On the drive over to Paul's house, Ann contemplated what she was doing. Certainly, there was nothing wrong with going over to a friend's house to have coffee, was there? Yet, there were certain implications, certain feelings of disloyalty that Ann could not shake. She had promised herself that nothing would ever come of Paul's fascination with her.
Yes, he was fascinated by her - that was it.
She was someone else's and therefore unattainable, and that fact made her all the more desirable to Paul. It was a fleeting interest, Ann reasoned, a certain fondness he had for her, not love.
Love.
She reminded herself again. Martin loves her. No matter how oblivious he could seem at times, he loves her. She should not have to remind herself of this fact. In fact, Ann hated herself for thinking those thoughts -of Paul -of love - of fascination. She chewed on her lower lip as she drove to Paul's house, listening to Marnie's endless babbles in the backseat.
Again, Ann swore to herself that nothing would happen. She loved her family too much to let it.
And, indeed, nothing did happen.
Paul had been true to his word. He behaved like a perfect gentleman at his house. He even resisted the odd flirtation or two.
And, somehow, Ann could not decide whether she was grateful to Paul or severely annoyed with him. Annoyed? Perhaps that was not the right word. Angry? Maybe. Vexed? Possibly. Utterly confused? Most definitely.
She did not want anything to happen. Or did she?
Ann returned to Oswestry that evening, settling down into bed alone. Martin had phoned, letting her know that the meeting was to run late. In fact, the bosses now planned to head to dinner. How terribly upsetting for him, throwing him off his schedule. He had gathered that he would not be home at 8:04 pm as originally intended. Rather, he would now walk through their front door at precisely 10:46 pm, and that Ann should not worry about him.
Ann pulled the covers up over her head, willing herself to go to sleep. Abandon her thoughts and rest. She finally drifted off.
At 10:46 pm, Martin walked through the front door, stamped his feet on the welcome mat, turned the phone the proper way, and crept upstairs, careful not to wake Marian. He tiptoed into their bedroom, finding Ann curled into a ball hugging a pillow asleep. He went to her side of the bed and gently brushed away the hair that lay across her cheek. Pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, Martin smiled down on his wife. He regarded her thoughtfully.
He wondered how her lunch with Paul went, but Martin didn't dare wake her. She slept so fitfully nowadays, and he wanted her to rest.
In truth, Martin worried about his wife. He had been meaning to talk to her about this melancholy. The problem was that he was finding it increasingly difficult to find the words. How could he approach her? How would she take it? Would she resort to a combative mode? Would she avoid the subject?
Martin wanted to know what he could do to help her.
Deep down, he felt somehow that his wife's lack of luster was his fault. How could it not be? He usually did drain her. Maybe, finally, she had nothing left in her.
And that was something Martin could not live with. Ann was his life, his very soul. If he did not have her and now Marnie, then he had nothing.
NOTHING.
Martin changed into his pajamas and slipped under the sheets beside Ann. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts drifted through his mind until he fell asleep.
Ann felt Martin shift into the bed. She desperately wanted him to wrap his arms around her. To hold her, to comfort her. She wanted him to remind her that she was his. And his alone.
But, he didn't. He simply fell asleep.
And Ann felt alone.
…
It had been a week since Ann had lunch with Paul. She had called him every day since, telling herself that it was just to catch up, just to have a sounding board.
It was the same every day. Ann would see Martin off to work and then call Paul before he left for the health studio. It so happened that today Ann felt brave. Well, a little more brave than usual.
Somewhere though Ann felt that she needed to see him again. Why? She still could not answer that question.
Paul picked up on the second ring. "Hello," he answered.
For a moment, Ann did not say anything, just taking in the sound of his voice. She twisted the telephone cord round her fingers and bit her lower lip.
Marnie watched her mother from her high chair, wondering what could possibly be more entertaining than her banging away on a bowl.
"Hello," Paul repeated, raising his voice a slight octave. "If this is a scam caller again, I'll…" he did not have time to finish his threat.
Ann laughed. "Paul, it's me," she voiced. "I hope I never have to work as a telemarketer and call you," she giggled softly.
"Ann," Paul breathed and then let out a chuckle. "I should have known it was you. You always seem to call at this time. I don't know why I thought it could have been anyone else."
"Maybe you were hoping for someone else," Ann replied, a hint of sadness seeping into her voice. "After all, you have all sorts of women coming into and out of the health club at all times. And many find you attractive. Perhaps, finally, you found someone?" Ann asked, wondering why she could not stop herself from talking.
Attractive…Really, Ann, she thought to herself, you should not even be saying that.
And Paul picked up on it.
"Attractive, am I?" Paul sniggered. He could not help teasing her a bit. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"Hush," Ann replied, blowing the bangs from her face in frustration. "You know what I meant. Have you found someone yet? It's time you were married," she instructed Paul.
"Giving orders now, are we?" Paul replied, slightly amused.
"No, it's just that…. Oh, never mind," Ann said.
"It's okay, Ann. Don't worry about it," Paul answered, wishing desperately that he could see the expression on her face, rather than just hear her voice over the phone. "No, in answer to your question, I have not met anyone."
I have…. he thought to himself. He would never voice what he wanted to say aloud…but she's married and has a daughter…and she's so much more than me. And I could not hurt that neurotic old chap, my best friend really, if I admit it.
"That's too bad," Ann admitted. "Maybe one day we could have a double date. Martin and I and you and your lucky lady."
Paul rubbed the back of his neck, saddened by her last comment. "Yeah," he answered, "maybe."
"Listen, Paul," Ann began. And here was the real reason she called him. "Would you want to come here tomorrow afternoon? Here in Oswestry. You haven't seen our new house. We could go out to have coffee again," Ann offered, hoping that he would accept her invitation. She did not mention that Martin would be at work as usual.
Paul smiled. "Yes, Ann, I would like that very much. See you tomorrow then," he said as he hung up the phone.
Ann placed the phone back down on the receiver, softly humming to herself.
…
Martin sat in his office, glancing over some files concerning the latest valve purchase orders. He was not particularly enthralled by his work at the moment. Instead, his mind drifted towards Ann. He regarded her photograph on his desk. Those large brown eyes. Innocent. Sweet. And yet somehow could command the attention of the room.
He felt lucky to have her as his wife. Certainly, he never expected that she would say yes when he finally summoned up the gumption to ask her to be his. Yes, he was lucky. He could not love anyone more. Nor did he believe that anyone else would ever put up with him the way Ann managed. And now together they had a daughter. His Marian. Her Marnie. The somehow perfect combination of her and him. Their little girl. And with her, Martin's world was complete. He was lucky.
And somehow, deep down inside, the anxiety that bubbled underneath his skin, the feeling that it was all a fleeting memory, a fractured image captured with a broken camera lens, would not leave him.
He wondered if his luck had run out.
Ann seemed so distant of late. Ever since they had moved to Oswestry, something about his wife had changed. She seemed sad – withdrawn, and Martin was not sure how to address her behavior.
In his head, Martin replayed their conversations over and over again, searching for some hint as to what he had done wrong. For surely, he felt it must have been his fault as she was incapable of any.
Martin knew how exasperating he could be at times. At only certain times. In only certain circumstances. He only wanted everything to be perfect – for Marian to have a golden childhood, for Ann to be happy – to give them both nothing but the best.
As he tucked his paperwork into its corresponding file, Martin's secretary tapped on his door.
"Mr. Bryce," Mrs. Mears called.
"Come in, Mrs. Mears," Martin answered.
Mrs. Mears, a somewhat chubby, older woman, with sandy hair and inquisitive eyes, entered his office. She was always rather curious as to what her boss was up to all day, stashed away in his office. To her, Martin Bryce was a rather comical fellow, terribly efficient yet somehow unsure of everything he did.
"I just came in to deliver your messages for the day," she announced as she passed her boss the handwritten note.
"Thank you," Martin murmured.
"If that's all," Mrs. Mears said as she crossed the room to exit, "I'll return to my…"
"Mrs. Mears," Martin interrupted her.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you something? I mean something outside of work. Would that be all right?" Martin questioned as he fidgeted with a pen.
"Yes?" The secretary's mind overflowed with questions.
"Well, you see, it's about my wife. Women, in general, and well, you're a woman," Martin fumbled.
"Well spotted," Mrs. Mears remarked. She noticed Martin's frightened expression, as if he felt he offended her. "Don't worry, Mr. Bryce," she soothed, knowing full well that her boss meant no harm, but lacked the requisite tact. "Go ahead, ask your question. It's perfectly all right."
"How does one know when a woman is unhappy? I mean how does one go about trying to ask what's bothering her? Without her flying off the handle, if you understand my meaning."
Mrs. Mears had only met her boss's wife twice, and, to her, Ann Bryce seemed a nice woman. She must have the patience of Job if she married Martin. The secretary's curiosity piqued. What could possibly be troubling Ann so much that Martin would ask her? "Well, Mr. Bryce," Mrs. Mears began politely, "I have always felt that the straightforward approach is best. Ask her. Don't coddle her. Just simply ask her." Mrs. Mears chuckled. "I always wonder why it is so difficult for husbands just to ask their wives a question."
"Ask? Just ask?" Martin was astounded.
"Yes," Mrs. Mears reiterated, "Now, if that's all…"
"Quite," Martin replied as Mrs. Mears exited the office.
"Ask?" Martin mumbled aloud. "Ask? Is it that simple?" Martin gathered his belongings, took his coat off the rack, and exited his office for the evening.
He weighed his options and Mrs. Mears's advice his entire way home.
When he walked through the front door at precisely 6:03 pm, he stamped his feet on the mat exactly seven times, walked to the phone, and promptly turned it the correct way.
"Ann?" he inquired.
"In the kitchen," his wife replied gingerly.
Martin placed his coat on the wooden rack and walked into the breakfast nook to discover Ann feeding Marian her dinner.
Marian immediately giggled and reached for her father as he entered the room.
"She's missed you all day," Ann remarked, pushing a strand of hair away from her daughter's face. "Terribly fussy without you," she added.
"Well, I miss my girls during the day. But someone must keep the British valve industry afloat. And that someone is me." Martin turned to Marian and picked her up out of her high chair. "You'll understand that one day, my dear girl. Understand what your father has to put up with to keep his ladies up."
"Martin, I hardly think she understands anything at this point," Ann retorted, rolling her eyes slightly. "She's still only a baby. All she wants is your attention."
"I know that love," Martin replied. He sounded somewhat hurt by Ann's harsh response. It was a bit unlike his wife, if he were honest. "I just want her to know that I do it all for her. For you too Ann." Martin shrugged his shoulders, then placed a kiss atop his wife's head. He gave Ann a gentle squeeze on her left shoulder as he held Marian in his other arm. He hoped Ann knew how much he loved her, though he was not always the best at expressing himself.
Ann softened at Martin's touch. "I know you love us both," she whispered, blinking back a tear that started to form behind her brown eyes.
But, she thought to herself, I wish I could be certain how I feel about you. About me. About us. I wish I could figure myself out. There's nothing wrong with my husband. It's me. It's always been me. He rescued me, and how do I repay him? By thinking about Paul. Paul. Why can't I get him out of my head?
Ann walked over to the stove and began to put some mashed potatoes onto Martin's plate for dinner. "Oh, Martin, I almost forgot to tell you. I'm going to be out most of the day tomorrow. Is that all right?"
Martin laughed. "Of course, love. You know I trust you. Going somewhere special then?"
Ann bit her lip. "No," she lied, "just out with some old girlfriends."
"Hilda?"
"No, girls from the Open University. Just some shopping and coffee to get out. They don't mind me tugging Marnie along." Ann continued the charade.
"Sounds wonderful," Martin beamed. "That really sounds terrific. I'm glad you're getting out. Friends. That's what you need, Ann. Friends. Though, I do think you should invite Hilda along," her husband added.
"Perhaps, you're right. I'll see if Hilda wants to come along," Ann agreed readily, though she had no intentions on following through with Martin's idea.
"Very well. Now, shall we eat dinner?" Martin said as he sat down at the head of the table.
"Yes," Ann smiled as she poured a glass of brandy wine for both her and Martin.
And the husband had no idea of his wife's plans with another man the next afternoon. Nor did he have any idea how much that brandy wine would leave bruises on his heart.
…
Years Earlier
It was a typical Friday night, and Ann sat nursing her drink at the bar, trying to ignore the subtle ache in her chest. The kind of ache that had been there ever since her last breakup. She was not even sure when she could even get the rest of her stuff out of the apartment she shared with him. It was like walking through a fog where everything seemed muffled, distant, and out of focus.
Going out, meeting new people, "moving on" was easier said than done. Her life felt like it was on pause, every day an endless loop of monotony. Her social life was sparse, and her heart bruised. She felt empty.
She found herself alone, perched on a barstool, watching people walk in and out.
At the other end of the bar, a man named Martin Bryce sat awkwardly, glancing at his watch with his best friend Howard Hughes. "Will she ever get up out of my seat?" Martin said, looking at the woman at the other end. "I mean this is my seat at the bar. It's been my seat for three years, every Friday night. It's my routine," he prattled.
"I don't see your name on it." Howard looked at his friend, laughing.
"It's the principle of the thing, Howard. This woman is not a usual, not a regular. And those seats by the bartender are meant to be for the regulars!" His chest puffed out, clearly frustrated.
"She is quite pretty, though," Howard noted. "Perhaps, it would not hurt to talk to her."
Martin shot his friend a look.
"Go on," Howard egged him on, "I dare you. She looks a bit lonely."
Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting from Ann to his drink and back again. "I don't know, Howard. I don't want anything to be awkward."
Howard waved him off. "No one is asking you to shove her off your chair, Martin. Just go say hi. Maybe she will become a regular. Or your perfect match."
Martin glanced at Howard who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. With a heavy sigh, Martin stood up, trying to gather what little confidence he had.
"Fine," Martin muttered. "But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."
"Deal," Howard said, watching with gleeful anticipation.
Martin took a deep breath and made his way across the bar. His heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into. As he approached, he noticed that Ann was staring into her drink, her expression unreadable. She didn't notice him at first, but as he stood awkwardly a few feet away, he cleared his throat.
Ann looked up, surprised. Her eyes, a little tired but kind, met his with mild curiosity.
"Uh, hi," Martin said, giving a nervous smile. "My name is Martin Bryce, and you are in my stool."
Ann blinked, clearly taken aback by his odd announcement. She studied him for a moment, not sure what to make of him. "I didn't know there were assigned seats," she replied.
"Well, there isn't actually," Martin admitted. "I just like my usual spot. Though, it doesn't matter now. You look quite nice in this spot." His hand massaged the back of his neck, unsure of what to do. "I was wondering…um, if you needed someone to, you know, sit over here at this corner of the bar. Seems a little empty over here."
"That's an…interesting offer," she said, her voice carrying a wisp of laughter. "But I think I'm managing just fine. Thanks."
Martin smiled awkwardly. This was not going the way he had imagined it. She was not hostile, only mildly sarcastic. More like she was just trying to figure him out. And in that moment, Martin remembered the dare, the challenge Howard had set him, and now it seemed ridiculous. He should walk away.
But something made him stay.
"Well, if you ever need someone to find you the perfect seat at the bar, I'm your guy. I'm very good at managing spaces," Martin added, wondering if he should sit next to her.
Ann couldn't help but let out a laugh. She hadn't been expecting a man to approach her, nor someone so awkward, but it was…endearing, in a way. There was a certain charm in his earnestness, even if he was stumbling through the conversation. She waited for him to leave, but he just stood there.
"I'm here on a dare, you see?" Martin mumbled, balancing on his heels, his eyes still locked on the stool next to her.
Ann raised an eyebrow, intrigued now. "A dare? Really?"
Martin nodded, looking mildly embarrassed. "Yeah. My friend Howard over there," he waved at the mustached man sitting on the other side of the bar. Howard waved back, looking utterly amused. "He dared me to come over and say hi. Well, hi, I suppose. He said he thinks I'm perfect for you, or some such nonsense."
Ann blinked in surprise. "He did what?"
"Yeah, I know, it's mad…and I'm not too fond of maddening things," Martin admitted, his cheeks flushing. "But…I could not let him have the satisfaction that I could not approach a woman at the bar who is sitting in my seat."
Ann's laughter was a bit louder this time. And for the first time that evening, she felt lighter. There was something oddly refreshing about how utterly flustered Martin seemed, but still managed to pull through with a smile.
"Well, I guess I'm honored to be your…dare," Ann answered, still chuckling. "I'm Ann. And I'll tell you what - let's call this conversation a success for your friend. I'll even let you sit here next to me for a minute, if you promise not to make me laugh too much."
Martin grinned, his nerves slowly easing as he sat on the stool beside her. For a few moments, the two of them just sat there, chatting awkwardly at first, but gradually easing into something comfortable. "When I first noticed you this evening, you seemed…I don't know, a little far away, if that makes sense?" Martin remarked quietly.
Ann's heart twisted in a way she felt unprepared to handle. She had not expected a stranger to notice. She hadn't said a word about her life, and yet there was something in the way he looked at her - so kind, so thoughtful - that made her feel seen in a way that no one else had ever noticed.
"I guess I've been better," she admitted, blowing a bang from her eye. "I just - well, I've been through a bit of a rough patch, recently." She surprised herself with her honesty.
Martin did not press her, but he gave her a soft, empathetic look. "I see, I see," he said quietly. "Well, if you ever need someone to help, I'm here every Friday night at precisely 7:18 pm."
Ann smiled, a warmth creeping into her chest. "Thank you, Martin. I think I might take you up on that."
They ordered another drink as they continued to chat. For the first time in a while, the thought of talking to someone did not feel like a chore to Ann. Something about Martin made her feel…secure.
As the bar started to thin out, neither wanted their conversation to end, that is, until Howard coughed loud enough to capture Martin's attention.
"Oh goodness! I'm sorry old boy," he looked at Howard, "I completely forgot about you!"
"If you don't mind Martin, you are my ride home. And I think Hilda will be getting worried about me by now," Howard remarked as he stood and adjusted his sweater.
"Maybe this wasn't such a terrible dare after all," Ann said, smiling more genuinely than she had in weeks.
"Maybe it wasn't," Martin agreed, his head nodding rapidly.
"So, see you here next week at precisely 7:18 pm?" Ann asked expectantly, a smile across her face.
Martin could not help the goofy grin that formed across his face. "Yes, of course." He could not believe his luck.
Years later, Martin would never forget that smile. What had started as a ridiculous dare from Howard had turned into something he had not expected - a connection with someone who, in so many ways, completed his quiet life.