Wives & Mothers

by Jeanne Whitmee

  Rachel looked at her. ‘Did the break up of your marriage make you unhappy, Grace?’

  ‘Yes, at the time. But I’ve had plenty to occupy me since — plenty to help me to forget.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Years ago...’ Grace broke off, remembering the traumatic night when Bryan Bostock had taken her to the charity concert at the London Palladium. ‘It must be almost ten years ago,’ she said. ‘And even then it was only from a distance.’

  ‘How long since your divorce?’

  ‘We’re still married,’ Grace said. ‘Harry left me for someone else - a singer. She became quite well known. I said I’d never give him a divorce. And I haven’t.’

  Rachel looked surprised. ‘Have you ever regretted it?’

  Grace considered carefully before she replied: ‘I regret losing Harry. I loved him very much, you see. But it was my fault that he left, and I suppose it was unfair of me to refuse him his freedom. As for me I think I’ve made the best of what I had left, though there are times...’

  Rachel nodded understandingly. ‘It isn’t possible to go through life without regrets and mistakes. It’s what we learn from them that counts.’

  They parted soon after, clinging to each other and promising to keep in touch, though both knew in their hearts that they had grown too far apart to have anything in common. Grace stood at the gate waving as Rachel drove away. The spring evening smelt earthy and fragrant with bruised grass and blossoms. She breathed it in deeply, feeling her heart lift within her. ‘New life,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Now I can begin a new life.’ She felt light and cleansed and free.

  But although she went to bed in a peaceful frame of mind, she found sleep impossible. In her mind she went over and over all that Rachel had told her, her mind churning with a bewildering mixture of emotions. She was so thankful that her younger sisters had not suffered in the way that she had, but her feelings for her father hovered between revulsion and pity. There was anger too. She still could not find it in her heart to forgive him for her wasted life, for the failure of her marriage, for all the misery and unhappiness he had caused — to her and to others. She thought of Elaine. Because of her own experience she had been too protective of her, kept her on too tight a rein when she was growing up. Afraid that she might join the new ‘permissive society’, she’d been over-anxious to see her safely married and encouraged her to marry Paul. She’d clearly been wrong in that. It was obvious from the first that the marriage wasn’t happy. Elaine had come to her once, asking advice about it. And she had let her down once again, brought down the shutters between them as she had done so often in the past.

  Finally she thought of Harry, wondering what the years had done to him. He would be getting on for fifty now, she calculated. Since Tricia’s birth she had thought of him more and more. She had spoken to her little granddaughter about him far more freely than she had ever talked of him with Elaine. Lying there in the darkness she tried to analyse why. Perhaps it was because Tricia had inherited his musical talent. She felt free to fantasise a little to the child, describing Harry as the debonair young man she had known when they first met — talented, light-hearted and kind. Her romantic saviour; a knight in shining armour. The Harry she had loved so much — before they had married and she had spoilt it all. Yes, she could face the truth of it now.

  Had he really been the way she remembered him? she asked herself as she lay there. Or had she created a romantic, idealised image, designed to soften the guilt and the painful memories of her own failure?

  ‘It isn’t possible to go through life without regrets and mistakes,’ Rachel had said. ‘It’s what we learn from them that counts.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Over the weeks that followed Elaine and Alison worked very hard on the promotion of ‘Happy Ever After’. Morgan had put in a word for them with a friend who was editor of the women’s page of one of the national newspapers. She had sent a journalist and a photographer along to interview them for a series she was planning on enterprising women. When the edition carrying the article came out, it created a lot of interest. The local paper had also given them a centre page spread soon afterwards, featuring photographs of models wearing some of their bridal gowns and sketches of Elaine’s designs.

  Each in their own way, Elaine and Alison were glad of the hard work, and before the month was out their appointments book was filling up nicely and their first wedding assignment was well under way.

  The bride-to-be had chosen one of the dresses Elaine herself had designed, and would be buying rather than hiring her dress, which was a big boost to their finances as well as to Elaine’s confidence. She spent every spare minute at her mother’s house, working away on the sewing machine in the spare bedroom. She had intended to turn one of the spare rooms at Langmere Lodge into a sewing room but Mary had objected. The room was next to hers and she insisted that the whirring of the electric machine would disturb her rest. Since Elaine had turned down her offer of financial help she had done everything she could to throw obstacles in the way of the success of the venture, including pointing out to Paul that Elaine’s housekeeping standards were slipping. She chipped away constantly at everyone’s nerves until at last things came to a head one evening over dinner. After toying with her food she finally pushed her plate away.

  ‘It’s no good. I can’t eat all these convenience foods, Elaine,’ she said. ‘You know they give me indigestion, and yet we never seem to have anything else nowadays. When I was a young housewife I used to take such pleasure in preparing fresh food for my family.’ She looked at Paul with a wan smile. ‘There are sacrifices to be made in having a career woman for a wife, I’m afraid, Paul.’

  He flushed but said nothing.

  ‘There’s the garden too,’ Mary went on. ‘You used to take such a pride in it, Elaine. Now it looks more like one of those nature reserves.’

  Elaine looked up. ‘As I remember, you didn’t like what I was doing to the garden. Perhaps if you were to get a man in...?’

  ‘I’m sure I didn’t mean you to let it go to seed,’ Mary said indignantly. ‘But if you can’t take a little constructive criticism...’

  ‘It didn’t sound very constructive to me.’ Elaine avoided her mother-in-law’s eye as she applied herself to her food.

  Paul said nothing until later in the evening, after his mother had announced that she would have an early night, having first made a great show of mixing herself a large bicarbonate of soda. The moment the door had closed behind her, he looked up from his evening paper.

  ‘Perhaps you could arrange to spend less time with your — er — partner, and more time in your own home,’ he said stiffly. ‘I understand that Tricia even goes to your mother’s after school now.’

  Elaine looked up. ‘We wouldn’t have to spend any time there at all if your mother didn’t object to our disturbing her.’

  He laid the paper down, frowning at her over the tops of his reading glasses. ‘What do you mean, disturbing her?’

  ‘She objects to the noise my sewing machine makes. She objects to Tricia’s practising. And she never stops reminding me that this is her house.’

  ‘And so it is.’

  ‘Then she can hardly complain if we let her have it to herself, can she?’

  ‘Elaine, we do live here rent-free,’ he reminded her. ‘Mother has been very good to us. I think she has a right to expect a little consideration. I believe she even offered you money to help you start your business and you rejected it out of hand.’

  ‘Alison and I want to stand on our own feet.’

  ‘So you sold a picture — for a very high price, I understand.’ He shook his head at her. ‘Why is it that you never discuss these things with me? Can you imagine how embarrassing it is, having to learn them through a third person?’

  Elaine swallowed her resentment. ‘I did ask your advice about starting the business, Paul. And the painting was mine. I had every right to sell it.’

  �
��You asked me for money as I remember — not advice,’ he pointed out. ‘Had you asked me, I would have advised you not to go to that Carne man. Mother tells me that you went to a party there, by the way. The weekend I was away at the conference — and took Tricia with you. From what I hear they’re a rather dubious family. I’d rather you didn’t mix with them in future.’

  Elaine sprang to her feet. ‘There’s nothing dubious about the Carnes. They’re old friends of mine,’ she said hotly. ‘And I won’t be told what to do and who I may or may not be friendly with, Paul. There is no privacy in this house. Your mother constantly spies on me.’

  He gave a dry, dismissive laugh, rustling the pages of his newspaper. ‘What nonsense.’

  ‘She does. She listens in to telephone conversations all the time — on the extension in your study. How else do you think she knows things I haven’t told her? It’s becoming intolerable.’

  ‘Mother is lonely,’ he said, laying his paper down, ‘Perhaps she’d appreciate a little more of your company — a bit of attention and consideration. This food business, for instance. You must admit that the meals have been somewhat - well, scrappy lately.’

  ‘Then I suggest that she takes them over,’ Elaine said. ‘She’s got nothing else to do and she’s perfectly capable of doing a little cooking. She’s always telling me about the marvellous meals she used to produce. Perhaps you’ll tell her in future dinner will be in her hands? Or would you like me to tell her?’

  Paul got to his feet and pulled off his glasses, his face reddening. ‘As long as we share this house with my mother, you will treat her with respect and consideration,’ he said.

  ‘But that’s just it. I don’t want to share a house with her, Paul. Please — can’t we find somewhere of our own?’

  ‘You know that is out of the question.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Mother needs us. She can’t be alone. She isn’t well enough.’

  ‘Rubbish! She isn’t all that old, and she’s as fit as you are. We could compromise if you want to stay here. She could have a little flat of her own — here in the house. It wouldn’t be too hard to convert the top floor. We’d still be here but living separate lives.’ But Paul’s face had assumed the closed look he always wore when he didn’t want to discuss anything further.

  ‘I’m sure you know what Mother would think of being virtually put away in the attic,’ he said. ‘Now, can we please drop the subject? Since you’ve developed this partnership, as you call it, you’ve become very sharp-tongued — almost shrewish. Alison Linton doesn’t seem to be a very good influence on you. Sometimes I think I should have put my foot down right at the beginning.’

  Elaine stared at him, her cheeks blazing. ‘Put your foot down? About what?’

  ‘About starting this ridiculous bridal business,’ he told her calmly. ‘And I warn you now — if it’s going to result in all this squabbling with Mother, and your cavalier attitude towards your household duties, I may even yet.’

  Elaine stared at him for a long moment, her heart thudding with resentment at the bitter injustice of it all. ‘I don’t think you will, Paul,’ she said at last.

  Something about her quiet, even tone made him look up from his newspaper.

  ‘I don’t think you will,’ she repeated, her voice beginning to shake. ‘Because to wield the power of a husband, you first have to be one. And you’re no more a husband to me that you’re an effective father to Tricia.’ She saw the dull flush colour his face and waited, her eyes holding his, for him to take up her challenge. For a moment he seemed about to say something, then he shrugged and turned his attention to his newspaper. Was he being dismissive, or simply hiding from her? Filled with disgust and resentment, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

  In the kitchen Mary was filling her hot water bottle. She shot Elaine a look full of bogus pathos.

  ‘I do hope I didn’t cause any trouble,’ she said in a whining, placatory tone. ‘The last thing I want to do is upset Paul. He works so hard, poor boy.’

  Unable to trust herself to reply, Elaine turned and went upstairs. Mary watched her from the kitchen doorway, a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

  *

  As the time approached for Tricia to go away to school, Elaine grew more and more apprehensive about her going.

  ‘Suppose she changes,’ she said to Alison one day as the worked. ‘I’ve heard people say that boarding schools turn out a very hardboiled, self-sufficient sort of child. Tricia’s so sweet and affectionate. I don’t want her any different.’

  Alison laughed. ‘She has to grow up, Elaine. And that’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it? You’re afraid of losing your baby. And I can’t say I blame you.’

  Elaine was working on an embroidered panel for the dress she was making, whilst Alison was busy with pencil and paper, costing out the buffet for the coming wedding. She pushed her reading glasses on to her forehead and turned to Elaine.

  ‘Did I tell you I’ve got a ticket for that new cash and carry place?’ she asked. ‘We’ll save a lot, buying our stuff there.’ She saw Elaine’s wistful expression and said: ‘Oh, don’t worry, love. Tricia and you have always had such a good relationship. She won’t change. She’ll always be your daughter. Look, Aunt Zoe tells me she’s offered to do a head of her for you. Why don’t you let her? It would be a lovely thing to have when she’s away. Tactile — three-dimensional. Much better than a photograph.’

  *

  Zoe was delighted when Elaine rang and asked if she could take her up on her offer. She suggested that they went round the following day and she did some sketches of Tricia then and there. It was arranged that Elaine would take her again for regular sittings after school.

  Tricia herself was intrigued at the prospect of seeing the puppets again, thrilled at the thought of looking around the little theatre, this time on her own. She liked the Carnes with their free and easy manners and their big untidy house.

  Zoe found her newest subject fascinating. The child’s face was so mobile and elusive. Just when she thought she had caught her, another facet would reveal itself. She never seemed the same child two days running. She could look angelic, almost ethereal one day, and piquant and mischievous the next. She had abandoned her work several times before she caught the essence of Tricia that she wanted to portray.

  When Zoe worked she talked to her young subjects, usually finding that once she found the topic that interested them most, the desired expression came naturally. But with Tricia it was not a topic, but a picture, that brought about the required touch of magic.

  The picture was one that Patrick had done years ago when he was still at college. Zoe had found it at the back of a cupboard on one of her rare spring-cleaning sessions and decided to hang it in her studio. It was a quasi-abstract impression of a waterfall. The technique was brash and naive, but it had an impetuous, youthful style, and a joyous freedom of movement that was appealing. The moment Tricia saw it her face broke into a delighted smile. Zoe followed her eyes.

  ‘You like that picture?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Zoe began to work, her strong sculptor’s fingers quickly moulding the clay as the child gazed raptly up at the picture. ‘Tell me about it,’ she invited. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  ‘Well — it’s got sunshine,’ Tricia said, looking up with her head slightly on one side. ‘Sunshine and leaves and the wind and splashing water. It’s fun.’

  Zoe looked up with a smile, and at that moment she caught something in the child’s face that took her breath away. Tricia looked exactly as Patrick had looked at that age. The same wide blue eyes and flaxen hair; the same wiry strength and grace of movement; the same look of deceptive fragility and innocence. She caught her lip between her teeth. You’re his, she said wonderingly to herself. You’re my grandchild. And in the same instant everything fell into place — Elaine’s hasty marriage, so soon after Patrick left for France; the way she had broken off all contact with t
hem. Poor child! Suddenly Zoe knew that she must keep her discovery to herself. Too many people could get hurt. She could tell no one. Not even Red; not Patrick himself. If it ever emerged it must not be through her.

  *

  The first wedding organised by ‘Happy Ever After’ was to take place at the end of August. Alison and Elaine grew nervous as the time drew near. Each day there seemed to be a new panic. So much depended on this, their first job, and there seemed so many pitfalls — so many things that could go disastrously wrong. Everything depended on the cooperation of the firms working with them; people whose reliability was, as yet, untried. Also they were painfully aware that their whole future depended on the smooth running and the recommendations — or otherwise — that would come from this first wedding.

  The reception was to take place in a marquee in the garden of the bride’s home. Alison was doing the catering and was up to her neck in white icing and lucky horseshoes; constantly worrying about the availability of fresh salmon and whether she had chosen the best butcher and the greengrocer with the freshest fruit and salads.

  Elaine was pleased with the dress she had made. She was expecting the bride for her final fitting on the day that Tricia was to have her final sitting with Zoe. Grace had offered to take her along and to collect her again later in the afternoon.

  Elaine worked on at the Lintons’ house after the bride had left, doing the final small handsewing jobs on the dress, then driving round to deliver it personally in its polythene shroud to the bride’s house. On her way home she looked in at the church to check that the florists had done their work as arranged. She finally arrived home at about half-past five. Paul had gone into school for the usual pre-term staff meeting that afternoon. He had said he’d be home around six, so she would just have time to get the evening meal started.

  Dumping her things in the hall, she went straight through to the kitchen and began to prepare the meal. She was just putting the casserole into the oven when the back door opened. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Tricia and said, without turning, ‘If you’re hungry there are some apples on the dresser. I don’t want you to start nibbling at biscuits.’