Evie’s Secret

Evie looked good in the mornings. Most women looked harried, but Evie managed to glow. Her skin was translucent, her thick hair tousled, her green eyes beautifully made up and her body smelling of expensive perfume. Jason, as much as he appreciated the trouble she went to every morning to look her very best for him, expected it; he had high standards and he was pleased to see that recently she had become more eager to meet them.

Jason was an account manager at a small but successful marketing firm. He had done well for himself and he knew it. They lived in a large, suburban house in a quiet, crime-free area of town, adorned with flowers Evie bought with the money she earned as a freelance journalist. It wasn’t much, but Jason would not have liked her to earn more than him. He was proud and a little pleased with himself – the result of a fragile ego which, were it not for Evie’s continual flattery, was easily bruised. A pretty, admiring wife was what he had married and, 24 years later, was what he still happily woke up to every morning. To complete the pictureperfect life, they had bought a dog. It had been Jason’s idea. After all, what family who could boast a son and a daughter, a Range Rover and a Porsche, a big house and a swimming pool, did not have a dog? And Jason hadn’t wanted a little dog. No one would notice a little dog. He’d chosen a big golden retriever like Monty Don’s and named him Biscuit. Evie hadn’t been enthusiastic because of course she knew that it would be she who had to walk him, but recently she’d changed her opinion and took the dog out three times a day with a skip in her step.

Every morning Jason went to work in the shirts Evie had ironed for him and the suits she had picked up from the dry-cleaners, and Evie walked Biscuit. It was a perfect arrangement, Jason thought. He’d watch her go, her beautiful hair bouncing as she went, her figure slim in her belted sheepskin coat, her smile pretty upon her lovely mouth, and he felt smug. Evie wasn’t needy or demanding, in fact, she asked nothing of him at all.

He could not have found a more perfect wife even if he had created her himself. The sight of Evie and the dog walking away down the pavement gave him a feeling of completeness, and, it was

fair to say, superiority. However, recently he’d begun to notice that the dog was getting a little overweight. He made a mental note to tell Evie when he came home from work.

Then Evie got sick. Evie was never sick, but one morning she could not get out of bed. ‘It must be flu,’ she said in a weak voice. Jason hoped he hadn’t caught it. After all, they shared a bed, even though it was a super-king-size one. He checked himself to see whether any part of him felt off. But no, he felt fine. He decided to sleep in the spare room until she was better; he didn’t want to have to take time off work. He looked at his wife, who wasn’t nearly so pretty sick as she was well, and asked if he could bring her up something to eat. ‘No, I’m okay,’ she replied. ‘But you’ll have to walk the dog.’

Jason did not want to walk the dog. He looked at his watch and huffed impatiently. He had no choice. He put the dog on a lead and left the house. The dog trotted happily down the street, eagerly pulling on his lead. Jason had to run to keep up. As soon as they had turned the corner, the dog quickened his pace. Jason could barely restrain him and had to yank on the lead to get him to slow down. The dog pulled harder, desperate, Jason thought, to get to the park. But no, the dog did not take the road to the park, but turned into a private driveway and, gagging on the collar, which was now practically throttling him, dragged his bewildered owner right up to the front door and jumped up, scratching on it excitedly. Jason noticed scratch marks on the paint and wondered, a little embarrassed, whether his dog had done this before.

Jason tried to yank him away, but the door opened and a ruggedly handsome man appeared in a loosely tied dressing gown, holding a juicy bone. He looked at Jason in surprise. Then he looked at the dog.

There was nothing for it. He bent down and gave the dog the bone.

Santa Montefiore, 2021

✢ Here and Now by Santa Montefiore (£8.99, PB, Simon & Schuster), is out now.