by Jane Corry
‘I’m not sure.’
I didn’t mean that to slip out but immediately he picks up on it. ‘But he must be,’ Matthew insists. ‘You’re beautiful …’
I flush, batting the compliment away with my hand.
‘Yes you are! You’ve evolved into a gorgeous, sophisticated woman. Not only that but you have your own agency.’
‘It’s hard work,’ I interrupt.
‘Of course. I can imagine.’ He makes a sympathetic face. ‘Is your husband supportive, though?’
I remember how I’d been stupid enough to tell him that Stuart and I lead separate lives. I don’t want to sound disloyal so I fudge it.
‘Yes. Sort of. It’s just that we don’t really “get” each other’s work.’ I try to put on a front by making a joke out of it. ‘Cross-bites and fillings aren’t my field any more than extras are his.’
He shrugs. ‘Personally, I’m terrified of the dentist.’
‘Me too!’ I say. ‘I mean, Stuart being an exception, of course.’ And we both laugh.
‘Doesn’t Stuart come down to see your dad with you?’
I take a sip of my wine.
‘Well, they’re not that close really.’
Again, I don’t mean that to slip out. I can’t even blame the drink this time. After Friday night, I’m just sticking to this one glass. Mind you, I hadn’t expected a large one.
‘That’s a pity. I really got on with him.’
‘He liked you too.’
‘Did he?’ Matthew looks wistful for a moment. ‘In those days, the future looked so bright, didn’t it? Especially when I got that major role. I thought I was going places. But then it all went pear-shaped.’
‘What exactly happened?’ I ask.
‘Who knows? There was talk of another series but the casting director left and the new one didn’t like my face so much. Then the demand came for a different kind of look in the industry.’ He spreads out his hands. ‘But hey, I get by on small parts and making contacts.’
Then the phone bleeps with a text. It’s Sally.
Still trying to find a substitute for Doris.
I groan.
‘Anything wrong?’ asks Matthew.
I put down my glass. ‘One of our extras has fractured her shoulder.’ I pause, wondering whether to go into details. Maybe not. ‘I feel so sorry for her, but we’ve also got to find a replacement.’
Matthew shakes his head. ‘These things happen.’
While I’m looking at my phone, I check to see if there’s been a reply to my ‘How’s it going?’ text to Stuart. There hasn’t.
‘Mind if I make a call?’ I ask him.
‘Be my guest.’
I go outside to the hall and dial my husband’s number. He picks up. At least, I presume it’s him. I hear a snatch of laughter. Then the phone goes dead. I try again. It goes through to voicemail.
I feel sick as I walk slowly back to the bar.
‘What’s wrong?’ asks Matthew. ‘You look as if you’ve just had bad news.’
I want to cry. It’s all too much. That laughter on the other end of the phone. Stuart ‘bumping into’ this Janine woman again. Dad. The girls and the struggle to keep work and home life balanced. Doris’s shoulder and the stress of finding a last-minute replacement. But most of all, that aching emptiness inside. All I want is someone to cuddle me. A pair of arms to make me feel desirable instead of a husband who turns his back on me at night.
I can’t help it. I tell Matthew everything. By the time I’ve finished, there are tears streaming down my face.
‘It sounds,’ he says, handing me a proper linen handkerchief from his pocket, ‘as though you’ve got a lot to carry. I know what that feels like.’
Then he leans over and gives me a hug. ‘It will be all right, Pops,’ he whispers. ‘I’m here for you.’
10
Betty
‘You must come round to dinner soon,’ said Jane one day out of the blue.
‘That would be lovely,’ I said. Although we’d been to the park several times, we’d never actually visited each other’s houses. But as soon as I’d agreed to it, I began to worry. If I went to hers, I’d need to return the favour. I couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing! It wasn’t just that our poky little flat was cold, or that the paper was peeling off the walls with damp, even though we’d complained to the landlord enough times.
It was also because of Jock. How would he behave? I knew he’d think Jane was posh, with her accent and the way she pronounced words like ‘party’ properly with a clear ‘t’. I also knew he could take against people easily. When we’d bumped into a girl who’d been in my class at school, he’d been distinctly frosty. ‘She disnae like me,’ he’d insisted.
I was astounded. My friend had been perfectly friendly. In fact, she’d been one of the ones who had asked me to tea at her place even though Jock hadn’t allowed me to have her back here. ‘Why do you say that?’ I’d asked.
‘I could just tell.’
I was beginning to learn that my husband had a chip on his shoulder. He’d worked his way up in life from a family of manual labourers. Even though my parents had been so enthusiastic about him, and despite the fact that Jock was rising up the management ladder faster than anyone else we knew, I sensed he thought that my dad, as a factory supervisor, looked down on him a bit.
‘Where does this new friend of yours live?’ he asked when I told him about Jane’s invitation.
I named the road.
‘The new modern semis? Posh, are they? What will they think of our rented flat, then?’
‘They won’t think anything,’ I said, more firmly than I felt. ‘It’s our company they want.’
Eventually, I persuaded him to go. I wore the smartest of my maternity smocks that I’d made myself, copying a style I’d seen in the fashion pages of the Daily Mail. But when I suggested to Jock that he might wear his Sunday best trousers and polyester jacket from C&A, he flatly refused. ‘Anyone would think we’re going to visit the bleeding Queen.’
Instead, he wore his black football-match anorak and jeans.
When we arrived, a sandy-haired man in beige trousers with shiny leather shoes – so different from Jock’s trainers! – opened the door. He wasn’t a big man like my husband but I soon found out that what he lacked in height, he made up for with charm and good manners. ‘I’m Gary,’ he said warmly, putting out his hand. ‘Come on in. It’s lovely to meet you, Betty. Jane’s talked so much about her new friend.’
‘Good to meet you too,’ I said shyly, taking his hand. I noticed Jock’s were firmly in his pockets, and when Gary turned to him, he just nodded curtly by way of a greeting.
‘May I take your coats?’ Gary asked once we had stepped into the hallway.
‘No thanks.’ Jock kept his hands in the pockets as if to indicate there was no way he was parting with his old football jacket. ‘I’ll hang on to it, if you don’t mind.’
I tried to take off mine but struggled a bit with the sleeves. I looked to Jock for help but he was ogling a painting on the wall. ‘Let me give you a hand with that,’ said Gary.
‘Thank you,’ I flushed, embarrassed by my husband’s lack of manners. Then again, Jock wasn’t the type to walk on the outside of the pavement or let me go through a door first.
‘I’ll put it in the coat cupboard,’ said Gary. We didn’t have any storage space in our place. Just cheap plastic temporary wardrobes that looked a bit like tents.
‘Nice stuff you have here,’ said Jock, picking up a china figure of a shepherdess from the hall table.
‘Thanks.’ Gary was looking a bit embarrassed. ‘That came from Jane’s grandmother.’
I watched nervously as my husband continued to examine it. ‘You don’t go round picking other people’s things up,’ I wanted to say to him. He’d go mad if someone did that in our flat.
‘Let’s go through, shall we?’ said Gary. ‘Jane’s in the kitchen, putting the final touches to dinner. I’ll fix
you a drink in the sitting room.’
‘The “sitting room”!’ Jock muttered to himself, just loudly enough to make my heart sink in case Gary might have heard him. ‘Is that a fancy way of saying “front room”?’
‘What can I get you?’ Gary was standing by a trolley with all sorts of bottles on it. He gave me a kind smile. ‘I expect you want something soft, like Jane prefers. We’ve got orange juice, lemonade or lime.’
What a choice! I made do with water at home. ‘Lemonade please.’
He hands it to me in a beautiful glass with a pretty pattern on it. ‘It’s nice that you’re both expecting at the same time. How are you doing?’
I flush. In my family, none of the men talked about pregnancy. Jock certainly didn’t ask how I was feeling. He just took my growing stomach for granted. ‘Very well, thanks.’
‘That’s good.’ Gary turned to Jock. ‘Now, what would you like?’
‘How about a real ale?’ said my husband, without so much as a ‘please’.
Gary looked uncomfortable. ‘We don’t have any, I’m afraid. There’s lager, if you fancy that. Or a whisky? I’ve got Glenfiddich, which is really good.’
‘Go on then,’ said Jock, as if he was doing Gary a favour in accepting it. I could feel my face grow hot with horror at his bad manners.
‘How much water would you like with it?’ Gary asked, picking up a bottle from the trolley and pouring some into a glass.
‘I’ll take it as it is. No point in ruining it.’
Gary handed it over silently. ‘So, Betty.’ His voice was gentle, as if to reassure me in the face of Jock’s rudeness. ‘Jane mentioned –’
‘Did I hear my name?’ said a cheery voice, as my friend came in. She was still wearing her pinny, but underneath I could see she had a pretty blue-and-white maternity dress and was wearing eyeliner and lipstick, which she didn’t normally do.
‘It’s so lovely to see you,’ she said, kissing me on both cheeks. I flushed with pleasure. Then she turned to Jock. ‘How do you do?’ she said, putting out her hand.
He ignored it. ‘Pretty well, thanks.’
‘Ask her how she is,’ I wanted to hiss, but there was no opportunity to do so without being heard. Jane, to her credit, started chatting to Jock about how excited he must be about the baby and whether he’d got the nursery ready.
‘We haven’t got a nursery,’ Jock’s voice was cold. ‘Our flat only has one bedroom so the bairn’s going to have to sleep in a cot by Betty’s side of the bed.’
‘I’d like the baby to sleep in our room,’ said Jane quickly. ‘It would mean we could keep an eye on it.’
‘But we’ve got a baby monitor, darling,’ said Gary.
‘That’s true. We’ve had to get a second because we still use the original one for Alice. Which make are you going for? Ours is from Mothercare. I can really recommend it.’
Jock drained his glass of whisky. ‘We can’t afford anything pricey like that. Our bairn’s going to have to yell loud enough so we can hear it.’
Jane gave a small laugh. ‘Very amusing.’
‘I mean it.’ Jock got up and strode towards the drinks trolley. ‘This is good stuff. Mind if I help myself to more?’
‘Please,’ said Gary stiffly. ‘Be my guest.’
There was a moment’s silence as we all watched my husband fill his glass halfway up. He’s going to get drunk, I told myself. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
In embarrassment, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
‘Do you know where it is?’ asked Gary kindly.
‘Probably needs a map to get there in a house like this.’ Jock laughed as he spoke and slapped his thighs as if pleased with his weak joke. But Jane and Gary had both turned crimson. ‘Don’t be getting any ideas about us getting a mansion, will you, Bets?’
He knew I hated it when he called me that. It made me feel like a barmaid. Besides, Betty had been my grandmother’s name. I’d never known her, so it made me feel special.
If Gary and Jane thought he was being rude, they were polite enough to hide their expressions. Personally, I wanted to sink into the ground. I had to escape, if only for a few minutes. Besides, the baby’s weight was pressing down on my bladder. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I really do need to go …’
‘Of course,’ said Jane warmly. ‘No rush. Dinner can wait.’
Shutting the toilet door behind me and locking it, I took in the spare paper roll on the window sill with its frilly blue lace cover. I prayed Jock wouldn’t need to come in here. I could just see him taking the mickey out of it to our hosts. Next to it was an air freshener spray. I wouldn’t mind one of those at home, but we could only afford essentials. Instead, we had to light a match to get rid of smells.
‘Dinner’s ready now,’ said Jane when I came out. ‘Shall we go through to the dining room? Gary, darling, could you possibly bring the avocado mousse through?’
I’d never had avocado before! It was what Mum called ‘one of those expensive new-fangled things’.
‘So how many rooms have you got here?’ asked Jock as we took our seats round the table, which had a glass top and really nice comfortable chairs. It was all so different from the rickety plastic table in our kitchen, where we ate all our meals.
‘Two receptions and three bedrooms,’ replied Gary quietly.
‘Reception now, is it?’ chipped in Jock. ‘Thought it was a sitting room a few minutes ago.’
He was like a dog with a bone. I wanted to curl up with embarrassment.
Jane was handing the dishes round with a neat little green mound inside. ‘We could never have afforded it if my grandmother hadn’t helped us.’ Then she added, almost apologetically: ‘I know how lucky we are.’
Almost as if we weren’t there, she reached out to take Gary’s hand over the table. I couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. They clearly loved each other so much!
Jock looked as though he was about to say something. I could just imagine some sharp comment about it ‘being all right for some’. I needed to change the conversation fast. ‘This looks so clever,’ I said, eying my plate. But inside, I couldn’t help wondering what avocado tasted like and how exactly you ate it. There were so many knives, forks and spoons on either side of my place mat that I didn’t know where to start.
Jane looked pleased. ‘Thanks. I got the recipe from My Weekly magazine.’
I waited for everyone else to be served, but to my horror, Jock started tucking in as soon as his was in front of him. He swallowed it in three mouthfuls and made a big show of pushing the empty plate away and then draining his glass. I could see Jane looking at him.
‘Jock,’ she said, ‘may I get you another drink or anything?’
‘I’ll go,’ Gary said sharply, before she could get up. ‘You need to rest. Another whisky, Jock?’
‘Cheers,’ Jock said curtly. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t have any more. But I knew that would be a disastrous move.
‘I’m always telling Bets here to take the weight off her feet,’ Jock said, suddenly conversational. ‘She’s put on enough.’
I wanted to sink into the ground.
‘It’s normal to get bigger,’ said Gary. ‘Jane did the same with Alice, didn’t you, darling?’
‘I did,’ she chirped. ‘And I lost it all really fast. Breastfeeding helps.’
Jock said nothing to that. Instead he grabbed the whisky Gary handed to him and took a big swig.
I couldn’t stand any more. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, getting up. ‘I’m just going to the toilet.’
‘Again?’ sneered Jock.
For a few minutes, I sat on the closed lid, shutting my eyes and wishing with all my heart that I’d never accepted Jane’s invitation. What would she think of me? Hot tears rolled down my face. A deep shame knotted itself in the pit of my stomach. How could I have married a man like this?
When I came out, having dried my eyes, Jane was waiting for me. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
&
nbsp; I bit my lip. ‘Not really. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say.’
She seemed to understand exactly what I meant. ‘I expect it’s just because he’s nervous, and maybe a little drunk.’
I hugged her. Jane always knew how to make me feel better.
I’m still not sure how I made it through the rest of that dinner. When Gary politely asked Jock about his job, my husband talked loudly and at length about the factory and how much responsibility he had. He didn’t ask Gary anything about his work as a teacher.
I could barely bring myself to speak to Jock as we walked home. But when we reached our block of flats, it all came blurting out. ‘How could you?’ I asked him tearfully as we climbed the stairs to our front door. (The lift was broken again.) ‘How could you be so rude to them when they were so nice?’
Jock didn’t answer me until we were inside. Then, in a tone more quiet and threatening than I’d ever heard before, he said: ‘You won’t be seeing them again. Stick to your own kind. Then we’ll both be much happier. Got it?’
11
Poppy
‘I mean it,’ says Matthew in a throaty voice, looking straight at me amidst the clatter of the glasses and the laughter and the Christmas cheer of the bar. ‘I really am here for you. It’s what old friends are for.’
‘Yes,’ I say doubtfully. ‘Although we haven’t seen each other for years.’
‘Doesn’t matter, Pops.’ He puts down his drink and leans across the table. ‘We’ve always had a connection, haven’t we? And life doesn’t go on for ever, you know.’
He runs the last two sentences together as though one is the natural conclusion of the other. But they’re very different things. I try to make sense of it, but I can’t. I’m too confused. Right now, I don’t see the middle-aged man who had come back into my life after all these years. I see the young Matthew who had comforted the eighteen-year-old me when my mother had run off. The Matthew who had told me that I would always be the only girl for him.
A man who makes me feel wanted. Still. A man who is making my body respond without even touching me. What the hell is going on?