Change of Season

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘I’ll be back on Friday evening to pick you and Louise up and I’ll drive us to Heathrow on Saturday morning. We’ll get the hire firm to pick up your car up from here.’ He hesitated. ‘You are coming back with me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m definitely coming back to Australia. I could perfectly well drive the car up to London myself, though. Save you a journey.’

  ‘No need. I’ll come and get you.’ He zipped up the suitcase. ‘Oh, and if Jenny comes to her senses, phone me through her flight details, will you? I can still change her ticket.’ Scorn filled his eyes. ‘That girl is too soft by far. We should have done something to toughen her up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because life, as you have recently found out, my dear sheltered wife, is never simple and one needs to be able to cope with it. I’d have thought the episode with Michael would have taught Jenny something, but no, she’s walked straight into another relationship. I’m not a wicked ogre, as you all seem to think. I’m actually trying to look after my family, though a fat lot of thanks I get for it.’

  He waited for her to say something and when she didn’t, his voice became slower, with a patronising edge to it. ‘Jenny’s new relationship has been formed on the rebound. It won’t last. And I don’t like that Ned. He’s as soft as she is. He’ll not make a good husband for her. She needs someone stronger, someone who can look after her. As I’ve looked after you. That’s why I wanted to get her back to Australia.’

  She couldn’t bear to listen to him making these ridiculous statements any longer, as if he had looked after her, when he’d spent so much time away from home and gone with other women. She walked out and went downstairs.

  He came to the bedroom door and yelled after her, ‘You stupid bitch, come back! Stop walking out on me! We have to talk!’

  She carried on, ending up outside in the garden, breathing in the fresh air in big gulps and blinking her eyes furiously. She wasn’t going to cry any more. She was not.

  He came out to see her, radiating anger, grabbed hold of her arm and shook her.

  She let out a mew of surprise, because he’d never laid hands on her before.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Ros. We have got to talk.’

  He let go of her arm, but she could still feel the painful spot where his fingers had dug in. As she stared at him, something inside her balked at speaking, so she kept her mouth firmly shut.

  The words spurted out of him as if they’d been forced through a very narrow space. ‘I definitely don’t want us to split up. I never have wanted us to split up.’

  She tried to turn away, frightened by his anger, but he grabbed her arm again. ‘Listen, will you! You made a big thing about me listening to you, now it’s your turn to listen to me, dammit.’

  So she stood there numbly, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘I’m coming back on Friday evening and if you’re not here, I’ll scour England for you. I mean that, Ros. We’re going back to Australia together, you, Louise and I. I want us to remain a family. I really want that.’

  She couldn’t think what to say.

  ‘After the funeral I wanted us to make up, get closer, not – not—’ He paused to gulp back the emotion that welled in him.

  She stared in shock at the tears in his eyes.

  ‘But no, you have to choose this moment to make a stand, Rosalind. See. I do remember what you want to be called. Well, I’m upset about Tim, too, and I’ve had it with this place.’ He scowled round at the house as he fished out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

  ‘We’re not only going back to Australia, but we’re going to sort things out between us. I want that. I really do.’

  She nodded again, not having the energy to do anything else at the moment. Those were definitely tears in his eyes. She hadn’t expected that, and it made her uncertain of what she wanted as nothing else could have done.

  ‘Good,’ he said in a softer voice. ‘And tonight you and I are going out for a meal together. I’ve booked a table at a place I saw in Wareham.’

  ‘I don’t want to—’

  ‘Can’t you even spare me a little time? Just you and me. No children.’ he asked. ‘Can’t we even try spending time together? After all those years of being married?’

  She opened her mouth to refuse, then closed it again and shrugged. ‘All right.’

  The restaurant in Wareham was small and discreetly lit. Waiters fussed over them. A candle flickered on the table, next to a white rose in a slender bud vase. Rosalind stirred the food round on her plate and tried to look as if she was eating.

  After the main course, however, Paul looked at her. ‘This isn’t working, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Want to leave now?’ He pushed aside his plate, of which he’d eaten perhaps half.

  She sighed in relief. ‘Please.’ It was such a parody of a romantic evening. And they had both been really struggling to find neutral subjects to talk about.

  On the way home he stopped the car in the car park of Corfe Castle. As the engine died, he leant his head on his hands for a moment, then looked sideways at her. ‘I don’t want us to break up, Ros – I really don’t.’ His voice broke.

  She was shocked to see tears glinting on his cheeks again. ‘Paul—’ she said hesitantly, not sure what to do or say.

  And suddenly, he was weeping, harsh sounds that filled the car. She hadn’t thought he could weep.

  ‘I didn’t even see him!’ he sobbed. ‘I never even saw Tim again! He was my son, too, you know!’

  She took him in her arms and shushed him as if he was one of her children, and when he turned and clutched her, she let him, patting his back, murmuring meaningless words of comfort. It took a long time for the tears to stop.

  ‘Oh, hell!’ he said shakily at last. ‘You must think me a real wimp.’

  ‘No. I’m glad you cried for him.’

  ‘Ros,’ he gulped audibly, ‘I can’t lose you as well. You – you won’t really leave me, will you? Please don’t!’

  ‘I can’t promise anything yet. We’ll have to – to see if we can grow together again.’ And she’d have to see if she could forget Jonathon.

  ‘But you’ll give it a chance.’

  ‘I’ll try, yes.’

  He rubbed at his eyes, gave a shamefaced laugh and asked, ‘Got a handkerchief?’

  She fumbled in her handbag and passed him the little packet of tissues she always carried. ‘Here, use these.’ She could hear how raw his breathing was and see an occasional tear tracking down his face.

  She moved back a little and stared out of the window.

  ‘Want to leave now?’ he asked eventually.

  When she nodded and looked at him, he reminded her for a moment of a much younger Paul, the man she had fallen in love with and married. But only for a moment. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight. But if it wasn’t …

  When they got in Paul went straight upstairs and Rosalind followed him slowly. She could hear Louise moving around her bedroom, the CD player making a faint rhythmic sound. Louise didn’t call out and Rosalind didn’t go in to see her.

  But she had to force herself to follow Paul into the bedroom. She hesitated in the doorway. What she needed now was time to think. Away from him. Time to assess her own feelings. She felt as if the universe had heaved beneath her feet tonight.

  Paul looked at her with a frown. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Getting my night things.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to sleep with me?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, his lips a tight, thin line.

  When he didn’t try to persuade her, she nearly weakened, then shook her head in annoyance at herself. He hadn’t been pretending to cry, he really had been racked with anguish for their son’s death and she thought he truly wanted to stay married to her.

  But did she truly want to stay married to him? A marriage was for two people, not one. She still wasn’t sure she could trust him. Woul
d he really try to change?

  Could he?

  In the morning, Paul was subdued, eating a rapid breakfast and leaving by six-thirty. ‘I’ll ring you tonight, Ros – Rosalind, to check that everything is all right.’

  He leant forward as if about to kiss her cheek, but she pulled back, so he muttered something and turned on his heel.

  Only when she’d heard his car drive away did she start to think clearly again. She went back into the kitchen, breathed in the delightful peace without his abrasive presence and put the kettle on.

  She couldn’t get the thought of his tears out of her mind, though.

  A voice from behind her said hesitantly, ‘Mum? Has Dad gone?’

  ‘Yes. Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Louise. We need to talk.’

  ‘Are you going to leave him?’

  ‘I don’t know. I shan’t know till I get home.’ Maybe not even then. She was torn every which way at the moment.

  ‘Mum, don’t let him persuade you. You deserve your own life now.’

  ‘I won’t let him persuade me,’ Rosalind promised. ‘But you don’t lightly toss away twenty-five years of marriage.’

  Jenny stared round the comfortable bedroom with its single bed. Mrs Didburin – Stella – had been kind to her, and so had Ned. She smiled involuntarily as she looked at the bar of chocolate by the side of the bed. He’d pressed it on her ‘for comfort’ last night. Dear Ned. What a lovely teddy bear of a man he was! But she felt very guilty for leaving her mother alone to face her father.

  ‘Jenny!’

  ‘Yes?’ She poked her head out of the bedroom door and Stella’s voice floated upstairs. ‘Phone call for you. You can take it in the hall.’

  ‘Who is it?’ If it was her father, she wasn’t going to speak to him, whether that was cowardly or not.

  ‘Your mother.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be right down.’ Jenny rushed downstairs. ‘Hello? Mum, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Are you all right, love? Your father didn’t hurt you yesterday, did he?’

  ‘No. Never mind me. I’ve got Ned. How are you – really?’

  ‘I’m – oh, you know – coping.’

  ‘I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch like that, Mum. I just couldn’t take any more. He was going to take my ticket from me by force.’

  ‘Leaving was probably the best thing for you to do, darling. I’m phoning to say your father’s gone back to London. You and Ned had better come and collect the rest of your things today. I have to pack and close up the house. We’re flying out on Saturday.’

  ‘You’re going back to him? After all he’s done.’ Disappointment flooded through Jenny’s body, tasting bitter in her mouth.

  ‘I’m going back to Australia. To my home. As to the other, I don’t know.’ She repeated the formula she had used for Louise. Bland words, masking a turmoil of contradictions that were tearing her apart. ‘It’s not an easy thing to do, you know, break up a marriage after all this time.’

  She would telephone Jonathon later today and confirm that she was leaving on Saturday, give him her email address, so that he could write to her.

  Jenny put the phone down and burst into tears on Ned’s broad chest. ‘She’s going back to Australia with him! He’ll smother her – he’ll never let me see her again.’

  The plane took off on time. Rosalind leant back and sighed in mingled relief and tiredness. There had been so many things to sort out. Embroideries to discuss with George Didburin. Food remnants to go to Alice Tuffin. Other bits and pieces to Harry, to be disposed of as she saw fit.

  By far the hardest of all had been sorting out Tim’s few possessions. She and Louise had done that together, weeping over how little he had to show for his life.

  And all the time Louise had kept begging her not to go back.

  ‘I have to,’ she’d said each time. ‘I have to go back to my home and begin sorting my life out from there.’ Because that was where it had all started. Because her home had always been so important to her.

  She’d spoken to Jonathon on the phone, not daring to see him again till she was sure of herself. He’d showed his usual understanding of her needs and in the end she’d had to say goodbye because she couldn’t speak through her tears.

  ‘Penny for them.’ Beside her Paul smiled and patted her hand, but she couldn’t return his smile and she pulled her hand away. She looked sideways at him, this man with whom she had spent all her adult life. Did she know him? Did anyone really know another person?

  ‘You all right, Ros?’ He saw her expression. ‘Oh, very well, Rosalind, then. It’ll take me a while to get used to it. Rosalind.’ He sat with his head on one side and repeated it again, like a child learning a poem. ‘Sounds quite good, actually. Dignified. I shall enjoy introducing you to people as my wife, Rosalind Stevenson.’

  Trust him to make small concessions gracefully once he felt sure he’d won the major battle. She felt naked without her daughter there. You shouldn’t need an intermediary with your own husband. But she did. ‘I wish you’d let Louise fly business class with us.’

  ‘Whatever for? She’s young enough to cope with those narrow seats and mass troughing conditions. Waste of money to pay more than double the fare for her.’ He turned to smile at the hostess, who was offering him a glass of champagne. ‘Thank you. Ros, do you want one?’

  She shook her head. She needed to keep a clear head. Was he drinking more heavily because of Tim? Or had it been going on for a while and she’d not noticed before?

  After the first meal, he sat back, replete and mellow, sipping a glass of cognac now. ‘What did you do with your embroidery things? I haven’t seen any extra suitcases. Didn’t you bring them back with you?’

  ‘Just a couple of pieces I’ve been working on.’ The family portrait was almost finished now, but she still had to complete her own figure. For that, she had to understand what she had become and where she was going.

  His face brightened. ‘I know you’ve done quite well with it, but I still think embroidery was a stupid occupation for the twentieth century. There are machines to do that sort of thing now. You just program them and they do it for you.’

  A black mark for that, Paul, she thought. You can’t even give me my own creative space, can you? She changed the subject. ‘So – what are your plans for the coming year? Where is the chairman sending you next?’

  ‘I’ve got a month’s compassionate leave to see you settled in at home first. What with Tim and all. And talking of home, I have a small piece of news for you. I got a phone call from Australia yesterday.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘That fellow who attacked Jenny. Michael Whatsit.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I put a private detective on to him, a good one. Rod followed him, caught him attacking another woman, knocked the bastard out and called the police. So it’s quite likely dear Michael will serve a prison sentence. I’ve informed the police that my daughter will be happy to make a statement to help the prosecution, but I suppose they can get that from England.’ He smiled at Rosalind, waiting to be praised.

  ‘I’m glad he’s where he can’t harm anyone else. That must have cost you a lot of money.’

  He shrugged. ‘No lowlife scum hurts my daughter and gets away with it.’

  She nodded and let him take her response how he wanted. From the smugness of his expression, he had decided her reaction meant approval. Actually, she was trying not to ask whether he saw Jenny as a person in her own right, or only as his daughter.

  Whether he saw his wife as a person in her own right or only as his wife. The sort of question she should have asked years ago.

  But in the end she decided it’d do no good to ask. He wouldn’t even understand the point she was making. She doubted he would ever understand such subtleties.

  They took a taxi home from the airport, sitting in silence except when Paul commented on the beauty of the Perth foreshore. No one answered him. Louise was glowering out
of the window. Rosalind was looking inwards, surprised how much a stranger she felt here now.

  Perth in late May was cool. Almost winter. Another change of season, she thought ruefully, but one she had always liked far more than the hot summers. If only she could be sure what the right thing was to do.

  Stay or go?

  Forgive and forget?

  Or remember and reject?

  Twenty-five years of marriage was a long time. Jonathon was right. She did need to make her decision more carefully, not in the heat of the moment.

  If Paul would let her. His cheerfulness on the flight back had come as something of a shock. Did he think things were settled now? Surely not?

  At the house her mother was waiting, warned by Paul to expect them.

  Rosalind surprised them all, herself included, by bursting into tears and throwing herself into her mother’s arms. Then she noticed the man standing behind her mother. ‘John. I didn’t see you. Sorry to ignore you. I’m a bit – emotional.’

  ‘You have every reason to be. I can wait in the car if you’d rather be alone with your mother.’

  ‘No, no. Of course not!’

  They all went inside. Rosalind excused herself to go up to the bathroom. She needed a moment before she could face them.

  When she went down to the sitting room she viewed it with fresh eyes. It was like an ice cavern. Pale cool colours, chill marble floor, stark glass and brass. What a change from the small rooms in English houses, the busy wallpapers, the fussy ornaments! Even the big rooms in Jonathon’s house were fussy compared to this one.

  Her smile faltered for a moment as she thought of him, of Destan Manor and the village, of Jenny left behind with Ned, Jenny weeping as Ned drove her away the other night after she’d packed her things. Of Jenny trying not to accept the cheque her mother had given her, but in the end agreeing. Rosalind knew Sophie would have approved of that use of her money. ‘You need some independence,’ she’d told her daughter firmly. ‘Even from Ned.’