The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

Paige’s one-woman craft industry was a revelation. ‘I didn’t know you could knit.’

The crying of newborns punctuated our conversation. Reedy little sounds from lungs that were still learning how to function.

‘There’s nothing I won’t do for my babies.’ Paige counted stitches. ‘I like to think of them wrapped tight and warm in something I’ve made.’

‘You could buy a shawl.’

‘Not the point. Putting myself out for them is… Ten… twelve… fourteen.’

A woman with long fair hair shuffled past the bed, hoicking a drip after her with one hand, the other clasping her stomach. Flesh bulged on either side of her fingers.

Now I had embarked on the subject, it was difficult to stop. ‘Perhaps she’d been thinking about Nathan and the old days. Perhaps she was missing him. I don’t know. They seemed so cosy together, Paige. It was as if the conversation between them had continued all these years.’

Paige was not a natural knitter and she had trouble looping a stitch back on to the needle. ‘Think yourself lucky it’s just an occasional encounter. In the old stories, Rose would have died of grief, or killed herself, and returned to haunt you.’

‘She does that without having gone to the bother of dying.’

‘What a pity you don’t write or paint. It’s a good subject and your experience is first hand.’ Paige put her needles together, wrapped the work-in-progress round them, and stowed it in a bag.

‘Ah!’ I cried. ‘That’s the trouble.’ The too-well-remembered sounds of the new babies in their plastic cots provided a counterpoint to my cry. ‘That’s the point. Everything I do is second – second-hand. Nathan set up home before. He had children before. He had friends before…’ The frosty Frosts, the disapproving Lockharts. A whole raft of them. Lined up in rows. And Nathan has family – boy, does he have family – which was set in stone before I arrived and has no intention of unsetting itself I paused. And then there is Rose.’

That blew the lid off the jar of maggots in my brain and they were crawling everywhere. Soon I must catch them and put them back. I contemplated my hands. ‘I’m not complaining or anything,’ I said. ‘Just telling.’

‘Well, you are complaining,’ Paige pointed out. ‘But that’s fine. You can complain to me. And I can tell you that Rose is nothing. You’ve built her up into something for no good reason.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to give you an earful. We should be discussing your bump.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting one thing?’ Paige placed a hand on her abdomen. ‘No one else had the twins, did they? That’s not second-hand. Or am I missing something? And, by the way, you’re godmother to the new arrival.’

‘Oh!’ Godmother meant acceptance. Godmother meant a settled role, a place in the hierarchy. ‘Thank you, Paige.’

When Sam and Jilly’s Frieda was born, Nathan went around in a grandfatherly glow. He wanted to know her weight, how well she fed and slept, was she wearing the Babygro he had chosen?

Pregnant myself, I listened to this with only half an ear. I had never reckoned on Nathan being thrown into such a fuss, but he was and that was that. However, there was no fuss over the seating arrangements at Frieda’s christening, and that was that too.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Nathan apologized. He was awkward and out of his depth. ‘Sam and Jilly feel it would be best if you didn’t sit with the family.’

It did not take two wits to picture the kind of conversation that had taken place behind my back.

I grabbed his wrist. ‘Did you stick up for me, Nathan? Did you fight at all?’

He hunkered down beside the chair I was sitting in. ‘Of course I did, Minty. I’d fight a lion for you. But it’s a difficult situation.’

Not that difficult. Divorce and remarriage were not unknown. ‘Are you ashamed of me?’ The words issued from between my clenched teeth.

‘No. No.’

But I knew the question struck a note of truth and, what was more, Nathan was ashamed of himself.

‘Where will you be sitting?’

‘At the front.’

‘With Rose, you mean.’

‘She is the grandmother,’ he said stiffly.

There are not many good things about being pregnant. In fact, there is nothing good about being pregnant – except one thing. If you’re disposed to weep, and I was, it could be employed to advantage. I turned to him as tears drifted down my cheeks, and whispered, ‘I know your family hates me.’

Deposited by Nathan on a back pew in Winchcombe’s village church near Bath, and given a couple of cushions to prop me up, I knew I was the focus of many eyes – some of whose owners longed for me to fall to my knees (impossible at thirty weeks) and declare, ‘I beg pardon for my sins.’ Everyone would have felt much better, including any sinners.

But I was tempted to rise to my feet and declare instead, in ringing tones, ‘Nathan was not happy with Rose. He told me, again and again. Listen! I rescued him.’

My reflections were interrupted. ‘Minty’ Poppy’s Richard edged past me and sat down on the empty seat on my left. ‘Nathan thought you might like company, and I’d like to provide it.’

There was sufficient flirtatiousness in his manner to cheer me up. I smiled at him. ‘That was nice of you.’

He smiled back, sympathetic and not unfriendly. ‘Confession time. Being married to a Lloyd is rather exhausting, don’t you think?’

After the main bit of the ceremony was over, and Frieda had shrieked in the approved manner, Nathan came back down the aisle. What it cost him, I dared not reckon. But that was the bargain I struck with my tears. He slid into the seat on my right and took my hand. ‘Hi,’ he said.

At the point of doing – such as stealing a husband who belongs to a woman you rather love (but not enough) – the exhilaration of the doing and taking is what matters. Only afterwards, during cold, reflective nights, does the enormity of what had happened assume its true shape.

Nathan stuck the photographs of Frieda’s christening into the album covered with red leather he had bought specially. Photograph number one showed Jilly, Sam, and Frieda in a lace gown that had serviced several generations of Lloyds. Frieda’s mouth had dropped open and there was a milk blister on her upper lip. Photograph number two featured Nathan and Rose. Dressed in her favourite olive, a proud Rose was holding Frieda in an irritatingly competent way, and Frieda’s tiny fingers curled round one of hers. But there was a clue to how she had been feeling: she had inclined her head to the left. ‘Left is my best profile,’ she had told me once. Nathan had his arms by his sides, but in a way that suggested he had wished to put one round Rose. Photograph number three was the formal group. In an old-fashioned hat, Jilly stood in the centre with the baby, Sam protectively beside her. Nathan, Rose and Jilly’s parents, plus godparents, siblings and cousins, fanned out from this nexus.

I was not in the photograph. Nor did I speak to Rose during the whole affair. But I caught her looking at me. Many times. I knew this because I had been looking at her…

I seized Paige’s hand, which was slick with sweat. ‘How can I kill Rose off? In my mind, I mean. How can I stop her menacing my marriage?’

She sent me a look filled with pity. ‘I’m surprised at you. It’s simple. Just think of your children.’

I dug in my bag for the magazines I’d brought for her and handed them over. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Linda’s in charge, and Martin takes over in the evening.’ Paige frowned. ‘I have a funny feeling that Linda’s thinking of quitting, which she absolutely cannot do.’ She bared her teeth. ‘If she does, I’ll throw the book at her. Being here is a big nuisance. I wanted to be at Jackson’s form play. I’d planned a huge tea-party, with all the works, and invited his teachers. This baby isn’t scheduled to arrive for two weeks. I’ve been telling it off very severely, and it’s not listening to me.’ Filaments of knitting wool clung to the front of her nightdress. I picked them off and threw them away. ‘Thanks.’ She raised herself gingerly up the pillows and settled back with a tiny shriek. ‘Ouch! That’s my sciatic nerve. Martin’s temper hasn’t improved. He didn’t really want this one. He says we won’t have time to breathe.’ She raised her eyes to mine. ‘Did I mention I tricked him into it? It wasn’t pretty, but it was the only way – ‘She stopped mid-sentence. ‘It’s acting up again.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Stop it.’

‘Paige, I’ll call at your house and check things for you. Is there anything you’d like?’

‘Actually, yes. A huge bloody steak with a plate of chips.’

A group of male and female nurses were conferring by the nurses’ station. One of the men, in a pretty blue uniform, headed for Paige’s bed. ‘Hi, I’m Mike. Just making sure you’re not worried about anything, Mrs