No Greater Love - Box Set

by Prowse, Amanda

‘There does? Okay, don’t look like that, I’m kidding, kind of. I am happy if you are happy, but I don’t think that you should be rushing into anything.’

  ‘Actually we have been going out for three and a half months and I love him, Fran, and he loves me.’

  Kathryn chose not to divulge the frenzied kissing and aggressive smooching that left her more excited and alive than she had ever felt. This she knew boded well for a satisfying love life in the future.

  ‘Blurgh! Pass the bucket!’

  Kathryn punched her sister on the arm.

  ‘I’m truly chuffed for you, sis, but there’s something about Mark that I’m not quite sure about…’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kathryn’s voice was a high-pitched squeal, she looked close to tears.

  Francesca decided to backtrack.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t got to know him yet or maybe he isn’t relaxed with us because it’s all new for him as well.’

  These words caused Kathryn to brighten again. Yes, that would be it.

  ‘All I am saying is, Katie, why don’t you have a long engagement, get the sex out of the way, get to know each other a bit and see how it works out. Worst-case scenario, you get to keep the rock; best-case scenario, you end up with the love of your life!’

  ‘I don’t have to wait or have a long engagement. Mark is the love of my life, he is so gorgeous and he feels the same, we just know.’

  ‘How do you “just know”? Do you remember how much you loved jacket potatoes when you were little and then you discovered pasta and that became your favourite? Maybe Mark is your jacket potato?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, he is not my jacket potato! I can’t explain it, but we do know. Mark says why wait if we have found what we would only spend our future searching for. It would be like wasting years, only to reach the conclusion that we were right all along!’

  ‘Well, mate, when you put it like that!’

  ‘I know you’re taking the mick out of me, but I don’t care, Fran, not tonight.’

  ‘Katie, I am pleased for you, but can’t you just have a nice little love affair and see if it wears off? Just in case?’

  ‘Mark says we should jump in while the water’s warm!’

  ‘“Mark says”, “Mark says…”. Blimey, Katie, you want to be careful there.’

  ‘What do you mean, “be careful”? Why?’

  She couldn’t hide the slight irritation in her voice; she was in the first stages of love and any negativity directed at the object of her desire felt like daggers being plunged into her heart.

  ‘Because you are a strong, smart girl and I don’t want you to lose any bit of yourself, ever. No man is worth that.’

  This was a phrase that Kathryn replayed in her mind many times in the coming years. She should have listened to her baby sister, wise and prophetic beyond her years. She wished she had listened.

  She replayed it now as she studied the hand-painted mug in her hand. ‘I don’t want you to lose any bit of yourself, ever.’ What would she say to her sister now? She imagined trying to phrase the words. They saw each other so infrequently that when they did meet up, there was always an awkward hour or so when they had to relearn how to act in the other’s company. It was so different from being with a friend or a colleague; being with a sister was unique.

  It didn’t matter what either of them achieved or how much time passed, it was hard for Kathryn to play the role of contented grown-up, to deceive. Not when they shared so much history. Francesca knew her sister back to front, inside out. There were so many fond memories that they used to retell over and over until they became hysterical with laughter. Kathryn’s favourite was about one night during a childhood holiday, the two of them top-to-toeing in a rusty Cornish caravan, aged six and eight. They had eaten so much chocolate that Kathryn threw up out of the window, only to discover that the window was closed. Her parents spent the best part of the next day hosing Caramac from the velour interior of their rented home.

  Part of their awkwardness now was down to the fact that Mark never left them alone for a second; it was as if he was monitoring them, making them mindful of their conversation. He was careful to steer them onto topics that he felt were appropriate, and he was always slightly anxious until after her sister left. His nerves were not obvious to anyone else, but Kathryn noted that he spoke a little quicker than usual and laughed a little too loudly. He needn’t have been concerned; she could never have told. She would never have told.

  It was all too difficult. What would she like to say to her sister? ‘You were right, Fran, I should have listened to you because I haven’t just lost a bit of myself, I have lost all of myself. I wish I’d listened to you, but I didn’t, did I?’

  It was so easy with the wonderful gift of hindsight to be the judge and juror of her past decisions and choices. So easy to look at the person that made those decisions and the person that she had become and spot the cracks, pondering on how she might have done things differently. Of course I should have listened to my sister! But I thought that I knew different, I was giddy, blinded and thought that I knew best. What would hindsight say? It would say, ‘You definitely did not know best, Kathryn, you could not have known best, you were too busy fighting a tide of raging hormones and infatuation.’

  Kathryn closed her eyes tightly to try and erase the memory of the last telephone call she had had from her sister. Three weeks later, it still weighed heavily on her mind and she wondered if she would ever be able to repair the damage.

  ‘Kathryn.’ Mark’s voice had summoned her.

  She had been peeling the potatoes for supper, but instinctively she rose from the chair at the sound of his voice, a soldier trained to stand to attention upon the arrival of a superior. After all these years it was now automatic.

  ‘It’s your sister on the telephone.’

  He flashed a short flickered smile that appeared and disappeared in a matter of seconds. It told her that he was not happy to have Francesca on the end of the telephone at all and was even more irritated to have had his ‘study time’ interrupted by having to answer the call and come and inform her.

  She nodded and walked over to the wall-mounted phone above the dishwasher.

  ‘Hello?’

  She waited for the click of the receiver being replaced into its cradle in the study, but it never came. Mark was listening and would continue listening to their entire conversation, as was customary. It had been two months since the sisters had been in touch and now with her husband’s monitoring, Kathryn knew that the conversation would again be stilted and uncomfortable as she would have to censor all that she said. She knew her sister would pick up on this and think that she was being aloof. Kathryn once again felt trapped and more than a little tearful.

  Francesca had accused her of being a bit ‘off’ in the past, which had rendered Kathryn dumb, unable to explain that there was so much that she wanted to say, but couldn’t, for many reasons. The first being that their conversation was never private; Mark would be listening and, more importantly, judging.

  ‘Oh, Kate, I had to call you—’ Her sister’s voice immediately broke away in a sob.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. Oh goodness, Francesca, don’t cry! What on earth is the matter?’

  Kathryn could hear rain against a window and the whoosh of water as tyres sped along wet tarmac. She pictured Francesca sitting in her car with her cardigan around her shoulders to ward off the North Yorkshire chill.

  She waited while Francesca blew her nose loudly.

  ‘Oh Kate, something terrible has happened!’

  ‘What’s happened? Is Luke all right?’ Kathryn’s first thoughts were always of her own children; the worst thing that could happen would be something affecting them, and so naturally she thought immediately of her sister’s child.

  Kathryn recognised in her sister the slight guilt of a mother who had pushed her son to achieve; it was always with a dose of pressure that he would be encouraged to stu
dy for exams and cram for extra credits. The fees that they paid quarterly for his education were hard to come by and his time at school was for them in lieu of foreign holidays, new carpets, even trips to the hairdresser.

  Kathryn admired the sacrifice but knew that Francesca wanted something in return: good grades, a place at a top university or at the very least a voice that was crystal clear with rounded vowels, and the correct pressure of handshake in the right circles. Luke didn’t disappoint, he was diligent and industrious, a lovely boy.

  It would be unfair to describe Francesca as jealous, but Kathryn knew she was conscious of her own position as wife of the head teacher at one of the country’s top public schools. It was important for her sister to feel every bit her equal when they chatted about school life in general at any gathering, knowing that her Luke was just as good as his cousins.

  Kathryn laughed at the idea that her family considered her to lead a charmed life in her subsidised house with her attentive man and her perfect children. If only they knew…

  ‘No… No, thankfully it’s nothing like that, no one is hurt, but the business has folded. We tried so hard, Katie, we’ve been keeping the bank and all the suppliers at arm’s length for a while and it’s finally collapsed. I’m so disappointed for Luke, for us all. Gerry and I thought we were building for his future, but we have lost everything.’

  Francesca paused to gulp back a sob.

  ‘We sank every penny into the new building company. We thought Luke would step into his dad’s shoes when the time was right, we thought it was going to set him up for life, but the developer was a charlatan, Kate, a total con artist. I still can’t believe it! We might even lose the house…’

  ‘Oh, Fran! That’s terrible; I know how excited you all were…’

  Kathryn knew that her sister’s share of their parents’ legacy had been the primary funding for Gerry’s business. Their dad had worked so hard all his life. Infrequent trips to the seaside at Abersoch were his treat, but beyond that he had saved and saved to finally own a three-bedroomed semi-detached slice of Croydon, now all gone…

  What to say next, Kathryn? What she wanted to say was, ‘My poor darling, my poor little sister, that is the most terrible news. Come here for a few days, all of you and let me look after you and spoil you. We can drink tea and make a plan. Nothing is as bad as it seems right now and whilst I can’t make it all go away, it will be good if you can get away from it all. Luke can spend time with Dom and Lyds and we can stay up late like we used to and drink wine and chat. It will all be okay, darling, because I am your big sister and I can make it feel better…’ Instead, she heard a faint sigh from Mark, losing patience at the end of his receiver in the study, and she heard herself speak, staccato and automatic.

  ‘Well if there is anything you need, do shout. Mark and I will of course do anything we can to help.’

  Kathryn used Mark’s name to ingratiate herself, hoping he recognised her loyalty. She listened to her sister’s silence. She could picture Francesca replaying her words in her head with incredulity: ‘Do shout?’

  She tried to fill the void with the first thing that popped into her head.

  ‘What’s the weather like in York?’

  Her words were banal and regretful. A small tear trickled down her cheek. She willed her baby sister to hear her unspoken apology.

  Francesca could not contain her surprise or disappointment.

  ‘What’s the weather like in York? Did you not hear what I said, Kathryn? We have lost everything! Everything! And you want to talk about the bloody weather?’

  ‘I… I…’

  Kathryn’s tears fell thick and fast as she tried to find the words, the words that would please everyone, the words that would appease and comfort her darling sister in her moment of need and would not incur the wrath of her husband. Sadly, there were no such words.

  ‘You know what, Kate, forget it, forget I called and forget my news. We will manage just fine. You sit tight in your four-bedroomed Georgian splendour and enjoy your bloody coffee mornings and your view of the cricket pitch and we will figure this out for ourselves!’

  ‘Francesca, I—’ She tried to interrupt her sister.

  ‘No, don’t bother saying another word. I am finished with you, not that either of us will notice much difference. You haven’t been there for me for years; I guess I’m not in your league. Do you know what, Katie? I never thought that I would say this, but you think you are so high and mighty. You may have an idyllic little life, but I really don’t like who or what you have become…’

  Francesca let the phrase hang in the air as she ended the call. One small push of a button and she was gone, just like that.

  Kathryn held the receiver between her palms and hung her head forward. She whispered through her tears, though no one was listening.

  ‘Neither do I, my darling. Neither do I.’

  Mark came through into the kitchen and placed his hand on her shoulder, alerting her to his presence and causing her to stand up straight and swallow her tears.

  ‘Is everything all right, Kathryn? That sister of yours not been upsetting you, has she?’

  She stared at his face, which did not betray the slightest indication that he had heard the whole exchange, and shook her head.

  ‘No, Mark.’

  ‘Well I’m jolly glad to hear that. We are very busy people with a great deal of responsibility and I don’t want you worrying about anything that doesn’t directly concern us.’

  It was almost an instruction. He leant forward and kissed her long and hard, crushing her to him with his arm across her lower back. Her tears had caused her breathing to lose its natural rhythm; she had no choice but to hold her breath while he covered her mouth. Her head felt light, the threat of a faint pawed at her senses. It felt endless.

  Finally, he released her.

  ‘I tell you what, darling, why don’t you pop upstairs and make yourself look neat and pretty and then you can put the kettle on and we shall have a cup of tea.’

  Again she nodded, knowing that his suggestion was actually a direct order. She slowly climbed the stairs and tried to stem the flow of tears. Taking up her position at the dressing table, she replayed her sister’s words in her head, ‘You may have an idyllic little life, but I don’t like who or what you have become.’ Oh yes, thought Kathryn. I have an idyllic little life.

  ‘Only me!’

  Judith’s voice interrupted Kathryn’s reliving of that dreadful phone call three weeks earlier. Mark’s PA always announced her arrival in this way. She came through the back door and into the kitchen, which irritated Kathryn but was only one of a thousand things about Judith that irritated her. It was actually one of her smaller misdemeanours. Judith’s chief offence was the way she referred to Mark as ‘Headmaster’, as though he were a person of such venerableness and status that he could be addressed in this way, like the Pope or Madonna. If only she knew what he was really like.

  Judith was in her late forties, single and extremely overweight, but without any of the embarrassment or awkwardness that people of her size sometimes displayed. There was no clever dressing to minimise the contours, no opting for black, long or layered, oh no. Judith would happily wear a vest and a pair of khaki shorts, enjoying the stares and double-takes that came her way from pupils and staff alike. She would mistake their glances as interest and not revulsion.

  ‘Morning, Kathryn! Lovely day!’

  Kathryn nodded but didn’t speak, looking up only briefly from the washing-up. She didn’t feel like engaging, bantering with this woman about nothing. She didn’t have the inclination or the energy; she figured correctly that the less she said, the quicker the exchange would be over.

  ‘Headmaster has asked me to pop over to remind you that there is a masters’ meeting tonight, dans la cuisine! So the usual, please: dips, chips, plonk et cetera and of course gluten-free for Mr Middy; we don’t want a repeat of the swollen tongue and loose bowel episode that almost blighted the fifth-for
m careers fair last month. We’ve only just managed to get the carpet tiles in the junior common room replaced. Anyhoo, thought I’d better give you the heads up. All okay?’

  ‘Yup, perfectly.’

  It was the best Kathryn could offer. She disliked the way Judith treated her, as if she were an extension of Headmaster’s retinue. It made her feel more like the hired caterer than the wife of said Headmaster. It didn’t anger her any more; in fact she was almost glad of the diversion, knowing that to have her time filled with something – anything – was better than having time to think.

  ‘Headmaster is in a rather jolly mood this morning. He’s had several admiring comments about his floral accessory from the faculty. Whatever you gave him for breakfast, same again tomorrow please! Makes my life easier when he hasn’t got his sore bear-head on!’

  What should she say to that? ‘It makes all our lives easier, Judith. You have no idea, Judith, of just how bad his sore bear-head can make my life. Leave me alone, Judith, you vacuous woman; leave me alone because you have no concept of what my life is like, of how I live.’

  Instead, she smiled.

  ‘Will do, Judith.’

  She wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to, but knew that it would be enough to appease Judith, to make her feel that her errand and her messages had been understood, loud and clear.

  In her meaner moments, Kathryn would think unpalatable thoughts about her unpopularity or her sickening fawning over Mark. This, however, would be quickly followed by, How dare you offer up these thoughts when your own situation is so dire? Then another thought would creep in: I must be as thick as Mark says I am, otherwise how did I get myself into this bloody mess? I’m like one of those little bugs caught by a Venus flytrap and the irony is the more I wriggle the deeper I become entrenched. I am trapped.

  Kathryn wished that someone would offer her an escape, a way out. She often dreamed of freedom in a different time and place. She could only bear to contemplate a solution that was simple, having no capacity or inclination for anything complex. Yet no matter how hard she tried, a simple solution would not present itself. Every idea, every permutation, left her homeless and away from her children. Homeless she could just about manage, but living without her children and not being there to defend them, should… if… That she could not manage. Her kids would always be an extension of her own heartbeat, the best thing she had ever done. She could not, would not contemplate a life without them.