AN EXTRAORDINARY LIFE
At my friend Janes wedding, the celebrations stretched for two daysfull of food, laughter, and more than a bit of good drink. The groom, Matthew, looked like he’d stepped out of a film: all tall, dark, and impossibly handsome. He carried himself with such modesty that, paired with those smouldering good looks, he left quite the impression. All of us guests found ourselves sneaking glances at Matthewthose bright blue eyes, inordinately long black eyelashes (why do men get all the luck with eyelashes, honestly?), a strong jaw, a nose worthy of a Greek statue, and flawless olive skin. And to top it all off, he was nearly two metres tall with wide, powerful shoulders. If we didn’t love Jane so much, I swear there would have been a scuffle right there at the wedding table over this specimen. Matthew really was something else.
Crikey, Jane, where did you find such a man? we teased her, each of us trying to put on our most forlorn, lovelorn faces in case there were any other eligible bachelors like him in the family.
Oh, you lot, it’s not just his looks, Jane protested, I fell for Matthews simplicity. He grew up in the country with his nan, ran the family smallholding, and hes incredibly handy. We met when my parents bought a cottage in his village. Hes sensitive, kind, reliable. You shouldve seen what he did with his nans placehonestly, a real man! Took me weeks to convince him to move into the city, too, bless him!
Matthew adapted quickly. He won over the new in-laws, picked up on good wine, aftershave, politics, art, football, Dow Jones trends, ditched his strong Somerset accent, and became quite the city gent. He started driving a comfy car, kindly provided by his father-in-law, and landed a top job at the family business. Who sorted the young couple out with a flat, you ask? Well, try and guess.
It was in the second year of their marriage that Jane stumbled upon his unusual passion for white socks. Matthew would wear pristine white socks everywherearound the house, to visit mates, even inside his wellies. He’d stroll barefoot in just those socks even on the grubbiest hallway floor. Jane couldnt quite grasp the obsession but cleaned the floors twice daily and bought every bleach under the sun. It soon earned Matthew the nickname Sock.
It was in Janes eighth month of pregnancy that she found out about Matthews affair. By then, the mistress was that far along as well. Sock was kicked out, job lost, cursed, and thoroughly wept over in the span of twenty-four hours. After that, the routine dulled into the endless, sticky grey days of autumn. Jane lay there, unmoving, on her now seemingly ridiculous and giant bed, endlessly staring at the ceiling with dry, burning eyes.
Ill cry later. Its not good for the baby just now, shed whisper.
Jane became a sort of silent monument in her bedroom, and we, her loyal friends, rotated in and out, keeping vigil in silence. We wanted nothing more than to rage, to tear out pages from the book of fate, but all we could do was wait.
On the day Jane left hospital, our group was a collective messballoons everywhere, asking the nurses for one last cuppa before whisking Jane and her little boy home. Her proud new father-in-law outdid everyone else by chalking a massive, wonky Thanks for our grandson! under Janes window, only to be politely stopped mid-song by security and offered a nip of brandy in the lodge to preserve the peace.
That day, he looked bright and fresh, beaming with happiness and pride. He even cried in a fine English waya bit, but with heart. We all teared up and laughed, hugging Jane, glancing at the baby sleeping in his blue blanket, silently ignoring that unmistakably Greek nose hed inherited from his father, Matthew. Even at the high points, Jane held it in.
Later. What if it spoils the milk? shed quip.
Jane stayed quiet for two more months, then decided to visit Matthewarmed not with matches or acid, but with a huge urge to shout, rage, and finally let go. She wanted to shout, berate, and shame him for breaking apart their home and their dreams, the ones where shed seen herself knitting socks for their son, laughing on strolls with Matthew, being the family they shouldve been.
And, if she was honest, Jane wanted to see the face of the woman who dared share a bed with someone elses husbandbeautiful and bold, no doubt. Shed decided shed spit in her face if it came to it. Or scratch her eyes out, if necessary.
Jane found out where to go from some chatty old ladies outside the block while out walking her baby. Matthews trouble, love. Heres how to get to where shes holed up, they said, complete with suggested punishments. Jane nearly turned back, sure thered be no one in. But curiosity kept her going.
There she stood, outside a shabby old block, needing only to climb five flights. On the first floor she thought, I bet no ones in. This is a waste. By the second, she hoped for it. On the third, she heard a desperate babys wail from the top floor.
A thin, red-eyed girl opened the doorhardly the vixen Jane pictured. The baby kept right on bawling somewhere inside.
Hello, Jane. Matthews not herehe left us two weeks ago. I dont know where hes gone, the girl managed before crumpling to the floor in tears.
Janes urge to shout faded away. Instead, she wanted to soothe this mess of a womans sobbing baby. Maybe toss in a cutting, You made your bednow lie in it, love. Surely she was owed that, as the wronged wife.
Inside, the baby was bone-dry, hoarse from crying, with veins popping on his forehead. Clearly, he was hungry. The girl, sprawled on the hall carpet, was howling, explaining to Jane like an old friend that shed nowhere to gothe rent was up in days, her milk was gone, so was Matthew, and she had absolutely nothing. She was sorry and ashamed, hadn’t meant any harm, and begged forgiveness. Said Jane could hit her if she liked. The babys name was Paul, only nine days older than Janes little Toby.
Jane rushed homeToby would be needing her soon. She hauled two heavy shopping bags of the girls things. The breathless other woman hurried alongside, clutching a now-fed Paul. As she ran, Jane wondered how shed fit two more beds in her flat.
Three years later, we attended the girlClaireswedding. A year after that, Janes. Janes husband now wont let white socks into the house, says life ought to be brighter, and adores his wife, their son, and their two daughters. Claires got four boys and her husband is still hoping for a little girl.
Reflecting, Ive learned that life is full of surprisesand sometimes, offering forgiveness means making room for a bed you never thought youd share.
