How to Win Back Your Husband

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‘Snacks?’ Nicci laughed. ‘Haven’t you all got full-up tummies from eating so much porridge?’

‘No!’ fourteen little high-pitched voices chorused as they pulled their mini-sized plastic chairs up to the table. Only Hannah hadn’t answered, her eyes already trained on the banana Rusty was chopping into chunks. She knew what she liked, that girl! And what she wanted. Perhaps there was something Nicci could learn from her after all.

Soon after six o’clock the last couple of parents had finally arrived, mumbling apologies and excuses about traffic and trains, and bustled out again, and all the children had gone. Everything had been cleaned and tidied during the last hour when a lot of the children had already left for home and those who remained had settled down in the book corner for a final story. Now all was quiet and Nicci was about to grab her coat from the hook in the staffroom when Rusty stopped her.

‘So, what’s it all about, girl?’ Rusty had slipped her shoes off and was rubbing a rather large corn on the side of her big toe. ‘God, my feet will be the death of me!’

‘About?’

‘Come on, my love. There’s something playing on your mind lately, that’s for sure. Tell your Auntie Rusty, or I’ll just have to tickle it out of you.’

‘You’ve been around kids too long!’ Nicci smiled. ‘I do not succumb to tickles!’

Unless they come from Mark, she thought, an image of a play fight they’d had on their honeymoon popping into her head, where he’d tickled her so much she’d wet herself. Not the most romantic way to present herself to her new husband, but he’d just laughed and tickled her some more. Hurriedly, she pushed the memory away.

They said their goodbyes to the other girls and took a last check around, making sure all the windows were closed and the sockets switched off. Rusty rescued the last of the porridge from the fridge, now looking decidedly lumped together and unappetising in a blue plastic tub, and stowed it in her enormous bag. ‘That’ll save me making any breakfast for my lot tomorrow,’ she quipped, licking her lips. ‘Okay. Seriously, though, Nic. Porridge aside…’ Rusty wasn’t about to give up.

‘Yes, I would love to put the porridge aside. I’m sick of the sight of the stuff. How could you even contemplate eating another morsel?’

‘Stop changing the subject, you. I’ve seen definite tears in your eyes more than once this week, and the porridge wasn’t hot enough to make your eyes water, that’s for sure. Come on, it’s never a good idea to bottle things up. Is it Mark? Has he said something? Done something?’

‘Oh, Rusty, I only wish he had. He’s kept himself so distant, it’s as if we’re strangers.’

‘Then you must say something or do something. It’s no good waiting about hoping for things to change. Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns and give it a good seeing-to… Ooh, that sounds a bit rude!’

Nicci laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I know what you mean. And I do want to do something. I really do. In fact, last night…’

‘Go on, love.’

‘Well, I went through the calendar and worked out how long my marriage has got left if I don’t.’

Rusty took hold of her arm, just as it was about to disappear down a coat sleeve, and guided her towards a chair.

‘Right! This sounds serious. I’m putting the kettle on, and then you are going to explain. And we are not locking up and leaving here until you do. Okay?’

‘But don’t you need to get back to your own kids?’

‘My Carl is there. He’s making us one of his curries. And Thursdays are Maths homework night so, believe me, I am in no hurry to get home! So, here’s your tea, here’s your chair, and here’s my ear. All yours. Now, talk to me, girl. Once in a lifetime offer!’

Nicci gave in. It wasn’t as if she had any plans to be elsewhere and she knew Rusty was a good listener.

‘I did a stupid thing. I know that. You know that. Everyone I know knows that. And I hate myself for it, and I know that I will never ever do anything like it again, but it was unforgiveable, wasn’t it? And that’s the trouble. Mark’ll never forgive me. I can understand his anger; of course I can, but he’s completely closed me out. He won’t see me, or let me even try to explain…but I really want him back, Rusty. I’ve only got twenty-nine days left now – less than a month – before that decree nisi can be made absolute, but Mark sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to try to stop that happening, is he?’

Rusty patted her shoulder and reached over to pull a chunk of kitchen paper off the roll beside the sink. ‘Here!’ she said. ‘Have a cry if you need to, but this is going to be the last time. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, and sobbing about what’s happened in the past and can’t be undone, never got anyone anywhere, did it? Twenty-nine days, is it? You can move mountains in that time, girl, you’d be surprised. I’ve seen whole houses built quicker, from the first brick right up to the roof. And a hamster can grow a whole litter of babies and pop them out in less time than that. I know. My kids’ pair produced enough of the little critters, before I moved them into separate cages. So, let’s see what can be done in your twenty-nine days, shall we?’

‘But, Rusty, I don’t even know where to start. My friend Jilly is constantly trying to steer me away from him, talking about new starts and finding ways to forget. I thought she knew me so well, but she’s got this all so wrong.’

‘You’d better find a way to put her off and get talking to him then, hadn’t you? Nothing is ever going to get itself sorted while you’re living apart and not even seeing each other. And you never know, he may have calmed down a bit by now, be ready to talk, and to listen. He might even be missing you as much as you’re clearly missing him.’

‘You think so?’

‘I have no idea, my love. But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’

‘So I should get him round to the house?’

‘Well, unless you want to turn up unannounced on his doorstep and risk having the door closed in your face, yes. Home territory, somewhere you’ve shared good times, has to be your best bet, surely? You’ll probably have to get him round on some made-up excuse though. The central heating’s not working, or there are tiles off the roof, or some other disaster only a man can put right. He still owns half the place, doesn’t he? So, he’ll want to make sure it’s in good order, especially if he’s after selling it. And, besides, it’s your chance to do the poor little helpless woman act. Make him feel all manly and needed.’

Nicci laughed. ‘I’m not sure he’ll fall for that one. We put away all that gender stereotyping long ago, about the same time the nursery world stopped pushing all little girls towards playing with dolls and boys with trains! But you do have a point. I don’t want to trick him into it, but getting him over to the house has to be my first step.’

‘Glad to have helped. Now, I really should go. Quadratic equations and vegetable curry await.’

‘Enjoy!’

‘I will, although one more than the other, I suspect!’

They locked up together and separated at the gates.

‘See you tomorrow, Nicci, love. Good luck.’

Nicci watched Rusty walk away into the darkness, open her car door and climb in. Would it work? Just talking, on home ground? Hoping there was still some tiny spark buried inside Mark that might burst back into life, given half a chance? Was it really that easy? Well, anything was worth a try. Anything was better than doing nothing, as she had been until now. Now all she needed was that excuse Rusty had talked about.

By the time she arrived home, she had decided what it was. The For Sale sign, on its wonky post. As she stepped out of the car, it seemed, if anything, that the post was leaning even further across the path than it had before. It had to be a safety hazard, left tilting like that. Another windy night and it could fall over altogether, maybe even hit some poor passer-by. She leaned against it, making a token attempt to straighten it, but it was heavy, and a jagged splinter dug its way into her hand as she pulled away. Ouch! No, Rusty was right. She couldn’t deal with this on her own. This was a job for a man. Her man.

***

‘But, Nicci, shouldn’t we ask the estate agents to do something about it? They erected the thing, after all.’ Mark turned the gas down under a pan of peas and bent to peer through the glass door where a frozen chicken pie was slowly turning a satisfying golden brown in his previously untested oven.

‘They’re closed, Mark. It’s gone seven. And I’m not sure it will stay standing until tomorrow.’

‘Can’t you just pull the whole thing out of the ground and dump it on the grass?’ Mark freed the phone from where he’d been balancing it under his chin and sat down at the table. He didn’t want this. Her calling up, wanting things done, and him expected to go running over there. Those days were over and, from the way he’d felt just glimpsing her from the bus yesterday, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to cave in and start caring again. He didn’t want to go backwards. That way lay nothing but pain, and it had been hard enough coming this far. ‘It’s not as if we really need it for advertising the house sale, is it?’ he said, a bit too abruptly, but what the hell? ‘I’m sure most people either find us in the agent’s window or online.’

‘But it’s heavy, Mark, and it’s got nails sticking out of it. I’ve already got a gash in my thumb from trying to get hold of it. Please, couldn’t you just come over for a few minutes and help? It is your house too, you know.’

He closed his eyes and let out a long slow sigh. He could feel himself weakening. Yes, it was his house too, and it wasn’t fair to leave her to deal with everything on her own. Maybe just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. He could grab whatever hammers and nails and stuff he needed from the garage when he got there, and sort it out easily enough. Nail it back where it was meant to be, or take the damn thing down altogether.

‘Oh, all right. But I’m about to eat, so give me a while, will you? I’ll be over as soon as I can.’ He rang off, dropped the phone on the table and went back to the hob to inspect the peas.

The pie looked great, its comforting meaty smell drifting through the flat as he drew it out of the oven, but suddenly he seemed to have lost his appetite, and after forcing a few mouthfuls down he left half of it congealing in its own gravy on the plate, the last of the peas swimming about at the edges like little lost bubbles.

It was cold outside as he fastened his jacket and headed for the car. He could walk round. It would only take twenty minutes or so, and the fresh air would do him good, but at least driving gave him a good excuse to refuse a drink if one was offered. He couldn’t allow himself to come under the influence of alcohol, even a small amount. He’d probably get all soppy and cry or something. Oh, God, why was seeing her so hard? Even the thought of it screwed his stomach up in knots. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Was she trying to trick him, worm her way back into his life, his heart? He thought he’d made his feelings pretty clear when he’d packed up and left. No, if anything, she had just sounded annoyed. The last thing on her mind would be any kind of reconciliation. Or on his.

‘Evening.’ Billy, the bloke from the ground floor flat, was out walking his dog. Billy was probably only about forty or so, but he looked older. He was divorced too, and had been for years, or so he’d said when they’d first encountered each other the week Mark had moved in. Mark wasn’t sure he looked too good on it though. His shapeless straggly beard needed a good trim and his old corduroy trousers were fraying at the hems. Classic signs of a man too long on his own. He must make sure he didn’t let himself get like that, although he could already see how easy it would be.

The old spaniel had obviously once been black but was now greying around the ears, a bit like his master. Mark seemed to remember the dog was called Sausage or Salami or some such meaty-sounding name. It was cocking its leg against the base of a tree, a thin stream of urine already running downhill across the pavement towards Mark’s shoes. ‘Sorry about that.’ Billy laughed. ‘I’ve only just got home and old Hot Dog here’s been holding it in all afternoon, poor little sod!’

So that was the dog’s name. Mark dodged out of the way and nodded.

‘Bit nippy tonight.’ Billy pulled a tatty football scarf tighter around his neck, tugged a hat down further over his ears and turned his coat collar up. ‘But at least there’s no sign of any more rain to come, eh?’

‘Let’s hope not. Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush. See you!’ Mark opened his car door and jumped in.

‘Yeah, you too.’

As he drove off and glanced back in his mirror, he could see Billy light up a cigarette, its tip glowing in the darkness. The dog snuffled about in a pile of dry dead leaves at the side of the road. A pale narrow light spilling out from a hallway illuminated a young couple kissing goodbye – or maybe it was hello – in the open doorway of a house across the road. He saw the young man’s hand travel to the girl’s miniskirted bottom and give it a squeeze. He heard her giggle and the front door slam behind them as they tumbled inside. Just ordinary people, doing ordinary things.