Read an Excerpt
The Last Year Of Being Married
By Sarah Tucker Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-373-25078-9
Chapter One
Sleeping with the enemy My husband is an alien. My husband of seven years is an alien. He still looks like Paul, but it's not Paul. This person doesn't walk like Paul, talk like Paul, drink, eat, or even smell like Paul. He's like that character taken over by the hideous fire-breathing insect in Men In Black. He's an alien in a human suit. Only Paul is marginally better looking. And I'm worried. As in lost-a-dress-size-in-a-week worried. So I'm meeting Kim Bradshaw, thirty-eight, no-bullshit best friend and Financial Times columnist, in Circle, hip-happening funky restaurant in the heart of London's medialand. I know I'm worried because I'm on time for our meeting, and I am never on time for anything. Ever.
Kim -"God, Sarah, you're on time. I was hoping to catch up with work. I usually get about half an hour before you turn up. I've just interviewed some twat about an Internet scandal and Dick has given me a ridiculous deadline for tomorrow's paper. I've only just got here myself."
Kim is a girl who calls a spade a fucking shovel. Dick, her editor, loves her because, he tells her, he's surrounded by stupid sycophants and she's brighter than him and tells him the truth. Even when it hurts.
I like her forthe same reason. That and the fact I've known her for over ten years and we know each other inside out. We've agreed we'll end up as the Golden Girls. Or at least the Witches of Eastwick. As long as I'm Michelle Pfeiffer and she's Cher.
Sarah -"I know I'm on time. Sorry."
Kim -"Don't say sorry. You're on time. That's great. Shit, girl, you look thin."
A size eight Ghost dress is hanging off me. I look like a coat-hanger these days. I reassure myself that if I ever get a break on TV I will look fabulous.
Sarah -"I haven't eaten for, I think, a week. Maybe longer."
Kim -"Sit down. Have something to eat. Try not to throw up. You look thinner than the models in here."
Sarah -"I'm fine. I'll have the tuna. I always have the tuna in here."
Waiter arrives and smiles warmly. Duncan Simpkins, tall, slim, dark and gay. Knows me. I used to work round the corner and this is a regular of mine. Light floods in even on miserable winter afternoons. The place is blessed with huge picture windows to watch the people-watchers. Large round white tables, pristine tablecloths, no centrepiece flowers to move, not too close together so the media buyers can't eavesdrop on a competitor's pitch for business. Simple yet eclectic menu, good champagne, unobtrusive service. Duncan sits us at a corner table out of ear- and eyeshot of everyone else.
Duncan -"Tuna, Sarah?"
Sarah -"Yes, please. And just some sparkling water. No ice. And a jug of lime cordial on the side. Side salad. Something different for a change."
Duncan -"And for your guest?"
Kim likes her food. As in, she would have two of everything if she could. And in Circle she realises everything is the size of a starter even when it's not.
Kim -"Which choice has most food? Do I get more if I have the tuna or the cod?"
Duncan -"Well, the portions are about the same, madam. Would you perhaps like to order side dishes? The homemade chips are good."
Kim -"That sounds good. Will they go with the cod?"
Duncan -"Yes, madam. Cod 'n chips. I think it has a certain ring to it."
Duncan goes, and Kim gets up and gives me a hug.
Kim -"You look as though you need this."
Sarah -"I do. I'm okay. I'm okay."
Kim -"You sounded completely wired on the phone. Were you pacing, or something? You were up about four decibels on your normal pitch. Thought you would be chilled after the week's holiday in France, but sounds as though it didn't go to plan."
Sarah -"No, it didn't. Paul's behaving very strangely."
Kim -"He always behaves strangely, Sarah. What's he doing that's different from his norm?"
Sarah -"You know he never goes to the gym? Well, he's decided to go now. Twice a week. He has a personal trainer. The boys - well, they're not boys, they're forty-year-old men, most of them - anyway, the boys in the office are doing it, and now Paul's doing it. He tells me his body is a temple. A fucking temple. He showers for an hour each morning. Then there's the underpants ..."
Kim -"What about the underpants?"
Sarah -"He has to buy new ones every week. Designer. Next, M&S, Gap won't do. Must be Gucci or Prada. Anything with a huge initial on the crotch area."
Kim -"I didn't know Prada did underpants."
Sarah -"Nor did I, but maybe they do. They've got a big P on them, anyway." Kim -"Appropriate, really."
Sarah -"And now he wants separate holidays and thinks it's a good idea if we give each other space. I'm a travel journalist, for fuck's sake, Kim. How much more space can I give him? I spend three months each year travelling and get us free holidays together when I can. It's unnerving me."
Kim -"Sarah, this has all the signs of a mid-life crisis. How old is he now?"
Sarah -"Thirty-five. Bit early for a mid-life crisis. But perhaps men are having them younger these days. Plus stress at work. It's been tough, and he's been a bit depressed about his weight."
Kim -"What else is he doing and saying?"
Sarah -"He's coming back late. Often drunk. Been drinking with the boys."
Kim -"Sounds as though his body is being treated more like a pub than a temple."
Sarah -"And there's more. He keeps buying really strong-smelling aftershave. Smells like a brothel in the morning. Always humming to himself, too. And he's bought one of those - you know - soap on a rope things. But with a hole in the middle of it."
Kim -"Wants a clean willy, then."
Sarah -"I asked him about it and he said he'd read this article about penis hygiene. I think it was penal hygiene but he took it the wrong way." Kim laughs.
Kim -"Bollocks. He just wants to wank and wash and save time."
I laugh now.
Kim -"What else has he said?"
Sarah -"Serious bit, this. He wants Ben and me to move out of the house. Wants to buy us a little house nearby - not too close, not up the road or anything. He says he doesn't want to accidentally bump into us. Just be in a neighbouring village. And he suggests I get a job as a PA somewhere local. So I'm able to prove I can look after myself. He feels I haven't put enough into the marriage and doesn't respect me anymore. Well, he says I haven't put anything into the marriage and doesn't respect me at all, actually. That's the bit that is worrying me."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Last Year Of Being Married by Sarah Tucker Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
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