by Anne Doughty
‘They’ll go bad if you don’t,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I don’t get time to bake these days and I don’t see much sign of it in the future. I had them as a present from one of my father’s customers. I can’t let them spoil, now can I?’
We carried the heavy box out to his van and put it in the back with all his gear.
‘The childer ‘ill be rale glad to see me the night,’ he said through his open window. ‘Mind now, giv’ us a shout if anythin’ goes wrong an’ I’ll come and give it a wee thump for ye.’
‘I’ll do just that.’
Dusk had fallen and the street lights were flickering into life as the blue van drove off down the hill to the shabby brick house with its six children. I went back into my own dark, empty house, put on the lamps and collected up three armfuls of very cold clothes from the line.
Stars were beginning to appear in the clear sky as I came in, dropped the last chilly load on the kitchen table and set up the ironing board.
Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Some nameless cloud of misery had descended upon me. I turned my back on the ironing board and went into the lounge, but it was so clean and empty, so devoid of any mark I could make upon it that I could not sit there, though my back ached and I was longing for a rest.
‘Do something, Jennifer. Anything. Don’t just stand there being miserable,’ I said firmly, as I recognised the familiar symptoms. I turned my back on the room and took my secateurs from the kitchen drawer. In the blowy darkness, I went out and cut my chrysanthemums and some sprays of foliage from the shrubs. ‘There’s always something you can do, no matter how hopeless you feel,’ I whispered to myself as I fetched a pottery bowl from the bottom of the kitchen cupboard and began to arrange my flowers.
Chapter 8
Although my hands were shaking, the flowers looked really good when I tucked the last perky gold bloom into place. I carried them into the lounge, set the bowl down on the coffee table and stood back to admire my work. Tears of disappointment pricked in my eyes. They looked about as pleasing as a dirty sock on a freshly-vacuumed bedroom floor.
I flopped down in the nearest armchair and stared at them. It was the fault of the glass and steel coffee table. What it needed was that cut-glass vase of Karen’s with its six carnations that could just as well be plastic carnations for all the difference it made. My lovely pottery bowl looked completely out of place in this room.
It wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong either. I drew my feet up under me and shrivelled into the unyielding imitation leather upholstery of the raft on which I’d descended. I looked round the clean and tidy room seeking some comfort, some satisfaction, after all the hours of cleaning and tidying. But there was none. Apart from the relief of having disposed of the mess, nothing in the room spoke to me. It had always looked like a miniature airport lounge and nothing I’d ever done had made it any better.
Suddenly, I felt quite desolate. Utterly alone in the empty house, surrounded by dark empty spaces. I’d been alone in the house before and enjoyed my solitude, the opportunity to do exactly what I felt like, in whatever order pleased me. I’d enjoyed being able to eat when it was convenient, or when I felt hungry, sleep late or get up early, exhaust myself in the garden and read all evening. But now, I felt my solitariness a burden, my space an emptiness, my freedom, dust and ashes.
Tears trickled unbidden down my face. I jumped to my feet and dashed over to the gaping black hole that reflected back at me the room and my own crumpled figure, a solitary, discarded object dropped in a chair by someone passing through.
As the curtains swished into place, the phone rang and my heart raced. It must be Colin, ringing from wherever his father had taken him to dinner. I dashed headlong into the hall and grabbed the phone, my hands shaking.
It was Karen. We hadn’t arranged a time. In view of the fact that Neville had just phoned to say he’d been delayed we’d better make it eight thirty. Her voice was thick with sarcasm and she sounded just as if she was giving evidence against him in court.
Poor bloody Neville, I thought. However much Neville irritates me by turning up at the wrong time and distracting Colin from whatever he’s supposed to be doing, I do like him very much. Truly good-natured and easy-going, I’ve never heard him say anything nasty about anyone, unless it was really justified. He works hard, is devoted to his children and provides Karen with all the goodies to which she feels so thoroughly entitled. What the hell’s in it for him? I asked myself as I tramped back into the kitchen.
I flicked the light switch and surveyed the mountain of clean laundry I’d dumped on the kitchen table. ‘Why not, Jennifer, why not? Whatever you feel, it’s still got to be done. Might as well get on with it.’
I caught sight of myself in my dressing-table mirror as I put away the last of the shirts. I looked dreadful. Hardly surprising, given how dreadful I was feeling. But that was not the point. If I turned up at Valerie and Bob’s looking like this, they’d be really worried. An effort would have to be made. Bath. Hair. Extra layer of foundation with blusher. The full treatment.
As I peeled off my clothes and dropped them in a tangled puddle on the floor, I thought what a relief it was to walk around in my skin in a warm room. When had I last wandered around naked, stretching my aching limbs and dropping things into the laundry basket? I sat down at my dressing table and spread moisturiser on my face. I could almost feel the tight skin relax, as if finally the day’s work was over and I didn’t have to keep myself going. For a few moments, I even felt a sense of warmth and wellbeing. Then the phone rang.
I grabbed for my dressing gown. Cursing roundly, I dashed downstairs, pulling it on as I went.
It was Karen again. Neville was still not back though it was now eight o’clock. I waited till her fury ran out and then said, ‘No matter, Karen, I was about to have a bath.’
‘Oh well, you can take your time, can’t you, even with having left it this late,’ she said nastily, as she rang off.
I lay in the bath, trying to relax my shoulders. My trailing ivies and ferns were definitely looking better for having been sprayed and tidied, but I felt no joy in them. The bath water was already getting cold. I climbed out, dried myself, did my hair and with little enthusiasm went in search of something to wear.
‘Oh no,’ I moaned, as I pulled out my black velvet skirt. It stank of cigar and cigarette smoke. The first whiff of it brought the whole business flooding back. Firm’s dinners. Three of them since the beginning of term, the most recent only last Saturday night. Each firm trying to make a bigger splash than the others. Vast quantities of food, gallons of alcohol and unlimited decibels of noise.
I took the skirt into the bathroom, hung it on the shower fitment and opened the window. I must have been out of my mind to put it back in the wardrobe smelling like that. But then, I’m always out of my mind after a firm’s do. No, not the alcohol. I only drink sparkling water at these affairs. What makes me feel so awful is the noise. The noise and the smoke and the boom. The boom, boom, boom of men doing men’s talk. Whatever the topic of conversation the underlying message is the same: ‘I’m a good chap, why not do business with me?’ And the more urgent the need to put over the message, the louder the boom.
Last Saturday night’s effort was even worse than usual. Rumour had it the firm in question was in difficulties due to over-expansion and badly needed new contracts. Perhaps that was why Colin and I were on the top table, with the directors. Consequently, Colin talked plumbing supplies for most of the evening and I was left to entertain a sad, grey-haired man who only showed signs of life when I picked up my cue and asked him to explain about a new cistern valve he’d mentioned. It allows your loo to fill without making a noise.
I stared at the contents of my wardrobe. Every single thing seemed to call up images I’d rather forget. At last, I put out my hand for ‘old faithful’, a turquoise skirt made for me years ago. I found a black velvet top with a wide scoop neck to go with it and added the little pendant w
ith the turquoise stones Daddy gave me for my twenty-first birthday. I took my time dressing and making up and after the agitation I’d been feeling most of the evening, I began to feel steadier at last. I had a look at myself in the long mirrors and knew I’d chosen the right thing to wear.
Dear Valerie. She’s always been so good to me, making things for me when I couldn’t find anything I liked, or when I’d spent all my grant money on books. Long ago, she showed me how to change a dress by adding a different collar, buying new buttons or trying a different belt. She’d given me little presents to encourage me, things that she knew would match what I already had, scarves or ribbons or pieces of lace. I love clothes, but I hate shopping for them. I’m always totally intimidated by racks of skirts, or dresses, and those long mirrors that throw back multiple images of someone you don’t recognise as you. Valerie has always helped me out, coaxed me to try things I would never have thought of, and told me honestly when something didn’t suit me.
I came downstairs, got out my cloak and checked the contents of my handbag. Then I collected my poetry books and settled myself in the lounge where I’d hear Neville arriving back long before he knocked on the front door. I took out my bookmark and saw again the words on the page:
Two years on and none the wiser
I go down to the door in the morning twilight.
They seemed so familiar, as if I’d always known them, though it was only over lunch I read them for the first time.
Suddenly, I remembered ‘the morning twilight’ when I wore this turquoise skirt for the first time. My third year at Queen’s. The May Ball. The first time Colin had asked me out, though we’d known each other for some time and he’d often run me home after rehearsals.
We’d all gone to the ball in a party, with friends from the Dramatic Society. Lovely, lively people I had come to know so well as we struggled to get our production good enough to go on tour through the Province. It had been such a happy evening. I’d danced until my feet ached and my hair fell down.
‘Let’s sneak off, Jenny. Just you and me. I’ve had to share you all evening,’ Colin said, as we headed for the car park. Around us, our friends were squashing into cars together to drive up to Shaw’s Bridge and watch the dawn come up over the city.
‘All right, let’s go.’
Once away from the university, there was nothing about. We zoomed through the empty streets as fingers of light began to touch the edge of the hills.
‘Where are we going?’ I cried over the noise of the engine and the rush of the wind.
‘It’s a secret. I’m carrying you off to my lair,’ he hissed in his best melodramatic style, as we drove westwards out of the city, and then north through the open countryside to the east of Lisburn. We sped along winding country roads, twisted through small hamlets and whizzed past large farms where even the cows in the fields appeared to be asleep. As we climbed higher and higher, I looked back and saw the city spread out below us. The street lamps had gone out as the light grew, but here and there a pane of glass or a slate roof flashed back a reflection from the rising sun. We got there just in time.
As we pulled off the narrow road at the highest point, we saw the sun break clear of the low cloud on the Castlereagh Hills and cast long shadows across the patchwork fields beyond the great sweep of the Lagan valley that lay far below, full of toy houses and miniature buildings.
‘There you are, Jenny. You have the world at your feet. I give it all to you.’
He had taken me in his arms and I had not resisted. He was someone I liked, someone who made me laugh. We were friends who had had a lovely evening. And a lovely morning, too. We walked hand in hand along a rough track leading to the edge of the escarpment. The slight dawn breeze just stirred the long, lush grass and I could smell the scent of hawthorn heavy on the air, though the nearest bushes I could see were in a steep, narrow glen way below where we stood.
Neither of us wanted to drive back to the city but I was worried as to how my mother would react, even though I had told her I would be very late indeed. When we arrived at Rathmore Drive, the milkman held the front gate open as I waved Colin goodbye. I said hello to him and laughed. How often I’d heard the phrase ‘coming home with the milk’ and here I was, coming home with the milk for the first time in my life.
I took off my shoes, crept upstairs and slipped into bed, my mind full of the cool morning air, the sunrise and the song of birds. The thought that I’d spent the long, light evening and the short, May night with the man I should one day marry never entered my head.
‘No further on,’ I whispered to myself as I cocked an ear for a car turning into the road. But it wasn’t Neville. It went on past. Besides, Neville always changed gear, did a point stop and crept into his driveway. I was always quite sure when it was Neville.
Later that morning after the ball, I woke with light streaming into my bedroom. My mother had drawn the curtains and now stood by the window. To my surprise, she was smiling.
‘Did you have a nice time last night? I think I heard you come in,’ she said encouragingly.
‘Yes, it was super. We went and looked at the sunrise,’ I offered, reassured by her tone.
‘I’m sure that was lovely,’ she said agreeably. ‘Did Colin enjoy it too?’ she asked, coyly.
‘Oh, yes, I think so.’
‘Well, I think he must have done. There’s a little surprise for you downstairs. Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll make you some coffee and toast.’
I blinked when she left the room. After the way she’d been behaving every time I went anywhere, I just couldn’t make any sense of this. Why, she was almost pleasant. I had to go back before Harvey’s wedding for the last time she’d offered to make me breakfast on a Saturday morning or shown the slightest enthusiasm for anything I might do or anywhere I chose to go.
Consumed with curiosity, I rushed through my shower, pulled on my clothes and ran downstairs. I could smell real coffee. There on the kitchen table, beside the place she’d laid for me, was a transparent florist’s box.
She raised an eyebrow at me as I caught it up, pulled off the ribbon, unpicked the Sellotape and brought out the spray of five perfectly matched pink roses. I stared at them in amazement, until she pointed out that there was a card. Well, of course there was, wasn’t there, and she was sure to have read it already. I picked it up. It said: ‘For Jenny. Thank you for a lovely evening. Love, Colin.’
‘It’s from Colin,’ I said abstractedly.
‘Well now, isn’t that nice,’ she said warmly. ‘He must think a lot of you,’ she went on, as she poured my coffee. ‘Roses from that florist will have cost him a pretty penny. Aren’t you the lucky girl to have met someone so thoughtful?’
When Neville rang the front doorbell, I was still sitting, my book open at the same page, staring at my bowl of chrysanthemums, trying to figure out why that particular Saturday morning should come back to me now, and why my mother’s enthusiastic response to the pink roses and their sender was repeating itself over and over in my mind.
Chapter 9
‘Hello, Jenny, sorry I’m so late. Are you cross?’
Even if I had been, I’d have lied like a trooper. Neville looked tired and miserable. I felt a sudden rush of warm affection for him rather like the way I feel about my little niece, Susie, when she comes a cropper rushing round the garden and has to be picked up and comforted.
‘Not a bit, Neville. I’ve had a busy day and I was glad of a sit-down,’ I said, as we took a short cut across the front lawn.
The night temperature had dropped sharply. It was so cold we could see our breath streaming into the clear air as we crossed the lawn. The bodywork of the car was already beginning to sparkle with tiny specks of ice. But that was nothing compared with the icy chill inside the car.
‘I hope you’ve had some supper,’ I added, as he opened the car door for me and tucked in a straying end of my skirt.
‘Oh, there’ll be something later,’ he said hurried
ly as Karen turned round to glare at me from the front seat.
As we drove off, I made some attempts at conversation. Neville did his best to respond and I lobbed a few harmless remarks in Karen’s direction, but despite our efforts she managed to maintain almost a complete silence the whole way to the far side of Bangor.
When we stopped opposite Valerie and Bob’s, she was out of the car and up the drive before Neville even had time to switch off. Valerie appeared immediately, her hands outstretched in greeting. As I hitched up my skirt and stepped cautiously out on the slippery pavement, I looked up and saw the porch light catching her blonde hair and fair skin. She was looking marvellous in a dress of mauve and violet, with floating panels, delicate and exotic, that flared out behind her as she turned towards Karen who was already at the front door.
‘Karen, hello. How nice to see you,’ she said warmly, as she drew her into the hall. She waved cheerfully at Neville who was still sitting slumped over the steering wheel looking gloomily at the lines of cars on both sides of the road.
‘Would Neville like Bob to help him reverse round the back of the house?’ asked Valerie quickly. ‘We’ve saved you a space, but it’s a bit tricky,’ she said, as she blew a kiss to Neville.
‘Oh, don’t bother Bob. He’ll manage,’ said Karen shortly as I came up the drive to join them. ‘He can park at the bottom of the hill. After all the bother he’s caused this evening, I don’t see why we should worry. Anyway, the walk will help sober him up.’
My eyes met Val’s over Karen’s dark head as she bent down to change her shoes. She raised one eyebrow a minute amount and I smiled in spite of. myself. Val has always managed to cope with Karen far better than I ever have.
‘You will be interested to hear, Valerie,’ Karen began as Val waved us towards the stairs, ‘that the English team were quite unable to go drinking without Neville.’
I could hardly believe my ears. Karen was repeating word for word every single line she’d used in the course of her multiple phone calls. I wondered if she would go on playing the version she’d made, like a tape, all through the evening.