Thicker Than Water

by Anthea Fraser

  Turning the card over, he saw it was addressed to Mrs A Markham, at this address, and had been posted in Manchester the previous day. Who did she know in Manchester? he wondered. She couldn’t have recognized the handwriting, because she’d not even seen it. Was it some link with her mysterious past?

  He pulled himself up. Mysterious? An odd word to use about his wife, but it was again borne in on him how little he knew about her. He went determinedly back through the bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door.

  ‘Darling, if you don’t come out now, I’m going to call the doctor,’ he said.

  For a moment longer there was silence inside. Then, with a huge sigh of relief, he heard the bolt slide back and the door opened. Abigail stood there, her face white and her eyes staring at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

  Gently he took her arm and led her back to the living room. Her eyes went straight to the card on the table, and he felt a tremor go through her.

  ‘I know it’s of a lake, love, but there’s nothing unusual about that, and you must have seen others since your father died. Is it the lack of message that spooked you? It’s easily done, you know. I used to buy a stack of cards on holiday, and address and stamp them while I had my address list to hand. Then, rather than sit down and write them all at once – boring in the extreme – I sent them off in batches. It’s quite easy for one with no message to get mixed up with those waiting to be posted.’

  He knew he was gabbling, but hoped his everyday words would calm her, restore her balance. She still didn’t speak, and he realized with a faint shock that apart from asking him to go away, she hadn’t done so since the card arrived.

  ‘Abby?’ he said softly, and she spun to face him, her face contorted as she shook him off.

  ‘Don’t call me that!’ she cried, a note of hysteria in her voice. ‘Don’t ever call me that!’

  ‘Darling, I’m sorry – I’m sorry. Look, you’re really worrying me now. What’s wrong? Please tell me. You can tell me anything, Abigail, you know that. I won’t judge you, whatever it is. I love you!’

  Her eyes had a wild look in them, and she gave a sudden laugh. ‘You wouldn’t judge me?’ she said. ‘I wonder. I just wonder.’

  Tentatively he put his arms round her, and after resisting briefly, she leaned against him.

  ‘I love you,’ he said again. ‘For ever and ever, amen – remember?’

  He felt her nod. ‘Then what’s wrong, sweetheart? Tell me. I’m sure we can sort it out.’

  A ripple shook her. Then she gently disengaged herself. Her face was still white, but some of the wildness had left her. She cupped his face in her hands and stared into his eyes.

  ‘And I love you,’ she said. ‘More than you’ll ever know.’

  He gave an uncertain smile. ‘That’s all right, then. So—’

  Her hands dropped and she turned away. ‘I’ll go and have my shower, or the morning will have gone without getting anything done.’

  ‘Abigail—’

  She started to walk purposefully from the room. ‘Don’t worry about me, James,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I overreact. You know that. It was probably the curry last night, but I’m fine now.’

  Slowly, James picked up the offending card and put it in the top drawer of his desk. Out of sight, he hoped, out of mind.

  For the rest of that day, the postcard and its effect continued to prey on his mind. Abigail appeared to have reverted to normal, and he didn’t dare bring the subject up again. However, the next day he made one last attempt to get to the bottom of it.

  ‘Darling, about that postcard . . .’

  ‘What postcard?’ she said.

  Four

  Afterwards, James looked back on the incident of the postcard as the first portent of what was to come. It was as though a gauze curtain had descended between them, keeping him at a distance, and try as he might, he couldn’t penetrate it.

  Nor could he share his unease with his family, since they’d been against the marriage in the first place. Though Tina would never say, I told you so in as many words, he’d see it in her eyes, and that would be enough. There was a saying: Marry in haste and repent at leisure, but he wasn’t repenting; on the contrary, he longed for them to be close again, as they’d been on their honeymoon. What was it Abigail had said then? That she was afraid it would all come crashing down? But surely one innocuous postcard couldn’t be the catalyst?

  Yet, when he tried to analyse the change, it was hard to pinpoint. She seemed glad to see him when he came home each evening, they continued to make love – though possibly with not quite the abandon of before – they’d even been to Tina and Ben’s for supper, and to his parents for a Sunday lunch. James was aware, though, of her continuing dislike of family occasions, and he’d declined several invitations rather than overexpose her to them.

  But there were little things – things that in themselves were trifling, but which taken together added to his concern. Several times she’d not replenished household supplies, claiming she’d been too busy or had a deadline to work to, and suggesting they go together on a Saturday morning. Nor, even when alone in the flat, did she retrieve the post. He would find it lying on the mat in the hall, when she’d been in all day. It was the same with the telephone, which she never answered, maintaining it wouldn’t be for her. He became used to arriving home each evening to see the red button flashing. Once or twice, the messages had indeed been for Abigail, from her London friends.

  ‘Why not answer it, darling?’ he asked lightly one evening. ‘It won’t bite, and there might be something urgent from a client.’

  But she shook her head. ‘They email me,’ she said.

  It was towards the end of November that James came out of his office one lunchtime to find his sister in the foyer.

  ‘You’re taking me to lunch,’ she announced. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘That sounds ominous!’ he joked.

  ‘I’m hoping not.’

  At the Montpellier Wine Bar, Tina waited till they had their drinks and their food was ordered before putting her elbows on the table and surveying her brother.

  ‘I’m worried about you,’ she said.

  ‘Me?’ He tried a laugh, not too successfully.

  ‘You and Abigail. Things don’t seem to be – right.’

  ‘They’re fine,’ he said evasively, not meeting her eyes.

  ‘James, this is me you’re talking to. Before the wedding, you were walking on air. It was because you were so deliriously happy that I tried to ignore my – misgivings.’

  ‘If you’re referring to Sylvie—’ he began defiantly.

  ‘I’m referring to Abigail. Have you found out anything more about her? Her family, where she used to live, who her friends are, apart from those three at the wedding?’

  He was silent.

  ‘Well, have you?’ She waited a moment, and when he still didn’t speak, went on, ‘I also want to know why you hardly ever come to see us. The children keep asking for you, but even when you did come, you spent the whole time watching Abigail, waiting for her reactions.’ She paused again. ‘Has something happened?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘James?’

  He looked up unwillingly. ‘Abigail’s my wife, Tina, and I love her. I’d feel disloyal discussing her, even with you.’

  She laid an impulsive hand on his. ‘Jimbo, I’m not trying to criticize her! I only want to help you – both.’

  The temptation to confide in her was building. Though his unease remained nebulous, it was none the less real, and the one concrete fact – Abigail’s reaction to the postcard – preyed continuously on his mind. Before he could stop himself, James found himself recounting what had happened.

  Tina frowned. ‘And it was of somewhere in the Lake District?’

  ‘Yes; I know lakes bring back her father’s death, but that could hardly cause vomiting, for God’s sake!’

  ‘There was nothing else on it that might have upset her
?’

  ‘Not a thing. I scrutinized it inch by inch. The only odd thing was that there was no message, but that could have been an oversight.’

  Tina frowned thoughtfully. ‘Postcards are usually of the place where you are – “Wish you were here” kind of thing. But you say this one had a Manchester postmark?’

  ‘Yes. Anyway, since then, she won’t answer the phone or pick up the mail or even, as far as I can see, go out by herself. It’s as though – it seems ludicrous, but as though she’s afraid of something. As to visiting you, she said right from the start that she doesn’t “do” families. It’s probably because she hasn’t one herself that she doesn’t know what to make of ours.’

  ‘She actually said she hasn’t one?’

  ‘No parents, anyway. She told me that early on, and she’s heard nothing of the others for years.’

  ‘So you don’t know who they are?’

  He shook his head, and they were both silent as their food was laid before them.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s – odd?’ Tina asked, as the waiter moved away.

  James shrugged. ‘Unusual, certainly. But just because we’re a close family doesn’t mean everyone else is. You often hear of families being split and people losing touch.’

  ‘But always with a reason.’ Tina picked up her fork. ‘What about Christmas?’

  Since James had moved to Inchampton, it had become the custom for him to spend the three days of the holiday at Brambles, though Christmas lunch was, as always, at the Old Rectory. He’d even flown home from the States to spend it with them all.

  ‘You will come to us, as usual?’ Tina added.

  He hesitated. ‘It’s sweet of you, sis, but if you remember, it started because you said I shouldn’t be alone in the flat over Christmas. Obviously, I won’t be alone, and of course we’ll go to the parents for lunch as usual, but—’

  ‘Three days with the Rivers would be too much for Abigail’s sensibilities,’ finished Tina tartly.

  ‘I think for our first Christmas together,’ James said peaceably, ‘it might be nice to be at home, that’s all.’

  She made a little face. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  Unaware that her relations were discussing her, Abigail descended from the loft and went to prepare her lunch, surprised to discover she was hungry. Since the arrival of the postcard two weeks ago, she’d had to force herself to eat, and had frequently skipped lunch altogether. But though, sick with fear, she’d waited daily for developments, none had been forthcoming and she was beginning to breathe more easily. Then, lying awake last night, what now seemed an obvious solution had occurred to her. The sender must be a family member, who, having somehow learned of her marriage, was repaying her for not being invited to the wedding. She should have known that was the logical answer, since who else could it possibly be? She’d not seen the handwriting – James had removed the card – but if she had, she was now sure she’d have recognized it.

  She laughed aloud in sheer relief. So after all that needless worry, she could put it behind her and resume normal life. To prove it, she ran downstairs to collect the mail, no longer fearing it might contain enigmatic warnings, and, having set it out on the table, replayed the answer phone to retrieve three innocent messages. One was from the library, informing her that a book she’d ordered was awaiting her, and she decided to collect it that afternoon. It would be good to be able to walk into town again without looking over her shoulder.

  When James returned that evening, staring in amazement at the neatly sorted mail and quiescent phone, he cursed himself for having confided in Tina. If he’d waited just one more day it would all have blown over, and the hitch in the smooth running of their lives been known only to themselves.

  Later, Abigail further surprised him by suggesting they invite Tina and Ben to supper. ‘We’ve been to them,’ she said. ‘We ought to ask them back.’

  And James, with happiness welling up inside him, caught her round the waist and swung her round. ‘I love you, Mrs Markham!’ he said.

  Since her broken engagement, there’d been an awkwardness between Sylvie and Tina that, despite their efforts, they’d been unable to dispel. The intervening weeks had been hard, having to bear the condolences of family and friends while aware she was the source of gossip among them; but what had upset her most after the loss of James was the apparent loss of his sister also. As November slid into December, she determined that the hiatus had gone on long enough, and one evening, taking her courage in both hands, she phoned Brambles.

  It was Ben who answered, and she was warmed by his spontaneous, ‘Sylvie! How good to hear from you!’

  In the background, she heard Tina’s exclamation, and the next instant she had seized the phone from her husband and her voice came over the line.

  ‘Sylvie, how are you? You must be telepathic! I was just about to phone you.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Sylvie said steadily. ‘I was wondering if you’re up for our Christmas shopping trip?’ Since they were schoolgirls, it had been the custom for the two of them to shop together for their Christmas presents.

  ‘Just what I was going to suggest!’

  ‘I’ve a couple of days’ holiday due, so I could fit in with you. One day next week?’

  ‘Perfect. How about Tuesday? Both the children have after-school activities, so we shouldn’t have to rush back. Could you stay for supper, as usual?’

  ‘Oh, Tina, I’d love to!’

  ‘It’s a date, then. I’ll pick you up when I’ve done the school run.’

  Tina put down the phone and stood for a moment, her hand resting on it. When she finally turned, her eyes were moist, and she and Ben exchanged a smile.

  ‘Well done,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’m so thankful, Ben. I was afraid this business with James might have done for us.’

  ‘You’ve both too much sense for that. It was bound to be awkward for a while, but it looks as though you’ve weathered it.’

  ‘The next hurdle will be when the two of them meet, as they’re bound to.’

  ‘Well, unless it happens here, which is highly unlikely, it’s not your worry. In the meantime sufficient unto the day . . .’

  ‘Amen to that,’ she said.

  The following Tuesday dawned sunny and crisp with frost, perfect weather for Christmas shopping.

  Having dropped the children at school, Tina drove to the flat Sylvie shared with a work colleague, and, parking at the kerb, tooted on the horn. She appeared at once, a red scarf knotted at her throat and clutching a capacious shopping bag. Tina reached over to open the passenger door, and they gave each other a quick, slightly embarrassed, hug.

  ‘Ready for the fray?’ Tina asked.

  ‘Absolutely. I have a list, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing; if you’ve too definite an idea of what you want, you never find it.’

  ‘Well, let’s think positive. We usually do well together, sparking off ideas.’

  As they drove through the rime-encrusted countryside, conversation was at first rather stilted, but by the time they’d circled several car parks, finally securing a space in a multi-storey, their reserve had completely disappeared.

  ‘Right,’ Tina said, locking the door and shivering in the blast of cold air. ‘Let battle commence!’

  The Promenade was already crowded with shoppers, the shops festooned with decorations and miniature Christmas trees, windows piled high with tempting goods – jewellery, cocktail dresses, exotic foods. They shopped solidly for two hours, with varying degrees of success, and had just decided on a coffee break when Tina suddenly seized Sylvie’s arm and pulled her behind a rack of dresses.

  Sylvie looked at her in surprise. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Tina nodded towards someone approaching down a near aisle. ‘Abigail,’ she said.

  Sylvie gave a little gasp. She’d never seen the woman who’d stolen James from her, and her eyes fastened avidly on the slender figure, taking in the careless elegance of the sheepskin
jacket and tightly fitting trousers, the high boots, the dark hair shining under the shop lights. Then she was past, and Sylvie let out her unconsciously held breath.

  ‘My God, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she? No wonder James fell for her.’

  Tina squeezed her arm. ‘Let’s have that coffee.’

  Minutes later, they were seated at a table, two cappuccinos in front of them. But an unspoken pact had been unavoidably broken, and almost at once Sylvie returned to the subject uppermost in their thoughts.

  ‘How is James?’ she enquired carefully, not looking at her friend.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Tina said shortly.

  James had, in fact, phoned her the day after their lunch together, asking her to forget what he’d said and reporting that all was now well. To emphasize the point, he’d passed on an invitation to supper, which was to take place the coming Friday. Until she saw them together, Tina was reserving judgement, but she could not tell Sylvie that.

  ‘Funny to think,’ Sylvie was continuing, spooning the froth from her coffee, ‘that on our shopping trip last year, he was in America, and I’d given up all thought of our ever being together. Pity I can’t just wave a wand and delete the past year – or at least, the past six months. Then I’d be no worse off than I was then.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Tina said in a low voice.

  Sylvie squared her shoulders. ‘Don’t be – I don’t mean it. ’Tis better to have loved and lost, and all that. I wouldn’t want not to have had that time with James. And at least I didn’t lose him to a mousy little creature with halitosis!’

  Tina laughed. ‘I suppose there’s some comfort in that,’ she agreed.

  The dinner party at the flat was an outstanding success. Abigail had metamorphosed back from the tense, edgy person who’d come to their house into the charming and amusing one they’d met at the Old Rectory. Furthermore, she revealed herself as a talented cook, and the meal was delicious. James, too, was his old self, deftly playing his part as host, and the general atmosphere was happy and relaxed. So much so, that Tina felt able to reissue her invitation for them to stay over at Brambles.