Good Husband Material

by Trisha Ashley

  There was no sound other than snoring from the spare room, so I thought it would be lunchtime, at least, before Mother emerged.

  Outside everything was lightly frosted with snow: very Christmas-cardish. Bess and I had a quick stroll – she didn’t like getting snow on her feet, and kept trying to lift them all off the ground simultaneously with the obvious result.

  Back home I switched on the radio for the Christmas programmes and gave Bess her stocking. She disembowelled it all over the kitchen, but wouldn’t let the pups near it. Toby got a peeled satsuma and half a Jaffa cake, which would glue his beak up nicely for a bit. Then I put the turkey roast in its tin and prepared the vegetables.

  Mother came down much later in unusual silence, except for complaining of a headache, so I gave her two aspirins, wished her Happy Christmas and recommended a walk.

  She gave me a look and continued sitting hunched over the kitchen table drinking gallons of weak sugary tea, while I lunched on Christmas cake and four satsumas. Then I suggested we go into the living room and open our presents.

  Granny’s to me was a book of helpful hints on divorce, which Mother said was further evidence of her senility, but that was after she’d opened her own present and found thermal underwear.

  ‘But it’s just the thing for this weather, Mother.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear – it’s the kind of thing old women wear!’

  ‘I think this sort of lacy vest top is very pretty. If you don’t like it, I’ll have it.’

  When she unwrapped my box of chocolates, she said, ‘Thank you, darling. I suppose you’ve been too busy lately to think of Poor Little Me!’

  Her present to me was, as always, a small bottle of an expensive scent that I particularly dislike. I kissed her cheek and thanked her.

  After that I reluctantly ripped off the glossy paper enclosing James’s offering, to reveal an indecently large bottle of ridiculously expensive perfume, which quite took me aback, and made Mother miffed because her little bottle looked nothing beside it.

  ‘Oh blast! What am I going to do with this?’

  ‘But – aren’t you pleased, Leticia?’

  ‘Pleased? It must have cost the earth! I can’t possibly accept it.’

  ‘But surely it must touch your heart, his spending all that money on this lovely perfume?’

  ‘No – it’s vulgar! And impersonal.’ But I could see she didn’t understand. I put the bottle on the dresser. ‘I’ll give it back when he comes round later.’

  ‘But you can’t. He’ll be terribly hurt!’

  ‘I can’t do anything else, Mother.’

  While I put the finishing touches to dinner, she sat in front of the TV eating her chocolates and destroying her liver.

  The table looked very festive with the holly and fir cone decoration I’d made, and a red cloth. I’d done roast potatoes and all the trimmings, but Mother was predictably outraged that I hadn’t bought an enormous turkey.

  ‘But it’s such an economy – you can cut at it for days, and there’s always something to eat if visitors come round.’

  ‘I get sick of it by the second day, and I’m not expecting visitors.’

  ‘James!’

  ‘Let him eat cake.’

  ‘Really, it’s no wonder you couldn’t keep him with an attitude like that.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so? But I’m sure Blondie isn’t a cordonbleu chef either – unless she’s feeding a different appetite.’

  ‘Leticia!’

  ‘Have some Christmas pudding, Mother, but mind you don’t choke on the silver charms – that wouldn’t be lucky.’

  We both found one and she insisted on keeping hers to put on her charm bracelet although already she rattles like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I don’t know how she can lift her wrist.

  After the meal we lay about in front of the Wrekins’ telly, replete, with Bess, who’d escaped her maternal duties yet again. It was snug, even though outside the snow was falling and the sky a strange, unearthly colour.

  The Incubus was kicking and protesting at the amount of food pressing on its swimming space and I wished it would have a nice long sleep until digestion had done its bit.

  Mother watched the film, while I fell asleep part-way through reading Quick Divorce Solutions, and woke later when she was talking on the phone to her beau; he seems pretty keen and apparently calls her at least once every day!

  I heaved myself up and went to make some ham sandwiches, and had just brought them in on a tray with mince pies, fruit, and chocolate finger biscuits (with Mother still bemoaning the lack of turkey), when James arrived.

  They both spurned my coffee in favour of something stronger.

  James followed me out to the kitchen afterwards, though he didn’t offer to carry anything. ‘I’d forgotten about the puppies!’ he exclaimed, but when he made as if to go nearer Bess growled and looked defensive, so he had to content himself with peering at them from a distance.

  ‘Funny-looking things! Do you know what the father is?’

  ‘I’m beginning to suspect it’s that enormous Old English sheepdog that’s always roaming round the village.’

  ‘Good God! You’ll never get rid of them if it is. Perhaps you ought to have them put down?’

  ‘I certainly will not! I’ll find homes for them.’

  He sat down at the table, and the light showed all the lines and wrinkles that were forming, and the way his skin seemed to be coming detached from the craggy bones of his face. It gave me some idea of what he’d look like as an old man if he didn’t cut down on the self-indulgence – and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

  ‘Oh – thanks,’ he said unenthusiastically as I put a cup and more mince pies in front of him. ‘But I couldn’t eat another thing.’

  I did, though. I think he was just put off by the darkness of the wholemeal pastry.

  ‘How are you feeling? Is the baby all right?’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘Caring James’ was a new manifestation. ‘Fine – it should arrive at the beginning of April.’ (April the first, actually, but I refuse to contemplate that possibility!)

  He sighed. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t consider having another shot at the marriage? I’ve been considering things a lot and it would be different this time. I still think you were a bit hasty, but Wendy must have been a shock.’

  ‘She was certainly a surprise.’ I selected another mince pie. ‘Lots of fruit and thin pastry!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The mince pies: that’s how I like them. And our marriage is all in the past, as far as I’m concerned. What you get up to with Wendy, or anyone else, isn’t my concern any more.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s just it – now you’ve thrown me out, she keeps trying to move in with me permanently and hinting that when I get the divorce I should marry her.’

  ‘Why don’t you and Wendy just live with Alice and Howard?’

  ‘Alice seems to think it would be better if Wendy moved in with me – I think she wants Howard to herself.’

  ‘What for, to experiment on?’

  He gave me one of his uncomprehending blinks and carried on plaintively, ‘In any case, I don’t want to live with her anywhere, you know that.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Of course – I want us to be together again.’

  ‘There is no “us”. There never really was.’ My bowels of compassion remained unstirred. ‘Sorry, James, you’ll have to sort it out yourself. The divorce goes ahead.’

  ‘Alice says her father knows Uncle Lionel,’ he said, even more gloomily.

  ‘Then perhaps she might have the makings of a solicitor’s wife after all,’ I suggested brightly, and he glowered. It would be one solution. Then afterwards, Wendy could eat him alive like a female spider. Tidy.

  ‘Look, why not just tell her you don’t want to see her any more, if you mean it, James? You’re a big boy now.’

  ‘You don’t know Wendy.’

  ‘Well, there is that to be tha
nkful for, I suppose.’

  He got himself into this mess and he can find his way out … if he really wants out. I don’t know how much of what he says is true any more.

  Anyway, I then compounded his happiness by returning his present and he got mad and said he would give it to Wendy instead. I kindly pointed out that she would think he was really serious if he gave her such an expensive gift.

  ‘Let’s not argue about it, James,’ I said. ‘It’s Christmas, after all.’

  ‘Look, if I swap the bottle for a smaller one, would that be all right?’ he said more reasonably.

  ‘Yes – fine. But the smallest size, mind.’

  We went back to Mother, who was snoring in front of the TV, and I crammed half a box of chocolates in on top of everything else, which put an end to the Incubus’s gymnastics for one night.

  James had to help me get Mother upstairs, then turned maudlin on the doorstep. I pushed him out into the cold, cold snow: that would sober him.

  Fergal rang me just as I was going up to bed myself, to wish me Happy Christmas, and I could hear the sound of family revelry in the background.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ he said and then I thought he added, ‘and I wish you were here …’ but I must have imagined that, for he said breezily, ‘See you in 2000, Angel!’ and rang off.

  Chapter 36: Guilt-edged

  I felt exhausted by Boxing Day and made Mother go down to Mrs Deakin’s (who’d said she’d be opening the shop for a couple of hours), for a few things we’d run out of. She was gone for absolutely ages, so God knows what she’d been telling her! My name will be on everyone’s lips by nightfall (if it isn’t already).

  I began my new novel: The Sweet Wine of Love, which is about a young English girl touring Europe, who loses all her money and has to find a job picking grapes. There she meets a young man who is really the son of a comte, only he has to prove himself in the fields to inherit the money …

  Though I didn’t see much of Mother, I could hear the TV booming away: she must be going deaf.

  Apparently Dr Reevey called, too – it must be love! He’s probably her last hope of salvation before alcoholism. After Bess’s last run of the evening the phone rang and I thought it might be him again … or even Fergal, but when I picked it up and said, ‘Hello?’ there was no reply other than a silence like an old, rather tiresome, acquaintance.

  ‘What do you want, Wendy?’ I asked wearily. ‘He isn’t here, you know.’

  There was a long, snuffling sigh. (Something to do with having a nose like a piglet, I suppose.) ‘But he said he was going to see you yesterday and he hasn’t come back yet.’

  ‘He did come here for a couple of hours, but I haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘You could be just saying that!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake! Look, Wendy, I’m too tired for this sort of conversation and I’m off to bed – alone. I neither know nor care where James is.’

  ‘How do I know if you’re telling the truth? You told Alice you wanted a divorce, but James says you don’t.’

  Fumes of sleep were drifting round inside my skull like clouds, but I attempted to focus. ‘Wendy, the divorce was my idea, and my solicitor is already dealing with it.’

  ‘But James says—’ she bleated.

  ‘I don’t care what James says. Hasn’t he already proved himself a prize liar by deceiving me with you over the last year? I don’t care about James, full stop! Right?’

  ‘I hope you mean that – because at least when I have my baby he’ll know he’s the father!’ she said viciously, then slammed down the phone.

  Wendy pregnant? Alice must have taken that advice I gave her seriously! I should have known she didn’t have a sense of humour. Wendy must have moved fast … I wonder if she’ll also take the rest of my advice about smart little suits and big hair.

  What will James do now – if it’s true, that is, for Wendy is probably at least as big a liar as he is?

  But if it is, then the Incubus might have a half-sibling … half-baby, half-Pekinese.

  I had a driving lesson booked for next day and it went quite well, especially my reversing and three-point turns. Must have been that practice with Fergal. But I’m beginning to find sitting tensely for an hour a bit uncomfortable with my increasing bulk; come to that, any position for doing anything is getting uncomfortable. Like one of those prisoners in a little cage who can neither stand nor lie down – a Little Ease. There’s certainly little ease in pregnancy.

  I’m certain now that Bess’s puppies are half Old English sheepdog (or Durex Dog, as Mrs Deakin once put it, though I don’t think she knew she was making a mistake). At least she’s got it all over with – and got her figure back!

  The puppies are like large, shambling, disparate bits of shaggy rug, though at least they can all now manage to stagger out onto the newspaper to perform. A certain smell still lingers, however many times I change the papers and disinfect the floor.

  Bess has long since abandoned any attempt to clean up after them, though she does show interest in eating their expensive puppy food. So much for the maternal instinct.

  Bob has picked out the puppy he wants: the one with the four unmatching legs and a walleye. It may improve as it gets older. Mrs Sloggit sent a note saying he could have one, and I’ve told him he can take it home when it’s eight weeks old.

  Bess will be delighted.

  Mrs Deakin reported (via Dulcie Blacklock) loud shouting outside the Wrekins’ flat in the early hours of the day after Boxing Day, followed by the departure of Wendy in her white Volkswagen Polo. (Bag with Baggage.) So, all the time James was trying to persuade me to take him back, he knew she was waiting for him at the flat!

  I wonder where he went after he left here. Could Nerissa have wafted him away to console her for Fergal’s absence? (I mean, just how desperate can you get?)

  I know where he was tonight – the Dog and Duck with Mother, because he brought her back late. He had to – from the sound of it she’d never have made it alone. But at least she found the door key I gave her, so I didn’t have to get out of bed.

  James came round early in a belligerent mood, to ‘talk to me seriously’ about Mother’s drinking, which he blames entirely on the worry caused by our marital break-up. He didn’t believe me when I said it’d been creeping up for over a decade, and said I ought to have her to live with me, since it would also put a stop to my ‘goings-on with that long-haired pop singer’.

  He said the whole village was talking about how I’d been seen out in Fergal’s car, and his visits to the cottage.

  The village – and James – must have good, if strange, imaginations, that’s all I can say. I mean, do I look as if I’m in the middle of a torrid affair with someone?

  I told him he was a complete cretin, and while he must know the baby’s his, it was nothing to do with him if I was having an affair with Fergal, or anyone else, now we’re separated.

  ‘And before you start on my morals, where were you for the two nights after Christmas? Off with someone else, while your mistress awaited you in the flat?’

  He went puce and slammed out.

  After he’d gone Mother finally emerged, and I tactfully reminded her to wear something warm for the journey home. She showed a tendency to cry into the home-made tangerine marmalade.

  It didn’t seem to have much effect on her departure, though, for it was lunchtime before she finally got dressed and resurfaced her face, and even then she simply drifted into the kitchen and settled down again with tea and cake, while the times of two trains she could have taken came and went.

  Finally I asked, point-blank, ‘Do you want me to pack for you, Mo— Mummy, or will you do it yourself?’

  Instead of replying she suddenly swooped down on the puppies, and emerged with one of the little creatures in her bony hands.

  It whimpered, and I saw that it was my favourite – but I was afraid to snatch it back since she was quite capable of hanging on to it until it parted in the middl
e. (If she’d been at the Judgement of Solomon she’d have said, ‘Ok, split it down the middle – but I want the left side, mind!’ whether it was her baby or not.)

  ‘You know,’ she fluted, ‘I think I’ll take this sweet little mite back with me. I need some company now I’m all alone.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s too young – and in any case they’re all spoken for.’

  ‘Not all, surely! No one will want this one, will they? I only chose it because I thought I should take the ugly one off your hands.’

  The puppy whimpered again, and Bess began stalking towards her, growling menacingly. I was quite impressed.

  Mother hurriedly put the puppy down and backed away with an uncertain laugh. ‘Well, it was just an idea after all.’

  ‘What time is your train?’

  ‘Really, darling, anyone would think you wanted to get rid of me! I’ve hardly been here five minutes, and I was only thinking last night that I mustn’t let myself be hurt, or driven away by any little fancies you had about … well, about your arrival, darling.’

  She made my birth sound like a train: ‘The baby now arriving at bed one …’

  ‘And it’s so silly! Everyone says how like me you are.’

  Good heavens! If I thought I resembled Mother in any way I would stick my head in the oven. (Not the Aga, because even if it was working I expect it would only slow-cook it.)

  ‘And a girl really needs her mother at a time like this. It’ll be New Year’s Eve in a few days, and the new millennium – you can’t possibly be alone for that. The Wrekins are having a party and they invited— ’

  ‘No,’ I broke in flatly. ‘I’m totally unexcited about the new millennium – I have other things on my mind – and I certainly don’t feel like going to any parties, especially at the Wrekins’!’

  ‘But I could go and, after all, there’s no reason for me to hurry home. It’s terribly unpleasant having people coming to look over the house and trying to deduce how long I’m going to live, or if they could buy me out,’ Mother complained.