A Different River

by Jo Verity

  ‘Should I take that as a compliment?’

  ‘More a vote of confidence. Look. You just told me how close you were to falling apart. If this modelling job helped you get yourself together again, Bing ought to get down on his knees and thank God you met this Moat.’

  ‘He refuses to listen to me.’

  ‘Well he’s a prick. I warned you months back, he wants to keep you for himself.’

  Miriam flexed her neck. ‘I feel as if I’ve been hit by a truck. I don’t know what to think. Or what to do. Should I go back? Have another shot at talking to him? That’s if he’s still there.’

  ‘Only you can decide that one. Watch out though, he’s looking for any excuse to clip your wings. He’ll do everything he can to turn this to his advantage. Whatever you do, don’t lose your nerve.’

  32

  He was in the living room, sprawled face-down on the sofa. A whisky bottle and empty glass stood on the carpet within arm’s reach. She’d pictured several scenarios but not this one. He was angry, hurt, confused – she understood that – but resorting to alcohol? She expected better of him.

  The kitchen was as she’d left it and she guessed he’d not eaten since breakfast. This gave her an idea. She wouldn’t prod him into consciousness and demand they thrash this out. That was too crude a tactic, guaranteed to worsen the already grim situation. No. She would leave him to sleep on for a while then wake him gently and offer him something to eat. Sitting down to a meal might present them with a way back.

  She was filling the kettle when she noticed that the newspaper was no longer on the table. She checked the pedal bin and the recycling box, finally tracking it down to Bing’s office where it lay in the waste paper basket next to the shredder. She shivered. She hadn’t expected him to pin the picture on the cork board but reducing her to slivers of paper felt like a brutal assault.

  Fishing her mobile from her pocket, she thumbed her daughter’s number. Naomi would be clearing away supper and piling things – gym kit, reading books, tuck money – in the hall ready for the morning scramble. It wasn’t the ideal time to call but she needed to talk to her. To tell her everything. To establish her daughter’s position.

  ‘I’m sure you’re up to your eyes,’ she said, ‘but can you spare a moment?’

  Naomi picked up on the earnestness in her mother’s voice. ‘Hang on a sec. David? Can you sort your children out? They need baths. And Max’s nails could do with trimming.’

  She heard the children complaining and David laughing, their voices fading as Naomi put some distance between them. What followed was a difficult, one-sided conversation. Her daughter said barely a word and several times Miriam paused her story to ask, ‘Are you still there?’ She’d been through it with with Frankie but this mother-to-daughter disclosure called for great delicacy. It was imperative she strike the right note – neither defiant or defensive – so much easier were she sitting opposite Naomi, able to read her expression, her body language.

  ‘Naomi?’ she said when she’d finished.

  ‘You’ll have to give me a minute, Mum. It’s a lot to digest.’

  She sat on the top stair watching the curtains on the landing window as they caught the evening breeze. After what seemed an eternity, Naomi said, ‘What d’you want me to say? That what you did was amazing? Wonderful? The best thing ever?’

  ‘No. But I hoped you’d understand it was a job and it helped me get through a really difficult patch.’

  ‘I probably could if you were someone else’s mother. But you’re not and I have to say the whole thing’s freaking me out. How old is this Mount, anyway?’

  ‘Moat. Mid-fifties? Why d’you ask?’

  ‘When you said he was “up-and-coming”, I imagined him to be much younger. Is he married? Or gay?’

  ‘Neither of those. Does that make a difference?’

  ‘Yes. Alone, naked, with an unmarried straight man who’s not much younger than you… I dunno. The art school gig seems harmless in comparison.’

  ‘How d’you reach that conclusion?’

  ‘Safety in numbers. The lecturer guy was there to chaperone. Besides, eighteen-year-olds were hardly likely to fancy you, were they?’

  ‘So nakedness, per se, doesn’t bother you?’ she said, smarting a little at Naomi’s ageist pronouncement.

  ‘It’s not something I’ve ever considered.’

  ‘Not true. Think about it. Every time you look at a nude painting you consider it.’

  ‘That’s entirely different. I don’t suppose anyone can be objective when it comes to a looking at a naked parent.’ She hesitated. ‘Did this have anything to do with Dad?’

  ‘Of course it did. Your father stole my future. Because of him, I lost my job, my home and, for a while, my sanity. In fact everything I thought I could count on. Don’t misunderstand me, I loved living with you – spending time with the children – being useful – but I was starting to fade into the background. Turning into wallpaper. To put it bluntly, the future held nothing for me.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Naomi said. ‘You encounter a stranger who offers you a job as a life model and, hey presto, you turn your life around. You must admit that’s a bizarre solution to any sort of problem.’

  ‘It wasn’t quite—’

  ‘What’s more,you lied to me. You told me you worked in the college office.’ Not true. ‘And if getting paid to take your clothes off was so acceptable, why did you keep it secret?’

  ‘Because I knew it would cause a rumpus. I don’t know if you’re interested, but the pay was insignificant. And I was never late collecting the children.’

  ‘Knowing you went straight from stripping to the school gate isn’t all that comforting, Mum.’

  ‘You mean I should have gone through some sort of decontamination process? Ritual cleansing, perhaps. And I wasn’t stripping.’ She sighed. ‘Can we stop sniping?’

  ‘I assume Paul has no problem with it. Naked bodies are his bread and butter, as it were.’

  Rosa chose that moment to come looking for her mother, moaning that Max had hidden her watch and saving Miriam from having to fudge a reply. Naomi shooed her out, promising she’d be there in a few seconds.

  ‘You’d like the painting,’ Miriam said.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to see the thing. I’ve got to go, Mum. Rosa’s having a meltdown.’

  Miriam felt better now she’d spoken to those who mattered – Naomi, Frankie, Hazel. It hadn’t been easy but it was done. In a few days, this would be old news. Before long Moat’s prizewinning painting would find its way into some private collection, to be seen only by a handful of rich people.

  Bing had turned onto his back and was snoring. When she ran a hand down his arm, he murmured, lifting his head, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the low sun. He smiled then his smile faded and he turned away, burying his face in the cushion.

  ‘We should eat something,’ she said. Without waiting for his reply, she returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps on the stair and, not long afterwards, the thrum of water in the pipes. A lover’s tiff could be patched up in bed, where bodies could be trusted to say what needed to be said. This falling-out was in a different league and she resisted the impulse to go to him.

  When he came down, he’d shaved and was wearing a clean shirt and chinos. He said nothing and his expression gave little away.

  ‘Cheese on toast?’ she said. ‘One round or two?’

  ‘One, please,’ he said, as if self-denial were virtuous.

  They moved around the kitchen, setting the table, performing intricate choreography in order to avoid brushing against each other. As he passed, she caught a whiff of whisky beneath minty mouthwash. When the food was ready, they sat at opposite sides of the table, paying the toast and the cheese the attention afforded to a rare delicacy. Any second now, he would look up and smile and apologise for being an arse and tell her if she wanted to cavort naked on the cathedral green, it was fine b
y him because he loved her and he trusted her and he was proud that she’d been so courageous.

  ‘Where did you go?’ he said.

  ‘To see Frankie.’

  He snorted. ‘I bet she she’s loving every minute of this. I wouldn’t be surprised if she put you up to it.’

  She laid down her knife and fork. ‘Don’t you think it’s time we had a grown-up conversation?’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody condescending. I’m still trying to get my head round it.’

  ‘How can you if you won’t let me explain?’

  ‘I know everything I need to know.’

  ‘You mean all you want to know.’

  For the first time since coming back with the newspaper, he looked her full in the face. ‘Why is this happening to us?’

  ‘Because you’re letting it,’ she said. ‘You’ve dreamed up some crazy story and convinced yourself it’s true.’ She softened her voice. ‘Can I ask you something? When you look at a painting of a nude woman, do you think what a slut? No. You decide whether it’s a good painting or not. At least that’s what civilised people do.’

  His face was impassive. ‘So when we wrote down our potted histories, did you include your modelling career?’

  ‘Yes, as you’d know if you hadn’t chucked it on the fire.’ One little lie. ‘I’m not asking forgiveness, Bing. Why would I? I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m asking for acceptance.’ She paused. ‘I have to accept your seeing and touching naked women every day.’

  ‘A-ha. I was waiting for you to bring that up.’

  She slapped the table, setting the cutlery rattling. ‘You need to cut out this self-pitying nonsense right now.’

  He gave a stifled cry and, without hesitating, she went to him, cradling his head to her breast, stroking his hair, offering him the chance to gather her in his arms and put an end to this. But he remained unresponsive.

  ‘Maybe it’s best I spend tonight at Hazel’s,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow when we’re both thinking straight.’ How reasonable and improbable this sounded.

  She shoved a few things in an overnight bag. When she went to call Hazel, she had second thoughts. If Gavin were there, staying in her small flat would prove awkward. She’d ring Frankie instead. Bing wouldn’t like it but it was none of his business. Her call went straight to voicemail and she remembered Frankie mentioning she was going to the cinema with a friend. She left a message, telling her she was coming but not to rush back, she would let herself in.

  The house had, as Frankie said, its own smell – an amalgam of furniture polish and something dog-like (although her parents had never owned a dog). It was still there but much fainter than it had been. The place was remarkably spick-and-span – not a used coffee mug or discarded magazine to be seen. She peeped in to Frankie’s room – her room. No rumpled duvet. No tangle of clothes on the bed. No jumble of make-up on the dressing table. No wastepaper basket brimming with soiled tissues. Her mother would have approved of the new tenant.

  As dusk turned to darkness, she meandered from room to room, casting around for something to do, flicking through the TV channels but nothing grabbed her. Without anything to take her mind off the horrid day, it became impossible to rein in her anxiety and she set off for a walk, wending her way along streets she’d known since childhood. Eventually, her meandering led her to the old Crosby house. It lay off the beaten track and she’d no had reason to come this way for years. Judging by the row of doorbells and array of wheelie bins alongside the garage, the gracious old house had been converted into flats. What a shame. It had once been a happy, shambolic, family home, with Bing’s liberal-minded parents and his clever, carefree sisters at its warm heart.

  She stood beneath the street light, gazing up at the room under the eaves where she and Bing had lain together, spending heady, breathless hours pledging their love and planning a life together. And suddenly she understood. In the euphoria of their reunion, Love had beguiled and bamboozled them into believing the future had been on hold, marking time for forty years, waiting for them to return and repossess it.

  The tringof her phone brought her back to the present. ‘Where are you?’ Frankie said.

  ‘Walking. Remembering. Regretting.’

  ‘Oh, God. I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘I’m not going to jump in the river if that’s what’s worrying you. Put the kettle on. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  She picked up the pace and before long she was dunking chocolate biscuits with Frankie, bringing her up-to-date.

  ‘I’ve left him to get a grip and reflect.’ She sounded more confident than she felt. ‘Can I stay here tonight?’

  ‘Of course. But he won’t like it. He’s already accused me of luring you away from him.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago. I popped over to the surgery with some mail for your dad. He more or less told me to stop pestering you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘I knew it would upset you and seeing as how I’ll be going soon, it didn’t seem worth it.’

  ‘Going?’

  ‘As in moving on. Much as I love living here, this place,’ Frankie extended her arms as if trying to encompass the whole house, ‘was only ever going to be a safe haven whilst I got my act together.’

  ‘And you’re doing that, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I think I am.’

  Only then did Miriam register the fact that her friend was wearing a little black dress and pearl earrings. ‘You look very chic. I thought you were going to the cinema.’

  ‘We changed our minds. We went for a meal in that new Thai place.’ To Miriam’s amazement Frankie was blushing. ‘He’s a dentist. A widower. I don’t want to say too much. It’s early days.’

  ‘A-ha. And does your dentist have a name?’

  ‘Francis. Frank. Don’t laugh.’

  ‘Frankie and Frank. It has a certain…’

  ‘Monotony?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘It’s okay. A dose of tedium might be what I need.’ Frankie grinned and tapped her front teeth. ‘And I could certainly do with a new bridge.’

  ‘Well, if Frank makes you happy, I like him already.’ Miriam yawned. ‘I think I’ll have a quick bath before I go to bed.’

  ‘Why don’t you sleep in your old room?’ Frankie said.

  ‘I’ll be fine in Danny’s…’ she grimaced, ‘I mean the spare room.’

  ‘No news from the States?’ Frankie said.

  ‘Nothing… concrete. I’ll give it another six months.’

  She undressed and lowered herself into the water. Her parents had been so proud of this bathroom, spanking new in the eighties, now dated and shabby. They’d lain in this bath, naked and vulnerable, frightened of so many things. Had they ever talked – really talked? Laid their souls bare so that there was nothing more to know? It hadn’t appeared that way – but how much could an outsider know about the workings of a marriage? Raising her knees, she lay back, head half-submerged, hair swirling like seaweed around her shoulders. Max used to love doing this, giggling as she talked to him, her voice distorting through ears filled with bathwater. Nothing stayed the same forever. These days he made sure the door was shut when he was in the bathroom.

  She been trying not to dwell on her horrid day. She’d left promising they’d talk tomorrow. All the same, she’d expected Bing to text if only to check she was safely with Frankie. His failure to do so didn’t bode well. What was he doing now? Sleeping? Drinking? He’d got himself into a dreadful state and another night of self-torment could push him to do something stupid. What if he got in the car?

  There was no chance of her sleeping and, dressing quickly, she went to find Frankie. ‘I need to go home,’ she said. ‘Never go to bed on a quarrel, isn’t that the perceived wisdom?’

  A shadow crossed Frankie’s face. ‘Sure you’ll be okay?’

  ‘He’s furious with me but he’d never hurt me.’
/>   Frankie pushed back her fringe, revealing a scar which started on her forehead and disappeared into her hair. ‘The guy who did this was a pussycat until the time he lost it.’

  Reaching out, Miriam traced the scar with the tip of her finger. ‘Poor Frankie.’

  33

  The house was in darkness. Bing’s keys wereon the hall table. No sign of a note – but there wouldn’t be. He wasn’t expecting her back until the morning. He must be in bed. She was debating what to do when a text came through. We LOVE the painting. D says he’s lucky to have such a gutsy, gorgeous m-in-l. N xx. She guessed that David – dear David – had been instrumental in Naomi’s conversion but, however it had come about, having the pair onside was a huge relief and boosted by this small victory, she made her way upstairs. The bedroom door was closed. Locked.

  She rapped on the door. ‘Bing? Can we talk?’

  ‘Go away.’