Be Careful What You Wish For

by Vivien Brown

  ‘Oh, never mind him. You can’t let him drive you away from your lovely little cottage. And Shelling’s as much your home as his. Just grin and bear it, or totally ignore him if you need to. But, as for a job … your pictures are really great, Prue. You could be doing stuff for the glossy magazines or have an exhibition or something. Proper art, instead of Farmer Giles’s prize pig or Auntie Nelly’s golden wedding.’

  Prue couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I actually quite like going out and taking photos of people’s special moments, giving them their fifteen minutes of fame. But I know what you mean. It would be good to do more, to stretch myself a bit. Maybe while I’m in London I might find some inspiration. There’s certainly a lot here to point my lens at!’

  ‘And men? Are there lots of them in London too? Have you met anyone … suitable? Or sexy? A little fling would do you a world of good.’

  ‘Sian, you are terrible! It’s less than two weeks since I split up with Joe. Give my battered heart a bit longer to recover, please! And I’m not sure men are what I need right now.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s like falling off a horse. The sooner you get back on …’

  ‘Oh, stop it! Now tell me, how’s Flo? The only one in my life who I know really loves me just as I am. Have you seen her?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Why would I, unless she gets sick? But loads of people love you, and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘I’ll try not to. Now, I have to go. I have a bath to run and a book to finish.’

  ‘It’s a hard life! I’ll say night night then. And don’t forget to talk to your mum, so I don’t have to.’

  Prue sat for a while after the call had ended, tucked her feet up beneath her on the sofa and finished her Coke. Her hunch about Madi being a lot older was right then. She hoped she was settling in and that the villagers were showing her a warm welcome. That was one thing Shelling did well. Unlike London, where, she was beginning to realise, weeks, or possibly even years, might go by, living in a block like this, without even your closest neighbours knowing who you were or anything about you. God help her if she got ill, like Madi, or fell over and knocked herself out or broke a leg or something. What would happen to her then, she wondered, when absolutely nobody, not even her own family, knew she was there?

  Chapter 10

  It’s a woman in there. And young, by the sound of things.

  It’s so tempting. All I have to do is find myself in the hallway at the same time, make it look like I’ve bumped into her by accident, say hello.

  Curiosity satisfied.

  Cover blown.

  No, it’s best I keep my distance. Our paths will cross soon enough, I’m sure. No need to force it.

  I’m fairly sure she’s in there on her own – there’s been no sign of the actress for days now – but I’m still not sure who she is. What connection there is between them. A fellow actress? A niece? A daughter, even? I think it unlikely, but it wouldn’t be the first secret that woman’s kept.

  I could go in there while she’s out, have a poke about, but it’s a risk, not knowing where she’s gone, how long for, when she might come back. Her habits are still a mystery. She is still a mystery. And I’ve never dared do it in broad daylight before. But it’s tempting, just the same. And I’ve never been one to resist temptation …

  Chapter 11

  MADI

  The first batch of redirected mail arrived on Saturday morning, the young postman knocking and handing it to her with a cheery ‘G’morning’ rather than just dropping it through the letterbox in the door. Madi could see without opening it that the top envelope was from the NHS. What now? Surely, with her chemo sessions over and her medication sorted out for the next few weeks, there couldn’t be anything else they needed to tell her? She felt half inclined to ignore it, but that probably wouldn’t be wise, so she sat herself down with a cup of strong tea and forced herself to open it.

  It was funny how cancer took over your life, she thought, as she realised with relief that the letter had nothing to do with her treatment at all. Normal life went on just as it did before. The world didn’t stop turning. Of course, there were other reasons the NHS might be getting in touch and this was simply a reminder that she hadn’t given blood for a while and that current stocks of her blood type were running low. Not that she was probably allowed to give any now, what with all the drugs whooshing round her system, and so recently after surgery. No doubt one department hadn’t communicated that information to the other.

  The rest of the mail was junk which she ripped up and threw in the bin, before picking up her tea and opening the back door to the garden, stepping over Flo, who had taken up temporary residence on the step, and going outside. It was a nice day, quite sunny considering it was only mid-March, but still a bit chilly as she wandered down the narrow path, ducking under the swaying washing line, and towards the small glass-topped table and tucked-under chairs. It didn’t look as if they had been used much over the winter as she had to take a tissue from her cardigan pocket and give one of the chairs a wipe to take off some of the grime before she could sit down, her hands clasping the mug for warmth as she turned her face up towards the watery sun and suppressed a shiver.

  It was a rare luxury to have a garden to sit in, and this one was neat and looked well maintained. The grass, a bit patchy but generally recovering well after the winter, was leaf-free, having obviously been swept or raked recently, but there was a mound of dry brown leaves, probably blown together by the wind, under the table, and it was only as her feet found them that Madi realised she was still wearing her slippers.

  She looked at the small shed, curious to know what it might contain. Garden tools and lawnmowers didn’t usually warrant darkened windows, and she had an inkling it could be some kind of darkroom for young Prue’s photography. She’d never seen inside one before. She really shouldn’t be so inquisitive, but perhaps that little third key on her keyring might open the padlock she could see hooked round the door. One tiny peek surely couldn’t do any harm.

  ‘Hello there!’ A voice from behind her made her jump. She turned to see a man of about her own age smiling at her over the low stone wall that divided the cottage garden from the much bigger one next door. ‘Sorry if I’m disturbing you. Just wanted to introduce myself. Tom Bishop, your neighbour. Well, for as long as you’re here anyway. Won’t get in your way, I promise, but it’s always handy to have someone you can ask if you need anything, isn’t it? Happy to oblige, that’s all.’

  Madi stood up and walked towards him. ‘Thank you. I’m Madalyn Cardew.’

  He looked at her for a moment, tilting his head as if deep in thought. ‘The actress?’

  ‘Well, yes, actually, but how did you …?’

  ‘Oh, I’m a great theatre lover, me. Not that I get to go much these days but when I was younger … Anyway, I still like to keep up, read all the interviews and the reviews. Never forget a name, me. Faces I’m not always so good at, but I’m sure I saw you once. Now, what was it in again? Ah, yes, I remember. It was Hamlet, and you were Ophelia!’

  ‘Gosh. That takes me back. I’ve taken that role twice. Which one did you see? Was it the one at Chichester, or the modern version where I floated down the river in a crochet bikini?’

  ‘The former, I believe. But I think I’d have been even more likely to remember if I’d seen the bikini version!’

  Madi could feel herself blushing. Ridiculous at her age!

  ‘I’m just amazed you remember me at all, after all these years. I’m not exactly Dame Judi, am I?’

  ‘Fine acting leaves its mark, my dear. You don’t have to be famous for that. Performance is everything, not who you might or might not be. And I’ve got the memory of an elephant, me. Some would say the ears as well!’ He laughed and made to walk away.

  ‘Oh, wait. Please. Would you like to come over, for a cup of tea maybe? A slice of cake? Not home-made, I’m afraid, but …’

  Tom stopped and grinned. ‘Thought you’d never ask!’ he quipped,
and strolled down to the bottom of the garden to a small gate that she hadn’t noticed until now, buried in the wall, and stepped through from his garden into hers.

  ‘I’m afraid these chairs are a bit mucky,’ she said, getting up. ‘It’s none too warm and, as you can see, I’m in my slippers, so I think we’d be better off indoors. Perhaps … your wife …?’

  ‘No, she won’t be able to join us.’ He shook his head. ‘If that’s what you were going to suggest. She’s not here at present. Nor likely to be, I suppose, if I’m honest about it. It’s a long story.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Determined not to pry, Madi simply led him along the path and into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, dear, it’s a bit chilly in here, isn’t it? It was warmer outside!’ Tom rubbed his hands together and blew on them in an exaggerated manner. ‘Seems to me you haven’t quite got to grips with the heating. It can be tricky, that fire.’

  ‘You’re right there. I’ve managed to get it lit a couple of times, in the evenings, but it soon goes out again. I’ve been making do with hot drinks and a blanket.’

  ‘Well, that won’t do, will it? You get that kettle on and I’ll take a look, shall I?’

  ‘You know about fires?’

  ‘I do. More used to putting them out than getting them started, mind. I was a fireman, man and boy. Retired now, of course. Still, these log fires aren’t that tricky once you get the hang of them. I’ve got one similar, so I know the ropes. Now, where are the matches?’

  It didn’t take long for Tom to not only start the fire but give Madi instructions so she would be able to manage it herself in future. ‘Simple when you know how,’ he said, smiling at her as he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table and spooned sugar into the mug of tea she put down in front of him. ‘Sugar for you?’

  ‘Two please.’

  ‘Any problems with the fire, or anything else for that matter, just knock and ask,’ he said, sipping his tea, ‘I’m usually in, except in the afternoons. That’s when I visit her, you see. Barbara, my wife.’

  ‘Visit?’

  ‘She’s got dementia. Can’t really live at home any more. She’s not far from here though. Nice place. Very friendly. It’s one of those care places. And they do. Care, I mean. We’ve been lucky.’

  Madi didn’t think that having dementia sounded particularly lucky at all, but if he was able to stay positive and cheerful, who was she to knock it? ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. We had a good life together, and it’s up to me to make sure she still has a good life now. As far as possible, anyway.’

  She busied herself slicing the cake she’d bought at Patty Martin’s shop. ‘I hope you like ginger,’ she said.

  ‘Love it. Barbara used to make a lovely gingerbread. More like a scrunchy biscuit than a cake though. At Christmas, when the kids were small. They’d try to make houses out of it with icing to stick the pieces together, but they usually fell down. Tasted good though. Not that Barbara remembers any of that nowadays.’

  Madi shivered. Her own memory problems seemed to have subsided since she’d been in Norfolk, but the dread of what they could lead to still worried her.

  ‘Can’t be easy,’ she said. ‘And the children? How many do you have?’

  ‘Just the two. Both girls, both married and moved out. Got their own lives, their own families. They come when they can, try to do their bit, but it’s not fair really, is it, to drag the grandchildren over here to visit a confused old woman?’

  ‘Old? Surely she can’t be more than …’

  ‘She’s sixty-eight, same as me. Yes, it took her way too early. But she’s old to them. Not the sort of jolly grandma who can walk them to the swings in the park or teach them to bake cookies, you see. It’s a crying shame but there it is. Nothing we can do about it. Now, let’s change the subject, shall we? You don’t want to hear my woes. What brings you here to our little corner of the world? Young Prue didn’t tell me much, just that you’d be here for a few weeks, looking after the place, and the cat of course. Where is little Flo, by the way?’

  ‘She was here not ten minutes ago. Gone out mousing, probably. She left one in my shoe this morning! Dead, I’m pleased to say.’

  ‘Ah, the joys of country living.’ Tom laughed. ‘Not from around here, are you? London, I’ll be guessing.’

  ‘That’s right, London’s my base, but I do travel around a fair bit. The nature of the job. Here, let me top you up.’

  Tom lifted his empty mug and held it under the spout as Madi poured the last of the tea.

  ‘Must be exciting, the theatre. From the inside, I mean. The rehearsals, the first nights, taking all those wonderful bows when the audience love what you’ve given them. Roar of the greasepaint, smell of the crowd and all that! It’s something I wish I’d done when I was younger. I’ve only ever really seen things from the other side, the public side. You know – buy a ticket, watch the show, clap and go home.’

  ‘Never too late. There’s always amateur dramatics, local groups, whether it’s acting you fancy or helping out behind the scenes …’

  ‘Oh, I think it is. Too late, I mean. Can’t commit to anything these days, you see, with Barb how she is. And I’d never get to grips with learning all those lines off by heart. I wouldn’t say no to a bit of a backstage tour though, next time you’re in anything local. Or is that too much to ask?’

  ‘Not at all. Just not sure where I’ll be working next. Or when. I’ve had … well, a spot of illness myself, you see, and had no choice really but to take some time out.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. But you’ll be back, I’m sure. I imagine it’s your life, isn’t it? In the blood, so to speak.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there, Tom. Although I wish sometimes I’d spent a bit more time and attention on some of the other things in my life, the more important things.’

  ‘Family?’

  Madi nodded.

  ‘Did you not have children?’

  ‘I did, yes. A boy. George. Hard to believe, but he’s almost forty now. Where did the years go?’

  ‘And his father?’

  ‘Where did he go, do you mean?’ She shrugged. ‘Didn’t even stick around for the birth.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That can’t have been easy.’

  ‘It wasn’t. Oh, he did the decent thing moneywise, was very generous in fact, I’ll give him that, but as for anything else we were persona non grata, written out of his life as if we’d never existed. He never asked to meet his son, and only saw me when work threw us together from time to time. He had another life to protect, you see, and a reputation, and we didn’t fit into that. George had to spend a lot of time with my parents while I was working. And I never had the kind of work that let me come home every night to bath him and put him to bed. I often didn’t see him for weeks at a time, but travelling about from theatre to theatre, staying in boarding houses, trying to get someone backstage to keep an eye on him while I was on, that’s no life for a kid. He was better off with his grandparents. Or so I thought at the time, but maybe I was just being selfish, not willing to give it all up. The stage sort of gets under your skin.’

  ‘I’m sure it must. But he doesn’t blame you, does he? You had to make a living, after all. For him, as much as for you.’

  ‘I’m afraid he probably does blame me, yes.’ Madi fought back a tear and turned to look out through the window, hoping Tom wouldn’t see it.

  ‘Oh, dear. You never remarried, I take it?’

  ‘Not even the once actually. Turns out George’s dad had been married to someone else all along. Which I should have known, or at least guessed. The naivety of youth! Or perhaps I preferred not to know, not to ask. But I think that made it worse somehow, him being married. My parents didn’t approve of my lifestyle, my bad choices as they called them, and not only having a baby out of wedlock but adding adultery into the mix as well was a couple of steps too far, if you know what I mean. Oh, they loved George, sure enough. No doubt of that, and they’re both long gone now
, but I can’t help wondering what they filled his head with and how much of it is still in there somewhere.’

  ‘And did he ever want to find his father?’

  ‘Too late, I’m afraid. He died, of a heart attack, backstage, when George was only six. So he never got the chance.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘In a way, I’m glad. Oh, not that he died. I did love him while we were together. Or thought I did. But it was probably for the best that George never got the chance to track him down. I’m not sure he would have been welcome, if you know what I mean. A dirty little secret well buried, as far as his so-called father was concerned …’

  ‘He knows who his dad was though? I do think it’s important for all of us to know where we came from, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I told him his father’s name. His real name, anyway. Jeremy, which is what I always called him. Not the stage name that everyone else knew him by, just in case he blabbed it at school or something.’

  ‘He was famous then?’

  ‘Yes, he was, in theatrical circles anyway, which just made everything harder somehow. More important to keep the secret. But I was honest about him being a lot older than me, and that he was already married. I suppose I painted him in as bad a light as I could, to stop George wanting to ask too many questions, but I’m not sure it worked. He soon figured out who his dad was, as soon as he was a teenager and old enough to get access to a computer. It was easy enough to read about his brilliant career and to find photos of him on the internet. He knew what I was telling him was true, and that his father probably did have a wife somewhere, although Jeremy always kept his family life well out of the limelight. Obviously, there was no mention anywhere of him having a son. His father had clearly written him out of his life, disowned him and abandoned me, but, of course, I still ended up being the bad guy.’

  ‘All long ago, Madalyn. You did what you felt was best for your son, and for you. And he’s a grown man now. Able to see things from an adult perspective, understand why you had to do what you did.’