The Fearless Husband

The Fearless Husband

Margot Chambers loved and adored her husband.

Bruce was everything she wanted from a man, with his barrel chest and strong jaw, running his construction company like a king. Nobody messed with Bruce Chambers! Even nearly twenty years on, Margot was still proud to carry his name. He was a great father to their two children, a patient man with her estranged son from her first marriage, and a fantastic lover. Although the frequency of their sex life had lessened somewhat over the years, the quality had not. Bruce was as assertive, passionate and fearless as he had been when they first got together, and Margot loved being his wife.

So when one afternoon Margot picked up a call and heard a woman weeping on the phone, her first reaction was disbelief. That couldn't possibly be Carol, the office manager at Bruce's company, as clipped and contained a woman as Margot had ever known. And what she was saying between sobs was also impossible. Bruce was a fit man of fifty-five. He worked out in their basement gym and went for a run almost every evening. A man like that doesn't just collapse. Even if he did, he would be in an ambulance somewhere, being rushed to hospital where he would fight for his life and win. This was Bruce Chambers we're talking about! He never lost a fight in his life!

But when the phone was handed over and Margot heard the grim, calm voice of Bruce's business partner, Ray, it all became real. Bruce had collapsed in his office and died before the ambulance had even got there. Heart failure, they said. If Margot wanted to see her husband, she would have to go to the hospital morgue. Margot ended the call, sank to her knees and howled her anguish like a mother bear in a trap.

Everyone was so kind. Her family, her friends, everyone Bruce worked with, they all showed more love and support than Margot could have hoped for. Even her first husband, Jim, called her up to offer his condolences. They had a nice half-hour conversation, during which he promised to talk to Lucas. Their son was now a young man of twenty-two and he hadn't spoken to Margot in five years. Maybe this could be a first step towards a reconciliation.

Bruce's parents were still living and he had a sister. They were all devastated, of course, but they shared the funeral costs with Margot, the sister Barbara doing most of the organising. The service was held in a huge church and was well-attended--Bruce was a pillar of the community and a popular guy. As Margot sat in the front row and watched seventeen-year-old Geri and fourteen-year-old Tom stand up and say eulogies for their father, she could not imagine being prouder of them.

Both Jim and Lucas had showed up, wearing dark neat clothes rather than the formal black suits and ties of most men. Father and son intended to sit in the very back row of the church, but Margot's parents wouldn't hear of it. Margot felt a twinge of jealousy as Lucas embraced his grandparents and she forced her gaze to the front. It fell on the coffin of her late husband and she ached for Bruce's strong arms around her. The whole Lucas mess never seemed so bad when her big strong man was holding her against his big strong chest.

After the burial, people came up to the immediate family to express their sympathies. Margot tried to concentrate on the people coming up to her, but her heart was pounding. Jim and Lucas had joined the line of well-wishers and in less than a minute, she would actually be looking into the eyes of her eldest child. Child? Margot had been twenty-four when she had given birth to Lucas, only two years older than he was now. She heard his voice as he exchanged words with his half-brother and half-sister.

Then there he was, a young man in a tidy dark shirt and jacket, looking at the forty-six-year-old woman he used to call 'Mum'. She could still see the rage in his eyes, but he was clearly determined to respect the situation. Margot felt intensely proud of him, but she had enough sense not to say this out loud.

'Thank you for coming,' she said. 'It's

so

good to see you.'

She meant it too. Indeed, it was so obvious she meant it, that both parties were a little taken aback. Lucas swallowed and looked at the brooch holding her neck scarf in place.

'I'm sorry for your loss,' he said.

He gave a stiff nod and walked away. Margot turned her head and watched him walk across the grass between the gravestones. Jim came up and stood with her, following her gaze. Margot cleared her throat.

'Perhaps we can... have a chat later?' she said.

'Of course,' said Jim.

But when the gathering transferred to Margot and Bruce's palatial home for the wake, Jim and Lucas were nowhere to be seen.

***

For the headstone, Margot chose a classic upright rectangle of polished granite, solid and uncomplicated. That felt right for Bruce. Along with his name and the dates, she had an inscription carved:

'Fearless husband and loving father'.

He would have liked that.

Margot visited the grave almost every day. Her sense of emptiness was almost constant in her chest, so the immovable block of stone was a comfort. It reminded her of the need to be fearless herself. She had two children approaching adulthood and they needed her to be strong. Friends told her she was still an attractive woman, but Margot couldn't even consider anyone else right now. Bruce had taken out a life insurance policy--typical of him to think of such things--and she had also inherited his stake in the construction company. Still, Margot wasn't ready to think about that, so she focused on being careful with the money that she had.

One late afternoon in October, about six months later, Margot was walking through the churchyard on her daily visit when something made her stop dead on the path. There was a woman at Bruce's grave, crouched before the headstone the way someone might crouch before a toddler. Margot could only see her from behind, but the long black, slightly crinkled hair and stylish clothing gave an immediate sense of feminine attractiveness. The woman was steadying herself with a hand on the top of the granite stone and Margot wanted to yell at her to stop touching it.

The woman straightened up. She was small but carried herself tall, black heeled boots visible beneath the hem of the long honey-brown coat. She kissed her fingers and transferred the kiss to the top of the headstone. After taking a moment, she turned to go.

Margot felt her throat tighten. She had guessed that the woman would be attractive, but she was still unprepared for just how pretty the young woman's face was. She had dark eyes and eyelashes, slightly rough eyebrows and there was a liveliness to her expression, as though she found the world wonderful and engaging.

The woman was on the main path heading towards the churchyard gates, which meant she had to pass Margot. The two made brief eye contact and the black-haired woman gave Margot a polite nod as she moved to walk around her. Margot glared back.

'Who are you?' she said.

The woman stopped in her tracks.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I said: Who are you?'

'It's none of your damn business who I am!'

'That's my husband's grave over there, so I think it is!'

The woman blinked. Then her face broke into a huge, surprised grin.

'Oh, my

god!'

she said. 'You're

Margot!'

Margot stepped back as though the woman had struck her. The woman cursed and shook her head at herself. Then the smile came back, a little sheepish, and she looked at Margot with a kind of warmth, like they were fellow dupes of the same conman. Margot did not smile back.

'I asked you a question,' she said.

'Yes, I know,' said the woman. 'And if you

are

Margot, then I'm happy to answer it. But before I do, I have a question for

you.'

The young woman stood up straight and looked the other woman in the eye.

'Do you

really

want to know who I am?'

Margot felt a sudden misgiving. The cold feeling which had just rushed through her stomach was telling her she was not going to like what this woman had to say. What made it worse was how the woman seemed to have no axe to grind, which meant the warning was probably genuine. Margot knew from experience how hard it was to dismiss painful things as malicious if the person telling you was not motivated by malice.

But if this woman walked away without telling her, Margot would always be wondering who she was. Or rather, who she was... to Bruce. Margot guessed that Bruce had probably slept with this woman, but what else was there? And how often? It was probably better to know for sure than for Margot to let her imagination loose on it.

'Tell me,' said Margot.

'Okay,' said the woman. 'You have been warned.'

The woman drew herself up. Margot braced herself.

'I'm a sex worker,' said the woman. 'And Bruce was my client.'

'My husband didn't go to sex workers!'

'Not in general. But he came to me.'

'I don't believe you!'

'Fine. No skin off my nose.'

The woman turned to go. Margot was beside herself.

'Why would he go to a sex worker?' she cried.

'Listen, Margot... may I call you Margot?'

'What do I call

you?'

'You can call me Faya.'

'Is that your "professional" name?'

'It's the name your husband knew me by.'

Faya looked over towards the headstone, her expression wistful.

'He never did learn my real name.'

Margot stared at the woman, trying to interpret what the illicit relationship might have been. There was clearly more to it than money despite what Faya said, unless hookers made a habit of visiting their clients' graves.

'How did you find him?' said Margot.

'I hadn't seen him for a few months,' said Faya. 'Which was normal. Then one evening I got bored and googled him. That's when I came across the obituary. It's a shame. He was a special man.'

'Why was he special to

you?'

'Oh, long story.'

Faya seemed to be struck by an idea. She looked at Margot, sizing her up.

'I charge three hundred an hour,' she said. 'If you're curious to hear more.'

'I'm not paying you for a

story!'

'I can throw in a blowjob.'

'Don't you think I'm

entitled

to know?'

'No, frankly.'

Faya gave her a very charming smile.

'I'm going to have lunch at that little tearoom I saw down the road,' she said. 'And if I don't see you again, I wish you a pleasant life.'

Faya began making her way down the path. She had a jaunty little walk, which annoyed Margot no end. Margot had always thought she and Bruce had had an exceptionally good sex life and the thought that he might not have felt the same way was a terrible blow. But what could have been missing? Margot had been up for anything--anal sex, golden showers, whatever kinky things they could imagine. Bruce had always said how lucky he was being married to such a sexually adventurous woman. Okay, Faya was younger, but that couldn't be all of it, surely?

Margot marched up to Bruce's headstone. In her head, the inscription now read:

'Faithless bastard and cheating liar'.

'What the fuck, Bruce?!' she shouted at the rectangle of granite. 'I mean, what the actual fuck?!'

***

Faya was sitting at a small, round table covered by a white lace tablecloth, gazing out of a window framed by flowered curtains with a frilled border. She had just finished a surprisingly good Caesar salad and was dabbing the side of her mouth with a serviette, when the buxom Margot bludgeoned her way into the tiny establishment. The bell above the shop door jangled like an alarm, but Faya smiled and beckoned the other woman over. Margot marched past the other patrons over to the window table, her face dark with displeasure.

'Please, take a seat,' said Faya, gesturing to the vacant chair on the opposite side of her table.

Margot dumped herself down, her bag on her lap. She looked furious.

'I suppose you want cash?' she said nastily.

'Afraid so,' said Faya. 'My purse is a bit small for a credit card machine.'

Margot stretched a fist across the table which contained rolled-up fresh banknotes from a cash dispenser. Faya took the money and discreetly popped it into her purse without checking it. The waitress, an older woman and owner of the tearoom, came to clear away the dishes. Faya gave her a dazzling smile and ordered tea for two. Watching her, Margot had the distinct feeling that the other woman was enjoying herself.

'So...' said Faya, after the waitress had gone. 'Where would you like to begin?'

'How did you first meet Bruce?'

'I used to work at this "gentlemen's club". There was a bar and a small dancefloor, and there were private rooms you could rent by the hour. Me and the other girls would chat up the men, get them to buy us drinks and, if they were in the mood, take them upstairs for "special services".'

'Sounds charming.'

'Not the word I would use. But it was slick, shiny and

very

expensive. I made good money.'

The waitress came over with a tray carrying a full tea service. There was a small, round teapot with matching cups and saucers, and matching milk jug and sugar bowl. On a tiny matching mini-saucer were four chocolate bonbons. Faya looked at the ensemble and beamed one of her brilliant smiles.

'Now

this

is what I call charming!' she said.

The waitress smiled as she transferred the tea things to the table.

'You have a lovely place,' said Faya. 'And that salad was

excellent.'

'Why, thank you!'

The older woman went pink in the face, nearly bobbed a curtsy and left. Faya poured two cups of tea, while Margot watched from under hooded eyelids.

'Speaking of charm,' she said, 'you're pretty good at putting it on yourself.'

'Thank you, Margot.'

'Was that part of the club training?'

'In a way,' said Faya coolly. 'Part of my job is to make men feel good about themselves. It's like the opposite of being a wife.'

Margot bristled.

'I

was

good to Bruce!'

'Were you now?'

'What's

that

supposed to mean?'

'Listen, Margot,' said Faya. 'Whenever I asked your husband why he married you, he would always talk about how beautiful you were and how great the sex was. That was a big thing for him, how great the sex was.'

'And yet he paid for sex with you?'

'Not really.'

Faya sighed and took a sip of tea, her pinkie finger aloft.

'Look, technically, yes,' she said. 'He'd book me for two hours, we'd take off our clothes and sex would take place. But that was mostly at my insistence--I don't like taking a man's money and then not fulfil my side of the bargain. And of the two hours, maybe ten to fifteen minutes was spent in sexual activity. We mostly lay naked with each other and talked.'

'What about?'

'About you. About his business. About how difficult he found it being a man--never showing weakness, never showing fear, always having to give the impression that he was on top of things.'

'But he

was

always on top of things!' protested Margot. 'He was just that kind of man!'

'Margot, do you

honestly

believe there is such a thing as "that kind of man"? Only a psychopath is never afraid!'

'I know that!'

'Well, Bruce didn't think you did. He believed that if he ever told you the truth about his fears and insecurities, you'd lose your sexual desire and dump him for another man.'

'Why would he think that?'

'Because that's what you did with your first husband.'

Margot went pale. My god, how many secret things,

private

things, had Bruce shared with this woman? The cup of tea stood before her, untouched, growing cold.

'Listen, I'm not saying this to judge you,' said Faya. 'I'm just saying that Bruce saw how you treated your first husband, so he was determined not to make the same mistakes. He even said once: "When Margot talks about her ex, it's like she's giving me a roadmap of what

not

to do."

Don't

talk about what's bothering you,

don't

share what you

really

feel about something and

absolutely

don't talk about dreams which might involve cutting down on the money-making activities... because that's what your first husband did. And Bruce told me that you never stopped saying what a relief it was to be with a "real man" who didn't come out with that kind of shit.'

Faya gave her a smile and refilled her cup from the teapot as though they had been talking about the price of eggs. Margot's jaw tightened. She stared out through the tearoom window and shook her head.

'That's not fair,' she said. 'You can't compare the two men. Bruce is... was... a

real

man. While Jim... look, Jim is a good man, but he's no good at

being

a man. He just wasn't husband material.'

'Yeah, Bruce knew that was how you saw it,' said Faya. 'That you didn't want

him.

You wanted a "fearless husband".'

'That's not true! I told Bruce many,

many

times that the thing I wanted most in the world was for him to be himself!'

'Yes, but that's what you said to your first husband too. And when he took you at your word and told you who he was, you said he wasn't man enough and dumped him. So when you said to Bruce, "I want you to be yourself", what he took it to mean was, "I want you to be the husband

I

want you to be

and

I want you to say it was your idea so that I don't have to owe you for it." '

'That's a lie!'

'He's got "fearless husband" written on his

gravestone!

What more proof do you want?'

Margot leapt to her feet, banging the table and nearly toppling the teacups. She was pale, her nostrils were flared and she glared at the other woman. But even as she was overtaken by rage, when she spoke there was also desperation in her voice.

'You didn't know Bruce! You didn't know Bruce!'

'No,

you're

the one who didn't know Bruce,' said Faya. 'And you weren't

interested

in knowing him! What you wanted was a "perfect marriage" and if Bruce didn't provide it for you, you'd leave him for a man who would.'

'What do

you

know about marriage? You're a

whore!'

Faya bolted to her feet.

'No,

you're

the whore!' she cried. 'You're the one who cheated on her first husband, then got

both

men to lie to the child about it! You're the one who took a ten-year-old from his father when Bruce relocated, then filed a false claim of child abuse to get your ex off your back!'

Margot's eyes goggled in horror.

'Yeah, he told me about that!' said Faya savagely. 'It was the first time we met! Bruce showed up at the club drunk, broken and bent on self-destruction. He'd just found out what you did, so he was going to fuck a dozen hookers and blow up his marriage. Ironically, I was the one who talked him out of it.'

'Why should I believe that?'

'I don't care whether you believe it! But my own parents are divorced, so when I heard there were three kids in the emotional cesspit

you

created, I thought I should at least try!'

Faya grabbed her coat, shrugged it on and picked up her purse. The waitress had come over and was standing nervously nearby, clearly wanting to intervene in the altercation but not knowing quite how. Faya gave her an apologetic look and put a fifty onto the table--almost double what was owed. Then, after a frown, she took out the remaining banknotes and tossed them over to Margot's side of the table.

'Here,' said Faya. 'Your earnings.'

Faya turned and walked away. The bell on the door jangled as it was opened and left an uncomfortable silence after it was closed.

***

Margot didn't visit Bruce's grave for over a week. When she finally did force herself to go, she was surprised at how plain the headstone looked--grey, anonymous, nothing special. The phrase 'fearless husband' now felt like a bad joke and there was a streak of white bird shit running through his surname. Margot had a pack of baby-wipes in her bag for just this eventuality, but this time she didn't bother. Let the rain wash it off.