Free My Husband's Wives by Faith Hogan Page B

out an astronomically large amount in favour of the hospital. The only thing stopping her, of course, was the saucepan sitting smack bang on the top of her handbag. If it had been one of her better ones, then perhaps…
    â€˜Listen, it’s not just about the money,’ Kate always seemed to be able to read people, ‘you’re still good for the press. They love you, especially after that piece you did when you were pregnant. Most of the other girls wouldn’t have been seen dead in public if they were that fat.’
    â€˜I wasn’t fat…’
    â€˜Yes,
we
know that.’ Kate leaned in closer, as though they were best friends sharing some secret that no one else was in on. ‘Anyway, isn’t it time you got back out on the scene again? You can’t hide away forever. Who’s to say? You might even enjoy getting your picture in the papers again.’ Then she was gone, striding purposefully away, the little girl keeping up her pace awkwardly at her side. Autism. Annalise thought about it for a moment. She was luckier than she’d realized.
    It actually turned out to be a good day. Madeline made them all a lovely casserole and stayed at her house for most of the afternoon. Annalise spent two hours channel hopping between Jerry Springer and Fashion TV while Madeline took the boys to the local park. ‘It’s been an horrendous experience for you, dear.’ Madeline popped the offending saucepan in the dishwasher. Annalise put the card from Kate on the mantelpiece but then took it down. It proved too distracting up there. It was a very nice card, exactly what she’d expect Kate to have designed for herself. It contained little more than her name and contact details. A narrow line of text at the bottom of the card announced that she was a P.R. consultant. Sometimes it seemed to Annalise that everyone had a career but her. Even the supers were still modelling, and god knows they were as ancient as Methuselah.
    Paul worked so hard and it wasn’t, as she’d told him so often, as if he needed to. Paul just loved his job, she supposed. They could easily have lived on her allowance. Her father had given them the mock-Georgian house they lived in as a wedding gift. Maybe it wasn’t Paul’s scene, but they had a boyband singer next door and a celebrity chef at the other end of the row. Annalise thought it was perfect; if it was ostentatious, she didn’t notice. Each year her dad presented her with a new car. The latest had to have cost the guts of a hundred grand – and she loved it. ‘Company car,’ he told her proudly. ‘Just take care of my grandchildren; that’s work enough for you to be worrying your lovely head about.’ Her dad was the best. He’d come up from the country with little more than the shirt on his back, and within a few years of meeting and marrying Madeline Divine they’d managed to build up a car sales empire that had sewn up half the dealerships up and down the country. In some ways, Paul was similar to her dad; work meant something more than just money at the end of the week. Like her dad, he too wanted to look after her and spoil her. Annalise began to feel uneasy. Did she want to be married to her dad? Sometimes she thought back to their first meeting; Paul might have been in an empty marriage, but there was no mistaking he was very proud of his successful artist wife. Annalise hadn’t been successful at anything in her life, the one shot she had at it, she messed it up spectacularly.
    â€˜Anyway,’ Paul told her when she mentioned he worked so hard, ‘I have other commitments, remember.’
    â€˜Of course I remember,’ she’d said, but she never wanted to think about Grace Kennedy or Delilah. That time was over for Paul. Mostly Annalise convinced herself that he’d probably never really loved Grace Kennedy at all. He loved Annalise, she was sure of that. He let her have