by J. A. Baker
‘Right, you ready?’ Alec has the chrome ring looped over his forefinger and is swinging the hefty set of keys impatiently. ‘The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back.’
....................................................................................................................................................
The town is almost empty despite shops being overstocked with early Halloween items strategically placed to entice children in with protesting parents in tow. An array of gaudy coloured masks and brightly coloured capes line the shelves, a sea of orange and green plastic, as Peggy and Alec collect their items and head back outside.
Peggy turns to head over the road and take a short cut up through the side street, a tiny, winding lane away from it all. Fewer people, less hassle. A place in which to hide. She watches as Alec stops suddenly and his eyes darken, ‘Can we take a different route?’
She turns and looks around. And then she sees it. The door, that place. Of course. She had forgotten. How could she forget about that? Too late now. The memories are back, bubbling, resurfacing, gasping for air.
‘Sorry,’ she mutters and swiftly turns around, back the way they came, cutting through the crowds, their eager, darting bodies slicing past them, through them. A desperate need to quickly disappear and slip silently into the shadows.
They reach the car and Peggy manages a weak smile that isn’t reciprocated. Shit.
She watches him as he swings the steering wheel around with more force than is necessary. Always quick to anger. Nothing has altered, nothing has changed. It was all a complete waste of time. She stares at the side of his face as he concentrates, his eyes focused straight ahead while he waits for the lights to change, and wonders what he is thinking, whether or not he is slowly falling out of love with her. She wouldn’t blame him. She’s hardly an attractive option at the minute - dowdy, miserable, distracted. She needs to move on. God, how she hates that phrase. Such a trite and insincere way of telling the damaged and the vulnerable to just get over it.
‘Think I’ll do some writing up in the spare room if that’s okay with you?’ Peggy says as they pull up outside the cottage, the car grinding to a halt with a crunch, spewing gravel far and wide, a metaphor for their damaged lives.
‘Suits me. Once I finish setting these out I’ll get my work done as well.’
Peggy feels a flush creep up over her neck. Alec’s moods are notoriously mercurial. Always have been. And she is part of the problem. She has to pull herself together and get things back on track, forget all that’s gone before. It’s the only way; leave the past behind and erase all thoughts of Sheryl and her mother. Focus on the future, focus on her marriage. The words roll around her head with ease, shiny and alluring. A life full of promise; a life filled with hope.
7
Audrey
The atmosphere in the house is oppressive and heavy. Dust motes swirl lazily in the thin shafts of late afternoon sunlight that filter in through the blinds. Audrey inhales deeply and scowls. She can smell the musty odour of stale air. It lingers in her nostrils, clings to the cushions and worms its way into the fibres of her clothes, refusing to budge. God, she hates living here. The entire house smells like an old care home. She takes a long swig of scotch, her first of the week and savours the sensation as it trickles down her throat, warm and peaty. She’s started rationing herself. That’s the problem with living on your own - the temptation to do whatever you want, whenever you want, is too great. Nobody around to sigh loudly or raise their eyes in consternation when you go for your third glass. Or your fourth. If somebody had told her twenty years ago that this is how her life would pan out she would have told them to stop being so bloody ridiculous. Twenty years back when she was happily married with two teenage daughters and living in a large house in the suburbs. She has to stop herself from turning around and surveying the tiny room she is currently sitting in. Perhaps not tiny for many but compared to her previous home, it is positively miniscule. A shoebox. She is used to space and the freedom to move around without jamming your leg against a sofa that is squashed into a tight corner or banging into a cabinet she should really have discarded when she moved here but hung onto for sentimental reasons. There are days when it feels as if the walls are closing in on her, ready to swallow her up, crush her into a tiny compressed being, a husk of her former self. The other house was her home. This is just a place where she exists day after day. Given half a chance, she would go back in time, change it all; alter the past, improve the future. That was when she last felt happy, all those years ago. And although the girls would often drive her half insane with their constant bickering and moaning, she doesn’t mind admitting that she hankers after those times. The times when she laughed more. The times when she felt loved. She misses her daughters and she misses Peter. God how she misses him. If she shuts her eyes tight and keeps completely rigid, she can transport herself back there; to the past. It plays in her head like a movie reel. She watches it over and over, smoothing out the kinks, rubbing out the mistakes. She can almost hear the shrieks of her teenage daughters and their feet thundering up above her as they tear around their bedrooms, and then the familiar slam of the door as Peter’s voice filters through, announcing he is home. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, tips her head back and drains the glass before the tears escape. She stares down at the bottom of the empty tumbler wondering if it’s too early to have another. Audrey shrugs, leans over and pours herself a long slug of amber liquid. Who makes the rules anyway? A welcome haze begins to descend as the drink oozes its way down her throat, acrid and smoky, blurring out all thoughts of what went before. Who needs money and a big house and who needs to be surrounded by people all the time anyway? All they ever do is let you down and leave you in the lurch. When was the last time she heard from either of her children? She thinks of Beatrice and imagines her eldest daughter running barefoot across the sand like some Hollywood movie star, staring up at her beach-front home, her white linen clothes blowing gently in the warm, Californian breeze. Of course, the reality is probably not half as romantic as that. But then how would she know? She rarely hears from her. All she knows is that Beatrice is currently living with some American man that she met on the internet and now works as a teacher in a school somewhere, thousands of miles away. She knows hardly anything about her. A virtual stranger. So, she makes things up in her head instead - imagines her daughter’s face, smiling, tanned, living a life of luxury on the other side of the Atlantic. And then there’s Peggy. Peggy who she thought would stick with her, and who ended up deserting her when things got tough - long before they got tough actually. Peggy just upped and left, never to return. She sometimes wonders if children are put upon this earth to constantly upset and disappoint you. She taps at the crystal glass, a dull thunk against her fingertips. Well, now Peggy needs her mother’s help and Audrey will do all she can to get in touch with her. Despite all the arguments and differences, despite all the acrimony and the tears, Audrey would still walk over hot coals to help her children. Except Peggy doesn’t know she needs help. She is blissfully ignorant of what’s going on right under her nose.
Audrey stares at her laptop, willing her inbox to ping into life. It remains stubbornly empty. Finding her daughter’s email address was a cinch. Her books now line the shelves of most of the shops in town. She’s an acclaimed author; an established writer for heaven’s sake. Who would have thought it? Quiet little Peggy - famous at long last. Audrey runs her hand over the keyboard. A collection of plastic letters that could change her future; the sheer complexities and power of a qwerty keyboard. She’s not particularly au fait with using computers so the whole thing is proving so damn difficult. John has given her his email address to use. He has no idea why she wanted it; just handed it over without question. He’s a good man, a really good guy and he has helped her through some tricky times. Just lately though he has asked for more from her, but at this point in her life, she simply cannot give it, or at any point if she’s bei
ng honest. He’s a kind man, a loyal man. But he’s not her man and nor will he ever be.
Peggy didn’t reply to Audrey’s previous email, probably because the address contained her full name, so she now hopes that a bit of anonymity might help her case, get her the reply she so desperately wants. It’s the waiting around for a reply that’s so hard, the not knowing if the bloody thing has even been received or read. And she really does need to get in touch with her. Not just because Peggy is her daughter and she misses her. That goes without saying. It’s because she needs to speak to her to warn her. Peggy deserves to know about what has gone on, about what could happen again. She is acutely aware that her daughter hates her, despises the very ground she walks on actually. That’s a fact she can neither dispute nor alter. Most children do hate their parents at one time or another don’t they? That’s just how it is. But their rift goes back so far it pains her to think of it. In fact, it’s gone on for so long now, she has, in a perverse sort of way, gotten used to it. She certainly doesn’t take any pleasure from it but, in her own odd way, has a resigned acceptance to it all. Of course, it changed her life completely and nothing is the same now and probably never will be. But it doesn’t have to stay like that indefinitely, does it? She can make amends - do the right thing. Try to put it all right and make everything better. She often wonders if she should have just left things alone all those years ago; let them get on with it. They’ve managed so far on their own - Peggy has even become a prominent author for goodness sake. But now it’s all starting to fall apart. Just as Audrey predicted it would. She just knew if she stuck it out long enough, waited around, kept a close eye on how their lives progressed, then sooner or later the truth would emerge and his true colours would show through. Audrey drains her glass with a self-satisfied air. She just knew it. She was right all along.
She continues to stare at the screen, her patience waning until she eventually gives up and snaps her laptop shut. She knows where they live. If Peggy continues to ignore her, she will leave Audrey with no option other than to confront her daughter with the ugly truth. She may not wish to hear it but it simply cannot be denied. Not this time. She has evidence, lots of it. This time Audrey will prove to her daughter that her old mother isn’t such a dreadful harridan after all and that perhaps she should have taken heed of her words all those years ago.
Audrey leans back and drains another scotch as she re-opens her computer and stares at the black screen. She can wait. The one thing Audrey does currently have is plenty of time. Whether or not her daughter does however, is another matter entirely.
8
Alec
He can see her from where he is standing, looking lost, desperately trying to make conversation with Colin Birkstall, a curmudgeon of a man who is married to Eva, the Year One teacher. Eva, the tiny, mousy slip of a thing who is counting down the days till her retirement. Alec stares at Peggy. She is looking really nice tonight. Her hair is twirled up and held in place with some kind of glittery clip and she is wearing a figure-hugging dress he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen before. She’s lost weight - a lot of it, more than he realised - and is wearing a pair of black suede stiletto sandals and she looks better than nice, she looks pretty damn amazing, albeit a little on the thin side. This is the old Peggy, the Peggy he fell in love with, the Peggy he would like to sleep with without the need for a baby at the end of it. The Peggy he would like back. She stares over and manages a weak smile. He waits to see if she trails her fingers over her eye and blinks nervously at him, but before she has a chance do anything Colin takes her arm and leads her off to another group on the opposite side of the room until she is no more than a blur in his peripheral vision; his wife - the ghost in the corner.
‘You made it then?’ Ellen appears in front of him, her blonde hair shimmering under the spotlights as she cocks her head to one side and smiles.
‘Hello! Yes, we’re here. Me and Peg—’
‘Come on,’ she cuts in, ‘you must come over here and listen to Anthony telling everyone about his days as a student at Durham Uni. He is an absolute hoot. Did you know he once spent three days in a row drinking and riding on buses around the city asking strangers what colour underwear they were wearing?’
Despite not warming to Anthony since starting in his position, Alec follows Ellen, noticing how slim her ankles are in her grey velvet slingbacks. They become immersed in the large group, exchanging anecdotes about their student days and all the while Alec is acutely aware of the distance between his arm and the curve of Ellen’s hipbone. Is he imagining it or is she deliberately moving closer to him? At one point, she leans forward for her drink and Alec catches a glimpse of her small, yet beautifully formed cleavage, cupped into place by a curve of white lace. The perfect body. He rapidly diverts his gaze, wary of being labelled a lecherous, old man by the throng of watching eyes. Her perfume wafts its way towards him, both musky and sweet at the same time. He pictures her naked body sprawled underneath his and then stops himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He thinks of Peggy on the other side of room, stuck with that old fart Colin, and is wracked with guilt. He has to stay focused, keep his eyes away from Ellen’s breasts and hourglass figure. If only she didn’t smell so damn good.
Time dissolves as they talk about past colleagues and future plans. He listens as Ellen declares to everyone that her days as a teaching assistant are numbered. She plans to go back to university, get her PGCE and go into teaching. Better pay, better union she declares testily. And no time for a life, Alec wants to say but remains tight lipped. He thinks of the void her move from Park Tree Primary will leave and wonders if he should speak with her about whether or not she’s making the right move, quelling the voice that is telling him his talk is fuelled more by his attraction to her than his professional concerns about her future. He gazes down at her wedding finger. Bare.
‘There you are.’
Alec turns to see Peggy standing behind him, a sheen of perspiration covering her face from the immense heat of the lights overhead. Her eye twitches as she attempts to wedge herself in between Ellen and Alec. Alec feels himself flush as she glares at him and worms her way in. Is it really that obvious?
‘I was beginning to think you’d gone home without me.’ Her voice is quiet, chirpy even, but Alec can spot the obvious undertone as Peggy sweeps her eyes over Ellen’s slim frame and listens to her chirruping laughter. Like the delicate chime of crystal on ice. He turns to see Peggy move her gaze from his face to Ellen and then slowly and deliberately, back to his. She holds it there, her pupils like jet black pinpricks, scrutinising his expression so closely he starts to feel like bacteria under a microscope.
‘I’m ready whenever you are,’ she says and he quickly suppresses an eye roll, knowing exactly what that phrase means.
Alec looks around to see people beginning to filter away and file out of the door, bidding their goodbyes, saying what a shame they couldn’t have planned this for a Friday. He can sense Peggy’s disapproval, is aware of her brewing mood. He refuses to cave in, he will not succumb to her suspicions, her need to create a scene and cause a fight.
The atmosphere in the car is solid, Peggy’s face set like stone. Alec leans forward to turn the radio on. The dulcet tones of Phil Collins’ voice fills the air for a brief period before Peggy grasps at the button and switches it off again. Alec’s knuckles are white as he clasps the steering wheel. Here it comes, Alec, she was watching your every move.
‘She was very pretty, wasn’t she? Expensive looking outfit, too.’
He can feel the full force of her stare as he rounds the bend out of the car park and onto the A174 that leads back to the coast. He remains silent. What is it she wants him to say anyway? That he still loves her despite the fact she turns her back on him night after night? That he still finds her attractive even though most days she is still in her pyjamas by lunchtime and hasn’t even brushed her teeth? That she is, and always will be, the only woman for him even though they haven’t had sex for over a year
? Because all of it is true. He has no idea what it is she wants from him - to beg? Because he can do that. God knows there have been times when he’s felt like it and he is pretty certain she knows it, but it doesn’t ever soften her resolve. She is made of solid stone. Peggy won’t budge an inch when it comes to their sex life. Intimacy seems to revolt her. He is beginning to think it’s actually him she finds repulsive. And if that’s the case then what the hell are they doing together?
‘Alec? Did you hear what I just said?’
His voice is reedy as he tries to disguise his anger, ‘Yes, Pegs, I heard you. We’ve had a good night. Let’s just keep it that way, shall we?’
He hits the accelerator hard as they speed along the narrow road that cuts through the vast swathes of North Yorkshire countryside, the route ahead pitch-black, the headlights of the car just a small beam of light in the crushing darkness. From the corner of his eye he sees Peggy begin to slink down into her seat. She hates this, the demon that comes to life in him when he gets behind the wheel, loathes it in fact. Good. He presses his foot down, enjoying the sense of speed and the faint smell of burning rubber filtering in through the vents, then glances her way, gaining a small amount of satisfaction from seeing her squirm. He knew she would somehow find a way of ruining a perfectly good evening. He’s glad she’s scared and miserable. That’s his life most days now - not knowing what he’s coming home to, what kind of mood she’s going to be in. Whether or not she has had a good day writing or whether she is going to be stuck in the depths of despair, huddled under a quilt, the sink piled high with unwashed dishes. Her desperation for a baby once ruled their lives but the focus has now shifted to her scars. And if it wasn’t the scars there’d be something else. Because there is always something else. They no longer have a sex life because Peggy has given up trying to get pregnant. It’s as simple as that. Doctors found no reason for the miscarriages. Physically she is absolutely fine. Her mental state however, is another matter.