Nest of Sorrows

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’d be the first to know.’

  He emptied his glass, then sat staring into it as if it were a crystal ball with all the answers contained in its depths. He was a man without hope, an angler who had lost the biggest catch ever without getting it weighed in.

  ‘OK,’ she mumbled. ‘Got your car? We’ll go now. Come on, hop to it.’

  ‘Now? Right now?’

  ‘Strike before the iron cools. Not chicken, are you? Faint heart never won fair lady.’

  He hesitated. ‘What about the market and Melanie’s hair ribbons?’

  ‘Thursday will do. It’s still half-term.’

  He blinked rapidly behind the tortoise-shell-framed spectacles. ‘Christ, Kate, I’m scared. Is it the right thing to do?’

  She suddenly felt more than sorry for him, because she understood his dilemma perfectly in that instant. Hadn’t she been wondering for weeks about the ‘right thing’ for herself? ‘I don’t know, Phil. But it’s worth a try. Just follow your instincts.’

  He hung his head. ‘I still love her, you see. I had to leave to know that.’

  ‘What about your . . . flatmate?’

  ‘Bit of a kid. I suppose we were both flattered, she because I was the big boss, I because she was so young and lovely. Too young. Young and boring. We both expected too much. She wanted pearls in her oysters, and I just needed the damned oysters to keep up with her!’

  Kate picked up her bags. ‘You know, Phil, I think I like you. Let’s go and face the music, shall we? Don’t look so worried, it may not be Wagner. Just cross your fingers and think of a nice Chopin nocturne.’

  After the drive to Edgeford, Phil stayed out in the lane while Kate went in to prepare her friend. She found Maureen seated on the sofa, legs raised at impossible angles while she struggled to paint her toenails. ‘I need a magnifying glass,’ groaned the tiny woman. ‘Can’t even see the littlest one. Here, you do it.’

  Kate grabbed the brush and applied lacquer with a hand that was far from steady. ‘Sorry. You’ve a Poppy Red toe now. Perhaps you’ll start a new trend. By the way, Phil’s outside.’

  ‘What?’ Beautification of the extremities was suddenly forgotten as she ran barefoot towards the front window. ‘Where? Where is he? Do I look all right?’ She straightened her short spine and pushed a hand through her hair. ‘I don’t want him to see me all untidy.’ She bustled about for a few moments, fiddling with makeup and comb, then suddenly the anger arrived, just as Kate had known it would. ‘Hey. Hang on. I’ll ram that last letter down his throat. Ten pounds a week for each child? I’ll show him ten pounds’ worth . . .’

  ‘Hang on, Mo. Don’t do anything hasty.’

  ‘Where are my slippers? No, my shoes, I want to look good. Lipstick . . . lipstick . . .’ She painted her mouth quickly. ‘I’m off to Manchester tonight, going to the trad jazz club with a group from the modern dancing class. Is my hair all right? And my solicitor says there’s no way I can be forced to sell the house till Amanda’s eighteen. I’ll show him! I’ll show that bloody so-called husband. Thank God the kids are out . . .’

  ‘Maureen!’

  ‘No tights. I can’t go out on the lane without tights. Be a love and run upstairs, will you? Top right-hand drawer of the dressing table . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Mo.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘He wants to come back.’

  ‘Oh.’ There followed a long pause.

  ‘Isn’t that what you want?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wake up, woman! I said, isn’t that what you want?’

  ‘Yes. I mean . . . yes. Of course. But . . .’

  ‘You’ve had a taste of freedom and poverty, eh? Well, the man’s got his pride, sunshine. He’s not going to ask twice, is he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, I’m having such a good time, aren’t I? I’ve never had so much fun for years. Through the night classes, I’ve found out there’s a lot more to life than washing and ironing. Will he let me carry on with my pottery and my dancing? Will he?’

  Kate sat down on the carpet beside Maureen’s chair. ‘Look, love. You can go out to lessons for years and never learn anything better than what you and Phil had together. He might not object . . .’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t want what I had before. Perhaps I’ve changed.’

  ‘So, at fifty, you’ll be alone. No kids, no husband, just a few nice vases decorating your lonely kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, I never thought of it like that.’

  ‘And you still love him.’

  ‘I hate his bloody guts!’

  ‘Yes, that’s because you still love him. Give him a chance, Mo. Just have a trial run, see how it goes for a month or two.’

  ‘He flooded my kitchen!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And drained my bank account.’

  ‘I know. Give him a chance, eh?’

  ‘Do you really think I should?’

  Kate raised her arms in a questioning gesture. ‘I think you should do what you want to do. But I also think you might regret not giving him an opportunity to prove himself.’

  Maureen sighed her confusion. ‘OK. Wheel him in.’

  ‘Oh, no. This is where I make my exit, flower. I’ll send him in, but the rest is your business, yours and his.’

  ‘I’m scared to death!’

  ‘So is he.’

  Kate walked out and summoned Phil to the gate. He locked his car doors, then walked with a degree of reluctance towards the pathway of number 117. ‘How did she take it? Will I live?’

  ‘I’m not sure, she’s confused.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, sorry. Thanks, Kate.’

  He took a deep breath, then, with rounded shoulders, followed the pathway up to the front door. Just before he knocked, Kate called out to him, ‘Good luck, lad. Good luck and God bless.’

  That night, she discovered a small parcel behind the front door at 50 Beech Gardens. When she tore off the wrapper, she found a necklace in a Preston’s box. It was a gold heart with a diamond teardrop suspended from its centre. With this three hundred pounds’ worth of treasure there was a simple card. ‘Thanks. Good luck and God bless. From both of us’.

  It would have to be done in words of no more than two syllables, in language Chris would understand. This was going to be harder than Melanie. Kate fingered the handle of her delicate china teacup. No wonder Chris always had everything so nice, she thought. After such a grey childhood, the need for beauty and symmetry around her was completely natural. ‘So the Liptrots are settled, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Starting Monday. Such sweet little boys, they are. Ooh, I do hope they like me.’

  ‘They’ll like you.’ She cast a quick glance round the room. ‘But they’ll ruin your lovely home.’

  ‘That’s OK. A house should be a home once children come, That’s what Derek always said.’

  Derek had assumed the proportions of a long-dead martyr by now. He was mentioned and referred to by his widow in every other breath. But at least some of the life had come back into her; at first, she had looked like another candidate for the cemetery. Enthusiastically, she went on, ‘And I’ve had special permission to attend the evening baby-care class at the village hall. It’s really for expectant mothers, but everyone is being so kind and understanding. And I do want to be good at my job.’

  ‘You’ll be good, you’re a natural.’

  ‘Thanks.’ There followed a short pause while Chris studied her neighbour covertly. ‘Is something wrong? Only I’ve found you a bit . . . er . . . let me see . . . a bit preoccerpied just lately. As if there’s something on your mind.’

  ‘There is.’

  ‘Oh.’ Unlike Maureen, Chris would never get close enough, would never gain the confidence to demand and dig for gossip or truth.

  ‘Remember how you felt at the orphanage, Chris?’


  ‘Yes. Oh, yes, I’ll not forget that in a hurry.’

  ‘Remember how you felt lonely even though you were surrounded by people all the time?’

  Chris hesitated. ‘You’re . . . you’re going to say . . . well . . . that’s how you are.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Still lonely in a crowd.’

  ‘That’s right. There isn’t even a Derek whose fingers I can touch over a wall. Marriage isn’t right for some people. I’m one of those people.’

  ‘Oh. What’ll you do if you stop being married? It’s not easy, stopping being married. I didn’t have any say in it, but I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to be on my own. Don’t you love Geoff? And what about Melanie and Dora?’

  ‘I don’t seem to have a lot of love for anyone.’

  ‘You’ve been good to me, Kate. I’d never have got through these awful weeks without you. There must be some love in a person who gives so much time to helping a neighbour.’

  ‘That kind of love, yes. But the sort of love that’s required to live peaceably in a house with others, that close, day to day love, I don’t appear to be very good at it. That’s why I get depressed, because in my present position I can only be a failure. I have to find somewhere I can win.’

  ‘What about school? Don’t you win at school? Maureen says you’re very good at teaching.’

  ‘I don’t like teaching.’

  ‘Oh.’

  During the ensuing long pause, Chris fidgeted with the fringe on the cloth that covered her tea trolley.

  ‘I have to go away, Chris. If I stay, I very much fear that I shall go insane. The panics are less frequent, but I have this awful feeling of being an observer in my own house. And it’s nothing to do with Dora or Geoff – I’m just a fish out of water. There’ll be trouble, love. Dora isn’t talking to me at all since she found out what I intend to do, and poor old Geoff’s sulking like a baby. My main problem, though, is Melanie. I can’t take her with me. You will have to look after her.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Geoff’s at work and Dora’s bad for her. Mel doesn’t want to come with me.’

  ‘You’ll be alone? Assolutely alone?’

  Kate grinned. ‘Assolutely.’

  ‘I meant absolutely, Kate. Stop laughing at me.’

  ‘Sorry. Just keep an eye on my daughter, will you?’

  Chris poured more tea, a hand straying to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

  ‘I know it’s not fair,’ whispered Kate. ‘You lose a husband you wanted and loved, I walk away from a child while you could never have one. I must seem so bloody arrogant to you. But we only get one life, this isn’t a practice run. There’s no chance for an encore, Chris, and no point in looking back at sixty and saying “if only”. This may be the biggest mistake I ever make, yet I must be allowed to make it. If I stayed, I would make all their lives a catalogue of misery. Perhaps I’ll be unhappy after I’ve gone away, but at least they will recover.’ She jerked a thumb in the direction of next door. ‘I’m cutting out their cancer, they’ll thank me in time.’

  ‘You’re not cancer!’ The tone was angry and distorted by tears. ‘You’re pretty and clever and all the things I can never be. Look at me! Short and plump, stragg-erly black hair with some grey already, and I’m only thirty-two! You keep telling me not to . . . to . . . denigrate myself. That’s what you’re doing. Cancer, indeed!’

  ‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’

  ‘Well, I’ll miss you.’ Her face suddenly brightened. ‘I’ve just had a thought! You could move in here!’

  ‘Too close. I’m going back to Daubhill initially.’

  ‘Have you told your mother?’

  ‘No. It’s best to present my mother with a fait accompli.’

  The strained smile still remained on Chris’s face. ‘Never mind, eh? Perhaps you’ll be like Maureen and Phil. Perhaps you just need a few weeks apart.’

  ‘No, it won’t be anything like Maureen and Phil.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just do, love. I’m going for good. But I’ll phone you and we can meet up sometimes – you could bring Melanie.’ Her heart shuddered as she heard herself speaking these lies. She would have too much to hide, too many reasons not to meet people once she’d left. ‘We can shop together,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Won’t be the same.’ The mouth pouted childishly.

  ‘Nothing will ever be the same again, Chris. You, above all people, should know that.’

  Later in the day, Kate wandered along the bank towards the Harper’s Farm bridge, Jemima waddling hopefully in her wake and quacking for bread. Kate threw a handful of crusts, then squatted among the rushes and watched ripples of activity where fishes and voles gallivanted in the secrecy of water. It was going to be hard, so much harder than she’d imagined. Even Chris was pulling at her heartstrings, while the atmosphere of hopelessness in her own household was devastating.

  ‘Mum?’

  She looked up. ‘Ah. I never heard you coming.’

  ‘Why are you crying?’ The girl looked embarrassed. ‘People will see if you cry here.’

  ‘I didn’t know I was crying. Perhaps it’s a bit of hay fever.’

  Melanie joined her mother on the grass. ‘I’m not a nice girl, am I? And I’m sorry for what I did.’

  ‘Why? What did you do, where did you do it, and will it cost much?’

  The youngster grinned ruefully. ‘I meant for telling your big secret. Not about drawing cartoons and pictures, I never told them that. But about you going – I shouldn’t have. Oh, it’s awful in there now, isn’t it? I hate being in the house. Everything’s been such a muddle, I haven’t known what to think. But I’m trying hard to be good. Sorry.’

  Kate remembered her own time of ‘being good’, when she’d felt responsible for everything up to and including the Second World War. Life was so unfair, especially to young people. ‘It’s pretty rough at home, yes. But don’t be apologetic, it’s not your fault.’

  Melanie pulled up a handful of rye grass and sucked at the pale roots. ‘You’d better go, Mum. Before it gets any worse. If you stay, you’ll be ill. I wouldn’t like to think I’d made you stay and made you ill.’

  Shocked and stunned, Kate turned and stared at the figure by her side. ‘Did I hear you right, Mel?’

  The girl’s head sank to her knees, and she hugged her calves, rocking slightly back and forth as she spoke in muffled tone. ‘I can’t bear you unhappy, Mum. I’d sooner you were happy away from me than unhappy with me. I don’t want to lose you, but . . . It’s your turn to be selfish now. I’ve had my chance.’

  Dear God in heaven, when had this child grown up? Any why hadn’t she, her mother, noticed it? ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say to you, Mel. Except thanks. And you won’t be losing me, you’ll never lose me. When I get settled, you might come and stay for weekends.’ Oh dear. Would that really be possible? Taking into account the true size of Kate’s plan . . .

  ‘He wouldn’t like it. Daddy would probably make a big stink. But we can meet and write, and I can phone you when you get a number.’

  ‘Mel?’

  She lifted her head and looked into the sad face of her mother. ‘What?’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you too, and I’ve always known that you care about me. It’s hard for you. I know about that, because it’s hard for me too sometimes. We’re alike, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, very much so.’

  ‘Granny Dora has spoiled me. But I’m not really like her, Mum, honest. I’ll probably turn out OK, just like you always said. Granny Dora hasn’t got a lot of influence over me. I’ve heard you say that I’m her all over again, but I’m not. It’s just . . . well . . . I act up when she’s around so I’ll get my own way. But I don’t want you to think I’m like her.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Then there’s the other thing, you and your nerves. Dad and Gran have always treated you as if you’d a few bits missing, and I copied
them. But I’m thirteen now and I know you’re not crazy. There are times when you need staying away from, but you’re not crackers.’

  ‘That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.’

  ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

  ‘No. If you realized how many times I’ve doubted my sanity . . .’

  ‘You’re OK. I bet we’ll be good friends when I’m grown up.’

  ‘You’re already grown up, pet. I don’t know when it happened – it must have been terribly sudden – but you’ve certainly shot up in my estimation. What did I miss? What’s changed you?’

  Melanie shrugged. ‘All kinds of things, really. Watching in the house, seeing how Gran and Dad treat you. Then there’s biology at school; we were learning about women’s bodies and what I have to go through, what you’ve been through having me. I thought about everybody going on about your nerves when it’s probably those hormones Mrs Wright was teaching us about. Then Rita Smythe’s dad upped and left last week, and that was no big deal. If men can move on, why can’t women?’ She raised her head and studied the sky. ‘Women have it rough, Mum.’

  ‘So do men. They usually have to do a horrible job from fifteen till sixty-five, no time off for having babies. Try not to be unfair, Mel. I’m unfair and I don’t like it in myself.’ She reached out her arms and enfolded this child, this person she had never known, the one creature in the world she should have known above all others. ‘I gave birth to you,’ she whispered, ‘and I seem to have had post-natal depression ever since.’ This caused a loud guffaw from both parties. ‘Not possible, Mum!’ screamed Mel.

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘Stands to reason, you must have plenty of oestrogen, you’re only thirty-four. Hormone levels do settle.’

  ‘Clever clogs!’

  ‘Well, I’m going to be a doctor. Or a nurse. That’s my secret, in case I don’t make it. You know what those two are like.’ She inclined her head towards the house. ‘And if Gran knew my ambition, she’d have me looking at her illnesses day and night.’

  ‘That’s true. So, we have reached an agreement at last?’