More to Life Than This

by Carole Matthews

  He heaved her bags out of the boot and steered her towards the house.

  ‘The rain’s been awful, hasn’t it?’ he said. ‘Still, the garden needed it.’

  Only Jeffrey could come up with a statement like that.

  The lounge was in darkness. Joe and Kerry were watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on the video. And they were squabbling about whether it was better than Star Trek: The Next Generation or ancient Star Trek with the fat bloke who wore a wig and the boring one with pointy ears. Her son was wearing a baseball cap the wrong way round and his feet were on the coffee table. Kerry’s hair sported a single multicoloured cotton-bound braid which she was sucking along with her thumb. A sort of unfinished Bo Derek effect. There were two orange stripes on her cheeks that looked like slivers of smoked salmon. Dark rings circled her eyes and a garish red slash adorned the space where her pretty pink mouth used to be.

  Kate wanted to rush out and check that she had come to the right house. It had said number 20 on the gate, she was sure. But somehow, she had left Enid Blyton and returned to The Simpsons.

  ‘Mummy’s home,’ she said, uncertainly.

  They both looked at her and waved. ‘Hi,’ they managed before turning back to the television.

  ‘Who did your braid?’ she asked Kerry.

  ‘Natalie,’ her daughter said, still transfixed by Worf doing battle with the Klingons.

  ‘It’s pretty,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Kerry sucked it some more.

  ‘And the make-up?’

  ‘Natalie. The lipstick’s Tart Red.’

  There was no disputing that.

  ‘You can borrow some of mine if you like.’

  ‘Yours are a bit too pale for me,’ Kerry said, still watching the intergalactic battle. ‘But thanks.’

  Kate stood there for a few minutes while they ignored her and then let her feet plod her through to the kitchen, where—it was comforting to see—the designer-scuffed cupboards still looked like they needed a fresh coat of paint. Jeffrey was concentrating on the serious business of making tea. Hadn’t her husband noticed that their children had turned from Rosie and Jim into perfectly normally surly, rebellious pre-teenagers while she had been away?

  ‘What’s happened to the kids?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Kerry seems to be wearing the entire contents of a Max Factor factory.’

  ‘Natalie’s been encouraging her to experiment.’

  ‘She looks like the Bride of Dracula.’

  ‘It does take a bit of getting used to,’ Jeffrey admitted, tapping the teaspoon against the cups in an agitated manner.

  ‘Doesn’t she know that a hutchful of innocent rabbits have had their eyelashes glued together so that she can wear that lot without her skin dropping off ?’

  ‘I think she’s put being an environmental activist on hold for the moment.’

  ‘I’ve been gone for seven days, and in that time they’ve gone to pot.’

  Jeffrey glanced up at her. ‘I thought that’s what you wanted?’

  ‘It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘They’ve started to come out of themselves,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you pleased?’

  ‘Pleased?’ Well, yes. But perplexed, too.

  ‘Besides it’s not pot they’ve gone to, it’s Alton Towers.’ So that’s where you were! ‘I tried to phone you yesterday.’ Kate struggled to keep an accusatory note out of her voice. ‘At the office. They said you were sick, but you weren’t at home.’

  ‘I was sick,’ Jeffrey said bravely. ‘Sick of work. Sick of routine. Sick of Hills and bloody Hopeland.’ He mashed the tea bags fiercely. ‘So we all went out for the day. It was Nat’s idea. A fitting end to her time with us.’

  ‘You took the children out of school?’

  ‘It won’t hurt just once.’

  ‘And a day at Alton Towers has brought about this rather rapid personality change?’

  ‘Natalie’s helped, too. She’s been a big influence on them.’ ‘In a week?’

  ‘She has a very forthright style.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Gone.’ Jeffrey’s voice sounded curiously tight.

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘And when is she coming back?’

  ‘I don’t think she is.’

  ‘But I haven’t paid her,’ Kate said.

  ‘Haven’t you?’ Jeffrey looked surprised. ‘Neither have I.’

  ‘Has she left an address?’

  Jeffrey hung his head. ‘No.’

  ‘A phone number?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I can’t believe she’s just upped and left without payment or leaving a forwarding address.’ Kate raked her hair. ‘Jessica said she was very reliable.’

  ‘Perhaps she was having an off day.’ Jeffrey looked evasive. ‘How am I going to explain this when they get back from Florida and are Natalie-less? They adored her. They thought she was Mary Poppins and Mrs Doubtfire rolled into one with a sprinkling of Eva Herzigova added in for good measure.’

  Her husband looked shamefaced. Kate put her hands on her hips and tried to look threatening. ‘You didn’t upset her, did you, Jeffrey? You did get on all right?’

  ‘We got on fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her.

  ‘Can you get the milk?’ Jeffrey said brightly.

  Kate wandered to the fridge. Her fingers ran over the surface of a cutesy china house they had bought in Prague. It was supposed to be reminiscent of the splendid thirteenth-century architecture there, but bore no relation to it. That was to have been a romantic weekend for her and Jeffrey, but she had developed food poisoning from the meal on the plane, Jeffrey’s wallet had been pickpocketed on the metro and, when they got back to Heathrow, the car had been vandalised and the stereo stolen.

  She hadn’t bought a fridge magnet from Northwood Priory, but perhaps it was too upmarket for that sort of tat anyway. The one holiday that had left a deeper imprint on her than any other, and she had nothing tangible to remind her of it. But then, it wouldn’t do to be reminded of Ben every morning when she started to make the packed lunches. It wouldn’t be a great way to begin the day. She pulled the fridge door open and stopped dead. There, between the Heinz tomato ketchup and a packet of Wall’s pork sausages, propped against the Utterly Butterly was a psychedelic pink note in Jeffrey’s fine, copperplate writing. Don’t ever leave us again! it said.

  ‘Oh, Jeffrey.’ Kate crossed the kitchen to wind herself round him. ‘That’s very sweet.’

  ‘I mean it, Kate,’ he said. ‘Things haven’t been the same without you.’

  A blind man on a galloping horse could see that!

  Kerry came into the kitchen, sat down and slumped over the table in a perfect parody of pubescent ennui.

  ‘Star Trek finished?’

  She grunted.

  ‘Did the Klingons win?’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Kerry said. ‘Do they ever?’

  Not in thirty years. Some things definitely never change.

  ‘Anyway,’ Jeffrey said lightly. ‘Tell us all about your course. We’re dying to hear, aren’t we, Kerry?’

  Kerry looked a long way away from dying.

  ‘Well.’ Kate took her tea and sat at the table with her daughter. ‘It’s been enlightening.’

  ‘What were the other students like? Were they all older?’

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘There were a few crumblies around, but it was a surprisingly young crowd. In fact.’ She giggled. ‘There were an awful lot of women with pierced navels and tattoos about.’

  Jeffrey and Kerry stiffened visibly.

  ‘What have I said?’ Kate asked, looking from one to the other.

  Kerry glanced nervously at Jeffrey. ‘Now?’

  He shrugged, even though there was a worried slant to his eyebrows. ‘It’s as good a time as
any.’

  Without preamble, Kerry lifted up her jumper and the belly-button ring glinted in the sunshine.

  ‘Oh, my good grief,’ Kate said. She’d come over all hot and unnecessary. Her baby was a woman! Her baby was a woman! Panic attack! Panic attack! Sink your Chi, Kate. Sink your Chi, otherwise it’s going to shoot out of the top of your head and make a mess all over the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve got a tattoo as well,’ her daughter said flatly. ‘On my bum.’ She stood up, pulled down her leggings and swivelled round to show one cheek of her bottom.

  Kate was feeling faint. ‘Who’s Justin Timberlake?’

  ‘Used to be Britney’s boyfriend,’ Jeffrey said.

  ‘It’s only fake.’ Kerry tried to view her own backside. ‘Natalie said real tattoos drove mothers wild.’

  ‘I like it,’ Kate said stoically.

  ‘Do you?’ Kerry eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘It’s very trendy.’ No wonder Natalie had legged it before she got back! ‘I was thinking of getting one done myself.’

  Jeffrey spluttered into his tea.

  ‘Cool, Mum,’ Kerry said, hitching her knickers as she walked out of the kitchen.

  Kate held her hand to her forehead, lest she swoon. ‘Did you agree to that?’ She pointed to where the belly button and the bottom had been.

  ‘Only after the event,’ he admitted. ‘It’s grown on me though.’

  ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me while it’s confession time?’

  Jeffrey flushed from the neck of his polo shirt to the tip of his ears.

  ‘Joe hasn’t been expelled for drug dealing? The cat hasn’t poohed on Mrs Barrett’s front doorstep again? You haven’t resigned from Hills and Hopeland?’

  ‘I’ve been promoted,’ Jeffrey said. ‘A partnership.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ She put her arm round him, squeezing him and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Jeffrey, that’s fantastic!’

  ‘Is it?’ he said miserably. ‘A golden handcuff to chain me to my desk for the next twenty years.’

  Kate let go of him and sank back, staring in amazement. ‘I thought it was what you’d always wanted?’

  ‘So did I.’ Jeffrey snorted unhappily, making ripples on the surface of his Darjeeling. He looked at her, eyes imploring. ‘There must be more to life than this.’

  Kate’s mouth went slack and she wondered how much damage her falling chin would do to the designer-glazed terracotta-tiled floor when it hit it.

  chapter 53

  Kate stared at herself in the mirror, lining up the cleanser, toner and moisturiser ready for her nightly fight against ageing. She pulled some pretty cotton wool balls from the glass jar in front of her and paused with them in her hand. Hidden between the layers was another pink note. I love you. She smiled to herself. Jeffrey was such a sweet and gentle man, how could she have overlooked those qualities? Probably because most of the time, it was demonstrated through quiet, background gestures, rather than a showy in-your-face display. He wasn’t a roses and champagne man; Jeffrey was a-cup-of-tea and shall-I-rub-your-shoulders material. With a little thrill of pleasure, Kate folded the note and slipped it into her dressing-gown pocket.

  On the surface it felt like nothing much had changed, but the energy within Kate was fizzing up like a glass of Perrier water, gentle little bubbles bursting pleasantly as they came to the top, releasing her worries into the air. Refreshing. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  It hadn’t occurred to her that Jeffrey was capable of being unhappy, too. Strangely, it was comforting to know that he was struggling inside as much as she was. Perhaps they were both going through a midlife crisis, one last fling at rebellion before they settled down for their dotage. She sincerely hoped not. What about those people who went across the Sahara on a camel in their seventies or appeared on The Weakest Link in their eighties? Surely they hadn’t sat comfortably never venturing off their Dralon three-piece suite since their mid-thirties? Like T’ai Chi, it was all a matter of mind intent.

  It was nice to be home. The house had taken a lot of blood, sweat and years to make it so comfortable, but now it was indelibly stamped with their style. There wasn’t enough lime-green or evidence of earth colours for it to be deemed fashionable, but it suited them both. She ran her finger over the dressing table, not ostensibly checking for dust, but pleased nevertheless that there wasn’t any. The children had been dispatched for the night to her mother’s house. Jeffrey had organised it, along with a Chinese takeaway—to keep her in the Oriental mood, he said—and a decent bottle of white wine. That, combined with a long soak in a bubble bath, had gone some way to soothing her jarred and shell-shocked body. Soon Ben Mahler would be a thing of the past. She flinched at the mere thought of his name. How soon? A week, a month, a year—sometime maybe never? Kate popped the cotton wool back in the jar. Routine could go to hell for once. She would do a Joan Collins and flounce into bed naked and in full make-up—see how the new Jeffrey would cope with that.

  Padding to the bathroom, Kate collected her dirty laundry from her case. She lifted the basket lid and peered inside. Another note. I love you lots!!!! Kate chuckled and gave the note a kiss before consigning it to the growing collection in her pocket. She tipped the T-shirts and the leggings inside, hesitating only to look at the pair of knickers she had worn last night. Like the discarded nightie, they were pretty, pink, functional and marginally bigger than could be considered sexy—married women’s underwear. She would always think of Ben when she was wearing them and she’d always wish that she’d worn something sexier. Hugging them to her in a pathetic little gesture, she felt the tears well up inside. She had got nothing of Ben to take away with her. Not even a photograph. Only her memories. How soon would she forget the sound of his voice, the mischievous spark in his eyes, the softness of his skin? She wanted to hold him in her brain for ever, never letting him go. But perhaps that wasn’t the wisest thing to do.

  She could hear Jeffrey whistling good-naturedly in the kitchen, clashing the crockery together as he unloaded the dishwasher, chatting to Erstwhile about the joys of Kit-e-Kat, locking the back door. Would she ever make love to him again and not see Ben’s face? Every time Jeffrey touched her, would she wish it was someone else? She dropped the panties on top of the pile of clothes, closed the basket and returned to the bedroom. Folding back the duvet, she plumped up her pillows, trying to smile through her sadness.

  She heard her husband say goodnight to the cat and start to climb the stairs. He was singing ‘I’m in the Mood for Love,’ making up the words that he didn’t know, and Kate couldn’t help giggling.

  Jeffrey crashed through the bedroom door with a flourish. ‘Da, da!’ he said, and held out the horrendously ornate silver tray that they only used at Christmas when they were serving mulled wine and mince pies to their boring neighbours in an attempt to be festively sociable. On it sat a bottle of champagne, two glasses—and a long-stemmed pure white rose. Kate’s heart lurched when she saw it.

  He produced a box of matches from the pocket of his dressing gown like a magician producing a white handkerchief, and samba-ed round the room lighting strategically placed candles that he had obviously concealed earlier.

  ‘Aromatherapy,’ he said, blowing out the match. ‘Exotic Garden. Sensual, seductive.’

  He pounced on the bed and, to Kate’s nervous delight, growled like a tiger. ‘Let me pour you a glass of champagne,’ he said wickedly.

  This was like going to bed with a stranger, Kate thought to herself. Something she knew all about now. Oh God, could she carry the weight of a guilty conscience round with her for the rest of her life? She peered at her husband, still singing cheerfully. Did Jeffrey suspect anything? She didn’t think so.

  He handed her a fizzing glass and offered a toast. ‘To us,’ he said.

  ‘To us,’ Kate echoed guiltily.

  ‘So—’ he took her hand ‘—do you think the week away was worthwhile?’

  ‘I think
I’ve learned a lot.’

  ‘Do you feel more settled?’ He traced his finger over her palm.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, avoiding his eyes. ‘I still don’t know what I want from life. Not exactly. I thought I might look into doing a course in garden design or something like that. Set up a little business. Something that I could work round the school holidays for a few more years.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said delightedly. ‘I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing.’ Jeffrey slugged back his champagne. ‘I realised when my promotion came through, it isn’t what I want long-term. Accountancy isn’t for me.’

  ‘It isn’t?’ She was astonished.

  ‘No. Balance sheets bore me to death. They’re squeezing the life out of me, Kate. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I want to get my hands dirty! Run barefoot in the grass!’ ‘You do?’

  Jeffrey was getting very animated. ‘Kate, you could train first. Start the business while I carried on supporting us. Then after a couple of years, when you were established, I could give up my job and join you. I could take a course in my spare time.…’

  ‘You don’t have any spare time.’

  ‘I’ll make some.’ Jeffrey squeezed her fingers. ‘This is important, Kate. I need a dream. I don’t want to be deskbound,’ he said passionately. ‘I want to reach for the stars.’

  Kate’s universe was shifting and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.

  ‘I’ve got something else to show you, too.’

  Jeffrey was in full flow. The steady stream had burst its banks and was determined to wash everything familiar on the landscape away in its path. He reached under the bed and, after a few moments of grappling, pulled out a very large box which he plonked on the bed.

  ‘Go on—open it.’ His eyes were bright.

  Kate fumbled with the hastily wrapped package, pulling out reams and reams of tissue paper until she reached the treasure. ‘Rollerblades,’ she breathed.

  ‘You said you wanted to try it.’