by Pamela Evans
That’s a fact, thought Joe, but said, ‘What does Jane think about the new car?’
‘You know Jane - she likes what I like, and goes along with anything I decide to do.’
‘That’s true.’
In fact Joe often wished that Jane would assert herself more with her husband, who had squeezed her personality almost out of existence. Mick was a good husband and a wonderful provider, no one could deny that. But he had sidelined his wife into becoming a mere extension of himself, in the same way Wilf had with Rita.
Because Jane was Joe’s only child and meant more to him than anyone else in the world, it was painful for him to see her so thoroughly dominated, even though in fairness it didn’t seem to worry her.
‘No point in asking you to put your coat on and come down and see the car, I suppose?’ said Mick.
‘I’ll see it on Sunday.’
‘Okay.’
What was the matter with these people? Mick asked himself. Didn’t they realise what a huge achievement becoming the owner of a new Jaguar was for someone from his background? Surely he deserved a little more enthusiasm?
‘I’ll see you on Sunday then . . . pick you up around midday.’
‘Okay, mate. Thanks for coming.’
‘No problem.’
‘See you, Mick.’
‘See you.’
When the door had finally closed behind him, Joe heaved a deep sigh of relief and went back to his armchair. He could only take his vociferous son-in-law in very small doses.
‘Hello, love,’ said Jane sleepily when Mick came into the bedroom.
‘Still awake then, babe?’ he said, unbuttoning his shirt.
‘Only just.’
‘Sorry I was so long.’
‘’S’all right.’ She peered at him drowsily over the sheet, the bedside light gleaming on her naked shoulders. ‘Well, were they all suitably impressed with the new car?’
‘My mum and dad thought it was terrific,’ he said, because he couldn’t bear to admit his father’s true reaction, not even to Jane.
‘Did you get to see my dad?’ she asked, yawning heavily.
‘Yeah. He was all ready for bed so he’ll see the car on Sunday.’
‘Was he okay?’
‘I think so . . . he isn’t much of a talker, though, is he?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Don’t worry about your dad, babe. He’s fine. He was watching the telly.’
‘Thanks for going to see him.’
‘That’s okay.’
Mick went into the bathroom. When he got into bed he smelled of toothpaste and aftershave.
‘You smell nice,’ said his wife, snuggling up to him.
‘So do you.’
Mick was a very passionate man. When he made love to Jane, all his self-doubt was swept away by an all-consuming sense of power. Tonight he was so rough, she had to ask him to take it easy.
‘Hey, Mick. What’s got into you?’ she asked when it was over. ‘I’ll have bruises like beetroots tomorrow.’
‘Sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ he said, gently drawing her to him. ‘I must have got carried away because I love you so much.’
‘I know,’ she said, instantly forgiving him. ‘I love you too.’
The intimate mood was shattered by the shrill sound of the telephone ringing on Mick’s bedside table. It was the police to tell him that his warehouse was on fire.
By the time Mick got to Brentford the fire was almost out and the warehouse reduced to a smouldering ruin. He wasn’t allowed to go inside because the firemen were still clearing up in there but he could see from behind the police cordons that the building was completely gutted.
‘Any idea how it started?’ he asked one of the firemen who was rolling up the hose near to where Mick was standing.
‘Can’t say for sure, mate.’
‘You must have an idea, though,’ he said, devastated by what had happened. He thought it must be the work of an arsonist. How else could a fire have got started when the premises were empty and closed for the night?
‘We reckon it started in the office.’
‘Faulty wiring?’ Mick suggested in a sudden burst of inspiration.
‘We didn’t see any evidence of that,’ said the fireman.
‘No?’
‘No. It was more likely to have been someone being careless with a fag.’
‘Any sign of a break in?’
‘No.’
‘Oh . . . so it must have been started by someone with access to the place, then,’ muttered Mick, almost to himself.
‘S’pose so, mate,’ said the fireman. ‘But it isn’t my job to work out the cause.’
‘No, ’course not.’
An uneasy feeling nagged at him and grew into a ghastly suspicion. Mick turned hot, sweat drenching his skin then turning ice-cold. He had been in the office earlier. Had he been smoking? Yes, he remembered putting a cigarette into the ashtray while he rolled up the catalogue and stuffed it into his pocket, just before he left. Surely he would have picked it up again, though?
With a burning rush of shame, he recalled lighting a cigarette immediately he’d left the building, which meant he must have left the other one in the ashtray. So he himself was to blame for the fire! Thousands of poundsworth of stock destroyed because of his own carelessness.
But he alone knew the truth and he had no intention of admitting it to anyone. He would have to be honest about being in the office earlier this evening, of course, but not a damned soul could prove he’d been smoking in there.
He stared miserably at the bleak scene around him. The building was still steaming, the firemen’s voices echoing eerily in the damp and misty night air. Mick’s throat and chest felt sore from the smoke and he retched painfully as he coughed, eyes streaming.
Cold with fear as the ghastly implications of this disaster registered fully, he walked away from the scene of devastation and headed for his car with his handkerchief held to his face.
Chapter Two
‘So, Mick’s still waiting for the insurance money to come through then,’ said Jane’s sister-in-law and close friend Marie, who was visiting with her offspring, Melanie and Roy, of a similar age to Davey and Pip.
‘That’s right,’ replied Jane, setting down a tray of tea and biscuits on an occasional table and handing her guest a cup. The children were making the most of the sunshine on this fine June afternoon and playing outside in the garden, which meant the two women had the lounge to themselves.
‘It’s certainly taking them long enough to pay out,’ snorted Marie, angry on behalf of her beloved brother. ‘It must be all of three months since the fire.’
‘I suppose they must still be checking it out,’ said Jane.
‘Standard procedure, probably,’ said Marie. ‘For the insurance company to make sure there’s nothing dodgy about the claim . . . that the fire wasn’t started deliberately or anything,’ she said, helping herself to a digestive biscuit and dunking it in her tea. ‘It still seems an awfully long time to have to wait, though.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jane, sipping her own tea.
‘When they do pay out, they’ll reimburse him for loss of profits while his business isn’t functioning, won’t they?’ said Marie. ‘So he won’t lose out in the long run.’
‘I imagine that would be in the terms of his insurance policy but I never question him about business matters, as you know.’
‘He’s bound to have taken care of that, I should think.’
‘Sure to,’ said Jane, nodding. ‘He says his standing with the bank is good, too, so there’s no real problem.’
‘Good.’
‘I thought perhaps we’d have to pull our horns in until he gets the insurance money but he says there’s no need for anything like that.’
‘That must be a relief?’
‘Not really,’ said Jane. ‘It wouldn’t hurt us to live more frugally for a short time.’
‘Talking about banks,’ said Marie on a
lighter note, ‘have you heard about this bank card thing that’s just come in? You can use it to buy things on credit, apparently.’
‘Yes, I remember reading something about that in the paper the other day,’ said Jane. ‘They’re talking about having cash-dispensing machines outside banks eventually, too.’
‘You mean like chocolate machines?’
‘Yeah. Apparently you put the card in and out comes the dosh.’
‘That’s incredible! I can’t see that ever becoming a reality.’
‘It does seem a bit unlikely,’ agreed Jane. ‘No prizes for guessing who’ll be one of the first to have a card, though.’
Marie’s expression softened affectionately. ‘Mick’s probably already arranged to have one, if the truth be told.’
‘That’s our Mick,’ said Jane fondly. ‘If it’s the latest thing, he has to have it.’
‘Has he had any luck finding another warehouse?’
‘Not so far as I know.’
‘It’s a good job he was only renting the other place. At least he doesn’t have the responsibility of getting the fire damage put right,’ said Marie. ‘That must be a relief to him.’
‘He hasn’t said much about it, actually,’ said her sister-in-law. ‘You know what Mick’s like for keeping his business affairs to himself. He just says everything is under control and I’m not to worry.’
‘That’s Mick for you,’ said Marie evenly. ‘He’s always been very protective of you . . . even before you were rich. He put you on a pedestal right from the start.’
‘I don’t know about a pedestal but he is very protective,’ admitted Jane.
‘I wouldn’t mind some of that sort o’ pampering myself now and again,’ declared Marie jokingly. ‘My Eddie, bless him, doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.’
‘Mick isn’t so much romantic as macho!’
‘Sees himself as a bit of a caveman, I think,’ agreed Marie, and they both hooted with laughter.
‘Your Eddie’s a good sort, though, isn’t he?’ said Jane.
‘Oh, yes.’ A tall, angular woman with similar colouring to her brother, Marie’s face softened with a smile, her dark eyes shining with warmth at the thought of her bus-driver husband. ‘Eddie’s the best,’ she said warmly. Her large features were emphasised by the fact that she wore her black hair taken back rather too severely into a pleat.
‘You wouldn’t really want him to be as masterful as Mick, would you?’ said Jane, because Marie always seemed to be the more assertive partner in her marriage.
‘Seriously, I think it would drive me nuts. Anyway, Eddie’s just an ordinary working bloke on a set wage and we live in a different world from you and Mick, in our little council house,’ said Marie. ‘He brings home his wages and we work out our budget together.’
‘Quite different from us,’ said Jane.
Marie nodded then sipped her tea, pondering. ‘To be perfectly honest,’ she said, ‘I rather like the idea of its being a joint effort. There isn’t much left over for treats when the essentials have been paid for, but at least I know exactly what we can afford. I don’t have exciting surprises like you do, with flash new cars suddenly appearing on the drive.’ She glanced around the room which was light and airy with mint green walls and a soft carpet, patches of sunlight striking the wall above the marble fireplace. ‘Or a beautiful house like this to live in - but at least I feel in control.’
‘I’ve got so used to Mick’s taking care of our finances, I wouldn’t have a clue where to start,’ admitted Jane.
‘Doesn’t that make you feel a bit . . . sort of ineffectual? ’
‘I don’t really think about it,’ confessed her sister-in-law. ‘It’s become a habit after all this time.’
‘I suppose it would do.’
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, nibbling biscuits and drinking tea.
‘So where’s Mick now?’ enquired Marie after a while. ‘Out looking for another warehouse?’
‘I’m not sure. He doesn’t say much about where he goes during the day,’ said Jane. ‘Just says he’s out on business.’
‘Let’s hope he’s back in business properly before long.’
‘He will be, don’t worry. This is Mick we’re talking about.’
‘All this waiting about is getting him into a bit of a state, though, isn’t it?’ said Marie, frowning. ‘I thought he seemed very edgy when he called at our place the other day.’
‘Who wouldn’t be on edge after losing all their stock and having the aggravation of having to set up in business somewhere else?’
Marie was right, though. Mick had been extremely tense this last three months. Bad-tempered and moody. And she knew he wasn’t sleeping properly.
‘Have they found out how the fire started?’ asked Marie.
‘Not so far as I know. Mick seems to think it must have been caused by faulty electrical wiring.’
‘That makes sense. The electrics in these old buildings can be lethal.’
‘More tea?’
‘Please.’
Jane poured them both another cup and they moved on to more general matters.
‘So what time would you like me to have the kids here for Davey’s birthday party on Saturday?’ asked Marie. ‘I know it says three on the invitation but I expect you’d like me to get here earlier to give you a hand?’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Jane. ‘Come as soon as you can after lunch.’
‘Sure.’
When Marie had finished her tea, she yawned and stretched.
‘Well, as much as I’m enjoying this relaxation, it’s time I was making tracks . . . or there’ll be no dinner on the table when Eddie gets in.’
‘I’ll run you home in the car, if you like?’ offered Jane. ‘To save you waiting for the bus back to Chiswick.’
‘Well . . . if you’re sure?’ said Marie. ‘I don’t want to put you out.’
‘You won’t be, and Davey and Pip will enjoy the ride,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll go and call them all in from the garden and we’ll go whenever you’re ready.’
Mick was home when Jane got back from Chiswick. He was sitting in an armchair in the lounge, staring blankly at the television set.
‘Hello, love,’ she said, leaning over and kissing the top of his head. ‘Had a good day?’
His reply to that was a gruff, ‘Where have you been?’
‘Taking Marie home,’ she told him. ‘She came for the afternoon.’
‘Oh.’ A pause. ‘Are you making tea?’
‘I wasn’t going to. I’m about to start getting the meal . . .’
‘Make me some tea first,’ he demanded in a tone that didn’t invite argument.
She felt irritated by his command, which was unusual for her because normally she waited on him without giving it a second thought.
‘Okay, I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, tight-lipped.
Delighted to have their daddy home so early, the children hovered around his chair, chattering to him excitedly and vying with each other for his attention.
‘Roy and Melanie got into big trouble with Aunt Marie today, Daddy,’ announced Pip, climbing on to her father’s lap.
‘Did they?’ he said absently.
‘Yes.’ She fidgeted, snuggling closer to him and smacking a wet kiss on his cheek. ‘They were being ever so naughty . . . quarrelling about whose turn it was to go on the swing.’
‘Is that right?’ His daughter wriggled and squirmed, arms around his neck, hugging him. ‘Sit still, Pip, please, or you’ll have to get down.’
‘Mel and Davey were naughty too,’ she continued, sitting still now. ‘Davey called Mel a show-off and she said he was smelly.’
‘Don’t tell tales, Pip,’ rebuked Jane, on her way to the kitchen.
‘She’s always telling tales,’ chanted Davey, who was watching Jackanory with half an eye.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘Now then, no squabblin
g, you two,’ said Jane, pausing for a moment at the door.
Davey clambered exuberantly on to his father’s lap alongside his sister as he often did. But before he had a chance to settle, both children were forcibly removed and thrown roughly on to the settee.
‘Sit there and be quiet!’ thundered Mick, glaring at them red-faced, eyes blazing, voice clipped with temper.
Two pairs of startled eyes stared at him.
‘I won’t have you climbing about all over me like a couple of monkeys!’ he raged. ‘You’re little savages, the pair of you.’
They looked bewildered because normally he encouraged them to sit on his lap and never shouted at them. After a few moments’ stunned silence, Pip began to howl and Davey stared warily at his father, the darkness of his eyes emphasised by a deathly pallor.
Hearing the commotion, Jane hurried in from the kitchen.
‘What on earth’s going on in here?’ she wanted to know.
Pip ran over to her mother and clung to her legs, sobbing.
Davey followed and stood at his mother’s side with his mouth trembling.
Mick observed his wife sheepishly, putting his hand to his brow as though his head hurt and that was the excuse for his behaviour.
‘Isn’t a man entitled to some peace in his own home?’
‘What did they do to upset you?’
‘They were using me as a sofa,’ he told her, voice ragged with rage. ‘All I wanted was to sit down quietly in the armchair for a while.’ His fury seemed to increase with every syllable. ‘But there’s no chance of that in this house, is there? Bloody kids jumping all over you . . .’
Jane stared at him in amazement. This incident was quite unprecedented. Disciplining the children was usually left entirely to her. Mick couldn’t get enough of them as a rule and was patient to a fault with them normally.
‘Come on, you two,’ she said, taking them both by the hand. ‘Let’s leave Daddy to some peace and quiet.’
They went with their mother into the kitchen where Jane pacified them and suggested they play in the garden. Pouring Mick a cup of tea, she took it into him and put it rather forcefully on the coffee table near his chair.
‘Look, I know you’re under a lot of pressure, waiting for the insurance money to come through and everything,’ she said, standing in front of him with arms folded, ‘but there’s no need to take it out on the children.’