First Friends

by Marcia Willett

  Max struggled up from his short course in death and essayed a bark or two. Really! Couldn’t a dog get a minute’s peace? Harriet had got the door open and was staring at Tom. Seeing a strange man, Max felt a bit more effort was called for on his part, but he was ignored. They were too busy gasping at one another.

  ‘How on earth . . . ?’

  ‘I remembered his name and looked him up in the book.’

  ‘Why didn’t you phone?’

  ‘Wanted to check he wasn’t here . . . ’

  ‘But how . . . ’

  ‘Stopped off at his office. Saw him through the window. Didn’t wait to find a phone-box. Oh, Harriet . . . ’

  ‘Oh, God, Tom. Yesterday was so ghastly . . . ’

  And so on, and so on. Humans were so emotional, so exhausting. Max returned to the utility room and, flopping down, resumed his slumbers.

  ‘FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE RELAX, love. Talk about a cat on a hot tin roof.’ Now that they’d made love again Tom was back in control. His urgency to track Harriet down had surprised him and he had a feeling that he was being rather swept along, out of control.

  ‘I just feel that we shouldn’t have done it here, Tom.’ With her passion temporarily abated, Harriet felt guilty and confused. ‘After all, it is Michael’s house.’

  ‘Well, we’re not in his bed, are we?’

  Tom’s calmness had the opposite effect on Harriet who now felt edgy. There was a tendency for her beautiful romantic affair to look sordid and she simply couldn’t bear it.

  ‘No, but still, let’s get up. He might arrive at any moment.’

  ‘Why?’ Tom made no effort to move. ‘Does he usually come home for lunch?’

  ‘Well, no. But I was upset last night and I didn’t get up for breakfast this morning and he might just check.’

  ‘Why should he check? You’re sure there’s nothing between you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Tom, honestly.’ Harriet was now feeling positively irritable. ‘We’ve been through all that. And he doesn’t know anything about us, either. But I was very quiet on the way back last evening and he must have guessed that something was wrong. He’s much too nice to ask questions but he might just come back to see if I’m OK.’ Harriet pulled away from Tom’s caressing hand and got out of bed. ‘I’m going to get up. Oh, God! Oh, Christ! Here’s his car! Oh! Quickly, Tom, get up!’

  ‘Hell’s teeth, woman, calm down. Stop pulling me.’ Tom was moving as slowly as he dared in an attempt to maintain his dignity. ‘I’m dressing. Go on down and chat to him. I’m allowed to come and see you, dammit. Pull yourself together and go on down. Tell him I’m in the loo. For heaven’s sake, Harriet, you can tidy up later. He won’t come into your bedroom, for God’s sake. Go on, Harriet.’

  She almost fell down the narrow staircase, sobbing dryly, hot with shame.

  ‘Michael!’ She arrived in the hall as he opened the front door.

  He stood for a moment, pocketing his key, surveying her flushed face, dishevelled hair and the hastily donned jersey and then turned towards the kitchen door where Max had appeared with a weary ‘here we go again’ expression about him.

  ‘I see we’ve got visitors.’ Michael’s voice was calm. Max sniffed at him and his tail waved tentatively. Something wrong here. Michael stroked his ears and spoke gently to him, but Max was not deceived. He sat down, leaning against the fridge, in case he should be needed to give comfort and support.

  ‘It’s Tom.’ Harriet sounded breathless. ‘He had to come to Tavistock and he thought he’d return our call. He’s just dashed up to the loo.’

  ‘Ah. Is he staying to lunch?’

  ‘No.’ It came out much too quickly and she turned as Tom came into the kitchen. ‘You can’t stay to lunch, can you, Tom? Didn’t you say you were on your way somewhere?’ She signalled furiously to him behind Michael’s back.

  ‘That’s right. Hello, Michael. Hope you don’t mind my popping in. Messages from Cass and so on. Actually, why don’t you come with me, Harriet? I’m sure you remember the Harraps, don’t you? They’d love to see you again. I can drop you back later.’

  One look at Michael’s face decided her. She couldn’t face him just yet.

  ‘That would be lovely. Is that OK, Michael?’

  ‘Of course. You don’t have to ask permission, you know. You’re my guest, not my prisoner.’

  ‘No. I realise that. Well, I’ll just get my bag.’ She vanished.

  ‘Well, nice to see you again, Michael.’ Tom followed her.

  Michael stood motionless, listening to Harriet’s feet running upstairs, down again, across the hall. The front door slammed and a car engine started up. Presently he sat down at the table.

  Recognising his cue Max rose and came to sit by him. He leaned against his leg and put his heavy head on Michael’s knee. It was one of those days.

  WHEN MICHAEL ARRIVED HOME that evening Harriet was in the kitchen, busy at the Aga.

  ‘Hello!’ she said, without turning round, her voice brittle and gay. ‘Sold lots of houses? I’m making us a special dinner.’

  ‘That sounds good.’ Michael’s voice was noncommittal. ‘Hello, Max. Don’t get up, old chap.’

  Max hauled himself up into a sitting position supported by the dresser and wagged his tail. He flattened his ears and his tongue lolled out which was what Harriet called ‘Max laughing.’

  ‘I took him for a walk,’ she said, in the same light, social tone. ‘I thought he needed exercise.’

  Max looked at her reproachfully. Needed exercise! Great Scott! He’d been on the go all day, what with one thing and another. He’d only just settled down for a real snooze after Michael had gone back to the office when Harriet had appeared in a state of nervous tension and dragged him out to walk for miles on the moor. It was a dog’s life! He looked at Michael for sympathy, but he was looking at Harriet. Max pulled in his tongue and lay down. There was no justice in this life.

  ‘Harriet.’

  Harriet’s heart began to thump and she busied herself with pans and plates.

  ‘Yes?’

  He didn’t speak again and she was forced, at last, to turn to look at him. He was leaning against the dresser, ankles crossed, with a cigarette in one hand and the other thrust into his trouser pocket.

  ‘How long have we known each other, Harriet?’

  ‘Heavens! I don’t know!’ Her laugh sounded artificial, even to her. ‘Years I should think.’

  ‘It’s eight years. I’d just passed my Chartered Surveyor’s exams.’

  ‘What a memory you’ve got! Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was wondering why you’re behaving like a stranger.’

  She turned quickly to the Aga, pretending to move a saucepan.

  ‘Harriet.’

  Reluctantly she turned back.

  ‘Are you having an affair with Tom?’

  The directness of the question took her breath away.

  ‘Yes.’ She couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Did you come here just to be close to him?’

  ‘No!’ It burst out of her. Had she? No, not just that. ‘No. I wanted,’ yes, this was true, ‘I wanted to work with you. Be near you.’ She found that she could look at him again.

  ‘Oh, Harriet!’ He stubbed out his cigarette in exasperation and sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘Michael, don’t be cross. I can’t seem to help myself. I’ve been in love with Tom for years but he never seemed to notice me until now.’

  ‘You mean you were in love with Tom when you met Ralph?’ His interruption cut across her explanation and he sounded shocked.

  ‘No, no. I’d never met him then. Actually I rather fancied you, if I’m honest, but you were always tied up with that Joanna woman and . . . ’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ She was struck by his grimace of pain. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘What, about fancying you? Oh, yes. But you couldn’t seem to detach yourself and I decided, in the end, that you didn’t really want to.’

  �
��It wasn’t that easy. She was very determined, as well as being neurotic, suicide threats and so on. I managed it in the end.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘I remember the morning I came into the office to tell you I’d made the break. You greeted me first, with the news of your engagement to Ralph.’

  She looked at him in horror.

  ‘But, Michael! You never told me you cared about me like that.’

  ‘I couldn’t until I was free, but I tried to give you hints about how difficult it was . . .’

  ‘But I thought it was because you were so besotted about her that you were always telling me about her. You know, sort of warning me off.’

  They stared at each other aghast.

  ‘I never thought you were really available,’ said Harriet, at last, ‘and after that there was Ralph. And then I met Tom.’ Her voice trailed off.

  Michael raised his head. ‘Tom wasn’t available either.’

  ‘I know.’ Harriet sounded miserable. ‘I just went up like straw. From the moment I met him I was just, well, obsessed by him.’

  ‘So that was why, after Ralph died, I couldn’t get anywhere with you. Because of Tom?’

  ‘I suppose so. Although, well, to be honest, Michael, I wasn’t aware of your trying. You just behaved like an old friend, a brother. I couldn’t have managed without you.’

  ‘I seem to have got it wrong all the way round, don’t I?’ Michael got up and went to the dresser to fetch some glasses. ‘Well, perhaps it’s third time lucky.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Harriet passed him the wine.

  ‘Just this. Just so’s there no mistake this time—I love you, Harriet. I’ve loved you for more than eight years and I don’t want to miss out this time round because I’m standing back being brotherly.’ He poured the wine and raised his glass to her. ‘Just bear it in mind, will you? And now I’m going up for a shower.’ Taking his glass, he left the kitchen.

  Harriet sat down suddenly at the kitchen table.

  Well, now you know, she said to herself. Oh, hell! This was all I needed. Her gaze roamed around the kitchen and alighted on Max, snoring by the dresser, sympathy oozing from his inert form.

  ‘Oh, Max!’ she wailed. ‘What am I going to do?’

  He opened a bleary eye in alarm. Not again! No, really, this was too much! Rising as quickly as his bulk would allow, he vanished into the utility room and wedged himself behind the freezer and Harriet was left alone.

  Twenty-three

  Alan delved in his pocket for his key, raised his hand to the fellow officer who had given him a lift from the dockyard and, picking up his grip, went into the house. He called a few times, put his head into the living room and the kitchen and, finding them empty, went upstairs to change. It was quite possible that Jane was staying with a friend or had gone to see her mum but it was unlikely. She tended to stay put when he was at sea, making the excuse that she couldn’t drive and public transport was so inconvenient. It was so silly having a car unused in the garage for months on end but, since she was so nervous of the idea of driving, Alan had let the matter drop hoping that the sheer difficulties of getting about may encourage her.

  All her things were lying about in their usual places in the bedroom and the bathroom so she evidently didn’t plan to be away long. There was no need to panic yet, after all she wasn’t expecting him, but he felt a little worried. He’d been phoning since the evening before and wondered with whom she was staying. He decided to have a cup of tea and then make a few telephone calls. He’d just filled the kettle when he heard the key in the lock.

  As Jane let herself in at the front door Alan appeared in the living-room doorway.

  ‘So there you are! Where have you been?’

  White-faced, throat dry, Jane gaped at him in horror. He gave a short laugh.

  ‘Well, you don’t look overjoyed to see me. Where were you last night?’

  ‘I was over Sharon’s.’ (God! Supposing he’s checked!) Fright made her aggressive. ‘How was I supposed to know you’d be home? Haven’t got a crystal ball, have I?’

  ‘I know that.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Are you OK? Sorry if I startled you. We’re in for a couple of days unexpectedly. Didn’t know myself, so I couldn’t let you know. Got in late last night. I tried phoning then and again before I left this morning but there was no reply and I was just going to check around. You don’t look well, love. Sure you’re OK?’

  His tone was genuinely concerned and Jane felt swamped with guilt. She’d let Philip persuade her to go for a picnic up on the moor yesterday. He’d drunk too much cider and they’d almost had a collision with another car on their way back to his cottage for a cup of tea. She hated it when he drank too much and got violent, swearing and shouting and saying he’d kill Alan. He’d refused to drive her home and it was, by then, too late and too far for her to walk. His lovemaking had been rough and painful and Jane had been awake most of the night with gut-ache. Supposing she lost the baby? She knew three months was the danger period, the doctor had told her so, and she’d been surprised, last night, at the terror she’d felt at the thought of losing it. Once she’d have been only too pleased, now she felt differently. This morning Philip had been sullen when she insisted that he dropped her at the other end of the field path and she’d felt a moment of real anxiety that he might insist that he take her right home. She could feel her zero hour coming closer and closer and felt almost annihilated with fear.

  Alan, surprised by the look of her fragility and unhappiness, went to her and took her coat.

  ‘Come on, Jane. Come in the kitchen and I’ll make you a cuppa. What’s that Sharon been up to? You look all in.’

  His kindness was the last straw and overwhelmed by exhaustion and fright she burst into tears.

  ‘Jane, love!’ As he caught her to him the pain, as her swollen, tender breasts came into contact with his rib cage, made her cry out and thrust him away. He released her abruptly and suddenly guessed the truth.

  ‘You’re pregnant!’

  It was a statement, not a question, and Jane turned away, sobbing harder.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  When she didn’t answer he went to her and, leading her like a child, took her into the living room and placed her in a corner of the sofa. Then, sitting beside her and turning sideways, so that he could see her, he picked up her hand and chafed it gently between his.

  ‘Is it that bad?’ he asked gently. He took her chin in his fingers and turned the drowned face to his. ‘Did you think I was going to beat you? Oh, I know I said I didn’t want kids yet but, if you want the truth, I’m thrilled to bits.’

  She looked at him properly for the first time. This was the old Alan, the Alan she hadn’t seen for months and months, not since that wretched promotion had changed their lives.

  ‘I’ve been a bit difficult lately, love,’ he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘I know that. You’ll have to try to forgive me for it. It was a big thing for me, you know, being made up, and, frankly, I was terrified. But I’ve found my feet a bit now and things are settling down. But I need you, Jane. I can’t do it without you.’

  Jane stared at him in amazement—Alan the confident, the brave—and saw tears in his eyes.

  ‘Alan!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He bent his head over their joined hands. ‘These last few months have been a strain. And what with coming home and you not here and now this! It’s all a bit of a shock.’ He tried to laugh, patted her hand and swallowed hard. ‘I’m going to make that tea.’

  Jane remained riveted in her corner. Who’d believe it? Alan in tears over her. Suddenly she wished with all her heart that she knew the baby was his. It could be, but she’d never be sure. Did she have the courage to tell him or, if they stayed together, would it always be there between them?

  Suddenly she realised just what she had done and how much she might lose.

  HARRIET STROLLED DOWN THE high street outwardly serene, her mind in turmoil. Michael’s outburst the we
ek before had left her in a state of shock from which she was only now beginning to emerge. He had made no further reference to Tom or his own personal feelings, merely behaving as he had before, but for Harriet that was now impossible. Everything had changed and she didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels. Fortunately Tom had gone back to sea which solved the immediate problem of how to see him whilst she was living with Michael. However, several things were becoming clear, one of which was that she couldn’t continue to stay in his cottage. But where should she go? Secondly, could she, knowing how Michael felt, accept his offer of a partnership?

  She stopped to look into Creber’s window. She must buy something for dinner, but what? Even that decision was beyond her. Gradually she became aware of activity beyond the display of cheeses. A hand seemed to be waving at her and now the owner of the hand was moving to the door and hurrying out on to the pavement.

  ‘Harriet! It is you, isn’t it? Yes, of course it is! Heavens, it must be years since I saw you.’

  ‘Kate Webster,’ said Harriet slowly. ‘Good Lord! Yes, years and years.’ She stared at Kate, taking in the grey hairs, the old jeans and rather grubby sweatshirt. ‘I’m sorry. Just for a moment I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘I know!’ Kate grinned back at her. ‘Shocking, isn’t it? We only met on social occasions when I was forced to dress up. But once I was free of it all, I never looked back.’

  ‘Free . . . ?’ An old rumour filtered through Harriet’s mind, something to do with running off with another man . . .

  ‘Shall we have some coffee?’ Kate was saying. ‘Or, better still, would you like to come back for some lunch?’

  ‘Oh, that would be wonderful!’ Harriet’s tone was heartfelt. ‘I’m in a dreadful muddle and I desperately need someone to talk to.’

  ‘Heavens!’ said Kate cheerfully. ‘Nothing too frightful, I hope? I was so sorry about Ralph,’ she added in a changed tone. ‘It was an appalling tragedy.’

  ‘Yes.’ Harriet remembered receiving a kind letter from Kate which she’d never answered. How long ago it seemed and what would Kate say if Harriet told her that even then she’d been in love with Tom Wivenhoe?