Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

  “Yeah, and me – Di Dawson and high heels? With her corns? Definitely something going on.”

  “No, no, wait…” David felt he was losing control.

  “Yes, and lipstick; she normally only wore lipgloss.”

  “Look, I…”

  “Well, I hope she’s all right; it’s a long walk home.”

  “Especially with no coat, no bag and no bra on!”

  “Oh, and no house keys!”

  “No phone for a taxi…”

  David was getting exasperated: this was worse than the men. “Ladies, all I wanted to say was that I, well, hope that we can draw a line under this and all return to normal tomorrow?” He could see the incredulous look on their faces, but felt that he was nearing the finish line, even if the egg had fallen off his spoon ages ago.

  At this point, Brenda Jeffers turned back from the window to face him, her arms folded and her mouth doing a reasonable impression of a dog’s arse. “All return to normal? All return to normal? David, are you actually aware of what some of us witnessed earlier today – in our place of work?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then you’ll know that it’s not something that we can all just forget about.”

  “Brenda, look, I’m so very sorry, but…”

  “It’s all very well being sorry, but you’ll know that it can’t just stop here? Mr Brennan will have to be informed.”

  David could feel his temper beginning to rise; Brenda Jeffers was a sourpuss who would truly be delighting in the drama that had unfolded on that otherwise dull Tuesday afternoon. Just because she’d never been enticing enough to be taken roughly from behind in a workplace store cupboard…

  “OK, Brenda,” Debra stepped forward, she was the office manager and the oldest of the women there. David breathed a sigh of relief: she’d put a stop to Brenda’s stirring and the others messing about. “David – obviously seeing that was a shock to us all and I will be speaking to Diane on her return. We do not want a repeat performance – especially in a cupboard that we keep our stash of biscuits in – isn’t that right, girls?” The women started tittering, Brenda rolled her eyes. “But, yes, let’s draw a line under it; we’ve wasted enough time today.”

  “Thank you, Debra, thank you.” David mumbled goodnight and turned to leave the office.

  “Oh, but, David?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just one more thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “Surely it wasn’t very gallant of you to let Diane go underneath? The state of her knees and on that dirty concrete floor? I mean – come on!”

  David fled, hearing the room erupt into cackles behind him. How was he ever going to be able to go back in there? By the time he’d reached the main exit door, the sweat was pouring from him, his head was thumping and his heart felt like it was about to grind to a halt. He loosened his upper button on his shirt and flung his jacket off, screwing it into a ball under his arm in a most un-David like way. He knew that there’d be faces lining the windows, finally able to chat and laugh freely at his and Diane’s expense. He just couldn’t wait to get away.

  He approached his car, wishing that he’d parked it facing out in order to gain a few valuable seconds.

  “David! Psst!” a strong whisper came from somewhere near his car and then a brown-haired head popped up over the bonnet.

  “Diane?”

  “Just open the bloody door and let me get in.”

  He pipped it open and climbed into the driver’s seat whilst Diane crawled into the footwell of the passenger seat. “What are you doing still here?” he asked, in no mood for a romantic reunion.

  “What do you bastard-well think? Start the car: I’m bloody freezing,” she spat and it was only then that he looked at her properly. Her thin blouse was still inside out and she was clearly bra-less, but her face was nearly unrecognisable: it was blue with cold, yet somehow also red with crying. Her eyes were so puffy that she looked like she had myxomatosis and her skin had a mottle similar to granite.

  David was blank: surely she didn’t have to wait all afternoon just to see him?

  Diane obviously sensed his confusion. “David – I have no bag, no keys, no coat, and no phone. I cannot walk home with an inside-out blouse and no bra, and I cannot turn my blouse the right way round without a bra on, as I think that people have seen enough of my wares for one day.” She was getting animated and her voice was rising in pitch. It was giving David a headache.

  “And even if I had walked home, I have no keys, so I would have to sit on the doorstep and wait until my husband got home and then tell him how it was that I left my bra, my bag and my keys in the office.”

  “So – what are you going to do then?” David wasn’t looking for solutions that might involve him.

  “What am I going to do?” screeched Diane. “If I were going to have to do something, I would have done it hours ago and saved myself getting bloody hypothermia!” David must have still been looking vague. “David – will you please go back to the office and get my things.” Diane was now sat in as low a position as possible with her arms clamped firmly over her bust and was looking straight ahead.

  “Oh, don’t make me go back in there,” he groaned, “I’ve had a hell of a day…”

  “What? And me crawling about with my boobs out and then waiting in the cold for two hours was a good day at the office?”

  David slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and wrenched the door open. He stormed back, under general observation, into the office, just as the women were standing about in the foyer, chatting about him as they put their coats on.

  “Where would I find Diane’s coat and bag, please?” he snarled.

  “There and there,” pointed Gemma helpfully to a desk drawer and a coat rack.

  “Oh, now she wants them, does she?” sneered Brenda.

  “Piss off, Brenda,” he snapped and stormed past her to collect them. Damn, she’d want her bra too. He checked that no one was watching and then quickly ducked into the store cupboard and clicked on the light. A table had been dragged into the middle of the room and on it was Diane’s bra, supporting two five-litre tins of paint. David swore and pulled the tins out and tried to stuff the bra into his pocket. However, he hadn’t bargained on the underwire and there was no way it would fit, so instead he left the building wrestling with the enormous white contraption as it popped out of the various places he tried to stuff it.

  Diane took her possessions without a word and clutched them to her. They drove to her house in silence. The bubble had burst. What had just that morning been an exciting, passionate new relationship built on mutual understanding and a zest for life had now been exposed for what it was: two middle-aged people (who had a lot to lose and really should have known better) who had tickled each others fancies and found the jackpot.

  They’d had a few weeks of a fantasy life that shouldn’t have really been theirs. They’d both had the colour return to their cheeks, had changed their hairstyles, lost a little weight and re-discovered a love of life that didn’t need to include soap operas and tutting at Crimewatch. They’d realised that they were above Coronation Street as they’d rediscovered themselves, their verve and their sexiness.

  They’d told each other as they’d lain sticky in each other’s arms that they’d never return to being a sloth that didn’t look after themselves and fancied a roast dinner rather than a stroll on the beach and love in the dunes. They would be people, from now on, who bothered to sit outside on a clear night and look at the stars, rather than watch the ten o’clock news and shuffle off to bed.

  Even if they did it in their separate homes, they’d shun comfy underwear, going instead for more daring or exotic stuff – for themselves as much as for each other.

  Yet, somehow, David found himself sitting in the driving seat wondering what the hell was wrong with her: his day had been even more shit than hers possibly could have. At least she’d not had to face the others yet. And the miserable bit
ch had sent him – not asked him, mind, sent him – back into the building to get her things, as she couldn’t be bothered to get them herself.

  Diane unclipped the seatbelt and wriggled into her jacket.

  “Your blouse is still inside out.”

  “Don’t you think I might know that? Don’t you think it might have dawned on me when I was sitting in the cold for two hours that my blouse wouldn’t do up properly and I’ve got labels on the outside? Tell me, David, should I have taken it off in the car park to turn it the right way, or maybe as we were driving through town…”

  “I was only saying.”

  “Well, don’t. Anyway, I’m off. I’ll see you.” She picked up her bag from the footwell and checked that her stay-ups were actually up this time. David noticed with distaste that she had a hole in one knee with a ladder running up and down: God, she looked a state. Harry’s car was home – David hoped that he didn’t hover inside the door waiting for her.

  “See you,” she said as she opened the door.

  “See you.” However, as she moved, he caught a whiff of her perfume and suddenly that scent leaving his car was indicative of the only excitement in his whole life leaving. It was as if the fairy dust that had been sprinkled over every aspect of his world was twinkling its way to its doom.

  He saw a life of boiled potatoes on the table at the right time each night, clothes folded neatly in the drawer reeking of fabric conditioner and a TV guide with two or three choices circled in red pen tossed open on the coffee table.

  “Diane! Wait…”

  “Yes?” The answer was slow.

  “Don’t go.”

  “I have to; Harry’s home.”

  “I mean, don’t leave me… Can we meet again?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, David. Today has been probably the worst day of my life and all I want to think about at the moment is having a long bath, going to bed and staying there.”

  “Just to talk – to clear the air?” His energy was coming back to him as he felt the need to retain the sparkle in his life. “Friday night? At Louisa’s place – she’s out on some date or something. Please? Please, Diane?”

  Diane stared at him and although it seemed against her better judgement, she said, “OK, I’ll try. Friday. After work? I’ll be there – if I can.” Then the car door slammed and he watched as she walked brusquely up the drive, adjusting her skirt as she went and pulling her jacket together in an attempt to cover her indiscretion.

  David felt himself smile and despite the depth of the shit he was in, he started humming to himself as he swung the car around in the hammerhead at the top of the estate and then headed for home.

  CHAPTER 30

  Tynnu nyth cacwn am fy mhen – to put a wasp’s nest on my head (to do something that arouses anger)

  Esther’s day had been strange. The lack of hysteria that morning, particularly in comparison to earlier that week, had been noticeable and now she was sitting at a clear kitchen table sipping at a cup of tea and glancing at a magazine, and Louisa’s car was only just pulling up out of the village. It was almost eerie – both sets of keys had been hanging on the hooks, packed lunches had been swept off the sides without complaint and the door had been shut normally – not slammed or banged nor left swinging, but just pulled to like in other houses the world round.

  Louisa – well, she was obviously nervous about her date – she’d talked of nothing else since it had been arranged. Talked on her terms of course; Esther wasn’t allowed to bring it up under threat of interfering. Part of her wished that she had the kind of relationship with her daughter which meant that they might discuss things like dates. Maybe they would develop one in the future, perhaps when Louisa had moved into her flat and her mother could call around for a chat (rather than have to try to maintain a warm relationship as she retrieved a pile of wet towels from the bathroom floor)? However, Louisa would actually have to move into her flat before she, Esther, would be able to pop round for a friendly coffee.

  As for David, well, Esther still had no idea what was going on there. What could be the reason for a grown man suddenly putting his pyjamas on his pillow after years of kicking them under the edge of the bed? Why would he have polished his own shoes, rather than left them dirty side up, in the middle of the hall as a giant clue for her to find ten minutes before he desperately needed them? Why the difference between last week and today?

  Esther was bored. There was no chaos to moan about, no clutter to pick up after. She vacuumed the clean carpets, she dusted the clean shelves. She even swept, then vacuumed the patio. She watched a little television, but her eyes kept being drawn over to her computer. She felt restless and knew that the devil was busy suggesting work for her idle hands…

  Usually she spent her days being cross with David and Louisa. It was as if being a martyr to their thoughtlessness could occupy her mind better than anything else. She would pick up three shirts that had been tried on then slung onto a chair and roll her eyes. She would rinse a bit of David’s beard off her toothbrush and think about how she might relate it to a friend with a resigned shake of her head. And she would probably peel potatoes knowing that they would be wrongly mashed, boiled or chipped.

  Not having her mind filled with being cross with her nearest and dearest meant that she had time to be cross with other people. Like that Jan who ran the bakers in town. She’d queued for ages there yesterday, waiting patiently whilst Jan chatted with an old dear standing in front of her. It had given her plenty of time to look around and she had not liked what she had seen.

  There had been dried-up cream on the inside of the glass counter above a load of cakes that didn’t have cream on or in them. The floor needed a good sweep and then someone needed to get on their hands and knees and scrub it. She could see that the mop never made it into the corners and they were dark with grime and grease.

  Esther had watched as Jan had patted her hair, hitched her bra strap up and then handled money before reaching for her, Esther’s, provisions with the same hand. Then, blow me, if the bread wasn’t rock hard and the pain au chocolat was surely a day old. The tin hat had been put on her visit with the sight of a few dead flies collected in the corner of the window display area, presumably just out of reach of the woman’s cloth. Oh, she’d been cross…

  Esther looked over again at the computer as the adverts flicked up on the TV screen. Perhaps if she just wrote it down, then she could put it to the back of her mind… She’d decided that the letters must stop, but it might be good to clarify her thoughts… She could practise her typing as she did it – that would be a good exercise: she didn’t have to turn it into a letter…didn’t have to post it.

  She idly got to her feet and as she walked past, she just happened to turn the computer on. She went to the loo and walked back and jiggled the mouse. She popped into the kitchen and by the time she returned with a fresh brew, the computer was waiting for her.

  The rest was automatic. Within ten minutes she’d drafted a full page of suggestions for Janet at the Crusty Bun. She read it back over: it was actually quite eloquent! But she wasn’t going to print it out – it was only to allow her to practise her typing. She saved it under Typing Practice and wondered off to fetch her ironing board.

  She re-read it a couple of times as she returned from taking clothes upstairs. The layout looked quite good. It would be interesting to see how it looked printed out – it was difficult to judge when it was just on the computer screen.

  Eventually she pressed the button and a sheet spilled out of the printer. Yes, it was quite pleasing on the eye. She decided to stuff the ironing for the day and instead folded the letter into thirds and popped it into an envelope to keep it safe and went upstairs for a nap.

  Her sleep was deep and her dreams were wild and very real. She was being shouted at by lots of different people – circus clowns, David, a zookeeper, Louisa and a group of children in school uniform. She was buttering a pile of bread as quickly as she could, but it wasn’t good enough
for them and as soon as she put down one newly buttered slice, it would be snapped up again and the plate was empty and the crowds were baying for more.

  She dragged herself awake, half-sitting up in bed, the duvet pushed to the floor. She had to stop these daytime naps: they didn’t leave her refreshed, just disorientated and sluggish. She opened the curtains and was disappointed to see sleet – damn, she hadn’t been out of the house all day and she liked to get a little exercise – maybe she could just pop her coat on and go for a short walk. Maybe…maybe just to the postbox and back?

  Twenty-to-five – damn, she didn’t have long if she wanted to post a – that – letter. She struggled with her trousers and then went down into the lounge. She took her favourite fountain pen and with writing as unlike hers as possible, she inscribed the front of the envelope with The Proprietor – it would be good for Jan to think that the writer didn’t know her; Esther knew that Jan knew that she knew that Jan was called Jan and therefore she would never think that it was her…

  As she pulled on her coat and hat and sat in the low chair by the front door to lace her shoes, the sleet buffeted against the pane of frosted glass. She was going to get frozen; but she did need to get her exercise, so she’d better just go.

  She left the house at seven minutes to five and walked, her head down into the dusk. As she came out of her drive, a car purred down into Anweledig, its windscreen wipers on full pelt.

  Esther saw an elegant gloved hand wave at her and she nodded in return. She struggled along, her stick slippery in her hand and was annoyed to see the lady in the car skip across to her, tied neatly into her polka dot mac.

  “Hello!” the lady called through the weather, adjusting her red beret. “Horrible day isn’t it? I wanted to introduce myself: I’m Katie and we’ve just moved in across the way. I’ve been meaning to come and say hello, but, well, it’s been a bit chaotic!”

  “Hello and welcome to Anweledig,” smiled Esther, hunching her shoulders against the cold and wishing that they could do this another day. “I’m Esther – look, come over for a coffee when you have time – I must just take this to the postbox now; it goes at five, you see.”