Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

  She paid, tipped, said it looked lovely having barely having taken in what the girl had done to her, and then turned back to ask that she pass Esther’s best wishes on to Mona. Louisa’s flat on Market Street was only 200 yards from the hairdresser’s and Esther reached it at 4.40p.m. She settled herself in a café window seat across the road and ordered a large mug of tea and a scone and prepared to wait.

  The police car shot past the turning that led to Anweledig, then reversed back and dipped down into the hamlet. PC Janet Taylor checked her notebook and then stopped outside the Dingle. She strode up the drive, her radio bleeping and chatting to her as she went. She knocked smartly on the door. Then she rang the bell, then she knocked again, then she peeped through the lounge window.

  Having ascertained that there was no one in, she returned to her car. Funny business this, she thought. Esther Harrison was that woman who used to be involved with the Guides several years ago. She remembered going to see them when she was a Community Officer to talk to the girls about self-defence and remembered Esther as being just like her old Guide leader twenty years before. She’d never have put her down as a malicious writer, but then, nothing would surprise her anymore.

  Right, back to the station for an hour of paperwork before heading out to start the early Friday night drinkers’ deterrent presence.

  And so the only police car that had visited Anweledig in the last fifty-five years purred out of the hamlet and headed back to the badlands of Tan-y-Bryn.

  Esther was on her second mug of tea and was dotting up the crumbs of her scone when she saw her husband’s car pull up across the street. She felt the sweat break out on her forehead and she had to take a grip of herself to stop involuntary whimpering. She leant back into the shadows, although David was twenty yards away and not likely to see her. She watched as he checked his new hairstyle in the mirror and blew a breath into his cupped palm. He rummaged in something lying on the passenger seat and then she saw him squirting something on to his neck: aftershave! Since when did David Harrison use anything in addition to a squirt of Tesco’s own in the morning?

  Another check in the mirror and then he got out of the car. He suddenly seemed to be very tall and actually quite handsome as he brushed himself down and checked that his shirt was tucked in.

  As she watched him, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Perhaps this was all her fault? Perhaps she’d become blind to him and his handsome looks, his sense of fun? She’d certainly not treasured him for at least a dozen years or so – mainly out of spite for him not treasuring her, but even so… Maybe she’d driven him into another woman’s arms, a refuge of comfort where someone actually thought he was worth making an effort for? Could she be watching the final moments of life as she knew it?

  Tears pricked to her eyes as she saw him look up and down the street and then open the door to the flat at the side of the pound shop. He did look furtive, no doubt about it; there was definitely something going on.

  Esther was dabbing at her eyes with a rough corner of a serviette when she saw someone else who was distinctly furtive walking down the street in the January night. She looked like a high-class prostitute – a madam, maybe. A faux fur coat, done up top to bottom, red stiletto-heeled shoes and – surely not, not in Tan-y-Bryn – fishnet tights. The madam’s head wasn’t quite as fitting as the rest of her, being a little bit jowly and a little bit plain, even though it had a fair bit of make-up on.

  Esther’s curiosity turned to horror as she saw the madam stop outside number 40B. Oh God – surely not prostitutes? Not in their own daughter’s flat? Not fur coat, no knickers, not for her husband? Esther half got to her feet and then slumped down again and groaned as the madam pushed the door open and slipped in, gently closing the door behind her.

  Esther felt sick as she imagined the fur coat climbing the stairs, the heels sashaying slowly towards Louisa’s flat. She imagined David hanging around the door, nervously checking his appearance again and again, cupping his breath and doubting the strength of his deodorant. She bet that he’d be a gentleman with madam, offering her a drink first before gratefully partaking of her wares.

  Would David feel guilty? Probably, but he’d no doubt be able to justify it. Esther wasn’t interested in him anymore and a man did have urges and far better to pay for it up front, an honest transaction, than to have an affair? But, there was still that letter burning away in her bag – the one that said he was having an affair – and with his regular lift.

  Esther’s stomach suddenly flipped – surely that woman wasn’t Diane Dawson? Mumsy neat blouse and pencil skirt stuck round her fat arse Diane? Surely not? Could Diane Dawson have bought a prostitute’s outfit and clacked down the road in it in her own town?

  Esther fled her surveillance window and hobbled to the loo. She looked into the mirror and saw a grey sallow face with a bouffant blow-dry halo peering at her. Her round-neck white top was brilliant white, but depressingly sexless. Her grey cardigan was seriously warm, but would never light the loins of any man, especially one who was turned on by fur coat and no knickers.

  So, now what…? Nothing else for it: she had to go and sort it out. She washed her hands, dried them, washed an imaginary spot off them again, and then admitted that she was playing for time. She took a deep breath, left the toilets, paid her bill and walked out into the cold night.

  PC Janet Taylor was walking down the corridor of Tan-y-Bryn police station towards the entrance foyer.

  “Taylor? Where you off to?”

  “Just off out, Sarge. Gonna walk past the pound shop on Market Street and turn left into Morris Street. Thought I might leave now – you never know, I might just stop someone making the mistake of their life!”

  “Not yet you won’t. Can you just come here for ten minutes – I need to ask you something…”

  The gas fire was blazing and the inhabitant of the fur coat was getting hot.

  “David,” she whispered, “don’t say anything. Let’s forget what happened the other day, yeah?”

  “Yes,” David whispered back. “All forgotten.” He reached out to touch the woman, but she moved back from his hand and instead put a red-nailed finger over his mouth.

  “Sh, all done. Now…” and she undid her top coat button and slipped the shoulder off to reveal naked flesh, “…we both know that it all has to stop. I’m not going back to work, but I can’t leave Harry, so this will be our last time together. OK, lover?” David groaned and nodded hungrily. “We’ll just have this one last hour and then we’ll go back to our normal lives and never mention it again, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “But…”

  “Yes?”

  “We can think about it, OK, lover?”

  “Oh, yes, we’ll certainly be thinking about it…” And the fur coat fell to the floor. David leapt at the mass of bare flesh that it had covered. If it was their last time, then he needed to make sure it was memorable.

  Louisa had left the bank at five p.m. spot on, with many giggles and good lucks. Doreen had clucked around her all day, teasing her excitedly about her special night ahead; it was the best thing that had happened to the employees in that bank for years. The moment the numbers flicked over to 17:00, the staff all piled out the door, Louisa being allowed to do her key first and then run as fast as she could along the pavement with lots of calls and whoops following behind her. By the Argos five doors down, she’d slowed to a fast walk.

  She’d driven past Doreen, still waving in excitement for her usually miserable friend. All the way home, Louisa had felt special, turning on the radio to see if someone had asked for a request to help on her way to a great evening out. They hadn’t.

  She wasn’t really sure which part of the evening she was most excited about: the date with this Iestyn bloke or having a drink with Rachel and Rosie and their friends if the date didn’t work out. The party afterwards might be a step too far, but a drink with a few people in a pub – well, she was sure she could handle that. Half of her wanted to f
orget about Iestyn and just go for the drink. A blind date was so much more momentous than anything she had arranged for herself before and she thought that the only reason she’d entertained the idea of it was because it was so far-fetched so as to be impossible.

  However, with her new found drive and determination to forge through into a new life, she was going to give it a chance at the very least. If he was naff – or perhaps more likely he thought her naff and ran off after the starter – then she could do both drink and date.

  She pulled into Anweledig a good ten minutes before she normally did. Strange: no lights, no open gate and actually no banners or balloons either. Louisa felt miffed having to get out and open the gate; it was raining for God’s sake and she had been working all day…

  The house was in darkness too; what was going on? The only thing that she could think of was that her mum must have met her dad from work and they had popped to the shops to buy her a gift – something to make her evening extra special. Something new, something blue or whatever the saying was. Well, although it was very nice of them, it still meant that in the meantime she’d have to make her own cup of tea and probably a sandwich to keep her strength up – she didn’t want to show herself up by being ravenous on a first date…

  Esther pushed open the front door that was still on the latch and began the long climb up the green swirly-carpeted stairs. Perhaps Diane was a teacher in her spare time and was giving David French lessons before making her way to the Prostitutes’ Club afterwards? Perhaps she was a chiropodist and under that coat was a white uniform – no, uniforms were still dodgy. Maybe she was also a plumber as well as an administrative assistant and had just popped by to fix the fire? The possibilities for a happy ending were infinite.

  She needn’t have tiptoed as the inhabitants of 40B were pretty absorbed in what they were doing. She was able to watch them for long enough to allow every detail of the scene to become ingrained in her mind’s eye and hence to allow it, with all its rich sounds and scents, to be replayed in great detail at any future point in her life, day or night.

  The sight of her husband giving it his best, and to a woman lying on a faux fur coat, her stockinged legs pointing straight up in the air and tipped with bouncing red patent shoes, could have been comical, had it not had such horrendous implications. Maybe it was feminine intuition, maybe it was boredom, but the woman – now very definitely Diane – stopped chewing David’s ear and drawing blood from his back with her painted nails and looked around. “David,” she hissed, trying to push him up from her.

  “Call me Scamper,” he urged.

  “Scamper?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Esther…”

  “No, call yourself something different…”

  “No, it’s Esther, she’s here.” The buttocks stopped pumping and hovered mid-thrust.

  “Too fucking right it’s Esther,” roared Esther from her position in the doorway. “Scamper…? Get up, you fucking idiot!”

  “Esther?” David turned, more shocked by the transformation of his wife into a cursing fishwife, than he was by the sight of her there, staring at his duplicitous buttocks.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” raged his wife. “And you…” she spat at Diane who was now rolling herself back into her fur coat, at least lucky enough not to need to put her knickers back on this time. “What the hell are you doing screwing my husband?”

  David was now spluttering like a naughty boy, clearly out of his depth in the face of the wrath of Esther. “Esther, love, it won’t be happening again,” he said, tucking his shirt into his trousers and squatting slightly to re-adjust himself.

  “Well, David,” she stormed, still holding the room in her command, “don’t worry on my account, you can screw this harlot as much as you like – and Diane, I’m so ashamed of you. I thought you were a bloody prostitute when I saw you walking over here, got up like that. Anyway, David: you won’t be coming home. Our marriage is over. You can just ask Louisa if you can sub-let your shag pad from her and then you can play ‘Scamper and The Whore’ to your heart’s content. And, if you are wondering how I found out, take a good look at this…” She rummaged in her bag for the letter, tore it from its envelope and threw it at him. Despite her venom, it fluttered gently to the floor to rest by her feet and sat there gazed at by two pairs of confused eyes as they clocked its contents. She could tell that they were itching to grab it and analyse it, but instead had to make do with reading it from afar, both squinting and looking as if they wanted to fetch their glasses. “Shagging in a bloody store cupboard? At work? Yuck: look at the state of you both. I hope that whoever it was who discovered you was offered counselling… Goodnight!”

  Esther picked up the letter again and stuffed it back in her pocket. “Just in case I ever feel a wave of kindness and feel like I might want to let you come back,” she explained, and then she turned and felt for the door frame. She was unsteady on her legs and had to grope her way to the top of the stairs.

  “Esther, are you all right, love?”

  “Yes, I’ll be OK, thanks. Just need to get a hand on the banister. There. OK, done now, thanks,” even in Esther’s mood, her habitual resilience remained.

  She hobbled down the stairs feeling shaky and sick. She was not sure how that had gone – as expected, perhaps? Maybe not. But then, how could you ever predict how one might react in such a situation.

  She reached the front door and clutched for the handle, pleased to feel the cold of the air as it hit her flushed face. She stepped out onto the pavement and stood for just a couple of seconds, trying to gather her thoughts about what had happened and what she was to do now.

  “Hang on a minute – Esther Harrison? Is that you?” asked the voice of a woman who had just screeched to a standstill on the pavement next to her.

  “Pardon? Er, yes, I am Est—”

  “PC Janet Taylor. What a coincidence, I’ve just been thinking about you. Would you like to accompany me to the station? We need to have a chat…”

  “No, not now actually. I’m a little tired and could do with—”

  “Now, Mrs Harrison, if you don’t mind… It’s not far, just round this corner; here, see the sign? Good. Come along…”

  In the dingy sitting room with the dusty green carpet, Diane and David gathered their composure, both bright red with humiliation and probably both wishing the other gone from the face of the earth, never mind number 40B Market Street, Tan-y-Bryn.

  “Caught with my tits out twice in three days…” muttered Diane. “This has got to stop.”

  David didn’t reply. He looked green. That letter – he wished he’d been able to read it properly, to study it, so that he could work out a defence. He didn’t really want to discuss it with Diane, he wanted a clear head to think. “Did you manage to read that letter?” she said, “what did you think it said?”

  “A bit.”

  “Well, what did you think it said?” asked Diane, now clearly irritated by him.

  “Something about being in flagrante in a store cupboard and that it had been going on for weeks.”

  “In flagrante? Who the hell would have said in flagrante? I just saw my name and something about it being from a long-standing acquaintance.”

  “Well, what ever it bloody said, that’s it, isn’t it. All over. Finished.” He walked to the window, yanked open the curtain and leant his forehead onto the cool glass. “Twenty-odd years of marriage, thirty years together – and all over. Just like that.”

  Diane was frowning at him, “Well, if it had been that good, you probably wouldn’t have been here tonight with me.”

  “That was different. An – aside – perhaps.”

  “An aside? An aside? I thought you said it was the most wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. I’ve never felt so alive,” she finished, in a mocking voice.

  David shrugged. His head was in turmoil. What should he do now? Go home, stay here, shag Diane again, or get chips? In four short w
eeks his life had been turned upside down. He was a laughing stock at work and there was no way he was going to keep his job as team leader; it would be untenable with people smirking behind his back. Whenever he spoke to someone, someone else would reach round them from behind and fondle their chest, and then everyone would fall about laughing.

  Louisa would hate him. Esther already hated him and everything he’d worked for over the years was fluttering away in a haze of dusty-carpeted lust.

  Diane’s phone rang from the depths of her handbag; they both froze.

  “Who is it?” hissed David.

  “How the hell do I know?” said Diane and she strode over to have a look.

  “Shit, it’s Harry.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Well, how the hell should I know? I haven’t answered the bloody thing, have I?” The phone stopped ringing and they looked at each other for fifteen seconds until it bleeped to signify that a message had been left.

  “Shit,” Diane said.

  “You’d better listen to it; he might be – I don’t know, coming round?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t know I’m here. As far as he knows, I’m out for a power walk.”

  “In nothing but heels and a fur coat?”

  “I got changed, stupid…”

  David mumbled something to himself and returned to the window. It seemed to take forever hearing Diane phone her answer machine and finally hear the message. He heard her swear and chuck the phone down.

  “He said,” she said with tears in her voice, “that he’s had a letter and if I’m with you, then not to bother coming home. And he knows I am with you, as why else would I have taken my make-up bag, a kit bag and a car out with me on a walk…” She turned to David with tears rolling down her face. “Oh God, it’s such a mess. I thought he was in the bathroom when I left. Oh, poor Harry.”