The Sex Lives of Married Women

Meena

He’s got to want it more than I do. That was the main thought in Meena’s head as she stood in front of Owen, in the silk negligee she’d found at a Bras n Things shop next to the supermarket. The bored teenage salesgirl had barely registered her as she’d entered and grabbed the first sexy, on-trend thing she saw. No push-up bras and fishnet stockings for her – what was this, 2006? The shopping trolley, with her greying, crumpled, reused plastic grocery bags inside, was too big to wheel into the store, so she’d left it outside. That’s how desperate she’d been – leaving her groceries for any old person to walk past and help themselves. Though why anyone would have wanted a part of her very middle-class family shop, with the cheddar cheese and Greek yoghurt sweating in a bag and schnitzel in a plastic tray, was beyond her.

She remained in the living room doorway for a minute longer, letting her hands slide up the side of her hips. Her palms were sweaty and stuck to the negligee, which she now guessed was not silk – not for the price she paid. Most likely polyester, but it was shiny and highlighted her shape. And it was low cut enough to show off a cleavage that, despite her forty years of age and eighteen months of breastfeeding, seemed pretty acceptable to the man who worked at the bank, at least.

And yet, after all the effort she’d made letting her hair out and getting out of her trackies, Owen had barely looked up from his phone when she walked into the room.

She’d made sure Sasha was fast asleep, so deep she’d even registered her daughter’s eyes moving under her eyelids. REM deep. She always slept like a log after a gymnastics day. There’d be no child wandering into the living room when, as she expected (hoped, more like), they would be in the full throes of passion. Full throes of passion. The thought made her laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time they had been.

‘You good?’ Her husband looked up from the couch, phone in hand.

You good? That’s it? Surely she couldn’t have made it more obvious? But she took a deep breath and swallowed.

‘You good?’ she repeated, wanting the question to come outsounding like a purr – like, You, good? Sexy smile, followed by a smoulder. Instead it came out sounding angry and sarcastic.You! Good?

Owen blinked, nonplussed. His gaze slid right back to his phone.

What is more important than me? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t, mostly because she didn’t want to know the answer.

‘What’ve I done now?’ he asked, his eyes still focused on his screen.

‘Done? Why would you say that?’

‘You sound annoyed.’

‘Well, if you looked up at me for more than a second, you’d see I’m not annoyed.’ She smoothed out the impatient tone in her voice and quickly changed tack. ‘I’m, uh, did you notice what I’m wearing?’ Her voice attempted to be smooth as silk. Or at the very least, polyester.

He looked up again. She noticed his eyes were weary, crinkled at the corners. He’d worked back again that night and had just sat down. It was after 9 p.m. All signs pointed to a bad moment to revive their flagging sex life. But sometimes there was no time like the present, or that’s what she remembered the life coach on TikTok saying, anyway.

‘You look nice,’ he said finally. ‘Was it on sale?’

The question deflated her slowly, like the Pokémon helium balloon from Sasha’s last birthday party that was quietly but determinedly leaking air in the corner of her room. Sasha had refused to part with it, but she also neglected the balloon, letting it gather dust, Pikachu’s yellow features shrivelling into a look of despondency.

‘Full price,’ she mustered, with fake cheer.

‘Wow, good one.’ He was saying words but not really paying attention to them. That’s how they talked now. Adults. They spoke words to each other while their attention was somewhere else.

‘Still working?’ she asked him, as his eyes drifted back to the phone.

‘Yeah, Greg’s sent over a report he wants me to look over.’

‘Now?’

‘The London office needs it today so, yeah, now.’

I’m trying, babe, can’t you see, I’m trying. She tried to convey this with her eyes but he wasn’t looking.

She could go over and straddle him. Take his phone and throw it behind the couch and kiss him, really passionately, like the way they did back in their twenties. If only he’d give her even the smallest of hints that he was open to that. She was about to step towards him, but he got up, taking his phone with him.

‘Just need to send a few emails. You go to bed, no need to stay up for me.’ He didn’t turn around as he spoke.