by Penny Jordan
Like her, he had to read it twice, and when he had he put it back on the table and told her quietly, ‘This will have to go to the police.’
‘No!’ Maggie denied immediately.
‘Maggie, it’s a poison pen letter,’ Oliver told her. ‘The…the person who sent it is sick and needs help.’
‘Oliver, I don’t want to involve the police. I…’
‘Why not?’
Maggie shook her head.
‘We both know who this letter has come from, Maggie. You said yourself that Nicki—’
‘No!’ Maggie protested despairingly. ‘No…She would never do anything like this. Never…She’s my friend, she’s…Oh, Oliver, she can’t have done it. Please, please promise me you won’t go to the police. Please promise me you won’t do anything,’ she begged him huskily. ‘Let’s just forget it. Let’s just forget that it ever happened. Please!’
‘Forget it?’ Oliver was appalled. ‘Maggie, we can’t! For Nicki to have sent you this letter she must be seriously unbalanced, and perhaps even dangerous.’
‘We don’t know that it was Nicki!’ Maggie protested immediately, but she could tell from Oliver’s face that her panic had given her away.
‘Who else could it possibly be?’ he demanded. ‘Who else could possibly know so much?’
‘She’s my friend,’ Maggie protested. She was almost in tears—tears of shock. Tears of pain, tears of grief and anger and disbelief that this could be happening.
‘Is she?’ Oliver’s expression had hardened. ‘You said yourself that her reaction to your news had upset you,’ he reminded her. When she remained stubbornly silent, he added in exasperation, ‘Maggie, I don’t understand you. I know what you’ve put yourself through in order to have this baby, and I know just how much it means to you, and yet here you are behaving as though suddenly Nicki is the most important person in your life…protecting her at the potential expense of our child! Deliberately blinding yourself to what she’s doing!’
‘Oliver that’s unfair…unjust,’ Maggie objected fiercely. ‘Nicki would never, ever deliberately hurt a child.’
‘Really. But she doesn’t mind hurting you, does she, Maggie? And you are carrying a child…our child. Surely she must realise the effect receiving a letter like that could have? And if she doesn’t, then it’s damned well time that she was made to realise, via the law if necessary. And if you won’t report this letter—’
‘Oliver, if you take that letter to the police—’ Maggie stopped, white-faced, as they confronted one another.
For the first time in their relationship an argument had produced a mutually hostile silence.
Oliver ached to reach out to her, to hold her, but he ached too with hurt that she should put Nicki before him and their baby.
Maggie was also distraught. Why couldn’t Oliver understand how she felt, how reluctant she was to accept that Nicki could have done something so terrible? And, more importantly, why. To Maggie her friends were her family, the closeness they all shared the foundation of the life she had built for herself in the aftermath of her divorce. To think of Nicki sending her that letter was to think the unthinkable, and that was what she had wanted Oliver to say to her.
She ached for the strong comfort of his arms, the warmth of his protective body, his protective love, but she couldn’t let him go to the police!
Maggie ached all over, inside and out. She went to the bedroom and, curling into a small protective ball in the middle of the bed, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut against her tears.
Oliver found her there, small and vulnerable in their big bed, and he couldn’t help himself as he pulled her into his arms.
Tears choked Maggie’s voice.
‘I’m sorry I let you think that Nicki is more important to me than you or the baby,’ she told him sadly. ‘She isn’t. But she is my friend, Oliver, and I can’t…’
‘Maggie, Maggie. Please don’t cry,’ Oliver begged her as he held her tighter in his arms. ‘The last thing I want to do is to upset you. It’s just that I feel so damned angry and so damned helpless.’
As she looked at him, unable to stop himself, he kissed her. Maggie gave a small emotional shiver, and wrapped her arms closely round him.
‘I’m still not happy about what Nicki’s done,’ Oliver told Maggie softly. ‘But…’
‘But you agree that I should be the one to deal with the situation and that you won’t go to the police,’ Maggie insisted.
‘I agree,’ he sighed, ‘but you’ll never convince me that she didn’t send it or that she should be allowed to get away with it. She’s your friend, Maggie, and now that you’ve explained to me how you feel I have to respect those feelings, but I don’t think I will ever be able to accept what she’s done.’
Then they kissed again, relieved that they had cleared the air between them.
9
Zoë groaned as she woke up. Her head was pounding nauseatingly and her heart thumped with nervous, guilty anxiety.
The bottle of wine she had brought upstairs with her last night—now empty—was on the bedside table, next to a cold cup of tea.
As she struggled to sit up Zoë looked at the alarm clock. Eleven o’clock! It couldn’t be!
The boys! Frantically she pushed back the bedclothes, gritting her teeth against the wave of pain and sickness that gripped her. And then she remembered about Laura. The relief and guilt that filled her made her feel even worse than her alcohol-induced nausea. Her body was beginning to shake whilst her heart pounded furiously. The tips of her fingers and her toes felt slightly numb as her blood-sugar level plummeted. She could remember suggesting to Laura last night that they had a drink, and she could remember Laura shaking her head and refusing. She could even remember the first glass of wine she had poured, but after that…
Getting out of bed, she made her way to her bathroom.
‘More! Do some more,’ William demanded imperiously, tugging on Laura’s sleeve. Obligingly she reached for a fresh sheet of paper. Who would have thought that the simple paper shapes she had learned to make as a child would prove so absorbing to today’s generation?
Laura had always liked children. At one stage, as a young girl, she had even considered working with them, but that had been before her mother had died.
Even so, when she had arrived at Zoë’s the previous evening she had been wondering if she was doing the right thing.
This morning, unsure of what the boys’ routine was, she had gone into Zoë’s bedroom to ask her, only to discover that Zoë was deep in an obviously alcoholic sleep.
Laura had got the boys up and dressed, and made both them and herself some breakfast, waiting an hour before taking Zoë a cup of tea, but to her dismay Zoë had still been deeply asleep.
Laura frowned as she recalled her new employer’s reaction the previous evening when Laura had refused the glass of wine she had offered.
‘God, I hope you aren’t going to be boring, Laura. I get enough of that from my husband and my mother,’ Zoë had complained. ‘There’s nothing wrong in enjoying a glass of wine, you know. In fact, it’s very good for you!’
A glass of wine might well be, Laura reflected now, but a bottle was surely a different matter.
They were in the middle of a counting game, much to the excited enthusiasm of the boys, when Zoë walked into the kitchen, grimacing and closing her eyes as she exclaimed sharply, ‘For God’s sake, you two, stop that noise!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised when she saw Laura’s expression. ‘It’s just that I’ve got the most dreadful headache. I think that bottle must have been corked…’
‘Mummy, look what Laura’s done,’ William demanded, reaching excitedly for the paper aeroplane Laura had made.
‘What on earth is it?’ she asked, wincing when William showed her by launching the plane towards her.
‘Oh, very good!’ she told Laura, sniffing disparagingly. ‘Although it’s hardly rocket science, is it? Hell, I’m sorry,’ she apologised
contritely and almost immediately. ‘I can be such a bitch at times. I don’t know what gets into me…Yes, I do,’ she corrected herself ruefully. ‘It’s my way of rebelling against having a perfect mother. Perfect so far as everyone else is concerned, that is. I’m glad you’re here, Laura,’ she continued. ‘You and I have a lot in common. We’re both victims of the Fabulous Foursome. Thanks for sorting the kids out, by the way. I was in a real panic when I woke up and realised what time it was.’
‘I wasn’t sure what their routine was,’ Laura told her warily. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the instant intimacy that Zoë seemed to want to share with her. In the cold light of day, agreeing to come and work for her looked as though it could be an impulsive decision she was going to regret making. But then, she reminded herself, she had not had much option, had she?
Her face burned as she remembered her row with Nicki.
Kneeling beside her mother’s grave the previous day, she had whispered to her, ‘At least I’ve told her now. At least I’ve done something…’ Her tears had flowed as she’d relived the pain and anger she had felt listening to her father betraying her dying mother with Nicki, wanting to remind her father of where his loyalties should lie, wanting to protect her mother too, and hating herself for not being strong enough to do so almost as much as she had hated Nicki for what she’d been doing.
And yet telling Nicki what she had heard, throwing in her face the evidence of her guilt and deceit, had not given her the satisfaction she had anticipated.
‘You should have seen Ma’s face when I told her that you were going to be looking after the boys,’ Zoë gloated.
Laura gave her a startled look.
‘Your mother knows that I’m here?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Zoë confirmed carelessly. ‘She thought she was indispensable and that I couldn’t manage without her. Well, now she knows she was wrong.’
Laura frowned. All she had told her father was that she had got herself a temporary live-in job.
‘Really, I should have done something like this ages ago,’ Zoë was saying. ‘I mean, with Ian away such a lot it makes sense for me to have someone living in. There’s a small studio flat over the garage. It’s empty at the moment but it wouldn’t take much to get it furnished for you, and that way you would have your own privacy…’
And, far more importantly, she would have Ian to herself when he was at home, Zoë decided. Fortunately Laura wasn’t Ian’s type, she was too thin, and serious-looking. And as for her clothes! They were sensible enough for wearing around small children but they were hardly sexy, Zoë decided smugly.
‘You were going to tell me about the children’s routine,’ Laura prompted.
‘What? Oh, yes. Well, Ian insists that they have good table manners, and of course I only allow them to have natural organic foods.’
Silently Laura raised an eyebrow. The fridge and cupboards when she had opened them this morning had been full of TV meals and pre-packaged foods. Not that she objected to what Zoë was saying. She believed in eating healthily herself. Nicki had always been very particular about the food they all ate, and indeed she still was.
Irritably Laura reminded herself that Nicki was supposed to be her enemy, and that therefore, surely, her cooking was to be despised, even if she did make the best risotto that Laura had ever tasted!
‘They both go to playschool, and then there’s their gym class. I’ll give you a list. Oh, God, my head,’ Zoë complained.
‘How about a cup of tea and a couple of aspirin?’ Laura suggested.
‘The tea, yes, but the aspirin, no,’ Zoë replied with a shudder. ‘I doubt my stomach could take them.’
Laura had just finished pouring the tea when George ran in, announcing excitedly, ‘Grandma’s here.’
‘Oh, God, no,’ Zoë moaned. ‘She’s come to check up on you,’ she warned Laura. ‘Bet you…’
Alice hesitated as George opened the kitchen door and flung his arms round her. She had been undecided about whether or not she should call, but in the end, for the sake of the boys, she felt that she had to.
‘Hello, Ma,’ Zoë greeted her laconically. ‘No prizes for guessing why you’re here. Laura, come and be inspected by my mother.’
Laura knew that her own face was burning but it surprised her to see that Alice’s was as well.
‘Laura made us aeroplanes,’ George told Alice. ‘Look!’
Alice started to smile as she saw what he was showing her. ‘Heavens, it’s years since I’ve seen one of those. I used to make them for the twins.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Laura heard Zoë muttering.
‘Can you make those things that you write words on?’ Alice asked Laura reminiscently. ‘I remember we made them at school and Nicki—’
‘I think so.’ Laura laughed.
Really, when she was not being defensive Laura was an obviously confident and attractive young woman, Alice decided. She certainly seemed to have gained the boys’ confidence. A little warily, Alice studied Zoë. Her face looked pale and puffy and there was a look in her eyes that warned Alice that she was in one of her most difficult moods.
‘I didn’t realise you were used to working with children, Laura,’ Alice commented gently.
‘Ma, I thought you said that Dad had gone to the city for a meeting,’ Zoë overrode her rudely.
‘Yes, he has,’ Alice agreed.
‘Well, he wasn’t in a meeting when Ian saw him sharing a very intimate lunch with some woman yesterday! According to Ian they were so engrossed in one another that Dad never even saw him.’
Zoë knew that she was embroidering Ian’s comments, but it gave her a savage sense of pleasure to see the look in her mother’s eyes and to know that she had caught her off guard. It was time that Alice acknowledged that their roles were now reversed and that it was she, Zoë, who had the most power. Ian earned far more than her father, her home was much bigger than her mother’s, her circle of friends far, far wider, and as for her sex life, well, she doubted that her mother had ever given her father the kind of satisfaction that she gave Ian. Her mother probably wasn’t even properly orgasmic. She wasn’t the type!
‘I think I’ll just take the boys out into the garden whilst it’s dry,’ Laura suggested diplomatically. Did Zoë regularly drink as much as she had done last night, Laura wondered uneasily, and if she did did Alice know about it?
Alice waited until the door had closed behind Laura and her grandsons before asking Zoë with quiet dignity, ‘What exactly are you trying to imply, Zoë?’
‘I’m not trying to imply anything,’ Zoë denied virtuously. ‘I’m just telling you what Ian told me—that he saw Dad having lunch with another woman. You said he told you he had a meeting. I thought that you’d want to know—I certainly would in your shoes! Of course, I can understand how difficult it would be for you if there was someone else. After all, you’re totally dependent on Dad financially, aren’t you?’
Was this really her daughter, her child, speaking to her like this, deliberately trying to frighten and hurt her? Alice closed her eyes. Her immediate, instinctive reaction was to ask Zoë why she was behaving like this, but she already knew the answer from years of experience. Zoë was behaving like this because this was the way she liked behaving. Because she was Zoë!
‘A meeting covers a variety of situations, Zoë,’ she responded as calmly as she could. ‘Ian—’
‘Ian would never be unfaithful to me,’ Zoë interrupted her furiously. Her face had gone even whiter, and her voice rose sharply in panic and denial. ‘Never!’
Zoë shook her head melodramatically, and as Alice watched she felt a familiar sense of helpless irritation and despair wash over her. Zoë was a first-class architect of confrontational situations, of arguments that always led to the same place—that place being the pain her mother had condemned her to as a child, or so she claimed!
There was no guilt like a mother’s guilt, Alice reflected wearily, no sense of failure more aloe-flavoured a
nd haunting than that of a woman who had failed her child.
‘Well, for your information—’ Zoë continued, stopping abruptly as pain splintered through her head and her stomach heaved.
As she rushed to the cloakroom to be sick Alice followed her, her irritation forgotten in her maternal anxiety. In the enclosed space of the cloakroom Alice could smell the alcohol fumes mixed with the vomit.
Zoë’s drinking was something outside her experience, and beyond her comprehension. Heavy drinking as a socially acceptable pastime for young women and one they could openly boast about, describing themselves as ‘well bladdered’ and ‘totally pissed’, was an aspect of the modern ‘ladette’ culture that Alice knew she would never be able to accept with equanimity.
‘Zoë!’ she protested, unable to stop herself.
‘What?’ Zoë demanded, flushing the lavatory and splashing her face with cold running water.
‘Your drinking,’ Alice began uncomfortably.
‘What about it?’ Zoë asked angrily, heading back towards the kitchen, leaving Alice to follow her. ‘Everyone does it, Ma. The days are gone when a woman was only allowed to sip genteelly on a bloody Babycham. Don’t you ever read the papers, or watch television? Modern women drink and why the hell shouldn’t we? Anyway, haven’t you got things you should be doing? Comparing washing powders with all the other has-been miseries, that sort of thing? It’s different for us, Ma, we’re a different generation, a new generation and we do things our own way. And if that means enjoying a drink and living life, then I’m all for it. Have you any idea just how boring you are, Ma? Personally, I wouldn’t blame Dad if he did find someone else. I mean, who stays with the same partner for as long as you and Dad have any more?’
Even as she spoke Zoë could feel her own panic growing. If her father could be unfaithful to her mother…leave her mother…then just how vulnerable did that make her? Her mother had no right to allow such a thing to happen. It couldn’t happen, nothing could happen that might threaten her own fragile security. Her parents’ marriage was her own benchmark of what security and love was, and she had convinced herself that if she could just mirror her mother’s life then her own would be safely secure, she would be safely secure. But she still couldn’t stop herself from deliberately goading Alice.