Splintered Ice

by Stuart G. Yates

  “Not exactly – not that part anyway. More an attempt to explain things, give some meaning to why it's all happened again.”

  Larry stiffened. “You knew about what she was planning on doing?”

  A terrible silence hung in the air, pressing down over all of them. Larry's eyes bored into Mat, whose face drained of colour. “No, of course I didn't. But I wasn't surprised. I just thought that if both of you knew what had happened, the reasons for it, it might make things easier. That's all.”

  “And how do you know?” Jed's voice was low, quiet, the voice of someone trying desperately to come to terms with betrayal, and failing miserably.

  “Because my dad told me.”

  11

  Over the course of the next twelve months, give or take, Mary would see him and they would talk. Gradually their friendship blossomed and she found herself looking forward to catching sight of his cheery face. He was kind and thoughtful, always had something good to say; usually about her. This cheered her no end and was almost enough to get her through the day. Almost. Her husband often came home in a black mood. Sometimes Frank would accuse her of being with someone else and she grew terrified someone had dropped a hint to him, or he'd noticed her cheery mood. Was he spying on her, the way he had with the postman?

  He continued hitting her. An innocent glance, a disparaging word would send him into a rage. If she went to the local shop to buy a loaf of bread, he would follow her. And if he saw her talking to the man behind the counter, he would fly at her, accusations screaming out of his mouth. She denied all of it, but he'd retort, 'But I saw you, with my own eyes!' and a beating would follow. Home gradually became more of a prison as Mary chose to stay indoors rather than run the risk of another slap or punch.

  One morning, she got up the courage to tell David how low she was. As an apprentice draughtsman, he had day-release at the local metropolitan college. Wednesday afternoons he finished early. Wednesday was always supposed to be Mary and Ida's day, when they would take the bus over to Birkenhead market and shop for bargains. But this particular day, Ida was unwell. “There'll always be next week,” said Ida, looking and sounding dreadful when Mary had gone round to visit her old friend. “And, besides, it will give you some time to think about things.”

  “Think about things.”

  “Yes, about you and Frank. It can't go on, May. He's going to hurt you badly one of these days. Whilst Matthew is at his gran's, you try and sort things out. I'll support you however I can, but in the end it's up to you.”

  Of course, she knew the sense of Ida's words. No one was going to do it for her. Only she could make the decision to pack her suitcase and walk out. But to walk out on Matthew? How could she do that, how would she ever be able to live with herself?

  The solution was simple – she could take Matthew with her. But where? To live in a lodging house? She shuddered at the thought of it.

  David found her in the corner shop. She turned and almost cried out when she saw his smiling face, beaming away at her. Her stomach did a little somersault when he spoke, “Hello Mary. You're looking lovely, as always.”

  She was wearing an old, faded pinny with a printed floral design that did nothing for her except exaggerate the fact that she was a hard-working, very unhappy housewife. She knew he was talking nonsense, but it felt nice nevertheless.

  Mr Emery behind the counter clicked his tongue and handed over Mary's bag of shopping. “Not off to Town today then, May?”

  Mr Emery was probably the closest thing she had to a father, and she had no intention of lying. “No. Ida's sick. A lazy day at home for me today.”

  “Well, you'd better go straight there, then. Hadn't you?”

  Those last few words, heavy with insinuation, caused the heat to rise to her cheeks. Brushing away a lock of hair from her forehead, she gave David her best effort at looking demure, and floated out, heart thumping.

  She hadn't reached as far as the street corner before he came running up next to her, and took the carrier bag from her hand. She gasped, startled by his sudden appearance. “What are you doing?” she asked, letting her fingers slip from the handle of the bag.

  “Just helping. You look tired. Doing too much, I shouldn't wonder.”

  They usually spoke for around two or three minutes. Just idle chit-chat about this-and-that. He made her laugh. He was young, only seventeen, but he seemed so much older. He had a confidence about him, an assuredness that belied his years. And now, here she was, a grown woman, her heart fluttering at his attentions.

  “Where's the little one?”

  “Matthew? Oh, he's at his gran's. I usually go to Birkenhead today, but…” She shrugged, smiled.

  “Yes. You said. Your friend's ill. So, you'll be all alone. Doesn't seem fair somehow, does it.”

  “Fair?” she laughed, awkwardly, no humour. “Since when has life been fair?”

  “Look, why don't we catch the number eleven down to Vale Park, go and have a bite to eat at the teahouse?”

  She gawped at him. Had she heard him correctly?

  It was his turn to laugh, “It was only a suggestion – you'd think I'd asked you to run away with me.”

  “You may as well have – if Frank ever found out—”

  “Well, he's not going to. Look,” he linked arms with her and steered her towards the front door. “Why don't you go and put some powder on, or whatever it is you ladies do, and I'll go and get change. I'll see you back here in fifteen minutes, just in time to get that bus.”

  Before she could raise an objection, he was gone, handing back the bag then breaking into a brisk jog across the road to his aunt's house, where he was staying. She stood there, speechless, heart pounding. It was some time before she recovered her wits sufficiently enough to go back inside and put on that powder.

  Mary felt like a schoolgirl playing truant as they sat on the top deck of the bus. He lit up two cigarettes and past one over top her in his best Paul Henreid manner. If she was feeling like Bette Davis, she didn't say anything, but inside she was in turmoil. Here she was, sharing intimate moments with a young man with whom, up until then, she had innocently chatted with in the street. She would never have believed it possible that she would find herself in this situation. She looked out of the window and smiled, tummy doing tiny summersaults, thrilled, despite everything – her doubts, her worries about Frank. Glancing around, convinced that every second person glared at her with eyes burning with accusations, she slowly realized she didn't actually care what they thought. It was wonderful to be away from the house, away from the street, away from the smell and feel of Frank. To be alone with another man, my God, could she have ever hoped for such a thing again in her life? Trapped, saddled to the sink, life mapped out for her. Yes, she had plans for running away, but that's all they were ever going to be – dreams, fantasies, call it what you will, she knew in her heart of hearts that she would never do anything about any of it. This was her existence. Frank. Frank and his foul temper, his stinking armpits, that pigeon-chest that gleamed so white, like chicken skin, freshly plucked. What did she ever see in him a hundred years ago when they first met? Wasn't he kind and strong and brave then? Wasn't he just everything she had ever wanted in a partner? What had happened, where had that dashing hero gone? And would she want him back if he simply reappeared on her doorstep…the way David had? Young, fresh, so gentle, so kind…David…

  Mary didn't pull away when they linked arms and walked along the prom towards Vale Park. So what if anybody recognised her, would they say anything? Frank didn't have many friends, and those he had would be at work. Everything was going to be all right, it was the perfect plan because it was all so spontaneous. And so wonderful.

  As if to confirm her happy mood, the sun was out and the grass smelt fresh and clean, newly mown. Some older couples, sipping tea at the little cafe, huddled up in their overcoats despite the sunshine, were the only other people out and about. She turned to David and caught him smiling. She laughed and he said, “
Do you think we'll be like that one day?”

  She almost gasped, but did her best not to react. Was it meant, or simply an 'off the cuff' remark? She held onto his arm tighter still, “I hope not,” she breathed and he pulled her closer, then paused to look at a large flower bed, planted out in the shape of a clock face, ready to burst into bloom.

  “I reckon all couples say that, you know.” He seemed far away for a moment, staring at the flowers that had not get sprung into life, just a few green stubs beginning their courageous struggle to meet the sun. “We spend our whole lives not wanting to grow old and then, suddenly, we are. Then all we do is look back, wishing we were young again.”

  “David,” she said, aghast, “you mustn't talk like that – you're only young.”

  “Yes.” But he remained distant, thinking of something, something dark, or so it seemed to her. Then, just as quickly, he brightened, and turned to her, holding her by the waist as he looked down into her wide eyes. “Let's go and get some tea and a slice of cake.”

  “Decadent,” she said sweetly.

  “Ooh yes, I do hope so!”

  Laughing, they rushed to an empty table.

  It was warm as they strolled towards Egremont Ferry. “I've had a lovely day,” she said.

  “Me too. What time does your husband get home from work?”

  She stiffened a little, reality biting home. “Around six-ish. It depends. Sometimes later, never earlier. He works long hours.”

  “And what time do you pick the little one up?”

  “Oh…Frank normally goes and gets him on Wednesdays. It's our little routine, you see. Wednesday is my day. Weekends are his. He's off out all day Saturday, down to the pub with his mates. Bookies, ciggies, lots of drinking. There's usually a match he goes to, either Liverpool, sometimes Tranmere. If there's no football, then it's rugby. Summer is horse-racing and cricket. There's always somewhere he's off to. Then Sunday he's in bed.”

  “Bloody hell, doesn't leave you much time to yourself does it. One day a week. Doesn't seem fair, somehow.”

  “Since when has 'fair' ever been part of married life, David?”

  “I thought it was supposed to a partnership, of equals?”

  She laughed, “God, how idealistic is that.”

  “I suppose you're right, although I'm no expert.”

  “Would you like to be?”

  “What?”

  “Married?”

  “Married? Good God, I – well, I don't know, to be honest. It's something I've never considered.”

  “Have you got a girlfriend?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Not really? That sounds intriguing.”

  He grinned. “Oh Mary, don't be coy – you know full well what I mean.”

  She didn't, she honestly didn't. She told him so and for the first time since she met him, he blushed. Then she knew, realizing what he meant, and she blushed too.

  At her doorstep, she thanked him once again for such a wonderful day. He stood looking down at his shoes, kicking at an imaginary stone. “I had the best day of my life,” he said very quietly.

  She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek. For a moment, they stared into one another's eyes. She wanted to kiss him properly, but if anyone saw…Instead she let her hand brush across the back of his, then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

  Mary leaned back against the front door, breathing in the cold, empty atmosphere of her little house. How unfriendly it seemed now, and already she was dreading the moment when Frank's key would turn in the door. Closing her yes, she relived for a few precious moments the highlights of the day. The way they had laughed, his smile, the feel of his arm in hers. Seventeen. Good God, he was like a grown man he was so confident. It was all silly nonsense of course, thinking these thoughts. She was a married woman, trapped in an abusive relationship with nowhere to go. She had hopes, but that's all they were. And David wasn't going to change anything. He was just a wonderful diversion, an opportunity to forget the rigours of her life. That's all, nothing else.

  She snapped open her eyes and strode towards the kitchen. It was time to get the tea ready.

  The week crawled by. Every so often she would catch a glimpse of David. Sometimes he would see her, and throw her a smile, or a little wave. He seemed to be aware of just how precarious the situation was. Frank didn't say anything, so no one had revealed to him what had happened at Vale Park. Not that anything had, of course; it was all innocent. Just two friends enjoying one another's company. But Frank wouldn't see it that way of course.

  Soon it was Wednesday again. David would be home early. It was something Mary had been mulling over ever since she'd closed the door on him seven days previously. Should she attempt to manufacture a 'chance' meeting in the hope that they could spend another day together? How could she succeed in finding an opportunity, a moment to catch him, to ask him – the thought made her heart go into overdrive. With every waking second, she could think of nothing else. In the evenings, sitting there listening to the radio, she felt sure Frank could hear her brain working through the various scenarios. But he remained indifferent, preferring to flick through the newspaper back pages before he would spring up and declare he was going to the Pool Inn for a 'quick pint'. She'd sigh with gratitude and relief when he closed the front door, his hobnailed boots clumping off down the street. Left alone, she'd sit back and close her eyes and let herself drift away, imagining all sorts of scenes with David, laughing and joking and sometimes kissing. It made her feel all warm and tingly inside.

  And then, suddenly, it was Wednesday, the day when she was supposed to go shopping with Ida. But when Ida called round, Mary wasn't dressed, hair bedraggled, make-up not applied. “Oh Ida, I'm sorry…it's my turn to be ill.”

  “Oh God,” Ida smiled and shook her head. “I hope you haven't got what I had. It took me days to get myself right. You take care, keep yourself warm. Do you need anything, from the chemist?”

  “From the chemist?”

  “Yes. Pills or something, make you feel better?”

  “Oh – no, I'm fine. Thanks all the same. I'll call round when I'm feeling up to it.”

  “Frank's mother got Matthew?”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “All right. Well, take it easy.”

  Mary stood in the doorway. As Ida closed the gate, he was there, just across the road, coming home from college. Ida might have noticed him, she might not, but David didn't look up, pretending to fix something on his jacket. Mary knew he was loitering, hopefully with intent. And when Ida had turned the corner, sure enough he came over, flashing that smile of his.

  “No shopping again this week?”

  “No, I…” she shrugged. “Another lovely day, isn't it.”

  “Yes. Vale Park again? Do you fancy it?”

  She had to stop herself from shouting out and she took a breath, biting her lip, looking around, her best piece of acting since those dreadful school plays at Christmas time. She always played Mary, mother of God. Her name fitted, and her acting ability. Quiet and serene. Not like now. Not hardly. She brushed away her hair. “That would be…nice.” Then she smiled, gushing now. “I'll put some powder on, should I?”

  “I think that would be nice too.”

  The day was not like the previous week. There was a seriousness about him this time. As they sat in the cafe, at the same table, drinking from seemingly the same teacups, he was quiet, distant, the world's worries on his shoulders. She reached across and touched his arm. He didn't flinch but he looked sad.

  “David…what's the matter?”

  He shrugged. “Oh – you know, thinking.”

  “About what? Do tell me, you look so…pained.”

  “You could say that. I suppose I am…” he forced a smile, but it soon faded. “Mary…” his hand came down on hers, “I see you every day, watch you from my bedroom window. Did you know my room looked out over the street? No, how could you…Well, I sit there and I just
watch your house, the lights going on and off, Frank going to the pub at the same time every night, and I wish…I wish I had the courage to come over and sit with you. Be with you. And then, during the day, before I go off to the office, I always glance over. Sometimes you're there and sometimes you smile. But more often you're not, and I'm depressed all through the day. Mary…” His hand squeezed hers, quite hard. But she didn't pull away. She was mesmerised by him, his words like the warm lapping waves of a faraway south-sea island. They were wonderful. “I don't know how to say this other than to just let it all just spill out…”

  “Say what, David? Say what?”

  “Don't you know? Haven't you guessed?” She shook her head, holding her breath. “I've…oh God…” He put his face in his other hand, ran his fingers through his hair. He looked as if he were in pain and sat there, breathing hard. “Christ – I never…” He looked up, stared deep into her eyes, unblinking, “Mary, I've fallen in love with you.”

  It took her a moment to register what he'd said. Suddenly those gently lapping waves came to a stop. “What?”

  He nodded, just the once. “I love you.”

  Deciding not to take the bus, they walked home, both of them needing to. It was warm, the sky blue. It was as if the whole of nature had come out to cheer David's revelation. But Mary wasn't feeling quite so joyful. His words had left her in a spiral of confused thoughts and emotions. He loved her? Is that what he had said? It was nonsense, of course it was – he was so young, so innocent. Wasn't the truth really a lot more simple – that he was actually infatuated with her? Mary ground her teeth, not allowing herself to accept the truth of his words, because if she did then she would be lost. Vulnerable, lonely, full of desire. Her desire to be loved made her an easy target, a vessel waiting to be filled. God, what a mess.

  Her head ran in a multitude of directions, all of them ending in confusion. He frightened her, or at least his words frightened her. The implication behind them. Flattering, but meaningless. There could never be anything between them, not like that…not love!