She and Evan had always used the cork board to let each other know where they would be. Now, seeing his note pinned there and realizing he had been inside as though it was still his home, she tore it down angrily. How dare he? She couldn’t walk into his new home so why should he treat hers in this cavalier manner?
Changing into her walking shoes, forgetting everything she had planned to do, she set off to retrieve her dogs, seething, anger adding to the speed of her footsteps.
Evan and Sophie’s garden was reached from the road on the landward side of the houses but knowing Evan had walked into her house although he had agreed not to do so without invitation, made her reckless. Leaving the cliff path and climbing over the low wall, she pushed her way through the hedge and stormed up to their back door and knocked loudly.
There was no reply. ‘Both of them walking my dogs!’ she said aloud. ‘How dare they?’ Retreating the way she had come, she went back to the path and headed for home, her anger unsatisfied.
She had been in for about fifteen minutes and was sipping a cup of tea, not because she wanted it but for something to do, when she heard the car.
‘Don’t come in here unless you’re invited,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘We agreed.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But Nipper recognized my voice and I thought the old chap would have been disappointed.’
‘He had an hour’s walk this morning, he’d have survived!’
She took the leads from him and called the dogs but they seemed unwilling to come to her. She stood at the door glaring at Evan, as he stood beside his car door smiling. Then she saw that Sophie was in the car and she was talking to the dogs. Meriel called sharply for Nipper to come; it was a tone he rarely ignored but this time he did. Then she saw Sophie lean down and give something to the dogs. Their tails wagged enthusiastically. It was obviously one of their favourite treats.
So that was why they didn’t come to her! What was Sophie trying to do, make it clear that she could take the dogs too, if she wished? She ran to the car, picked up both dogs and took them inside. She slammed the door unnecessarily hard and listened as the car reversed out of the drive. What else would the woman take from her? What else was there left?
Three
When the sound of the car had faded, Meriel looked out of the window, glaring at the roadway, sending anger and dismay in equal proportions chasing the couple who had ruined her life. She scolded Nipper and Patch for their part in the scene and looked around wondering what she could do to ease her unhappiness. If only Evan and Sophie had moved right away, she thought for the thousandth time, instead of moving into a house she passed almost daily. She might have stood a better chance of rebuilding her life without him if Sophie hadn’t been so near that she could look at her and smile like a sleek and satisfied cat.
She smiled then herself. Sophie was hardly like a sleek cat with her generous folds and her long thick hair that fell in untamed curls down to the small of her back. Sophie dressed in a blatantly sexual way, revealing just a little more than was acceptable. Blowsy is the word my mother would have used she thought, with another smile.
Sophie’s interests did not lie within the home and she boasted about her inability to cook a decent meal. She liked dressing up and going to clubs and discos. Both things for which Evan had previously shown no interest. Perhaps, a hopeful voice within her whispered, perhaps he will soon grow tired of the hectic life Sophie demanded?
She stood up and snapped herself out of the foolish daydreaming. What was she doing thinking foolish and self—indulgent thoughts about Evan? She had to wipe him clean out of her life. Going into the bedroom where they had once slept together but which was now relegated to being the spare room, she looked at the chest of drawers that still held some of his clothes. Packing them up and taking them to a charity shop would be a start. Once she began, the job took hold and when the drawers were emptied, she started on the wardrobe where two of his suits still hung. She dumped them unceremoniously on to the pile.
The loft was next. Books he wanted to keep but for which Sophie wouldn’t find the space, filled a small tin trunk and these she now efficiently packed into smaller boxes. She found a cricket bat that hadn’t been used for years in an old sports bag together with white leather boots scuffed and grass-stained, and a few cricket balls and score cards. Sophie wasn’t the type to watch cricket. She paused a while, remembering the fun of supporting Evan’s team when he played for one of the local pubs. Everything went down to the hall, ready for delivery to the charity shop.
She remembered a pair of velvet curtains long abandoned and which she knew she would never use again. These were also packed and added to the collection. She felt the grumblings of hunger and remembered she hadn’t had lunch, but she didn’t stop to eat, she needed to get these things out of the house. It was almost two thirty, there was sure to be someone there to receive her offerings.
To her surprise it was Joanne who was in charge of the charity shop. She had forgotten Joanne’s boasting about the generous way she gave up her time to help those less fortunate than herself. Having had the reason for the clear out explained to her, Joanne laughed and promised to try and sell the items as quickly as possible.
‘We don’t want Evan coming in and buying them back, do we?’
Meriel stayed for a while, watching as Joanne attended to the few customers who called. Most were idle browsers looking in the hope of a bargain or perhaps an unrecognized treasure.
‘Not much chance of one of those these days,’ Joanne told her. ‘People are too well informed, what with the television programmes and magazine articles.’
‘But it still happens sometimes. In fact,’ Meriel said, as she picked up a small white plate with black sketches of household items on it, ‘I would like this Home-maker plate.’
Joanne pulled a face as she took it for wrapping. ‘I can’t understand the fascination with old things,’ she frowned. ‘I can’t bear the thought of using something that’s been used by dozens of people. Give me brand spanking new every time.’
‘I like the thought of it being used and loved and enjoyed by others.’
‘But you don’t have anything second—hand in your house?’ Joanne queried.
‘Evan’s choice.’
‘Such excellent taste,’ Joanne breathed.
‘But, Evan’s choice,’ Meriel repeated although with little hope of Joanne understanding.
‘Lucky old you!’
Meriel bought a small trowel and fork set, paying double what was asked. ‘I think Toby might like these next time I Toby-sit,’ she explained.
‘I don’t know why you look after him just so Vivienne can go out and enjoy herself.’
‘I don’t mind. I could only look after him during the day when Evan was around, but now I’m on my own I sometimes have him in the evenings. Even to stay the night when Vivienne goes to a club.’
‘Or on the pull! Isn’t that what they call it these days?’ Joanne gave a ladylike sniff of disapproval but Meriel didn’t reply.
Seeing a pressed glass jug with an appealing shape, Meriel bought that too. How could she explain to people like Joanne the pleasure of a beautifully shaped jug? Or her fascination with articles that had led former lives? It was a contact with history, a glimpse of how people had once lived. She loved to run her fingers over a piece of furniture that had been lovingly polished by many hands over several generations, or handle a kitchen utensil worn by years of use.
Thanking Joanne she went across the road to the newsagents. Helen was browsing through the greetings cards and so she stopped to share a few words.
‘Buying a card for my daughter Henrietta I am,’ Helen smiled. ‘It’s her birthday and she and the boys will be coming to tea on Sunday. Fifteen she’ll be mind. Hard to believe, eh? So I don’t suppose she’ll be wanting to see her Mam on her birthday much longer.’
‘Do you see them often?’ Meriel asked, aware that, since her divorce, Helen’s sons William and George and
her daughter Henrietta lived with their father and his new wife.
‘They come more in the summer. Like the beaches they do and they spend a lot of time up with Cynthia and Christian’s boys. Henri doesn’t seem to mind being the only girl, in fact, she’s more like a boy herself.’ she laughed.
They chatted for a while then Helen lowered her voice and whispered, ‘There’s a few rumours flying about, I hear it all, working here, mind. It seems that Joanne is no longer as well off as she pretends. So I’ve heard anyway. Never invites us to coffee no more. And she’s got rid of her cleaner and her gardener, even though she denies it. And, this is the clincher, she doesn’t shop in Sainsburys no more. She goes to the cut price store and for a snob like her that shows things must be serious don’t you think? She wouldn’t have been seen dead in one of them bargain shops up till a few months ago. D’you think her John’s business is in trouble?’
Meriel was careful not to respond more than was necessary for politeness. It couldn’t be true John was opening new premises every few months and Evan had remarked more than once on the success of his enterprises. Small cafes offering fast food for a reasonable price, the All Day Breakfast had caught on and was showing no sign of fading. No, Helen must be wrong.
She went home and, letting the dogs out into the garden, she climbed up into the loft and began unwrapping some of her stored treasures. She remembered her start of guilt when Cath had asked whether she had a hobby or interest. These valued pieces had been kept a secret from Evan all through their marriage. For years she had been buying and storing pieces picked up in second-hand shops and car boot sales and wherever she saw something that appealed. Mostly china and glass, but hidden in the back of the garage she had a few small pieces of furniture. If Evan had noticed he would have thought it was junk, to be carted off to the tip one day. Her interest spanned from fifties memorabilia, to much earlier items. One day, when she left this house which she had shared with Evan, she hoped to find a place where she could indulge her interest and furnish it to suit her personality. Everything her own choice.
The prospect of living alone in a strange new house was frightening, but perhaps it was something she had to come to terms with. A second marriage was not a prospect that excited her. She couldn’t risk being hurt again like Evan had hurt her.
She fingered a Susie Cooper teapot that had been her mother’s, valuable now, but something she would never sell. Perhaps she should put it on show, somewhere prominent where she could enjoy it every day? She began thinking of places where she could add shelves and corners where she could display her favourite things, but then she sadly rewrapped it and put it back in its box. One day, but not yet. She had to dig up her roots here, not make the place more attactive, more her own, more difficult to leave.
Her friends Cynthia and Joanne had a rivalry about owning the latest gadget and the newest designs. Although, she pondered, remembering Helen’s latest ‘news’, she now wasn’t sure about how well Joanne actually kept up with Cynthia. We none of us tell the truth, she mused silently. I certainly don’t tell all of it when we meet and chat as if we were true friends. We all boast a little, perhaps Joanne boasts more than the rest of us? Perhaps the need to pretend a little is the reason we meet? The thought was a sad one. No, she told herself, we meet because we are friends.
She made a sandwich, then walked the dogs, making sure she didn’t go in the direction where she might see Evan or Sophie. She didn’t want to see them for a very long time.
* * *
After Meriel had left the charity shop, Joanne began to look through the offerings her friend had left. Apart from the curtains, which she put on display, everything in the boxes had belonged to Evan. She closed the lids and looked up expectantly as a customer entered the small, overfilled shop. She was pleased to see that it was Cath, the sad young woman they saw in Churchill’s Garden.
‘Hello! Mrs Lewis, isn’t it? Cath? What a lovely surprise. Are you just browsing like most of my callers or can I tempt you to look for something specific?’
Cath only nodded in response to Joanne’s greeting, making no comment on the use of her name. She asked the price of the curtains Meriel had brought in, which Joanne had hung on a rail.
‘For you, five pounds.’ Seeing Cath begin to retreat, she said hastily. ‘Two pounds fifty?’ Cath hesitated, touching the soft fabric with her long thin fingers and Joanne said, ‘Go on. two pounds and they’re yours.’
Smiling her thanks, Cath took out some silver coins. ‘I need this material to cover a chair I’ve been given.’ Cath explained, ‘And perhaps make a few cushions. I don’t have much furniture but what I do have, well, I like it to look warm and comfortable.’
‘You sew then?’
‘Fonunately yes.’ She thanked Joanne again, bundled the curtains under her arm and left.
* * *
Ken Morris felt like an honorary uncle to the Sewell boys. Now and then he took them to Swansea for a MacDonalds and the cinema. One day in June he met the boys from school in his old van and they set off for town. Abertrochi didn’t have a cinema but Swansea did and they were excited at the prospect of a film and before that a meal at a restaurant of their choice.
Ken wasn’t surprised when they chose MacDonalds and he parked in a multi-story not far away. When they had eaten, there was still an hour before the film began so they were in no hurry as they walked through a small laneway on their way back to the car park. When the three men suddenly came out of the shadows and stood in front of them, Marcus yelled in fright and Oliver and Rupert moved swiftly to stand protectively beside him.
‘Let the boys go,’ Ken yelled as one of the men grabbed him and pinned his hands behind his back, with an arm across his throat.
‘Go back to the car! Scat!’ the man standing in front of Ken hissed at the boys. But they couldn’t move, being frightened and disorientated by the suddenness of the men’s appearance and their threatening behaviour. One of the men sauntered menacingly towards them and they shrank together for comfort.
‘Go, boys. Go back to the van and wait for me,’ Ken said, his voice distorted by the arm around his neck.
‘No police, mind!’ the one holding Ken threatened. ‘No clever tricks or you’ll all be sorry, right?’ Oliver and Rupert grabbed Marcus and hurried away.
When they reached the car they stood glancing around, avoiding each other’s eyes and the fear they knew was there. Oliver and Rupert comforted Marcus soundlessly by holding his trembling shoulders tightly. Tears bulged and fell silently down his face. His foot tapped an involuntary rhythm on the cold concrete.
Ken arrived at last, walking slowly and awkwardly, but waving cheerfully and they ran towards him. He held them at arm’s length, explaining that he’d fallen earlier in the day and was a bit tender.
Oliver and Rupert shared a knowing glance. They had watched enough police programmes on TV to guess what had happened. During the film, Ken got up and went to the toilets and when he came back Oliver was aware of the sour smell of vomit.
They were all subdued when they drove home even though Ken tried to cheer them up by talking about the film they had seen. Once outside their house, Ken made them promise not to say anything about what had happened. ‘Just a bit of a misunderstanding, see? Those guys thought I owed them money but they’d got the wrong man!’
To Millie’s surprise the boys went straight to bed without the usual arguments. She wondered whether they had eaten too much. Ken was inclined to indulge them when he took them out.
* * *
Cynthia’s birthday was fast approaching and having faced the awful truth that she would soon be forty, she decided to celebrate boldly rather than pretend it wasn’t happening. That way she’d feel better about it and enjoy it instead of feel the dragging dismay at the loss of her youth.
‘It’s the ‘0’s,’ she explained to Joanne and Meriel when she rushed in to join them for coffee one morning, ‘It’s the ending of a decade that makes it so serious, isn’t it?‘
‘I don’t agree,’ Joanne said brightly. ‘Twenty was marvellous, you’re still wanting to grow up and be considered a person of note, to have your opinions sought after and valued. Thirty makes you think you’re over the hill and any ambitions you might still have must be abandoned. But at forty, you’re wise enough to know it’s never too late to begin something new and succeed. Oh, no, Cynthia, the big “four oh” is a wonderful age. The children are less worry and everything is less urgent somehow. I can’t wait,’ she added as a reminder that she hadn’t reached that wonderful milestone herself.
‘You won’t have to wait long, dear,‘ Cynthia said dryly as she checked her lipstick in her mirror, ‘A year soon passes.’
‘How will you celebrate?’ Meriel asked.
‘A party of course. Is there another way?’
‘Plenty I’d have thought.’
‘Well, I think my darling Christian has something planned. He asked me to check that the passports are in order last week and he hasn’t mentioned a holiday, so – a surprise is likely, don’t you think?’
The actual day of Cynthia’s birthday was Friday, July the tenth but Christian decided to arrange the surprise for the following week. Coming out of the hairdressers and into the cafe one morning, an excited Cynthia waved for Cath to join them.
‘Come on, I’ve got something to tell you all!’ Pushing the coffee Meriel had bought for her to one side, she waved a sheaf of papers and announced. ‘We’re going to Paris on the seventeenth! A whole weekend together, with no children, no interruption for business emergencies or family problems. Christian has promised not to go near a telephone from Friday until Tuesday!’
‘What about the children?’ Joanne asked.
‘They’ll be all right with Millie. She and Christian have arranged it all, aren’t I lucky? We’re staying at the George Fifth of course. Oh, I’m so excited.’ She went to the counter to remind the staff to bring out the birthday cake for all she had previously ordered and the friends sat and enjoyed a morning party, listening to Cynthia’s plans for her romantic weekend.
Friends and Secrets Page 4