A Spring Affair

by Milly Johnson

  Phil finished the call to the travel agent in a foul mood. The fortnight deadline he had mentally given Lou to come to her senses was now up and there was no sign whatsoever of her returning. He had left it to the very last minute before cancelling the holiday they should have been taking tomorrow. It would have been worth losing a couple of grand if she turned up that night with her suitcase packed full of sarongs, but it didn’t look very likely now. In saying that, no divorce papers had arrived, which cheered him slightly. Then he thought of the money she had taken out of the business account and he was thrown back into a place of frustration again. How ironic it was that this non-affair could spell the end of his marriage, when the others hadn’t. They’d survived the Susan Peach thing beautifully, but Lou had known nothing about the one-night stand at a sales conference early in their marriage. That was his first fall from grace and he had felt so guilty and awful about enjoying the thrill of this encounter that he had tried to make it up to Lou by telling her they could start trying for a family if she wanted. Thank goodness nothing had come of that. Then there was a near-miss with that old bird in Corfu, whose name escaped him even if the vision of her graveyard teeth would stay with him for ever. He’d had the luck of the devil that night for it would have been a tragedy to lose his marriage for a much-regretted and drunken bonk against an olive tree.

  He had, out of respect for Lou, worn a condom every time though. Plus he didn’t want to get one up the duff and relive the whole Sharon nightmare all over again. Talking of which, he had better write out that cheque for her and the brats and have done with it. Now what sort of flowers did Lou like again?

  Just before lunch, Bradley said there was a pretty woman who’d asked to see him privately in his office. Phil smiled the smile of the victorious. I knew it, he thought, expecting to find a contrite Lou with her tail between her legs. But his smile soon dropped when he saw that the ‘pretty woman’ was Moon-Loon Michelle with those legs that he felt sure would glow in ultra-violet light, and mutton-dressed-as-lamb boots. He led her into the office out of staff earshot and politely offered her a coffee which he hoped she would refuse. She didn’t, but he felt obliged to accommodate her, seeing as she’d brought him the present of a big Tupperware carton–although he wished he’d known it was only homemade bloody cornflake buns before he’d invited her into his inner sanctum.

  ‘Is it true Lou’s left you?’ Michelle asked, wandering slowly around his office.

  Pretty? He needed to get Bradley an emergency eye-test.

  ‘No, of course it’s not true,’ said Phil indignantly. ‘We’re just giving each other some space for a while. Lou has a few problems.’

  ‘She’s got a shop in the Townend, hasn’t she?’ said Michelle. ‘A café, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Phil, even though he hadn’t a clue. He wondered what the hell Michelle was doing here and why she was asking all these questions. ‘Who on earth told you she’d left me?’ he said.

  ‘One of the builders who is working at the café has a sister who goes to my therapy group. He said she was living up above it.’

  Oh, that was where she was staying, was it? Well, the novelty of slumming it in a hovel must be nearly at an end, thank goodness.

  ‘Therapy, eh?’ said Phil absently.

  ‘Women in Crisis,’ said Michelle.

  What a surprise.

  ‘I just came to see if you were OK,’ said Michelle, attempting a bright smile. She wasn’t bad-looking when her face cracked, thought Phil, although he suspected that was rarer than Halley’s Comet.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Phil, who had been considerably better since the new cleaner started a few days ago. It saved him having to learn how to try and decipher the mysteries of the washer-drier, and she’d fixed the central heating. Miserable bugger, though–she had exacted extra money for the pigsty she’d had to tackle when she first arrived and muttered the words ‘environmental health’ a few too many times for his liking. And no, she didn’t cook, was the answer to his question.

  ‘I think she’s mad, for the record,’ said Michelle, looking at him without blinking.

  ‘Well, she hasn’t left me. She’ll be back soon.’ Phil made that point clear.

  ‘If you want to talk, you know, I’m a good listener,’ said Michelle.

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t have anything to talk about,’ said Phil with a smile that cloaked the ‘bugger off’ vibes he was firing at her.

  ‘If you want any help around the house, I’m here for you.’

  ‘I’ve got a cleaner,’ said Phil, throwing out even stronger vibes.

  ‘We could go out for a meal if you wanted some…company.’ She put a sinister emphasis on that last word.

  ‘I’m so busy here, I’ve hardly time,’ said Phil, ‘but thanks for offering. Very kind of you.’

  ‘Phil. If you’re free, I am. We could stay in and I can comfort you.’

  Phil scrunched up his face in thought. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

  ‘Come again?’ he asked, with a need for further clarification.

  ‘If you like,’ said Michelle seductively. She was behind him now, kneading her fingers into his stiff shoulders.

  ‘Whoa fucking whoa!’ said Phil, standing up and shrugging her off.

  ‘Well, it might just make her change her mind if she sees someone else has moved in on her man,’ said Michelle.

  ‘No way, lady!’ said Phil, feeling like he had suddenly been transported into a bad dream. ‘Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be one of Lou’s mates?’

  ‘Was,’ said Michelle, with her lip wobbling. ‘She threw me away as well as you.’

  ‘She hasn’t thrown me away!’ God, where was a big crucifix when you needed one? ‘And that’s just sick, trying to make her jealous. I think you’d better go, love.’ In the direction of the nearest strait-jacket shop.

  ‘I don’t want a relationship, you know. You’ve had an affair before–it wouldn’t be the first time. She doesn’t have to know.’

  ‘You’re nuts. Piss off, please.’

  Michelle swung her bag onto her shoulder and stormed out of the office with chilli-hot tears stinging her eyes. The feeling of rejection never failed to reduce her to rubble, especially when she had just been rejected by someone who had as few sexual morals as Phil Winter. At least this new therapy group was helping her to work through things. She had made a new special friend there too who was coming round for tea that night. They’d have a good no-holds-barred natter about this later on. Her name was Sue–she’d looked a bit like Lou with her green, green eyes. Sue was having a really tough time too. She had just been dumped by this married bloke who didn’t want to hurt her. An infinitely more decent bloke than a man like Phil Winter could ever hope to be.

  Phil got a coffee to steady his nerves. Shagging one of Lou’s mates was not on–besides which, she was too skinny with crap tits. Lou’s sister had tried to seduce him a few times too, the saucy bitch, rubbing up against him and sticking her breasts in his face when Lou wasn’t around. Actually, thinking about it, she did it when Lou was around. He knew he could have had her any time–that was enough for his ego. But even Phil Winter had his morals.

  Across town, a massive Italian coffee-machine was spurting into action, and soon the aroma of raspberries reached Lou’s receptive nostrils.

  Now that is a winner, she thought, and one that definitely wouldn’t be joining the coconut-meringue-flavoured coffee on the reject list. She had found she could only test a few at a time as her taste-buds got confused. The previous day she had realized it was time to stop when she thought she was drinking ‘crème brûlée’ flavour only to find out it was ‘midnight mint’. She turned round to hear a gentle knock on the front door. A small, well-wrapped up figure was peering through the glass. Her mother. Lou felt her adrenaline start to pump. She tried to stay calm as she unlocked the door and Renee walked tentatively in.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, with a watery, nervous smile.

  �
�Hello, Mum,’ said Lou, and they gave each other a dry kiss on the cheek.

  ‘How are you?’ asked Renee.

  ‘Fine,’ said Lou. ‘And yourself?’

  ‘Not too bad, not too bad,’ said Renee, looking around her at the stark black and white décor rather than try to make eye-contact with her daughter. ‘It looks very nice in here.’

  ‘Well, we had a good set of lads working for us. They’ve done wonders. We’ve still got the kitchen part to finish off, though. There’s new stuff arriving every day.’

  ‘Are you going to put some pictures up on the wall as well?’ Renee asked.

  ‘Yes–big black and white photographs. They’re on order,’ Lou answered, with a prickly tone.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be nice,’ said Renee.

  Blimey! thought Lou. That was edging dangerously close to a positive comment.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she offered. ‘I’m just testing out some raspberry truffle flavour. That’s what you can probably smell.’

  ‘That sounds nice,’ said Renee. She sat down stiffly on one of the black cushioned benches and Lou brought over a full cup for her.

  ‘I’ve just been in town getting some bits in for our trip to America,’ Renee told Lou, slipping off her gloves.

  ‘Yes, it’ll be nice for you,’ said Lou. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Renee said politely and took a sip. Then: ‘This is very nice.’

  They sat in silence for a little while as Lou tried to think of something to say that didn’t have the word ‘nice’ in it.

  ‘Where have you been staying then?’ said Renee. She was speaking like a little girl on her best behaviour. Lou found herself about to temper the truth before her mind told her to say it as it was.

  ‘Upstairs here.’

  ‘Here?’ said Renee, with some incredulity, but she sat quickly on what she might instinctively have said, and asked instead, ‘Is there much room?’

  ‘No, but it’ll do for now. I’ll find somewhere more permanent to live soon.’

  Renee opened her mouth to say something and closed it again so Lou spoke it for her. ‘Yes, Mum, I do know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I was just going to say you could have come home to me,’ said Renee quietly. ‘I know you wouldn’t have wanted to, but your bedroom will always be your bedroom if you need it.’

  ‘Thank you, Mum,’ said Lou, a little shamefacedly after that. Her mother looked so dreadfully uncomfortable that Lou was forced to appreciate how much courage it must have taken her to come there, especially after how they left things last time. Renee was still huddled up in her thin tweed coat and her little furry hat, and as Lou looked at the hands holding the cup, with their thin one-ply-skin, she noticed just how old her mother was getting. She didn’t want to fight with her, whatever had passed between them. They were just two very different people and they always would be.

  What’s more, over the past couple of weeks, Lou had also been remembering the woman who ripped plasters off her five-year-old knee with a ‘one-two-three-The-Beverley-Sisters’ chant to distract her from the sudden sting. The woman who always had a cooked tea on the table for her when she came home from school and nagged her to eat her broccoli, long before it was recognized as a superfood. And the woman who made sure she never went to school with unpolished shoes, unbrushed hair or school shirts that weren’t whiter than a high-definition Persil advert. And the woman who had dragged herself out of bed with flu to watch Lou’s part in the primary-school nativity–as Herod. (She never had Victorianna’s blonde ringlets that landed her the more glamorous angel parts.) Renee was, after all–as imperfect as she was, as annoying as she was–her mother.

  ‘I’ve just been trying out a cheesecake recipe. Incredibly low-fat, but retaining most of the taste, or so I hope,’ said Lou, cutting off a small slice and holding up the plate. ‘Want some?’

  ‘I’m not one for cakes, Lou.’

  ‘It’s only a little slice and I’d appreciate your opinion,’ said Lou.

  ‘Oh!’ said Renee.

  I’ve surprised her, thought Lou, with as much surprise as she had inadvertently caused. Maybe she was right too about some things. Maybe I don’t make her feel special.

  Lou came to sit down at the bench with two plates of cheesecake.

  ‘It’s very nice,’ said Renee, licking her spoon. ‘Very creamy.’

  ‘Does it taste lemony enough to you?’ said Lou.

  Renee tasted some more. ‘You could afford to add a bit more lemon. It’s a bit…tame.’

  ‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ said Lou, sampling her cake again. ‘If you help me perfect this, I’ll name it after you,’ she promised with a half-smile.

  ‘Like Anna Pavlova!’ said Renee. ‘And Dame Nelly Melba.’

  ‘And Doreen Banana Split,’ said Lou.

  Renee was concentrating too hard to get the joke. She took another dainty forkful. ‘If you want my opinion…’ she said, looking at Lou carefully to see if she really did, and Lou affirmed this with an eager nod. ‘…I think your base could do with a touch of ginger as well. No wait–maybe cardamom or walnut–to set off the flavour of your lemon.’

  Lou took a forkful and tried to imagine the taste of that. Renee did the same.

  ‘I think you’re right, Mum,’ said Lou. ‘Thank you.’

  Renee looked at her daughter and smiled. Shaun’s leaf-green eyes looked back at her.

  ‘I do love you, you know,’ said Renee, coughing back a throatful of tears that suddenly blindsided her. ‘And I am proud of you.’

  ‘I love you too, Mum.’

  They carried on eating, mother and daughter, Lou’s first customers in her beautiful new half-finished coffee shop.

  Chapter 58

  ‘Lou, my love, I’ve got to move. I’ve got the most awful cramp,’ said Tom, gently shifting a sleeping Lou over and standing up to dance away the grip in his leg.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lou, stretching, and then she noticed the time and bounced to her feet. ‘I’d better go, otherwise I’ll never get up tomorrow.’

  Letting Lou go back to the flat intact after the thoughts Tom was having about her almost did his head in. He knew she had her reasons for keeping him at arm’s length, but was it a cover for her cooling off? In the last couple of weeks she had seemed to yawn an awful lot, which hadn’t exactly put him at ease. She’d blamed it on the physical tiredness of not only assisting the workmen to clean up, but also helping some little old lady to clear out her house. He had been rather touched that evening when she had fallen asleep on him during the big snuggly film-watching session, but in the last half-hour he’d had a visit from a few bad-thought fairies who insisted on tormenting him with a distinctly more negative perspective.

  ‘One last cuddle,’ said Tom, and pulled her down on the sofa again. He held her face in his hands and smiled at her.

  ‘Lou, you have eyes like emeralds, has anyone ever told you?’

  Lou gave a little laugh.

  ‘Did I say something funny?’ said Tom, trying to discreetly adjust his trousers.

  ‘It’s just that Phil used to say that Sharon–you know, the one he had the twins with–had eyes like sapphires. It just struck me as a strange parallel,’ said Lou, then she realized what she had said and slapped her hand over her mouth. ‘God, what am I saying? I’m sorry, Tom, that was insensitive.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Tom, who was thinking that Phil was still very much on her mind. His arms closed around her and he enjoyed the nearness of her whilst he had her. However long that would be for.

  ‘Did you ever see Sharon?’ he asked.

  ‘Once, at Christmas, when we were in Meadowhall.’

  ‘And was she as gorgeous as he made out?’

  ‘She was, like a Swede. That’s a Bjorn Borg sort of Swede, not a turnip.’

  ‘I guessed,’ said Tom with a smile. Then: ‘What, she looked like Bjorn Borg?’

  ‘No, silly,’ said Lou digging him in the ribs. ‘Sh
e was very pretty, with striking Nordic colouring–and the children were so like her too, except they had really beautiful brown eyes. Don’t know who they got those from, though, because Phil’s are blue too and so are everyone’s in his family. Anyway, Phil just looked straight through them as if they didn’t exist. It was so odd–horrible, actually. I couldn’t get it out of my head for ages.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how anyone could do that to their own children,’ said Tom.

  ‘Me neither. Anyway, are you ready for your Brando in the morning?’ asked Lou, changing the subject. Deb was unveiling her Brando creation first thing tomorrow. Odd time to have cake, but Deb had insisted on the timing.

  ‘Course I am,’ said Tom, pulling Lou even nearer to him. She felt so good, he couldn’t bear it if she went back to Phil. Tom had already assumed that Phil wouldn’t give her the quickie divorce she wanted and the battle would be bloody when he responded to the petition. Unless he wins her back first. Tom tried to chase that thought away. He had a feeling of dread which he couldn’t quite shake off that this relationship really was too good to last. They sat there for a while just being together, the comfortable quietness broken only by the crackle of the fire logs. Tom couldn’t ever remember feeling so happy or so sad at the same time.

  The next morning Phil was feeling positive. That was, until the jolly, whistling postman delivered a long stiff envelope into his hands as he was locking the front door. Cripwell, Oliver & Clapham–Solicitors it said on the corner. He ripped it open to find that Lou had filed for divorce. He couldn’t believe it. Why? It was a question that haunted him on the drive to the showroom as his brain tried to make sense of her actions. Eventually, it came up with the answer: his wife had gone too far and now she didn’t know how to turn back without a bit of help. As such, he was still convinced the situation wasn’t beyond the pale. He had slept well and was thinking positive thoughts–like today was one day nearer to his wife coming home to him. He missed her. Not just because she kept the house clean or cooked great meals, he simply missed her presence in his life. He hadn’t realized just how much she oiled his wheels. On the day she came home, he’d fill the bedroom with flowers for her. He’d book a table in a restaurant. He’d cancel Fat Jack and Maureen and Celia coming around at Christmas. They were OK, he and Lou. Really–he could recover this with a bit of effort.