“Urrhg,” said Annie. “This is a nightmare. I’m stuck in a nightmare!”
“Sooner or later everybody’s parents drop off their pedestal,” said Alex. “It’s the natural order of things. Helps to make you grow up. Dad just fell off his a little earlier than most.”
“When did I fall off mine?” asked Annie.
“You haven’t yet,” said Peter.
“But we remain hopeful,” added Alex.
“We’re hoping for something spectacular!” said Peter. “A drug-fueled sex orgy with a priest or something.”
“Blimey!” said Annie.
“Let loose, Mum!” said Alex. “Get drunk. Get a tattoo! Do something just for you.”
“The world won’t stop spinning if you get off the ride and walk for a while,” said Peter.
“What did I do to deserve you boys?” said Annie.
“You just got lucky, I guess,” said Peter.
“We just want you to know that we support your decision one hundred percent,” said Alex.
“And you can go easy on yourself, you don’t need to worry about us,” said Peter.
“What we’re saying is,” said Alex, “don’t go back. If it’s permission you need, then you’ve got it.”
The call ended, and Annie promised to keep them posted on her movements, although at the moment she couldn’t envisage herself moving very far. She wondered what it was about this affair that had finally forced her out of impotence. The scene flashed before her in all its fleshy glory, and she winced. That was why: There was a difference between knowing and seeing. Actually bearing witness to your husband cheating in full Technicolor was like a sucker punch to the eyeballs; Ellie’s perfect, pointy nipples were going to haunt her for the rest of her days. Annie pulled the duvet back over her head and went to sleep.
Chapter 3
When she had once again exhausted the supply of tiny coffee sachets in the room, Annie went down to reception to ask for more and book herself in for another four nights at the popular chain hotel, whose tag line, Boutique Bliss That Won’t Break the Bank!, was written in script along the top of every piece of hotel information.
“Um, do you have another card?” asked the receptionist, her cheeks blotching pink.
“Another card?” asked Annie.
“Yes. This one doesn’t appear to be working.”
The receptionist handed the business bank card back to Annie. Annie was flummoxed; she knew there was money in the account, quite a bit actually.
“How odd,” said Annie, and handed over the card to her and Max’s joint savings account.
The receptionist gave a hesitant little cough; her cheeks blotched darker.
“This one doesn’t seem to be working either,” she said, trying not to meet Annie’s gaze.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Annie said, taking the card back and looking it over as if there might be a clue in the shiny plastic. “I can’t understand it.”
“Is there perhaps any reason why your cards might have been stopped?” asked the receptionist awkwardly.
A sudden dawning broke through the clouds of confusion, and Annie felt first hot and then cold as white rage consumed her. With a calmness she didn’t feel, Annie pulled out her personal credit card and handed it over.
“I’d like to use this instead, please,” she said.
As she walked back to her room, she was dizzy with anger. She called Max. He didn’t answer. When his smooth crooning voice said, “Hey, this is Max Sharpe, leave a message and I’ll get right back to you. Beep,” it was all Annie could do not to bite the phone in half. She took a deep breath.
“You froze me out of our accounts!” she yelled into the mic. “Unfreeze them now, Max, or so help me I’ll . . .” What would she do? What could she do? “I’ll make you sorry!” She hoped the threat was vague enough to be menacing.
She was livid. She wanted to throw things and smash stuff, but this wasn’t her house, and the furniture was nailed down. Instead, she lay prostrate on the bed and fantasized about what she’d do if she were at home right now; she’d empty his expensive aftershave down the toilet and replace it with pine floor cleaner, maybe scratch FUCK YOU into his vintage Smiths records with her fingernails, and very possibly fill the toes of his beloved brogues with cat food.
Annie had become pregnant with the twins at just seventeen, and she and Max had married the same year. With her parents’ support, she was still able to enroll at catering college and do her chef’s training. She got a job as a line chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant and worked her arse off to make it up through the ranks to sous chef and then head chef. It was tough, but she was driven.