Epilogue
Valentine’s Day Last Year
I’m Charlotte, and I have a wonderful life.
The house, the cars, the clothes, and the man. What more could I want?
My husband, James, is quite the catch: successful, good-looking, and loved by everyone, he’s the type of man other women tell me they dream of marrying. James and I were university sweethearts and married at the tender age of twenty-four – ten years ago today, in a lavish ceremony on a frosty February the fourteenth, so Valentine’s Day has always been a day of celebration.
This morning, I woke up to find a single rose lying at the foot of the bed with a little note that read:
I love you more than life itself.
Happy anniversary, my darling valentine.
James
xxx
A smile spread across my face as I sniffed the rose. ‘James?’ I shouted, and he emerged from the steamy en suite with a white towel tied around his waist, showing off his toned stomach, still tanned from our recent trip to Mexico.
‘You’re awake?’ He pulled me into a hug.
‘I am, thank you for the rose,’ I said, kissing him. ‘And the note.’
‘You deserve it, Charlotte. I love you. Come here.’ He pulled me in tight once again, nibbling my lip. ‘I’ll see you tonight. I have a special dinner planned – at that new French restaurant on the high street – but I’ll be working late so meet me there at seven?’
‘Sounds perfect. Now sit down, I’ve got something for you.’
He sat waiting dutifully as I skipped into the walk-in wardrobe and opened my small, hidden drawer, sliding out the yellow box. It had challenged me to keep the gift a secret. The excited rush I’d felt when buying it two weeks ago was so strong it almost forced me to give it to him as soon as he’d walked in that day, especially since he’d looked so tired and in need of cheering up. I’d had to take myself off to hot yoga every night to avoid caving in to temptation and spoiling the surprise. But I’d triumphed! I made it to our anniversary, to Valentine’s Day morning, without spilling the beans.
‘Close your eyes,’ I said, hovering in the doorway.
Once he did, I walked over and placed the box on his knee, jumping on the bed to sit beside him. My insides squeezed with excitement. ‘Okay, you can open them!’
‘Oh my God! Charlotte!’ He gasped. Taking in the embossed wings logo on the yellow box, he hastily opened the lid to reveal a smaller, glossy-black box inside. It was like the Russian doll of watch boxes. I could barely contain myself as he peered inside and grinned. ‘I love it.’ Of course he did; I knew he would – it was the Breitling Navitimer watch he’d had his eye on for months. He kissed me before pulling away. ‘And I love you too. I’ve got you a little something as well but it’s at work because I was saving it to give you at dinner.’
What a wonderful man.
‘Janet, you went with the highlights and bob I suggested? You look absolutely stunning.’ I beamed at the Budgen’s shop assistant who fiddled with the ends of her hair shyly and nodded. ‘It’s taken years off you.’ It really had – she’d gone from ‘magnolia plain’ to ‘hot pink sassy’ since I’d last seen her. Jaded Janet to Jazzy Janet in a jiffy. My insides bounced about excitedly at yet another triumph in my quest to make people happy.
‘Thank you, Mrs Emsworth – I was a bit unsure about the chop but after you’d said I should go for it I thought “well what the heck?” My darling other half thought I’d gone and got myself a bit on the side because I’d apparently started “making an effort” all of a sudden.’ She giggled.
‘Well, that’ll keep him on his toes.’ I winked. I walked to the exit feeling all warm and fuzzy, glad that Janet appreciated my advice. On the surface, it looked like I had it all, and I suppose I almost did but life hadn’t always been so rosy and it wasn’t quite complete. Coming from a background where I didn’t always ‘fit in’ gave me a level of empathy rarely found amongst the average Cheshire housewife cliques and that was my superpower.
As I stepped outside the shop contemplating my next quest, I spotted something that made my blood run cold. I squinted a little to make sure I’d not made a mistake. Sure enough, it was him, Mike, the fiancé of my personal trainer, Megan, sat in his car getting far too close to a much younger woman. As I froze, trying to figure out what to do, the engine started and they drove off into the night.
***
‘I’m going out. There’s hummus and crudités in the fridge in case you get peckish,’ I yelled to James late the following Saturday night. He was up in the office where he’d been spending far too much time of late. Megan had gushed about going to a Sam Smith concert with some of her friends, and that meant her fiancé would be home alone, allegedly. If I was going to expose him for the cheating worthless bastard I knew he was, I was going to need evidence.
I’d dressed in black skinny jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket for low visibility; my Kera Straightened blonde hair was tucked into a black woolly pompom hat. James didn’t question me as I left; I knew he wouldn’t because he’d been office-bound, working so hard on a huge case that he’d barely had time to eat, never mind worry himself with whatever I was up to. I sunk into the leather seat of my black BMW and pressed the ‘Start’ button. The engine purred to life.
It was a fifteen-minute drive to Megan’s house in a nice residential area on the outskirts of Stockport. Bingo, two cars sat on the driveway: Megan’s cute Mini and Mike’s navy Merc – or the ‘seedy-love-mobile’, as I now prefer to call it. I crawled past and saw a light on in the front room of their modern detached – confirming he was home.
I spun my car around at the top of the cul-de-sac and drove off up the street, pulling up on the main road at the top. It looked like one of those ‘Neighbourhood Watch’ areas – the kind with the twitchy curtains. My unfamiliar shiny new 5 Series wouldn’t sit unnoticed; it may have already drawn a look or two. I checked my watch. It was just after nine. The urgent trill of my phone made me jump as it came through the car’s Bluetooth system. I fumbled with the volume quickly before answering.
‘Hello?’ I said, eyes still fixed on the road.
‘Charlotte, it’s Lauren,’ she shrilled. ‘I just wanted to let you know we’ve had to bring our charity ball forward to Friday the seventh. There was
