For One Night Only

by W W Walker

  “Roger’s in the lounge.”

  She watched him go through as she closed the door. She needed a moment to pull herself together. She went into the downstairs bathroom and leaned on the sink, staring at her face in the mirror at her face. She was thirty-two, but she didn’t look a day over thirty. Many said so. It was that particular compliment she’d come to rely on when thinking about Jack those past few months. Her eyes were green, her hair dark, short to the neck. Her figure was slim, athletic looking and she dressed down, never wanting to follow the damn awful fashions of the era. No, she wore slacks and a tunic top by day, with muted colours, and at night, a plain shift dress just above the knee. Her style was conservative, sensible and easy to wear. She didn’t believe in flaunting her body. That was for the desperate ones. Not the ones who’d already snagged a husband for life.

  She'd met Roger at a nightclub when she was just a girl, a young virgin, out celebrating her seventeenth birthday with her other virgin friends. Roger was with a group of boys, he was six years older than her, but he was by far the most handsome boy in the room. He was medium height with hair that fell over his forehead, which he combed every hour on the hour. Their eyes met across the room and when he asked her to dance, Eva almost swooned. He took her breath away and after he'd courted her for two years when she was nineteen, she agreed to get engaged. They married when she was twenty years old and he was twenty-six. Everyone said it was a match made in heaven.

  In those days, Roger was an apprentice at Philips Manufacturing plant in Taunton. He was there when they started up, launching the Philips audio cassettes upon the world. In the early days, he was promoted monthly, rising to great heights in his career as a workforce manager. Now he was Managing Director, involved in the battle of the video cassette innovation, along with VHS and Sony.

  His job was high pressure, but he never took out his troubles on Eva. No, he’d been a good husband. The only low point of their marriage had been Eva's inability to conceive. In the early days, they'd longed for children. Now it was a faded memory since Roger never wanted to talk about it anymore.

  Eva washed her hands and dried them on the soft pink towels of the downstairs toilet. She adjusted the collar of her white roll neck sweater, took a deep breath and left the safety of the small bathroom to face the two men in her life whom she claimed to love.

  “Eva, darling, Any Chianti?” Roger called as she entered the kitchen.

  She looked straight at Jack, but he acted as if she wasn't even there. She was sure he'd regretted that summer kiss. Whilst she had been dreaming of him, kissing him, walking along a beach with him, making love with him, he in comparison had completely blocked her out. She was sure of it. What an old fool she’d been.

  “In the back-up cupboard in the garage.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Jack. She watched him leave the kitchen to go through the back porch.

  “You won’t find it,” she said as she followed him. He was looking in the wrong place. “It’s in here.” She opened an old kitchen cupboard, once belonging to the developer’s mother’s kitchen. She pulled out a wicker covered bottle and when she handed it to him, their fingers touched. His was deliberate. She looked up at him with a serious expression on his face. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said simply.

  Eva almost gasped, so sure that he couldn’t have meant it. “Why?” she asked, almost losing her voice.

  “Since the dinner party in the summer, when we kissed.”

  “Oh.”

  His hand went to her shoulder. She looked at it, resting there, as she’d so often dreamt of him touching her. She looked towards the door leading back to the house. “I should go.”

  “Tell me you feel the same,” he whispered.

  She paused as she wondered if she should tell him the truth. She shook her head. “No, I’m married.”

  “So am I. Our marriages are shams.”

  “Not mine.”

  “Yes, yours too.”

  They were sitting in the lounge. The fire was on and the lights were turned low. Jim Reeves was crooning in the background as Roger rested his arm around Eva’s shoulders. Her legs were tucked under her and her feet were bare. Jack sat opposite them on the easy chair. The glass coffee table in the centre was laden with empty wine glasses and bowls of nuts and crisps. She’d put out some stuffed green olives, but no one had touched them.

  They were all holding a bulbous brandy glass, swirling Hennessy at the bottom.

  “Look, old boy,” Roger said, “I want you to know that nothing has happened between Jade and me.

  Jack rested his arm on the chair and nodded. “Think nothing more of it, Roger,” Jack said.

  “Just the drink talking, huh?” Roger chuckled.

  Jack pouted. “Something like that.”

  Eva was grateful for the brandy that warmed her and calmed her and increased her desire for the man sitting opposite her husband. The feeling was strangely sweet, making the whole scenario exciting by its obvious danger.

  “Anyway, it’s all forgotten now, eh?” Roger patted Eva’s thigh. She smiled, not meaning it one little bit.

  “How’s work?” Jack asked.

  "There's a lot of pressure right now. The ‘video wars' we call it." Roger pursed his lips. "We think VHS will take the crown there."

  “I heard that soon every home in the country will have a video cassette player.”

  “Yes, it’s possible, if the price comes down.”

  “Jade loves ours. She can actually record Coronation Street while she goes to Slimmer’s World on a Wednesday night.”

  “I don’t see the sense in it,” Eva said. “Who goes out on a Wednesday night? I certainly wouldn’t. At least not until the street’s finished.”

  “If it was left to you, Eva darling, no one would ever want to buy a video recorder. You’d put us out of business,” Roger laughed.

  “I suppose I’m old fashioned.”

  “Not in all things,” Roger said. A pause as they sipped their drink. “Actually, we had a bit of upset at work this week.”

  “Oh?” said Eva, “You haven’t mentioned anything.”

  “It was all a bit strange. A bit spooky actually.”

  “What was it?”

  “We had a strange chap working for us on the manufacturing side of things. He’s worked there for years.”

  Eva and Jack remained silent, waiting for Roger to finish the story.

  “He’s always been a bit odd. Not very well liked, if you know what I mean. Anti-social, if you will.” Roger lit a small cigar. He offered one to Jack, but Jack declined. Eva leaned over and slid the green marble ashtray across the table. Roger placed it on the arm of the sofa. He tapped it with the tip of his cigar before he carried on with his story.

  “Anyway, we had to lay some people off, what with the video wars going on. It was ordered from above. Nothing to do with me at all. But you know what people are like, they always want to shoot the messenger.” He gulped and drew on the cigar as the smoke wafted upwards.

  Eva liked the smell, but not the odour it left in the morning.

  “It was quite uncomfortable. I called him into my office and offered a handshake, but he was quite nasty about it all. I told him it wasn’t my call and that if it was up to me, I would keep him on until he retired, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He became quite irate…sinister almost. Made me feel quite queer.” Absentmindedly, Roger rubbed Eva’s hand. “He made some terrible threats.”

  “What sort of threats?” Eva sat up and looked her husband in the eye. Why hadn’t he mentioned it before?

  “Oh, just silly, random stuff. Watched too many cowboy films if you ask me.”

  “Tell me,” implored Eva.

  "He threatened to kill me, which is wholly ridiculous," he said nervously. “I can't take the matter seriously."

  Eva was unnerved by the story, but she wasn’t about to ruin the evening. Not while Jack was there. She’d talk to Roger about it when he got back from his g
olf weekend. Then she would propose that they call the police to report the despicable man for making such vile threats. Honestly, she couldn’t understand why Roger hadn’t done that already. She decided to change the subject. “So, what are you boys going to get up to on your golfing weekend?” Eva asked. She looked at Jack when she asked that, wondering what he -not Roger- would be doing tomorrow night.

  "Just dinner and then a drunken evening in the clubhouse, no doubt," Roger replied with a chuckle.

  “When will you be back?”

  “Sunday afternoon. It’s just one night.”

  “I understand all your neighbours are coming,” said Jack.

  “Most of them. The old boy from number eight won’t be joining us. He’s seventy-nine, so I didn’t invite him.”

  “Won’t that be a little awkward, Roger?” Eva asked. “He’ll see you all leave in the bus.”

  “Can’t be helped.”

  “What about the ladies?” asked Jack. “You have any plans?”

  “Well, I’ve asked the neighbours over for cocktails on Saturday evening.”

  “That’s nice,” said Jack, staring at her in way that made her tremble.

  She shrugged. “Well, as Roger said, it’s just for one night only.”

  Chapter Five

  Marigold and Wilbur moved into No.2 when the Seaview estate was brand new. Their house was an elegant two storey dwelling with three bedrooms, but the one thing that sold it to Marigold when they’d viewed it, was the kitchen. A kitchen to die for! It was open plan, like Constance’s, but it was bigger, and better decorated, in Marigold’s opinion. Cream coloured cabinets lined the walls at one end with a breakfast island in the middle and a neat glass-fronted wine fridge underneath. Marigold and Wilbur thought it was so sophisticated when they’d viewed it. She was particularly enamoured by the double stove in the middle, placed underneath a mock chimney with a tall mantle over it housing her little china pigs.

  The view from the kitchen was wonderful, so said everyone who visited. They had a much better aspect of the sea than Constance and Eddie’s house, but not half as good as Eva’s, No. 5, the cream of the crop taking prime position at the top of the eight. That one dominated the view, taking a corner piece of land too, just beyond their garden.

  Marigold and Wilbur’s house also had a bigger terrace than Constance’s. The garden at the front was Wilbur’s pride and joy, packed with shrubs and flowers of all sorts. He also had a shed at the back, close to the edge. That’s where he went to get away from it all when the kids were around.

  Earlier, before Marigold went to Kiki’s, she’d grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and gave the glass door a wipe with a tea towel where she’d noticed a little finger mark. Probably made by their part-time cleaner. She was Portuguese, but she spoke quite good English since she’d been living in the UK for fifteen years. She had been good with the kids before they’d left home, but Marigold still kept her around to take the load off when it came to cleaning the house.

  “Hey kiddo,” Wilbur said when he came in.

  She smiled. “Hey, yourself.” They kissed on the lips, just a peck, which they did at least twenty times a day.

  “What have you been up to? Seen Constance today?”

  She knew what he was thinking. “To see if she had more bruises, you mean.”

  Wilbur shook his head. He leaned on the centre island as Marigold went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of steaks.

  “I’ll go over and see her after tea before that husband of hers gets home.”

  Marigold and Wilbur always had an early meal. They didn’t eat lunch, so it worked for them. Before bed, they often munched on snacks: cheese and biscuits, something like that.

  “Does that mean I won’t see you for the rest of the evening?”

  “Well, I might pop over and see Kiki. Take a bag of nibbles and some wine.” She suddenly remembered something. “Do you think I should take some lemonade?”

  “After what happened before...”

  “When I popped home and by the time I got back, she was in bed?” Marigold remembered that evening well, but Marigold never held a grudge

  “If you’re going to be at Kiki’s all night, I might go down the pub for a game of darts. Ask Rolf to come,” Wilbur said.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting an early night? You’ve got to be up with the lark in the morning.”

  “Honestly, I wish I hadn’t agreed to it. I don’t even like golf that much.”

  “Oh, that’s silly. You’ll enjoy it when you get there.”

  “I don’t get on with Roger very well, you know that. And to be stuck with Eddie for a weekend after finding out what he does to that poor wife of his, just makes the whole thing abhorrent. I’d much prefer to stay home with you.”

  It was true, Wilbur and Roger didn’t get on that well. In the summer last year, they’d thrown a bit of a bash for their anniversary. Naturally, they’d invited all the neighbours and they’d had a few family members. The kids didn’t come, they were still teenagers, so a party at home wasn’t their thing. Wilber had been a bit put out about it, but Marigold had said, ‘They’re spreading their wings. Seaview has nothing to offer when you consider their own social life at Bristol Uni.’

  The party had been in full swing. Everyone who said they were coming arrived in time for the food, the toasts and the anniversary cake made by Mrs Butler at No.8. She was a self-confessed cake decorator who’d trained herself in the art. They were fine words, but when the monstrosity turned up that morning, Marigold had almost dropped it, so taken aback by its ugliness. There was nothing to be done. She had to use it, but she had to confess to a bit of satisfaction when she made a little card which she’d placed in front of it on the buffet table. Made by Mrs Butler.

  Over the course of the evening, Marigold offered a glance that way, enjoying the look of disgust coming from the faces of their guests when they saw the cake, especially when they discovered it wasn’t her creation.

  At around eleven o’clock, Wilbur had gone to their shed at the bottom of the terrace. The homemade construction was turned back to front, allowing the entrance to overlook the sea. Wilbur often enjoyed an evening on his own sitting in the doorway of his shed, looking out over the bay. He always said it was his little bit of heaven. It was dark when he stepped inside and turned on the light. Roger Lang was in there with a woman in a state of undress, doing what he could only describe as the act of an animal. ‘A four legged animal,’ he said when he recounted the tale the next day.

  Marigold had been horrified and vowed she would tell Eva about the unfortunate incident at the earliest opportunity. Wilbur had persuaded her otherwise, saying they shouldn’t make waves in their peaceful community. “Just forget it,’ he’d said to Marigold, but she never had, of course, and even to that day she always claimed it was her responsibility to do the right thing, to inform Eva about her unlawful, cheating husband.

  “What time is the bus leaving?”

  “About 8.30. You should get up at 7.00 to give yourself some time.”

  “I’ll never beat you in that department,” Wilbur said, sipping his wine.

  It was true Marigold was an early riser. Five am every day without fail, except for that morning after their anniversary party. Then she’d woken late at six. Messed her up all day, that had.

  The phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Marigold had called. She’d gone into the hall where the phone sat on a glass half-moon table. They’d recently bought a modern cream coloured telephone, which matched the cream walls in the hall. Marigold made sure it was thoroughly cleaned each week. She couldn’t begin to imagine the germs hiding in that mouthpiece.

  She picked up the receiver and politely announced the number. Telephone etiquette, she called it.

  “Marigold, this is Mrs Butler. Could you send your Wilbur over to have a look around the gate?”

  “What on earth for, dear?”

  “I heard some noises out there. Mr Butler is in bed with a nasty cold
, so I thought your Wilbur could come and inspect things.”

  “Of course. What sort of noise?”

  “I’m not really sure.”

  “I’ll send him along then. Stay inside the house until he knocks.”

  “Alright. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs Butler.” Marigold hung up the phone. She called Wilber’s name as she went back into the kitchen. She’d pull the steaks out from under the grill until he got back. “Can you pop along to the gate? Mrs Butler thinks she heard some noises.”

  He didn’t answer. At her door, he removed his slippers and put on his shoes. “Back in a minute,” he called.

  Marigold had looked at her watch. Another hour and Kiki would be home. She quite fancied a nice evening in with her good friend Kiki. She’d keep an eyes out for her from Constance’s house. Connie wouldn’t mind.

  Wilbur returned twenty minutes later, and she pushed the steaks back under the grill.

  Wilbur washed his hands.

  “You couldn’t find anything then?”

  “The cat had knocked over a flowerpot. I found it smashed on the path. Told her to leave it till the morning and I’ll go over and clean it up.”

  “Was she all right?”

  He nodded and dried his hands on a small towel hanging on the hook at the back of the door. “Mr Butler’s laid up.”

  “Yes, she told me on the phone.” Marigold leaned her back against the cupboard. Everything was ready apart from the steaks. “Five minutes and dinner will be ready.”

  “He’s getting on a bit now.”

  “I wonder what she’ll do if he goes?”

  “Well, she won’t stay here. Probably go to her sisters in the north.”

  “Then we’ll have new people move in.” Marigold didn’t know if she should be happy about the prospect of new neighbours at No.8. They were due to have a new family move in next door at No.3 and she didn’t know anything about them yet.