by W W Walker
She had her hands deep in soap suds when her next door neighbour, Mrs Butler, tapped on the patio doors. She often slipped through the back garden to bring Constance a home-baked treat or two.
“Only me,” she said.
Constance put her finger to her lips to hush her. “Eddie is in there with his mother,” she said pointing to the lounge.
Mrs Butler whispered back. “Ooh, sorry. I don’t want to disturb you so late.”
“It’s all right Mrs B. And it’s only seven o’clock. I’m making coffee if you fancy one.”
“I’d better not. George is in bed.”
“Still not well?”
“Hmm, poor thing.”
“Have you had the doctor out?”
“He came this morning. He said it was just a bit of influenza, but George’s chest sounded terrible.”
“Did he give him anything?”
“Penicillin, but I’m not a fan. I’ve still got some M+B693 from before the war. I’ve given him a dose of that.”
“Good idea.”
“I had a bit of a fright earlier on,” she said.
Constance looked up from the coffee pot she was filling. Mrs Butler was a frail looking lady, but she was mentally strong, even after surviving two wars. Rumour had it, they’d lost a son in WW2, but they never talked about it and Constance felt it was wrong to ask. She always wore a nylon overall over her house clothes, and thick flesh coloured stockings. Sandra couldn’t remember her ever wearing slacks.
“What happened?”
“I thought I heard something outside. Wilber from No. 2 came over to have a look, but it was just the cat. He’d knocked over a plant pot. Little Minx. I’ve only just planted those pansies.”
“Bit early for pansies isn’t it?”
“I know they won’t last long, but I like to see a bit of colour outside in the winter. George grows them in his greenhouse. A lovely purple colour.”
“Hmm. Lovely.”
“I’ll bring you a couple of plugs over if you fancy it.”
“Not if they won’t last long.”
“You’ll get a week out of them,” she said. “You could even keep them in the house. Anyway, I heard another noise half an hour ago, so I thought I’d pop over and tell you to make sure your doors were locked.”
“I don’t think you have to worry on that score. We’re safe in Seaview.”
“I don’t like being so near the gate. The light used to shine in our bedroom at night, so we had to move into the back bedroom. Me and George often say we wish we’d taken that one up in the far corner, No. 4.”
“Well, at least you’ve got the big wall on one side. We’re open to the elements here. Gets quite blowy in the winter.”
“We still get the wind though. Have you met them up at No.4? He’s in a wheelchair, you know.”
“I’ve seen them out and about and we’ve said hello once or twice, but I don’t know much about them. They keep to themselves a lot.”
“Yes, strange for Seaview, don’t you think?”
“We all like our privacy once in a while.”
“No.3 is still empty.”
“I’ve heard there’s a family moving in next week. Two young children, apparently.”
“That’ll be nice having some youngsters. I’d enjoy seeing them ride their bikes along the eight.”
Constance nodded as she placed two chocolate cupcakes on a plate.
“Is your Eddie going on that golfing trip?” Mrs Butler asked.
“Yes. He’s looking forward to it. I suppose George won’t be going, what with him being laid up.”
“He wasn’t even invited.”
“That can’t be right. Roger invited all the men.”
“Not George.”
Constance picked up the tray. “Let me just take this in.” She went through the sliding doors to the sitting room. Ronald Reagan was holding up his hand, pledging! His wife Nancy was at his side. Her hair was lovely and puffy, but she always looked like her head was too big for her body. “Here’s your tea.”
Then Eddie snapped. “Shush. And tell her from next door to sling her hook.”
Constance was mortified. Her face turned as red as the cushions on the sofa. “She’ll hear you.”
“I don’t sodding care.”
Constance hurried out. Back in the kitchen, she mouthed ‘sorry’ to Mrs Butler.
“Don’t worry, dear. I expect he’s had a hard day.”
Constance shrugged. She was so embarrassed. She leaned on the counter to get her breath. Suddenly Mrs Butler came up beside her and placed her hand over hers. “Don’t worry,” she repeated. “You just look after yourself.”
Constance looked at the old lady’s wise eyes and she knew that Mrs Butler knew.
After she left, the whole evening dissolved into plain misery.
Eddie came straight out and closed the doors behind him, leaving Gladys alone in the front room. “How many times have I got to tell you to keep that old bag out of here.”
Constance went on alert. She was an expert at it since it was a well-practised ritual. “She was just warning us to lock the doors because she’d heard a noise.” She backed up and turned away from him, pretending to wipe the draining board. She kept her head down, praying he’d forget the whole thing and leave her be. Instead, she felt his fingers squeeze her arm. He swung her about, and she almost lost her footing. Her legs were twisted making her unsteady on her feet. One of her slippers came off.
Suddenly, she felt a surge of defiance. She knew it would spell trouble, but there were times when she just didn’t care. She stared into his eyes and snarled at him. He looked aghast that she should demonstrate such pure venom when she was usually so easily manipulated. Words weren’t spoken. It was as if time had stood still. There was an invisible wall between them, but she knew if he wanted to, he would get past that. And he did.
He looked into her eyes, threatening her with his steady unwavering gaze. Then he placed his hand on her throat. He held it there, the tips of his fingers tightening and his eyes glistening with carnal joy. He was going to strangle her. She felt such relief.
He loosened his grip. “You do this every damn time, don’t you? Winding me up when I’ve worked my socks off all day! Who do you think you are, eh?”
She didn’t speak. There was no point. She’d said it all before. Nothing ever made a difference, and nothing mattered anymore. She would gladly die right then, so that she never had to look at his ugly face again.
Instead, he dropped his hand and shoved her. Her twisted feet gave way so that she was forced to slide down the cabinet beneath the sink. She kept bleach in there. She should grab it and throw it all over his face so that it burned him like acid, and he would wither and die. What joy.
Instead she sat on the floor contemplating her life, while tears ran down her face. She lifted the skirt of her pinafore and wiped her eyes, pressing the cloth hard as if she were hiding in the dark.
She could hear the television in the front room. Canned laughter filled the house and she imagined him in there with his mother laughing at the antics of Morecambe & Wise.
Constance turned off the lights in the kitchen and went slowly up the stairs. She felt such fatigue brought on by raw emotion, and she could barely get to the top. She went into Gladys’ room. The bed was already made. She turned down the blankets, and with a slow hand, smoothing the corner of the flannelette sheet. She closed the curtains and turned on a small table lamp at the side of the bed. Gladys would read for a while. She often had trouble sleeping.
She went into their bedroom. They had single beds with a small table separating them. It was her one small mercy. Eddie never wanted her that way. Hadn’t for years. She just had to abide his snoring in the bed next to hers, every night, until he got up and went for his swim.
That swim.
She’d thought about his early morning swim for the whole two years they’d lived in Seaview. He assumed she was asleep when he was gone, but she wasn
’t. Each morning she would lie awake thinking about him in the Atlantic, thrashing about, until a large wave came crashing over him and took him under. The current wouldn’t allow him to surface and only when he was half-drowned -just so he was aware of the moment he died- a wave would throw his body against the cliff time and time again until all that was left of him was a bloody mashed pulp. When he was still on the verge of passing, a shark would come at him and he would open his eyes for one last time, seeing the jaws and teeth snap down upon his torso, breaking him in two. Even then, she still thought about his death when he travelled to hell itself. No heaven for him, Constance thought, enjoying her daydream, immensely.
She got into bed and turned out the light. Soon he would come upstairs and if she was awake, he’d make her pay for upsetting him so much. And in the bedroom next door, Gladys would hear her sobbing and Constance hated the thought of that most of all.
Chapter Nine
“I’m going up,” Roger said.
“Already!?” Eva was surprised. It was only eleven-thirty, which was early for him on a Friday night. She thought he’d be up for ages yet. Now, he was leaving her alone with Jack, and that wasn’t good.
Jack looked equally startled when Roger picked up his glass and finished his drink. He was watching Eva on the couch sitting with her legs tucked under her. Idly, she leaned her head back on the cushions. Roger bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodnight. No need for you to rush.”
“Night, Roger,” Jack said keeping his eyes on Eva.
“Don’t forget to set your clock,” Roger said. “We’ve got an early start.”
A mood fell over the room as the two looked at each other across their half empty glasses. The tension was obvious. Eva had been thinking about Jack all night and he had thought about her. She could tell by his eyes and the occasional glances at her legs.
Now, they were alone.
There was no wife or husband to stop them doing what they wanted to do. The music played softly, Simon & Garfunkel, The sound of silence. The words soothed her mind while stimulating the notion of a long lost romance. They were entering dangerous territory.
She had never cheated on Roger in all the years they’d been married. It wasn’t in her nature to do so, and she was convinced that Roger had never cheated on her. They were happy. They’d always been happy. Why now was she thinking about straying? Why now?
She trembled at the thought of him touching her. She watched as he rose up from the chair opposite her and sat down where Roger had sat. The seat was still warm, Eva thought with irony.
She leaned forward to place her head in her hands, her fingers covering her face as she contemplated the mistake she was about to make. Would she regret it? Could she help it? His hand touched her shoulder. She turned to look at him. His face was right next to hers. She felt him stroke her hair and it felt so good. There was a tenderness she hadn’t known for years. It was unfamiliar and exciting. He leaned in as she closed her eyes and he kissed her gently, as a lover would.
She pushed him away, attempting to save her dignity. She was a faithful, upstanding middle class housewife. What the hell was she doing? The music had changed and now Let’s get it on played. The irony of the moment was complete. But those words…that tempo, it was a song to make love to. “We should stop,” she whispered.
A sound of Roger walking about upstairs. A door closed.
They stopped and listened, both wondering if he would come back down. Should Jack go and sit back in the chair he’d sat in all night? Should they make it appear as if they were just two friends talking over a nightcap?
She turned away from him, while the kiss kept playing over and over in her mind like a scratched record. She hoped he would be sensible and make that decision himself, seeing the foolishness of it all…the betrayal. He should retire to bed, alone.
Resolute, Eva stood up. She went to the door and opened it slightly, looking up the stairs, wanting to hear something to give her a reason to stop.
When she closed it again, she felt Jack standing behind her.
It was going to happen. They were going to make love, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Chapter Ten
before midnight, Rhianna switched off her bedside light and opened the curtains. She had a good view of the other seven houses, where most of the lights had been turned off.
She had spent the evening with Uncle Rolf, after he’d turned down the offer of a game of darts down the pub. His friend, Wilbur, was unhappy, she could see that, but Rolf told him his niece was more important. She was sad about it. She never minded being alone, so it would have been okay for him to leave her there for the evening.
After Wilbur had left with the promise that Rolf would go on the golfing trip tomorrow, they sat down at the table in the kitchen to enjoy the casserole he’d made.
“This is delicious,” she’d said. Rhianna was used to homecooked meals. Her mother was a good cook, except for when she used leftovers. Eating food left over from the previous day was a pet hate of Rhianna’s, but when she complained her mother always dragged up the war. ‘You wouldn’t have turned your nose up at this during the war,’ she’d say. ‘Eat up or no apple cobbler.’
Uncle was spooning some carrots onto her plate. “I like a girl with a hearty appetite,” he said.
“It tastes better when I’m not being force fed.”
He looked concerned. “What do you mean?”
She chuckled. “Just mum. You know what she’s like.”
“Your mum will never change. She was very close to our mother. She’s a lot like her.” He looked at her and smiled. “I think you might be like them too.”
“I’d prefer to be labelled a modern woman.”
“Oh, what’s modern? A new way of thinking! Women breaking out onto their own without husbands. There’s a single woman at No.1. You might like her. Kiki her name is. Nice girl but she keeps to herself mostly.” He looked up while his fork was suspended in mid-air. “She’s a career girl. Like you.”
“Now, that’s a title I could get behind.”
They both chuckled.
“What will you be doing at this new job then? It sounds very high-up judging by what your mum said in her letter.”
Rhianna shook her head. “No, it’s just a start up post. Nothing special. But I think it could lead to something.”
“What are your duties?”
“Well, I go to the office each day, pick up assignments, follow leads, I may even get into advertising. That would be fun.
“Well, you’re very creative your mum said.”
“I wish I worked for her. She’d have me promoted inside a month.”
“A week.”
They laughed.
“This casserole is delicious. I didn’t know men could cook like this.”
“I learned in the war. That’s why I joined the Catering Corps. Your aunty never let me into the kitchen but when she died, I took it up again. There are some good cooking programmes on the TV.”
“The galloping gourmet?”
“He’s one of my favourites.”
“Let me do the dishes and you can put your feet up.”
“No, can’t do that, but we can do them together. I’ll wash, you dry. How’s that?”
They stood at the sink. Rhianna had a teacloth in her hand waiting for the first dish to come out of the bowl. “You should have gone to play darts with your friend.”
He passed her a plate. “I’m not really bothered. Honestly, Wilbur is a bit of a fuss pot at times.”
“Why?”
“He came over the other day. I was doing a bit of gardening, getting that rhubarb bush trimmed back. Anyway, he said he was worried about a secret he’d kept that maybe he shouldn’t have kept.”
Rhianna’s ears pricked up. “What was it?”
“Oh, I’m not one for gossip.”
“Go on. I won’t tell anyone.”
He was shaking his head while scrubbing a fork wit
h a washing brush. “It won’t end up in the papers will it?”
She chuckled. “Guides honour.”
“Well, I won’t give you any names, but at his anniversary party last year, Wilbur caught one of the neighbours with a woman who wasn’t his wife…if you know what I mean…doing it.”
“Doing what?” she breathed.
He handed her the fork. “Now, if you intend to be a news reporter, you might need to wise up a bit.”
She laughed. “No, I get they were having sex, but what, and where?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not so naïve after all,” he muttered.
She wondered if he’d say anything to her mum. She was never keen on Rhianna’s ‘open mind’, as she called it.
“Well, I won’t go into details, but he caught them in his shed in a compromising position, shall we say.”
“Neat.”
“Not so much for the wife.”
“I’m not sure I’ll get married.”
“What? And break your mother’s heart?”
Now as Rhianna sat on her bed looking out of the window to the estate outside, she wondered which of the couples living in Seaview were cheating.
At eleven-thirty It was quiet out there on the eight, as uncle called it. Cars were parked in driveways or inside the garage for the night, and just a few exterior lights were turned on above the entrances.
From her window, Rhianna watched the house next door on the right, No.5. The bedroom light went on. She watched a man draw the curtains closed. Downstairs, the dimmed lights in the front room were still on. She could see two figures moving around inside, close together, as if they were skating on ice.
Nest to it, No.4 also had their lights off. Uncle had told her that a man in a wheelchair lived there. Maybe tomorrow she would pop round and see if they had a story to tell. Perhaps it would be published. She could always send it to one of those magazines that printed tragic life stories. Woman’s Own or something.