‘It’s not called begging, Katy, and it isn’t. You’ve a perfect right to claim in times of trouble.’ Susannah lifted the saucepan lid and threw a generous amount of chilli into her concoction. ‘Heaven knows, your father and I must have put enough into the national cake over the years to support this whole village. It’s about time we got a few crumbs of it back.’
‘A few crumbs of what?’ asked Paul, coming back into the kitchen.
‘I don’t have to go to the DSS, do I, Dad?’ Katy sprang over to her father. ‘I don’t have to go and beg?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘Wha-a-t …?’ Susannah began.
‘But why not, Dad?’ Simon jumped in. ‘I’m signing on.’
‘Yes, I thought you might,’ Paul said, ‘and I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about it. There’s no need for either of you to claim dole money; I’d really rather you didn’t.’
‘But, Paul –’
‘I don’t want children of mine having to ask for handouts. I’ll give you whatever you need.’
Katy threw her arms round her father again, but Simon was looking embarrassed.
‘Dad,’ he mumbled, digging ever more deeply with the fork, ‘I don’t want to depend on you …’
‘It’s better than joining the queue, Simon. We’ve never depended on the State for anything and we’re not going to start now. Your mother and I can look after you. Can’t we, Susannah?’
But Susannah could only flounder. ‘Katy,’ she said, suddenly rousing herself, ‘and you, Simon – hadn’t you better go and see what the baby’s getting up to? I think I heard him wake up.’
Simon and Katy exchanged glances, as if to ask each other how anyone could ‘hear’ a baby wake up, unless it actually yelled. Did its eyelids go clunk, or something? But they realised they were being got rid of and wisely took the hint.
‘I can’t believe you just said that!’ Susannah exploded when she and Paul were alone.
‘Said what?’ he asked, dipping a teaspoon into the chilli to taste it. His face was a mask of innocence.
‘You’ve stopped Simon and Katy claiming benefit,’ she accused him, ‘when they’re perfectly entitled to do so.’
‘They may be entitled, but they don’t need it. They’ve got us to help them out.’
‘Yes, but … they won’t always have us, Paul, will they? And anyway, you’ve paid a fortune in taxes for this sort of thing; why dip further into your own pocket?’
‘No one will ever be able to say that I’ve failed to support my children when they needed it.’ He made it sound as though she was failing them.
Susannah glared at him impatiently while the chilli glued itself to the pan.
‘Paul,’ she said eventually, ‘I know you mean well, but I don’t believe you’re doing either of them the least bit of good, cushioning them like this. They have to learn to stand on their own feet, and the sooner they do it the better.
‘They won’t thank you later on in life for depriving them of the lesson; they’ll just look back and see you as some sort of soft great idiot with more money than sense. What you’re doing,’ she added, unable to resist a jibe, ‘looks to me suspiciously like trying to buy love.’
‘Well, no one’s ever going to accuse you of that!’ he flung back at her. He inclined his head towards the pan of chilli. ‘And any mother worth her salt would have remembered that her son is a vegetarian!’
Paul and Susannah hardly exchanged a word throughout the evening, but when they went to bed she realised she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had told him about Harvey’s proposed commission. It might help mend the rift between them, she decided, some good news like that.
‘Harvey Webb came this afternoon,’ she told him while he was tinkering about at the vanity unit with a yard of dental floss.
‘Who?’ he asked, turning from the mirror at last and kicking away his slippers. He threw back his side of the duvet to reveal Gazza curled up in a ball.
‘You know – I told you about him; he’s interested in my mosaics. Which is more than I can say about some people,’ she added tartly, unable to stop herself. So much for mending rifts.
‘Oh, him,’ Paul said, moving the cat to her side of the mattress.
‘Yes, him. And you’ll never guess what: he wants me to make him a mural.’
‘He does?’ Paul sank thoughtfully down, swivelled his head on the pillow, and eyed her for a long minute.
At that moment she was imagining a sun for the design. A sun rising up over a hill.
‘Yes, a mural for his bathroom. He’s doing it up. He wants most of it done in plain tiles, but a panel over the bath in mosaics. That’s where I come in,’ she added unnecessarily. The look in Paul’s eyes was fish-cold.
‘You haven’t got the time,’ he said, turning back to look at the ceiling. End of daft subject, as far as he was concerned.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that, actually.’ She tickled Gazza behind one ear. ‘I could take some of my annual leave.’
‘You haven’t got any left.’
‘I know. I used a lot when we were decorating. And that long weekend finished it off. So I was thinking I might anticipate some.’ It would mean going cap-in-hand to Duffy, and she didn’t relish the thought, but it seemed to be the only solution.
Paul was quick to point out all the pitfalls. ‘Look, you already get less leave than I do. You’ll have nothing left for our holidays. And how long do you think you would need?’
‘A week, I’d say. Yes, a week.’
‘That long? And how much would you be paid?’
‘I was wondering how long it would be before you got around to that. But I haven’t worked it out yet. It’s going to need a lot of thought.’
‘Well, whatever figure you come up with, it’s bound to be prohibitive. Either that or you’ll end up doing it for next to nothing. Really, darling, you can hardly expect to make a living out of this kind of thing. And we are still coming out of a recession.’
His tone implied that she’d be better off selling ski-suits in the Sahara.
‘Thank you so much for your kind encouragement,’ she snapped. ‘Harvey happens to think I’d soon get plenty more commissions, once people have seen what I can do. He thinks I’m on to a good thing and that I should give up my job to concentrate on it.’
‘Oh, he does, does he? He’s going to chip in with all our bills, is he, while you play at being creative?’
‘But you don’t need help with the bills, do you? You’ve got plenty of money to squander on your children. So why can’t you use it to support me? Or don’t I count as much?’
But Paul refrained from answering that one. He rolled over and feigned deep sleep.
CHAPTER 16
As soon as Julia had gone to work Harvey pulled on his thick cable sweater and snatched up a bunch of keys. This was the second day of following her, and he hoped it would be better than the first.
He had always fancied himself in the role of private eye but already had reason to be glad he’d never taken it up as a career. Yesterday he had nearly frozen, sitting in one side-turning after another waiting for Julia to emerge from her various hair appointments. And the boredom had been excruciating.
Worse still was the niggle at the back of his mind telling him that snooping on one’s own wife – or on anyone else’s, come to that – was hardly cricket. There was something horribly pathetic about it too: he ought to be able to ask Julia outright what she was doing, not be going about things like this. That they couldn’t discuss matters openly did not bode well for their marriage.
No, it all left a nasty taste in the mouth. But he couldn’t stop. The thought that today might be the day he discovered how exam notes fitted into Julia’s life spurred him to go through the whole sad business again.
Of course, even if he were to accomplish his mission, he would still be left with the whys and wherefores to work out. But he would worry about that later; one thing at a time.
‘My – er – records,’ she told him, rushing into the kitchen. ‘If I don’t make notes of who pays what, I’m lost. Oh –!’ She reappeared with a large ring binder tucked under her arm, and stood looking him up and down. ‘I thought you said you were staying in today – to sort out the utility room?’
‘I – er – was only going to pop out for a minute or two. I need to fetch that special paper. You know – the one with all the jobs in?’
‘Oh. Yes. But I could have got it for you. Save you going out. Why didn’t you ask me to bring it home with me?’
He shrugged. ‘Well … I’d lose a whole day then, wouldn’t I? When I’ve finished the sorting out I can be getting on with some more applications. Anyway, I could do with a breath of fresh air …’
He bent to look through the peephole in the door with the exaggerated eagerness of a condemned man in his cell; only a fool or someone really desperate would want to go out in such a down-pour if they didn’t absolutely have to.
‘Right,’ Julia said, still eyeing him a little doubtfully.
‘Right,’ he said too, opening the door for her. He stood watching her with an awkward smile on his face while she walked out ahead of him. And didn’t let it relax until he was certain she was gone.
‘Phew!’ he breathed, locking up behind him and hurrying round to his car. Deception, he reminded himself, was far from an easy option. Little lies led to big lies; you could be out of your depth before you knew it.
He had left the car at the ready in front of the garage, facing out towards the road. And that, too, had elicited comment: Julia had wanted to know why it wasn’t under cover, when he was always so particular about it being so. And why was it back to front?
He had stammered a bit, and waffled, and finally got out an answer, but his explanation had been far too long-winded to sound convincing, although Julia hadn’t seemed to notice. Julia, apparently, wouldn’t smell a rat if it got up on its hind legs and shook hands with her. Which was all to the good, under the circumstances.
So here he was, trailing her again, because he had to know what she was up to behind his back, and why she was keeping it from him.
Now then, he murmured to himself, pay proper attention. There she is, just ahead of a delivery van. Driving straight through the village as per yesterday, and forking left at the church by the green. Now out through the fields to the junction, and indicating … left or right? Ah, right towards Bath – that’s different – and picking up a bit of speed.
Thank heavens for a lot more traffic. Julia didn’t look in her rear-view mirror overmuch – except perhaps to check her make-up – but there was always the chance that she might. She would know his car immediately if she did so; there couldn’t be that many green Mercedes Sports around.
There weren’t many purple Fords either, which made Julia’s easier to spot. ‘Ever wondered what kind of people go in for bright purple cars?’ he had often joked with his colleagues. ‘You should come home and meet my wife!’
Right now he was glad of the colour; he could let a couple of cars come between Julia and himself and still keep her in his sights. He needed all his concentration to keep up with her though; she handled that car pretty well. She drove fast. And maybe a little recklessly. And – damn! – she’d swung off the road.
Harvey stamped on his brake. His body strained hard against the seat belt and his tyres protested with a screech. He had almost run into a cyclist, and the near miss left his heart knocking against his ribs. Of course, he was thankful for avoiding actual damage but inwardly he let out a groan; the game must surely be up now. Julia must have looked round. But no. The whole world was looking in his direction, but thankfully Julia was not.
Shielding his face with one hand – a pointless exercise if he’d thought about it – he began to ease forward again, peering as he did so through the passenger’s side window. Julia had parked in one of the ten spaces in front of a parade of shops and was scurrying through the rain towards a serve-yourself greengrocer with a purse in her hand.
That made sense, Harvey thought, rubbing his freshly shaved chin: last night they’d run out of potatoes and had had to make do with some clapped-out pitta bread from the freezer. Grilled plaice, peas and pitta bread; not to be recommended.
He turned into what he believed would be a quiet side street further along the route and parked so that he could see Julia when she passed. Looking around to relieve the monotony of his wait he spotted a traffic warden in the distance.
The man, poor chap, was leaning into the wind, hunched inside his coat with the edges of it flapping open. Fine mood he would be in, Harvey decided, over even the most minor of offences. Then he looked at the road markings and found he was illegally parked.
‘Blast,’ he muttered, about to pull away again, but a lorry-driver decided to unload his goods right in front of him. He couldn’t see a thing and neither could he move; a milk float had pulled up behind.
The lorry then managed to get stuck. Its trailer was half on the pavement, half off it, and the driver couldn’t swing round properly without demolishing a phone booth. All Harvey could do was sit there, fuming at the stupidity of the hooting traffic behind him, and darting his eyes between the lorry and the traffic warden. Julia could be anywhere by now, and if he didn’t get away soon he’d never find her again.
By the time he finally shot out of the hell-hole the traffic warden was striding down the street at a rate of knots to see what all the fuss was about, and had almost reached the Mercedes. Harvey’s final view of the man was him jotting something in his notebook with grim determination.
‘Brilliant,’ he muttered, scanning the traffic on the roundabout ahead. ‘That’s just about made my day’
But, setting the wipers as fast as they would go, his luck suddenly changed. There was Julia in front of him. Just three cars ahead! And this time he was going to stick to her no matter what; she wasn’t going to get away.
‘What we need to do is build ourselves a nice big fire,’ Jan said. ‘That’ll cheer us all up.’ She put down Justin and let him toddle about the sitting room; he was getting very wearing and she needed to catch her breath.
‘It’ll take a lot more than a fire to cheer me up,’ Simon grunted. ‘I’ll never be happy again.’
‘Me neither,’ Katy said. ‘Even my best friends have deserted me.’
‘Your London friends?’ Jan asked, kneeling down at the grate and busying herself with a shovel.
‘Yes, the ones I knew in this area have all gone different ways. But the London ones said they’d bring my stuff down for me, and they haven’t even phoned. When I ring them in the evenings they always seem to be out. All busy enjoying themselves, I suppose. Without me.’
‘They can’t have been very good friends, then,’ Jan said briskly, ‘if they can’t be bothered keeping in touch. It’s at times like these that you discover who your real friends are.’
‘That means I haven’t got any, then.’ Katy twiddled her lock of hair. ‘Mum and Dad are no help, you know.’
‘No?’ Jan’s ears went on special alert.
‘They keep having horrible rows. Don’t they, Si?’
‘Yes.’ Simon lay back on one elbow, plucking tufts of wool out of the hearth rug. ‘They were having another one last night. Well, not exactly a row, I suppose, but a pretty hostile argument. I don’t know … nothing’s the same any more. It never used to be like this. I can’t think what’s got into them.’
‘Oh dear.’ Jan stopped shovelling and sat back on her heels. ‘Oh dear,’ she said again as Justin sat in some ash.
‘You don’t think it’s because of us, do you?’ Simon wondered aloud.
‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ Katy said scornfully. ‘It’s because Mum’s
got the hots for another man.’
Jan stared at the girl in horror. ‘Katy, I’m sure that can’t be true! Whatever do you think you’re saying?’ She shook her head so vehemently that her chin wobbled – and all the skin underneath it that she usually took pains to hide. ‘No, I think it’s something entirely different, my dear. Nothing to do with a man.’
‘Well, he’s ever so good-looking, you know …’
‘Who? Who is? Who do you mean?’ Jan’s eyes flew open wide. ‘You mean, you’ve actually seen this person?’
‘Well I wouldn’t have made him up, would I?’ Katy told her about Harvey’s visit while Simon frowned and went dark in the face.
‘You really are a pillock,’ he told his sister as soon as she’d finished.
‘Simon!’ Jan reproved him. ‘That’s not a very gentlemanly way to speak to your sister. I’m sure you’ve never heard your father speak to your mother like that.’
‘Oh no?’ Simon’s face showed all his recent disillusion. But underneath lurked a certain amount of shame: why did he revert to his silly childhood ways the minute he walked into the parental home? Katy did it too, he’d noticed. And they fought each other like cat and dog when their parents were around, although really they were quite good friends.
‘Well, anyway,’ he said, ‘if Mum was carrying on with a bloke, she wouldn’t do it under our noses. She’d be having mysterious meetings and phone calls, not entertaining him at home.’
‘But I could tell by the way she looked at him …’
‘Katy, I think Simon does have a point …’
Katy conceded sulkily, and yet felt greatly relieved. She didn’t want her mother to hurt her father like that; she couldn’t bear the idea. And if Jan thought there was nothing in it, then there couldn’t be.
‘Oh dear,’ Jan said again after a long and thoughtful silence. ‘And you, Simon,’ she went on, moving aside so that he could lay twigs and paper in the grate. ‘Things aren’t well with you either, are they? What a sad little family we are.’
Puppies Are For Life Page 14