A Marriage of Convenience

A Marriage of Convenience.

Once upon a time, Thomas and I entered into a marriage of convenience.

It all began because Thomas desperately required matrimony to climb the ranks at his firm he was employed at a well-respected English corporation headed by the formidable Sir Edward Benedict, a staunch advocate of traditional family values. Sir Edward prided himself on his extensive family five grown daughters, thus five sons-in-law, and the grandfather of nine robust grandchildren. He wore his family tree like a badge of honour.

To Sir Edward, the word bachelor was as good as an insult. Any unmarried employee, regardless of talent or commitment, was treated as little more than an outcast, quite beneath his notice.

When Thomas finally realised this, he understood with perfect clarity that an official marriage was essential if he ever hoped to secure a position that matched his talents and ambitions.

Having considered every angle, weighed all the pros and cons, Thomas proposed this arrangement to me. There was no risk for him after all, we had known each other since nursery days. Our mothers had shared tea and scones together for as long as I could remember. All through school, we had always shared a desk. He would work through my sums in maths, and I would correct the punctuation in his English compositions.

In other words, he knew me inside out knew I was not at all mercenary, that I wouldnt lay a claim to his flat, his savings, or any other property should we ever need to part.

As for me, I agreed without much thought. At the time, I was struggling with the pain of a break-up after a three-year relationship, and I was in dire need of distraction lest I drift into the pit of a lingering melancholy. It even amused me to think that my ex would find out I had married someone forward-looking, promising, with a smart car and a spacious flat in the heart of London so much more than he could ever boast! And I must admit I rather liked the idea of impressing my friends with my new status: married and utterly fine!

All in all, our interests and motives dovetailed nicely, and so Thomas and I modestly registered our false marriage at the local registrar’s office, with no fuss or fanfare, no procession of witnesses, no white Rolls Royce or doves loosed into the sky, no wedding gown, veil, nor even a sombre black suit.

One ordinary day, we simply left work a little early, dashed into the registrars to sign our names in the official marriage book. Of course, we did slip wedding bands upon each others fingers.

I even changed my surname for a while; Turchin sounded so much more intriguing than my plain maiden name, Daniels.

I must say, our expectations for this marriage were met in full.

Within a month, Thomas was appointed director of his department at the company thoroughly deserved, I might add.

My status as a married woman gave me a certain esteem in the eyes of friends and relatives. The greatest satisfaction came when I received several texts from my former boyfriend along the lines of: I wish you happiness, though I hoped we might have a future together. Quite right, I thought. You never know the worth of something until its lost. Now he could stew in his regrets.

Our hopes for this arrangement were not just realised, but exceeded.

Incidentally, I even moved in with Thomas for a time his suggestion, to keep up appearances.

A Saturday morning, as I remember it.

I was in the kitchen making breakfast. Omelettes, toasted crumpets, coffee with milk Thomas always favoured a hearty breakfast.

As I glanced out the window, the day was beginning splendidly; it was one of those fresh April mornings in England that hint at the glory of spring my favourite season.

There was plenty to do that day: visit my parents, sort the house, tackle the piles of laundry, and prepare a proper Saturday lunch perhaps some pork chops, a hearty stew, pizza, or even a classic Caesar salad. My thoughts revolved around household business, as any good Englishwomans would.

And so it has gone Thomas and I have now been in our marriage of convenience for thirteen years. Our daughter, Victoria, is set to begin her first year at school this autumn, while our son, Jack, is just finishing up his fifth year, an exemplary student through and through takes after his father, clever and entirely genuine.

Not like my own husband who remains, after all these years, a husband in name only.