by Sue Horsford
“Very.”
Over the last six months, I’d noticed a definite change in my mother. She’d seemed to sleepwalk through our childhood. We were fed and clothed, she attended parents’ evenings, checked our homework and filled stockings for us on Christmas Eve, but she’d never kissed us or cuddled us. She’d never read stories to us at bedtime and I don’t remember ever hearing her laugh, though I suppose she must have done sometimes. She was the reason I’d decided at an early age not to have children, not if it was such a joyless experience.
Leaving my dad helped bring her out of herself somewhat, but she still had a cool reserve and any opinions she may have had she kept very much to herself. Visiting her in the past had always felt awkward, a duty call more than anything else. Apart from our genes, we had nothing in common. We’d sit uncomfortably through an hour of polite conversation. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘How’s Paul?’
‘Fine.’
Now, completely out of the blue, my mother had started speaking her mind, which meant that visits, though still uncomfortable, had become a lot more interesting.
After lunch, Steph ran the self-esteem group in the large room upstairs while Kate and I saw clients. We let Lisa go early as she was complaining of a migraine, so for the last hour, I manned the phones.
The first call was from a lady asking for the number of a refuge. The second was from one of our regulars, Julie, wanting to make an appointment to see Bonnie. The third was a male caller.
A well-spoken man said, “Can you tell me if Barbara is still there, please?”
I drew in a sharp half breath and tried to calm the butterflies that were practicing the tango in my stomach. “I’m afraid there’s no one by that name here,” I said pleasantly.
“Has she already left?” the man asked, equally pleasantly.
“As I said, there’s no one of that name here.”
“Lying bitch!” the man said. “Always bloody interfering! Just wait.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead. I sat there holding the receiver until a woman’s voice came on the line to tell me the other person had hung up. Then I pulled myself together and dialed one-four-seven-one and the same woman told me the caller had withheld their number. I didn’t know what to do, and I wished Steph would hurry up and come out of her group.
Finally she came downstairs and showed the women out. As soon as she closed the front door, I grabbed her. “Come into the kitchen.”
I told her what had happened and she grimaced. “Do you think there’s any chance it wasn’t him?”
“No, if it had been another name maybe, but… How many Barbaras do we know, Steph?”
“Hmm.”
“Besides, I knew his voice. I’ve never heard it before, but I just knew it was Andrew.”
“Did he sound posh?” She opened the back door and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.
“Very posh and smarmy, too, till he turned nasty. Steph, he knew she was here today.”
“Had he followed her, do you think?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter how he found out. The point is, he knows.”
“Have you got a safe number for her?”
“No, she never gave me one. Shit!”
“Right, listen to me.” Steph was firm. “This is not your fault and there’s nothing you can do about it. Maybe he doesn’t really know she was here. Maybe he’s just been ringing round every women’s center in the phone book. If she comes in next week, you can talk to her about it. But, for now, don’t get yourself worked up. Write it up in her file, then get yourself home and give that lovely husband of yours a great big hug.”
“Thanks, Steph, you’re right.”
I wrote everything down in Barbara’s file then took myself off. Paul’s hug would have to wait. I had to get my visit to my mother over first.
I wiped my feet on the welcome mat outside the door of her flat and rang the doorbell. I had a key, but had been told in no uncertain terms not to use it unless I had good reason to believe she was lying dead on the living room carpet.
She came to the door, tall, brittle and impeccably dressed in a navy blue trouser suit.
“You’re early,” she accused me.
“I got out of work early,” I said.
She tutted as if I’d mentioned work just to annoy her, then turned and walked through into her tiny living room where she enthroned herself in her Parker Knoll and looked me up and down, her forehead wrinkling as if she were in pain.
“Good God, Faye. Are you on your way to a Women’s Institute meeting in that skirt?”
“Shall I put the kettle on?”
“Don’t avoid the subject. I wish you’d get a proper job where you don’t have to dress like a social worker.”
“I have a proper job. Tea?”
She shook her head in despair. “I know you’ve always felt plain next to your sister, but that’s no excuse for not making the most of yourself.” Her voice pursued me as I walked through into the kitchen. “Do you want Paul to leave you for someone who makes an effort?”
I don’t care. I filled the kettle then a thought brought me up sharply. Yesterday, when Gabriel had drawn my picture, I’d seen myself through his eyes and I’d truly believed he found me attractive. But now, I saw myself through my mother’s eyes.
What on earth had I been thinking, wondering if Gabriel could be attracted to me? How could he be? I was no warrior woman. I was a prematurely middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and bad dress sense. Besides, why would he be interested in me when he could have Ginny? A flush of shame ignited my cheeks. Gabriel had just been toying with me, having fun at my expense, and I’d been so stupid, so needy and pathetic that I’d fallen for it. Bastard!
Suddenly I despised him and I longed to get home to Paul, to my safe, uncomplicated husband. Paul might have his faults, but he didn’t unsettle me, confuse me, make me tremble. I shook myself. I was not going to waste any more time thinking about bloody Gabriel!
I made coffee for myself and tea for my mother then went back through to the living room. I sat down, and, as always, my gaze fell upon the large gilt-framed photograph that stood on the sideboard. I found it strange that a divorced woman would want memories of her wedding day in daily view, but Ginny thought my mother wanted people to think of her as our dad’s widow rather than his ex-wife, which was quite possibly true.
They did make a handsome couple—my father tall, dark and debonair, and my mother quite pretty, her face lit up by a rare smile.
“I’m going to give that picture to your sister when I go.”
“Oh, okay.” It didn’t matter. I could always get a copy if I really wanted one, which to be honest, I wasn’t sure I did.
“It only seems right,” she continued. “After all, you were never really close to either of us, were you?”
Hardly my fault.
My mother was on a roll. “You were always a loner, always had to go your own way. Always thought you knew best.”
This was old news.
“You said something on the phone about going over to Liverpool,” I said.
“Yes, I need a new dining table.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself asking, Why? You don’t have any friends to invite round for dinner.
“We’ll go next week,” I said. “I’ll take a day’s leave on Wednesday.”
“I’d rather go on Saturday,” she complained.
“Well, I wouldn’t. The city center’s dreadful on Saturdays. It’ll have to be Wednesday.”
“Oh, fine,” she said. “Whenever you can fit me in. I’d hate to be an inconvenience.”
I pressed my lips together. Sometimes it was better just to keep quiet like a dutiful daughter and let her acrimony wash over me. After all, what was the point of her suffering silently throughout our childhood if she couldn’t spew it back all over us from time to time? Or rather over me. She was more guarded around Ginny. Perhaps she was afraid th
e ghost of our father would come back and haunt her.
She was wearing her martyred expression now, the one she always used if she wasn’t getting her own way. “I remember your Aunt Stella saying to me when you were little girls, ‘Faye will be the one to take care of you in your old age. The plain ones are the reliable ones’.”
Thanks, Aunt Stella. Would I have attracted the adjective plain quite so often if I hadn’t been saddled with such a beautiful sister?
“Ginny sends her love,” I said. She’d done nothing of the sort, but perhaps it would distract my mother from her hatchet job.
She sniffed. “I can’t remember the last time your sister visited. Mind you, she never had any time for me. It was always your father with Ginny, the two of them so wrapped up in each other, nothing to spare for anyone else, either of them.”
I felt a sudden kinship with my mother. We were both the unloved ones, excluded from that special father-daughter relationship, and we both were so busy feeling rejected that we had forgotten about each other.
I would have reached out and squeezed her hand, but that would have felt too weird, so instead I said, “I’ll take you to Liverpool on Saturday if you really want.”
“No, dear,” she said, magnanimous in victory. “Wednesday will be fine.”
I wondered if I should tell Paul about the phone call from Andrew, then decided against it. It would only annoy him. Besides, he’d been rather cool to me since the other night and I didn’t fancy confiding in him.
To my surprise, he greeted me with a hug and a kiss. “We’re going out for dinner on Saturday,” he said. “Gabriel’s invited us over to his place. Ginny’s idea, apparently.”
“Ginny’s idea?”
Paul laughed. “Haven’t you spoken to her yet?”
I shook my head, knowing what he was about to say and feeling sick at the thought.
“Well, it looks like the taxi ploy worked.” He laughed again. “Typical Ginny. She always gets her man.”
Chapter Four
“Faye, are you sure you’re okay?” Steph looked worried but I couldn’t tell her what was wrong. I didn’t want her to know how stupid I’d been.
“I’m just a bit tired,” I said. That much was true, anyway. I’d hardly slept last night I was so angry.
Paul had wound me up for a start. Ginny always gets her man, indeed. He’d made it sound as if she’d tracked Gabriel down and caught him with a lasso when all she’d done was flutter her eyelashes at him and suggest they share a cab.
Would I have been so annoyed if I hadn’t known about the photos? I wasn’t sure.
And Gabriel. He’d more or less lied to me, flirting with me in his living room and, all along, Ginny had spent the night in his bed. Or had it happened on the couch? Had he seduced her on the very couch where I’d sat simpering at him, conning myself into the belief that he found me attractive? My stomach churned at the thought.
And as for Ginny. It was dangerous to feel angry with Ginny.
The moment Ginny was born, a beast was born too, a nasty venomous creature that fed on jealousy, hurt and rejection. I’d learned to keep it quiet by reminding myself that she couldn’t help being born beautiful, that she was my sister and I loved her, but the beast was a light sleeper and could wake at any moment.
In the end, though, the only person I could really be angry with was me. Ginny and Gabriel were both consenting adults. They were both single and they were both far better-looking than anyone had a right to be. What could be more natural than the two of them getting together? And what had I expected Gabriel to say? ‘Oh, by the way, I fucked your sister last night?’ For all I knew, Ginny had asked him to say nothing. I deserved everything I got, fantasizing about someone so obviously out of my league.
Steph was peering at me curiously and I realized I was scowling.
I sipped my coffee. “It’s nothing, just the morning after a visit to my mother.” I repeated her remarks about my dress sense and asked for her honest opinion. “Tell the truth. Is it really that bad?”
Steph pursed her lips and looked me up and down, as if she was playing for time while she tried to think of a diplomatic answer. “You don’t make the most of yourself,” she said eventually. “You’ve got a great figure, but you’re always hiding it away. Show it off for once.”
I blushed at the compliment. “I’m too tall,” I muttered.
“Never bothered Nicole Kidman.”
I pulled a face. “Yeah, me and Nicole, we’re so alike. Everyone thinks we’re twins.”
“You couldn’t be twins. She’s at least forty-five.”
“You see, this is why you’re my best friend. You’re making me feel better already.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I’m just making the point that you don’t dress your age. Close your eyes. Now, imagine Nicole Kidman in what you’re wearing.”
She did have a point. An A-line skirt, short-sleeved blouse and flat shoes wasn’t the best look for Nicole.
“Maybe I need a personal shopper,” I joked. “Where’s Gok Wan when I need him?”
“You don’t need him. You’ve got me.”
I glanced at what she was wearing. “I’m not sure.”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll be tasteful. Come on. I love spending other people’s money. We’ll go to the outlet village on Saturday.”
Oh, what the hell. “Okay.”
Steph carried on looking at me critically, hazel eyes narrowing as she studied my hair.
“I know,” I moaned, “total frizz.”
“Remember when we went away to that cottage and you washed your hair, then realized you’d forgotten your hairdryer?”
“What about it?”
“Well, you let it dry naturally and it went into lovely curls, remember? It only went frizzy after you brushed it. I thought you were beautiful with your hair like that.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Faye! You’re a tall, curvy redhead. You’re gorgeous. You just don’t realize it because you’re too busy comparing yourself to Pretty Vacant.”
I laughed. “That’s a new one.”
“Good, isn’t it? I just thought of it.”
“It’s a bit harsh, though. Ginny’s not exactly vacant.”
“Compared to you, she is. I’m not saying it’s her fault. When you look like she does, I suppose you don’t feel you need to try.”
“Whereas I do.”
“Faye, you’ve told me how all your dad ever expected from her was to look pretty. If no one expects anything from you, you tend to rest on your laurels. Yes, she is beautiful, but she’s only averagely intelligent and, I’m sorry, less than averagely interesting. You, on the other hand, are strong and funny and feisty, and, in my opinion, that’s far more attractive than a perfect face.”
That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who’d had to go through life watching the disbelief on people’s faces when Ginny and I told them we were sisters. But she was right about one thing—I didn’t make the most of myself.
“Try this on.” Steph pounced on a rich purple velvet dress with a plunging back.
“Redheads shouldn’t wear purple,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. And blue and green should never be seen, and if you eat your crusts, you’ll have curly hair. Try it on!”
I took it into the fitting room, muttering to myself, but, once I had it on, it was pretty amazing. It was backless, so I wouldn’t be able to wear a bra with it, but my breasts were still firm and high and the way the neckline was cut gave me cleavage without a bra.
I pulled back the curtain and stepped out to see Steph holding a pair of kitten heels the same color as the dress.
“Wow, that’s gorgeous, put these on with it.”
“You know I don’t wear heels.”
Steph put her hands on her hips and gave me a threatening look. “Faye, you are not wearing flats with that dress. Put these on!”
“I’m five foot ten,” I protested.
&nbs
p; “And these are two-inch heels. You’ll only be six foot. How tall is Paul?”
“Six foot.”
“There you go. What’s wrong with being the same size as your husband? Aren’t you all about equality for women?” she asked with a sly grin. “Or do you prefer to look up to him?”
I grabbed the shoes from her and shoved them on my feet. I would still have to look up to Gabriel. Why was I thinking of Gabriel? I wasn’t dressing to please him.
“Well?” I said.
Steph grinned. “Wow, look at you, sex on a stick! Wait till he sees you. He’s gonna want to shag you senseless.”
“Who?”
“Paul, of course. Who did you think I meant? Come on,” she said, without waiting for an answer. “Let’s get these paid for before you change your mind and go home with a twin set and pearls.”
By the time we left, I’d also bought a pair of jeans, a couple of tops, a jacket, two more dresses, and a pair of gold sandals with low wedge heels. Then, when I got home, I washed my hair and left it to dry naturally so it fell around my shoulders in soft corkscrew curls. With my face made up, the dress looked even more sensational, but what would everyone make of such a radical departure from my usual self?
I went in search of Paul to find out. He was in the study with his back to me, checking his emails.
“What do you think?” I asked him.
He turned around and his eyes opened wide. “Wow, you look gorgeous. Why don’t you always have your hair like that?”
“It’s not too much for dinner with Ginny and Gabriel?”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Ginny might be jealous of you, though.”
I laughed, pleased at his interest. “Okay, now you’re just being silly.”
We caught a taxi to Gabriel’s so we could both drink, and as I strolled up the path in the company of my husband and secure in my new-found dislike of Gabriel, I was almost looking forward to the evening. I would be pleasant. I would be friendly, but I would keep my distance.