‘I feel like she gets me in a way that nobody else does.’ Boom. That shuts her up. And it’s the truth. Of course the idea came about when Andreas suggested it – it obviously can’t hurt to be in with the boss’s wife, but that’s not at all why I invited her. I invited Bianka because nobody has ever made me feel that I’m interesting for me, rather than for what I do or produce or achieve.
It’s still early, not yet 7 a.m., but traffic is building on the M25 heading north and we slow to a crawl for a long stretch. Anette has fallen into a sulky silence thanks to my comment about my unique connection with Bianka. As we approach the airport, I glance at Anette again – she’s leaning her head against the window, eyes closed. I don’t feel bad; thankfully we have the kind of friendship where we can speak up when something bothers us, but I’m aware that we’ve started our trip on a slightly charged note and I want to fix it. All I want for this week is peace and laughter. Fun.
‘Come on,’ I say, as I painstakingly begin the process of reverse parking the beast that is my car in a narrow bay. ‘I think you guys are going to totally love each other. I’ve told Bianka so much about you and how you are my absolutely best friend.’ This is partially true at least; I’ve mentioned Anette several times, but Bianka always seems much more interested in hearing about me.
‘Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be bitchy about it. I’m looking forward to getting to know her. She seems like an interesting person and you’re right: it’s sometimes a really great idea to bring in some fresh blood.’ I nod and smile at her and in this moment everything feels restored. I’m about to get out of the car when I notice that there is a sheen of moisture in Anette’s eyes and that she’s trying to hold back tears.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah. No. Actually, no. There’s something I need to tell you, Charlotte.’ I sit back in the seat and shut the door with a soft click. I stare at her, waiting. I feel a tremor of anxiety; Anette is not the kind of person who’d announce needing to talk about something unless it was something quite serious. ‘Mads and I are divorcing,’ she says, voice trembling.
‘Oh. Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Anette. What has happened?’ I am blindsided by this. Anette and Mads are so established as a couple in my eyes that I’m actually unable to picture them apart.
‘Well. The girls are pretty much grown up now. Earlier this year I had a breast cancer scare. I didn’t tell you about it because I freaked out so completely and was in total denial, but the experience really changed me. When the results came back and I realized I’d be okay, I decided I wanted to live differently. And eventually I came to the conclusion that it’s better to leave than live a life of pretence.’
‘I guess I didn’t know it felt like that for you. Like pretending.’
‘Oh, Charlotte, come on. I’m forty-one and haven’t slept with my husband in as long as I can actually remember. He only cares about work and drinking beer with his friends and running in the woods.’ Sounds familiar. I feel uncomfortable, because Anette and I live similar lives, something that Anette is now denouncing as pretence. ‘You know what Mads is like,’ she continues. ‘Nice enough but just on a different planet. I want someone who truly wants me. Who doesn’t turn away from me in bed or kisses me with dry lips clamped shut.’
My mind darts to my husband’s brief, chaste peck on the cheek last night when we said goodnight and goodbye, before he headed off down the corridor toward the guest room.
‘But Anette. Isn’t that what most marriages are like eventually?’
‘I don’t know but I don’t want that. I looked at him one night when the girls were both in bed and I’d finished the endless tidying after yet another dinner party. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa and was snoring so loudly. I noticed then how fat he’d gotten; like a pot-bellied old man, and I just thought, this is what the rest of my life is going to look like if I don’t do something.’
‘But… Won’t you lose the house?’
‘I’m a divorce lawyer, Charlotte. If anyone gets to keep the house in proceedings, it would be me. But we might have to sell. And here’s the thing, at the end of the day – it’s just a house, right?’
I think of my own house and I feel numb with terror at the idea of boxing all of our possessions and watching them being loaded into a moving van, presumably to be driven off to some soulless apartment somewhere, with a galley kitchen and a cramped balcony overlooking a main road. I’d probably have to leave London, even – returning to Oslo like a complete and utter failure.
It’s just a house. It’s not just a house, though. Not for me. It’s the physical symbol of security and safety and I couldn’t bear to lose it. I realize I’ve unleashed an anguished little sob and remember that this really isn’t about me. My marriage is rock solid and I’m not going to lose my house. I’m not going to lose anything. And now I need to be here for Anette.
‘Of course. You’re right. It’s just a house. The most important thing is that you’re happy.’
‘Yes. It really is the most important thing. I just can’t face another decade of facade living, of going through the motions and giving my one life up for a man who doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about me.’
‘Oh, but Mads loves you so much, Anette. It’s always been so obvious. I thought you guys were super happy and—’
‘That’s just how it’s looked. From the outside. It’s different, at home. And between us.’ I nod and refuse to allow myself to draw any further comparisons to my own life and marriage. I’m being ridiculous by feeling so affected by this; it’s nothing to do with me.
‘I’m really sorry, honey,’ I say. ‘Please let me know what you need right now and how I can best be there for you.’
‘To be honest, I just want to forget about it for a week. I haven’t told Linda yet. And since I don’t know Bianka, I’d appreciate it if we could just keep this between me and you for now. But if you want to know how to help, there is something I need.’
‘Of course, anything,’ I say softly, squeezing her hand gently to not hurt her heavily bejewelled fingers. I notice with a jolt that her wedding ring is gone.
‘You are officially in charge of keeping me mercifully drunk pretty much constantly for a week, starting now.’ We both laugh.
‘Let the games begin,’ I say, slamming the car door shut and together we march toward the terminal building, linking arms and laughing.
*
Walking into Heathrow, clutching the handle of my wheelie bag, Anette marching self-confidently alongside me toward where Bianka is standing at the end of the security line, I feel suddenly way out of my comfort zone. I do childhood friends, rock-solid marriage, impressive career, super mum. I don’t really do new friends or merging my different worlds. Looking back at the past month and the fact that I’ve spent every free moment with Bianka, I realize that she’s hit me like a freight train.
‘Charlotte!’ screams Bianka when she sees us approach, and throws herself around my neck before planting a sticky crimson kiss on my cheek. She’s wearing an over-the-top geometric print red silky jumpsuit and towering platform sandals. Her hair has been teased to the heights and her makeup is immaculate. The overall effect is of a white, middle-aged Beyoncé, in the best possible way. Bianka turns her attention from me to Anette.
‘I’m so excited to finally meet you,’ says Bianka, kissing Anette on both cheeks. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘We’ve met before, actually,’ says Anette, ‘at the Streamstar party.’
‘Oh, God, yes. Of course. I remember you.’
Anette nods lightly, then they smile at each other, sizing each other up, before turning to me.
‘Where is your other friend, then? Linda?’ asks Bianka.
‘She’s already gone through security and is waiting at the champagne bar.’ I find the WhatsApp photo message Linda just sent me and show it to the others – although it’s only just gone seven a.m., she’s holding a glass of champagne up in a toast, her face beaming.
‘God, you ladies don’t beat around the bush, do you?’
‘Linda is a nervous flier; she can’t get on a plane without a glass of wine or three,’ I say.
Anette and Bianka then launch into an animated discussion about the merits of geometric print as we get in line for security and I follow behind them, breathing a sigh of relief that they’re apparently getting along. The airport is busy as ever this morning and Bianka is sluiced away from Anette and me to a separate conveyor belt.
‘She’s something else, huh?’ whispers Anette, keeping a faint smile on her face, meticulously loading her tray before pushing it onto the belt.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
