Chapter 12 #2
Even as I think it, I can imagine Ollie being put on the spot and scrambling for one excuse after another, at every company event that his wife was supposed to be at, and I feel a bit bad for him.
It’s easy to laugh about someone getting themselves into this situation, but this is a pretence he’s been keeping up for years, and given how everyone has openly expressed their doubts about my existence, he was clearly not without suspicion.
Orla joins us again. ‘Yes, it really is good to see you looking so healthy. You’re always so beset by health issues. That brush with kidney stones sounded particularly dreadful and gosh, it took you ages to get over, didn’t it?’
‘It did rather!’ I trill. Kidney stones too? I must be the unhealthiest wife on the planet.
‘Between that and the arthritis flare-ups, I don’t know how you manage it! Although, at least Oliver says you’re taking extra fibre to relieve the constipation problems now!’
It’s no good. I was trying to hold it back, but I snort into my sparkling water. I have to go along with whatever excuses he’s made, but I resolve to buy him a medical encyclopaedia before I leave so he can at least make excuses that sound semi-plausible.
‘Ooh, sorry, that was too embarrassing, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t be allowed to talk about medical issues after my second glass!’ She holds her champagne flute up with a giggle.
‘It’s fine.’ I raise my own glass in response. ‘Didn’t realise he’d shared quite so much about my health history, that’s all.’
‘We’re all glad he’s got someone like you after all he’s been through.’ Michelle drops her arm around my shoulders. ‘He really is the loveliest boy – you’re very lucky.’
I look across the room and catch his eye and he gives me a wink that makes my insides bubble like the sparkling water in my glass. ‘I know.’
‘Aww!’ Orla has caught the look between us. ‘Young love! What I wouldn’t give to still have that with my husband after all these years! Remind us how long you’ve been married, Luce?’
‘Five years,’ I say, grateful for Rory’s coaching over the weekend. ‘But we’ve been together for much longer – about thirteen years now.’
Michelle clasps her hands to her chest. ‘And it’s like you’re still in the throes of new love!’
‘Although you must struggle to see each other with how much Oliver works and how much you travel for work. Maybe that’s how you keep things fresh between you?’ Michelle bites the end off a cocktail sausage.
I travel for work? I’m on dangerous ground here because Ollie hasn’t mentioned anything about what he’s told them his wife does for a living and I have no idea what to say. I’m hoping they won’t press any further.
‘What is it you do, Lucy?’ Orla asks.
Bugger. I look across the room again, hoping to send a ‘help me!’ signal with my eyes, but he’s deep in conversation with Dand and Halston and another man in a suit and he doesn’t look up. ‘Oh, it’s very boring. I’m sure Ollie’s told you.’
‘Actually, I don’t think he has. For as blissfully in love as you two are, he hardly ever mentions you. We honestly thought he’d made you up!’
I giggle a bit too enthusiastically while trying to either come up with an answer or a way to evade the question.
What on earth would Ollie have told them?
My mind has gone so blank that I can’t even think of a job that involves travel, never mind narrow it down to something he’s likely to have said, but I have to say something because they’re both watching me expectantly and the fact they already think I’m fictional is ringing in my head.
I decide to go for the truth as it is now. ‘I’m a… decorator, of sorts.’
‘Like painting?’
‘No, more like… um… interior design?’ I sound like it’s a question I’m asking them, and I’m hoping I can fudge something about travel in there too.
They share a confused look.
‘Do you know, I could’ve sworn Oliver said you were cabin crew on an airline, hence all the travel.’ Michelle strokes the stem of her glass thoughtfully, like she’s trying to remember.
I wish I could bang my head against a wall because I seem to be bouncing between putting my foot in it in one place to swiftly putting my foot in it in another place entirely. ‘Oh, right! Yes, er, years ago now.’
I look across the room again, wondering how recently he’s used this lie. ‘A while ago, anyway. You know what it’s like when you’ve got young kids. You want to be home more often, so I, er, don’t do that any more.’
I don’t miss the questioning side-eye that passes between them.
‘A designer though, how interesting,’ Michelle says. ‘The castle must be looking wonderful!’
‘And thank you for the invitation for Christmas – none of us can wait to see your gorgeous home and meet your children,’ Orla adds.
‘How unusual for you all to be spending Christmas at home. Maybe the airline messing up like they did will work out for the better after all. My daughter can’t wait to spend Christmas in a real-life castle.
She’s dying to know if you’ve got a butler and guards outside like Buckingham Palace? ’
‘Oh, gosh, no, nothing like that. It’s… cosy…
for a castle.’ I repeat Ollie’s words from our video call, words that I had no idea how true they were at the time.
It is cosy for a castle – the cosiest place I’ve ever been, but these people can clearly afford the best of everything, and I’m starting to suspect they might not agree.
To distract them, I rack my mind for the info Ollie’s told me about our soon-to-be guests. ‘Your daughter is Brittany, fifteen, right?’
Orla looks impressed. ‘You’ve been doing your homework…’
I turn to Michelle, glad I thought to study the list again this afternoon. ‘And your son is Xander, seventeen?’
‘Indeed. We might have never seen you before but Oliver has taught you well.’
‘Ollie talks about you all often. He’s really happy you’re coming for Christmas.’
‘We’re all excited about a proper family Christmas.’ Michelle leans closer. ‘Between us girls, the five-star resorts and men talking business all day gets a bit much sometimes. I wish I had your excuses to get out of it and spend a quiet Christmas at home sometimes.’
‘They’re not ex—’ I start to protest, but she stops me.
‘Oh, I know, Luce, we just envy you getting out of the holiday sometimes. It might sound nice in theory, but going away over Christmas is stressful and busy and a lot to organise, especially when the kids were younger and didn’t want to go, and now they’re grouchy teenagers who still don’t want to go… ’
‘Well, if there’s one thing we can guarantee at Hollybrae Castle, it’s a Christmas so calm, you won’t remember what stress is,’ I say breezily, thinking that we will very much remember what stress is.
‘Sounds heavenly, but those men of ours will spend the entire time talking about work, you mark my words. Us ladies will just have to keep ourselves entertained, eh? As long as you don’t have another bout of that horrible cystitis!’
I’d chosen the worst possible moment to take another sip of sparkling water because it hits the back of my throat and comes out through my nose.
Because festive food is a vastly more appealing topic than my apparent run-in with a UTI, I ask them about dietary preferences and favourite foods, and what they’d usually have in for Christmas, and then have to get my phone out and frantically type into my notes app as they list off their Christmas essentials, and I vow to myself that I’ll get everything in, because it sounds like these two wives don’t usually find much to enjoy about Christmas, and I’m determined to make sure this is the best one ever – for everyone involved.
It takes forever for Ollie to be done with work talk, but when he eventually makes his way back across the room, he holds his hand out. ‘Can I steal my beautiful wife for a dance?’
‘The Most Wonderful Time of the Year’ is playing and a few couples are dancing in the middle of the large room, and while I’m not really one for dancing, especially in these heels, I do have a few bones to pick with my fake husband.
‘You told them I was cabin crew!’ I hiss at him as ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ starts playing, and Ollie’s hands settle on my waist and I slip mine over his shoulders and he pulls me close enough to whisper.
‘I did?’
‘That’s what Michelle thought! It got quite interesting when I told them I was in interior design and had to talk my way out of it!’
‘It must’ve been years ago. I have no memory of saying that.’
‘And what about the other things you’ve told them? How many times have I broken my leg, or ankle, or had kidney stones or smallpox? You could’ve warned me, Ol!’ I pull back until I can look at him. ‘And constipation, really?’
He’s holding back a laugh, but his lips keep twitching and his face contorts as he tries to keep it in, but he can’t stop the giggle bursting out. ‘Okay, I remember that one. I was trying to say conjunctivitis and my mind went blank and the wrong word came out.’
I’m trying to hold onto my rightful annoyance, but the sight of Ollie’s wide, mid-laugh smile is making it nigh-on impossible. I’ve been there when talking to bosses. How I managed to get through any conversation with Patricia Calloway without mentioning constipation is nothing short of a miracle.
‘I’m sorry.’ Ollie ducks his head closer to mine. ‘They were just excuses. Spur-of-the-moment reasons for why you’ve never attended this event or that event with me. I didn’t think there’d be follow-up questions or that there’d ever be an actual person to follow them up with.’