But things were improving generally for her, for them both. Danny was sleeping better at nights so she had more energy to give to her two part-time jobs: helping on the hat stall for a couple of afternoons a week, and working for Lizzie Pringle for the odd morning when needed. Which in turn meant that she was able to put a bit by each week. She’d opened a Post Office Savings Account and hoped one day, maybe in a year or two, to have saved enough to put down as a deposit on a flat or little house of their own, one that didn’t have creeping damp.
She was thankful that Mavis seemed to be keeping her distance for a change, and that Thomas was back by his own fireside. It was a huge relief that her in-laws seemed to have patched up their differences. And Amy was thrilled with her new washing machine which had transformed her daily routine and meant she didn’t spend hours every day elbow deep in soap suds, scrubbing.
Life was good, except for being filled with guilt over still not having confessed to her husband that she was a member of this rather radical organisation. And she certainly had no wish to add to his worries right now.
After all that had happened Patsy really did not feel inclined to take Clara’s excellent advice. Perhaps if she’d spoken about her suspicions earlier Gina might never have attempted to do such a terrible thing as try to take her own life, may not now be facing two years in prison. Patsy felt responsible. Unfortunately, she still possessed no proof that her theory was correct.
Her next visit to the prison was heartbreaking. To see the bleak acceptance, the desolation in those lovely cinnamon eyes sent a chill down her spine. Gina might have survived that terrible act of desperation but to see this lovely young girl in such despair was almost more than Patsy could bear. She seemed to have given up all hope of a happy future, believing she’d lost everything.
Patsy offered what little comfort she could, pointing out that although the sentence was tough, it wouldn’t last forever. ‘There’ll be time off for good behaviour, and what you’ve served already. One day you will be free. Maybe there’ll be an appeal. You mustn’t give up hope. I know your parents have been to see you, but has Luc been since the trial?’
Gina looked right through her, seemingly oblivious to her friend’s concern as she gazed into some private hell. ‘I refused to see him so he wrote me a letter.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That he’d be there at the gate on the day of my release.’ Her voice was cold, expressionless.
‘And?’
Gina shrugged. ‘I didn’t write back. What is there to say? He’s marrying my sister.’
As Patsy walked away from Strangeways that day, the chill of fear for her young friend changed to a burn of anger. Why should Carmina profit from her lies? Why should she be allowed to get away with her nasty lies? It wasn’t right.
She decided someone needed to speak to Luc. Someone should ask him straight out what was the truth of the matter. And the lad surely had the right to say which sister he truly loved and wanted to marry? Someone also needed to speak to Carmina. And surely the best person to do all of this, was Marc.
Patsy wasted no time. Immediately following her visit she met up with Marc on his way home from work and took him to Belle’s Café where they were doing a roaring trade in hot buttered crumpets, although mainly to the stallholders themselves who were cold and rather bored at this quiet time of year.
Over a frothy coffee, with the juke box playing Sweet Little Sixteen in the background, she told him of her visit to the prison that afternoon. Patsy expressed her deep concern over Gina’s state of mind: how she still seemed deeply depressed, was refusing to see Luc or even reply to his letters, and to have completely lost heart. But before Marc could respond to this, she ploughed right in with her suspicions.
‘The point is, why would Luc be willing to wait for her if he didn’t love her? I mean, can we be absolutely certain that he is indeed the father of this child Carmina supposedly carries?’
Marc stared at her, eyes widening in surprise as he folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I believe that he isn’t the father, that he’s entirely innocent.’
‘So who do you say the father is then, if not Luc?’
Patsy put up a hand by way of apology. ‘I accept that Carmina would kill me if I even attempted to interfere, but I do believe this to be another of her lies. I’m not sure she can stop herself from lying, it’s almost compulsive with her now.’ A pause while Patsy took a steadying breath, trying to pay no attention to the glowering frown gathering on her boy friend’s face. ‘Actually, to be honest, I’ve already interfered, in a way. I’ve told him that she’s pregnant. It was obviously news to him, so Carmina evidently hadn’t done so.’
‘Told who? You’re speaking in riddles.’
Her expression was soft with sympathy as she faced Marc’s ire. ‘Alec Hall. I saw them once kissing, and then having a terrible row, and the other day he asked me to tell him what was going on, so I did. I told him Carmina was marrying Luc because she claimed to be having his baby, but that Luc denies it’s his. He was completely shell-shocked. It was quite obvious that something had been going on between the pair of them.’
The moment these words left her mouth, it seemed to dawn on Patsy that Clara might have been right, after all. That this was indeed a very dangerous path she trod.
Marc actually gasped, then snorted his derision. ‘Alec Hall? You think Alec is the father of Carmina’s child?’
He was glaring at her now in cold fury and Patsy felt an intense discomfort as she realised she’d perhaps gone too far this time.
‘I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it!’ He wagged a finger inches from her face. ‘You have absolutely no proof. It’s purely malicious gossip and I wouldn’t advise you to take this any further. You’re the one spreading wicked lies, about my sister! Whoever the damned father is, it certainly couldn’t be Alec Hall with his velvet jackets and pink dickie bow ties. He’s years older than Carmina. In any case, I fail to see what damn business it is of yours.’
There was a small silence, then Patsy quietly remarked, ‘I thought that it might be my ‘damn business’ because I love you, and because I’m going to become a member of your family.’
‘That doesn’t allow you to add to all the rumours already circulating about my family,’ Marc shouted, making the cups and saucers jump as he pounded his fist on the table. Then he marched out of the café, stamping his rage across the cobbles.
Belle came over to her at once. ‘Are you all right, love?’
Patsy blinked the tears from her eyes. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m OK.’ But she wasn’t at all. She saw now the true wisdom of Clara’s words. Patsy very much doubted Marc would be pressing her to view any more flats after this, as it was most unlikely that there would be any sort of wedding.
Chapter Forty-Two
Amy was very excited about the coming CND demo, even though Chris was unaware of her involvement in it. She still shuddered at the recollection of the day he’d come home early and caught her writing out handbills which members of the Peace Movement intended to push through letter boxes so that people knew about the rally next week. It surprised her that Chris hadn’t asked what she was doing, although maybe that was because he was still in a black mood.
Following this scare, Amy had learned to take care not to do any work appertaining to the CND when there was the slightest possibility Chris might pop home for any reason. Although that wasn’t easy to predict.
Jeff Stockton had pointed out that they needed to be more professional and offered to buy her a second-hand typewriter but Amy had refused. How could she ever have explained one of those in the house?
Then one afternoon Jeff called to say his uncle had volunteered to print a few hundred handbills for them and could he please have one to copy?
‘That would be marvellous!’ Amy agreed. ‘It would save me so much work and produce far more than I could ever print by hand. And there’s no point in holding a demon
stration without an audience.’
She was so thrilled by the idea that she left Jeff standing on the doorstep while she dashed into the house to find one there and then. Without thinking he followed her inside, still talking about their plans, and about the posters Sue had painted and stuck up everywhere.
‘I think the rally will be well attended, and several reporters from local newspapers have promised to come along. There are a few more I intend to ring up before next week, so we should get good press coverage.’
They were standing in the hall with the front door ajar when Mavis’s head suddenly appeared around it.
‘Cooee, it’s only me. I don’t mean to intrude but I saw the door open and ... Oh, I didn’t realise you had company,’ she said, in that tone of voice which clearly indicated that she knew perfectly well. She’d obviously seen Jeff standing on the doorstep and had come to investigate.
To her intense annoyance Amy felt her cheeks start to burn, as if with guilt, and couldn’t think of a thing to say. She was deeply aware of something very like a glint of triumph in Mavis’s pebble-hard eyes as she studied the young man. Just as if she’d found them stark naked in bed having mad passionate sex instead of engaged in a civilised conversation in the little hall. Amy expected nothing less than an inquisition once he was gone.
Jeff seemed completely unabashed, offering Mavis his most winning smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, I was just leaving.’ He took the papers from Amy’s hand, which to her shame she found to be shaking, thanked her and made as if to head for the door, except that his exit was blocked by Mavis.
They performed a little dance of trying to avoid each other and then Mavis backed out the way she had come. ‘You don’t need to go on my account, I’m the one who’s arrived uninvited. I can see now why I need to make an appointment to see my own grandchild.’ And the door slammed shut behind her.
‘Oh, dear,’ Jeff said. ‘I don’t think my being here went down too well, did it?’
Amy attempted to laugh the incident off. ‘Don’t worry about my mother-in-law. I can deal with Mavis.’ That was the first lie, Amy realised, that she’d ever knowingly told.
Carmina had endured what she considered yet another long, boring day serving strawberry, chocolate and vanilla ice cream from the cart. How she hated it. How she loathed the children who took forever to choose between a cornet or a wafer, an orange iced lolly or a choc ice. She would be glad when Papa put the ice cream cart away for the winter. Of course, the parlour would still be open, and Papa would serve hot Vimto as well as cold drinks with the desserts and Sundaes. She hated that too, all the chopping and peeling of fruit, the stirring and smiling and serving and being nice to people.
There had to be a better way to spend her days.
Once she was married into the Fabriani family there’d be no necessity for her to work at all. She could sit back and let others get on with it. She fully intended to insist that Luc join his father in the business. That was essential if one day they were to inherit all those riches, as was only right and proper for any son.
And since the Fabrianis were quite well off, she would also be able to afford to employ someone to help look after the baby. Carmina certainly had no intention of allowing a snotty-nosed kid to curtail her freedom in any way.
Carmina had expected to be married by this time yet here they were almost into October and still Luc was prevaricating. If she didn’t watch out this stupid baby would be born before ever she got him to that altar.
She found the delay over her wedding deeply irritating. With Gina’s trial out of the way and the verdict she’d hoped for in place, she’d believed that all her troubles would be over. Of course she’d been shocked by her sister’s attempt to take her own life, but really it was a very stupid thing to do. A couple of years and she’d be out. And why she should imagine that Luc would still be waiting for her when she’d served her time, Carmina really couldn’t imagine.
The triumph over Gina’s sentence had palled instantly when still Luc insisted on standing by the girl, which was utterly ridiculous. What a waste of time that would be. Gina wouldn’t be coming home for a long, long time, she’d told him. He’d looked stricken but she knew he didn’t really mean what he said. It was only because he felt sorry for her, filled with a guilty sort of loyalty. Or else he was trying to avoid his responsibilities.
Carmina had convinced herself that Luc was entirely responsible for her current predicament. She’d quite shut out of her mind the fact that he’d done no more than kiss her on that night at the dance, stubbornly refused to remember that her attempts to seduce him had failed. So far as Carmina was concerned everything was proceeding as planned. All she needed was a firm date for the wedding and her triumph would be complete.
As she ran up the steps of the tall terraced house that evening, her intention was to grab a hasty supper then go in search of him. Luc had agreed to see her tonight, and she meant to have it out with him once and for all. She would insist he name the day.
So it came as something of a shock to find Alec Hall seated in the Bertalone’s living room, engrossed in deep conversation with her father.
‘Ah,’ Papa said, as Carmina burst through the door, ‘the very person we want to see. Alec has been filling me in on some very interesting facts. Why don’t you sit down so that we can discuss them together.’
Mavis often popped downstairs for a loaf of brown bread or a couple of currant tea cakes, and would slip into the bakery at the back of the shop to talk to Chris. This particular afternoon she took great pleasure in asking him what Amy was up to today, knowing what she had witnessed with her own eyes earlier. The urge to see the expression on his face when he learned of his wife’s infidelity was overwhelming, but Mavis managed to hold herself in check. She had no wish to fall out with her own son, and there were more subtle ways of getting the information across. She had a letter tucked in the bottom of her basket, which would reveal all.
‘I haven’t seen your Amy for days. I suppose she’s too busy with that new job of hers to spare any time for friends and family. Is she ever home? Does she pay you any attention at all? I’m sorry, but I think she’s very neglectful, of you and the child. I really don’t know how you put up with it?’
‘Don’t start, Mother.’
Chris went over to check on the progress of the latest batch of bread in the big side flue oven. The blast of hot air as he opened the door would account for the angry flush on his cheeks. He certainly had no wish to discuss the state of his marriage with his own mother.
Mavis flounced out, calling at the post box on her way to Ramsay’s Butchers.
The next morning Chris found the letter among a pile of bills waiting for him at the bakery. He opened it without thinking and there it was in black and white, the shocking evidence of Amy’s betrayal.
‘Your wife has been seen entertaining her lover in your own house. She’s a shameless hussy! Are you really going to put up with that?’
Chris stared at the words in stunned disbelief, then he screwed up the letter, little more than a note, and threw it to the far side of the room.
He found that his legs would no longer support him and he sank down on to a chair, head in hands. He felt as if he were drowning in despair, as if everything he held dear was falling away from him. Chris thought of his beloved son, his efforts to provide a good home for his family, the responsibility of this business that had landed unasked on his shoulders, and of the future he’d dreamed of for them all, and silently wept.
Like all strong, caring men he didn’t cry easily. Hard, brittle sobs seemed to be torn out of him against his will, jerking his shoulders, bringing a grinding pain to his chest.
Then he crossed the room in three short strides, picked up the note again, smoothed it out and tucked it into his pocket. No, he certainly wasn’t going to put up with it. Something had to be done.
The vision of his wife’s lover in his own house, possibly in his lovely new bed with his darling Amy haunted h
im for the rest of that day and night, and those following. Chris couldn’t think, couldn’t eat. He lost all interest in trying to ‘improve’ himself or chat up other women. Amy was his wife and he loved her. And if he lost her, if she no longer wanted him then he didn’t know what he would do. He wouldn’t have any reason to go on.
Carmina was incandescent with rage. The interview with her father had been the most difficult, the most shaming, that she could ever remember. Worse, Papa had largely ignored her protests of innocence. Now she and Alec were standing beneath the street lamp at the foot of the house steps and he was looking at her with that little smirking smile which irritated her so much.
‘Absolutely not! No, I will not marry you. I will not,’ she screamed. ‘Never! How dare you march in and talk to my father without my permission. How dare you attempt to interfere in my life and ruin all my plans!’
‘I don’t think you’re in any position to refuse, do you?’
‘I most certainly am.’
Alec shook his head, then moving closer he stroked Carmina’s softly rounded belly in a flagrantly intimate gesture. ‘Think about it, my love, you and I know for a fact that this child must be mine. Even if you did once have sexual intercourse with Luc Fabriani, that was a long time ago. Too long. And you admitted to me, if you recall, that it didn’t happen the night I saw the pair of you in his car. There’s no question but that you are carrying my son, and I mean to father it.’
His tone became brisk. ‘I’ve arranged the licence, as I was just explaining to your father, and we can be married Saturday week at the Register Office.’
Carmina gasped. ‘You’ll have to drag me there bound and gagged.’
Who's Sorry Now (2008) Page 34