Fallen Women

by Sue Welfare

  Kate stared at the next email and read the tag line, ‘Long tall Larry seeks –’ and clicked the little icon on the bottom left-hand corner that promised a picture and then stared at the photo that slowly appeared. It seemed that RomanticSouls.com stringent policy checks on the contents of its advertisements weren’t quite so rigorous after all. She laughed through the knot of tears. ‘You should see this one. Long tall Larry sent me a picture of his willie as a calling card – and trust me, it was nothing much to write home about before he added the little black velvet bow.’

  Bill didn’t sound amused. ‘Delete them, Kate. Cancel the subscription and close the damned thing down.’

  Kate opened the next one almost as an act of pure defiance. How much worse could it get?

  ‘Genuinely nice guy, looking for a woman with a good heart and sense of humour for friendship and maybe, if it works out, even love.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Kate sighed, ‘though of course, he would say that. He’s hardly going to say axe-wielding psychopath seeks hapless woman for unpleasant encounter resulting in chargeable offences now, is he?’ Kate scanned down the rest of the profile. Against the odds he actually sounded quite appealing. He would have been perfect for Chrissie. ‘He likes music, the theatre and movies, eating out and cooking. Do you want me to email them to you so you can have a look too? Do you want me to send you the willie-man?’

  Bill hesitated so long before speaking that Kate decided to send them all anyway.

  ‘Thanks for listening to me. It feels like I’ve woken up in the middle of someone else’s life. I needed to talk to someone.’

  Bill groaned. ‘Don’t go now, Kate. Is there anything I can do? Kate –’

  She had no idea and hung up without saying goodbye.

  The house phone rang almost soon as Kate came off-line. It was Guy for Maggie. He’d arrived at the hotel, was all settled in, and was missing her already, apparently. He was also delighted that Kate had arrived.

  Feeling like the spectre at the feast, Kate took the walkabout phone through to the sitting room and handed it to Maggie who had been woken by the sound of the ringing. Kate went back to work, trying hard to ignore the sounds of billing and cooing from the sitting room.

  A few minutes later the house phone rang again.

  ‘Kate?’ Maggie called through ‘Are you there, love? It’s Liz. She wondered if we’d like to go over for supper this evening. Would you like to talk to her?’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Kate asked in a whisper, covering the mouthpiece as she took the phone.

  Maggie shrugged. ‘I don’t mind, you’re the one who’s got to drive over there.’

  Kate considered for a few seconds; the natural alternative, if they didn’t accept, would be for Maggie to invite Liz and family over later in the week, so that they could meet up, which would mean that Kate would have to cook. Liz would moan about the state of the roads. Peter probably wouldn’t come anyway because he’d have been working in London all day and had to be up early the next morning or was late home, or had an acre of work to do in his study and the girls would expect Kate to entertain them while Liz monopolised Maggie. Or at least that was how Kate imagined it panning out in the split second before she put the phone to her ear. An active imagination can be a terrible thing.

  Liz was permanently on some sort of low fat, no fat, nothing vaguely interesting diet, which she forced on Peter Perfect. Kate seemed to remember Peter as a man who used to like red meat, a decent curry and a bottle of red back in the good old days before Liz got her paws on him. One of the girls had a gluten allergy, one was a vegetarian, which left one normal one who, if Kate remembered correctly, lived entirely on breakfast cereals and bananas.

  ‘So what time would you like us to get over there?’ Kate asked cheerily.

  Joe was in the kitchen cooking supper for the boys when Bill got round there.

  ‘Hi, you want to stay and eat with us? I’m just making a lasagne. There’s plenty. In fact you could do me a favour, keep an eye on it while I nip over to pick the kids up if you like.’ He pulled a cloth off the table and wiped his hands. ‘My mum’s taking up the slack while Kate’s away.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I told her not to cook but they’ve probably been stuffing all kinds of crap down their throats since they got back from school. She used to be a complete bloody dragon when I was a kid, but those pair can get away with murder.’

  Bill stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘No thanks, mate. I can’t stay long. Kate rang me a little while ago.’

  Joe barely looked up from sprinkling a great wave of grated cheese over the pasta sheets. ‘So you know all about it then, do you?’ He sounded defensive and put out all at the same time.

  Bill shook his head. ‘Hardly. Do you want to talk?’

  Joe sighed and his shoulders slumped forward. ‘Those are the magic words, aren’t they? I don’t know what there is to say. It was a mistake. I wish I could make Kate understand that. We were drunk.’ Joe seemed to have forgotten that Bill was at the supper party too. ‘She told me that she needs time to think, but I mean what is there to think about? I made a mistake, one mistake. Surely to God we’re all allowed to make a mistake once in a while?’

  Bill just looked at him. It was no excuse and it wasn’t as if any of them had had so much to drink that they didn’t know what they were doing.

  ‘Come on, Bill,’ said Joe, in a man to man voice. ‘You know what it’s like. When Chrissie first moved in next door there was a thing between us – you know, that buzz, that little kick in the bottom of the belly when we saw each other. I never meant to do anything about it but it’s just one of those things that you can’t fight, eventually something has to give. It’s been going on for years, or at least we’ve both been trying to resist it for years.’

  Bill looked him up and down. ‘What? Until Friday night you mean? Are you trying to tell me that the pair of you hung out till Friday, that you gambled your marriage on a one-night stand with your wife’s best friend?’

  For a moment their eyes met; they both knew Joe was lying. Joe looked away first.

  ‘No, no that’s not what I’m saying. It wasn’t like that, but it isn’t like it’s a full on affair or anything. It was an on-off thing. The thing this weekend was just shit timing, that’s all. Me and Chrissie got together when the band were splitting up – briefly, I mean, nothing heavy – I’d lost a lot of money one way and another and I was home a lot playing Mr Mom and next door there was this dizzy, ditsy good-looking, horny blonde who thought I was sexy, successful and the best thing since white sliced. You know how it is.’

  ‘And what about Kate? Didn’t she know how it was too?’

  Joe sighed. ‘That’s the trouble, isn’t it? She knows exactly how it was. She knows that all this singer-songwriter stuff is all wind and glitter and basically back then, I was flat on my arse, hadn’t got two brass farthings to rub together and owed Christ knows how much. No illusions there, mate; Kate was working all the hours God sends to keep us from sinking without trace. She was brilliant, used to come back in from delivering stuff to the agency, looking totally bloody knackered, and she would never say anything, never get angry. Not a word, not a single sodding word.’ He was getting louder and angrier. ‘Mrs Utterly-Saintly, rubbing it in with all that silence, not complaining, never moaning. I keep thinking it would have been so much better if she’d come in and tore me off a strip once in a while.’

  Bill’s expression didn’t change. ‘What? So that you could have screwed Chrissie with a clear conscience? Persuade yourself that Kate drove you to it?’

  Joe winced. ‘No, no, but at the time it felt like some kind of martyr treatment. She just got on with it.’

  Bill snorted. ‘Heartless bitch.’

  Joe waved the sarcasm away. ‘Look, Bill, the Chrissie thing didn’t mean anything. I don’t see why Kate can’t understand.’

  ‘You really want me to answer that?’

  Joe sighed. ‘Bloody women. Are you sure you don’t want
to stay for supper? There’s plenty.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Thanks but no thanks.’

  In Norwich Peter Perfect was just finishing off preparing their aperitifs.

  ‘So how’s business going then?’ he asked, handing Kate a glass of chilled Aqua Libra with a slice of lime floating in it.

  Maggie was sipping a glass of wine while sitting on the sofa surrounded by a whole squadron of very serious-looking little girls. It was early evening in Peter and Liz’s neat executive house. Liz’s children always struck Kate as scary en masse and were fairly unnerving individually. They were blonde and plump and when not shrieking or giggling maniacally looked like bad-tempered frogs.

  Maggie’s foot was up on a stool, stuck out in front of her like the gun barrel of a tank, crutches alongside her to trip the unwary, and no one was allowed to sit on her lap, because Mummy had said so, twice, just in case there was any doubt about it. This didn’t stop the three of them elbowing each other out of the way for pole position, which was tucked up under Granny Maggie’s non-page turning arm.

  The little girls were all wearing long pink cotton nighties and bunny rabbit slippers. The youngest one was wading her way through a bowl of Rice Krispies while Maggie read them a story about kittens.

  Liz had installed everyone in the sitting room, having insisted that she didn’t want anyone to help her in the kitchen, except for the au pair and the lady who came in to do the cleaning, obviously.

  Peter smiled and Kate nodded, ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Good.’

  Kate sipped her drink. On balance natural childbirth was preferable to these cosy conversations with Peter. They usually only did this at Christmas and at family weddings, which was more than enough. Kate always suspected that there was more to Peter than met the eye, there just had to be, but somewhere down the line Liz had discouraged him from having a personality because they were terribly difficult to house-train and might cause a mess.

  ‘How are the boys faring?’ he said, sipping the sherry Liz had suggested he might enjoy.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  As the girls were in the room and the picture of health she and Peter were denied the next scintillating round of conversation. Kate glanced towards the kitchen, wondering how much longer it would be before they ate and then glanced surreptitiously down at her watch. At least, as the chauffeur to an invalid, she could say – however much Maggie protested – that she needed to get her home, get some rest, what with her broken ankle and all that, and obviously Peter and Liz needed to get up early so they couldn’t stay too long. Please God.

  Peter smiled. ‘Awfully nice weather we’ve been having, although we could do with some rain for the garden.’

  Peter was around 5′ 10, nice-looking in a homely way, with sandy gold hair, thinning on top, and the beginnings of a paunch. Whenever Kate saw him he was always dressed in smart casuals. Tonight this consisted of a crisp cranberry-coloured shirt, folded back to the elbows – the folds had been carefully ironed in – and a pair of cream chinos with a crease you could have shaved your legs on and penny loafers, although Kate’s guess was that Peter wouldn’t have chosen those clothes in a million years if left to his own devices.

  Before Liz got hold of him, Kate and Peter had met half a dozen times at various young farmers dos and rugby club barbecues that she gate-crashed with … Kate beetled around for the name of her fellow conspirator and realised with a start that it had to have been Julie Hicks; God look what happens when you grow up. Kate seemed to remember that up until he and Liz got engaged Peter was more of a jeans and tour tee-shirt man.

  He used to live in a flat above a record shop in Kings Lynn and liked to cook and party and had on this occasion arranged for them all to go and see some band he was mad about. Kate paused and surreptitiously looked Peter up and down – it was hard to believe this was the same man. Although all of Liz’s men had been very similar in looks and outlook. White collar or gentleman farmer types, successful in a stolid non-high-flying, non-boat rocking sort of way, and mostly blonde or at least fair, red-faced, serious or potentially serious, with strong family values and easily led without appearing too weak. They were boys and then men who wouldn’t look out of place on the cricket pitch, at the rugby club or later, on the golf course, and who all looked as if they might end up bald and have heart trouble in later life. The kind of men who looked good in a Landrover with a springer spaniel at their side.

  Thinking about attraction and marriage Kate’s mind scuttled right past Peter back towards Joe and betrayal. She was just having a sudden death/insurance policy moment that would have been infinitely better than the best friend in bed with her husband moment, when Peter, waving a bottle in her direction, said, ‘Would you like a little top up? Rather nice, isn’t it? I often have it when I’m driving. Liz gets it from Tesco’s, they’ve just opened a new store in Denham, haven’t they. Amazing, isn’t it?’

  Hardly, thought Kate, although she didn’t plan to point out that a new supermarket wasn’t exactly on a par with alien landings, so instead she smiled while Peter continued, ‘Supermarkets everywhere now, quite remarkable – you know, I remember when I was a boy …’

  Kate grimaced. Oh God, they were already on his ‘when I was a boy’ speech. Peter was a couple of years older than Kate, four at the most, and here he was already playing the grand old patriarch card. He caught hold of his shirt where the lapel would have been if he had one and puffed out his chest.

  Kate took a pull on her Aqua Libra wishing for all the world that it was a long tall Jack Daniels. There were times over the years when Kate considered the possibility that Liz and Peter had had their personalities expunged, surgically removed, wiped clean at some stage of their life. Liz probably rang up one of the classier Sunday magazines, sent off for a case of wine or two of New World wines, a full set of ecologically sound patio furniture, and the painless removal of any shred of individuality. Peter presumably paid for it all with his platinum credit card.

  Kate sighed into the top of her glass, clearly remembering long distant days when she had been a nice well-brought-up sort of girl and not a cynical bitter old bat.

  ‘So, planning to go anywhere nice for your holidays, are you?’ Peter said cheerfully, once his world famous monologue on how incredibly hard it was to get your hands on a red pepper in 1976 in rural Norfolk had run its course.

  ‘No, how about you?’

  But before Peter had a chance to surprise them all with tales of backpacking from Yurt to Yurt living entirely on yak’s milk in Outer Mongolia, Liz appeared in the doorway. She was wearing an apron. It had frills.

  ‘Say good night to Grandma, girls, and Kate and Daddy. It’s time for bed now.’ And then to Kate, Maggie and Peter in the same no nonsense tone, ‘If you’d like to come through, dinner’s ready. I’ve cooked my speciality: Thai. Not too spicy obviously because we don’t like spicy food, do we, Peter? Particularly not at this time of night, sets Peter’s heartburn off, so I’ve adapted something I got out of the Mail on Sunday. I’ve always thought it’s a sign of a good cook to be able to adapt a recipe without losing the basic character.’

  As she waved them all through into the dining room, the au pair rounded up the girls, muttering something incomprehensible in Spanish, and Peter grabbed hold of Maggie’s crutches and helped her to her feet.

  ‘Steady as she goes,’ he said, as they made their way into the hall. ‘There we are, easy does it. Easy does it.’

  He was speaking to Maggie in a tone slightly louder than necessary and enunciated every syllable as if his, or possibly her, life depended on it

  ‘Mum hasn’t gone deaf, Peter,’ Kate snapped, before she could stop herself.

  Maggie said nothing. Peter gave them both a pitying glance. Drunk or not, one fall and you’re senile apparently.

  ‘Right,’ said Liz, whipping the lid off a tureen once they were all settled, ‘who’s for wild rice?’
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br />   Kate smiled wanly. There was a peculiar floral smell in the room which was intensified as she took the lid off the dish next to her.

  ‘It’s green curry,’ said Liz pleasantly. ‘Just help yourself. Tuck in.’

  Gamely, Kate picked up a ladle; the curry slithered onto her plate with an obscene glooping sound.

  Liz’s specially adapted curry recipe tasted like wallpaper paste and lemon washing-up liquid with spring onions sliced into it; it was the colour of new peas.

  ‘Go on,’ said Liz to Kate. ‘Have a bit more than that. I’ve made plenty. It’s low fat.’

  Peter, fork poised above the puddle on his plate, smiled manfully, ‘Bon appetit.’

  Kate looked down wondering how much she could realistically hide under the cutlery, while Liz embarked on a rundown of the girls’ most recent achievements.

  Dessert was something sweet, pink and pale yellow that Liz had defrosted from the freezer which, although it didn’t taste of anything in particular, went very well with the raspberry sorbet and sage green-coloured dining room.

  ‘I thought we’d go into the sitting room for coffee. Marie already made it – it’ll give her chance to clear the table and pack the dishwasher,’ suggested Liz, pressing a napkin to her lips as she got to the end of yet another ballet class anecdote.

  The coffee was so strong it made Kate’s eyes water. Liz, who was drinking jasmine tea, came in smiling, ‘I was just saying to Mum that now we’ve had the new extension done you and Joe ought to come down and stay for a few days. I’m sure Chrissie would have the boys for you, you could have a romantic little weekend break away. Now does anyone want some cheese and biscuits?’

  Kate eyeballed Maggie, who shrugged. Liz was more than capable of having a whole conversation on her own.

  Maggie had barely yawned before Kate suggested they were on their way.

  As soon as they were in the car Kate switched on her mobile in case the boys had rung. They hadn’t, but there were three messages for her: one from Chrissie, one from Joe and one from Bill.