Curiosity won out, as I hoped it would, because my excuse for being there wasn't enough to persuade her to invite me in. "I never met his dad," she said, a gleam of interest sparkling in her eyes. "He was long gone before I met Al, but everyone says he was a bastard. Did you know him well?"
"Oh, yes. He threatened to rearrange my face once, so I tried to have him arrested." I turned irresolutely toward the taxi. "I asked the driver to wait in case you weren't at home, but I think he's left the clock running."
"Fuck that for a load of bananas," she said cheerfully. "They're all rip-off merchants ... charge you an arm 'n' a bloody leg just to look you. Excuse my French. How about I give you a cup of tea and we'll call for a minicab later? If you're lucky, Al might get home early for once. I mean, it's not every day one of his teachers turns up"�she canted her head to one side�"though you don't look much like any of the old bats who taught me, and that's a fact."
With a grateful smile for the offer of tea and the compliment�and a silent, earnest prayer that nothing would induce Alan to come home early�I paid off the cab and followed her inside. As I might have predicted, the interior was a reflection of Beth's down-to-earth character. Colors were simple and direct�terra-cotta and straw being her obvious favorites. Floor coverings were practical�sanded floorboards in the hall and cork in the kitchen�and all her furniture was arranged to maximize space and minimize accidents for her children. It worked, and it was attractive, and when I told her so she was pleased but not surprised.
"It's what I want to do when the kids are both at school," she said, "take over someone's house and make it nice for them. I reckon I've got a talent for it, and it seems a shame to work in a factory if I can make money out of something I enjoy. I do it all myself�Al's too tired to be sanding floors when he gets home�and most of my mates go green when they come visiting. Half of them think women aren't made for this kind of caper, and the other half say they'd be too embarrassed to go to the hire shop for tools like sanding machines and wallpaper strippers because they wouldn't know what to ask for."
I skirted cautiously around the Great Dane, which had stretched itself full length on a fluffy rug in front of the cooker. "What did you do before you married Alan?" I asked, pulling out a kitchen chair and straddling it. The dog raised its head with a hostile look in its eyes, then, at a click from his mistress's fingers, yawned and went back to sleep.
"I was a hairdresser," Beth said with a laugh, "and I hated every minute of it. I was supposed to be a stylist but the only styling I ever did was blue rinses for miserable old women who had nothing better to do with their time than whinge about their husbands. And it didn't seem to make much difference whether the poor old bastards were dead or alive, they still got the treatment. Yackety ... yackety ... yack. He's mean.... He's stupid ... He dribbles on the toilet seat ... Honestly! It didn't half put me off getting old."
I laughed. "It sounds like my mother."
"Is she like that?"
"A bit."
"I never knew my mum," said Beth, pushing an armful of bangles up to her elbow as she carried the kettle to the sink and turned on the water. "Not the biological one anyway. She put me up for adoption when I was a baby. My adoptive mum's great ... so is my dad ... they love Al and they love the kids. They asked me once if I wanted to go looking for my real mum, and I said no chance. I mean, there's no guarantee I'm going to like her�half the people I know can't stand their parents ... so why waste time looking for her?"
I didn't say anything.
"You think I'm wrong?"
"Not at all," I said with a smile. "I was thinking what a levelheaded woman you are and how lucky Alan is to have married you." I was also thinking of something that an educational psychologist had once written about Alan ... He should be encouraged to form strong and positive bonds with adults ... He needs to feel valued..."You've obviously been good for Danny as well ... He certainly talks about you very fondly." It was sincerely meant and her cheeks flushed pink with pleasure. "What about their sisters?" I asked. "Do you see much of them?"
This must have been a thornier subject because her frown promptly returned. "The last time we saw them was at Tansy's christening and that's three years ago now. Al said we'd give it one more try, so we invited them, and they promptly lammed into me and Al as per usual ... ruined poor little Tan's party ... and we thought, to hell with it, life's too short for this kind of aggro." She swept some breadcrumbs from the table into her cupped hand and I watched in fascination as the bangles rattled down to her wrist. "Al says it's jealousy because we're doing okay and they're not�one of them's got four kids and no bloke because he buggered off when she fell pregnant the last time�the other's got five kids by different dads and two of them are in care."
"Where do they live?"
"A big estate near Heathrow."
"Together?"
"Neighboring blocks. The kids run around in a gang and terrorize the old people living there. I hate to think how many police cautions they've had. Someone told me the other day that the council's planning to take out injunctions to force Sally and Pauline to keep them inside ... but I don't know if it's true. The worst thing is, they've been trying to get on the housing list here and I said to Al we'd have to move if it happened because there's no way I'm going to let Jason and Tansy get sucked into trouble by their cousins." She poured the tea and, like her mother-in-law, added milk automatically. "Al says it's not really his sisters' fault," she went on, passing me a cup, "not when you look at the kind of upbringing they had, but as I keep telling him, if that's true then he and Danny should be as bad."
She reminded me of Julia Charles, our neighbor in Graham Road, who had agonized in the same way about the terrible influence Alan Slater and Michael Percy would have on her children if she ever let them play in the street. They're such awful boys, she used to say, and it's not as though it's a "class" thing, or not really. It's their parents who're to blame. If their mothers spent more time with the kids and less time on their backs or on the bottle, then the kids would be better behaved. Everyone knew that.
"It sounds as if they've reversed their roles," I said slowly. "The two girls always seemed quite sensible when they were children. Either that or they were too terrified of their father to put a foot wrong. They used to follow in Alan's wake sometimes, but never further than the end of the road. They were both small and dark like their mother and Sally's the older of the two?" She nodded. "They were friendly with two other little girls of about the same age�Rosie and Bridget Spalding�and used to play hopscotch on the pavement. Bridget married Alan's friend, Michael Percy, and moved down to Bournemouth, but I've no idea what happened to Rosie." I raised a questioning eyebrow but Beth shook her head as she perched on the edge of a worktop and cradled her cup between her hands. "Al hasn't kept up with anyone from Graham Road," she said. "He goes to see his mother once in a while, but never for very long because it makes him so depressed. Left to himself, he wouldn't go at all ... but I keep saying, he has to set a good example to Jace and Tan ... I mean, I'd die if they never came to see me after they were grown." She had pale lashes and pale eyebrows, which gave her face a bland look until she screwed one of her many expressions onto it. Now she made a grimace of irritation. "She doesn't make it easy, though. All she ever does is complain about how lonely she is and how miserable she is. It's a vicious circle. If she put herself out to be pleasant, he'd probably drop in more often ... Instead, he delays as long as he can, then goes out of guilt."
"Do you and the children visit her?"
More grimacing. "We did till Jason found her Prozac and ended up in the hospital. I was that mad with her. It's not as though she needs the stupid things. Half the time she doesn't take them ... It's just a way of getting invalidity benefit so she can sit at home and watch the telly all day. I wouldn't mind so much if I hadn't asked her to keep them out of harm's way, but it's like talking to a brick wall. She smokes and drinks around Jace and Tan, takes no notice of what I migh
t feel about it, then has the nerve to tell me she doesn't know what the fuss is about. 'It didn't do my kids any harm,' she says."
I laughed. "I used to get it about disposable nappies. I made the mistake of telling my mother what they cost and she lectured me for months about how I was wasting my money. 'What's wrong with terry toweling?' she kept saying ... 'If it was good enough for you, then it's good enough for your boys.' "
She sipped at her tea. "You don't like her much, do you?" The directness of the question took me aback, if only because it was something I never asked myself. "Rather more than you like Maureen, I suspect."
"Yes, but Maureen's not my mum," she said despondently. "It doesn't half worry me. I don't like falling out with people, but the way Alan's lot behave we won't be talking to any of them soon. I have nightmares sometimes that it's in the genes, and that my kids'll storm off after a huge row, and me and Al will never see them again."
"I'm sure that won't happen," I consoled her. "If behavior was inherited my two would have upped stumps and left long ago. But they're so laid-back it'll take a stick of dynamite to shift them. Either that or a stunning blonde with a Ferrari."
She eyed me thoughtfully. "Maybe they got their genes from their father," she suggested.
More likely their grandfather, I thought, while thinking it was hardly a good time to remind Beth of the genetic link between her children and Derek. "Except I agree with Alan that upbringing has more to do with it," I answered. "Jason and Tansy are the sum of their genes and experiences, not the sum of their genes alone, otherwise they'd be virtually indistinguishable from each other. You made the point yourself when you said how different Alan and Danny are from their sisters."
And how different Alan seemed now from the boy I once knew, I thought wryly.
"They're also very different from each other," she said. "Danny's a bit of a goer, but Al behaves like he was born middle-aged." She giggled and her face lit up immediately. "Jace said 'fuck' the other day because he heard it at nursery school and Al spent the next two hours worrying about whether it was his fault. I said, 'Don't be so fucking stupid...' Excuse my French ... And he said, 'It's all very well for you to laugh but the only time my dad showed me any attention was when he said, "Fuck off, bastard.'" And now he's hoping he is a bastard and Derek isn't his dad."
"I'd probably feel the same in his shoes," I said. "It's a bit like owning up to having Ivan the Terrible for a father."
She was agog with curiosity. "You said he threatened you. Why? What happened to make him angry?"
I was tempted to be honest, and not just because I liked her and felt guilty about using her. She was one of those rare people, irrespective of age, sex or background, whose straightforward, open personality demanded, and deserved, a reciprocal trust. Indeed, if I had any sadness at deceiving her, it was because I knew that in different circumstances I would be only too pleased to have her as an ally.
"We had a row in the street about the way he was treating Alan and he pushed my arm up behind my back and said if I ever interfered again he'd wipe the smile off my face." It's not a complete lie, I thought. The place was wrong, and the threat�which had nothing to do with my smile�was inflicted anyway, but Derek had certainly told me never to interfere again. "So I did what any sensible person would do and reported him to the police," I told her, "but they didn't believe me and repeated what I'd said to Derek."
If I were telling it as it really was, I would have added that I was betrayed twice in as many days by the same policeman and reaped a double dose of Derek's anger in consequence. But I wanted to woo Beth with amused indifference, not frighten her off with evidence of her father-in-law's savagery.
Her eyes widened. "What did he do?"
"Nothing much," I lied. "He was a typical bully�bluster on the outside and blancmange inside." I paused. "Danny told me he disappeared after Alan gave him a thrashing with a baseball bat?" I put an upward inflection into my voice, and Beth nodded. "So where did he go? Does anyone know?"
"Al doesn't talk about him much, except to say he doesn't want him anywhere near our kids. I know he went to prison because Sally got his address off a con who'd done time with him. It was before Tan's christening and she kept pestering us to invite him. She said he was back in London and wanted to meet up with his family again"�she shrugged�"but Al said if he showed his face here he'd get another thrashing, and that's what caused most of the aggro at the party. Sally and Pauline said Derek was skint and needed help, and Al said he could die of starvation before he'd lift a finger for him."
"Weren't you worried he'd come anyway?"
She glanced at the dog. "That's why Al got Satan. He wanted a Rottweiler but I said it'd be too dangerous with kids. Mind, I thought it was money down the drain at the time." She flexed the muscles in her right arm. "I reckon I'd be able to deal with Derek ... no trouble ... if he dared push his way in here, but Satan's sort of grown on us and I wouldn't be without him now."
I wanted to warn her against complacency, but instead I murmured, "Still ... it's not surprising Alan was worried, particularly if Derek was close."
"Not that close. Sally said he was shacked up with some bird out Whitechapel way."
"He was lucky to find someone."
"Too right. I said the bird needed her bloody head examined�unless, of course, he hadn't bothered to tell her he was a wife-beater�and Sally got miffed and said I shouldn't spread rumors about people I'd never met. So I said, 'I'll remind you of that when he clobbers this one.' "
I smiled. "What did Maureen say?"
Beth grinned back. "Said it was a pity Derek hadn't died of drink years ago and that the two girls deserved everything they got if they let him swan back into their lives just because he was family. She got well worked up, said he'd done his best to ruin their lives when they were children and if they had any sense they'd keep well away from him now."
"Better late than never, I suppose," I said dryly. "She didn't do much to protect them when they were living with him."
A thoughtful expression creased Beth's forehead and I wondered if I'd displayed my prejudice a little too blatantly. "Except I reckon she was just as bad. It was her who bought the baseball bat, you know ... not to use against Derek ... but to beat her kids about the head whenever they annoyed her."
"How do you know?"
"Danny was teasing Al one day about being slow on the uptake. He said it was because his mum had addled his brains with the bat."
"Was she strong enough?" I asked doubtfully.
"According to Danny she was. He said she was like a wild animal when she was in a temper, and you either scarpered or locked yourself in the toilet till she calmed down." She watched my frown of disbelief and gave a small shrug. "I couldn't swear on oath that it's true�Danny's always telling fibs�but it was pretty convincing at the time. Let's put it this way, Al didn't deny it�just told me never to lift a finger against Jace and Tan or I'd be answering to him. So I said, 'You've gotta be joking! Since when have I ever raised my hand in anger to anyone?' " She grinned suddenly. "And I told him straight, it's fucking rich coming from a bloke who calls his dog Satan and reckons the only way to discipline him is to take a rolled-up newspaper to his backside," She blew an air kiss toward the animal, which raised its head immediately and thumped its tail on the floor. "I mean, what kind of way is that to train a dog when he'll do anything as long as you give him a biscuit?"
Satan and I examined each other cautiously. "He's a good guard dog," I murmured. "I wouldn't fancy my chances much if I were Derek."
"He'd rip his throat out soon as look at him," said Beth. "I used to tie Satan to the pram outside shops when the kids were smaller. He growled at anyone who came closer than six yards, which meant I could do my shopping in peace without worrying about someone stealing my babies."
"Amazing! And he does all that for a biscuit?"
Her grin broadened. "Don't knock it," she said. "It's a damn sight more effective than beating the poor brute w
ith a newspaper. That just made him vicious."
"Mm." Ripping throats out seemed fairly vicious to me, and I wondered how he'd react if I stood up unexpectedly. I glanced at my watch. "I really ought to be going," I said, putting reluctance into my voice. "It's a long journey back to Dorchester and Sam will be wondering where I am."
"Al'll be sorry to have missed you."
I nodded. "It's a shame. I'll phone first another time." I finished my tea and stood up. "Can I say good-bye to the children?"
"You surely can. They're in the sitting room. I'd be interested what you think of it." She pointed to the floor as a growl rose in Satan's throat and he subsided immediately.
"So when does he get the biscuit?" I asked, following her into the hall.
"When I feel like it. That's why he does what I tell him. He's never too sure when the moment will come."
"Does it work with husbands and children as well?"
She flattened her palm and made a rocking gesture. "It depends what the treat is. Biscuits don't work so well on Al. He likes basques and black stockings better." She grinned as I gave a splutter of laughter. "The kids are in here," she said, opening a door. "You'd better like it because it took me two months to finish. I'll phone for a cab while you're looking."
I did like it, although it was totally out of keeping with a 1930s semi. It can't have been bigger than five meters square, but it was decorated in Mexican style with an arched ceiling, tessellated floor, roughly stuccoed walls and an ornate bronze candelabra hanging from the ceiling. French windows opened out onto a tiny patio, and a huge rococo mirror, with a myriad of tilted facets in a scrolled gilt frame, reflected the light in indiscriminate dazzling shafts across every available surface. Even the fireplace had been transformed into something that would have been more at home on a ranch than in a back street in Isleworth, with a brass artillery shell laden with silk flowers standing in the hearth. I wondered why she'd done this room so differently from the rest.
The Shape of Snakes Page 21