Change of Season

by Anna Jacobs

  But what terrified him was: they said you never lost the desire, never, whatever you did. That the need for a fix always haunted you. And he didn’t think he could take a lifetime of this.

  There was a tap on the attic door. Louise poked her head round it. ‘Want a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  She came back with two mugs and a plate with a piece of cake on it. ‘Mum said you might like to eat something.’

  He looked at it with loathing. ‘And then again, I might not.’

  ‘Shall I dispose of it for you down the toilet? We can pretend you’ve eaten it?’

  Somehow that idea was loathsome to him. He had even felt guilty about flushing away the piece of scone the other day. ‘No. I’m not going to lie to Mum.’

  ‘Everyone else does.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Shan’t tell you.’

  He lay back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. ‘I’m not in the mood for childish games. If you can’t talk sense, go away and play at getting fit.’

  ‘What do you mean “play”? I am getting fit.’

  ‘Well, go and get fitter, then.’

  Rosalind, crossing the landing with some clean towels, heard the sound of them quarrelling and let out a growl of exasperation. Sometimes Louise did more harm than good, with Tim in this fragile state. She went across to the attic stairs, the small noise her slippered feet made on the bare wooden treads masked by the raised voices above her.

  Just as she got to the attic door, she heard Louise yell, ‘Well, Dad does lie to her all the time. He’s having an affair with Liz at the moment. Mum’s best friend. And he’s probably had lots of affairs before that. He’s even more of a nightmare than we thought.’

  Rosalind stood in frozen horror on the stairs. Liz and Paul! It couldn’t be true! It just – it wasn’t possible. She didn’t move away, though, couldn’t. She had to know the truth. Louise wouldn’t say something like that without a reason.

  Tim’s voice was low and scornful, amazingly like his father’s. ‘I don’t believe you. Even he wouldn’t – not with Mum’s best friend. I’ve seen him with young chicks a couple of times, not with older women. And how did you find out about it, anyway? You must have made a mistake.’

  ‘I overheard him phoning her when he came to get me in Australia, talking about being together in Hong Kong, asking her to meet him for a screw.’

  Rosalind believed it suddenly. She put one hand across her mouth to hold the shock and pain inside. There was the sound of someone moving inside the attic, then Louise yelping in shock.

  Tim’s voice came out in jerks, as if he were shaking his sister. ‘If you ever – say one word – about this to Mum – I’ll kill you myself.’

  ‘I haven’t. I wouldn’t.’

  ‘You’d bloody better not.’

  There was silence now from inside the room. Rosalind looked round blankly, realised where she was, dumped the pile of towels on the landing and tiptoed down the stairs. She had to get out of the house, couldn’t face anyone yet, could hardly face her own thoughts even. She went quickly into her bedroom, snatched up her handbag and rushed downstairs, passing Jenny on the way.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum? You look—’

  She pushed past her daughter, not daring to let her feelings out.

  Jenny stared after as the front door slammed and there was the sound of a car engine. It faded away into the distance and the house became silent. Too silent.

  Why couldn’t they all be happy, like other families? she wondered as she went into her own bedroom.

  Eyes half-blinded by tears, Rosalind drove out of the village more by instinct than by good judgement. Then suddenly she could go no further, so she pulled the car up at the tree-shadowed end of a lay-by, switched off the engine and sat there, back to the world, bowed over the steering wheel. The tears she’d been holding in overflowed, rolling down her cheeks.

  So many pieces had suddenly fallen into place, like tumblers clicking inside a lock, which then let the door swing back to reveal the hidden things behind it. Nasty things, growing like poisonous fungi in the dark.

  Paul had been unfaithful! She knew it with an utter certainty as she sat alone in the car. But why with Liz? Liz, of all people! Any woman was bad, but her best friend … She couldn’t help sobbing, a harsh, strangled noise that surprised her.

  It had happened in Hong Kong, of course. They’d both been there at the same time. Liz had sent only one postcard and hadn’t replied to Rosalind’s letters since.

  She suddenly remembered a silence on the phone once when she’d mentioned Liz to Paul. And how her friend – who was now not her friend, who could never be her friend again – had declared before she left that she was going to get her own back on Bill. Sauce for the goose, she’d said.

  ‘But why use my husband to pay him back?’ Rosalind whispered. ‘Oh, Liz, how could you do that to me? How could you?’

  Was Liz just a one-off aberration? For a moment Rosalind tried to cling to that hope, then shook her head slowly and sadly. No. A man like him couldn’t cope without regular sex. And even he wouldn’t be unfaithful for the first time with Liz. When he was home he was always so lusty, wanting to make love every day. Twice a day sometimes. He loved sex. So did she. It had been hard for her to get used to the periods of enforced celibacy.

  Why had she believed he could do it – would even try?

  She let out her agony in a raw, moaning sound. Oh, what a credulous fool she’d been! All those years she’d made their marriage and their family the centre of her life. Even when Paul began to go away for long periods, she’d tried to adjust, to be a supportive partner, to be a good mother. Dammit, she’d tried so hard.

  Rain spattered against the car windscreen, then worked itself up into a frenzy, pounding on the metal roof. She welcomed the cacophony because it shut her in, gave her a sense of utter privacy. Even when the tears had dried on her cheeks, she sat on, with cars droning past behind her back and rain pattering down more gently now. She didn’t know what to do. Her whole life had just fallen apart.

  No, said Sophie’s voice inside her head, not your whole life. He’s your husband, but you’re a person in your own right. You have a life of your own, needs of your own. Never forget that.

  ‘He might not be my whole life,’ Rosalind told the hovering shade of her aunt, ‘but he’s a damn big part of it, Soph, whether he was there in person or not.’

  Traffic thundered past, wind blew so strongly that the car rocked with the force of it. The main thing Rosalind had to decide was – should she forgive him? No, even that wasn’t the full pattern of her truth. She admitted it to herself at last. The main thing was did she really want to stay with him now?

  She didn’t think so. Not when she’d experienced the warmth and companionship of another sort of man.

  Which made her mentally unfaithful. That thought startled her, then eased the pain a little.

  Only – how could she break up her family?

  The following day Jenny met Ned for lunch. As she ran towards him, he held out his arms and gathered her close, swinging her round.

  ‘Oh, hell!’ he said suddenly, stopping and looking down at her, ‘I can’t hold it in any longer, Jen. I love you. I want to marry you.’

  She stared up at him, her mouth open in shock, then gradually a smile crept across her face.

  ‘Trust me to blurt it out,’ he said. ‘I meant to propose all romantically, only the sight of you coming towards me was too much. I couldn’t wait a second longer.’ He raised one of her hands to his lips to kiss it, then did the same to the other. ‘Oh, Jen, you will say yes, won’t you?’

  She flung her arms round his neck. ‘Of course I will. I can’t imagine what you see in me, but yes, Ned, I love you, too. And yes, I will marry you.’

  A woman bumped into them and muttered something about ‘cluttering up the pavement’. Ned came down from his rosy cloud for long enough to guide Jenny in
to the pub and sit down in the corner with her.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he admitted. ‘Except that I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy in all my life.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  They ordered sandwiches, which neither of them finished, and drinks, which they left almost untouched on the table. They said very little, but smiled and held hands, telling each other the things lovers have always said, yet which always seem new and wonderful to each couple.

  As the lunchtime rush ebbed, Ned realised what time it was and grimaced. ‘Should have been back at the gallery an hour ago.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on! Let’s go and tell Dad our news.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. And later we’ll go over to see your mother.’

  As they walked into the gallery together, Jenny suddenly felt shy. Ned’s father peered out of a door at the back, waved one hand in greeting and waited for them to join him.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ he demanded in mock anger.

  Ned beamed at him. ‘I completely forgot the time. I’ve been proposing, you see, and Jenny has just agreed to marry me.’

  George gaped at his son. ‘Goodness me! Well, you have taken me by surprise.’ He gave Jenny a bear hug, muttering ‘Great! Great!’ in her ear as he patted her back. ‘I’m delighted about this and my wife will be, too.’ Then he held her at arm’s length. ‘Welcome to the family, Jenny, my dear. I hope you two will make each other very happy.’

  He went on to give Ned an even more crushing hug, pounding him on the shoulders repeatedly. ‘About time, you young scamp, about bloody time. Your mother’s been fretting for a year or two.’ He winked at Jenny. ‘Wants grandchildren before she’s too old to enjoy them.’

  She blushed. And wondered if many other fathers hugged their children so naturally. She would make sure Ned hugged theirs. She couldn’t remember her father ever hugging any of them.

  Ned detached himself, grinned and put his arm round her again. ‘A bit premature, to think of grandchildren, don’t you feel, Dad?’

  ‘OK. We’ll wait a bit for that.’ George gestured to the phone. ‘Do you want to tell your mother or shall I?’

  ‘I will.’ Ned took the phone and pressed the automatic dial key. ‘Mum?’ He pulled a face. ‘No, I’m fine. Look, Mum, will you listen?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Jenny and I have just got engaged.’

  There was a shriek at the other end of the phone. George rolled his eyes at Jenny and grinned as a gabble of words had Ned nodding and murmuring.

  At one stage he passed the phone to Jenny so that she could ‘meet’ his mother.

  Afterwards, he said, ‘We need to buy an engagement ring, Dad. All right if I take the rest of the day off?’

  ‘Be my guest. It’s not every day my only son gets engaged. Do you want to look at our antique stock of jewellery first? Or are you going to buy a new ring?’

  Ned looked at Jenny questioningly.

  ‘I think I’d like a new one, if you don’t mind.’ She wanted everything to be fresh and new in this relationship.

  ‘I don’t mind at all. We’ll go and hunt round the shops.’ He was already guiding her towards the door as he turned to his father. ‘Oh, and Mum wants us all to do lunch tomorrow, to celebrate. Will you book a table?’

  ‘Fine.’

  When his son had left the gallery, George picked up the phone again. ‘Stella? No, he’s just gone. We can talk now.’

  ‘How did he look?’

  ‘Absolutely besotted.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘Gentle. Pretty. Looks as besotted as he is. They’re clinging to one another like a pair of damned leeches.’ He chuckled. ‘Ah, young love! Yes, one o’clock tomorrow, usual place. Don’t overdress. She’s not a fashion plate. And don’t overpower her with your enthusiasm for grandchildren. She blushes easily.’

  When he put the phone down he leant back and smiled round him. ‘If she makes him happy, she’ll do,’ he told his favourite statuette, a bronze art nouveau lady with flowing skirts and hair. Pulling out a large handkerchief, he blew his nose vigorously.

  Jenny arrived home at teatime looking windswept but happy. Ned came into the house with her and they both went upstairs to see Rosalind, who was in her workroom.

  She turned to greet them, hoping the make-up had hidden the redness of her eyes. Then, as she saw the linked hands, the beaming faces, she guessed what had happened and tried to respond joyfully to their news. It had been so long since she’d seen that happy look on her daughter’s face, she didn’t want to spoil things now by confiding her own troubles.

  She led the way downstairs, calling to Tim and Louise to join them and opening a bottle of wine for a toast.

  After they’d chatted for a while, Tim excused himself. He had been very quiet, but had smiled at Ned and taken a few sips of wine.

  Rosalind watched him go, trying to hide her anxiety. Seen next to Ned, he seemed blurred, no more than a shadow in their midst. And surely he was getting thinner?

  Louise looked at her mother and pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’ll go and – see if he’s all right.’ She turned to her sister and gave her another hug, ‘I’m really glad for you two.’

  Rosalind tried to sound hearty and happy. ‘We’ll need to tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Jenny looked at Ned, then back to her mother. ‘We can wait till Dad’s finished this conference thing, though, can’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’ Which meant Rosalind would have to wait for her own confrontation with Paul until after that. And she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. Relieved mostly. She had a lot of thinking to do. Finding out about his unfaithfulness had thrown her emotions into turmoil and she wasn’t sure what she wanted any more.

  ‘Would you mind if I went out to the pub with Ned for dinner, Mum?’

  ‘No one will mind at all, love. Go and enjoy yourselves.’

  Ned came to hover in the doorway of the kitchen while Jenny was changing. ‘Any sign of the other embroideries arriving?’

  ‘What? Oh. Oh, yes. They arrived a few days ago. I forgot to tell you.’ She led the way into the dining room. She hadn’t even opened the box. ‘Why don’t you take it with you tonight, Ned? You and your father can have a look through them, see what you think.’

  ‘Don’t you want to open them yourself? Check they’re all right?’

  She made a huge effort to concentrate on business. ‘No. I’ve – um, got something on my mind just now. Don’t sell any till I’ve told you which ones I want to keep, though.’

  Ned looked sideways at her. Under the make-up her eyes were reddened. It was probably something to do with Jenny’s brother. He had a lot to answer for, Tim Stevenson did. But he looked as if he was paying for it. He looked awful. Like an AIDS sufferer, all hollow-faced and big-eyed, his body a series of sharp angles.

  ‘I know your father will look after them.’ Rosalind pushed the box towards him with her toe.

  ‘He definitely will. I’ll pick them up when I bring Jenny back. I don’t want to leave something so precious in the boot in a pub car park. I’m really looking forward to seeing them.’

  He glanced over his shoulder to check they were still alone and his face became solemn. ‘Um – Jenny told me about – about that fellow Michael she used to be with – and what happened in Perth. I just wanted you to know that she’ll be quite safe with me.’

  Ned’s tender concern for her daughter was another spear stabbing into Rosalind’s guts, but the years of putting on a public face at Paul’s functions stood her in good stead. ‘I know she will.’

  She waved them goodbye, then pleaded a headache, leaving Tim and Louise to get their own tea. They’d obviously made up their quarrel, but both were subdued.

  About ten o’clock she heard Jenny come back and help Ned carry the box of embroideries out to the car. Afterwards there was a long silence from the hall, filled with faint rustlings and murmurs, then the front doo
r closed behind Ned, and Jenny then went straight to bed.

  About eleven o’clock, Louise went to bed, too.

  Tim stayed downstairs watching TV, then went up to the attic about midnight.

  About two o’clock, he woke Rosalind as he crept out. To her surprise he took her car. She usually kept the keys in her handbag in her room, but now she remembered that she’d left them on the hallstand tonight, she’d been so upset. Was he insured to drive the car? She didn’t know. The company had leased it for her.

  She couldn’t get back to sleep, but lay and worried about him. Well, she always worried when he went out at night, but somehow, tonight, she felt more worried than usual. As if – oh, she didn’t know what she thought. She didn’t know anything any more.

  But why had he taken the car? He usually went walking.

  Eventually she dozed a little, then woke up and saw grey smudges against the cloud-filled darkness of the sky. Nearly dawn. She rose and went up to Tim’s room, thinking he might have come in while she was asleep.

  He wasn’t there.

  She peered out of the window. Neither was her car.

  After frowning at the untidy attic, she searched all the drawers, sighing in relief when she realised his clothes were still there and there was no sign of a farewell note. She’d been desperately worried that he might take his own life, he seemed so lacking in hope sometimes. There were no clues to his absence, none at all. The bed had been lain on, but not slept in. The radio was still muttering quietly to itself. Irritated by its faint rasping noise, she went and snapped it off, then went back to her own room.

  Where was he?

  In the shower, she thought she heard the car and ran into the bedroom dripping wet, only to see the man next door turning into his drive. Disappointed she trailed back to the shower, which was still hissing away.

  When she was dressed, she went downstairs to make some coffee, but couldn’t galvanise herself into doing anything useful after that, so sat on alone in the quiet kitchen, hoping to hear the sound of Tim’s key in the front door.