by Mary Nichols
‘It’s all a bit hazy.’ He remembered the rain and the road stretching boringly ahead, leaving him with nothing to think about but Dodo and the divorce. It had been a messy business, acrimonious and expensive. He’d offered her the matrimonial home, but that hadn’t been enough, she wanted alimony, lots of it. The trouble was that he and his father were still trying to fight their way out of the stock market crash and he could not afford it. He had gone to see her in Scotland where she was working to try and sort it out.
Life with Dodo hadn’t always been bad. Attracted by her looks, her figure, her zest for life, he hadn’t been unwilling when she made it clear she fancied him. He had even been amused when she flirted with every good-looking male who crossed her path, telling himself that the very fact that she did it openly meant there was nothing to hide and the acting profession was like that. But playfulness soon palled when it was unaccompanied by any sense of responsibility, when her ambition meant she was prepared to do anything to pursue it, even sleeping with producers, casting directors and leading men. Penny didn’t need to do that to be a success, but then Penny had more real talent.
Why had he clung to the remnants of his marriage for so long? It was apathy, he supposed, the feeling that it didn’t matter one way or the other. It would have been different if there had been someone else in his life, but there was no one. Except Barbara. And she had gone back to her husband and children, to the life she knew.
‘Simon?’ Barbara’s worried voice came to him through his reverie.
He reached out and took her hand. ‘It’s all right. I was thinking.’
‘About what happened?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. It was easier than telling the truth. ‘I remember it was raining so hard the windscreen wipers couldn’t clear the screen and all I could see ahead of me were the blurred tail lights of the vehicle in front. It was sort of mesmerising and I suddenly realised the red light was much closer and the rear of a lorry loomed up almost on my bonnet. I slammed on the brakes. The car skidded sideways and clipped the corner of the lorry before running into the ditch beside the road.’
‘Thank God you weren’t killed.’
‘Amen to that. Enough of me. Tell me about yourself. How are you? And the children?’
‘They’re fine. Growing up now, of course. Alison is ten, taking her entrance exam next year for Melsham Grammar School. Nick is sports mad.’
‘And the youngest? Jay-Jay, isn’t it?’
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes. He’s toddling about now and full of mischief.’ She prayed he would not notice how unnatural her voice sounded and covered it by prattling about her charity work. She stopped when she noticed he was smiling. ‘What’s the matter? Have I got a smudge on my nose?’
He smiled. ‘No, I was thinking of how you looked the last time we met. In the bath, your beautiful body shiny with lather, your wet hair plastered to your face. And laughing. It’s a picture that haunts me.’ It was that picture he had in front of him when he crashed, a shadowy, insubstantial form behind the metronomic windscreen wipers. ‘We were good together, you and I. I should never have let you go.’
‘I had to, you know that. There was no future for us…’
‘No future then, no future now,’ he murmured.
‘I’m sorry, Simon.’
‘No need to be. Penny said you’d never leave your children. Can’t say I blame you. Of course, you could bring them with you. I’d be happy to take them on.’
It was terrible. She should not have come. It was as if she could not let go, as if she had to cling to a past which could have no relevance in the present, fleeting moments of happiness to be kept and savoured in darker moments, nothing more. Except Jay-Jay. Had Simon guessed the truth? She was convinced she was right not to tell: it would not help anyone. She forced herself to sound calm. ‘You know I would never take them from their father…’
‘No, of course not. I respect you for that.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Will you come and see me again?’
‘I don’t know. It’s difficult…’
He sighed heavily. ‘Another rare sighting of Barbara Bosgrove come and gone. How many years before the next, I wonder?’
She managed a smile. ‘I think that particular bird has become extinct.’
‘Pity.’
She bent to kiss him on the forehead but he put his hand behind her head and drew her down to kiss her properly. ‘Goodbye, my love,’ he murmured. ‘Try not to forget me altogether.’
She crept from the room before he could see how wobbly her smile was. Once in the corridor, she fled, so blinded by tears she did not see Penny sitting outside the door.
Somehow she got home without crashing the car. She left it in the drive and raced up to her studio where she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed. She needed to be alone, to think. Flinging herself into the armchair she curled herself in a tight ball, hugging herself, afraid to cry in case she wouldn’t be able to stem the flood when it came.
It wasn’t just Simon, it was the way the past had all come flooding back. Every rebellious thought, every ill-considered deed she had done since she married, had its roots way back, to a time when she was single, to how she felt and acted when she found her father with Virginia. Simon’s words echoed in her head: One minute we were going along nicely and I was trying, ever so gently, to prise you away from Daddy, then out of the blue, there’s this great wrestler with hands like dinner plates… How could she have been so blind? Not only then, but later, when she and Simon had gone to bed together, pretending it was just therapy. It had been the real thing. Penny had seen it. Two people couldn’t be more in love…
The tears flowed at last, running down her face unchecked, tears of regret, of guilt, of despair. And finally they dried up on a note of determination. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help. She took a deep breath, got up, washed her face in cold water, repaired her make-up, and went downstairs to get on with her life. There wasn’t anything else she could do.
When George came home he was far from pleased when Barbara told him where she’d been. ‘Penny Barcliffe only has to crook her little finger and you go running,’ he said, standing in the kitchen watching her make a pot of tea.
‘Oh, George, for goodness’ sake. Simon’s been in a serious accident. Penny was worried about him and Kate was happy to look after Jay-Jay for an hour or two.’
‘You know how I feel about the Barcliffes.’
It was all so silly, so acrimonious, so exhausting, and yet it was symptomatic of their relationship. ‘I’m sorry you don’t like them, George, but they are my friends.’
‘They? Now we’re getting down to it. It’s not just Penny, it’s that brother of hers…’
Did he know? Was he guessing? Or was he simply saying the first thing that came into his head? ‘You’re talking rubbish,’ she said, taking her tea into the drawing room and leaving him to follow. He stood over her for several silent seconds, then turned on his heel and slammed out of the house.
George walked; he didn’t care where he went, anything to get away. He’d made the mistake of his life marrying Barbara Bosgrove. She had been too immature, looking for a father figure. His mother had been right, she had latched onto him to get away from a situation she couldn’t handle. Now if he had married Virginia…
He had known her before she met John Bosgrove, they had even gone on one or two dates in their teens. She was passionate and understanding, uninhibited in bed, did things Barbara would never have dreamt of doing, made him feel good about himself. She didn’t keep on at him about his business methods either. You had to have your wits about you, take advantage of other people’s cupidity, bend the rules now and then, and Virginia understood there was nothing wrong with that. To listen to Barbara, you’d think he’d committed murder. Well, he had the answer to that: don’t tell her anything. If he wanted to brag about a deal he’d done, the way he’d pulled the wool over someone’s eyes, made a rival squirm, then Virginia was the one to tell. She had always prai
sed him, called him her ‘clever old thing’ and then she would stroke his forehead and massage his shoulders, and all the tension would drain away from him.
He stopped suddenly, realising he was outside her house. He went up the path and banged on the door. When it was not immediately answered, he banged again.
‘For Chris’ sake, George, what are you playing at?’
She stood in the circle of light from the hall behind her, which made the flimsy wrap she was wearing transparent. He could see her breasts and rounded hips, the dark mound of her pubic hair, her thighs. ‘I want to come in.’
‘Well, you can’t. You got me out of bed.’
He grinned, wanting her so badly it was a physical pain. ‘We could go back there.’
‘No. You totally ignore me for years and then you come banging on my door in the middle of the night and think I’m going to welcome you with open arms…’
‘You are, aren’t you? Going to welcome me, I mean. Oh, come on, sweetheart, let me in. You can’t stand there all night looking like that, you’ll have every man in Melsham coming to see the show.’
She looked down at herself and drew the robe closer about her body, then made to shut the door. He pushed against it. ‘I’ll kick up a row until you do let me in.’
She sighed and stood aside to allow him to pass her, before closing the door and leading him into the kitchen. ‘I think you need some strong black coffee.’
‘I need you.’
‘What’s brought this on all of a sudden?’
‘I should never have married Barbara.’
‘So, what’s new? We both know that. I suspect she knows it too. According to you, there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re too careful of your public image, too worried the scandal will ruin you. You want your cosy little home – big house, actually – your malleable little wife, your children, your position in the community. But not content with that you want your little bit on the side, your hidden mistress, also malleable. You’re a greedy man, George Kennett.’ She turned to face him, handing him a cup of scalding coffee. ‘You want to have your cake and eat it.’
‘Oh, Ginny, not you too. I thought you understood…’
‘I understand you’ve had a row with your wife.’ She picked up her own coffee and stood sipping it, watching him. ‘So, what was it about?’
‘She’s seeing someone else.’
Virginia laughed. ‘So? Isn’t that what you wanted? Grounds for divorce which would leave you the innocent party, image untarnished.’
‘What grounds? I can’t imagine Barbara being unfaithful, she’s not the type. She’s too strait-laced.’ He had been telling himself that ever since he left the house, but the more he thought about it, the more doubts he had. There were all those times she had gone to London to see Penny. How could he be sure it was only Penny she had seen? And there was that premiere she had attended. She’d stayed the night too. He racked his brains to remember how often her charity had taken her away all day, times when she had been evasive about her movements. How could he be sure?
‘What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,’ she said.
He didn’t want to think about that. He set his coffee cup down on the table and reached out to take hers from her. He put it down beside his own and took her in his arms, kissing her hungrily, letting his lips roam over her face and down her neck, pulling the flimsy robe off her shoulders to reveal her breasts. He bent his head to kiss them, using his tongue and making the nipples stand up dark and tantalising. ‘I have only to do this and I’m as hard as a poker. And you want it too, I can tell.’
She pulled out his shirt, ran her hands down his body and inside his trousers and laughed. ‘OK, so let’s go upstairs.’
Later, she said, ‘I must have been mad giving in to you.’
‘You love me,’ he said, lying naked beside her and nibbling her ear lobe. ‘And I love you.’
‘Always, or only when Barbara gets you down?’
‘Always.’
‘So you think we should take up where we left off, do you?’
He lifted his head to look at her, alerted by the tone of her voice. ‘Better than that.’
‘You mean you’ll ask Barbara for a divorce?’
In the euphoria of being with her, making love to her again, he was ready to promise anything. ‘Yes. I’ll find out more about her and Simon Barcliffe…’
She gave a bark of a laugh. ‘Still worried about your image, I see.’
‘No, but she’ll take me to the cleaners if I leave without grounds. I was just thinking of ways and means…’
‘You’d better find them because if you don’t, there’ll be no more tumbles on this bed or any other.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes, I do. How many years have I been hanging about waiting for you? Ever since John died. That was nearly ten years ago. I’m not waiting any longer. You’ll tell Barbara the truth and move in with me or you can stay away for good.’
‘OK. I get the message. I can’t lose you, Ginny, I really can’t.’ But he had to find a way to save face, and blaming Barbara was worth considering. Could he prove her infidelity? He could tell one or two people confidentially, let the story go the rounds; would that ensure that public opinion was on his side? Reluctantly, he tore himself away and went home.
To stop herself brooding, Barbara began a frenzied attack on all the drawers and cupboards in the house, turning everything out but not having the heart to throw anything away, putting it all back again: toys; half-finished knitting; dresses she would never wear again; ornaments; old photographs; pictures she had forgotten she had painted.
There was one she had done from a photograph taken at Jay-Jay’s christening, with Elizabeth nursing the baby and Alison and Nick grouped about her. That had been a funny sort of day, watching George acting the proud father and feeling happy and guilty and loving all at the same time. It wasn’t a bad painting but she could never look at it without those searing emotions returning and plaguing her, so she had put it out of sight. But perhaps Elizabeth would like it.
She hadn’t seen her mother-in-law for two or three weeks, what with the election and Simon’s accident and George behaving strangely, up one minute, cracking jokes and teasing the children, down the next, scowling or silently immersed in thoughts he would not, or could not, share. After a snack at lunchtime, she wrapped the picture in brown paper and set off for Victoria Street, taking Jay-Jay in his pushchair.
She was surprised when she arrived at the house to find the newspaper stuck in the letter box and the milk still on the doorstep. Full of misgiving, she pulled the newspaper from the letter box and bent down to peer through it. She could just make out Elizabeth lying at the foot of the stairs. Bumping Jay-Jay in his chair, she ran along the alley which divided the two sets of terrace houses to the rear gate and up the garden path to the back door. Mercifully it wasn’t locked. Her mother-in-law was lying in the hall with one leg on the stairs, the other doubled under her. She had a lump on the side of her head, just above her eye. Barbara dare not try to move her but when she gently touched her wrist she could feel a fluttering pulse. She went to the telephone and rang for an ambulance, and while she waited rang the yard, but George was out; Susan, his secretary, said she didn’t know where he was. Fifteen minutes later the clang of a bell told her the ambulance had arrived.
How long Elizabeth had been lying there, no one could tell – several hours according to the ambulance men. Barbara rushed home and left Jay-Jay with Kate, asking her to stay and see to Alison and Nick when they came home from school, and then drove to the hospital.
Elizabeth had been taken up to a ward. Barbara was told she had concussion and a broken femur and the doctors were going to pin the hip with a sliver of bone from her shin. Barbara tried again to contact George. It was nearly six o’clock but she just caught Susan before she left the office, only to be told George had not returned and had probably gone straight home. She rang the house. Al
ison answered the phone.
‘He’s not here, Mummy,’ she said. ‘Is Granny very bad?’ The catch in Alison’s voice reminded her how much the children loved their grandmother.
‘Not too bad, darling, don’t worry. If your father comes in, tell him to come to the hospital, will you?’
‘OK. Do you want to speak to Aunty Kate?’
‘Yes. Oh, no, my pennies have run out. Tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can.’ She put the receiver down and returned to the ward.
Elizabeth was awake but obviously in pain. ‘Was it you who found me?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I went round with a painting I thought you might like. Can you remember what happened?’
‘It was after breakfast, about nine, I think. I’d gone up to make the bed. I tripped and fell downstairs from top to bottom. The carpet is beginning to fray. I’ve been meaning to ask George to do something about it, but he’s always so busy and then I forgot. I blacked out, then I came round a bit. I tried to move and found I couldn’t. I shouted for help but no one heard me and then I must have drifted off. Next thing I knew I was in the ambulance.’ There was no self-pity in her voice, no grievance that she had been lying there undiscovered for something like six hours, no moaning about the agonising pain which had made her drift in and out of consciousness all day. No blaming George over the frayed carpet.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of George,’ Barbara said. ‘I think he might be at a council meeting. I’ll go to the town hall and see if I can find him. It’s no good ringing, there’ll be no one on the switchboard.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
The town hall was in darkness. If there had been a meeting, it was over. She went home but George had not returned, and after reassuring Alison and Nick and tucking them into bed, she set off, once more, for the hospital. She pulled up outside The Crown, wondering if George might have called in on his way home. She left the car and went inside.
It was closing time and Rita was busy clearing the glasses from the tables. Colin was leaning on the bar with a glass of beer at his elbow. There was no sign of George.