Just Like a Woman

by Madeleine Clark

  Arriving at his car, he got into the driver’s seat and sat staring out of the window onto the high street. He didn’t care anymore, he had to get some release, it was agony. Taking the newspaper from the passenger seat, he placed it in front of himself, over his lap as if he was going to read it. The crossword stared up at him as he let his right hand creep inside his trousers to massage the hard penis. The agony started to abate as he took it in his hands. It didn’t take long, as he watched the women shoppers walk past. One woman looked at him, he could see the recognition and she raised her hand to wave. He looked directly into her eyes, he grinned back at her letting the wetness come all over his hands. She smiled back as he closed his eyes and sighed.

  .

  Chapter Seventeen

  Morning surgery was almost over, just a couple of patients sat in the waiting room. Sarah sat at the reception desk, doodling on a pad. The phone rang, but she let the answer machine cut in, she was drawing; obscuring the name Robert by drawing circles and lines, flowers and pebbles in intricate designs all over the page; but she knew what lay underneath; she could make out his name and let her mouth whisper it as she drew. One of the two patients remaining, waiting to see a doctor, coughed incessantly, it was just beginning to annoy her when Dr. Short came into reception and called some name. The cougher got up and followed the doctor to his consulting room.

  Sarah lifted her head away from her picture and looked around the waiting room. She could see from behind one of the beams, a shoulder and a leg of the one person left. He sat in the only comfortable chair in the room. The other chairs were chosen for their aesthetic style, not their comfort. They were chosen to match the beams of the Old Thatch, as the surgery was called. They were old and spindly, cutting into your back if you leant against them. There were cushions placed on the chairs and although these gave the appearance of comfort they were far too thin. When there was an emergency with patients being left waiting, their bottoms went numb from the hard seats, their backs ached and if they didn’t have high blood pressure when they arrived, they usually had it by the time they got to see the nurse. The Old Thatch was a converted Tudor inn with a huge fire place as the centre piece. At this time of year it was adorned with a Christmas tree, but normally it was used as the information centre; housing leaflets and posters on health issues of contraception, the effects of smoking, heart disease, liver damage and how to tell if your child is taking drugs. Sarah had never seen any patient take a leaflet.

  The last patient was an incessant sniffer and wiper of nose on sleeve He didn’t bother Sarah. She was fascinated by the fact the young man didn’t deem it sensible to have a good blow and get it over with, rather than just keep sniffing it all back down his throat. Her impulse to offer a tissue was diluted by her curiosity of how long he would keep sniffing before giving in. She counted the time interval between each sniff. It was completely uniform, she counted 17 in each gap. 17, sniff, wipe. 17, sniff, wipe. Without fail. Almost relaxing, she decided.

  She liked being back at work, busy with other people around, other people’s problems that did not affect her. She had considered not coming back at all. She didn’t need the money anymore, but the house had begun to feel a bit repressive to her. Even with all the work she was doing on it, her mother continued to haunt every room and move about at night. Maybe she would have to open the windows and let her go? But she wasn’t ready yet to release her. She had to wait till things were settled between her and Robert officially.

  Her colleagues at the surgery had been slightly embarrassed with her return, treating her as even more of an outcast than they had done previously. Once they realized she wasn’t the grieving daughter they expected, they began to treat her as they had before. The only difference was Dr. Short.

  He avoided her when he could, and was overly nice to her when he could not. She was sure once she married Robert, she would have to give up working at the surgery anyway, so it was only temporary. It would be far too difficult for her to work there, because of who he was. A shame, because she enjoyed it. But then when she was Mrs. D’Lyn, or would it be Mrs. White? She would be expected to mix with different kinds of people anyway. Like in those magazines!

  She would soon be in one of her own magazines!

  Humming, she walked over to the table to straighten them all, piling and stacking them neatly; stroking her particular favourites; warm inside with her secret knowledge of what was to come.

  She had mentioned Robert to the only other young woman who she worked with, but she could see the look in her eyes when she spoke; disbelief. She would not tell anyone else. Not until they were officially engaged. Would that be on Tuesday? Mrs. D’Lyn sounded much better, but was it legal?

  One of the other doctors came into reception to collect the last patient. Sarah began tidying up; tearing the paper she had been drawing on off the pad, folding it carefully and putting it into her pocket; she filed away the notes of patients that still lay on the desk and then reached for her coat.

  The other receptionists and a couple of the nurses had already gone to lunch, as they usually did on a Friday. She volunteered to wait until all the patients had gone. Previously to her mother dying, she had become upset with how they never included her in their little group outings. They were nice enough to her, but she knew she was different. Now she could understand why. She was different and soon they would see how different. She smiled as she sat waiting for the doctors to finish. Socially she wouldn’t fit in with them at all, so there was no point in trying.

  ‘Do you take Sarah Victoria Colwyn-Smythe to be your lawful wedded wife?’

  He holds her hand gently in his, looks down at her with his beautiful blue eyes, smiles and says.

  ‘I do’.

  The priest turns to her and says,

  ‘Do you, Sarah, take Robert D’Lyn to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

  She looks up at him, tears in her eyes and says,

  ‘I do’. She hears clapping all around her as the church resounds with the sound of the congregation clapping their approval. Lights snap in their faces as cameras flash before them. They turn and walk down the aisle, her father stands in the pew to her right and he smiles at her. She smiles back and then looks towards the door as Robert leads her carefully down the few steps, the little bridesmaids hold her train as she walks at his side, his arm holds her elbow and, guides her gently. Her bouquet of orange blossom smells sweet to her nose. Outside the sunlight blinds them for a few moments and she realizes it is more cameras flashing. Robert leans down and kisses her so softly on the lips. Andy takes Robert’s hand, shaking it.

  ‘You’re a lucky man Robert,’ he says. He kisses her on the cheek and moves to the side as more of Robert’s friends come to his side. She turns to Stephanie and says,

  ‘Thank you.’ Her father stands beside her,

  ‘Your carriage is here,’ he says, and she sees the open carriage with the four white horses. Can anyone be any happier? Her cheeks feel wet.

  Sarah wiped her face. Dr. Short stood beside her,

  ‘Are you alright? Are you sure you didn’t come back to work too soon? Here.’ He offered her a tissue, and she wiped the tears away.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly I’m fine.’ She could see he wasn’t convinced, but it didn’t matter. Sarah could not believe the happiness she felt. Is this what other people feel? She kept thinking to herself. Next week she, Sarah, was going to Robert D’Lyn’s house for dinner, and she, Sarah, was going to meet his best friend Andy Boswell. Andy Boswell, from the family television programme Boswell’s Angels. It wasn’t a programme she was allowed to watch, because it was too nice. Boswell’s Angels went out and did nice things for people. Not something her mother approved off. She decided not to tell Dr. Short, because he probably won’t believe her either. It didn’t matter, because she was going to have the best Christmas, ever.

  ‘I’m fine Dr. Short, in fact I am going out now to buy my Christmas tree. And this afternoon I am going to decorate it. Dec
orate it how I want to do it, and I am going to put lights around the house as well. Do you know it will be the first time, ever, there have been Christmas lights in that house?’ She smiled at Dr. Short and threw the tissue in the bin. Then picking her coat off her lap she stood up.

  She could still hear Robert’s voice in her head as he asked her to dinner to meet his friends. She knew now, Robert loved her. He wanted her to meet Andy. That proved he loved her, he wouldn’t ask her if he didn’t. She could see Dr. Short watching her as she left the waiting room and wondered why he looked so worried. Suddenly she felt panic rise.

  What could she buy Robert for Christmas? It abated a little as she thought how she could afford to buy him a decent present; she could afford to buy herself something nice as well. But she wouldn’t have to, he would buy her something. But what should she buy him? It wasn’t worth asking the women at work, what would they know about buying someone like Robert a present? All they knew was what they read in the magazines, and soon she would be in them. Of course, she could ask Stephanie. Stephanie would have some idea. Stephanie would help her.

  *****

  Stephanie flipped her phone open without thinking when she heard it ring.

  ‘Hi there,’ She called cheerily. It could only be one of four people, as they were the only ones she had given her new number to so far. ‘Hello?’ she called a little louder, thinking it must be a bad signal when there was no reply. She waited a few seconds before pulling the phone away from her ear to look at the number registered on the display. A slight unease started in her stomach. “No number”. Putting the phone back to her ear she called again, ‘Hello? Who’s there? Is that you mum?’ Silence. ‘Cammy?’ She felt the anger rise, trying to keep it out of her voice. ‘Robert? Is it you?’

  ‘Well Hello, Steph.’ There was a pause, ‘And who is Robert?’

  She heard a male voice, whispery and throaty, but didn’t recognise it. The unease spread, her heart now responding to fear and anger.

  ‘Oh for godsake! What is it you want? Who are you?’ She paused, waiting for an answer, when there was none she asked. ‘How’d you get this number?’

  She heard laughter, still throaty, but not as deep as the voice.

  ‘Now that’d be telling.’ He said, slow and deliberate, but back to deep and throaty. ‘I wanted to hear your voice, and ask you how the dogs are.’

  Stephanie looked around anxiously. She spotted them sniffing around in the undergrowth, their tails high in the air, happy and wagging. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She felt her heart slow down a pace and then wiped her free hand down her jeans. Holding the phone firmly to her ear she said, using her extra calm voice she usually reserved for clients,

  ‘What is it you want?’

  Silence. She was tempted to scream into the phone demanding an answer, but she clenched her fist and held her mouth closed; playing his game. She thought of disconnecting him, but that would let him know he had upset her. She held her breath waiting, not saying anything. Eventually she heard,

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ followed by the sound of lips being smacked together, exaggeratedly, blowing her a kiss, before the phone went dead.

  Standing still, staring at the phone, she had a strong instinct to throw it as hard as she could at the nearest tree. How had he got her new number? It had to be Robert! Disguising his voice. Surely he wasn’t that stupid? No, she’d ruled him out. But to make sure she pressed fast dial and listened to it ring. Almost immediately, he answered.

  ‘Steph, how’s it going? I was going to phone you later. With good news.’

  She thought he sounded tired or strained.

  ‘Good news?’

  ‘Yes. Sarah. She’s coming to dinner next Tuesday. Just as you wanted?’ There was insecurity in his voice

  ‘That’s great. Yes, that’s wonderful,’ she tried to sound enthusiastic, but she could still hear the other voice in her head. ‘Robert, did you call me a few moments ago.’

  ‘No, I’ve been immersed in a painting. Hadn’t realized the time ‘til you called. God I must have been doing it for hours,’ he paused. ‘I feel shattered. So? Is Tuesday ok?’

  ‘Fine.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘Steph? Are you ok? What’s happened to all your excitement? I thought you’d be a bit more interested?’ She heard disappointment.

  ‘You’re quite sure you didn’t call me?’ But she knew the answer. Just a faint hope she was wrong.

  ‘Steph! I said I’ve been painting! You know what I’m like. The phone ringing gave me quite a jolt. Steph, what’s wrong?’

  His voice sounded genuinely concerned.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She lifted her voice to convince him. ‘I’ll call you later, when I get home, for the details. Great news,’ she closed her phone before he could say anymore. It obviously wasn’t Robert, unless he had suddenly developed good acting skills. She knew him too well, and he knew that.

  Calling the dogs to her side, she turned back towards the car. She had chosen to walk on the downs today so she could see around her, frustrated that recently the woods hadn’t felt a safe place to be, even with the dogs. She thought the security precautions she had taken would be enough to make her feel safe, but it wasn’t working. She was going to have to go to the police, but then she would start to lose control. She laughed at herself and the way she tried to kid herself. She wasn’t in control.

  He was. Whoever he was.

  He was beginning to take complete control and she would not have it.

  *****

  Robert threw the telephone onto the settee and looked back at his painting. It still wasn’t fucking right. Even after all those hours he had just spent on it. If Stephanie hadn’t phoned he’d still be with it. Why hadn’t he remembered to turn the mobile off! The sensation was broken; his concentration gone. He wanted to kick it, but held back. It may be possible to save it still. But he hated it. Hated it. Why couldn’t he get this one right? He had been so sure it would be right this time. He’d forgotten how many times he’d attempted it, it just would not come right. Becky had even called it a self portrait! Bitch. Shitty little bitch. But he’d shown her what happened to stupid bitches!

  There was a slight tinge of regret as he thought of Becky. She had so nearly been perfect for him, but then she let him down. If she had been just a little smarter she would have done. Not the real thing, but a very close replica with some more work. Now he had to think about Sarah and she was far from perfect. So different. But Stephanie liked her.

  He thought back over his conversation with Stephanie word by word, replaying it all in his head as he imagined her at home in the kitchen, except he didn’t know what her kitchen looked like, or any of the rooms for that matter, but he liked to imagine her in the kitchen.

  He had a good idea what it might look like, knowing her tastes, so let his imagination fill in the gaps. As he played the conversation back he was sure something was wrong. Had she changed her mind? She certainly didn’t sound very enthusiastic. She had asked for Tuesday, the 21st? He was sure she had. Had he done something wrong? Fuck the painting. He walked out of the conservatory and screamed,

  ‘Terry, Terry, where the fuck are you?’

  He sat on the sofa in the lounge staring into the fireplace as he waited for her to come running. He could hear her footsteps slopping across the hallway as she approached.

  ‘Right, I’ve got two people for dinner on Tuesday. What are you going to cook for them? And make it something decent, something special. It’s supposed to be a pre-Christmas dinner party.’ He continued to stare into the flames, seeing Stephanie’s head emerge and then burn away.

  ‘Um, what sort of meal d’you want? D’you want a three course meal, two courses, five course banquet? What? Who are the two you have invited? Not that Becky?’

  Robert looked at her.

  ‘Becky? D’you seriously think she’d come back here again? Anyway, what the fuck business is it of yours?’r />
  ‘I d’know? So if it’s not her? Who is it?’

  Robert stared back at the fire. Maybe he would phone her again? Why not? Why shouldn’t she come back again?

  ‘So? You going to tell me?’ Terry persisted.

  ‘Stephanie. So it has to be special, and you know the kind of thing she likes. Nothing heavy, no fish. And some friend of hers, Sarah. I went out with her other night, remember?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ She turned to walk out of the room, but as she got to the door, he called,

  ‘And get that Becky on the phone, I want to talk to her.’ He watched her raise her eyebrows. ‘Just do as I say,’ he shouted. Fucking woman. Why did he put up with her? But he knew he wouldn’t easily find a replacement, there’d been too many before who hadn’t been able to live with his ways.

  Terry handed him the phone.

  ‘Becky for you.’

  ‘That was quick!’ She walked away, ignoring him. Robert took a long drag on his cigarette and then spoke in his most charming voice.

  ‘Becky. How are you? Did you get the flowers? And the perfume?’ There was only silence. Very softly, he continued, ‘Becky? Look I’m really truly sorry about what happened the other night. Honestly, if I could take it back, I would. I’ve been so stressed. That isn’t what I’m like. You know that. You know me. I’m not that sort of person. I just got frustrated.’ Still silence down the phone. ‘I want to make it up to you. Won’t you let me make it up to you? Why don’t you come over? Tonight, come over tonight? I’ll come and get you?’ Her gentle breathing informed him she was still there listening. ‘Becky, I’m on my knees here. I’m begging you to forgive me. Please. We’ll have a bottle of wine and we’ll sit and talk. That’s all, just talk. If that’s all you want to do.’ He heard her clear her throat. ‘Please Becky, I like you so much. You know I do.’