Vivien Hampshire - How to Win Back Your Husband

‘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.