SHELLY
My head pounds like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. Technically, I was hit with a sledgehammer, just the cocktail version, not the axe. The axe might have been preferable if my head is anything to go by.
When we finished up yesterday evening, the entire cast was buzzing after our first mini live. It had seemed like a good idea to go for a drink at the time, especially as Marcus wasn’t answering his mobile and the girls were happy with Nadine.
Aisling and Natalie are quickly becoming two of my favourite women in the world. Doing a show likeSexy Come Dancingforces us to bond, whether we like it or not. I happen to like it, a lot. Once, having an abundance of female friends outside of the WAGs seemed like a far-fetched dream. Now, with each day that passes, it’s become a rewarding reality.
One drink turned into seven, and here I am, alone in bed wondering what the hell happened. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I vaguely recall being in a taxi with Aisling, but how I got to bed is beyond me. A sliver of shame washes over me. I’m a mother for Christ’s sake! I console myself with the knowledge that I only did it because I knew the girls weren’t here to witness it.
Rolling over, I pat Marcus’s side of the bed, but the sheets are cool underneath my palm. Dragging myself from my cosy safe haven, I pad gingerly down the stairs in search of coffee and paracetamol.
The sound of low, husky voices floats through to the hallway. Peeping through the kitchen doorway, I spot Marcus, my mother-in-law, Callum, James, Nathan, Ollie and Eddie congregated around the blindingly bright island.
My hand reaches for my head, fingers dragging through my hair, attempting to smooth the unruly bedhead before realising I’ve never cared much with these guys before, and I’m not about to start this morning. And Bernie, Marcus’s mam, has seen me looking a lot worse. She spots me lurking as I contemplate sneaking away.
‘Shelly!’ Bernie hops off the school and crosses the kitchen to greet me in a warm embrace. Over the years, Marcus’s mam has been more of a mam than mine ever was. Pressed tightly against her chest, with the familiar scent of her Pomegranate perfume seeping into the air around me, my shoulders slump and tears well in my eyes. Physical contact is something I crave, and Marcus hasn’t so much as blown me an air kiss in days. He utters an unusually formal morning greeting at my arrival, but refuses to meet my gaze.
Back in the day, there were some awful rumours about Marcus and foreign prostitutes, team groupies, and even another teammate’s wife. It wasn’t nice, but I never doubted him, even with my own deep-rooted trust issues. Which is probably why it hurts so much that he doubts me now. I understand he’s struggling with the Ben situation. I really do. But I’ve had to listen to a lot worse. It’s simply showbiz, all for the ratings. It’s an act. It’s not real. If only he’d let me reassure him.
Kissing each of his teammates on the cheek in greeting, I make my way to my husband. He offers his cheek instead of his mouth, an air of indifference radiating from his rigid stance, and it stings like a wasp between the toes.
‘Coffee, love?’ Bernie asks, passing over the pot that’s just been brewed.
‘Love one.’ I grab the biggest mug I can find in the cupboard and help myself. ‘What’s with the early morning meeting?’
‘We’re putting in an offer on the old clubhouse. Some prat wants to knock it down and turn it into yet another block of flats, but we can’t let that happen.’ It’s the longest sentence Marcus has spoken to me in days and I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
‘An offer?’ We agreed no more property. Did he learn nothing from the 2008 downturn? Luckily, we came out of it ok, but we still lost a ridiculous amount.
‘All of us,’ Callum chips in, gesturing to the six of them perched in a circle. It’s a good job the island is huge, most houses wouldn’t fit five pairs of those shoulders, let alone a kitchen. It’s undoubtably an Instagram-worthy shot, but right now, I couldn’t care less. My Instagram has fallen by the wayside lately. Real life has been demanding enough.
‘It’s a good investment,’ Nathan says, causing me to wince internally. I’ve heard that line a hundred times too many.
‘It’s for the community. We can’t let the old place fall. Most of us started out there. It saved us from our own demise. We owe it to it,’ Marcus says, his palm gently slapping the white marble surface reinforcing his point.
His private promise not to buy another square foot of land hangs unspoken in the air between us, the memory reinforced in the way he refuses to meet my eye.
‘So, you’ve already decided?’ I add two spoonfuls of sugar to my coffee. This morning, I need it.
His eyes raise for the first time and the only word I can use to describe his expression is defiance. ‘Yes. We’ve all agreed.’ He gestures round the table, either oblivious or ignoring the fact his decision has sucker punched me in the gut.
Are all our previous promises off the table? Either way, now is not the time to discuss it, and clearly Marcus doesn’t want to discuss anything or he would have come to me privately with his decision, instead of dropping the bomb in front of everyone. There’s no mention of how much this venture is costing. Of which savings account he’ll pull the money from or how it will affect our other investments.
With him no longer working, we’re still comfortable, but it’s probably not the best time to be splurging money on a nostalgic expensive refurbishment. What’s the financial return? Did he at least discuss it with our accountant? Because he certainly didn’t discuss it with me.
I’m not sure which hurts the most, his blatant disregard for his promise, or the fact that my opinion matters so little these days.
There’s an awkward silence where the guys all seem to find something outside the window suddenly riveting. The tension rolls between Marcus and me like a tornado gathering speed and power with every passing second.
Despite my blood boiling like molten lava, I opt not to cause a scene. ‘I’m going to get dressed and collect the girls. See you later, guys.’ I kiss my mother-in-law on the cheek as I pass her on my way out the door.
James calls across the kitchen, ‘Don’t rush on Nadine’s behalf. You know she loves having them.’
I smile my thanks at him, because I’m too angry to utter another word.
Outside our motorised gates, a huge crowd of women congregate clutching “Shelly & Ben to Win” signs. They cheer as though they’re at a rugby match, not obstructing the access to a private street. I ring the Guards to request they move them along so I can open the gate.
By the time I finally pull up outside Nadine’s to collect the girls, my anger has dissolved, replaced with a profound sadness. Marcus and I make decisions together, with what’s best for our family at the forefront of both our minds. It’s what we’ve always done. Now he’s embarking on this without so much as mentioning it. I feel like I’ve been relegated to a lower division. Like I’ve been demoted.
