The Would-Be Wife

by Annie Wilkinson

  ‘Happy New Year, Darling!’

  ‘Happy New Year!’ she replied, ridiculously grateful to him for tearing himself away from everybody at the company to ring her, his wife. She put the phone down after a two-minute conversation and it rang again – Margaret and Jim this time, giving her their good wishes down the wire. They both sounded very merry, and she could hear her nephews in the background, still up, at this hour! She hung up after five minutes’ chat, and the room seemed emptier than ever.

  Hearing Margaret’s brood prompted her to go upstairs and look at Simon, who had gone to bed at the proper time as all good boys should. On her way back downstairs the thought struck her how tidy this house was, compared to the last. Here, everything had been unpacked and put neatly away within a couple of weeks, instead of hanging around in boxes for months – but that’s the difference, she thought, between women who are gainfully employed in jobs that occupy their minds as well as their time and energy, and those who stay at home, filling their time and their thoughts with housework, until a stray crumb or a smear on the paintwork becomes a major concern. She picked the phone up on her return downstairs to ring her mother, but there was no reply. None at Anthony’s or Janet’s, either. Not so easy to ring her dad, and how good it would have been to hear his voice. But he would be in the Arctic, hundreds of miles away – and so, probably, would Alec. She gave an involuntary shiver. The weather would be dire up there just now – not that it would affect her dad, but it was a different story for a mate. Alec would be freezing on deck or freezing in the fish room most of the time. He would be getting a baptism of ice.

  She sat down and stared despondently at the gentlemen in their kilts and the ladies with tartan sashes over their white dresses all smiling as they twirled round each other in square dances, interspersed with Andy singing songs of Scotland. She watched for a while and then turned the television and the lights off and sat in darkness and silence, staring into the fire. Fishermen’s wives sit alone night after night like this, she thought, and then wondered, how are adulterers’ wives any better off ?

  Heavens! Why on earth had that word popped into her head? Adultery was a thing of the past with Graham; he had become the devoted family man. There wasn’t even a whiff of any other woman. No suspicion of it. Mandy was gone. Graham was out with his bosses, looking after his career, and considering his recent performances in bed, the likelihood that he was sharing himself with anybody else was practically nil. No man could have that much energy.

  At half past twelve she heard a car door slam. He was home! He’d come home early, to spend the New Year with her!

  She felt a gust of wintry air. A voice like a pantomime policeman called: ‘’Ello, ’ello, ’ello!’ and Anthony walked into the living room rubbing his hands, followed by Brenda pulling her fur collar round her pink cheeks, the first visit they’d made to Lynn in her new home.

  ‘Ooh, it’s a bit parky out there,’ Brenda shivered, and lowered her voice to say: ‘We’ve come to bury the hatchet, and all that. It’s Anthony’s New Year Resolution!’

  ‘I thought you were still at sea!’ Lynn said, astonished to see them.

  ‘We docked on the thirtieth. That was our Christmas Day, eh, Brenda? And here we are, it’s New Year’s Day.’

  ‘Take your coats off and sit down! I’ll get you a glass of something,’

  ‘He thought he’d keep it quiet, and come and surprise you.’ Brenda said. She slipped off her coat, her eyes widening as she scanned the room, well furnished with Auntie Ivy’s gleaming antiques. ‘Mmm! Very nice! Well, maybe some day, eh, Anthony?’

  Anthony nodded. ‘Where’s the lord of the manor, then?’

  Lynn was already at the sideboard, pouring drinks. ‘Out, partying with the big cheeses at the company.’

  ‘And left you in on your own, on New Year’s Eve!’

  ‘Well, he did ring and wish me a happy New Year when Big Ben started chiming.’

  ‘He should have taken you out, never mind ringing,’ Anthony said. ‘Couldn’t his mother have had Simon?’

  ‘They’ve gone out.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you drop him off at Margaret’s?’

  ‘Because Jim’s still at home.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have made any difference. They wouldn’t have minded.’

  ‘He should have stopped in with you, if you couldn’t get a babysitter,’ Brenda said, lips pursed.

  Lynn handed Anthony a tumbler of whisky. ‘The manager asked him to a party at his own house, and he didn’t like to refuse. He’s up the bloke’s arse, and he says he means to stay there.’

  Anthony burst into laughter, and gave a broad sweep of his arm. ‘Well, you’re not doing too bad on it, are you? I’d get up our gaffer’s arse if I could, get a few good trips as skipper and get some money together.’

  ‘You’ve hardly been mate two minutes!’ Lynn said. ‘Anyway, you’re probably earning as much as Graham now you’re on a better ship.’

  ‘Not far off, maybe – some of the time – but my money’s a lot more dicey than his, and I work a damned sight harder for it, as well. Still, we’ll have our own house before long, eh, Brenda? Maybe not as fancy as this, though.’

  ‘You never know,’ Brenda said, with a shrug and a smile. ‘We went to your mother’s, Lynn, but she’s not in.’

  ‘She’s never in these days. I tried ringing her earlier.’

  ‘There’s something got into her lately,’ Anthony said, suddenly suspicious. ‘She’s not running round with Scrobs, is she? Me dad’ll kill her, if she is.’

  ‘Scrobs?’ Brenda said.

  ‘Fishermen, from Iceland and Denmark, places like that,’ Lynn grinned. ‘There are some good-looking lads among ’em, but I don’t think my mother’s the type, somehow. Give her some credit, Anthony.’

  Brenda chuckled, and sipped her Babycham. ‘Mm, Scrobs! Yeah, I remember now – they look after some of the fishermen’s wives while their husbands are at sea, don’t they?’

  That got Anthony roused. ‘They’d better not try looking after mine!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be too busy,’ Brenda chuckled.

  ‘Busy with what?’ Lynn asked.

  Brenda and Anthony looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘You’re having a baby!’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Come on, I’m a midwife. I can tell just by looking at you. I knew as soon as you walked in, only I didn’t want to be the first to say anything.’ Lynn said it with a straight face, and almost had Brenda convinced.

  They had a long discussion about pregnancy, and labour, and caring for newborn babies. Lynn managed to restrain herself throughout, but just as her visitors were walking out of the door, she could resist no longer. ‘How are Orla and Alec?’ she asked

  ‘Orla’s fine, but we haven’t laid eyes on Alec since that day we saw you in the park,’ Brenda said.

  ‘What – at the end of August?’

  ‘Well, we haven’t been there since, have we?’

  ‘He’s moved his digs,’ Anthony said. ‘We don’t even know where he’s living now.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lynn, much taken aback. ‘Doesn’t Orla know?’

  ‘She’s seen nothing of him either, as far as I know,’ Brenda said.

  Well, had she or hadn’t she seen anything of him, Lynn wondered? The house seemed deathly quiet after they’d gone, the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock.

  Chapter 29

  Simon started school in Cottingham after the Christmas holidays. The weather had been icy since the day the schools reopened; there was no sign of a let-up and before the week was out Lynn was very glad that Graham had insisted on the move. She walked Simon there on a frosty Thursday morning, hurr ying along through ice-packed snow and slush until she slipped and crashed down onto the pavement.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  She looked up, and saw Simon’s little face looking anxiously down. I’ve broken my back
, was her first thought. Winded, she gasped: ‘Yeah, I’m all right, son,’ and attempted to get up.

  A couple of passers-by helped her to her feet and she hobbled away with Simon, stepping very gingerly. It might be a broken neck, next time.

  She called at the paper shop on her way home for a copy of the Nursing Times, to look at the job vacancies.

  ‘Terrible weather,’ the newsagent commented, ‘and there’s no sign of it ending, either, according to the weather man.’ He stretched out a hand protected by a fingerless glove.

  Lynn dropped her money into it. ‘As if we need him to tell us that,’ she said.

  If it’s as bad as this on land, what must it be like round Iceland, and Bear Island, and the White Sea? she thought, as she carefully picked her way home. Once back, she put the kettle on, and sat perusing her magazine at the kitchen table. There was a pearl of a job in Maternity Out-Patients. It might have been made for her, but she knew nobody nearby who could look after Simon before and after school. She would have applied for that job like a shot had she lived near Hessle Road where favours were given and returned as easily as people breathe, and all mucked in together, and somebody always knew somebody who could help out even if they couldn’t do it themselves. Simon could have gone, if not to his grandmother or his aunt, then to one of Jim’s aunts, or a great aunt, or a cousin, or a second-cousin-once-removed, or one of the in-laws of those aunts or cousins, or to a friend, or a friend of a friend who would have lived no more than a crowded street or two away – a ten or fifteen-minute walk at the most – and she would have known them, or known somebody who did. The vast, interlocking network of support would have made the job possible – but she had bettered herself. She had dragged herself free of all that, and now lived in splendid isolation in a beautiful house with a large garden, well beyond the reach of their helping hands.

  What was worse was the fact that Lynn’s lack of income had been quickly followed by an unwelcome attitude shift in Graham. She suddenly felt that her value to him was greatly diminished. Nothing had been explicitly said, but she understood quite clearly that her loss of earning power had reduced her worth, both as a wife and as a human being. He’d begun acting more and more as if he were the lord and master of all he surveyed, and she his serf. Although he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell her from one day to the next whether he would be home early or late, he wanted his tea on the table as soon as he walked in. He felt quite entitled to make carping little criticisms about pettifogging little matters, and to lay his opinions down as fact and law, which he’d never done while she was working. Lynn rarely asserted herself lately, too conscious of being a non-contributor to the household expenses, and not wishing to hear another reminder of the fact.

  She threw the magazine aside and washed the breakfast pots, resigned to having to rely on him for every penny for a while. After all that working and studying she was no better off than women like Brenda, who stopped work as soon as they married. But Brenda was more comfortably situated, since Anthony wanted her to stay at home. Lynn would never have chosen the stay-at-home life. She’d had some ambition. She’d wanted to be out, among interesting people, doing interesting work, preferably earning a decent salary while she was at it – money she could call her own. Dependency was loathsome to her – and she hadn’t yet had a month of it!

  ‘What was the point, Mother, of seeing me through my exams if I had to pack up work as soon as I’d passed them?’ she asked the empty air. But maybe, after years at home looking at the same four walls, the point for her mother was a grab at some independence for herself, and if not interesting work, then at least the companionship of a more varied set of people; and if not a decent salary, then at least a modest little wage packet she could call her own. And how could she be blamed for that?

  Lynn stared through the kitchen window onto the stark winter garden. The sky was white, and there was a flurry of fine snow. The central heating was on just high enough to keep the pipes from freezing, and the house was cold. She shivered, tempted to turn it up. Then she thought of the bill, and went upstairs find an extra jumper. She made the beds and tidied everything upstairs, then went down again to peel vegetables and do more housework until it was time to go for Simon – the highlight of her day.

  Chapter 30

  On Friday morning Lynn opened the door to her father. She knew immediately that there was something wrong.

  ‘Is your mam here?’ he demanded, without his usual cheerful, good-natured smile.

  ‘No. I hardly ever see her since she started work.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘At work, I’d have thought, if she’s not at home. Come in; I’ll make us a cup of tea.’

  He followed her into the kitchen, where she stood by the sink, filling the kettle. ‘I’ve phoned work; she’s not there. And I’ve been to our Margaret’s and Brenda’s. She’s nowhere to be found. She’s left me.’

  ‘Left you?’ Lynn gasped.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. She left a note.’

  Lynn turned off the tap and left the kettle on the worktop. ‘Tell you what, Dad, never mind the tea. Try something stronger,’ she said, and led him into the sitting room.

  He slumped into the armchair opposite her, his shoulders hunched and his head pulled downwards so that she saw the slight thinning of the hair on his crown, the first time she’d really noticed it. Poor old Dad.

  ‘It’s freezing in here,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll turn the heating up,’ she said, and poured him a glass of whisky, conscious of playing the role Janet had played a few eventful months ago.

  ‘I thought it was funny before we sailed. She never made the song and dance she usually makes whenever I have to work a Christmas holiday. She took it so bloody well, I thought: maybe our Nina’s mellowing in her old age. I said as much, and she just laughed. “Oh, aye! A cosy night in beside the fire with my slippers and my knitting! That’s really my idea of heaven, now I’m knocking on,” she says. I knew she was being sarky, but I’d no idea she intended doing a bunkoff. I never guessed she had that in store! I can’t understand it. I’ve given her everything – everything! Except I could never give her enough. That was always your mother: gimme, get me, buy me.’

  Lynn said nothing, but handed him the tumbler.

  ‘Well, first you – now it’s my turn. Cheers! A Happy New Year, one and all!’ He raised his glass and took a drink. ‘That’s a good drop of whisky.’

  ‘Courtesy of Graham’s boss.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, that’s the one good thing we can say about Graham – he’s not work-shy,’ her father said, and taking a folded sheet torn from a spiral-bound notepad out of his pocket, he handed it to her. She felt his eyes on her, alert for her reaction.

  ‘. . . I’ve spent too much time on my own for too many years, and life’s too short to go on like that. Now I’ve met somebody else, and I’m leaving you, Tom. I hope you can forgive me. Nina’, Lynn read, unconsciously wiping her right hand on her skirt. She could almost smell the cloves and feel that limp, moist handshake.

  ‘You don’t look surprised, Lynn. You look as if you knew,’ her father said.

  ‘I didn’t. It’s just that one or two things I hardly noticed at the time have just dropped into place,’ she said.

  ‘What things?’

  Lynn hesitated for a moment, but what was there to hide? I’ve met somebody else – her mother had actually put it in writing. The damage was already done. ‘I went back home with Alec once, and there was a bloke there with her. She said he’d given her a lift home because she had toothache. He was a friend of a friend, she said.’

  ‘Where does he live, this friend of a friend? Do you know that? Is it somebody she’s met at work?’

  Lynn shook her head. ‘I don’t know any more than what I’ve just told you,’ she said. And if she had known any more, she would have kept it to herself, because the look on his face told her that if her father got hold of Piers Marson there would be a murder done.
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  ‘Didn’t she introduce you? Didn’t she tell you his name?’

  ‘If she did, I’ve forgotten. And like I said, he might not be the one she’s run off with.’

  ‘What else, then? What else did you hardly notice?’

  ‘The toothache. She never mentioned it again, after that night.’

  Her father looked devastated.

  Lynn tried to comfort him. ‘I’ll give it a month,’ she said, ‘and then she’ll be back.’

  ‘Let her stop where she is. I’m not sure I’d want her back, after this,’ he said. ‘She’s taken the bloody bank book as well; she don’t miss a trick, our Nina. “Gimme, gimme, gimme . . . I want, I want, I want” – that’s been your mother ever since I’ve known her, but she’s in for a rude awakening, and so’s the bloke she’s run off with. Let him have a dollop of Nina and what she wants now.’

  ‘Stay with us, if you don’t want to stop in the house on your own.’

  ‘No thanks. No offence to you, Lynn, but we never made very easy company, me and Graham, and I don’t suppose what I said at your bonfire party will have improved matters, ’cause I meant it, and I still mean it.’

  Lynn gave him a wry smile. ‘I think he knows that.’

  Her father nodded. ‘Don’t tell him about your mother, either,’ he said. ‘They’ll be over the moon when they find out about that, his team.’

  ‘I won’t, but they’re bound to realise, sooner or later,’ she said.

  ‘Let it be later then. Come on, let’s go out.’

  She got her coat and they walked through icy streets to a pub in the village centre. Her father held the door for her and she went in, glad to get inside.

  ‘Not many braving it today,’ the landlord greeted them. ‘It’s like the Arctic.’

  Lynn’s father gave him a dour look. ‘Ever been to the Arctic in January?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ her father said, and gave their order.

  ‘Like the Arctic,’ he repeated as they sat down. ‘People have got no bloody idea what a freezing, howling wilderness the Arctic is, in winter. I decided I’d sweat it out in the engine room, and I’ve never regretted it. It’s enough for me to walk from there to the bridge, this time of year. God help the deckies, standing out in it for eighteen hours at a stretch – and more, when the fishing’s good. I wish to God our Anthony had never gone to sea.’