by Kitty Neale
Stan beamed, proud of what he’d achieved. He’d asked his boss if he had any objections to him taking Jenny with him for a weekend, pleased when there were none. In fact his boss was so delighted with the results of his first few trips to Devon that he had said the firm would foot the bill for a double room.
‘Do I need to buy anything special?’ Jenny went on. ‘It’s warmer down there, isn’t it? Maybe a sunhat?’
‘Oh that’s it, any excuse to go shopping.’ Stan pretended to be annoyed. ‘They do have shops down there, you know, and while I’m off visiting my clients you could have a look round and see if there’s something you fancied. You could get one of those sexy sundresses, show off your figure. You might get a tan.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Then I’d have to check just where it ended, wouldn’t I …’
‘Shush, Greg will hear.’ Jenny pushed her husband’s hands away, but she didn’t mean it. She could just see it now: sunshine, the sand, maybe they’d take a blanket down to the edge of the sea, and she could get one of those halter necks … She gave herself a shake. They wouldn’t be going for a couple of weeks yet, but she couldn’t wait.
The painted sign above the door of the narrow-fronted shop read ‘Collier’s Collectibles’. Stencilled on the glass of the door in fine gold lettering were the words ‘Rare Stamps’.
From his position behind the counter the owner of the shop smiled. He didn’t have to add ‘No Women’ to the shopfront. Any ladies who tried to come in soon thought the better of it, as it was immediately evident that they were unwelcome. That was exactly how he wanted it. It was his all-male kingdom, uncontaminated by the female form in any shape except for the occasional figure or head on one of the many stamps he was so proud of. Fortunately for business, most serious collectors were men. He ran his hand along the beaten brass strip that edged the counter, pleased to see there was no dust on his fingertips. He did make one exception to his all-male rule, as his cleaner was an old woman who lived nearby, but she had to come and go when he wasn’t on the premises. He couldn’t have borne to see her touching his property.
To all appearances, the proprietor was a mild-mannered man in his early thirties, with mousy brown hair which had started to thin increasingly rapidly of late, and a tidily trimmed moustache. His clothes were neat and nondescript, his Crimplene trousers keeping their shape no matter how much lifting of heavy catalogues he did during the day. He brushed them now out of habit, but there were no longer any dog hairs clinging to the fabric. His beloved Labrador, who he’d named Hunter, had died three months ago. He still missed him and was often surprised at just how big a gap the dog’s death had left in his life. After what he’d gone through, he had thought he would never be able to feel affection for any living thing ever again, but the dog’s unswerving devotion had broken down his defences. Still, he reminded himself, it was understandable. The dog had been male. Females, even dogs, were not to be trusted and could not be loved.
He had not always been like this. Until she had died, he had adored and worshipped his mother, even though he knew she was prone to be controlling. But she had been ill for many years and he’d made allowances, always believing that she had raised him as well as possible after having to cope with being widowed so early in her marriage. That was before he had found out everything he had held as true, was in fact a tissue of lies. His mother had made up the entire story of her past – there had been no husband, and he himself was actually a bastard, which meant that his whole life as Alec Pugh was based on thin air.
He didn’t even know his real name, something he’d discovered only after his mother had died, and so he was never going to find it out now. In an act of rebellion, he had chosen the name Charles Collier, and moved to an area of the country where nobody knew him. He was safe to reinvent himself here, far away from everyone who would have mocked him if they had found out, laughing at his superior ways and manners that had all been founded on lies.
He had no regrets about severing all contact with his wife and small children. They deserved to suffer. Mavis had taken them when she’d walked out on him, all because he gave them all the discipline they so badly needed. Mavis had ultimately refused to respect his position as head of the house and he certainly didn’t owe her any of the profits from selling the family home. He hoped she’d gone back to the poverty he had misguidedly rescued her from when he’d agreed to his mother’s idea that she should marry her. Walking away from his former life and leaving her in limbo was the best thing he’d ever done.
As far as he was concerned, Alec Pugh no longer existed. The man he had once been had suffered betrayal beyond imagining, and it made him shudder even now to recall the details of his mother’s web of falsehood. She had built him up to be something he wasn’t, filling his head with false notions and tying him to her with a bond of unbreakable guilt, which had been shattered only by her death.
During his first weeks and months in this new location, he had endured some very dark times, when his mind had clouded over and he had thought he would be unable to bear the weight of it all. But now he had settled and Charles Collier was doing increasingly well. Now he watched the crowds walking along outside his window, most of them ignoring the small shop. He didn’t mind in the slightest; he was interested only in similar-minded men who shared his obsession with rare stamps. The common hordes were of no importance to him as they wandered by, licking their ice creams and swinging their brightly coloured buckets and spades. Some were eating chips with their fingers from greasy newspaper as they passed, in a show of unforgivably bad manners. His mother would never have approved … Angrily he brought himself up short. No matter how hard he tried, the bloody woman was still festering in his mind, still infecting his thought processes. In frustration he thumped the countertop and turned away, just as a shortish woman with bobbed brown hair caught the corner of his eye.
It wasn’t that her hair was striking, but she wore a dress that stood out from the rest of the holiday makers as it was in bold geometric patterns. She had paused to reach into her handbag and he looked at her more closely. She was facing away from him but he could see that it had a nipped-in waist and almost obscenely thin shoulder straps. He hoped she got sunburnt; she was asking for it in a skimpy top like that. It shouldn’t be allowed. He would never have permitted his wife to go out in public so brazenly, flaunting her flesh for all and sundry to see. It wasn’t decent.
He shook his head. He hated the very idea of Mavis, the cold, scheming bitch. At first she’d seemed so malleable and innocent that he’d believed his mother when she’d strongly hinted the young girl was attracted to him. His mother had been adamant that he should make his move and win the girl, despite his nervous misgivings. Of course he’d been set up, he saw that clearly now. His wife had never loved him, but had just used him to get a house that was far more comfortable than the hovel of a place she’d been brought up in, in a more respectable area, and then she’d gone and spawned two little copies of herself. He’d insisted, quite reasonably, that the children must be seen and not heard around the house as he didn’t want them to disrupt his habits, but they had refused to obey. The little girl in particular had taken to answering back almost from the day she’d started to talk. She had deliberately ignored his rules, which he’d only made so that she would learn her place in society. Nobody liked an uppity girl, and he hadn’t wanted that for his daughter. As for his son, his lack of politeness had been a big disappointment too. He’d had to beat the child to get him to understand what acceptable behaviour was. He hadn’t done it for pleasure, but for the boy’s own good.
Then, after all the effort he’d made, the things he’d done for them, his wife had still left him and taken the children. How that hurt him even now. Not because he’d loved them but for the social blow it had dealt him. His standing in the community was in smithereens. He should have shown her who was boss much more forcefully. He had exercised his God-given right to punish her severely when she had displeased him but it hadn’t been enoug
h. She’d somehow retained enough independence of spirit to walk out on him. Maybe her appalling mother had had something to do with it – she was common as muck and if he had had his way there would have been no communication between them. In that way too he had been disobeyed.
The woman in the bright print sundress turned a little and he caught the profile of her face. No. It couldn’t be. He must be imagining it because he’d been thinking of the past, of his family. There must be thousands of young women of similar appearance and it was a trick of the light, or he needed glasses. It couldn’t be who he thought it was.
The woman turned so that she was almost facing the shop as she drew out what looked like postcards from the bag. There was a post-box a couple of shops along and Alec realised that she was going to head towards it to send her cards. Was one of them to his wife? This woman was almost definitely who he thought she was. She was their former next-door neighbour. She and her husband and horrible, noisy little boy had moved in while his mother was still alive. She had been friends with his wife, had probably encouraged her treachery. She wore her hair differently now but it was definitely her, with that irritatingly cheerful expression and big mouth. Many a time he’d thought he’d like to wipe the smile from her face.
He stood back a little in case she noticed him, although he knew it was unlikely at this time of day – the sun would be reflecting off the panes of glass at the front and he’d be all but invisible. Still, he drew to one side, keen to avoid her gaze. The last thing he wanted was for her to recognise him and go home tittle-tattling to his wife.
He hoped she’d post her cards and go, but she glanced at her watch and stood as though waiting for somebody. Of all the meeting places she could have chosen, she’d picked the pavement right between him and the sea. Other tourists wandered past, but he could see she was still there – her dress stood out in its gaudy pattern.
Then another familiar figure swept into view, catching her from behind and twirling her round. It was her husband, the one who used to make such a clatter when he mowed their lawn and left it untidy at the edges. There he was now, in what seemed like smart trousers but with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie half undone. Unlike his wife he wasn’t dressed like a typical holiday maker and Alex feared the man now worked in the area.
He shuddered even more as the couple hugged and then kissed, brazenly, right in front of his window. He was worried that sudden movement might attract their attention or he’d have dashed into the back room pretty sharpish, and then froze as the two of them broke away from their energetic kissing and the man pointed at the sign above his shop. Alec couldn’t quite lip-read what he was saying to the woman, but he was turning to her and nudging her and then they both fell about laughing. The woman pointed as well and shook her head, wagging her finger at him as if pretending to tell him off. The man said something to her and she looked up at him, then he kissed her again with enthusiasm.
Alec felt weak with anger. How dare they mock his shop? What was so funny about it? His was a respectable business and they had no right to stand outside it behaving so repulsively and obscenely and then insulting his property like that. With a repressed howl of rage he hit the countertop again and then with great restraint slowly made his way into the back room, all the while seething inside. He must not let it disturb his peace of mind. He must not let the dark days return.
Pete stood at the kitchen sink, rubbing his chin with anxiety. Things weren’t quite going to plan. They’d moved into the new house at the beginning of March and it was now June, and yet the big contract still hadn’t been confirmed. He’d had further meetings and written more letters, but had come no closer to a start date as the mysterious person in charge at the council seemed to be away a lot. Pete knew he was being fobbed off with excuses but didn’t know why. What made it worse was that he couldn’t share it with anybody. Lily would do her nut if she found out the house was mortgaged to the hilt, but he had no intention of telling her. Mavis had no experience of this sort of thing and anyway it was his job to protect both her and Lily, not to burden them with his difficulties. If Tommy had been family maybe he could have sought his advice but the way things stood it was anybody’s guess when, or even if, he would ever get together with Mavis.
Pete knew Lily would be back any minute. She’d only popped to the shops to get some last-minute items for Mavis, who was cooking a big meal upstairs. Jenny and Stan had just got back from their holiday and were coming round to tell them all their news and to collect Greg, who’d been sharing James’s room while they were away. He and James were out the back now, playing football, while Grace and Bobby were upstairs with Mavis, probably getting under her feet while pretending to help. Pete realised he had to put a brave face on it and snap out of his bad mood; there was nothing to be done but wait it out. He had to believe that the project would still come off, and when it did his money worries would be over. If it didn’t he couldn’t quite bring himself to think of the consequences. It would spell disaster for all of them.
‘Thanks, Mavis, that was a lovely meal,’ said Stan, finally pushing his plate away.
‘That pie was a good as your mother’s,’ Pete said.
‘Yes, it was love,’ Lily agreed.
Mavis smiled happily. Dinner had been a success; everyone’s plates were clean and there wasn’t as much as a single pea left.
‘You’d love the coast in Devon, Mavis,’ said Jenny, her eyes shining at the memory. ‘All that fresh air and the sea breeze. It makes you come alive. I felt ten years younger, I really did.’
‘You certainly did,’ said Stan suggestively, nudging his wife.
Mavis gave a little frown. She could tell what they’d been up to for most of their long weekend but didn’t want James asking questions – he was far too quick on the uptake.
‘You’ll love it too, Greg,’ Jenny said enthusiastically. ‘We’ll take you with us next time you break up from school.’
Tommy, who’d been asked round as well, grinned and turned to his young cousin. ‘So did you miss your mum and dad, Greg?’
Greg shrugged. He knew he was meant to say yes but he hadn’t really. ‘Sort of,’ he said, ‘but I like it round here with James ’cos we can play football out in the back garden, and Aunty Mavis lets me have cake every day. If we’re going to the seaside, Mum, why can’t James come with us? Why don’t we all go?’
‘Funny you should say that, Greg,’ said Stan. ‘Your mother and I had the same idea. I always stay at the same Bed and Breakfast place when I’m down there and I get on with the landlady, Mrs Hawkins, like a house of fire. We actually thought it would be lovely for us all to have a holiday together, so I had a word with Mrs Hawkins …’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Mavis said, her voice was edged with worry. ‘I’m not sure I can manage—’
‘It won’t cost the earth,’ Stan butted in. ‘Mrs Hawkins can do us a special rate for a large booking, especially if you and Lily come too, Pete. She can hold us a week in August, but only if we confirm it pretty quickly.’
‘Really?’ Pete perked up. If Lily had something like this to look forward to she wouldn’t notice that he was worried, and though he had to watch their dwindling cash flow, it didn’t sound like it would cost them much.
‘Can we?’ James was almost jumping out of his seat.
Grace squealed excitedly, ‘My friend at school goes to the seaside every year and I want to go too.’
‘You should go Mavis,’ said Tommy seriously.
Stan turned on his dining chair. ‘Tommy – you’re included too of course,’ he said.
Tommy turned to look at her, a question in his eyes, but Mavis lowered her gaze. It would be nice if he came too, but they would have to book separate rooms. She had the children to think about, but she didn’t want to talk about sleeping arrangements while they were all gathered around the table.
Thankfully, her mother, as though sensing her dilemma came to her rescue as she said, ‘It sounds like a lovely idea, but Pe
te will need to check his work schedule to see if he can take a week off in August. Ain’t that right Pete?’
‘Err, yes, but I …’
‘Right then, Stan,’ Lily interrupted. ‘Can we get back to you tomorrow?’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Stan agreed.
Mavis was hardly listening. Yes, she and Tommy would have to have separate rooms, but a part of her was wishing it could be otherwise.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Rhona, you should have said something!’ Mavis looked at her friend and thought how much she’d changed – she’d lost weight, her skin was pale and her hair had lost its bounce. ‘I didn’t even know you were ill until my mum bumped into yours in Woolworths, or I’d have come round before. Let alone that you had glandular fever. You poor thing, you’ve been laid up for weeks.’
‘I didn’t want to bother you,’ said Rhona, shifting in her chair. She’d finally managed to get downstairs and was now able to sit in one of the old armchairs for half the day before going back to bed again. ‘Anyway I wasn’t up to seeing people for ages. I can’t tell you how tired this has made me feel, so I wasn’t really keen to have visitors.’
‘Am I tiring you now?’ Mavis asked anxiously.
‘No, no, I’m on the mend. About bloody time too.’ Rhona shook her head. ‘I wasn’t even bored before, I was so wiped out, but now I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m really fed up with being at home.’
‘I love being in the new flat and wouldn’t swap it for the world but now and again I like to get out, see people, even if it’s only down the market for half an hour. You need a change of scenery. How do you feel about going for a walk?’
Rhona looked dubious. ‘I haven’t left the house since Easter and I’m still weak. I don’t think I’m up to it.’
‘We could get a bus and that would give you a change of scenery. We could get off at the common. There’ll be lots of people out, you’ll enjoy it.’