He either thought she stank to high heaven and was keen to remedy the situation fast, or he was the sweetest, most thoughtful man she’d ever met.
‘Oh Will, this is just ...’
‘Are they OK? I’m rubbish at buying presents, but the girl in the shop said they’d be fine.’
Eagerly he went on, ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t wrap them properly but I’m hopeless at wrapping stuff up too — oh God, don’t cry, please don’t cry.’ Will moved towards her, attempting to grab the bag back. ‘What’s the matter? Did I buy the wrong things? I know you’re probably used to more expensive brands, but the people in the shop were just so friendly ... I can’t believe I’ve upset you like this ...’
‘You haven’t, I promise.’ Shaking her head vigorously, Estelle managed a watery smile. Will, I love my presents. It’s not them and it’ s not you. I just ... well, I’m not having a very good d-day, that’s all, and people being unexpectedly nice to me always makes me cry. And yes, OK, maybe I am used to expensive brands’ — the gloriously gift-wrapped baskets that Oliver ordered over the internet every Christmas from Jo Malone sprang to mind — ‘but these mean so much more. You chose everything yourself and that’s wonderful.’ Wiping her eyes, she hiccupped, ‘Especially the loofah. Nobody’s ever given me a loofah before.’
Will looked relieved. ‘Really? You’re not just being polite? To be honest, I’m not absolutely sure what a loofah does, but ... hey, you’re still crying. It’s not just the present, is it? Come on, tell me what’s wrong.’
Feeling utterly drained, Estelle allowed him to steer her onto a kitchen chair. Will took a glass down from the wall cabinet and filled it to the brim from the half-empty bottle of Beaujolais left from lunch.
‘It’s nothing. I’m just being silly.’ Nevertheless her hand sneaked out and clutched the glass.
‘You aren’t being silly.’ He paused. ‘And I’m not stupid. I do have eyes in my head, you know.’
The room-temperature wine slipped comfortingly down Estelle’s throat, warming her stomach and soothing her frazzled nerve endings, but she didn’t dare speak. To cover the awkward silence she took another hefty gulp instead.
‘It’s OK,’ Will said eventually, ‘I can guess what’s bothering you. You’re loyal to Oliver and I’m a TV journalist. But I promise you, I’m not the blabbing kind. I don’t do hatchet jobs, that isn’t my style.
If I did,’ he went on with a brief smile, ‘I’d soon run out of subjects. Nobody would let me film them. So you see, it’s not even in my interests to dig the dirt. You can talk to me as a friend and I swear I’d never use anything you told me. But I do think you shouldn’t bottle things up. And, as I said, I do already have a pretty good idea.’
Estelle found a hanky in her pocket and blew her nose. Of course he had a pretty good idea, he was a documentary maker, for heaven’s sake. Trained to observe everything and never miss a trick. Then again, he was right about it not being in his interests to dig the dirt. Having now had a chance to see videos of his previous programmes she knew that Will’s style was affectionate and quirky, never underhand or sly.
‘The thing is, I know how lucky I am.’ Hearing her voice wobble, Estelle took another gulp of wine to steady it. ‘Living here in this beautiful house with a swimming pool, a nice car, no money worries —
crikey, that’s what everyone dreams of, isn’t it? It’s why people buy lottery tickets. And I’m healthy, I’m not dying from some horrible incurable disease. What reason do I have to moan and feel sorry for myself?
But sometimes I just ... Oh God, I don’t know, most women would give their right arms to have my advantages ...’
‘But you’re not happy,’ Will said gently. ‘And you feel guilty because you think you should be.
Estelle, millions of people buy lottery tickets thinking that hitting the jackpot will solve all their problems, but only the ones who’ve actually done it discover the truth. If you aren’t happy in yourself, no amount of money will change that. It isn’t going to solve fundamental problems in, say, a marriage.’
Estelle swallowed hard. It was so obvious he already knew, what was the point of even trying to deny it?
‘Oliver’s not a bad man.’ Her voice was low. ‘He doesn’t drink, or beat me up, or flaunt mistresses under my nose. But sometimes he’s ... hard to handle. He has his career, he gets picky sometimes, and he can be a bit abrupt.’
‘Autocratic, even,’ Will suggested mildly.
‘OK, yes, autocratic. But we’ve been together for twenty-seven years. Since I was eighteen. For heaven’s sake, you’d think I’d be used to it by now.’
‘He’s always been the same?’
‘Well, no. I mean, Oliver was always the one in charge, but that was just his character. Over the last year or so, though, it’s got worse. I’ve started to feel completely unimportant, I don’t know why I’m here any more, I just feel ... pointless.’ Feeling her eyes fill with tears again, Estelle took a shuddery breath. ‘Fat and pointless, that’s me. And I’ve been trying so hard to pretend nothing’s wrong, but having Kate back here doesn’t help. I know she doesn’t mean to, but she’s treating me just like Oliver does. I feel like one of those plate-spinners, rushing from plate to plate desperately trying to keep everything up in the air . All I want is for us to be a normal happy family, but it’s just not w-working and I don’t know what else I can possibly d-do ...’ Her voice breaking, Estelle covered her face with her hands and wailed, ‘Because no matter how hard I try, nothing I do do ever seems to be good enough!’
‘Hey, hey, don’t blame yourself.’ Will’s voice was wonderfully soothing. Whereas Oliver, if he were here now, would have barked, ‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t cry,’ Will simply passed her a handful of kitchen roll and allowed her to get on with it. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, you know. I’m sure Oliver doesn’t mean to upset you. And Kate’s ... well, she’s having a hard time adjusting, that’s all. She’s going through a prickly stage.’
Bloody prickly, thought Estelle. And in all honesty, when something had lasted for fifteen years, did it still count as a stage? She could barely remember a time when she hadn’t felt intimidated by her daughter.
‘But what am I supposed to do?’ Blowing her nose on the kitchen roll, she watched resignedly as Will refilled her glass.
‘Ah, well now, that is up to you. Do you want to stay with Oliver, or leave him?’
Estelle’s bottom lip trembled. ‘Stay, of course. I still love him, I want us to be happy again, I just don’t know how to make it happen. I’m not even sure there’s anything I can do. Sometimes, as far as Oliver’s concerned, I just feel invisible.’
‘I can’t advise you,’ said Will, which was a massive letdown; she’d secretly been hoping he might have the most brilliant plan. ‘But if it’s any consolation,’ he leaned back on his chair and fixed Estelle with a smile that told her he was on her side, ‘you don’t deserve to be treated like that. If I were lucky enough to be married to someone like you, I’d be over the moon. Then again,’ he looked almost comically disconsolate, ‘who’d ever want to be saddled with a case as hopeless as me? My last girlfriend was always complaining that I looked as if I’d got dressed in the dark. She once found a mouldy sausage roll in my bathroom cabinet. And when we went to her Uncle Bill’s wedding I called the bride Megan, which was the name of Uncle Bill’s first wife.’