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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Photo Credit: Mike FL
Used under a Creative Commons license.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Rose’s Garden © 2008 Rachelle Le Monnier
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Rose’s Garden
By Rachelle Le Monnier
Chapter 1
Lucy looked rather harassed when she eventually opened the door to me, her hair in rollers and her make-up only half done.
“Mother,” she hissed crossly, “what on earth are you doing here at this time?”
“I’ve left your father,” I said coolly. I gained a certain amount of sadistic pleasure as the shock blanched her pretty face beneath the fake tan.
“ What?” my daughter spluttered. “But it’s nearly your 25th Wedding anniversary and I had a party organised and everything…”
I looked away, sudden tears pricking my eyes at the thought of twenty-five years of marriage flushing down the proverbial toilet. God - what a waste. I could have lived a little instead of devoting my life to an undeserving husband. Lucy belatedly noticed my distress and rather reluctantly she opened the door to allow me into her spacious home. I followed her through into the pristine kitchen and she made us both a cup of tea.
“I don’t understand,” she said, sighing heavily into her bone china cup as we sat at her beautiful pine table. “I thought you and Dad were happy. Why have you left him after all this time?” She appeared quite upset and I began to feel almost sorry for her. Until I remembered that her reaction probably had more to do with the fact her husband was about to be elected on to the local Council, and any hint of scandal was anathema to them.
“We were happy until I found out your Dad was porking his secretary, Margaret.” I stated in a matter of fact way while staring intently at the pattern on the tiled wall.
Lucy almost choked on her Earl Gray tea and I resisted the urge to smile.
“Oh Mother, that’s so gross!”
“I know - just the thought of his flabby body pounding into her makes me feel nauseous,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t mind, but he’s been telling me for years that he had a bad back!”
I drank the rest of the disgusting tea in one gulp and stood up to wash my cup - force of habit really (and totally unnecessary). Lucy had a state of the art dishwasher, as well as a Polish girl who cleaned her home five days a week.
“Oh Mother, you must be devastated…”
Finally, some sympathy. “No not really.”
“But…what about Dad?”
“I don’t think he’ll notice until his dry cleaning fails to turn up from the laundrette.”
And that was the real tragedy. It was the absolute truth. I was simply part of the furniture - he only talked to me when he needed something. The rest of the time, he ignored me.
When exactly did this happen, I wondered sadly, as I gazed out over the floodlit garden.
The gazebo was strung with pretty fairy lights and for a moment it reminded me of our wedding party.
How long ago was that? Well, twenty-four years and eleven months to be exact.
Had we been happy then? I think we must have been. At least I hoped we had been. If not, I had just thrown a fair chunk of my life away for nothing.
“Lucy, what the fuck are you doing? It’s nearly time for the guests to arrive…” Mark’s voice trailed off as he swept into the kitchen on a cloud of expensive after-shave and noticed his mother-in-law standing by the sink. “Oh err, Rose…I didn’t know you were here.”
He looked from me to Lucy in confusion. I saw her throw him a warning look before she said, “Mum’s just passing. She and Dad have had a little spat so I said she could stay tonight. You don’t mind do you Mark?”
Typical Lucy, I thought crossly. When she didn’t like what she heard, she turned it around to suit herself.
“No, course not dear,” he replied, not managing to hide his irritation very successfully.
“Guests?” I asked. No wonder they didn’t want me here.
“We’re having a few of Mark’s colleagues round for dinner - no big deal. I’m sure the food will stretch.”
I could see that Lucy really didn’t mean this and I had no intention of hijacking her dinner party. All I wanted was to go soak in a hot bath and figure out what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life. At least I wasn’t going to have to endure Phil banging on the door just yet - oh no, he was far too busy at his ‘meeting’ with Margaret. Bitch.
No doubt he would wonder where I was when he finally returned to our home later, but the note I had left would assure him I was at my sister’s for the night. Tomorrow I would tell him the truth and await the fall-out.
“Don’t worry darling,” I reassured her wearily. “I’ll go upstairs if that’s okay and take a bath. I could do with some time to myself.” Suddenly feeling rather numb, I picked up my small bag and headed off to the guest room. I just wanted to be alone.
I could hear the faint muttering of Lucy and Mark’s voices as I walked across the landing and into the chintzy spare room with its queen size bed. For a moment I flopped down on the soft duvet and shut my eyes. I was too old for this carry on. At my age I should be booking our first cruise round the Caribbean and tending my garden - not contemplating divorce from my faithless bastard of a husband.
A cough from the doorway alerted me to another’s presence and I opened my eyes again.
“Nana?” whispered a small voice. It was my granddaughter, Louise. She stood on the threshold sleepily sucking her thumb. “How come you’re here Nana? Have you come to kiss me night?”
“Yes sweetie I have,” I smiled. “Come here and give Nana a big hug.” She toddled over and I held her tightly, inhaling the comforting scent of shampoo and baby powder.
“Can I sleep with you tonight? Mummy and Daddy are having a party and they get cross when I have bad dreams…” she gazed up at me with limpid blue eyes and I melted. I could never resist her and she knew it.
“Okay,” I agreed without much hesitation. “Just this once you can sleep with me. Tell you what, you climb into bed and make it nice and warm for me while I have a bath. When I’ve finished, I will read you a story and then we will both go to sleep. How does that sound?”
She nodded happily and quickly jumped under the covers, clutching her teddy with a triumphant smile. I took my bag into the bathroom and turned the water on for a bath. The steam rose gently into the air, filling the small room with the fragrant scent of vanilla and cinnamon. I stared at my reflection in the misty mirror and a tired looking woman with dead eyes stared back at me. She looked as unhappy as I felt.
The hot water was soothing and I lay back, my body slowly relaxing in the swirling water. Gradually the tension drifted away into the ether and I could feel my leaden depression lifting. Tomorrow was another day, as Scarlett O’Hara had once said. It wo
uld come right in the end. I had to believe that or I wouldn’t have the strength to do what I planned.
* * * *
The next morning dawned bright and clear. I awoke a new woman, an unfamiliar feeling of freedom coursing though my old veins. I had the chance to make a fresh start and I was damned if I was going to chuck it all away.
Louise was fast asleep and I carefully extracted myself from the duvet, trying not to wake her up. She stirred a little but just rolled over clutching her teddy and sucking her thumb. She looked so sweet and innocent. Lucy had been like that once; how long ago it seemed.
Once downstairs, I boiled the kettle and made myself a cup of tea. Taking it into the garden, I stood on the terrace and sipped it slowly, pondering what I was going to do today.
So much to do, so little time, I thought cheerfully. Phil would be at work all day (I knew he had some meetings with clients, so he wouldn’t be home until after six.) This gave me plenty of time to do everything I needed to do. I had today to take what I wanted from our house and thereafter he could have it all.
I had made a decision last night - I wasn’t going to ask him for anything. I had enough money of my own in the bank to live on. My mother had left me a large inheritance, which hadn’t been touched despite Phil’s entreaties to spend it on ‘something nice’. Fortunately I had managed to fob him off with excuses and the money was simply gathering interest in a savings account. I also had a place to live in.
I didn’t need a damn thing from my dear, soon to be ex-husband. My needs were small and my wants few. There were only a few mementoes that I intended to take from our house and I doubted he would even notice they were gone.
* * * *
The letting agent seemed a little bemused as to why I wanted the keys to my cottage back.
“But I thought you required a tenant for it, Mrs. Elliott?”
“I did,” I replied patiently, silently wondering how this girl managed to hold down a job. “I've now changed my mind, so can I have the keys please?”
“Well…” she hesitated again. “I suppose as they are your keys-”
“Yes they are, so can I have them now?” I interrupted, becoming impatient. “Look, I will put it in writing that I no longer wish to use the services of your agency okay? The fees are paid up to date, so I can’t really see what the problem is.”
“Okay Mrs. Elliott.” The girl frowned. I could see she was more than a little put out to hand over my keys. Well, I didn’t exactly care - the agency had done bugger all for their money as far as I could tell, other than charge a huge amount of cash for very little work.
I finally took the bunch of keys and signed the forms. The girl tapped her nails on the desk and scowled as I walked out of the office.
Chapter 2
The cottage had stood empty for at least four months after the last couple had left. Since then there had been many excuses for a failure to find new tenants. Mostly it was a total lack of looking on the agency’s part.
I gazed at the over-grown garden sadly. It hadn’t been like that when my mother lived there. She had been justifiably proud of her little patch of Eden. In summer, the flowers had bloomed and the long stretch of garden behind the cottage had been an oasis for wildlife and insects.
Now the only things it attracted were beer cans and empty bottles. Nettles ran rampant around the wall and brambles had taken hold under the windows. I felt so sad, standing by the gate and seeing the neglect.
I had assumed that the agency would have employed the services of a gardener to keep the property in ship-shape condition, and therefore more attractive to potential tenants. How wrong I was. It looked like nothing had been done here for a long time. I dreaded to think what the inside looked like.
In any event, it was not too bad. It wasn’t all that clean, but there were no obvious signs of damage or neglect. I knew the boiler had been regularly serviced so at least there were going to be no problems with the hot water and heating.
Mostly all it needed was a damned good cleaning and I had all the time in the world to do that. First things first, however - I had to go back home… no, not home, I reminded myself gently. I had to go back to the old house to collect some clothes and other items.
I didn’t want to run into Phil and if I left it much later, he would be there. I locked up and drove slowly through the town, heading for the affluent estate of executive detached houses where I used to live in my other life.
Our house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was the biggest on the street, five bedrooms and four bathrooms. I had always felt like I was rattling around in it, even when Lucy and her brother still lived at home. But Phil was very much concerned with status; a large house screamed success and money and he wanted all our neighbours to know we were better than them. He really was a terrible snob.
I wouldn’t care, but it was never him who had to clean it. I had spent hours cleaning that bloody house. In fact, I had spent a considerable part of my married life cleaning. How sad was that?
Before I married Phil, I had a fairly good bookkeeping job with an accountancy firm. It wasn’t exactly a highflying career, but I enjoyed it. Once we were wed, Phil accepted a promotion with his company and we moved from near Manchester, over the Pennines into Yorkshire.
I had to give up my job of course, and I was persuaded to wait a little before looking for another one. Then I got pregnant with Tom. Lucy followed soon after, and by the time they were of an age for me to think about going back to work again, Phil didn’t think it was a good idea.
What he really meant, of course, was that he wanted his dinner on the table the minute he returned from work. If I were working, this wouldn’t happen. Phil liked me to be at his beck and call and utterly reliant on him financially. I had to admit that we didn’t exactly need the extra money as he had a very good job and I even quite liked being at home while the children were small. But, as time went on and they began to need me less and less, I became bored and dissatisfied with my insular life.
I also became bored and dissatisfied with our marriage.
* * * *
Our house was silent and empty when I walked in through the back door. I noticed the answering machine light winking in the hall and I pressed play.
“Darling, it’s me.” Phil’s disembodied voice floated out of the small silver machine. “I suppose you aren’t back from Audrey’s house? I tried ringing your mobile, but you never have it switched on. Anyway, just checking in and I’ll see you tonight when I get home.” There was a slight pause and I thought the message was over. But then he continued as an afterthought, “Oh yes, by the way, could you collect my grey suit from the dry cleaners for me. I need it for a meeting on Friday.” There was a muffled sound in the background and I could have sworn I heard a feminine giggle.
The message ended and I stood there silently for a long moment, considering. Then I hit ‘delete.’ It didn’t really matter any more; I knew he was cheating on me and soon enough he would know I knew.
Slowly I went up upstairs and into our bedroom. I took one of the suitcases and filled it with my clothes. I left some behind - mostly the evening dresses and the few things he had bought me that I hated.
I filled another bag with miscellaneous bits and pieces as well as all my toiletries and make-up. Once this was done, I lugged them downstairs and left them in the hall. I then fetched a large box from the garage and threw the kettle and toaster in it. I was damned if I was going to buy another set!
A few books, pictures, treasured mementoes were added. I carefully wrapped my Delft pottery vase up - it had been a wedding present from my mum. Once I had all I needed, I put it into my car. I only had two things left I wanted to do.
First, I wrote a note to Phil and left it on the hall table in prominent view.
Second, I went back upstairs and pulled all of his suits from the wardrobe, taking them downstairs in a pile. I shoved them into the washing machine with a load of detergent and turned the knob to a 90-degree, boil was
h.
As the machine began to fill with hot water, I got a huge amount of pleasure in imagining what his designer suits would look like after the cycle had finished. I wondered if Phil would see the funny side of it. Somehow I doubted it.
I was just about to go when a plaintive meow caught my attention. Henry appeared from the kitchen, his tail pointing up in the air and his yellow eyes winking at me hopefully. He sidled up to me, rubbing his skinny black body against my legs. I hadn’t been intending to take him - it seemed cruel to remove him from the home he had always known. But then I paused to wonder if Phil would actually remember to feed him.
That made my decision for me. Quickly I retrieved the cat carrier from the utility room and put Henry inside before he had a chance to run off. He glared at me balefully when I shut the door on him. No doubt he thought he was in for a trip to the vet and he soon began to yowl pitifully.
“Oh, shut up,” I told him crossly. “It’s this or you’ll starve, so get over it!” He didn’t look impressed and began to meow all the more.
I grabbed his bowl and his old litter tray, throwing them into the boot of my car. I would need to keep him in for a week until he got used to his new home and I knew he wasn’t going to be amused at that. He was not a house cat particularly. He tended to spend most of his time outdoors, hunting and just being a cat. Still, he was going to have to adjust to a change in lifestyle, just like I was. We would both get used to it eventually.
* * * *
By the time I had driven back to the cottage, Henry’s meowing had pretty much driven me up the wall. I was seriously regretting bringing the recalcitrant feline along. I was beginning to have my doubts about starvation through neglect. Even Phil could not have ignored this bloody cat; he had a pair of lungs on him like Pavarotti.
I took the cases and the box out of the car and left Henry until last. Once safely inside, he shot out of the carrier like a missile as soon as I opened it. The expression on his face was almost comical as he stopped dead and surveyed his new home imperiously. I had a strong suspicion he was not all that impressed with the change in accommodation, but I ignored him while I carried the cases upstairs to the main bedroom.
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