Angel

by Kate Mitchell

  The truth is, I never bothered to get to know or understand my husband John. Did I regret it? Looking back and now from hindsight seeing what he had done behind my back, yes, I do. But what do you do when all that has passed under the proverbial bridge? You pick up your regrets and say, come on, let’s go. I had my opportunity, but I let it pass. Don’t we all do things like that?

  A strange feeling to see all his old clothes there, knowing that most of them were worn out but had not been cast away. I sat on the floor biting my bottom lip and looking at them.

  ‘But you paid me back all right,’ I said to the ghosts of my thoughts. ‘Good and proper.’

  Still, the present is here, and the future is only but a step away. What was I doing here churning up old memories? I had to bury this ghost of John as surely as he had buried himself. And yet, I think I had someone special here with John, but I turned my back on him because of my own agenda.

  The top drawer was where he kept his socks and handkerchiefs. Just for old time's sake, I opened the drawer and looked in. And again, nothing had changed. The second drawer held his underpants and vests and the bottom three drawers, I had no idea.

  On my knees, I pulled out the third drawer somehow, expecting it to be empty, but it wasn’t. Inside this drawer, he had his old leather-bound photograph album. Taking it up, I knew what I would find, the photographs from his youth when he was a boy. His school photographs, his friends when he was seven, eight, nine and ten. The ones when he was a teenager - and how young John looked in these. And, was this really me, waving my hand at him and then, poking my tongue out? Fancy him still keeping these photographs of me. It was a shock to see these old photographs of first, now him and I together. I remember this one well for that was before the day I told him I was pregnant. Would he have asked me to marry him if I had not pulled that stunt? Perhaps he would have, but I did not wait, I never wait. Once I’ve made up my mind about something, I'm in for the kill.

  More photographs, mainly of him and me but not this one, this one I had no idea who it was. A female who he once knew. But there was something about the photograph which seemed familiar. Is it possible to have cosmetic surgery which will change the face into an image unrecognizable, but not the eyes? And these were eyes I had seen before.

  I was trying to remember where everything went so that when I’d finished looking, I could put them back to erase as much evidence as I could. The polished surface of the chest of drawers, I had no choice was indented with my fingers, holes in the dust. Then I saw there was a large buff-colored envelope.

  Looking means looking at everything and this was something I had to look at. Perhaps it was John's will, perhaps when I read his will, I will know exactly where I stood.

  Taking up the envelope, I pulled out not a legal document but a newspaper, a set of newspaper cuttings. Why on earth would John interest himself in these, for what I remembered about him, was that he never really took much interest in the news. I had always supposed that the news was threatening to his way of life.

  ‘Why look for problems,’ he once said to me when I suggested that we should take an interest in the current news and to put the television on to catch the headlines. ‘You will always find bad news if you go looking for it.’

  I always thought he was superstitious about some things. I didn't know what, because I never thought deeply enough about what made him tick. Probably because I never found him that interesting. But anyhow, whenever I put on the evening news he would disappear into the other room. Not understanding why he wanted to leave the room, I felt he was choosing to be irritating but that was his choice, not mine.

  The evening's television entertainment was not my thing, I had my own life to lead, I was a gossip anyway, but the magazine was doing things which were featured in the day's popular news. There was a large world of complaints going on out there, which I found fascinating at the time. Crime and intrigue and whose best political friend was not friends with them anymore, quite trivial actually except that politics have color and so we played with the political power of color. This went well for a while in the city. It was easy to recognize the people who read our magazine because people started wearing jackets or skirts in communist red or, if they supported capitalism, they wore blue. Amazing how much power images can make.

  We got some good ideas from a piece on poverty. We did a bit on what can a person wear when they are down on their luck, but still needs to make a statement? It’s incredible what you can do with glossy magazines and cardboard boxes. But like everything else, the fashion for events of the news passed, the television did not come on at nine, and John was left to sit in his comfortable chair. And if I'm right, I think this was around about the time when we stopped eating together.

  A Failed Bank Robbery was the headline news. I looked at the date of the newspaper and noticed this happened just over five years ago. In truth, I did seem to remember something about someone having been killed. One of the bank robbers became over-excited or nervous and when the cashier's glasses slipped off his head and he bent down to retrieve them, that was when the bank robber shot the poor man in the head. The story was even made sadder because he was due to retire at the end of the month. Judging by the angle and the fuzziness of the picture, it looked to be one taken from one of the security cameras, but it was difficult for anyone to say what they looked like because they wore stockings over their faces.

  Underneath, I began reading the write-up on the event. The police turned the country upside down trying to find these men, and it appears they would not have caught them if it hadn’t been for a tipoff which took them right to the criminals. The money though was never discovered. Over one and a quarter million had gone missing.

  I put this cutting on the floor and looked at the next one. It was a surprise to see that John had been following this story. Another newspaper clipping followed some months later with photographs of all the men, they were in their thirties. Because there had been a murder, the robbers were sentenced to thirty years with a minimum of twenty-five before they could ask for parole. There had been a sixth member, the one that had masterminded the robbery, but this one person had managed to get away. And probably living in Spain, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Having finished reading the article, for some reason known only to my psyche, I shuddered. Why on earth was John keeping these newspaper clippings, for John I knew, or from what I thought I knew about him, would only keep things which mattered to him? One startling idea came to me that it might have been John who had masterminded the robbery. Looking about me, well, perhaps not in this particular room, John was more than just simply wealthy, he was rich.

  My heart thumped in my chest when I thought about this man who I had once been married to. Had he built up his business for her? To have someone like this Angel in his life John would need a fortune. But had this fortune been at the price of his soul? She must have had a hold on him which was magnetic, and I must admit that I felt the tiny tracing of jealousy. He had come to love her in a way he had never loved me, but perhaps I did not allow him too.

  And if I'm honest, because I've been in the fashion and beauty world all my life, I thought John had good taste and looking at her because although she was pretty, she was anything but classy. Now if I were a man, I would not have chosen a woman like Angel, I would have chosen someone just like me. But John had chosen me, and in the end, it hadn't worked out, he cramped my style. He was just too old, too fuddy-duddy, too soft, too kind and forgiving and too easily manipulated. That's where she and I are so alike except, where I was honest and told this man exactly how I felt, she did not.

  But is there much difference between us, me and Angel? At first, I was so certain we were unalike, but now I am wondering if we are. We both took John for a ride with the offering of a baby, and though my pregnancy was a lie, still he had done the honorable thing and married me. I don't know what to think about John anymore.

  Outside, car doors were slamming. Grabbing all the contents
of the buff-colored envelope in a panic, I straighten up John's third drawer and put the envelope back but then on second thoughts, I took the envelope out and stashed it with me. A quick surveillance of John's old brown bedroom and looking out of the bedroom door to see if there was anyone about, I hurried out back towards my bedroom to stow the envelope away.

  Looking in on little J. J, I found he was awake but eerily quiet.

  ‘I'll be back,’ I said looking into his old eyes. What was it about this young child which made me feel uncomfortably guilty? To lie on his back, hour after hour cannot be interesting, but he really was not my problem. Anyhow, I planned to make it up to him, I just didn't have the time to at that moment.

  9

  It was not Angel who had returned home as I thought it might be, it was Hattie. I was just about to sneak back upstairs, relieved it was him and not her when he caught me going back up.

  ‘Hey, you,’ a voice called upstairs, ‘Expecting the princess and not me? Must have been a disappointment for you.’

  I did not like the sound of his voice; he was trying to imply something and so I turned around and slowly came down the stairs. I had not sought to make an enemy of Hattie because sometimes, he gave me the impression that he knew something about me from seeing my concealed scars.

  ‘I know who you are,’ he said watching me coming down the stairs and then he turned and walked away.

  What he said startled me. He knew who I was, how? I wouldn’t put it passed him to have been clever enough to find out about the true nature of my identity. Just by changing my name did not change my history, and anyone with a little suspicion and curiosity could if they wanted to find out who I really was. Exactly how much did he know about me? I thought I had better follow him. It was then I noticed the way he walked, he was unsteady, which could only mean he was drunk. He was walking towards the lounge, and I followed cautiously behind, it was now ten o'clock and getting late. Had he seen the lights on in John's bedroom?

  As I pursued him into the lounge, I was trying to think about what I could say to his allegations. That yes, I had been John Boreman's wife and did not realize that Angel was John's partner until it was too late. Would he believe me? I didn’t think so, as I wouldn't believe it if I was him. But I could not leave here yet, not without getting some of the cash. After all, it was as much my money as it was hers. And thinking about it, it was I who in a way helped John build his empire.

  Perhaps, if I explained my input into John's life with Hattie, and that my intentions were only to ask for what was due to me, some money to rebuild my face and my life and if I got enough, for I wasn't greedy, I was prepared to share it with him.

  In a zigzag fashion, he made his way to the sofa and turning around just in time, he allowed gravity to take over as he crashed onto the cushy seats. The smell of danger was in the air. With respect, I went over to take the opposite sofa facing him. This was a time for a serious talk, and I was mentally composing myself to make a deal. If he said nothing about my identity, I was quite happy to give him half. In those few seconds of panic, I thought about writing out a contract between us, but then I realized it could be used as evidence against me by him. He, being an unknown quantity could show this to Angel and gain some angel points with her, and then I would really be outside. The only thing I knew about Hattie was that he did not like me. Not knowing what to do the best thing was to listen and see what he had to say first.

  ‘Well, you could make yourself useful and get me a drink as you're working for Janice,’ he was looking for something in his pockets, in that instance, I thought he was searching for a gun.

  Unable to move and staring at his hands, I was thinking about my life and where I went wrong, and how things could have been so different between John and myself. We could have shared his hobbies, though he didn't have any to share. I could have been interested in him; I could have also been there for him.

  For, who would miss me, there was no one. I had a sister, Molly who I never owned up to. She was happily married with five children including her husband. She had allowed herself to get incredibly fat after she married, and especially after she had the first of her children. A few years ago, when she first began propagating, she sent me a photograph of the happy three. Molly had married a tall, gawky looking man, who she said would do anything for her, which included eating. He used to be skinny, but he wasn't anymore and by the looks of the child, the child wouldn't be either. And she was fat now and looking so smug, holding a baby in her arms. She had accomplished a woman's dreams by becoming a mother. I put the photograph in an envelope marked, don't look.

  Annoyed at how she had let herself go, I telephoned Molly and told her that she was too fat and that she ought to do something about it. She was happy, she said, and when one is happy, one doesn't mind what one looks like. In a way, she was right and to be honest, Molly really is a gentle and sweet person though she often drives me up the wall. Everyone likes her, and I can understand why. Trouble is I find it difficult. So, I stopped telephoning her because her sweet and easy-going nature only makes me say something bitingly cruel back to her. And I can just see her now, holding the receiver and smiling, 'I love you, Vivian, I just want you to be happy.' If everyone just smiled a bit more the world would be a happier place.

  Apparently, from John, Molly had rung the house a few times, but I had always been out. John annoyingly liked her; he could never understand why I didn't.

  The last time I spoke to Molly was at least two years ago. She didn’t have my new address and probably had no idea where I lived. I told her one time, out of exasperation that I was moving to America. And that's where she probably thinks I am now. Still being angry, and just as skinny.

  It was a packet of cigarettes that Hattie pulled out of his pocket. I put the plug back into my life with a new fuse and tried to retrieve the blood I had lost. It seemed to me that I had just experienced the second of my nine lives.

  Watching him put the cigarette into his mouth I saw he was now looking at me, this was my cue, I stood up and went to the drinks table.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ I was looking at the bottles, and then I saw an image of John, but it was not with me, I saw him smiling at Angel.

  ‘A martini - with a cherry.’

  Never made a martini in my life, martinis were not my drink. And so, I searched through the bottles and found the vodka which I poured into a tumbler. Then I found what I perceived to be a decanter of sherry, and so I thought it a good idea to pour some of this into it, for it would make it a cherry-like color. And all the while I was doing this, I kept on thinking about what he had just said. My eyes hit on the limoncello, a dash of that would give it that tartness. And while I was at it, I thought I would pour myself out a gin and tonic, a large glass for a big piece of bad news.

  I gave him his glass and standing in front of him, drank a mouthful of mine. I was going to ask him what he knew but instead out came, ‘whose Janice?’

  ‘None of your business,’ he said eying me dangerously. ‘Where're the matches?’

  ‘I don't have any.’

  ‘Then, get me the lighter.’

  Of course, I did what he wanted me to because he had the ammunition on me. Until I knew what he knew about me, I was compliant. He took a sip of his drink.

  ‘What on earth is this?’

  ‘It's what you asked for, a martini.’

  ‘Where's the cherry?’

  I had forgotten the cherry. Taking back his glass, I went to get him the cherry. And now I was becoming angry. He knew who I was and yet he was happy to play with me. I got a cherry out of the jar and threw a second one in just for the hell of it.

  He took the glass out of my hand and swallowed the contents in one go but managed to leave the cherries at the bottom of the glass.

  As I tried to light his cigarette, I wanted to ask what gave the game away, I wanted to know how he knew and why was he so suspicious? He nearly choked on the cigarette and I wished he had, but he sur
vived although he was tanked.

  ‘Do you know what love is - unrequited love?’

  ‘Not really,’ I wasn't interested in his unsatisfactory love life, I wanted to know what he was prepared to do with the knowledge he had on me.

  ‘He never knew I loved him.’

  I shrugged; I accepted that he was going to go the long way about things. A history of how life had pummeled him with cruelty and how was finally a chance. You know, the usual twaddle. He was determined to make me suffer. While he was telling me this, I began thinking about my options.

  ‘But I think she knew.’

  I looked up. By she, I presumed he must mean Angel.

  ‘He wasn't handsome in the conventional ways.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked. I had been thinking of my magazine days and the models we employed. None of them was what you called hunks, but they had photogenic face and they kept themselves fit with the right bumps in all the right places.

  ‘But I was attracted to him, and if she had left him alone, I know he would have been attracted to me.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ I had my face in the glass trying to catch the slippery ice cube with my tongue. I was now thinking about my options and how I would be able to get some money from Angel. Blackmail seemed to be a good idea, though, I had no dirt on her at this precise moment. By rooting around, I was sure I could find something on her. Each of us has the possibility to be blackmailed. Hattie could blackmail me now and I would pay him just to keep quiet about my identity to Angel.