Seeds

Will lifted the bread roll towards his mouth without cutting it. The plate was too far away, as usual, and he moved without care, as always.

A trail of poppy seeds marked the path his hand took from porcelain to mouth, puncturing the surface of the white tablecloth like a blood splatter. He was marking his territory. Lording over everyone else. He owned the space. He could do as he liked.

Of course, he’d simply think she was fussing. Reading too much into it. It’s only a few bloody seeds, Sophie.

She looked up, and their eyes locked over the slab of butter lobbed on top of the fluffy white dough, not even properly spread. Resting there. Thick, rich, and disgusting. He followed the route of her gaze, backtracking like a reverse satnav until he spotted them. The seeds.

A grin broke across his face. Then he laughed, uproariously, mouth open. Too wide. Shaking his head at her before dropping his roll (half on, half off his side plate) and clasping his buttery hand to his chest in mirth.

As if it were funny, somehow, that she’d notice. As if she were the fool to care.

She cleared her throat. ‘Could you just – ‘

“More wine, Will?” Jennifer leant across the table to top up his glass. She didn’t make eye contact with either of them.

Jennifer. Somehow, she seemed perpetually to jump in and offer to do things, although she was their guest to be waited on. She’d fluttered about Will from the minute she and Rob had arrived, insisting on taking her coat back from Will’s hands, where he had held it, swinging by the label, clearly unsure what to do with it once she’d taken it off. He didn’t even have time to spin on his heel and pass it to Sophie before bloody Jennifer was bloody there again, swooping in and retrieving it, then wandering off into the utility room where Sophie had stuffed the children’s playhouse and Lego out of sight just five minutes earlier.

Since then, Jennifer had jumped in to offer a hand throughout the night, popping up when Will had hissed to Sophie to get a coaster, and topping his glass up at ten-minute intervals. It was remarkable, really.

And yet, ironically, Will had hardly lifted a finger – except once, to retrieve two bottles of expensive Premier Cru Burgundy, he’d told them he’d bought in especially for the evening.

This was a lie. Sophie had picked it up after work yesterday, following his strict instructions to get the 2020, stopping off at the wine cellar after a trip to the butchers that she’d just managed before it closed. Then, back home, after putting the twins to bed – a convoluted affair, as always – she’d worked until her own bedtime prepping hummus and de-shelling prawns, knowing timing would be too tight this evening to do so.

Today, she’d watched the clock during her team meeting and managed to get out only fifteen minutes late, after which she’d bought flowers, milk, and chocolates on the way home, and then gave Will’s Dad a quick call, as she often did since his fall, whilst loading the dishwasher. She’d run the Hoover around the house and a brush through her hair and laid the table, and before she knew it, the oven was on, and the front door was being rapped.

She was exhausted before it even began.

Yet there was Will, leaning back, relaxed, offering his wine, and smiling with a single poppy seed stuck between his teeth like cut-price dental jewellery.

She felt herself slump back into her seat. Rob was talking, as he had been for some time, and Sophie realised she had no idea what was being said, though Will seemed to. It was hard to relax when she had one ear listening out for the pitter-patter of small feet on the landing, or the ping of the oven timer to let her know the soufflé was done. But no. She should be present. It was unfair to her guests.

Sophie focused hard. It was an anecdote about a trip to the Algarve and missing luggage. She made an effort to titter with laughter at what she hoped was the right place, though not so loudly as to instigate attention and risk a follow-up question.

She wished she weren’t so bitter. It was obvious, even to herself, that she was. This wasn’t something she was proud of. And, after all, she had created some of this pressure herself. Having twins in later life was never likely to have been easy. Even though she adored them. Of course she did.

But somehow, in the last couple of years, a hard, tight ball of rage had settled in her gut, where it glowed, and slowly grew, and would not go away. It was there, anchoring her in fury and resentment all day. Weighing her down. It was there in the background when the laundry needed doing, or when the children spilt their drink across the table, or she had to send two chaser emails for one very small job at work. And it was there, bouncing, and impossible to ignore, accompanying every single thing Will did.

Or failed to do.

What was wrong with her? Why was she this way?

Rob was getting increasingly animated, having got to a point in the story where they thought the bags had reappeared, only to discover that – Can you believe it? – they’d been sent someone else’s luggage. Will snorted at this and leaned forward to take a sip of water before realising his glass was empty. Sophie grabbed the water bottle to refill it, telling herself it was because she wanted to look after her husband, willing herself to be more gracious, and pleasant, and helpful, and all the while knowing that, in fact, she was just trying to beat Jennifer to it.

It crossed her mind then, with a jolt, that it might not be such a bad thing if Will had an affair. How odd that this bothered her so little. But it was true. Maybe she should let Jennifer do her thing after all. Sophie knew it didn’t take too much for his eye to wander, and it might take some of the pressure off her if it did. Someone else could make him happy. Keep him occupied. Let her slip away into the shadows without scrutiny – because right now, she somehow had the worst of both worlds. She was largely invisible and yet somehow indispensable.

There it was again. The bitterness. The fury.

It is not a nice thing to realise you’ve become a bitch.

She leant forward and topped up Will’s wine, though his glass was almost full. She’d been pipped to the post once more.

‘The car hire was a disaster as well,’ Rob continued. ‘It was a bloody hatchback!’

Will guffawed at this, and she noted how his eyes flitted towards the front window. On the other side was his Range Rover. His pride and joy. It would be nice to be wanted and valued by him as much as he loved and lusted after that damn car.

She took a breath and tried to temper her feelings. After all, why not, really? Why not let him have something that made him happy? After all, she had her own little pastime going on, and he didn’t even know about it.

Sophie stretched her arm toward Will, who was a little too far away, reaching towards him a clumsy arabesque to rub her little finger against the back of his hand. But he was absorbed in Rob’s tale now, frowning, and absentmindedly shooed her away. She wondered if Jennifer noticed.

‘What was the apartment like?’ Will interjected.

‘Oh, it was a total disaster. 80s décor and malfunctioning toilet! That was the icing on the cake!’

Jennifer murmured, and for a moment it seemed like she might make her first contribution to the story, taking in a deep breath that seemed to startle Rob, as if he’d forgotten she was there. But before she could speak, Will spoke again, his voice deep and quiet.

‘Sophie knows all about apartments, don’t you, Soph?’

Sophie jumped. ‘I… well, no.’ She turned to him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Apartments. Flats. You’re an expert on sourcing good ones.’

‘No, not really.’

‘Oh, come now. That’s not what I’ve heard.’ His volume raised just a touch, and he banged his serviette down onto the table, catching the edge of his plate and cutlery with an unexpected clatter. It set off a ripple about the table. Everyone seemed to shift and wince and wobble in an uncoordinated Mexican wave.

‘I… what do you mean?’

‘Don’t be shy. You’ve managed to create a comfy little getaway of your own, haven’t you? Why not tell our friends all about it?’

There was a pause. So, he knew then. He knew about her other life. What could she possibly say?

Rob gave an awkward chuckle. ‘Looking at property investment, are we?’ He gave Sophie an encouraging half-smile, trying to smooth out the sudden tension in the room.

‘No,’ she replied.

‘No. Not exactly, though I believe she’s spent a pretty penny of our shared funds in the process,’ Will said.

‘Will, don’t you think we should talk about this in private?’ Sophie hissed.

‘Oh, I think you’ve got enough of a private life going on for all of us. A whole second one.’

‘In the process of what?’ Jennifer asked, suddenly. ‘What exactly is it that she’s done?’

Sophie glanced up at her, but Jennifer didn’t meet her eye. ‘I’ve… I guess I’ve been keeping a secret.’

‘Right. Well, I’m not sure this is any of our business,’ Rob said, shuffling in his chair and leaning forward to grab one last prawn from the table.

‘She’s been living a double life, haven’t you darling? A whole secret steamy affair. Sneaking about. Renting a flat.’

‘An affair? I have not!’

‘Oh, come now. The cat’s out the bag. I’ve seen the bank statements. Googled the letting agent. I think I’ve even figured out where it is... Not exactly upmarket, is it? But then I don’t suppose he’s got much money, this bloke.’ He took a large swig of his wine and wiggled his eyebrows over the edge of his glass. ‘Or taste.’

‘I have not been having an affair.’ Sophie’s words popped out quickly and quietly. Background noise. Percussive.

Will continued. ‘Who’d ever have thought it? All this time…' He tipped his head back in mock laughter and slapped his thigh. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you. I’ve got to hand it to you.’

‘I have not been having an affair.’

‘I’m assuming that’s why the sudden interest in the gym. That’s where you’ve been going on a Sunday. And those late Thursdays for work. All those times I had to make dinner for the kids, and you were off…’ He shook his head dramatically.

‘I have not been having an affair.’ The rage leapt up and down within, reaching higher and thumping harder with each bounce.

He slammed a hand onto the table. ‘The. Game. Is. Up. You can stop lying now.’

Finally, he seemed to have finished. Sophie took a deep breath and stood, though she was unsure why, finding herself holding the edge of the table for ballast. ‘I have not been having an affair.’ She turned towards Rob and Jennifer. ‘I apologise. My husband seems to have got himself hot under the collar about something. You didn’t need to be drawn into this.’

Will picked up his drink again and rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers. The deep red liquid threatened to spill out onto the cloth, to join the seeds, prawn shells, and dollops of sauce that adorned the space about him. ‘So exactly have you been doing?’

‘Sleeping,’ she said.

He snorted. ‘Sleeping? With whom?’

‘With no one. Alone. Just sleeping.’

‘That’s it? You expect me to believe that? Just sleeping?’

‘Yes, sleeping. On clean cotton sheets. And sometimes reading. Or drinking coffee in bed. In silence. That’s it. That’s all I do.’ She looked at him, unblinking. ‘That’s all I want.’

‘You expect me to believe that, do you?’

‘Yes. If you knew anything about me or my life, then you would.’

He finished his drink, and she noticed how the dry patches on his lips had stained purple. ‘Know anything about you? I know you inside out. I’m your husband.’

‘I read, and sleep, and have a long, hot shower, and I keep the place tidy. And silent. That’s it.’

Will blew the air through his lips and glanced over to Rob, who pulled an inscrutable face that was somehow both supportive and noncommittal.

‘It’s true.’

‘I believe you,’ said Jennifer, quietly. ‘I can see why that would appeal.’

‘What? Oh, don’t be so bloody ridiculous.’ Will began absentmindedly pushing the debris around his place setting, brushing a new pile of crumbs into a heap beside his plate. ‘As if her life is so damn bad… Ha! Miss Bloody Goody-Two-Shoes here. Holier than thou. Always such a martyr. And all the while she’s a God damn liar. She’s lucky to have what she has here. Lucky!’

And he then took his right arm, sending the mound of poppy seeds, lettuce, and breadcrumbs through the air, along with his plate and cutlery and empty glass. In one swoop. Sophie looked down onto the floor where splinters of crockery and shards of glass mingled with the confetti of his dinner at her feet. And all she could think of was how she would have to clean it up.

She’d be the one who’d have to clean it up.

Then Jennifer’s voice punctured the silence, loud and steady. ‘More wine, Will?’ she asked.

And Sophie watched as Jennifer stood and leaned across the table, pouring the final remains of his Premier Cru Burgundy slowly, with a flourish, right in the middle of his lap.