by Hilary Boyd
They didn’t say much to each other after that. Jeanie clipped Ellie into the buggy, her granddaughter hot and pink-cheeked from the running game, and gave her a drink of water from her blue plastic beaker. Dylan scuffed along beside the pram, twisting his anorak up over his head like a cloak. At the park gates they said their goodbyes.
Ray hesitated for a moment. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t have time to finish our conversation.’
Jeanie tried to laugh. ‘Just as well. Please forget everything I said.’
He smiled back at her, touched her arm before he turned away, just fleetingly, but it felt suddenly very intimate. And she found she liked it.
6
Rita bent to gather her racket cover, ball tin and jacket from the corner of the court.
‘What’s wrong with you, Jean Lawson?’ She sounded cross but Jeanie knew better. ‘You can’t keep letting me win like this. I mean, I know I’m unbelievably good, but you’re making me look like a superstar!’
Jeanie was leaning against the court netting, swinging her racket back and forth. She had thought about nothing for three days but Ray and what she had said to him. ‘Bench?’
She waited till they’d settled themselves. The long evening shadows were creeping closer, and with them the spring chill, but they still had about fifteen minutes of the dying, dusty sunlight.
‘Well?’ Rita was staring at her friend. ‘Something’s up, I know it.’
‘I’ve met this man,’ Jeanie said quietly.
‘Darling . . . no!’ Rita’s eyes widened with shock. ‘What, you mean a real man?’
Jeanie laughed. ‘Well . . . yes, to all intents and purposes, he’s very real.’ She outlined their three meetings, but there wasn’t much to say. ‘Look, it’s nothing. I don’t know him, I don’t even know what he does . . . although he did mention “the club” on the phone.’
‘What, a nightclub?’
Jeanie shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘A nightclub’s not good.’
‘Not good for what?’
‘He might be sleazy.’ Rita looked concerned.
Jeanie felt instantly defensive. She laughed. ‘You mean he might be after my body, perhaps hoping to sell me to the white slave trade for a tidy profit? He’s most certainly not.’
‘It could be a sports club, or a health club, or. . .’ Rita mused.
‘I don’t know. What difference does it make? I’m telling you, there’s nothing to it. I’ve only met him twice, three times, but it’s just . . .’
‘Do you fancy him?’
Jeanie snorted. ‘Rita! No.’ Yet as she said it, she knew it to be a lie. She did find him very attractive – how could she not? – it was just that she wasn’t in the zone, and hadn’t been for so long, where she flirted. It was a muscle that had wasted away. She realized she was blushing under her friend’s knowing gaze.
‘Don’t be daft, I’m married.’
Rita nodded wisely. ‘I had noticed, darling.’
Jeanie took a breath. ‘No, you don’t understand. I . . . I told him . . . told him something . . . God, it makes me cringe to think about it. I don’t know why I did it.’
‘Told him what?’
‘Told him that George hasn’t had sex with me for ten years.’ Jeanie spoke in a rush.
If Rita’s eyes had been wide at the mention of Ray, this piece of news threatened to derail them altogether.
‘What? What?’ she shrieked. ‘No! It can’t be true?’
‘Shhh!’ Jeanie looked around at the last remaining stragglers on the nearby grass.
‘You mean not at all, not ever? For ten whole years? Christ, darling, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I suppose I kept thinking it would be OK, and then the years went on and . . . well, here we are.’
Rita was silent.
‘I don’t know why I told Ray. I didn’t mean to, it just came out.’ She wished Rita would say something. ‘It’s probably not such a big deal,’ she went on quietly. ‘Maybe there are millions of couples out there who never have sex.’
‘So what happened? Why did it stop so suddenly?’
Jeanie sighed. ‘That’s the weird thing, I still don’t know. He absolutely refuses to talk about it. I did try. When it first happened, I tried everything in my power to get him to tell me what was wrong. But he just clammed up, wouldn’t say a word. He got really angry with me in the end, so I stopped. But it’s driven me mad, not knowing.’
Rita shook her head.
‘He was never that keen, it was always me.’ Jeanie paused. This was new territory for her and Rita; they discussed every other aspect of life in the minutest of detail, but never each other’s sex life. ‘And never that frequent, but I could usually persuade him.’
‘Was he any good at it?’ Her friend’s tone implied she knew the answer.
‘OK, I suppose. I don’t have a yardstick, I’ve never tried it with anyone else. George was my first . . . and last.’
The man responsible for closing the park came up the hill, ringing his hand-bell in warning, and Jeanie realized the sun had almost gone down. She shivered.
‘We’d better go.’
As they stood she felt Rita’s strong arm round her shoulder and was grateful.
She finished the story about George as they walked up the hill.
‘Christ! The bastard . . . you poor thing, that’s so hurtful.’ Rita stopped walking and turned to face her friend. ‘He’s gay. It’s the only explanation.’
‘What, suddenly gay? After twenty-two years of normal marriage? Was he just going through the motions all that time?’
Rita harrumphed. ‘Pretty depressing to think so. I can’t believe you’ve let it ride so long, darling. I mean, did George think you were happy not having sex? I’d have left him years ago.’
‘It was a gradual thing, I suppose. You know, time passes without you realizing. I never thought it would go on this long, and then . . . well, it’s just part of the marriage now. I do love him,’ Jeanie insisted, ‘we get on very well as a couple. Apart from the sex thing.’
‘And the control thing.’
‘Well, OK, that too. But honestly, I love George. I could never leave him, he’d fall apart.’ Jeanie felt pathetic. She knew her friend would never have let Bill get away with such behaviour.
Rita shot her a shrewd look. ‘Yeah, well, that’s always a good reason to stay with someone, isn’t it . . . to prop up their inadequacies.’
Jeanie winced at the sarcasm. ‘Loving someone is a good reason to stay, though.’
‘So the man in the park.’ Rita changed the subject. ‘What did he say when you told him?’
‘Not much, poor bugger, what could he say?’
‘George is a fool,’ her friend commented thoughtfully.
Later that night, Jeanie stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and looked hard at her body. She tried to imagine showing it, herself, to Ray, but the cold strip lighting seemed to mock her. It wasn’t that her body embarrassed her. The pad of post-menopausal fat on her stomach drove her mad but refused to budge, her small breasts were definitely bigger since the hormone shift, but she was still slim and fit. Unlike some of her friends, she’d never considered HRT. She thought it was a sort of vanity if you weren’t actually tormented with hot flushes, which she hadn’t been. But would she look better now, younger, if she were taking hormones? She scrutinized her face. It was a little lined, but she had good skin; strong, slightly fierce blue eyes; and her dark auburn hair, though helped by the bottle, was shiny and well cut to her chin. No, the problem was that her sexuality seemed to have vanished. Here was a woman in the mirror who could be proud of a body, but that was all it seemed to be now, just a body.
7
Jola glanced up gratefully as Jeanie arrived at the shop. There was a queue at the counter, everyone juggling their purchases but looking smugly patient, as if the mere decision to shop in this healthy, organic, pure environment had made them better people.
‘M
orning.’ Jeanie recognized one of her regulars as she hurried to open the second till. For a while she and Jola worked in silence to serve the customers, but soon there was a lull.
‘Tea?’ Jeanie moved to the back of the shop and the tiny kitchen.
‘Can we talk?’ Jola accepted the cup of tea, but seemed unusually tense. Jeanie groaned inwardly. For months now she had dreaded the conversation where Jola announced she was going back to Poland. She knew that Jola’s boyfriend had been pushing for her to go home with him, and so far she had resisted. She was well paid by Jeanie, a hundred per cent more, she said, than she would get in Poland, and loved her job. But the boyfriend hadn’t managed to integrate as well as Jola – he still hardly spoke English – and seemed to resent her success, even though (or maybe because) it was her salary that supported him. Jola was looking at her hard.
‘Jean, I am thinking that something is not right with you . . . with shop.’
Jeanie looked puzzled.
‘I cannot help hearing phone, last week . . . you say to your friend you don’t want to move from London . . . but I don’t know what you mean.’
She pushed her black-rimmed glasses back into place, her small face puckered with anxiety.
Jeanie thought back. What had she said? Then she remembered: she’d been ranting to Rita about George making an appointment to see a house the following week, and that she had no intention of going with him.
‘You not go away? Leave shop?’
Jeanie shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no way. I am not leaving the shop, Jola.’
She still didn’t look convinced.
‘I’ll be honest. George wants to move to the country, but I have no intention of doing so. I promise you, Jola, I’m not giving up the shop.’
‘But your husband?’ Jola came from a much more traditional culture.
‘He can’t make me,’ Jeanie assured her, although she felt a flutter of anxiety as she spoke.
Jola nodded, smiled. ‘I am happy.’
‘And Poland?’
‘No, no . . . not yet . . . my boyfriend, he get job now. He happy too.’
‘Don’t forget we’re away next week.’ Alex had continued the friendship drive.
‘I’m jealous. Brittany’ll be wonderful at this time of year.’
Alex looked glum. ‘I suppose.’
‘Try to look more excited.’
‘I’m just overwhelmed with work. The gallery’ve said if it’s not ready for September, I’ll lose my slot and they won’t be able to fit me in till late next year.’
They stood in the hall, Ellie tugging on Jeanie’s hand. ‘Come on, Gin, let’s go. Come on . . . stop talkin’.’
‘I’m just coming, darling. Go and get your umbrella and we’ll take it to the park.’ Her granddaughter was currently obsessed with her new umbrella, green and covered with small dinosaurs, which she dragged around with her wherever she went, putting it up and down regardless of the weather.
Alex seemed to want to say something more. This is it, Jeanie thought. I’m just about to find out why he’s been so uncommonly charming of late.
‘Umm . . . Jean, I was wondering . . .’
Jeanie raised her eyebrows expectantly.
‘Well, basically I need more time.’ He ran his hand through his dark curls, both spattered convincingly with paint in a variety of blues and greens, as he leant against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
‘I was wondering if you could do full-time with Ellie till the end of the summer.’
Jeanie gulped. ‘What, you mean every afternoon?’
Alex pulled his mouth down in an apologetic grin. ‘Well, that would be something. She’s at nursery two mornings and you do one afternoon already, so it’s not such a difference. I know it’s a lot to ask, but Chanty won’t hear of Ellie going to a childminder, and we can’t afford a nanny, not in this economic climate.’
‘But Alex, I have a shop.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, I appreciate that, but can’t Jola run it for a while?’
Jeanie couldn’t believe what he was asking.
‘Er, no, she can’t. She can do a lot, but she has no idea about ordering or accounts.’ Jeanie stopped: she didn’t need to justify herself.
Alex turned away, but Jeanie could see the muscle of his cheek contract. He was angry.
‘I can do another afternoon if that’d help.’ Despite her feelings for the man, she had some sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, Alex, I’m not being awkward, it’s just this is my business. I can’t take my eye off the ball for three months.’
‘But if you move to the country you’ll be giving it up soon, anyway. George will cover any shortfall, won’t he?’
‘That’s hardly the point.’ She couldn’t help raising her voice at his selfishness. ‘And for your information, I’m not moving to the country.’
Ellie was standing by the front door, clutching her umbrella and watching the two of them.
‘Oh, you know what, forget it,’ Alex snapped nastily. ‘Sorry I asked.’
‘I would help you if I could.’
‘Yeah . . . sure.’ He glared at her then rudely turned away.
‘Alex, please. I know we’ve had our differences, but that isn’t why I’m refusing. I’ve said I’ll do another afternoon.’
‘Whatever . . .’
He pushed past her in the narrow hall and bent to kiss his daughter as she stood patiently by the pram. ‘Have fun in the park, Ell.’ Then back again, wrenching open the stair-gate and taking the stairs two at a time up to his top-floor studio without another word.
Jeanie gathered Ellie up and gave her a hug before tackling the pram and the steps.
‘Daddy’s cross,’ the child commented, as if there was nothing unusual about this.
Jeanie didn’t trust herself to reply.
It was a relief to see Ray. She’d been shaken by Alex’s spitefulness.
‘Hey, good to see you.’ Ray rose from the bench on the wooden decking by the pond when he spotted her approach. He was looking particularly handsome, she thought, in a blue cotton shirt and jeans, very fit and spruce. She looked around for the boy.
‘Where’s Dylan?’
‘His dad’s taken him to a kids’ music festival he’s running.’
‘But you came anyway?’
Ray smiled. ‘Didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you, after . . . well, you seemed in a bad way the other day. Hi, Ellie.’
Jeanie took Ellie out of the buggy and started to break up some bread for the ducks.
‘That’s bad for them, you know,’ he said seriously.
‘It’s organic, I got it from the shop.’
He laughed. ‘It’s not its purity that’s the problem, it’s the bread itself.’
‘Oh? I thought people had been feeding birds with bread for ever.’
Ellie was munching happily on the stale lump of rye loaf Jeanie had handed her.
‘Throw it, darling, throw it to the ducks.’
Her granddaughter carefully passed a bit through the netting covering the fence, then stuffed the rest in her mouth.
‘They have, but that doesn’t make it good for them. Apparently it gets stuck in their guts and makes them ill. If you think about it, it’s not surprising. I mean, bread is processed food.’
Jeanie thought about this. ‘I suppose. . . I should know, I run a health-food shop.’
‘For people, not ducks, though.’
They both laughed and for a second their eyes met. As the gaze held, Jeanie felt the breath stop in her lungs and her heart begin to race tight against her ribs.
She dragged her eyes away and sat down hard on the bench, realizing she was shaking. Ray remained leaning with his back against the fence, his elbows propped on the wooden railing. Disconcertingly, he continued to stare at her flushed face.
The little girl ran about the decking chasing pigeons, totally contained in the sheer exuberance of her freedom.
‘I’ve just had another run-in with my son-in-law
, Alex.’ She began to talk, to say anything that came to mind, avoiding his eye.
‘You mentioned the relationship was difficult.’
Jeanie nodded, willing her heart to quieten. ‘He asked me to look after Ellie full-time so he can paint.’
Ray looked questioningly at her, a soft smile playing about his mouth.
‘And that’s bad?’ He saw her rising indignation. ‘No, no, I’m sure it is.’
‘Well, obviously,’ she replied tartly. ‘No one seems to notice this fact, but I run a shop.’
‘So you said no.’
‘And he was vile to me . . . but now I feel guilty. I know he’s a pain, but I suppose it can’t be easy to look after a child when you’re trying to get an exhibition together. Ellie looks as if butter wouldn’t melt, but she’s relentless.’
‘Can’t he take her to a childminder a couple of days?’
‘Chanty won’t hear of it – she does two mornings at nursery already.’
‘You do what you can, but in the end it’s their problem.’
Jeanie looked at him, nodded. ‘You’re right, it is their problem, I suppose. But I don’t want him causing trouble with me and Chanty again, making it difficult for me to see Ellie.’
Ray shrugged. ‘Maybe you should trust your relationship with your daughter more.’
‘I sound paranoid, don’t I,’ she sighed. ‘It’s just it was hell when we fell out. I couldn’t bear to go through that again.’ She explained about Alex’s behaviour before Ellie was born.
‘Look, I’m no role model, Jeanie. I keep telling myself to do the same with Nat, to trust her. And in the end, I believe they want us in their lives as much as the other way round.’
‘Right.’ Jeanie got up resolutely, anxious to avoid any further intimacy, yet she felt, ridiculously, that she had known this man for whole lifetimes. ‘Let’s go to the other play area, so Ellie has something to do.’
‘Wobby log, wobby log,’ Ellie chanted as they came up the hill.
‘I’m impressed,’ said Ray. ‘Dylan can’t manage the log.’
‘She means the squared-off one, the safe one, not the very wobbly one!’