by A J Waines
‘I’ve been wanting to do that all night,’ he says, then tips up my chin. I close my eyes and as he brushes his lips over mine, I feel the most delicate of touches that melts the point at which my mouth ends and his begins.
‘And I’ve been wanting to do that all night, too,’ he adds.
I’m startled by his self-restrained approach. There is something distinguished and utterly respectful about every move he makes.
I stop him as he starts to unzip my dress and for a moment he must think I’ve changed my mind. Without letting my eyes leave his, I take hold of his hands and carefully press them away. Then, following an overwhelming urge to take the lead, I undo his tie and one by one, I begin unbuttoning his shirt.
So – moments later, it’s he who is half-naked standing before me while I remain fully clothed.
And it’s me who gives that tender, but no-nonsense nudge, that sends him falling back on to the bed. From that moment on my feelings for him escalate on a par with a blaze ripping through an oil refinery.
In the weeks that follow, we’re lifted up and carried away on a passionate and sensual voyage of discovery and I never want to come back.
7
Rachel
Saturday, March 11
The plan is to carry on as though everything is normal. But we’re both falling short.
I’ve been obsessively cleaning like a mad woman and Beth’s avoiding me. We were inseparable when she was growing up and she’s never blocked me out before. She’s never had a secretive or reclusive phase, not even when Russell and I got together, and I’m not sure how to handle it.
Now is the most urgent time for us to be talking to each other, but she’s been spending hours at the leisure centre. She comes back each time looking wrecked and hides in her room.
‘Going up and down the pool is the only thing that keeps me sane,’ she told me yesterday, the only words we exchanged over breakfast.
Beth’s eyes are puffy and sore. She wears sunglasses even though the sky carries nothing but overlapping clouds in shades of grey. She even wears them around the house. Our roles are strangely reversed. After she moved back home in August, I was the one moping around in slow motion, grieving for Russell, and she was getting on with her life.
This morning she’s supposed to be putting together quiz questions on pop music, but she’s disappeared again and her swimsuit is no longer on the radiator.
I head to the King’s Tavern to check all the refurbishments are going to plan. The wrong carpets have arrived for the back room and one of the drains is blocked, but there’s nothing I can’t sort out.
Since the accident, Beth and I have managed to have only one proper discussion: to get our stories straight. Our little script starts on Wednesday night, when we’ll claim she came over to the pub to meet me on her way back from taking a walk and we came home together. Then we used Marvin’s car to do a quick shop at the supermarket.
I’ll tell the truth and say that during the period when he was away, we used the car for a handful of shopping trips and to take gardening tools up to St Andrews to do my usual grave tending. That should take care of any soil strewn in the back.
Then the truth goes blurry again. The story for Thursday night is we didn’t go anywhere. We’ve agreed to say we watched Basic Instinct on DVD from about 8 p.m., because neither of us is likely to forget that title, and then we went to bed. Beth already has the film in her vast collection, so that’s easy.
‘We need to be very careful when we refer to Carl,’ I told her. ‘You need to say Peter mentioned him in passing and that you’d heard he came over to the Theatre now and then. You met him at a party, just the once. That’s it. Simple.’
As it happens, there is one aspect in this awful mess that will work in Beth’s favour. She swears there was no online connection between them and no trail that could possibly link the two of them. Carl was obviously a past master at sneaking around and had insisted that Beth never got in touch with him. In turn, he made contact solely from public telephones in hotels and stations. Perhaps his wife was a consummate snoop and had made life difficult for him in the past.
Yesterday, we cleaned Marvin’s car inside and out, in full view of all the tradesmen at the pub. I made a point of joking around with the hosepipe in front of them, just so everyone would recall how relaxed we were. I also remembered to change the timer on the heating controls, the job I never got to do on Wednesday night.
‘You two sisters, then?’ Rolf, one of the builders, threw out during the banter.
He isn’t the first to suggest Beth and I look alike. Having her so young has shrunk the typical age difference between mother and daughter and I’ve lost weight since Russell died. We both have sleek dark hair, mine is shorter than Beth’s and usually parted in the middle, but I occasionally part it the same way as hers.
Beth overheard and made a pukey sound. ‘That’s gross! You can’t see the wrinkles and double chin from there,’ she jibed, then gave me a look to check whether she was overstepping the mark. I glared at her, sprayed water in her direction and she squealed. That was the only time in the last few days that she’s been her usual self.
Electricians and decorators have been back and forth to the cellar since the incident, but there’s nothing to see. No one has noticed there’s a dust sheet missing, or the rug, for that matter. There was no blood, so there’s no tell-tale stain on the flagstones like in a Hitchcock film, no discarded shoe or dropped receipt that’s been overlooked. The internal security camera was taken down last week so the ceilings can be painted, so there’s no CCTV footage.
I’m confident I’ve covered every potential loophole.
I had hoped Beth would have settled into her role of ‘smooth operator’ by now, but she’s been more nervous and jittery than ever.
It’s not the first time I’ve been worried about her. Since drama college, she’s had to learn to ride one disappointing setback after another. Beth is twenty-three and hasn’t managed to find an agent or get a single callback. In short, she’s been turned down for every professional part she’s auditioned for.
Peter has already been twisting arms to get Beth in front of the right people. As his wife, he’ll be able to showcase her to his heart’s content and do it now, while she still has that ‘little-girl-lost’ look he’s apparently remarked upon.
My fear is that without Peter’s help, her career as an actress will be dead in the water.
Of course, I’d never want her to marry for ulterior motives and I’d hate to think I was encouraging her to take such an important step if she wasn’t seriously head over heels in love with him. I’m not that kind of mother. But Beth has shown all the signs that Peter is ‘the one’ and I’ve had no reason to doubt her. Until now, that is.
Beth can be so dizzy at times. Often serious and refined, she frequently reverts to the fresh-faced dreamer she truly is underneath.
What was she thinking getting caught up with this Carl guy?
As the last builders’ lorry leaves the car-park, I lock up the pub and head back home. So that I don’t alter any aspect of my routine, I stop by Russell’s grave on the way.
My stomach lurches as I stand so close to where we dumped Carl’s body. I try to block it out, but I’m fumbling over my opening words to Russell. I can’t find anything to say. My eyes keep wandering over to the mound covering Judy Welsh’s coffin, several rows along. The wind carries the smell of wood-smoke towards me from nearby cottages and my heart flutters. Were we seen on Thursday night?
A couple of windows are visible from where I’m standing, but as soon as I take two or three steps to my right – towards the fresher graves – the view is blocked by an evergreen magnolia. I press my hand over my chest in relief.
I find a bench further away so I can no longer see Judy’s grave, and sit down.
Would Russell forgive me for what I’ve done? Would he understand?
I sit in silence, not daring to ask the questions.
He
didn’t know about my past, about Southampton…the real reasons for reacting the way I did in the cellar.
‘I’m going to have to speak to Peter about the wedding costs,’ I mutter, eventually. ‘We should have sorted this out by now, but he’s been so hard to get hold of. I can’t afford anything like the sort of show his family are expecting. They’re dreadfully posh. Peter dropped Beth back home in a Jaguar convertible when she spent the weekend with him, last month. You’d have loved it. He lets her use his flat in Chelsea, while he’s away on business. Oh, dear…families with that kind of money are going to expect something special for their son’s wedding, aren’t they?’
What looked, last night, like snow on the ground I now see is blossom buffeted from the overhanging branches of cherry trees.
I suck in a slow breath.
Things are not always what they seem.
I rattle on. ‘We still need to get the flowers, the wedding car, the cake…and there’s the bridesmaids’ outfits and…’
If he’d been beside me, Russell would have stopped what he was doing and listened to me with all his attention, then patted my hand and said everything was going to be all right. ‘People are generally decent,’ he would always say.
When it became clear that Russell had left me in dire straits, financially, my close friends insisted I ought to be angry with him.
‘He left you in the lurch, Rachel,’ they said. ‘He let you down.’
Still, I’ve always stood up for him. ‘He meant to pay me back,’ I told them. ‘It was all done in good faith. He didn’t steal from me.’
I knew it was true. Nevertheless, Beth and I had been left in an untenable position. We were on the verge of going under.
8
Rachel
When I return to the house, Beth is crooning in front of the mirror by the front door with a hairbrush in her hand. A sad echoey song by Beyoncé is playing on the old hi-fi system in the corner. She’s wearing a long blonde wig and a skin-tight purple dress.
‘I’m trying to cheer myself up,’ she says mournfully.
Her phone screen is lit up on the chair arm beside her, then goes out.
‘Who’ve you been talking to?’ I ask casually, unable to take my eyes off it.
‘Just Sienna. She’s replacing an understudy in The Jersey Boys at the Piccadilly Theatre. Don’t worry,’ she says, her hands on her hips, glaring at me. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
She turns off the music and flops onto the sofa.
The sitting room is the first room you come to in our run-down terraced house beyond the tiny square porch. At some stage, interior walls have been knocked down, so everything is open-plan on the ground floor, with stairs before the kitchen leading directly from the sitting room up to our bedrooms.
A selection of Beth’s clothes are strewn everywhere, making the place resemble a shop changing room.
In spite of the incense stick burning by the bottom of the stairs, a cloying smell of damp manages to cut through. I’ve been trying not to notice the blotches of mildew that are bleeding through the wallpaper.
I peel off my coat and switch on the oven, then slip a pie I made from yesterday’s leftovers into the oven.
‘What’s going to happen when people start looking for him?’ she asks, out of the blue. She has a habit of idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, then tugging it across her mouth. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
I sink down beside her. ‘People will ask questions. You must be ready for that. Before long, someone will report him missing. His wife, probably. They’ll want to know where he was and who saw him last.’
‘His wife must be going mental.’
I fold my arms. There’s a grating pain in my chest. ‘Who knew you two were…seeing each other?’
She answers without hesitation. ‘No one.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It was a secret, Mum – I’m supposed to be getting married, remember.’
‘Do you know his wife?’
She toys with the fringe of the throw that covers torn patches in the sofa cushions. ‘She’s called Amelia and is into horses. I met her briefly when I was introduced to Carl.’
‘Any children?’
‘Two boys, I think.’
I swallow hard. I know what it’s like to lose someone, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your husband or father never come home and disappear forever. At least I got to say goodbye to Russell. I had eight months of preparation while he was ill, whereas Beth and I are going to be putting Amelia and the boys through torture.
But I can’t let myself dwell on that.
‘Where do they live?’
‘Carl has a flat in London, but the family home is near Arundel, I think. They own a farm as well. They’re into race horses and yachts.’ She sniffs and I realise she’s crying. I pull a tissue from a cardboard box beside the fireplace and hand it to her. She blows her nose.
‘I thought you loved Peter,’ I say softly.
‘I do.’
‘So – how could..?’
A strand of hair is in her mouth again. She’s going to have to grow out of that quickly, once she’s married to Peter.
She looks pensive. ‘I was shocked at myself if I’m honest. But it just happened. I gave in to lust on the spur of the moment.’
‘But, it wasn’t just once, was it? You saw him again. How many times?’
She has the decency to look ashamed. ‘Three…or four. It was like being two people,’ she says, not looking at me. ‘With Carl, it was like escaping reality. It was daring and secret, like I was in a magical bubble.’
‘Even though you were engaged to Peter?’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘Yeah…I know. Now, it’s all over, I’m disgusted with myself.’ She lifts her gaze to meet mine. ‘But you can love people in different ways, can’t you?’ she says with authority.
‘So why Carl?’ I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to talk about him, although I’m inclined to think on balance that if we discuss him freely in private, it might stop her from being tempted to turn to one of her friends. ‘You sure he didn’t exploit you?’
‘No way! I’d never get into that. He was really good-looking and kind of dangerous and intoxicating. I should have had more willpower, only Peter’s been abroad so much.’
Is this how young people treat their relationships these days? Going behind their lovers’ backs the instant they’re absent? I hate to think that my own daughter has behaved in this way, but now isn’t the time for a morality lesson.
‘So you haven’t changed your mind about Peter?’
‘Oh, no,’ she says immediately. ‘Peter’s brilliant. He’s perfect.’ She dabs her lashes carefully so as not to smudge her mascara. ‘I shouldn’t have let things go so far with Carl. We got carried away.’
She gets to her feet. ‘I can’t believe we haven’t told the police. And that poor woman…did we really have to mess up her grave and..?’ She grinds to a halt.
‘Yes, I’m afraid we did. I told you why. I wouldn’t have suggested we do something like this lightly, you know that. It’s a dreadful, appalling thing we’ve done, but we had to hide what happened. It’ll be fine if we keep our heads. We just have to act normally and carry on exactly the same.’
‘You said there’s no money.’
‘That’s right. There isn’t.’
She keeps her eyes away from mine. ‘What about my wedding dress?’
‘I’ve already set aside an amount for that – that’s one thing you don’t need to worry about, as long as it’s the same one you showed me – the one that was in the sale.’
‘Yeah, it is. I’ve had fittings and everything.’ She snatches a breath. ‘Oh, God, my big day isn’t going to be really embarrassing, is it? Second-hand shoes, hand-me-down bridesmaids’ dresses and a veil made from our old net curtains?’
She glances over at the tattered grey nylon at the front window that needed replacing months ago.
‘Of course not. I’ll try to get every single thing you want, but listen, I can’t pay for any more dance classes, no more clothes or make-up. Once your gym membership runs out, that’s that. No trips out for either of us and we’ll have to exist on the basics in terms of food and socialising. You’re going to have to tighten your belt until you marry Peter.’
Beth has never been good with money in spite of my encouragement to save. She still thinks that if she pleads long and hard enough she’ll always get what she wants. She’s got a lot of growing up to do, although having said that, Russell was far worse. I’d have done something about that if only I’d known.
‘Okay,’ she says, blowing out a long breath. ‘I’ll try.’
I reach out to hold her hand. She lets it go in a matter of seconds.
‘It will be worth it in the end,’ I say.
She unzips the dress she’s wearing and tugs it off over her tiny hips, revealing a racy black bra and matching knickers. For a moment, I’m in awe of the fact that she’s been able to make the journey from schoolgirl to young woman on her own terms. That was something I never had and can never look back on with any sense of emancipation. In my case, I was a kid making daisy chains one minute and rinsing nappies the next. It certainly wasn’t what I would have chosen.
She gathers up a handful of clothes. I watch her, a smile creeping onto my lips. I see my mother in the way she moves. They share the same natural sense of rhythm, as though she can hear music playing inside her head the whole time. She’s never clumsy, there are no rough edges about her.
She dallies at the foot of the stairs and I know there’s something she wants to say.
‘Listen, don’t bite my head off, but I’ve just remembered something.’
My breath catches on the inhale. I wait.
‘When I was on the way to meet Carl at the pub that night,’ she grits her teeth, ‘I spoke to someone…’