Free The Other Woman’s House by Sophie Hannah

firmly. ‘And if there is, it’ll have to wait.’
    Kathleen had sulked, wept, begged. At one point, after one of her trademark soggy Sunday lunches, she had fallen to her knees and grabbed Simon’s legs. He’d had to pull her off him. Charlie had been shocked, as much by Simon’s apparent lack of surprise as by anything else. Michael, his dad, hadn’t seemed surprised either. His only verbal contribution had been the occasional muttered, ‘Please, son,’ to Simon.
Please, son, give her a way of contacting you. Make my life easier.
    To Charlie’s great relief, Simon had stood firm. To her utter bafflement, he had accepted an invitation to lunch at his parents’ house the following Sunday. ‘Are you mental?’ Charlie had snapped at him. ‘It’ll happen again – exactly what happened last week.’ Simon had shrugged and said, ‘Then I’ll walk out like I did last week.’
    He liked to believe that his mother didn’t control him, butthen he did things like insist they go all the way to Torquay to get married – ‘to make the lie a bit more true,’ he’d said, unwilling to acknowledge the irrationality. Charlie would have preferred to get married at Spilling Register Office; she hated the thought that anything about their wedding was dictated by her pathetic mother-in-law. Simon had shouted her down: ‘I thought you loved Torquay. Isn’t that why we’re pretending to go there for our honeymoon?’
    Oddly enough, Kathleen hadn’t tried to impose a church wedding on them, as Charlie had feared she might. She’d voiced no objection when Simon had told her that the wedding would involve only himself, Charlie and two witnesses, neither of whom would be her. ‘She’s relieved,’ he’d explained. ‘Nothing’s expected of her. Think about it: most weddings, the mother of the groom spends the best part of a day being friendly and welcoming to the guests. Mum’d never have managed it. There’d have been a sudden illness, and Dad would have had to stay at home and look after her.’
    Charlie’s parents had also been thankful to hear that their attendance wouldn’t be required. Her father would rather play golf than do anything else. He’d have taken a day off, for Charlie’s sake, and tried to enjoy her wedding, but he’d soon have found an excuse to sink into a foul mood. Any day that involved no golf was a disastrous day for Howard Zailer, and for all those unlucky enough to encounter him in his golfless state.
    â€˜What about Melville?’ Simon shouted from the swimming pool.
    â€˜Hm?’
    â€˜Our new surname.’
    â€˜Why Melville?’
    â€˜As in Herman Melville.’
    â€˜What about Dick?’
    Simon stuck two fingers up at her.
Moby Dick
was his favourite novel. He read it once a year. He’d brought it with him to Spain; it was supposed to be his honeymoon reading, so why wasn’t he reading it? Why was he content to float aimlessly, as if there was nothing else he wanted to do? The leaves and petals on the pool’s surface looked as if they were making more of an effort.
    Why wasn’t he having sex with his wife?
    Weren’t you supposed to spend most of your honeymoon in bed? Or was that only if you hadn’t slept together before the wedding?
    Charlie sighed. Was she expecting too much? After years of avoiding all physical contact with her, Simon had decided last year that it was time they consummated their relationship. Since then, everything had been fine. Well, fine-ish. Charlie still didn’t dare make the first move; she sensed Simon wouldn’t like it. It was equally clear that talking – during, immediately afterwards, or on the subject of – was forbidden. Or was Charlie imagining barriers that weren’t there? Maybe Simon wanted nothing more than for her to say, ‘Do you like having sex with