The Thursday Friend

by Catherine Cookson

  A loud voice in her mind was telling her what she would do, but there was also a feeling rising in her that touched on glee. It was as if a little imp was suddenly sitting before her eyes and holding up a picture of an outfit she had seen in a side street that very morning on her way from the station. She’d stopped to look at it: an exquisitely finished suit – long, in gunmetal grey – trimmed with petrol blue and teamed up with such a beautiful soft silk blouse . . . It looked so sophisticated, so . . . beyond anything she could afford that she’d dragged herself away. But now there it was in her mind’s eye, and the imp was looking round the side of the picture whispering, Why not? You didn’t know you were going to get two hundred pounds. In fact, you’d have been really surprised if he’d offered you one hundred.

  The imp and the picture vanished at the sound of Mr Gillyman saying to David, ‘Go up to my wife and tell her I’ll join you for coffee. I don’t see why you should always have a break and leave me down here working.’

  There was a slight upward movement of David’s eyebrows before he said smartly, ‘Yes, sir,’ then, clicking his heels together, he gave a right about turn and marched from the room.

  ‘Showing off.’ Gilly was looking at Hannah now, and he added, ‘Whether you know it or not, that was a ruse to get rid of him for a minute. I want to ask you something.’

  She was looking at him in enquiry and saw that there was no gleam of merriment in his eyes: his expression was straight, so the smile slipped from her face as she said quietly, ‘Yes?’

  He placed his forearms on the table as he leant towards her, saying quietly, ‘You’ll likely be thinking: Why can’t he mind his own business; even, perhaps, this has nothing to do with him, and so on; but it has something to do with me and my wife. You see, we’re very fond of David. We lost our son, as perhaps he’s already told you, and David has taken Rodney’s place, much grown-up, of course. What’s more, he had a very unhappy experience of marriage, since when his relationships have been of short duration; usually just theatre or dinner companions. But now, from what he tells me, and even after such a short acquaintance, he has become more than fond of you. You are still a married woman, Mrs Drayton, but, from what little I glean, not very happily so. Now, the point is this: from my knowledge of David, he’s not taking this matter lightly and, to a certain extent, being legally separated from his wife, he’s at liberty to go his own way. What I’m going to ask you, and I’d like a plain yes or no, is whether or not this association is merely a light diversion to relieve your boredom, just as the writing of your little book, I feel sure, was. So, yes or no to my first question.’

  She did not ask herself if she was annoyed at this form of questioning, but she knew she was in a way frightened by it, so much so that she could not answer him until he said harshly, ‘Well! you should know.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do know, and the answer is no. I am not taking the matter lightly; far from it. But there is still my husband, and he has done me no harm, in fact he has been kind in his own way; but, apart from that, our marriage is not . . . ’ she swallowed deeply here as she slowly shook her head before looking at him again and saying flatly, ‘not what it should be. It hasn’t been for some long time, mainly because of the feeling of responsibility my husband has for his aunt and uncle, both elderly and sick people, with whom he spends most weekends, in fact, every weekend. They . . . they seem to demand it. They were never fond of me.’

  She gave a little wry smile now as she added, ‘His aunt doesn’t care for blondes, seeing them as frivolous, dangerous people in fact, and is convinced they should never marry steady men like her nephew.’

  ‘Oh, ye gods!’ He was sitting back in his chair now, staring at her. ‘How long have you put up with this?’

  ‘Oh.’ She was looking from side to side as if she would see the number of weeks, days, nights she had put up with it, and she said, ‘Oh; more than two years.’

  ‘Was it all right before that?’

  ‘Well, he’s always visited his aunt and uncle a lot. At first I used to go with him, but, just as his aunt did not like blondes, I did not care for tall, thin-faced, sparse-haired elderly ladies.’

  He laughed now, saying, ‘I can see the portrait vividly.’

  He was sitting forward again now and then he said quietly, ‘I don’t know what the future is going to hold for either of you but, in the meantime, if you can make him happy and he in return can do the same for you, we’ll be glad of that. Do forgive me for being such an interfering old busybody; it’s just that he is so dear to us now . . . Well!’ – he stood up and waved his hands – ‘Coffee! Let’s get upstairs.’ He held out his arm to her and when she put hers into it he drew her round the table, saying, ‘He’ll probably ask you what we were talking about; you see, were he to know he’d be angry and go for me and tell me to mind my own business. So we’ve been talking about children’s poetry, haven’t we?’ He was now standing abreast of her at the edge of the desk, and looking into his smiling face, she said, ‘Yes, of course. That’s what I’m here for, to talk about children’s poetry.’

  He nodded at her, then with an almost dancing step he pulled her along the room and through the end door and towards the stairs, chanting as he went:

  ‘McGinty is the gardener

  And he sometimes swears,

  Pongo is the poodle

  With only half its hairs;

  Father is the parson

  Reading from a book;

  Says I’ll take some saving

  By hook or by crook.’

  She followed him up the stairs, smiling, and he turned to her and said, ‘Think you’re the only one who’s ever written children’s poetry? I wrote that when I was eight. I did. I did.’

  Then off they went again, he repeating his chant and dancing to it and she aiming to keep in step with him, all the while asking herself if, like in Alice in Wonderland, she had dropped into a dream, because here she was dancing with the equivalent of the Mad Hatter. Nicely mad – kindly mad – or understandably mad, sympathetically mad, wisely mad, but above all childishly mad. Yes, that was the best madness, childish madness.

  Then the dream would shortly jump from Alice in Wonderland to Cinderella, and there would be the Prince taking her to lunch, and he would tell her again she was the most lovely thing that had come into his life.

  When they danced into the room, and she was plonked laughing on to the couch and he dropped down beside her, the two people standing at the coffee table just looked at them, and Natasha Gillyman, turning to David, said, ‘It’s a white-coat job again; I think you’d better phone them.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ David nodded towards them, then added, ‘And a female attendant; she’s become infected too.’

  Lying back on the couch, her body still shaking, Hannah heard a voice at her side saying, ‘She’s got the most infectious laugh.’ Well, that couldn’t have been from the Mad Hatter, he must have turned into the White Rabbit. As the general laughter flowed around her she felt she was about to cry, and the room became strangely still. She knew she was still dreaming, and she prayed that she would never wake up, especially when the Prince sat beside her and drew her head on to his shoulder. Then the Queen made her sip some coffee before they both chided the Mad Hatter, who defended himself by saying, ‘’Tis the best thing that could have happened: she’s let go.’

  She liked the Mad Hatter; yes, she did.

  Chapter Nine

  Hannah looked at the elegantly dressed, sophisticated stranger in the cheval mirror and could hardly believe it was her. No, it couldn’t possibly be her.

  She took off the jacket, the better to admire the line of the long skirt, and smoothed down the silk blouse, turning to catch a view of herself from behind.

  The proprietress was hovering close by, obviously pleased with what she saw. ‘You have your hair tied back,
madam,’ she ventured, ‘but I think it would suit you better if you coiled it into a sort of loose rope at the nape of your neck.’

  Hannah saw the figure in the glass nodding agreement with this, but it didn’t speak.

  ‘You have beautiful hair. Such a glorious colour.’ She took three steps back and viewed Hannah, who had now turned from the mirror, from top to toe. With a dramatic gesture she clasped her hands in front of her and said, ‘I haven’t sold anything with such pleasure for a long time, madam. It really is as if the outfit was made with you in mind. And you can ring the changes by wearing the pieces separately and dressing them up or down to suit the occasion. Each piece has been made plain without fancy trimming with exactly that in mind.’

  ‘Yes, it’s . . . perfect . . . ’

  ‘And the cut gives such an elegant line. Turn round, madam.’

  Hannah obeyed and when she felt the bottom of the skirt swish luxuriantly over her calves she closed her eyes. Yesterday she had been with Alice in Wonderland, when the joyful feeling had been too much and she had almost cried; today, she felt as if she were still in a kind of dream. ‘Well now,’ the proprietress was saying, ‘I’ll have it parcelled up for you. And you’re taking the trousers too? So smart.’

  Hannah had put on the jacket again and was moving her hand down the front of the lapels, and for a moment she did not respond. Then she said, ‘Er, yes . . . Would you mind if I kept these things on?’

  ‘Mind, madam?’ She laughed, and Hannah, her face quite red now, said, ‘That was a silly thing to say. I . . . ’

  ‘No, it wasn’t, madam. No, it wasn’t. Would I mind? I’d be delighted to see you walk out of my shop just as you are. I’ll have your garments packed up for you.’

  She didn’t say ‘clothes’ or ‘dress and coat’; no, they were garments. Hannah was glowing inside; she was buying an outfit that cost £125. She knew now why she had asked Mr Gillyman if it would be possible for her to have the half advance royalties in cash, as she hadn’t a cheque book, and she might want to spend now that she felt so affluent. And he had laughed heartily as he counted out ten £10 notes, and now here she was counting out twelve to Madame Yvonne; she was about to add a £5 note when the proprietress said, ‘We’ll call it a hundred and twenty, shall we?’

  As she thanked Madame for the discount she was very pleased to have been given it, for, without it, she would barely have had her tube fare home.

  She was being handed the bag containing her clothes. It was pale blue on one side, on the other ‘Yvonne’ was picked out in large yellow letters.

  Madame herself showed her to the door and expressed a wish that she might again have the pleasure of dressing her.

  Even in the short distance to the main thoroughfare she found she was not walking unnoticed, yet she knew that around Oxford Street you could wear anything from a sack to an evening dress at any time of the day and no-one would remark on it.

  Knowing she would be seeing David later that evening, she had refused his suggestion of lunch, but now she was feeling a strong inclination to rush back to Jason Gardens to show herself off; and not only to David, but to those other two nice people, the Alice in Wonderland people, for Natasha too had become part of the dream.

  But she resisted, and decided to go straight home. She was relieved to find that Mrs Fenwick had gone and so she went straight upstairs. In her bedroom the first thing she did was stand in front of the long mirror. She was someone different, poised . . . someone so very slim and . . . elegant. Her mind hung on the word ‘elegant.’ Oh! wait till David saw her.

  But she couldn’t wear this outfit tonight; it’d be too risky. What was more, she must, for now, hide it. The only place she could think of was the back of the wardrobe, among her winter things.

  After changing her clothes, she made her way to the kitchen but all she did there was sit by the table and drum her fingers on the edge of it while asking herself, What now? Where do I go from here? knowing quite well she would be going into his bed.

  Good God! what was the matter with her? Why was she thinking like this? She was married!

  The voice was speaking again, not so loudly now, but firmly: No, you never used to think like this, because then you hadn’t the experience of spending two years sleeping in the next room to a sadist.

  He’s not! Such words. Such a description.

  Well, you tell me what other description you can give to him, but don’t come back with, He’s kind, Humphrey’s so kind.

  When she found herself whimpering, she said aloud, ‘Oh, come on, Hannah! Stop thinking like this!’

  The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag. She longed to hear Humphrey’s key in the door; and when it actually happened she went into the dining room and attended to the table as if putting the last touches to it.

  When she turned round he was standing in the doorway and her hand immediately went to her mouth and pressed it tightly: he was streaming with cold.

  His voice was a croak as he said, ‘I don’t feel like anything to eat; I’ve . . . I’ve developed a cold. I’ll just have a cup of coffee and take some aspirins. I’m . . . I’m going to bed.’

  She followed him back into the hall, saying inanely, ‘It’s unusual for you to have a real cold.’

  ‘Oh, it’s going round the office. They seem to be short sharp attacks. I hope so, because I’ve taken one of my extra days. I’ve only three left, but if I don’t take them before the end of the month I lose them. Anyway, it’ll probably be gone or settled by tomorrow.’

  ‘Would you like me to phone your friends about tonight?’

  He looked at her in surprise, saying, ‘There’s no need. Two of the players are in my department.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course.’ She watched him as he climbed the stairs. Then she returned to the kitchen and for a moment stood thinking: Nothing ever goes smoothly. It had been a wonderful day and she had imagined it would finish more wonderfully still, when she told David of her decision.

  She would have to phone him. That coffee, yes! She must make that cup of coffee, and it would probably be the first of many she would have to make tonight. And she’d ply him with hot drinks every half-hour, anything to get him away for his weekend jaunt as usual . . .

  On the phone David said, ‘Oh, Hannah. I’ve been looking forward to it so much. And the weekend . . . ?’

  ‘Oh, he has to be very ill before he gives that up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’ll start praying. It’s only hours since I saw you but it seems like years. What did you do with yourself all day?’

  ‘I spent part of my advance.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘Yes, and all in one go, and twenty pounds more.’

  ‘What on earth did you buy?’

  ‘Just you wait and see.’

  ‘Can you phone me again later on?’

  ‘No, I’d better not; he might hear the phone from his room. I’ll phone you in the morning. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, darling.’

  She was in the kitchen when she thought of her granny’s cure for coughs and bad colds – horehound, whisky, sugar, lemon and boiling water.

  Odd about horehound. She’d always loved horehound candy. She’d been introduced to it by her granny. Then there was horehound ginger. That was always doled out for a cold. It was also the standard medicine for the children in Janie’s house; for adults, too, but with something more potent added. Well, she had both horehound candy and horehound ginger in the house, so she set about creating the potion. Into a mug she poured a generous measure of whisky, two heaped teaspoons of brown sugar, lemon juice, a quarter of a teaspoon of horehound ginger, and a quarter-pint of boiling water. She gave the contents a good stir, sipped at the mug, coughed, blinked, and took it up to his
bedroom.

  He was lying on his back. His eyes were closed and a handkerchief was held to his mouth.

  ‘What . . . what is it?’

  ‘Well, I’ve always understood this to be an absolute cure for a cold. It was my grandmother’s remedy.’

  ‘What’s in it?’

  She told him.

  ‘Your grandmother’s remedy?’ He pulled himself some way up in the bed and looked at her. ‘I’ve never heard of it before.’

  ‘Because neither of us has needed it. I’ve never known you to have such a cold, nor myself. The sniffles now and again, but that’s all.’

  He felt the mug, saying, ‘It’s very hot.’

  ‘It’s supposed to be, and you must drink it all, not just sip at it.’

  He tasted it, then coughed, and his lids blinked as hers had done. ‘It’s . . . it’s very strong.’

  ‘Drink it up.’

  He stared at her for a moment longer; then, putting the mug to his mouth, he began to drink, only stopping to get his breath now and again. When the mug was empty he handed it to her, saying, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’d settle down and go to sleep now. I don’t think you’ll need anything more tonight.’

  As he lay back and pulled the clothes up to his chin, he said, ‘Were you thinking about going to Janie’s?’

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t matter. I phoned her.’

  He nodded at her in acknowledgement, which made her think it was lucky there was no extension in the bedrooms, because she was sure he would have listened in.

  ‘Goodnight, Hannah, and thank you.’

  ‘Goodnight.’