The Fat And The Thin Of It Page 28

her lip. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if he doesn’t want to leave her, what will you say then?”

  Jackie opened her mouth to say there wouldn’t be a ‘what then’ because she’d convince him he was better off with her, but she closed it again. Oh, it knifed her gut to think he could possibly refuse to come back home, but she did have to face the fact that he might. “I’m not sure.” She answered timidly.

  “Well,” Jill began as she broke open a roll and spread butter on one half. “That’s what we shall talk about now.” She passed the buttered half to Jackie. “Now eat, you skinny bitch.”

  The taxi drive took about ten minutes when it should have taken fifteen. The driver thought he was Fernando Alonso and they were in the middle of an F1 in Monte Carlo. The road up the hills was rather winding, and Jackie and Jill were thrown from one side of the taxi to the other as he skidded round bends and revved up the straights.

  They finally screeched to a halt outside a villa with a high, sandy-brick wall and dark brown iron gates, one very wide which seemed to lead to a car port, and another, smaller gate with an intercom beside it, and the women could see the roof slates were of a multi-coloured array from chocolate brown up to cream. Jill paid and the driver skidded off back down the hill, and they both stood outside staring up at the weather vane perched on the left-hand end of the roof.

  “Are you going to ring the bell, then?” Jill prodded Jackie.

  She shook her head with quick jerks. “No, no; you do it.” She muttered.

  Jill turned to Jackie and took her arm. She pulled her round so they were face to face. “Look, love. Remember what we discussed, okay?” Jill had her hands on Jackie’s shoulders. “And please keep your cool. Don’t do a rugby tackle on him like you did Richard, or you could end up in an Ibiza jail and I don’t think they do continental breakfast.”

  Jackie smiled and nodded. “Aye-aye, Cap’n.” She saluted Jill in ship-shape fashion. She then took a deep breath and pushed the button that said ‘timbre’.

  After half a minute or so, the intercom crackled into life and a female voice said, “Si?”

  Jackie stood there with her mouth open, but nothing was coming out of it, so Jill leaned in and shouted. “It’s Jackie.”

  There was a pause, then the female voice said gruffly, “One minute, please.” And the intercom crackled into silence

  The two women stood on the dusty pavement as if waiting for a bus. Jill checked her watched and Jackie rocked back and forth on her heels. Suddenly, the narrower iron gate made a loud clicking noise which made them jump out of their skins, and it swung slowly in on itself. They looked at each other and walked in.

  There were semi-circular steps leading up to a gleaming white double front door and thick Greek-style pillars held up the porch. The villa was in the style of a dormer bungalow but on a much bigger scale. There were four wide and heavily barred windows, two on each side of the front door, and right in the middle of the roof were four long tinted windows seated into the roof with a wide terrace in the middle over the porch.

  Jackie hesitated before the steps as if afraid to go any closer, and Jill had to take her arm and guide her up. They stood in front of the gleaming white door, waiting for it to be opened by somebody, but no-one came.

  Jill huffed. “This is bloody ridiculous. Do they expect us to go round to the frigging service entrance?” she pulled roughly at a chain that was linked to a big, shiny brass bell and it made a terrible racket.

  “Hello?” said a voice from behind the women, and Jackie squealed as she jumped round.

  Bob was standing at the foot of the steps with his hands in his trouser pockets. He was dressed as if he was about to board a yacht; white polo shirt with a broad dark blue band across the chest, crisp white trousers and navy blue, nautical style shoes. The ensemble was finished off with a navy blue jumper casually tied about his shoulders, and a flashy watch with a white leather strap. Jill recognised the trademark of the clothes and watch and she fumed, realising that he was wearing on his back a good three months’ worth of Jackie’s food budget. The watch was probably worth another three months on its own. However, he didn’t look either worried or embarrassed: He simply stood there in a relaxed pose with a look of curiosity on his face, as if he hadn’t seen the two women for much longer than two weeks.

  His look enraged Jill, but she could feel Jackie trembling beside her, and she didn’t know if it was with anger or nerves or if she was about to burst into a sprint towards Bob and either tackle or hug him.

  In fact, Jackie almost hadn’t recognised her husband. She’d immediately recognised his voice, of course, but the way he looked… the stylish clothes, the flashy watch and the way his hair had been tamed with discreet hair oil made her suspect she was looking at a fashionista clone of Bob rather than Bob himself. She’d only ever seen him wearing shabby old suits, worn cracked shoes and shirts that were embarrassingly frayed at the cuffs. She’d often commented that she couldn’t understand how he could walk about with clients looking like a rag and bone man and still do a good business and had tried to get him to buy new clothes, but he’d refused, saying that the clients spent their time eyeing properties and not him. Even at home he’d wear little more than tired-looking tracks suits in winter and shabby shorts in summer, and she’d have to ask him firmly to at least put on a pair of jeans when they went anywhere. This Bob, dressed like a nautical toff and, she could tell from where she was standing, smelling like a field of orchids was completely alien, and she wasn’t sure if he unnerved or infuriated her.

  Bob smiled with a child-like quality. “You’re looking good, Jackie.” He simply nodded at Jill.

  “And you’re looking smug, Bob.” Jackie replied. “Why didn’t you open the front door?” she was still trembling, but she managed to keep her tone even and with a certain strength that made Jill feel quite proud of her.

  Bob scuffed at the ground with his toe and looked down. “I’ve laid out coffee on the terrace round the back. It’s easier to walk round this way instead of through the house.”

  “Easier because then I wouldn’t see the shameless opulence you’re living in or easier because then I wouldn’t bump into…” Jackie couldn’t say ‘your girlfriend’ or ‘Lola’, but he knew who she meant.

  Bob puffed his cheeks then beckoned with his hand. “Come on, let’s have some coffee.” He walked slowly off and round the side of the house.

  Jackie made the first move to follow him and left Jill to tag behind. She felt surprisingly little emotion at the sight of this Bob than she would have felt for her Bob. This Bob really didn’t even inspire a feeling of happiness at seeing him, let alone a longing to embrace him and beg him to come back, and because of this she couldn’t wait to start their conversation. If it had been her Bob, then she didn’t think she could have even opened her mouth without bursting into tears, and she felt quite heartened and more than just a little bit brave.

  They followed Bob’s route and came to an extensive, well-kept lawn surrounded by exotic bushes, some of them in flower even at that time of year, and they could just about make out a swimming pool at the back of the lawn and a half dozen palm trees standing guard behind. The back terrace was a much wider version of the front porch, with three ascending rows of semi-circular steps up to a terrace with terracotta tiles. There were a variety of hanging baskets overflowing with ferns and geraniums strung around the edge of the terrace’s ceiling, and huge pots of small palm trees and rubber plants created an exotic fencing around the edge. There was a large, round wooden table tucked away to the left, with bamboo blinds pulled down behind it to shield the space from the sun, although on that particular morning they would serve to keep the rather chilly morning breeze off their backs. Instead of a brick wall, there were two sheer sheets of glass with sliding French windows in the centre, and the two women could make out a very large and sleekly decorated living space through the dim interior, with large pieces of ridiculously expensive-looking furniture, even by Jill’s sta
ndards.

  Jackie stood at the foot of the terrace and slowly turned in a full circle, surveying the garden, the terrace and what she could make out in the interior of the villa, mentally comparing it to her mid-seventies’ four bedroom house, with its patchy lawn, cracked slab pathway and exhausted furniture after two energetic kids had bounced their way through it over twenty-four years. Her lips ached from pursing them so tightly as she bided her time before speaking. She needed all this to sink in, to get the feel of this Bob and to understand how different he was from her Bob.

  But who was the real Bob? That was what puzzled her as she stood squinting at the surroundings in the weak sunlight. Was this Bob the real Bob or was it her Bob? Where was the lie? Had he lived the lie with her, or was he living it here with her?

  Jackie glanced at Jill and saw she was having a tough time holding her tongue as well. Jackie nudged Jill and smiled at her, giving the impression that she was quite relaxed and okay with it all. Strangely enough, she did feel quite relaxed and okay with it all, and she gave Jill a light tug on her elbow and nodded towards the terrace. She didn’t care who Bob was, or is, or ever had been; she had to deal with him and sort herself and her children out, and right then she felt