'The Second Mrs de Winter’s Book Club' by Ruth Allen-Humphreys

 

We are reading Rebecca. “Thoughts?” I am jealous that Rebecca is dead. I find that I have said this aloud and now people are looking at me. I shrug, leaving the curiosity hanging in the air. A tug at my elbow turns into an invitation for coffee. We are fellow Second Mrs de Winter’s. I leave with handy hints on how to deal with the haunting by someone who isn’t dead.

It is one triumph to every three hauntings, by someone who isn’t dead. I mention getting a dog, he says “not this again.” We have never talked of it; he is haunted by a conversation with someone who isn’t dead. I clock up the time that we have been together with greed. It will be another seven years until our relationship out lasts there’s. She lived in this house, and I do not know which room they shared. When I tell my fellow Second Mrs de Winters this, they suggest burning it down.

My husband is in the garden when his phone starts ringing. I see her name, still carrying our surname. What to do? I edge my hand towards the lock button and click, ending the call. The action is intoxicating. She rings again. What to do? I click again, again and again. What to do? I push his phone under a pile of papers and walk away, setting in motion a row so spectacular that I suspect you could hear it from space.

That night I suggest we watch the film version of Rebecca. He tells me that he is jealous of Maxim. I savour every juicy morsel of my triumph to tell my fellow Second Mrs de Winters. I suggest that our next book is Frenchman’s Creek. I have a fancy for freedom, and a pirate.