Decade

by Roberto Rabaiotti

  The click of the kettle nudged Vicki out of her reverie and she poured the boiling water into her mug. She added a splash of milk and sweetener and gave it a quick stir. Leaving the spoon in the sink, she walked back into the dining room and sat back down on the chair she had vacated a few minutes earlier. Tommy will be in a right mood when he comes home later, she thought, and no doubt he will have had a few drinks as well, which will only make him more boisterous and aggressive than usual. Vicki shut her eyes and shuddered at the image. He didn’t drink much but only one or two were enough to darken his mood. In recent months, he had been drinking more.

  Not only would Vicki not bear him a child but West Ham were struggling and he had lost his place in the England team and with it the captaincy. He was devastated and could not believe that some pimply-faced Scouse git, as he liked to refer to him, Alf Garnett-like, had taken his place. When the Liver Birds had come on the television one evening, he had even thrown a glass at it, smashing it against the wall, for fortunately he had missed the set altogether. He had insisted that Vicki change channels, even though it was one of her favourite programmes, before storming off to the bedroom.

  There had been much speculation that Leeds United were interested in signing him and, being one of the best teams in the country, Tommy had initially been eager to join. Vicki had been horrified, however, at the prospect of living in the grim North, as she saw it. It had led to a blazing row, with voices raised so high that Solly had knocked on the door to see if everything was alright. What had particularly driven Tommy’s Krakatoa-like fury was Vicki’s suggestion that he live in Leeds while she stayed in London. Despite her saying that she would join him frequently, Tommy had seen this as her attempt to gain some freedom and live the life of Riley in London. Vicki was certain this was the reason he eventually turned down the move though it would have rekindled his career.

  The hard dining room chair made her bum ache so she picked up the coffee and moved over to an armchair in the living room. The sunshine streamed through the window and across the foot stool where she rested her feet, providing a comforting warmth. Her toes protruded through the ends of her slippers and, observing them, she gave them a wiggle. Yes, she was ninety-nine per cent there. She would ask him for a divorce, if not tonight, then soon, very soon. She couldn’t go on like this. Her life was wasting away, just awful.

  A few percentage points had been added when Sophie stunned her a few weeks earlier by revealing that she was leaving Giles and getting divorced herself. It had helped Vicki in her anguish to know that a close friend had taken the plunge. Giles was in a dreadful state, despite his wealth. The drugs had taken hold and Sophie’s life was a living hell. Vicki admired Sophie for her decision and strength of character, particularly after being so critical of her subservience to him in the past. Sophie had acted while she just dithered. After only a couple of weeks, Sophie had entered into a new relationship with a man Vicki had met and liked and believed to be good for her. Sophie claimed to be in love but Vicki knew this to be nonsense. Perhaps in time, but not now, she thought, though she wished her friend every happiness.

  Fiona, too, had left Jeremy. They had never married but Vicki’s sister had come to her senses when discovering condoms in his trouser pocket one day. Fiona was on the Pill. She had torn the trousers to shreds, together with three of his best suits, before packing her bags and returning home to her parents. Vicki was relieved because Jeremy’s shenanigans were driving her sister mad, ‘doing my head in’ as Fiona repeatedly said, and making her sick with worry. He was bad for her. Good riddance. Mind you, it had not stopped Fiona from enjoying herself. She claimed not to be in a relationship, and this was true, but she seemed to be keeping a number of male colleagues at her estate agency very satisfied indeed. Vicki shook her head at the knowledge and despaired of her parents ever discovering the true nature of their sweet younger daughter.

  Yes, they’d had the courage to leave their partners and change their lives. She would do the same. Tommy would go crazy, she was certain, and the media would be in a frenzy and on her back for a while. She shuddered at the thought and cupped the coffee more tightly as if it possessed the magic powers necessary to help her face them down. It would blow over quickly enough, she reasoned. She hoped so, anyway. In practical terms, she would have to move back in with her parents for she had little money to her name. Fleetingly, it crossed her mind to push for a financial settlement with Tommy. But, just as fleetingly, the thought passed away. She just wanted to be out of the marriage with no complications. She’d get a job and start again.

  She sighed deeply and puffed out her cheeks for a mountain seemingly the size of Everest loomed large in front of her and she was only in its foothills, with no husband, no work and no property of her own. In her anxiety, the mountain looked intimidating and she sighed once more, wondering whether she would ever scale it. She had no option and steeled herself to the challenge.

  Looking directly ahead, Vicki gazed at the burgundy flock wallpaper, patterned with every type of exotic creature imaginable, and shook her head at the memory of Tommy bawling her out with the rage of the damned when she had objected to it. He thought it added style and class to the living room; she thought it made it look like a cheap Indian restaurant. Talking of which, her old friend from work, Brenda, had a penchant for Indian food, which was increasingly popular, and they had met up in one such restaurant off Piccadilly Circus not so long ago.

  Vicki liked Brenda and had kept in touch with her after leaving work. She now wore an engagement ring, no doubt having battered Trevor into submission, Vicki thought ungraciously, but, worryingly for her friend, no wedding date had been set. Her old job had been filled but Brenda confided in her that she was so highly thought of by the senior management that there was every likelihood a position would be found for her should she ever want to return. There were no guarantees and, initially, such a position might not be at the level she had attained before resigning, but the signs were promising and, when she left Tommy, Vicki resolved to make a formal approach. With a good job, she would soon be earning enough to afford a flat for herself.

  Perhaps the slopes of the mountain were not so steep after all, Vicki pondered, recalling the conversation with Brenda. She would need to be patient but the summit was not insurmountable. A good job and flat were not out of the realms of possibility. This only left her to find a nice boyfriend for, deep down, she did not want to be alone. She was not getting any younger and still craved starting a family of her own.

  She was not unattractive, she thought, though she did not feel it at the moment. Some men might even think there was some kudos in going out with the ex-wife of Tommy Slater, Vicki tried to convince herself. More glumly, she believed the opposite might also be true with other men being intimidated. The idea of going through the ritual of dating again depressed her and she despaired whether she would ever find love again, for she had been in love once, and still was … with Rhys. She thought she had been in love with Tommy but now acknowledged it was never the case. Tommy loved her to the ends of the earth and she squirmed at the belief that, inadvertently, she had deceived him. It had not been her intention, though he would never see it that way. Looking back objectively, Tommy had been in the right place at the right time to take advantage of the depressed state she had been in over her relationship with Rhys. She had been vulnerable and looking for a way out and Tommy had been the route.

  ‘Why would anyone ever want to go out with me? I’m all over the place, a confused old cow who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.’

  It helped Vicki to holler it out rather than think it and she shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. She had made mistakes and had hurt and would hurt the only two men who had ever loved her. Despite the way Tommy was, he had deserved better than to be led on by someone who didn’t love him. Many girls would put up with the way he was, and share his tastes, and he deserved to be with someone like them, not a deceitful mess like her, for that is how she saw
herself.

  Placing the coffee mug on a small table next to the armchair, she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown. But this only induced further tears and she had to tilt her head back and look upwards to stop the fine lines running down her cheeks turning into torrents. Vicki licked at the salty taste on her lips as the tears found the valleys in her skin that led to the corners of her mouth. The tears were for Rhys. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, yet another deceit she had hidden from Tommy, particularly during their love-making. Deep inside her, she was convinced Tommy knew she really loved Rhys, though he could never bring himself to say it. Probably the way he controlled her life was an admission of sorts, ensuring that she was never free to seek out the true love of her life.

  It had been such a long time since she had seen Rhys last that she wondered whether he would even find her attractive anymore, so ugly and disgusted did she feel about herself at that specific moment. She really needed someone to boost her confidence. Only Rhys could do that and she shivered when recalling the way he had made her feel like Miss World on so many occasions. How she craved for him to do so again. But would he? Or more upsettingly, would he want to? Karen had told her only the other day how he had transformed his life; he had his own business, a beautiful flat, money in his pocket and, though Karen did not say it, probably a harem of gorgeous women in his bedroom.

  When Karen had described his appearance, Vicki had even detected a longing in her voice that made her jealous. Karen claimed not to know if there was anyone special in his life and that she had not broached the subject with him. In her sensitive state, Vicki wondered whether Karen was holding back, not wishing to hurt, or devastate, more like, her friend or whether Karen had her own beady eye on him for herself. And anyway, why would Rhys be interested in her now, the person who had ripped out his heart and guts without a care in the world? She didn’t deserve Rhys or Tommy or anyone else, if truth be told. Yes, she was a stupid old cow worthy of nothing more than a role in a Jackie Collins novel, she mused, disgusted with herself.

  With these thoughts ringing around her head, Vicki stood up abruptly, as if the sudden movement would dislodge all this negativity. She sighed deeply and wiped her eyes and nose once again. Feeling a little better, she dragged herself into the bedroom and opened her side of the wall-to-wall wardrobe. She sank to her knees, as she had done for virtually every day of her two years of marriage, and cast her eyes over the racks of shoes below her. Behind the racks were more shoes, but this time still in their original boxes. She reached over the racks and removed two of them, placing them beside her. Beneath them was a third box which she also removed. Still on her knees, Vicki placed this one in front of her, lifted the lid and folded back the cream-coloured tissue paper. Inside were a pair of dark navy shoes that she used to wear to work. She took them out and placed them to her side. She then opened out the tissue paper at the bottom of the box to reveal a number of small rectangular packets. Vicki picked up the one which was already open and slid out its contents. This was her final and most devastating deceit of all, the most tangible proof that she had never loved Tommy in the first place. Pinching at the silver foil, she removed the last contraceptive pill, knowing that they had already done their job for the month, and placed it into her mouth.

  August 1977

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘Phew, another busy day over,’ Rhys said to himself as he locked the door of the Supreme, the low sun casting broad shadows behind him. He walked around the side of the building to the back where a set of stone steps led up to the front door of his flat. He was perspiring and looking forward to the hot shower that would freshen him up and take away the smells of grilled and fried food.

  After entering the flat, he went straight into his bedroom and stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a heap at the foot of the bed. He walked over to the fitted wardrobe and slid open the slatted pine doors where he removed and slipped on a stripy green and white dressing gown, knotting the cord tightly around his belly. He ignored his slippers to allow his sweaty feet to breathe a little and shuffled into the kitchen. Once there, he poured some orange cordial into a pint glass and added water from the tap. After dropping in a couple of ice cubes, he sunk half the drink in one go. Finally relaxing for the first time that day, he sat down on a cushioned pine chair and placed the glass on the matching kitchen table, in the centre of which the leaves of a rather tired-looking spider plant were flopping languidly over the rim of its pot.

  ‘I might have to get another waitress at this rate. We’re so busy and Mandy’s run off her feet, poor girl. I’ll give her and Mario a few extra quid in their pay packets on Friday. They deserve it.’

  Picking up the glass, Rhys drank more of his squash. He had got into the habit of talking to himself for it helped him to concentrate his mind. Placing the glass back down, he exhaled a long sigh. Thankfully, he could feel himself cooling down. Looking up, he gazed around the kitchen. He loved the flat and only now, nearly one year on, did he finally accept that it was his, believing irrationally that Christos and Eleni would waltz in one day and take it back off him. The cupboard doors were painted blue-white, with a fine and attractive light grey grain showing underneath. The Formica work surfaces were a mottled black and white and the lino on the floor patterned in bold black and white squares like a chessboard. The walls and ceiling were painted in a cool-inducing oyster-white shade and, over the window, metal white Venetian blinds were pulled halfway up. The overriding effect was a kitchen that felt bright, light and spacious and with the small colour television in one corner and portable radio sitting on the Welsh dresser opposite, Rhys found that he spent a lot of his time in the room.

  Business was booming and flourishing beyond Rhys’s wildest dreams. Today had been exceptional, like a fruitful day at the Klondike. Indeed, Rhys anticipated being able to pay off another fifteen hundred or even two thousand pounds of his bank loan at the end of the month. He was even mulling over buying a car. London was a nightmare to drive around and parking was impossible, and he rarely ventured far. Yet whenever he saw an Alfa Romeo GTV pass by, his knees would weaken at the car’s beautiful curves. Not even Agnetha from Abba had that effect on him. And he could afford it. But was it sensible? And so, yet again, he put off the decision.

  Yes, Rhys’s life had turned around and the only problems he had were enviable ones. Should he take on more staff? Should he buy a car? How much should he pay back the bank? And yet, today, his mood was one of despondency, his Technicolor world resorting to black and white. To reflect it, he sang croakily and in a low voice the words to one of the songs that had been playing constantly on the radio in the café all day.

  ‘I just can’t help believin’, when she smiles up soft and gentle, with a trace of misty morning, and the promise of tomorrow in her eyes …’

  For the king of rock ‘n’ roll, Elvis Presley, was dead and the world was in mourning. Whether it was Tony Blackburn, Dave Lee Travis or Simon Bates, all the DJs throughout the land appeared to be on the brink of tears. Rhys liked Elvis and it was impossible not to get caught up in the mood of the day. The knowledge that Elvis had been found slumped over in his own vomit, having fallen off the toilet, only added to Rhys’s sorrow. What a tragic and pitiful way for such an iconic figure to be discovered. The king is dead, long live the king, Rhys suddenly thought. But who would take over his mantle? No one came to mind who could compare. Tom Jones, perhaps, from his own home town of Pontypridd? Not if he kept hiding himself away making easy money in Las Vegas, Rhys concluded.

  Finishing his squash, Rhys stood up and rinsed out the glass, leaving it to dry on the draining board. He switched on the television where a reporter was providing further details of Elvis’s death from outside Graceland. After only a brief listen, Rhys switched it off. He shuffled over to the radio and pressed down on the button.

  “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog, crying all the time …”

  Rhys switched that off, too. It was impossible to escape E
lvis today. He looked up at the clock on the wall. One minute to seven. Without fail, his mother called him at seven o’clock every day to see how he was doing. She was a big Elvis fan and Rhys was certain she would be miserable when she came on the line. He smiled at the recollection of his parents attending a fancy dress party wearing Elvis costumes only the New Year just gone. His mother had dressed in a white jumpsuit and white studded cowboy boots, worn over-large sunglasses and greased back her hair. That was funny enough, but his father thought he still possessed the waistline of Mark Spitz and chose a black leather trousers and jacket combination from Elvis’s slimmer days. Unfortunately for him, however, he more closely resembled an overweight Hell’s Angel and nearly sweated to death. Rhys had not laughed so much in years when he saw the photographs afterwards.

  He needed that shower and moved into the living room, unable to avoid the body odour following him around. He’d try and keep it short with his mother, though he had to be sensitive to her Elvis mood. He sunk down into the deep, soft cushion of his maroon sofa next to the telephone table. The sofa was so long and comfortable that he had fallen asleep on it on numerous occasions whilst watching television and never bothered dragging himself away from it to his bedroom when the crackling sound of static and bright, jumping black and white dots eventually woke him up. The low, early evening sun blazed into the room through the sash window opposite, blinding and discomfiting him so much he got up and drew closed the chocolate-brown and amber curtains. He switched on his newly acquired lava lamp on a table nearby. Thick globules of red and black slowly rose and fell inside as it lit up the room. Almost immediately, the phone rang. Rhys strode purposefully across his pale green shag pile carpet and picked up the receiver.