Page 36 of In This Together

He pulled her harder against him as she ground her pelvis against his and moaned into his mouth. Then… the unmistakable wailing of TJ over the intercom.

They stilled. ‘Maybe he’ll go back off,’ Hannah said hopefully.

Rod kissed her again.

TJ screamed louder.

‘I’ll be back,’ she said, slipping off her husband.

Twenty-five minutes later, she came back downstairs to find the television on and a second rum and Coke in Rod’s glass.

‘Sorry, where were we?’ she said, not feeling like resuming where they were at all.

He glanced at her with a look of disappointment, as ifshehad made TJ cry.He’s half of you, tooshe wanted to say but didn’t bother.

She picked up her wine – the fuzz of the first two glasses now faded – and sat next to Rod.

Still looking at the television, he said, ‘I accepted the coaching job in Queens.’

Hannah coughed through her next mouthful of wine. ‘Come again?’

‘The coaching job in Queens. I took it.’

‘Yes, I heard that part. I think what I was missing was the part where we discussed you accepting an interview in Queens, going out there, then accepting a job, all without consulting with me.’

‘Baby, come on, it’s a good opportunity for me. I told you I was taking an interview. The school has a new principal and he wants to put a lot of money behind the varsity team. If I could…’

She did now have a vague recollection of his interview. ‘Rod, it’s inQueens.We make our life work because I drop the kids and commute into the city. You start and finish early and work in New Jersey to pick them up. If we both worked in New York, we’d have to… It’s not possible. TJ isn’t even six months old. Imagine the childcare fees. Luke can’t be expected to look after Jackson and TJ, it isn’t fair. Plus, he’d forget them whenever he got a whiff of a girl in cut-off daisies.’

‘Baby, I’ve already said yes.’

Hannah scoffed, her eyes on fire, her hands trembling with rage. ‘Sure you have, Rod, because it’s somethingyouwant to do. What about anythingIwant, huh? Just… just foronce…could you not be so fucking selfish?’

She left her husband, her wine and whatever shit was on the television and she went upstairs to the bathroom, where she put down the toilet lid, sat on top of it and cried.

There had to be more to life than this.

11

ROSALIE

Rosalie’s apartment at Central Park West was her ultimate sanctuary. She had waited years for a suitable property to come up in the area. Fortunately for her, a nasty divorce left the place in a matrimonial settlement to the glamorous wife of a business tycoon, who wanted a quick sale to cut all ties. She had, in any event, received a newsworthy settlement and the apartment was merely a snip of that.

It hadn’t been to Rosalie’s taste when she had first moved in. The walls had been white and plain, with signs that large artwork had been hung on them which had probably been grotesque but acquired due to its obscene expense. The floor had been tiled black. The surfaces chrome, glass, black marble – probably perfect for snorting a line, not that she was one to stereotype.

The apartment was the project Rosalie was most proud of to date. She had put all her interior design skills to use and created a homage to true style. The theme was vintage luxe, with an emphatic nod to the 1920s. The vast open-plan living area was bright, thanks to the large windows that looked out toward Central Park.

She was sitting in a high-back chair by the window, with a cafetière of coffee on the brass-legged coffee table in front of her and her laptop resting atop a velvet, dusty-rose-coloured pillow on her lap. She had read about the possibility of laptops having negative effects on a woman’s fertility and whether it was true or not, she couldn’t risk it now.

Around her, the walls were painted with texture paint, various rich shades of blue and green. The furniture was structured and finished with fine fabrics – ochre and burnished gold were a recurring theme. Her dining table was permanently set with fine china – she mostly ate out in any event. And she had a bar table that she had acquired at auction, which had been used on the set of Leo’sTitanic. That too was laid out with gold-rimmed champagne glasses and an ice bucket.

Though the music that filled her home was being streamed, the mix of soundtracks was being played through what appeared to be a vintage radio. Soundtracks were Rosalie’s music of choice – and if they had jazz tracks, the world was smiling in on her. She could escape to a world where Gatsby pined for his first love, where Audrey Hepburn portrayed a glamorous, though a little eccentric, socialite.

She hummed along to Andy Williams’s ‘Moon River’ as she performed her usual Monday morning routine. She was reviewing the weekly statement her investment manager sent to her.

Interior design was her somewhat part-time(ish) job, she supposed – she had a company and clients. Investments were something of a hobby that happened to be the source of wealth that kept her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to. And she was quite good at her hobby.

She had been investing by way of her trust fund and inheritance from her grandparents since she was eighteen. Fifteen years later, she’d learned a few tricks. Though most of her investments were managed on her behalf, she did take on a few projects of her own.

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