Wives & Mothers

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  Morgan picked up his mug of coffee. ‘Grace, you’re a wonder. Here’s to us.’

  ‘To us.’ Grace touched her mug to his. ‘Us — and our bright future together.’ She sipped her coffee then lowered her voice. 'Oh, by the way, I haven’t mentioned this to Elaine. The fewer people who know, the better it will be for us.’ She smiled at him. ‘Oh, Morgan, I’d been dreading this Christmas. Now I can look forward to it.’

  ‘It’s certainly the best Christmas present you could have given me,’ he agreed. ‘By the way, are you really sure you want me spending it here with you? I know Elaine and you enjoy spending Christmas together and I don’t want to intrude.’

  ‘Of course you must spend it with us,’ Grace assured him. ‘You’re part of the family now. Do you really think I could enjoy it, thinking of you alone in that horrid little room of yours?’

  When Grace had first seen Morgan’s room in Rowan Street she had been appalled. The tiny terraced house was in a cul-de-sac at the end of which was a cemetery. Morgan’s one window looked out on to the narrow street and the moss-covered cemetery wall. The room was so dark that he couldn’t work without the light on; the kitchen was disgusting and the sanitary arrangements primitive. It had reminded her painfully of the little room in Bow that she had occupied when Elaine was on the way.

  ‘If only we had another room you could move in with us,’ she said now.

  Morgan looked doubtful. ‘Somehow I don’t think Elaine would care for that, even if you had room.’

  He was right. Although Elaine had nothing against Morgan she resented the way her mother seemed to dote on him. Almost from their first meeting it had been Morgan this and Morgan that, till she was tired of hearing about his fabulous talent and his kind, gentle nature. There was something about the relationship she didn’t understand. Morgan was years younger than her mother. Surely she couldn’t be falling for him? She’d always said she’d never marry again. Anyway she was still married to her father so she couldn’t. And yet the two seemed close — closer than most business colleagues — almost intimate. They always seemed to have their heads together about something. And lately they had taken to clamming up whenever she came into the room.

  Standing outside the kitchen door she had been just in time to overhear her mother’s remark: ‘Oh, by the way, I haven’t mentioned any of this to Elaine. The fewer people who know about it, the better it will be for us. Oh, Morgan, I was dreading this Christmas. Now I can look forward to it.’

  And Morgan’s reply: ‘It’s certainly the best Christmas present you could have given me.’

  What could it mean? she wondered. What were they cooking up between them now? One thing at least was crystal clear: whatever it was, it didn’t include her.

  Up in her room Elaine locked the door and took out the card she had received the previous morning from her father. It usually came before this. She’d begun to wonder if he would send her one this year. And when it had arrived she had been surprised to see that it bore an English postmark. This time last year he and Stella had been in America. She had the impression they’d made their home there. Yet this year’s card had been posted in Bournemouth. She took it out of the drawer and stared hard at it, as though by looking and concentrating it would tell her something.

  She had been born in Bournemouth. Her father had been working there at the time. Her mother had told her the story so many times. Idyllic walks by the sea and in the gardens. The way the pine trees scented the air with their tangy perfume and the squirrels ate out of your hand. The endless blue skies, warm sands and golden sun. Harry had been working a summer season at the Pavilion. It seemed to have been a very happy time for them. She knew her mother had always wanted to go back — to live there. Even now she sometimes voiced her dream of some day going down and setting up in business there. Did her father feel the same nostalgia for the place? Had he gone there to relive those happy memories? Had he and Stella finally parted? If he and her mother met again, was it possible that they might get back together? Elaine knew that an uncertainty hung over the future of the shop and flat here. It was possible that Grace might lose the business. If she and her father were to meet again it could be the answer to everything.

  As usual the card told her nothing. On the front was a colourful picture of a coach and horses. Inside under the printed greeting were the words: ‘To Elaine, with love from Daddy.’ She turned the envelope over and over. The postmark seemed to mock her. It must be possible to find him now that he knew which town he was in. It must — but how?

  *

  Christmas Day was not a success. Grace and Morgan were in a light-hearted mood. They cooked lunch together, laughing and teasing each other as they worked. Elaine stayed out of the kitchen. She felt like an intruder in her own home. Besides, there wasn’t really room for three of them. They exchanged presents. Morgan had made them each an exclusive sweater, specially designed. Grace exclaimed over them, insisting on wearing hers, which was knitted in a soft black wool trimmed with white and suited her beautifully. Elaine’s was moss green, a colour she didn’t care for. She felt it made her complexion look sallow. She made an excuse and took it up to her room, pushing it to the back of a drawer.

  Grace gave Morgan a watch to replace his old, unreliable one. It looked expensive and Elaine had a strong suspicion that there was an inscription on the back. It had clearly cost much more than the tiny heart-shaped locket which was her present from her mother. She felt guilty and mean for making the comparison and told herself sulkily that it was Morgan’s fault. He brought out the worst in her.

  She made an effort over lunch; pulling crackers with them and forcing herself to laugh at the corny mottoes, though she flatly refused to wear a paper hat. As soon as lunch was over and the washing up was done, she announced that she was going round to Alison’s and might not be home for tea. Grace protested, but not too much. She didn’t know what had got into Elaine lately. She used to be a pleasure to have around. Now she was morose and sulky — almost rude. She heard the street door downstairs slam behind her daughter and gave a small sigh of relief. Now she and Morgan could indulge in their favourite topic — their plans for the future.

  Chapter Eleven

  At Alison’s house three generations had gathered for the festivities. When Elaine arrived they were all slumped in armchairs. Replete with turkey and plum pudding, they were all set to doze while they waited for the Queen’s Christmas Message on TV. Alison nodded in the direction of her grandfather. Having undone the buttons of his waistcoat he had fallen asleep in the chair nearest to the fire, his mouth open and a green paper hat slipping over one eye. She raised her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Zombies, all of them.’ she pronounced. ‘Christmas. Who needs it? Come on, let’s go for a walk.’

  They put on coats and scarves and set off at a brisk walk for Parker’s Piece.

  ‘Get anything good?’ Alison asked.

  Elaine fished inside her coat collar for the locket. ‘This.’

  Alison inspected it. ‘Mmm, nice. Mum and Dad bought me a tranny so’s I can listen to pop in my room without blasting their eardrums. I think they’ve forgotten Top of the Pops is still on telly though.’

  Elaine sighed. ‘You’re lucky. We still haven’t even got a TV. Mum says it’s a waste of time.’

  ‘You can always come and look at ours whenever you want.’

  ‘I know. Thanks.’

  ‘What’s up, Ellie. You seem a bit fed up.’ Alison peered at her friend. ‘Don’t tell me Patrick’s giving you the runaround.’

  Elaine shook her head. ‘It’s not Patrick.’

  ‘What then — or who?’

  Elaine sighed. ‘It’s that Morgan Owen. He practically lives at our place these days. Mum seems to think the sun shines out of his ear holes.’

  Alison giggled. ‘Well, it’s understandable, I suppose. He’s quite good-looking in a soppy, poetic kind of way, and after all, she has been on her own for a long time, hasn’t she?’

&nbs
p; ‘She has not,’ Elaine said hotly. ‘She’s had me.’

  ‘Ah, but you’re not a man, are you?’ Alison said with a knowing wink.

  Elaine felt slightly sick. ‘Don’t be so damned silly. As if Mum would do anything like that at her age — with Morgan of all people.’

  ‘You might be surprised,’ Alison told her in a matter-of-fact way. ‘I thought my mum and dad were past it too till I walked into their room one Sunday morning and caught them at it.’ She giggled. ‘Thought I’d do them a favour and take them a cup of tea in bed. Instead of that it was red faces all round.’ She peered at Elaine. ‘I thought you’d have been more understanding by now. What about you and Patrick?’

  ‘What about us?’

  Alison nudged her. ‘Come on, I don’t have to spell it out, do I? Have you and he done it yet?’

  Elaine’s cheeks flushed hotly. ‘I think that’s a private matter, don’t you?’

  Alison’s eyebrows rose. ‘I thought I was your best friend. We always said we’d tell each other when it happened, didn’t we?’ Elaine was silent ‘Oh, all right then — be like that.’ She grinned. ‘You do realise that your face is a dead giveaway though, don’t you?’ She gave Elaine a playful push. ‘Oh, come on, cheer up, misery guts. I don’t want to know the lurid details if you don’t want to tell me. A plain yes or no would do. Tell you what, let’s walk round town and look at the shop windows while it’s quiet?’ She took Elaine’s arm determinedly.

  Elaine allowed herself to be led back towards town and after a while the girls resumed their chatter. They peered at the festive displays in all the shop windows, inspecting the latest winter fashions and passing their opinions on them. Then, quite out of the blue, Alison asked: ‘Heard from your dad this Christmas?’

  The suddeness of the question was typical of Alison but nevertheless, it startled Elaine, making her blush again. ‘Yes. I had a card yesterday. He’s...’ She was about to tell Alison that her father was in England again but stopped, almost in mid-sentence. She hadn’t decided what to do about trying to find him yet and she wanted to think about it some more first.

  ‘Go on — what did he say?’

  ‘Say?’

  ‘In his letter. There was a letter as usual, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Oh — no, not this time.’ Somehow she no longer wanted to keep up the lie. It seemed childish and pointless now.

  ‘Oh, poor old sausage. No wonder you’re fed up. Maybe he was too busy. I expect he’ll write in the New Year.’

  ‘Yes. I expect so.’

  ‘What are you doing tomorrow? We always go to the panto as you know. It’s a kind of family tradition. Perhaps Dad could get another ticket if you’d like to come too.’

  ‘It’s all right, thanks. I’m invited to your Aunt Zoe’s for the day.’

  ‘Oh, great. It’ll be heaps better fun at the Carnes’. I wish I was going to. The panto’s a drag. We have to join in with all the daft songs and eat popcorn and stuff. It’s dead boring, but Dad loves the whole dreary business. It’s more for him than anyone else.’

  Elaine was silent. She was wondering how it would be if her parents hadn’t parted. Would they have gone to the pantomime every Boxing Day? Would they have been a real family like the Lintons? She’d never know now. Suddenly her resolve to find her father strengthened. She found herself wondering if he had changed; remembering all the things he used to like — things they shared together when she was little. Suddenly she wished she’d kept up her music so that she could have had something to surprise and impress him with.

  Back at the Lintons’ house everyone was seated round a table laden with salmon sandwiches and celery, sausage rolls, mince pies and trifle. In the centre, taking pride of place, was the massive fruit cake with the silver paper frill round it that Mrs Linton had made. Already a thick wedge had been cut from it, revealing its rich interior. Elaine looked at the thick marzipan and pink icing, and felt slightly nauseous.

  ‘I’m not hungry, thank you,’ she said when invited to sit down. ‘We had a huge lunch. I really couldn’t eat a thing. Would you mind if I went home now?’

  Mrs Linton laid a hand on her forehead, her homely face anxious. ‘Are you feeling all right, dear? You’re looking a little peaky. There’s a lot of flu about.’

  ‘Oh, leave her alone. She’s just in a mood, that’s all,’ Alison said helping herself to a large slice of cake. ‘She’ll get over it, won’t you, Ellie?’

  ‘Of course. I’m fine. I’ll give you a ring after tomorrow, Alison.’ Thanking Mrs Linton politely, she let herself out of the house and began to walk back to the flat. They didn’t really want her there anyway, she told herself pityingly; any more than Mum and Morgan wanted her. Did her father still miss her at Christmas? she wondered. As much as she missed him? She thought of that dreadful Christmas night when he had left. She’d been very young, but she’d felt the tension in the air all that day. Her throat tightened as she remembered saying goodbye to him. ‘You’ll always be my girl,’ he’d said. Did he remember too, when Christmas came around each year?

  Nearing the flat, she suddenly remembered Alison’s remark about catching her parents ‘at it’ and slowed her steps. Suppose, just suppose, she were to walk in on her mother and Morgan in a similar situation? How awful. She’d never be able to look either of them in the face again. Better make good and sure they heard her coming when she let herself in.

  Five minutes later, as she let herself in at the street door, Grace and Morgan sat at the dining table, papers spread out as they worked on their plans for the spring fashion show. Grace looked up as she heard the street door slam.

  ‘That must be Elaine,’ she said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. I didn’t realise it was so late.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, listen, she’s singing. She must be feeling happier. Alison usually manages to cheer her up.’

  *

  Boxing Day at the Carnes’ was something Elaine had looked forward to. She got up early and had a leisurely bath, then took her mother a cup of tea in bed.

  ‘Come and have yours with me,’ Grace invited, patting the bed. ‘It seems ages ago since we had a talk.’

  Going back to the kitchen for her own cup Elaine wondered if Grace might have something to tell her — something she didn’t want to hear. When she got back to her mother’s bedroom, Grace was sitting up. She looked happy, and younger than Elaine had seen her for a long time.

  ‘I wanted to tell you something,’ Grace began. ‘Don’t worry, darling. It’s good news,’ she added, seeing Elaine’s expression. ‘Morgan and I are going into partnership. I’m going to market and sell his knitwear.’

  ‘Oh, but I thought you said we might have to move.’

  ‘No. We’ll be able to stay on here as tenants — at least for another couple of years — by which time I hope that Morgan and I will have made a success of things.’ She smiled radiantly. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘Yes — great. I’m glad we won’t have to leave.’

  Grace put out her hand and took one of Elaine’s. ‘Darling, you do like Morgan, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Elaine couldn’t quite meet her mother’s eyes.

  ‘I know something is bothering you,’ Grace went on quietly. ‘Why don’t you tell me what it is? We’ve never kept things from each other, have we?’

  Elaine wanted to point out that she’d been the last to know about the partnership — and the fact that they didn’t have to move. Her mind spun. Could she really tell her mother that the new relationship with Morgan made her feel left out? Dared she mention her father and her longing to find him again?

  ‘I — you — aren’t thinking of marrying again, are you?’ she finally blurted out, merging the two worries together and yet voicing neither.

  Grace looked surprised and a little shocked. ‘ Marrying? You know I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to.’

  ‘You could if you divorced Daddy.’

  ‘Yes. And so could he.’ Grace was silent for a moment. She’d alwa
ys known of course that this subject would come up one day. Elaine was a child no longer. She was a grown woman and she had a right to ask.

  ‘If your father were to ask me for a divorce now, I would probably agree,’ she said slowly. ‘If he is still with the woman he left me for, that is.’

  Elaine searched her mother’s face. ‘Does that mean that you want to be free yourself?’

  Grace smiled. ‘I suppose it does, but not because I want to marry. I’d just like to be independent — stand on my own feet. For the first time in my life, I feel like a whole person.’

  ‘Because of Morgan?’

  It was a searching question. Grace considered for a moment, then answered it as truthfully as she could. ‘Because of knowing him, yes. And because I believe we can help each other to achieve what we both want most in life. Do you understand that?’

  Elaine nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said — not understanding at all.

  ‘Good.’ Grace drank the last of her tea and threw back the bedclothes. ‘Now we’d both better get ready. You don’t want to be late at the Carnes’, and Morgan and I are lunching out. Do you know, I’ve been thinking — now that we don’t have to lay out the money to buy the shop, we might invest in a car. We really do need one for the business, so we could claim for it on the tax returns. It would be nice for our free time too, wouldn’t it? You and I could both take driving lessions. How about that?’

  *

  At the Carnes’ the usual chaos reigned. Elaine walked in through the open door in the customary unceremonious way. She had chosen to wear her new hipster jeans today, teamed, much to her mother’s disapproaval, with a white shirt with huge bell-shaped sleeves — under which she wore no bra. She had changed her style a lot over the past year, growing her shoulder-length hair to a much longer length. It was cut in a spiky fringe that tangled with her eyebrows in front, while the rest tumbled halfway down her back.