- 2 -
San Francisco, California, 2003
Elizabeth slowly raised her head from her pillow, the mascara from last night’s tears still staining her pale cheeks and the argument with Roger still ringing in her ears. The small cut above her left eye where the wedding ring had struck her - which he had flung at her - was sore and stinging. But the gesture itself had hurt more.
Her head ached as she gently touched the tiny strip of broken skin, about a centimetre long, just above her carefully sculpted eyebrow. She winced, “Ouch!” she exclaimed, “Goddamit.” It was going to scar for sure. That son of a bitch.
She was in their bedroom, fully dressed, wearing the blouse and skirt from the night before, having cried herself to sleep after their huge fight. The most violent and vitriolic so far.
Roger had stormed out. He had driven off into the night, drunk, high and angry, the stench of another woman’s perfume still lingering on his clothes. Elizabeth had no clue as to where he was now - probably waking up in a bar or in jail or in the arms of one of his nubile young groupies, she did not know and she no longer cared.
The marriage was not yet a year old but already it was in tatters. Roger’s womanising, his drug and alcohol abuse had fractured it beyond repair and whilst Elizabeth had tried desperately to make it work he had not.
Their romance had been quick, the attraction instant. He was twenty-five with looks to die for, the lead guitarist in an up-coming indie band which was starting to get noticed and she was a twenty-three year old knockout studying fashion and working as a part-time model. A matched couple, at least on paper.
But there had never been true love Elizabeth realised now. Lust and infatuation perhaps but not love. Roger was too self centred, too selfish to commit to anyone and she was too dedicated to her studies and her family to follow him from gig to gig and from party to party. She also realised, much too late, that her family’s money had been a big attraction for him. The upscale apartment they now lived in and the classic Ferrari Daytona he now drove were paid for by her. So was the antique Gibson he now played, which he had begged her for in return for a few more nights at home. But he had welshed on the deal and she had ended up seeing him even less.
It was over. Last night was the final straw. Not least because of the thrown ring which had struck her hard on the temple and the complete lack of remorse shown afterwards. But also because he had not even tried to deny sleeping with other women. Furthermore, his drinking and drug-taking were spiralling out of control. He was living the rock star life style on her allowance and she had finally had enough. Her father and brother had warned her but she had refused to listen. Her foster brother had also tried to talk some sense into her but again she had ignored the advice.
Soon enough she was going to have to call her father’s attorney and instruct him to begin divorce proceedings but not yet. She did not want to burden her father with anything else for the time being as he had already had a terrible week with the resignation of her brother, Jonathan, from the family firm.
Jonathan had been caught up in a horrible scandal involving a young woman whom he had supposedly raped and beaten. The incident had allegedly occurred at the country home of another partner of the firm, Peter Bearing. Bearing had apparently paid off the girl, buying her silence. He had then promised not to mention the matter again on the understanding that Jonathan resign from The Company. Even though Bearing supposedly had extremely incriminating photographs that supported the allegations, Elizabeth didn’t believe a word of it. Her brother was undoubtedly being set up, if not why would Bearing have taken photographs? Besides, Jonathan was gentle, kind and wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Elizabeth’s father, Wendel Wallace, also suspected Bearing of orchestrating the whole thing, utterly convinced that it was all a sham, a complete fabrication. Bearing was a snake who had long wanted rid of both Jonathan and him and would stop at very little to make it happen. However, Jonathan was unable to prove his innocence and the mud would stick unless he did the honourable thing for the good of the firm. It was a despicable manoeuvre on the part of Bearing but Jonathan and her father had been powerless to prevent it and now her brother was out in the cold. Shamed, slandered and broken. Her father, still reeling from the hostility shown by Bearing and under an enormous amount of stress brought on by the whole situation, also knew that his head was next on the block.
Elizabeth had been desperately worried about both her father and brother all week and Roger had been less than sympathetic. In fact he couldn’t have cared less. Rather than give her comfort and support he had gone out on a three day bender and had only come home late last night, completely wasted and stinking of perfume. She had then challenged him about the other women and he had admitted his infidelity, telling her to ‘lighten up’ and saying it was ‘no big deal’, which was how the fight started.
She had little doubt that he would be back at some stage as he relied too much on her money and when he did she would make an attempt to talk to him about a separation. This would possibly spark another fight but they could not go on like this as it was slowly driving them both insane.
However, her immediate plan was to take a long shower, put on a nice dress and go visit her mother, like she did every other Sunday. No matter what had happened in the last twenty four hours or indeed the last week, nothing would keep her from her weekly trip. She got up and walked to the bathroom and was shocked by the image she saw staring back at her in the large mirror over the basin. She looked dreadful, like she had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson. She had a black-eye, with dark purple bruising around the socket and a trickle of dried blood drawing an unsteady red line from the cut above her eyebrow to halfway down her cheek. Her long, silky brown hair was a wild mess and her normally healthy tanned complexion was pale and sallow, the worry of the last week etched into her drawn features. Real Rocky-Horror she thought.
Elizabeth turned on the shower before stripping off her clothes, her young body, firm and toned, with long graceful legs, flat, tight stomach and firm, shapely breasts that most women would kill for. Briefly she looked at herself in the mirror, trying to avoid looking at her bruised and cut face. She was not blind, she knew she was attractive as scores of men had told her so since she was just a girl, but she had only succumbed to the charms of one. She knew she was desirable, sexy even, yet that clearly wasn’t enough for Roger. She had so desperately hoped that it would be, that he would see the error of his ways, quit the womanising, the drugs and the partying - Christ, she had given him enough chances but now she had to face facts. It was over. Screw him. Time to move on.
She put a hand in the stream of water, it was getting nice and hot, the steam starting to fill the large glass enclosure, almost ready to wash last night’s troubles away. Then, on impulse, before stepping in, she picked up the phone which hung on the Italian wall tiles beside the entrance, sat down on the toilet seat and punched in Ronny’s number. It rang several times before her foster brother picked up. “Hello?” he said groggily.
“Oh, Christ, Ronny, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot it was the middle of the night in England - did I wake you?”
“Hi, Elizabeth, not quite the middle of the night but, yeah, it’s early. Really early. Thanks for the wake up call.”
“Sorry, Ronny, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“No, no. Don’t worry about it, I’m awake now. You alright? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t realise the time. Just checking in. Worrying about Jonny I guess. Is he okay?”
“Truth is I don’t know,” said Ronny, yawning, “I’m pretty worried myself. He’s really down, Elizabeth, this has really hit him hard. That bastard has just ripped poor Jonathan’s life away, all his self-esteem. I wish to God I knew what to do. I was with him until late last night, he can’t get over it, can’t think about anything else.
I’m more certain than ever that Bearing is beh
ind everything and that none of it was Jonathan’s fault and I know, given time, I can prove it, but he won’t listen. It’s like he’s broken and nothing I say can fix it.
I offered to stay over but he insisted that I came home. I’m going round this morning again though to check on him.”
“That’s good, Ronny,” said Elizabeth, “I wish I was there with you. I’m sure Jonny could do with us both right now. Dad too. How’s he?”
“I’m sorry to say that he’s not good either. Worried sick about Jonathan, concerned for his own position at the firm - convinced that Bearing’s trying to get rid of him too.”
“You think he is?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’m sure he is. Peter Bearing is a cold, calculating bastard. He’s got rid of Jonathan and now his sights are well and truly set on Dad. It’s only a matter of time, Elizabeth, I tell you. Bearing’s devious. Nothing will stand in his way not even Wendel Wallace. Dad needs to be really careful.”
“Jesus, Ronny. What a mess. How can one man cause all this heartache?”
“He won’t get away with it, Elizabeth. I promise you. One day, some how, he’ll pay for what he’s doing to our family.”
“I hope so,” replied Elizabeth. “I really do.”
“Anyway, enough about all that,” said her foster brother, “How about you - are you alright - and Roger?”
“Yeah, well, not really I guess, but I’ll tell you about it some other time - you’ve got enough on your plate, Ronny, without me adding to it.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a big plate, I can handle it. Now what’s up? That spoilt rock star not treating you right?”
“Just a fight. I’m fine. Honest. I’ll tell you about it some other time, promise.”
“Sure? I can come over there and kick his backside you know, if that’s what you want - just say the word and I’ll be there.”
“I know, Ronny, thanks. You’re a good brother.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what big brothers are for you know.”
“I know,” said Elizabeth, wishing she could tell him about last night, desperate for his strength and advice, but no matter what he said, he really did have enough on his plate and he couldn’t be her rock at the moment because others needed him more. “You just take good care of Jonny.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I know, Ronny. Goodnight.
“Hey,” replied her foster brother, “That’s not my name you know. I’m grown up now and no one calls me that anymore.”
“I know,” said Elizabeth with a smile, “But I like it.”
“Yeah. Me too,” he laughed. “Goodnight, baby sis.”
“Night.” The line clicked and he was gone. Elizabeth suddenly realised that the room was full of steam and the shower was still running. She stood up, hung up the phone and stepped into the hot, cleansing water.
* * *
The drive up to Napa was cathartic, the beautiful scenery helping to ease the turmoil in Elizabeth’s mind. She had the top down on her Mercedes and the wind was rushing through her long dark hair, blowing away the painful memories of the previous night. The sun was warm and revitalising on her face, the cut on her temple concealed by make-up and a pair of huge Dior sunglasses.
She thought that maybe a trip to England to be with her father and brother in their time of crisis might help. Jonathan had been dreadfully upset by what had happened, his life now in ruins and his reputation seriously damaged. Her father, too, was not the man he once was and had taken Jonathan’s forced resignation very badly. The company that he had helped build, that he had hoped to pass down to his son had all but destroyed him. Or, more accurately, the man who had so carefully stage-managed Jonathan’s downfall had.
A trip to England would not only give Elizabeth the opportunity to visit her much loved father, brother and foster brother but would also give her and Roger some breathing space and some much needed time apart. It made perfect sense.
By the time she reached Napa her mind was made up and as soon as she had finished here today she would pack a bag and get on the first available flight to London. But first she would visit her mother.
The Green Acre Care Home for Mental Wellbeing was just an hour out of San Francisco nestling in a shady valley circled by tall trees and pretty wild flowers. It was an idyllic spot for a care home; quiet, scenic and restful. If someone couldn’t find peace there then it was unlikely they would find it anywhere. It also had the best facilities available and a staff of expertly trained doctors and nurses on hand twenty-four seven.
Elizabeth always came up here alone, she enjoyed the peace and quiet and the slower pace of life. Life with Roger was lived at full speed so the weekly slow-down did her good.
Ella Wallace was a beautiful woman in her early sixties. She was tall and elegant with fine, delicate features and long white hair that was plaited down her back in a thick braid. She had been diagnosed with dementia almost ten years earlier which had been an awful blow not just to her but to the whole family. Ella had been a doctor so she was well aware of the ramifications and had tried to prepare the then teenage Elizabeth. But in actuality, nothing could have prepared her for what she now witnessed every Sunday.
From the stoop of the terrace, Elizabeth saw her mother sitting in the shade of a large oak tree and from that distance she looked just like ‘Mom’. But it was close up where the change was most apparent, the lack of recognition and the blank expression as every weekend Elizabeth re-introduced herself to the woman who knew her better than any other. It was a killer and ripped her heart in two every time but occasionally, just occasionally there was a spark of recognition and very briefly, in those wonderful moments, her Mom returned.
Strangely, whenever Elizabeth’s father visited from England, which he tried to do as often as his work would allow, Ella always knew him, as if she had been waiting there especially for him. Their marriage had been good and their love strong but it was far from a conventional relationship.
Before the dementia took her, Ella worked at the UCSF Medical Center and was firmly based in San Francisco, whereas Elizabeth’s father, Wendel, whilst a San Franciscan by birth, was based mostly in England where his company’s head office was located. Ella kept Elizabeth with her whilst Jonathan and her foster brother both lived in England with Wendel.
It was strange and complicated to an outsider but for Ella and Wendel it somehow worked. As a child Elizabeth spent her summers in England and at regular intervals throughout the year her father and brothers visited her in California. To her it was the most natural thing in the world. Then her mother was diagnosed with dementia and all their lives slowly changed. The disease did not claim her instantly but gradually crept in over a period of time, stealing their mother away bit by bit until at last only fragments of the true Ella remained, only surfacing in all too fleeting vignettes.
Elizabeth realised now that her marriage to Roger had just been a method of avoiding what was happening with her mother. But it had not worked, it had not numbed the pain or the sorrow or deep feeling of loss, indeed, it had only heightened it.
With trepidation, Elizabeth made her way across the beautifully cut lawn to the bench under the oak tree upon which her mother, Ella, sat, dearly hoping that today was one of the good days, that she would be visiting Mom as opposed to just an elegant, rather confused old lady. But as Elizabeth approached, she knew it was a forlorn hope. Ella was just staring blankly at her as she neared, her daughter completely unfamiliar to her.
Elizabeth smiled as she arrived at the bench and warily sat down beside her. “Hi, Mom,” she said brightly. Her mother, clearly horrified by the close proximity of this ‘stranger,’ gazed at her with fear-filled eyes. “How are you today?” Elizabeth continued, “You look really pretty.”
Ella was rigid with fright, her eyes wide with absolute terror, then suddenly, quite unexpectedly, she lashed o
ut with her fist and caught Elizabeth hard on her cheek bone, directly under the same eye as the cut. Then she lashed out again with her other fist, this time catching Elizabeth a glancing blow on the chin. “Fuck off, leave me alone you bitch - whoever you are, whoever you work for - I’m not coming with you, you can’t take me. Fuck off, fuck off. FUCK OFF!” The use of foul language had became more frequent as the dementia took greater hold. Very rarely before her illness did Ella swear.
Every time Ella cursed she got louder and every time she struck out again. One blow had knocked the sunglasses that were perched on Elizabeth’s head onto the ground and two others had hit her shoulders before she managed to grab Ella by the wrists to stop the barrage. But the moment she did so, her mother began to scream maniacally.
“It’s okay, Mom, it’s okay. Please, it’s me, I’m your daughter. Please not today, I could really do with your help I need you.” Pleaded Elizabeth but it was to no avail the screams just got louder and Ella became increasingly more hysterical.
“I don’t have a fucking daughter you lying fucking bitch!” Her mother squealed as two orderlies came rushing over to help. “You’re a liar, a goddamn lying whore!”
Elizabeth stood up, treading on her sunglasses and breaking them, utterly shaken by what had just happened as the orderlies tried to calm Ella. The swearing had happened before but the insults and the violence were all new and horrible to witness. Before today, her mother had never struck her, barely ever even raised her voice let alone a hand.
Elizabeth, forcing back the tears, kept trying to explain who she was. But Ella would not have it and eventually the orderlies had to take her back to the familiarity of her room to try and settle her.
Elizabeth remained on the bench alone, her heart full of sadness. With trembling hands she took out a cigarette and lit it, as the tears finally came. She coughed as the first drag of smoke hit the back of her throat. She was only an occasional smoker, but today she felt as if she needed the comfort of it. But it didn’t help and as she coughed again she stubbed it out. “Dammit!” she said aloud. She missed her Mom so much.
Perfect Day Page 56