘I’m grossed out, just completely grossed out!’
Halfway up the stairs, she could hear Ashleigh bashing pots and clattering pans in the kitchen. God only knew what mess she was making physically to match the one her behaviour would undoubtedly create.
The bedroom was in darkness. It was hard to tell if Midge was sleeping.
She could just about identify his shape under the duvet.
Her body was stiff as she lay on the bed next to him, arms by her side, breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as her thoughts spun and her upset brewed, and all thoughts of a restful sleep this evening were relegated in the face of this . . . this . . . turmoil!
Midge turned on to his side and she heard him sigh.
‘Well, that was quite the night.’ He spoke clearly, far from sleep.
‘Yep.’ She wasn’t sure how to be, what to say, feelings alien when it came to her marriage.
‘She’s right though, Remy, he’s not your Jamie. He can’t be, because you’ve got me, you’ve got a Midge, and Jamie is old news, the past.’
So he had heard; at least it spared her having to say the words out loud.
‘You know what I meant. He’s still Sophie’s dad. Are you telling me it’s not weird?’
‘Oh, it’s weird all right, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s not yours.’
His tone was loaded, hurt, and she knew it was about so much more than this one incident.