She fought the instinct to bristle. She’d set some wheels in motion that she couldn’t stop anymore, so it was best to plumb the depths of her diplomacy. Even if her husband chose to speak to her as if it were a rare thing for his wife to come up with a thought on her own. He never used to be like that. Derisive. Then again, she never used to want to be married to someone else, so, she supposed that made them even.
Kev slurped down some rather pricey Chablis she knew for a fact his trainer had told him to avoid.
‘Yes.’ She forced her voice to stay on-air bright. ‘I was thinking about the nip tuck tourism piece you were interested in me doing down in South Africa.’
His eyes flicked to hers, interested. ‘Oh, aye?’
She could almost see the self-satisfaction pour in.
‘Yes,’ she tugged her fork through a lawn of superfood micro greens, then met his gaze again. This was going to take some balls. ‘I was wondering how you might feel about doing it? You know, bust the myth that women are always the ones who need to change themselves to feel pretty. Like Mickey Rourke.’ Kev’s eyebrows shot up. Mickey Rourke might not have been the best of examples. She dove in and corrected herself. ‘Or Patrick Swayze. You know he looked ever so nice after he …’ she pulled her own cheeks back a bit and smiled.
Kev’s chest puffed up in indignation. ‘Patrick Swayze never.’
‘Course he did. Loads of them did.’ She began to rattle off a bunch of names of celebrities she knew had definitely been under the knife. According to her make-up artist, anyway. A font of wisdom, make-up artists.
Kev eventually burst out laughing. ‘Come off it, Kath. Out with it. Admit you were wrong. That your …’ He air scrubbed the area along his own, slightly drooping jawline and grinned. ‘You know … that you need a bit of refreshing.’
For the first time in her life his smile made her blood run cold. Kevin had just drawn a line between them.
He’d never put it that bluntly before. Not even bothered to be the tiniest bit sympathetic or gentle. As if it were her fault ageing didn’t factor well in the ratings.
A shot of courage swept through her. This had gone too far. The competitiveness. The fight for his and hers ratings when, for so many years, it had been their ratings and their popularity and their successes. She didn’t feel like his wife any longer. She felt like his employee. An unworthy sidekick about to be sloughed off before he finally bit the bullet and went solo. Robbie before he was just Robbie.
She fought the urge to scrape the rest of her salad into the bin, book herself into a hotel for the night and order room service for twenty. But no. This was supposed to be a chance to communicate with her husband. A chance to try and show him what he was doing to her by turning the tables.
It had been Fola’s suggestion. She’d told him how, though she didn’t want to go, and definitely didn’t want a facelift, she was also feeling a strange guilt for refusing a trip many women would’ve given their right eye for, particularly given the fact what she was doing instead was so much better. So much more … real.
But their viewing public didn’t really want real, did they? They wanted fantasy. Aspirational, fluffy fantasy. They only liked real if it made them feel better about themselves. Kath and Kev’s Kar Krash Marriage. Kath and Kev’s Kalamitous Klash.
And what had Kevin done with this chance to add some proper depth to his emotional landscape?
He’d laughed then thrown it right back at her.
She didn’t want this. Having to engage in tactical negotiations with her husband – her lifelong partner – to get him to see the way he was treating her wasn’t right. Wasn’t enough. He was supposed to be the one she could rely on to make her feel better. To comfort her. To make her feel beautiful inside and out … the way Fola did.
A heat flickered deep within her as an image of the pair of them looking at one another’s reflections in the mirror came to her.
Was she having an affair with him?
No.
Was she falling in love with him?
Yes. The idea of him, anyway.
Did she want her husband to see how much she hurt inside? How living this life, pretending what little self-confidence she had left was being devoured by his constant need to undermine her.
Maybe?
‘Fair enough,’ she eventually said, though it quite clearly wasn’t. ‘You know, I think I’ll turn in early tonight. Plenty to think about and—’ she pipped him to the post, ‘—of course I’ll be needing my beauty sleep, won’t I?’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was astonishing what three women could do when they put their minds to something.
‘There we are, pet.’ Flo fluffed up the pillows on the narrow twin bed – Sue’s childhood one apparently – and turned on the small unicorn lamp Sue had insisted on shifting from her original room to her new one. The pair of them stood back and gave the room a final inspection. It was more serviceable than inviting, but the room obviously had never been used as anything other than a hold all for Gary’s tools and his mountains of paperwork. ‘You’ll be fine in here for tonight,’ Flo gave Sue a half hug. ‘The rest’ll sort itself out soon enough.’
Flo wasn’t sure she believed anything she was saying, but she had to finish what she’d started, didn’t she? Barging in as she had. Rearranging this, moving that, all with Sue making involuntary ‘ohh’ and ‘hmm’ noises as she went. Her gut was telling her she’d done the right thing, but it wasn’t half hard, watching the poor woman confront her future up close and personal.
When Flo had opened the door to the small room they were now in,
