When she drove away, she was thinking of hobbies, things that David might be interested in - surely he'd had hobbies when he was younger? Perhaps she could encourage him to rekindle them. Maybe she could get him a novel - nothing too racy though, nothing with lots of effing and blinding - she'd have to be careful.
As he watched her depart, Phil was thinking about dinner on Friday. He'd booked a table at a French restaurant his colleagues had recommended. Sally had been thrilled and a little nervous - they were neither of them gourmets. He was wondering if he should buy a new shirt, and maybe a different after-shave, but he'd run out of time and really had to be getting back now. Sally was definitely less abrasive, now he'd begun surprising her a bit more, and he was grateful to Penny for pointing out what should have been obvious to him in the first place, but there was a long way to go. The question of their sex life wasn't even on the radar yet, but her new found tolerance had dissuaded him from experimenting any further with the business of Cybersex.
Meanwhile, the stranger in the parked car was thinking his job had turned out much easier than expected, and at tea time Angela Barnes handed him a cheque in the lounge bar of a public house she would never otherwise have frequented. In exchange she received a picture of her daughter-in-law kissing a man who was not her husband.
The stranger was a private detective - not a particularly good one, but this was Middleton and not Chicago. He was no world weary Philip Marlowe, but a prematurely retired draughtsman called Herbert Blakedon, who was simply trying to make ends meet in the most interesting manner he could think of. Angela, unfamiliar with the minimum standards one should expect from such people, seemed happy with the results, indeed she regarded the photograph later that evening in the privacy of her study with a certain smug satisfaction. There had always been something unsettlingly rebellious about Penelope - the way she attended church reluctantly - slipping away as soon as possible afterwards,… and ready to skip it on the slightest pretext - like this Tai Chi business. And then there was the infuriating way she seemed always to avoid being pinned down by any of Angela's provocations. The girl was like smoke, disappearing from your gaze one moment to materialise somewhere else, always just a little out of reach.
Well, she had her now!
Except, Angela lingered a little too long over the photograph and Frank, tiptoeing up behind, as if not wanting to break too many eggshells, was puzzled by it. He'd come to ask if Angela wanted a cup of tea and was now suddenly filled with foreboding. Then he saw the invoice headed: Blakedon Detective Agency, and his worst fears were confirmed.
A red mist descended.
"You stupid woman!"
Angela’s heart leaped. "Heavens Frank! Do you mean to give me a heart attack?"
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"
Angela, thinking she'd succeeded also in driving a wedge between Frank and his daughter-in-law, gloated over the apparent double jackpot. "Yes, isn't she!"
"Not Penny! You! Tell me this isn't what it looks like."
"I'm afraid it is, Frank. This is our daughter-in-law being indiscreet with another man."
"Rubbish! What I mean is, tell me you haven't hired a private detective to follow Penny!"
"Well I did as a matter of fact, and it's just as well from the look of it. I knew there was something funny going on."
Angela gradually woke up to the fact that Frank was actually angry with her. She didn't know whether to take offence or find it amusing. Frank had always been too soft on Penny. They had been unlikely allies in all sorts of business, much to her disapproval. Well this would put an end to that.
Frank grabbed the picture and tore it smartly in two, then fed it into the shredder. "You're not thinking straight, Angela. You don't know how dangerous this is. It might destroy their marriage. Think of the boys. Think of David!"
She looked at him, almost sympathetically. How could anyone be so dense? "That's a print from a digital photograph, Frank. All I have to do is run off another copy."
He could feel the anxiety rising, his chest beginning to tighten, his temples swelling. "The picture shows nothing. She was just giving the man a friendly peck - he might be a,… well I don't know. Who is he?"
"She probably met him at that oriental class she goes to."
"You mean you don't know? God, what kind of a detective did you hire? So he's a friend, perhaps, an acquaintance? Your sister gives me bigger pecks than that - are you suggesting we're having a an affair too?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Frank."
"The only one being ridiculous is you, Angela."
"Oh, you're so naive."
"If you showed me a picture of her in bed, sucking on this man's how's your father, then I might be persuaded to admit you have a point - but even then it would be none of our business. You've no idea what you've done. Hiring someone to follow Penny,… it's despicable. What possessed you?"
Before Angela had a chance to gather steam and come back at him, Frank stomped away, slamming several doors in a fit of pique. She fumed quietly for a while but decided to let it drop, secretly impressed by Frank's dander. And of course, he was right: She'd read too much into the photograph. Oh, she knew what she was looking at all right. Penny's eyes were closed as she kissed this man, her fingers lightly curled around his arm, her expression stupidly blissful. The angle of them, the mood of the picture - it all spoke of intimacy and secrets shared, but Penny could easily explain it away, as Frank had done - as no more than an innocent peck on the cheek. Angela was on the scent now though; she smelled blood and she was not about to let it drop. Herbert Blakedon would be getting another call in the morning.
Meanwhile, Frank sat in a daze in the lounge. They all played willing parts in Angela's universe, played them the way she expected them to - him the docile mouse of a husband, David the dutiful son who was always slighting his wife in order not to upset his mother. And that was fine, insidiously debilitating though it was, no one got physically hurt. Also, when they needed a decisive weapon, someone to send into the shop to do battle with the snotty sales manager, or the call centre fob-merchant, they all relied on Angela's uncanny ability to retain her rational arguing skills while otherwise shouting-hot with a formidable anger.
Except Penny.
Penny was the only one who still knew how to stand on her own two feet. She was the only one Angela had not succeeded in removing the legs from, to replace them with castors - all the easier to push her around with into the positions she preferred. But this,… this was different. This was like upsetting the chessboard because you didn't like the way the game was progressing - it didn't just take out the offending piece. It affected all of them, to say nothing of the other party - the mysterious stranger whom Penny was seen kissing,… and his family.
It occurred to him then that his anger was not on account of Penny being unjustly accused of adultery. Indeed, though it would have surprised him, he would not have blamed her for seeing another man at all. The adultery was not the point. It was playing the game, and it irked him that no one could understand that any more. His own father had kept a mistress the whole of his married life, but he'd been careful to give everyone sufficient room to pretend otherwise and had never publicly done anything to bring shame upon them. So long as it was all feasibly deniable, it didn't matter a damn. Anyone could have exposed it if they'd had a mind to, but no one did. One never poked a grizzly bear with a sharp stick, just to see if it was really asleep. It simply wasn't done! No wonder society was in such a bloody mess! People seemed no longer capable of grasping even the basics!
Chapter 22
Phil was sure he'd used to notice his ear ringing every day, intruding into all the other sounds he experienced - the whine of computer hard-drives, the thrumming of his car, the rumble of machinery at work. It was still ringing, but now he could go for a few days at a time without noticing it. Either he was just getting used to it, or he was getting better. He didn't dare to hope, in case such unguarded optimism set him back. It would be the answer t
o a prayer though if it was getting better, because he couldn't keep the acupuncture up for much longer.
Sally's father had told her more than once that it was all nonsense - primitive medicine for the rural poor of China, while the urban rich went to see proper doctors. Phil could still hear Sally quoting these words back at him as if they were her own, but it was Trevor he knew he was speaking to. And how much was it costing? A hundred a month? We should be investing that - have you thought about how we're going to afford to put the children through university? If you gave my dad that hundred a month he says he could tie it up in some really high yield shares for a while and come the time, we won't have to worry about education fees.
Sally was careful not to reveal the full extent of this conversation to Phil because she knew he was funny like that, but she wanted that money, and she wanted it now. Phil would be okay about it, she'd decided because he seemed more like his old self lately, quite pleasant and easily persuaded.
They'd gone for boeuf bourguignon because it was the only dish they could translate into something meaningful. Phil had settled into the atmosphere of the restaurant straight away, which surprised him because he was usually ill at ease in any social setting - he'd even had a friendly joke with the waiter, which was unusual for someone so self absorbed, but now, as he was enjoying his main course, Sally brought up the subject of the acupuncture yet again. Phil took it on the side of the head, not sure where the ball had come from.
"But,… but it is working, Sally."
"How can it - it's all nonsense."
"My ear's not ringing now. It used to ring all the time."
"Then it was all in your mind - or it was going to get better on its own anyway."
"Well I've thought about that and you could be right I suppose, but I honestly think there's more to it."
"Well, either way you can give it up if it's cured."
"Erm,… sure, but I'd just like to go another month or two. Doctor Lin says I'm improving, but I'm not quite in balance yet and I might end up going backwards if I give up now."
"Well she would say that wouldn't she?"
"I know what you're thinking, and I'd agree with you if it wasn't for the fact that I do seem to be getting better - not just my ear: I feel really good - more energy than I've had in years, sleeping like a baby,… I'm even starting to feel better about my job."
Sally wasn't persuaded. "I'm really happy for you, Phil," she said, sarcastically.
"You should try it."
"No thanks. By the way, I've been meaning to ask: attractive woman is she, this Doctor Lin?"
Phil's mood finally gave way under the unexpected needling of Sally's tone. He was upset, and surprised the feeling could have come on him so suddenly. They'd been getting along really well - and the atmosphere in the restaurant was so pleasant, the meal so good, and Sally's dress so pretty - he'd half hoped he might even risk moving things along a bit in the bedroom department later on, but suddenly she was sitting there with a sharp stick and the balloon of his fantasy was draped in tatters over his face.
He sighed, letting the air out of him until his lungs were flat and he had to draw a sudden breath. "Yes she is," he said - no sense in denying it, he thought. "Lovely personality too. And I admire her. She's not been in England long and didn't speak much of the language at first, but now she manages very well. I imagine myself upping sticks and trying to manage in China as an Engineer, and I know I wouldn’t last five minutes. But her? She's sharp, energetic, confident in herself and gutsy."
"And young?"
"Not especially - about my age possibly, or maybe a bit older."
"Do you have fantasies about her?"
Sally would have been horrified to know just how many women he'd had fantasies about - at least until he'd gained a handle on this Caroline business. But it was a bit galling to be accused of fantasising about a woman he'd particularly avoided making that mistake with.
"That's a bit cheap, Sal."
"So you have then. It's all right. I can understand: It's just your age."
"No it's not. You don't know anything about it."
"Why doesn't the good doctor want to practice in her own country?"
"I don't know. The money's probably better over here. If she’s any sense she’ll make as much money as she can, before going home. She still has family in China."
He knew where this was leading. Sally was thinking that Doctor Lin was taking their hundred a month and investing it in her own future, when they could have been investing it in theirs. But Phil's mood was soured and he wasn't sure they had a future at all now. True, they'd been getting on better and Sally hadn't mentioned the Tai Chi business recently, but that was only because he wasn't practising at home any more - only at the orchard - gone underground so to speak, in order to avoid giving offence - like Penny was reading the Bhagavad Gita in her break-times at work - to avoid upsetting her bigoted oaf of a husband.
It was funny how quickly hope could be shattered and leave you standing there feeling foolish for daring to have had any hope in the first place. It was also easy at such times to resent all the more the person who seemed to be making a fool out of you. It was his health for pity's's sake! Why couldn't she trust him on it? He imagined himself struck down with some terrible disease and wasting away for want of a very expensive drug that the cash-strapped N.H.S. wouldn't pay for and Sally simply tut-tutting and refusing to hand over the bank book because she wanted a new carpet instead - or an en-suite bathroom. All right - maybe that was going a bit far, but if she was sick, he'd move heaven and earth to make sure she had what she needed - and even what she didn't need she could have anyway if he'd thought it might make her feel better. Sure - she knew her own mind, he thought. He'd let her do whatever she decided was best for herself - even if he thought it was stupid. Did that mean he didn't love her any more? Or had he just grown up and realised you must respect others for what they are and not for whom you would like them to be?
He thought of the Tai Chi, and smiled. It was something he wanted to do, but he couldn't talk about it for fear of upsetting some strange prejudice in her. Or, sometimes he brought it up because he knew the very mention of it irritated her. Oh,… this was hopeless! Did she want him to run off with someone else? Well he bloody well could you know? He could do it very easily!
He set down his knife and fork and pushed the plate away. Then he drained his wine and resigned himself to leaving his dinner half eaten - even though the bill for it would probably cost more than a month's acupuncture, but he couldn't face another bite.
Sally knew she'd gone too far, but she wouldn't leave it alone. "What's the matter? Aren't you enjoying it?"
He gazed down at the mess of diced beef and onions, a ruin of a meal, brown gravy curdled and shell holed and heartbreaking, like the Somme, he thought: a hopeless stalemate in the mud, one in which it was accepted that men would be lost in their tens of thousands every day. It had puzzled him all his life, why no one had looked upon that staggering loss and said - hold on a minute this is stupid. Was his marriage like that? Why did he have to keep taking bullets in the gut all the time? He thought of Penny, remembered the softness of her innocent kiss upon his cheek that morning outside of the orchard, and he felt like crying.
Still she persisted. "I said aren't you enjoying it? Honestly you're on a different planet these days."
"I don't think I want any more, Sal."
"Oh? And I'm supposed to just sit here and eat mine then am I, with you sulking at me?"
"I'm not sulking Sal."
"Yes you are."
"Sally, you've been talking to your father, haven't you?"
"Well - can I not talk to my dad? Am I not allowed?"
"You know it bothers me that you discuss our private business with him."
Sally flushed and went quiet. The last thing Phil wanted was a row, especially here, and he regretted saying anything. Now he was trapped and what had begun as a pleasant evening in a lovely restaurant had tr
ansformed itself into an ordeal in a torture chamber from which there was little hope of early release. What was he going to do? Who could he talk to about this - well Penny obviously, but that wasn't fair on Penny, and what had Lara said: every confidence he shared with Penny was a confidence he should have been sharing with Sally. Except he could no longer share anything with Sally. What was a man to do when his wife could no longer be his friend? A man needed a female friend. It could be his wife, or someone else - that was up to his wife and she was bloody stupid if she couldn't see that.
No. Don't be an insensitive ass, Phil. Just try a bit harder. Show a bit of backbone, man!
He set down his napkin admiring for a moment the smoothness of the linen while he gathered courage, then he looked up directly into Sally's eyes to see if there was any trace of the woman he had married. She was older of course, a little more heavily set. She was still a beauty, except her lips were taking on a permanent droop, a permanent scowl when she relaxed. He asked himself once more: Was it his fault she was so unhappy?
"Let's pay up and get out of here," he said.
"What? We've only just arrived. What will they think?"
"I don't care Sally. We need to talk."
Her eyes darted nervously from side to side and Phil fancied she was looking for a way out.
"Come on, I'm going," he said.
He paid at the bar, mumbling some excuse about being called into an emergency meeting at work. He almost felt himself swelling with self importance as he lied through his teeth, that he could ever be so important, that he could be called at a moment's notice into an important meeting on anything!
He was going to have it all out with Sally - tell her they couldn't go on like this. He was going to drive her up to that quiet lay-by on the moors where they'd used to go when they were courting, and he was going to ask her if she still loved him, ask her if she still wanted to be married to him. And if she couldn't look him in the eye when she replied, he was going to ask her if she wanted to carry on - if not, then he'd move out in the morning. Is that man enough, for you?
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