Adele Parks - Husbands

PENGUIN BOOKS

Husbands

Praise for Adele Parkss previous bestsellers:

Compelling and guaranteed to keep you turning the pages till the end Company

Parks depicts the nitty-gritty of relationships with authentic detail and theres a hugely optimistic feel to the story that makes it a satisfying read Sunday Mirror

Still Thinking of You is guaranteed to keep chick-lit and romance readers engrossed Big Issue

Set against an intoxicatingly romantic background, this is another beautifully constructed multi-layered story with fine characterization Daily Record

Parks has scored another sure-fire hit with Larger than Life Heat

An entertaining and sophisticated version of the girl-meets-boy story Marie Claire

An engaging read Independent

Compulsively addictive and involved with sexual passion and bad decisions Elle

A touching look at infidelity, love, and all the crap that goes with it New Woman

A modern fairy tale in the classic sense of the word: a story of wanting what you cant have, filled with perils and beasts, with a moralizing punch to the inevitably doe-eyed ending Daily Mail

Down-to-earth and very, very funny OK!

Perfectly encapsulating the zeitgeist a very entertaining read Heat

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adele Parks was born in Teesside, North-East England. She read English Language and Literature at Leicester University. Since graduating she has lived in Italy and Africa but has spent most of her adult life in London. She lives in Chiswick, with her husband and son. Her earlier novels, Playing Away , Game Over , Larger than Life , The Other Womans Shoes and Still Thinking of You , were all bestsellers and are published in over twenty different countries.

www.adeleparks.com

Husbands

ADELE PARKS

PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

www.penguin.com

Copyright Adele Parks, 2005

EISBN: 9780141902296

For my husband and my sister

Table of Contents

1. Tomorrow is a Long Time

Sunday 9th May 2004

Bella

OK? Ill call you tomorrow, Amelie. Youre OK, arent you?

Yes, says Amelie with a sigh. Her tone isnt reassuring.

I press the red button on the handset and disconnect my lovely friend. Im left with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy and grief. Grief is so lonely. It stains everything it touches and builds huge divisive walls. I should know, my mother died of cancer when I was nine. I will never stop feeling cheated. Id wanted to say something meaningful, calming, consoling and true to Amelie but I couldnt. Ive tried to find those words for nearly ten months now but they dont exist. Sighing with frustration I push my fists into the sockets of my eyes and rub hard. When Amelie called, Id just finished my night-time round of pelvic-floor exercises and Id gritted my teeth through eight reps of stomach crunches. I was mid my cleanse, tone and moisturize routine but now I cant find the emotional energy to continue. All that vanity stuff seems so pointless in the face of Amelies pain.

Loving is such a risk.

I look at my husband, Philip, who has fallen asleep while I was on the phone. Hes clasping a copy of The Economist . I turn on the bedside lamp and turn off the bright overhead light, ease the magazine out of his hand and kiss his forehead. I always love him even more after talking to my widowed friend; grief makes us selfish. I wish that every time I spoke to Amelie I didnt think, There but for the grace of God, but I do. Which probably means Im not as nice a person as Id like to be.

I nip around to my side of the bed, climb in next to Phil and hold tight to his strong, bulky body. My breathing slows down and I cant feel my heart thud quite as furiously inside my chest. During my conversation with Amelie it raced so violently that I was convinced it was attempting an escape bid.

I often think my heart would like to escape.

Philip makes me feel safe. Hes nine years older than me, which is undoubtedly part of it. He is kind, respectful and thoughtful, even after sex. The men that I dated before Philip had not often been these things, even before sex. We met not quite two and a half years ago I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, which makes me a tribute to a Human League song that I can barely remember but Philip enthuses about. An interesting dinner-party anecdote maybe, but working as a waitress in a cocktail bar is in fact a fairly grim existence. Philip is a highly successful City trader and while Im not sure exactly what City traders do, I know that they get paid an awful lot of money to do it. So Philip charged into my life armed with the traditional gifts of dinners in fancy restaurants, flirty lingerie (wrapped in tissue paper and hidden in thick cardboard bags) and even the occasional meaningful CD and book. He also brought with him a new array of courtship tools. He was a grown-up. Philip talked about ISAs, pension plans and stocks and shares with the same passion as other men talk about football league tables, PlayStation and bottled beer. He remembered stuff I found difficult to retain, like when the hunk of junk I called a car needed to be squeezed through its MOT, or if my household insurance needed renewing, and his DIY knowledge actively turned me on.

When I met Philip I was, I suppose, a bit of a mess. The most substantial thing about me was my overdraft and my most meaningful relationship was with my bank manager. In fact, thinking about it, I hadnt actually met my bank manager, so my most meaningful relationship was with the girl at the call centre (probably in Delhi) who I rang regularly to explain my latest embarrassment.

It wasnt as though I squandered money on designer labels and expensive lotions and potions. I didnt own much; not a flash car or a property. Not even a shoe collection; hard to believe, when you consider that most women who have been brought up on a diet of Sex and the City and Friends think that a to-die-for shoe collection and wardrobe is, well to die for.

It wasnt as though Id been idle. Id worked pretty much every day of my life since I graduated with my middle-of-the-road degree. The problem was I hadnt been consistent in my career progression. I had been on the bottom rung of several career ladders but had never clambered to the top of any of them. The thing is, I dont know what I want to do or be. I try to view it positively that, after several years, I can confirm that I dont want to be an accountant (too many exams), a banker (I dont like wearing suits), a calligrapher (anyway there isnt much calling), a dental hygienist (other peoples mouths yuk), something in PR or anything in the music industry. I still think being a chocolate buyer for Selfridges might be good but the opportunity has never arisen.