by Maureen Lee
Rachel seemed to know everything. She was a terrible busybody, the sort of person Marie wouldn’t normally like, but there was something desperately pathetic about her. Her eyes were full of sadness, as if, inside, she was hurting badly. Marie wondered if her own eyes gave the same impression to the world?
She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, checked the boys were still asleep, didn’t even glance at Liam’s door when she passed it, and went outside. “Morning, Rachel,’ she called as she walked towards the woman who looked a sight in an over-large man’s shirt and grey leggings that were much too tight. Her flat, lifeless hair badly needed something doing to it – a perm, for instance, although a good brushing would have done for now.
‘Good morning, you’re up early. I thought I’d do this,’ she indicated the hose, ‘the poor grass looked awfully parched and I was worried the little tree might die without any water.’
‘I’m not up as early as you.’ Marie looked at her watch: five to seven.
‘I can never sleep in daylight. I rise with the sun in summer.’
‘That’s a sensible thing to do. You can get so much more done in the early morning. My husband used to be amazed when he came down and saw the line full of washing.’ She remembered Liam was supposed to be her husband now. It was Mickey who’d been impressed with the washing blowing on the line. ‘You’ve been busy, luv,’ he’d say sleepily. He was a night person, it took him ages to come to in the morning. ‘I didn’t even know you were up,’ he’d say.
She caught her breath. He’d seemed so real just then when she’d thought about him. If only there was some way of telling him how sorry she was about what had happened with Liam. It was just that she’d been so mixed up and terrified: nothing was making sense any more. Her normal, very ordinary life had been turned upside down and she’d smothered her grief by thinking about Liam rather than the man who would always be the love of her life. It was a relief that she’d been strong enough not to sleep with him. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she had. Her reverie was interrupted by a cry from Rachel.
‘Gareth! You look as if you’ve spent a night out on the tiles.’
Gareth Moran had entered the square. He looked embarrassed. Marie suspected he would have turned round and waited until the coast was clear had he known she and Rachel would be there.
‘Slept at a mates,’ he mumbled.
‘Leaving your wife on her own?’ Rachel raised her eyebrows and Marie felt deeply for the young man. Rachel was awfully tactless.
‘She’s not there,’ Gareth was forced to admit. ‘She’s at her mother’s.’
Fortunately, Rachel didn’t ask if they’d had a row, but said she hoped the little cat hadn’t felt lonely by itself. ‘If you ever want to go away, I’ll look after her for you,’ she offered.
‘Thanks. She’s a he, actually, although her – I mean his – name’s Tabitha.’ He looked anxious to get away. ‘I’d better go. I’ve got things to do before I go to work.’
Gareth stumbled into Hamilton Lodge. He prayed the women hadn’t noticed he’d come out of Victoria’s house. It struck him what a dangerous thing he was doing, having an affair under the noses of the neighbours. If it got back to Debbie, she’d blow every single fuse in her perfect little body and their marriage would be over.
He stood in the hall, his back to the door, and wondered if that would be such an awful thing? She’d divorce him, take him for every penny he had, leaving him free to marry Victoria. On reflection, there weren’t any pennies for her to take, only debts, which Debbie was welcome to – they were mainly hers, anyroad.
‘Tabitha,’ he yelled, ‘come and get your brekkie.’
‘I’ve already fed him,’ said a small voice from the direction of the kitchen. Gareth went in. Debbie was sitting at the table wearing a frilly camisole top and bikini pants to match which he understood was the latest in sleeping gear. Her long black hair fell loosely over her sunburned shoulders and her face, bare of make-up, was dejected. She looked terribly appealing, but he didn’t feel even faintly turned on. Until recently, he would have torn off her sexy outfit and made love to her on the table – had there been room amongst the dirty dishes that had been there since Sunday when his in-laws had paid them a visit. Now, he felt only irritation that she would distract him from thinking about the night he’d just spent with Victoria.
‘I thought you were at your mum’s,’ he said stiffly.
‘I came home, really late, because I wanted us to make up, but you weren’t here. You weren’t here the night before last either.’ Her sniff was a mixture of pathos and indignation.
‘There’d be no need to make up if you didn’t keep running off to your mother’s in a huff,’ he pointed out, ‘and you can’t expect me to sit here by meself and mope every time you do.’
‘You used to. You used to phone and plead with me to come back.’
‘I’ve grown up, Debs. Those days are over. You make it sound like we were playing a game.’ Tabitha came and rubbed himself against Gareth’s ankle. He picked the kitten up. Poor little sod. Rachel was right, he was being neglected. Tonight, he’d take Tabitha with him to Victoria’s – that’s if he could get away. Could he really bring himself to have another row with Debbie so she’d go back to her mother’s? It would be a really horrible thing to do, although it turned out that the row they were about to have was perfectly genuine …
‘I love it when we make up,’ Debbie said in a small voice.
‘It still sounds like a game.’
‘I don’t think I understand you any more, Gareth.’ There was a suspicion of tears in her big, brown eyes. ‘What we need is a holiday, to get away and forget everything for a few weeks, just concentrate on each other.’
‘I’ve already told you we can’t afford a holiday. What’s that you’ve got there?’ he asked sharply. She was folding and unfolding a slip of paper on the table in front of her.
‘It’s a receipt. Yesterday, I paid in full for the holiday in Barbados with my credit card. Oh, Gareth!’ she cried. ‘It was silly to let the deposit go to waste: four hundred pounds and nothing to show for it. We’ll have a wonderful time.’
‘So, you paid another three thousand six hundred?’ His voice had risen an octave. He felt himself go faint and hurriedly sat down. He’d meant to ring the travel agent and cancel the holiday, but there’d been so many other things to think about.
‘I didn’t think you’d mind,’ she said sulkily, clearly alarmed by his tone.
‘Mind! Mind! Mind is too mild a word to use. I’m totally horrified. How many times must I tell you, Debs, we can’t afford it. Didn’t we discuss this very same thing yesterday? Christ!’ He banged his head on the table, but it didn’t help. ‘You didn’t buy the Prairie Dog while you were at it, did you?’
‘Of course I didn’t, that’s something we’d have to do together.’
Thank the Lord. ‘What’s the limit on your credit card?’ he asked dully.
‘I’ve never looked. I didn’t know it had a limit.’
‘Debbie, I think you should go back to your mother’s.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, now, before I kill you, before the postman comes with more bills and I kill you again.’
Debbie stamped her foot. ‘You’re acting like a prima donna, Gareth. Mum always says you act like a prima donna.’
‘Does she?’ He didn’t care what his gruesome mother-in-law thought. All he cared about were his monstrous debts and, of course, Victoria.
‘What have you been up to?’ Frank grunted when Rachel went indoors. He was dressed for work, but still had to put on a jacket and tie. The sun had never treated Frank kindly: the skin on his bald scalp was flaking and his face had turned an unflattering dark red.
‘I’ve been watering the grass at the front,’ she explained, knowing he was bound to tell her she was mad or something.
‘It’s not your job to do it. I thought it was communal?’
‘It is, but I don’t min
d. It was terribly dry and I was worried that the willow tree would die.’
‘What a pity you didn’t show the same concern for Alice before she died,’ he said, and the bitterness in his voice sliced through her like a knife. It hurt so much she could hardly breathe. Before she could think of a reply – was there a reply to such a stark, cruel statement? – he had opened the fridge. ‘Is there anything to eat in this house?’ he asked sourly.
‘There’s always something to eat,’ she replied, surprised at how steady her voice was when her insides were in turmoil. ‘What would you like? There’s bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes.’
‘The lot with a slice of fried bread.’ He slammed the fridge door shut, so hard it made her jump. Her hands were shaking. How he must hate her! You’d have to hate a person very much to say the things that Frank said to her.
‘Do you think I have no feelings, Frank?’ she asked in the same steady voice.
‘Damn your feelings!’ He pushed his angry, red face into hers. ‘D’you think I give a shit about your feelings? Due to you, my little girl is dead.’ His harsh voice became softer and his face seemed to melt. ‘I dreamed about her last night. It was when she was in that nativity play at playgroup. She was an angel, all in white with silver wings and a halo – I think it was made of tissue paper. In the dream, she started to fly. I reached up to catch her, but she disappeared. It seemed so real when I woke up,’ he whispered. ‘I tried to go back to sleep, just so I could see her again, catch her this time, but I couldn’t.’ He gave her a look that made her feel sick to the stomach. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself,’ he said.
‘Oh, Frank,’ she whispered, and wondered if he was actually suggesting she kill herself?
‘You’re always here, reminding me of the precious thing I’ve lost.’ He paused and fixed his burning eyes on hers. ‘I hate you, Rachel. I hate you with all my heart.’
Rachel sighed and bowed her head. ‘I see,’ she said quietly. It was something she’d just have to live with, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to do it for much longer.
‘Victoria, are you there?’
‘Come in whoever you are,’ Victoria sang. The side door was wide open to let in the fresh air. ‘I’m in the kitchen. Isn’t it another glorious morning?’ she remarked when Marie Jordan entered. ‘Apparently, there’s a heatwave in New York, it’s even hotter than here.’
‘This is the first time I’ve seen you when you haven’t been cleaning or polishing or sorting things out to send to charity,’ Marie said. ‘You look quite lazy for a change.’ Victoria, still in her nightie, was sitting in a little armchair, her feet on a stool, a mug in her hand. It was where Gran had sat during the day, never venturing into the parlour until evening.
‘I feel quite lazy,’ she announced. ‘I’m flogging a dead horse washing wallpaper. The dirt’s ingrained. I’ve decided to get the decorators in. When I can get up enough energy, I’ll have a look through the Yellow Pages. No sensible person would want to rent this place the state it’s in.’
‘Oh, I dunno.’ Marie gave the now bare kitchen an affectionate look. ‘That dresser’s probably worth a bit, it looks like pine. This reminds me of the house I grew up in. Mind you, me mam had a new kitchen put in last year. It’s got a split-level cooker, just like mine, but she can’t get used to the rings not being on top of the oven.’
‘Me gran would have been the same,’ Victoria assured her. ‘This is all right to look at, but not to work in. The draining board’s probably crawling with germs invisible to the human eye. Gran used to scrub it with bleach, but I’ve never bothered.’ She nodded at the fat teapot on the table. ‘There’ll still be a cup in there if you want it.’
‘Ta, but I’m on me way to the shops. I only came to say thank you for giving Danny and Patrick the computer. It’s really nice of you. They’re both as pleased as punch.’
Victoria smiled. ‘It’s nice to know it’s going to a good home.’
‘Well, I’ll be off.’ Marie edged towards the door. ‘Enjoy your lazy day. I’ll pop in on me way back, see if you’ve moved.’
‘Only to have poured another cup of tea. Oh, I might be dressed by then, just in case I have any gentlemen callers.’
‘Our Danny’s wetting himself to come, but I told him not till after ten o’clock.’
‘That means I’ve got half an hour.’ Victoria yawned and stretched her arms. ‘This is the life,’ she muttered after Marie had gone. She remembered she must tell Sarah that she’d seen the ferocious Alex prowling around her house very early that morning.
‘Victoria!’ Another shout, a man this time. She would have recognized the voice anywhere.
‘Gareth!’ She ran into the hall. Gareth came in and kicked the door shut behind him.
‘I had to see you before I left for work.’ He took her in his arms and held her tightly.
‘You’re already late, for work that is,’ she said into the collar of his shirt. ‘Oh, but I’m glad you came. I was wondering if I could last out till tonight without seeing you.’
‘I felt the same. The reason I’m late is, I’ve been thinking.’ He pushed her away, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked at her intently. His glasses were crooked on his nose. ‘Victoria, my darling, will you marry me?’
If only she could! If only! ‘Gareth!’ she said wildly. ‘You seem to have forgotten something: you’re already married.’ She started to cry. ‘I’d love to marry you. It’s what I want more than anything in the world. But I can’t. You know I can’t.’
‘Have you never heard of something called divorce?’ He kissed away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.
‘Of course, but I don’t want to break up your marriage,’ she wept.
‘It was a lousy marriage before I met you. Oh, God!’ He pulled her back against him. ‘I can’t imagine life without you. Like I said last night, we were made for each other.’
‘You probably thought you and Debbie were made for each other once,’ she whispered. ‘You’re just going through a bad patch. After I’ve gone, everything will be all right again.’
‘Without you, nothing will be right again. Let’s go upstairs,’ he said urgently. ‘Let’s remind ourselves how much we mean to each other.’
Victoria held out her hand and led the way up to her bedroom.
‘I thought World War Three had started, all that noise.’
‘I’m playing Battleships,’ Ernest explained without looking up.
Anna said, ‘I shall probably be the first woman to divorce her husband citing a computer as the third party.’
‘I’m sorry, luv,’ Ernest said abjectly. He sank another battleship and looked up. ‘Did you want something?’
‘I’d like my husband back for one thing, and I wouldn’t mind my usual mid-morning cup of coffee. I tried to put the kettle on, but it’s too heavy for me to lift.’
Ernest felt even sorrier. ‘I’m neglecting you, aren’t I?’
‘You most certainly are. I thought the computer was bought for me?’ She looked genuinely upset.
‘It was.’ He got to his feet and went into the kitchen. ‘I’ll show you how to use it later. We can play Battleships together.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ she said in a neutral tone.
Five minutes later, he carried in a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of assorted biscuits. ‘There’s some ginger creams there, luv, your favourite,’ he announced.
‘You’re not going to get round me with a couple of ginger creams, Ernest Burrows,’ she said in a severe voice. Then she laughed, ‘Wouldn’t it be awful if we broke up over a computer after all those perfect years together?’
‘Don’t talk daft, Anna.’
‘I’m being serious.’
‘You’re being daft. Anyroad, aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Such as?’
‘The year we nearly got divorced. That wasn’t exactly perfect.’
‘Oh, Ernie.’ She looked at him r
eproachfully. ‘We didn’t nearly get divorced. Oh, I know we discussed it, but we both decided we loved each other far too much to part.’
‘You had an affair with that Italian count.’ It still hurt, thinking about it more than thirty-five years later.
‘So did you with that American woman.’
‘I only did it to get me own back.’
‘I know, darling.’ She sniffed and studied her gold sandals rather than look at him. ‘I got the seven-year itch.’
‘We’d been married for twenty-one years,’ he pointed out.
‘It came late. Oh, Ernie!’ she cried, visibly upset. ‘Do we really have to talk about it after such a long time?’
‘It was you who brought up the subject of divorce, luv,’ he said stiffly.
‘I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry. It was horrid of me to mention it.’ She seemed to crumble in front of his eyes. ‘I’m selfish. I expect you to be at my beck and call every minute of every day. I had no right to stop you playing on the computer, resent you enjoying yourself for once.’
He went and put his arms around her. ‘Don’t cry, luv. I’m sorry too.’ He wasn’t quite as sorry as she was. He still got angry when he thought about the Italian count.
After a few silent minutes, she lifted her head and surprised him with a grin. ‘Have you been watching pornography, Ernie?’ Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
‘I’ve been doing no such thing,’ he said appalled.
‘I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of pornography. If we watched it together, we might get the urge.’
‘To do what?’
She giggled coquettishly. ‘The things we used to do when we were young.’
‘The urge has never left me, Anna. We’ll do them now if you like.’
‘After I’ve eaten these biscuits, taken my tablets, limped into the bedroom and you’ve helped take off my clothes.’
He pretended to look disappointed. ‘I didn’t realize you were only joking.’
‘What’s that poem?’ She closed her eyes and recited: “A man is not old when his teeth decay, a man is not old when his hair goes grey, but a man is nearing his last, long sleep, when his mind makes appointments his body can’t keep.” Change the man to woman and it describes me perfectly, Ernie.’