‘You look tired. Would you rather leave the books for this week?’
‘No.’ Margaret straightened her back. ‘Mustn’t let things slide. I don’t want to give Bryan anything to...’ Suddenly her face crumpled and to Grace’s dismay she seemed to disintegrate before her eyes. Getting up from the table she fetched the gin and poured another generous measure into Margaret’s empty glass.
‘I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw you. Go on, drink that. It’ll do you good, and you don’t have to worry about driving back tonight.’
Margaret tossed back the neat gin gratefully. ‘Thanks, Grace. I needed that.’
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? I don’t want to pry, but if you need to talk
‘It’s Bryan — well, you must have guessed that.’ Margaret found her handkerchief and blew her nose hard. ‘Things finally came to a head. I’ve felt for some time that he was going off me.’
‘Oh, surely not?’ Grace said sympathetically. ‘What made you think that?’
Margaret shot her a meaning look. ‘What do you think? All the signs are there — especially the most important one.’ She shook her head impatiently at Grace’s blank expression. ‘Oh really, Grace, sometimes I wonder how a woman of your age can be so naive. It’s bed I’m talking about.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Margaret sniffed, her eyes wistful. ‘Time was when he couldn’t wait. Now he doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. I think — well — I’m positive, he’s got someone else.’
Grace pictured Bryan’s portly figure and heavy-jowelled face. Perhaps Margaret saw something in him that she didn’t. ‘Maybe he and his wife...’ she ventured doubtfully. But Margaret’s explosive snort stopped her in mid-sentence.
‘That dried up old prune? You must be joking. He told me once, sex is just a dirty word as far as she’s concerned. There’s no way a woman like her is going to change.’ She shook her head. ‘No. He’s got his eye on someone else all right — someone younger, I expect. It’s happened to me before, don’t forget. I know the signs.’
‘Well, then, let him go.’ Grace said, her voice suddenly strong. ‘If that’s all he’s interested in, you’re better off without him.’
Margaret looked irritated. ‘You don’t see, do you? You think it’s just middle-aged vanity. Look, Grace, if I lose Bryan it could be disastrous — for you and Elaine as well as me. Apart from all the useful advice and the contacts he’s helped me with, there’s the financial side of the business.’ She threw out her arm. ‘These properties — they belong to Bryan. At one stroke of a pen, you and I could be out of a job.’
Grace’s heart stood still. Out of a job — and in her case, a home too. ‘I thought you said you were buying the Stanmore shop from him,’ she said.
Margaret coloured. ‘I was going to pay him back. It was him. He kept saying there was no need.’
‘Surely he wouldn’t really put us out, would he?’ Grace whispered.
Somewhat mollified by Grace’s crestfallen expression, Margaret shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘Yes, but surely, as you yourself once told me, business and your personal relationship are quite separate.’
‘That was before we had the row,’ Margaret said. ‘It was the night before last. I lost my temper. I said some pretty poisonous things to him.’ She lifted her head defiantly. ‘Not that I’ve any regrets, mind. He deserved every one of them.’
‘Oh dear.’ Grace’s heart was sinking lower by the minute. ‘What happened?’
‘He stormed out.’ Margaret lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘I think I should warn you that I said I didn’t want to see him again. I — I told him...’ She glanced quickly at Grace. ‘I told him what he could do with the shops — in very unladylike terms; ones he won’t forgive this time. Don’t be surprised if I ring to say I’ve heard from his solicitors before the month is out.’
Grace stared at her, appalled. ‘But I thought we had a legal agreement. Surely he can’t put us out on the street?’
‘Not exactly, but I only rent this place on a quarterly basis. We could both be out on our ears by Christmas.’
Grace felt anger and resentment rising inside her. This was the third time that sex had risen like a spectre to spoil her life. True this time it was affecting her indirectly, but nevertheless it was at the root of the trouble. ‘How could you, Margaret?’ she burst out. ‘Have you no control at all?’
‘What’s control got to do with it?’ Margaret said hotly. ‘When strong emotions between a man and a woman are aroused, control goes out of the window.’
‘And I thought you were a businesswoman.’ Grace looked at her employer with something approaching contempt. ‘Didn’t you have any thought at all for me — for Elaine?’
‘Frankly, no.’ Margaret got to her feet. ‘If you want to know, Grace, I think your attitude is very selfish. Not that I’m really surprised. I’ve always thought you a pretty cold fish. But I certainly don’t feel I owe you anything. Who was it who helped you when Harry walked out and left you flat, eh? Who do you have to thank for all this?’ She swept an arm around the room. ‘Where would you have been if it hadn’t been for me? Maybe it’s time you stood on your own two feet for a change.’
‘I’ve worked hard for you, Margaret,’ Grace reminded her calmly. ‘And, anyway, it was Bryan’s money.’
Margaret’s face turned an unbecoming shade of crimson. ‘And do you think you’d have had so much as a smell of that if I hadn’t been providing him with certain pleasures — filling the gaps in his rotten bloody marriage?’ Her genteel accent had been slipping all evening but now it had disappeared completely. The nasal East End twang she’d spent years eradicating took over as she placed her two hands on the table to stare into Grace’s face. ‘It’s all right for you, turning your toffee-nose up at my friendship with Bryan,’ she said shrilly. ‘But I’ll tell you something: it’s women like you — smug and sanctimonious, kidding yourself that all a man needs for perfect happiness is a clean shirt and a hot dinner — women like you who drive men into other women’s arms.’ Her eyes glinted with triumph at Grace’s heightened colour. ‘Do you think I didn’t guess you were keeping poor Harry short? One look at your poor feller’s face was enough to see that he wasn’t getting it regular. No wonder he ran off with that sexy singer.’
Grace felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle and the hot blood rush to her cheeks. Slowly she rose to face Margaret, her knuckles white as she gripped the table’s edge. ‘Get out,’ she said quietly. ‘Get out of my flat.’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ Margaret sneered. ‘You’ve no need of me now, have you? Kick me out now I’m no use to you. And in case you’ve forgotten, it’s not your flat.’
‘While I live here it’s my flat,’ Grace said, standing her ground. ‘I’ll go when I’m given notice. You’ve been a good friend to me, Margaret. You’re right to remind me of it. But I’ve given good value in return and I won’t be spoken to like that.’
Trembling, Margaret straightened up. Grace’s cool control bothered her far more than if she’d railed and screamed at her. ‘All right then, I’ll go. But you’ll live to regret it,’ she added darkly. At the door she turned. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. You’d better watch that girl of yours. She’s far too attractive for her good or your peace of mind. She’ll bring you a load of trouble before too long. Not all women see men like you do, Grace.’
Having delivered her parting shot Margaret left, slamming the door behind her. Grace sat for some minutes, staring at it, her heart beating dully in her breast. The bitter bile that had spilled out of Margaret’s mouth still seemed to pollute the room, lingering acridly like smoke to taint the atmosphere. She got up and went to open a window, leaning out to breathe in the cool evening air. Surely it couldn’t all come to an end just because Margaret and Bryan had had some silly row? All she had worked for, all her plans and ideas, the long hours she had put in — were they all to count for nothing? The shop and the flat
were her life, all she lived for. Could it really all be taken from her because of something over which she had no control? She looked across at the books, laid out for Margaret’s inspection. Well, whatever happened they must be attended to. Until she was told to go she was still in charge, so better get to work.
*
‘It was marvellous, Mum. You wouldn’t believe how real the puppets are. When you’ve been watching them for a while, you forget that they aren’t real people.’ Elaine stood in the doorway as her mother locked the shop door for the night. ‘I’ll make you something to eat, shall I? You look tired.’
Grace winced a little as she flexed her back. ‘Thanks, love. I think I’ll just have a quick bath before tea.’
Saturdays in the shop were always hectic. Normally Grace was delighted at the business she did but today her heart was heavy. She hadn’t slept at all, worrying over Margaret’s disturbing news. And now her head throbbed and her feet and back ached with tension and fatigue.
‘Did you have any lunch?’ Elaine asked, peering at her mother with grown-up concern. When Grace shook her head wearily she frowned. ‘You know it’s bad for you to go without. I should have been here to get you something.’ Grace slipped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She was a good girl. How could Margaret say those nasty things about her? She was just jealous, that was all. Now that she’d lost Bryan she had no one of her own at all. Grace could almost feel sorry for her — until she remembered that it was Margaret’s lack of emotional control that had landed them all in this mess.
Lying in the scented bathwater she felt the tension begin to seep out of her. The appetising aroma of the bacon and eggs Elaine was frying for their tea drifted under the bathroom door and she felt glad that she wasn’t alone. Should she tell Elaine? she wondered. Should she warn her of the insecurity their future might once again hold? She decided against it. Elaine was about to begin her college course next term. She was happy here in Cambridge. She’d settled well and made friends in spite of the upheaval they’d had. Whatever happened, nothing must spoil her life.
When Grace emerged from her bath, refreshed and relaxed, she found the table neatly laid and tea on the table — eggs, bacon and chips. She attacked it with relish, realising how hungry she was.
‘Tell me about the party,’ she invited, aware that she had only half listened to Elaine’s excited chatter. ‘Did you have a nice time?’
Again, Elaine described the puppet play and the quaint barn theatre. She told about the buffet supper and the interesting new people she had met. But she didn’t tell her mother about the glorious disorder of the Carnes’ household, or the family’s carefree, bohemian attitude to life, knowing instinctively that she would disapprove.
*
After the play was over they had gone back to the house for food and more drinks. By this time a lot more people had arrived and gradually they all seemed to pair off. Music from the record player provided a background and the air became thick with smoke and heavy with the strangely pungent perfume of the joss sticks that Red liked to burn in every corner. Couples sat on the stairs and in corners, wrapped around each other in blissful oblivion. A boy in a psychedelic shirt offered her a cigarette but Elaine shook her head.
‘Thank you but I don’t smoke,’ she said politely. ‘Tobacco makes me cough.’
The young man laughed. ‘This’ll do more than make you cough. Try it.’
She was hesitating, reluctant to look square and fuddy-duddy, when Patrick appeared and sent the boy away. She asked him why and he laughed softly.
‘Because they’re not for you,’ he said. ‘Harmless enough perhaps, but definitely not for little innocents like you.’ He dropped an arm casually across her shoulders. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’
She nodded, although she wasn’t really sure. It was all a bit confusing and she wasn’t certain what to do. Even Alison seemed to have disappeared. At all the other parties she had ever been invited to they had played games — Sardines, Postman’s Knock, Truth or Dare. ‘It’s a lovely party,’ she said hopefully. Patrick laughed and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. ‘Go on, tell the truth — you’re hating it, aren’t you?’
She blushed. ‘Oh, no. I...’
‘It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend. No one’s going to be offended.’
‘I loved the barn,’ she told him. ‘And the puppets.’
‘Right.’ He pulled her hand through his arm. ‘That’s where we’re going. I’m sure you’d like to have a proper look round when no one is there.’
‘Oh — could I?’
Once again he laughed, his blue eyes flashing. He’d never met a girl as sweetly innocent and as easily pleased as this one. They were as rare as rubies in this day and age. Where on earth had his cousin Alison found her? he wondered. She was deliciously flattering to the ego, and having his protective instincts aroused was something new and novel to Patrick.
He led her down the basement stairs, stepping over couples as they went. They crossed the yard and climbed the wooden staircase to the barn. Empty of people, it looked even more exciting to Elaine and she went excitedly from one curio to another, examining each item carefully, exclaiming and asking questions about them.
‘I’ve never seen a place like this before,’ she said, standing in the centre of the floor and looking round her. ‘It’s wonderful.’
Patrick draped himself over one of the divans. ‘It’s the most appalling fire risk,’ he said. ‘And I’m not at all sure that the floor is as sound as it might be. I’m always on at Red to have it looked at, but he puts it off.’
Elaine looked at him. She’d noticed that both boys called their father by his Christian — or rather his nick-name. They were so free, so different from any other people she knew. Patrick smiled and held out his hand to her.
‘Come and sit down. Tell me about yourself,’ he invited lazily. ‘Alison has certainly kept you quiet. Why have we never met you before?’
She sat on the edge of the divan, near his feet. ‘I’ve been working hard for my exams,’ she told him. ‘Alison and I start at college in September.’
‘Really? What course are you taking?’
She pulled a face. ‘Domestic science. Boring, isn’t it?’ She looked at him as he leaned back against the cushions. Everything about him was relaxed, from the long legs in their tight blue jeans to the romantically floppy fair hair. He had his father’s loose-limbed ranginess and his mother’s handsome looks, the blue eyes alight with lazy humour. Now he reached for her hand.
‘Come on. You can sit a bit closer, you know. I won’t eat you.’ She looked at his hand; broad, tanned and capable, with the long sensitive fingers of an artist. She put her own trustingly into it and allowed him to draw her nearer. ‘Shall I see you at college?’ she asked shyly.
‘Afraid not. I’m going up to the Slade in September,’ he told her. ‘And if I do well, I’ll follow it up with a year in Paris.’ Elaine stared at him. ‘Oh, you lucky thing. I’ve never been abroad.’
‘Not on school trips?’ Patrick’s eyebrows rose. ‘Haven’t your parents taken you?’
‘There’s only my mother,’ she told him. ‘Daddy left some years ago. Mum has to work hard, so there’s never any money or time for holidays abroad.’
‘Are your parents divorced?’
Elaine shook her head. ‘No. They didn’t get along so they split up. Daddy is a musician. He’s pianist-manager to Stella Rainbow, the singer.’
‘No kidding? You know, I’m more and more surprised that Alison never mentioned you before.’
I don’t talk much about Daddy,’ Elaine said. Avoiding his direct gaze she traced the pattern on the divan cover with one forefinger. ‘I miss him though.’
‘Don’t you ever get to see him?’
‘No. He’s in America — with Stella. They live together, you see. I only hear from him on birthdays and at Christmas.’
He was still holding her hand and now he gave it a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Poor
kid. Can’t you go over for a visit?’
‘I haven’t been asked.’ She bit her lip, suddenly remembering the white lies she’d told Alison about her father. ‘Don’t tell Alison I said that though, will you? She thinks I have letters from him, inviting me over there. I don’t know why I told her that, I wish I hadn’t, but now I’ve started I can’t very well stop.’
‘But you don’t — get letters, I mean?’
‘No. Just cards.’
‘Of course I won’t say anything. It’ll be our first secret together.’ He let go her hand and swung his long legs to the floor. ‘Tell you what — would you like to see backstage, and have a go with the puppets?’
Her eyes lit up like a child’s. ‘Oooh, can I really?’
Behind the tiny stage with its velvet curtains the space was incredibly small and cramped. Elaine wondered how on earth the four Carnes could possibly work in it. On the back wall the marionettes hung on pegs, their heads lolling. They looked dead and lifeless. Patrick took one down. It was the wizard, Caspar, from the play they’d seen this evening. His bushy orange hair and bright beady eyes instantly came to life when Patrick fingered the wooden control. He danced a little jig and held up his hand for Elaine to shake, looking up at her with a cheekily appealing expression.
Elaine laughed as she shook the small wooden hand in its white glove. ‘Oh, isn’t he sweet?’
‘Here — have a go yourself,’ Patrick invited. ‘He has quite a simple control. See, you hold it here and this bar works his arms and legs.’
To Elaine’s delight she found that after a few minutes’ practice she could do it. Patrick gave her instructions in Caspar’s squeaky voice: ‘Phew, that’s enough, Elaine. I’m not used to dancing so fast. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I’m worn out.’
Laughing, she handed the puppet back to him. ‘I didn’t realise it was you doing his voice.’
‘We take a group of characters each,’ he told her. ‘We all try out to see who suits each character best when we’re creating a new play.’
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