The Subsequent Wife

by Priscilla Masters

  The legend grows legs as it is said that livestock refuse to drink water from the Mermaid Pool, and birds will never fly across it. The water, oily, peaty and black, has given rise to the legend that it is bottomless, a gateway to the underworld. In the 1850s a group of determined locals attempted to drain the lake to see how deep it really was. But soon after the men began digging at the southern end of the pool (where a drainage ditch can still be seen), the mermaid herself appeared from the lake and threatened to flood the nearby towns of Leek and Leekfrith unless they stopped digging.

  Needless to say, they packed up their shovels and went home.

  Even driving up to the pub that cold Sunday afternoon, something of the eerie atmosphere penetrated the car, and the walk to the front door was a struggle, the wind so strong it practically cut you in half, as though the mermaid herself was buffeting you. When we entered the pub we both laughed out loud. It was such a relief. On such a wild late afternoon only a few tables were occupied.

  We sat in the corner while Steven fetched drinks and suddenly happiness burst out of me. ‘I feel so happy,’ I said, ‘I could die. Right here and now. Nothing in my life will ever measure up to this beautiful, wild afternoon. Thank you.’

  He turned to face me, surprised. ‘Really? You mean that?’

  Which bit, I wondered, but repeated, ‘I never thought life could be so kind.’

  He looked even more startled. Then he brushed my cheek with his hand. ‘So easy to please?’ He followed this up with, ‘Marry me?’

  Now it was I who was amazed. ‘What did you say?’

  He gave a little chuckle. ‘You heard.’ And now he wasn’t looking at me but out through the window, at the vista. As I have said, it was a wild afternoon, but a shaft of light had found its way through a few clouds. When I was a little girl I believed that those beams of sunshine stretching down to earth were a stairway to heaven, thrown down by God to give us mortals a chance of ascending. These days I am not so sure. If there is a stairway to heaven then, surely, there is also one in the other direction? A child believes life will be good to her. An adult knows that life can be the opposite.

  But outside I could see where he was looking, at that shaft of light, pathway to heaven.

  His proposal had shocked me into silence. The afternoon felt very strange, out of kilter.

  Steven tilted his head, that strange movement which looked as though he was listening to something or someone, seeking their approval. He gave a nervous laugh. ‘Take your time, Jennifer.’

  I turned to look at him. Not in the usual way but searching his face for clues. I liked his brown hair, slightly thinning. I liked his straight nose. I liked his eyes and the small, quiet mouth, out of which I had never heard a swear word or a curse. As I studied him he studied me back with a half-smile. ‘Well? Do I pass the test?’

  I knew what was missing. He hadn’t said he loved me. Like many little girls – before everything had gone so wrong – I had had my dreams. White lace, a gold wedding ring, a home, a husband, children. This was my stairway to heaven. He was my stairway to heaven.

  But …

  ‘I know so little about you.’

  ‘You only need to know one thing,’ he said. ‘I want to marry you.’ He still hadn’t said it.

  This was my chance. My only chance. Carpe diem. I threw all caution to the wind; what came out was a shocked and breathless, ‘Yes.’

  He smiled, kissed my cheek and it was tender. ‘You will, Jennifer?’ He sounded very certain of this. I nodded again, firmer this time, but still feeling as though I was jumping off the edge of a tall building into thin air. Unknown territory. The stairway descending.

  ‘Yes.’

  He murmured something but it wasn’t addressed to me.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Weddings have to be arranged, don’t they?

  And for some reason – God only knows why – I tried to get in touch with my mother.

  My mother’s name is Sylvia. She is tall and angular with sharp, unpleasant features. I don’t look like her at all, thank goodness. She is a selfish woman who, without a backwards glance, walked out on my brother and me when I was a teenager, to be with ‘the love of her life’, George Harris, who turned out to have an evil temper and subsequently walked out on her a few years later. When I think of life in the years before my parents split up, I can only remember everyone being cross. Cross because we didn’t have enough money. Cross because my bedroom was untidy. Cross because my mother didn’t want to make the tea or do the ironing. Cross with Dad, cross with me, cross with Josh. I never ever remember her being affectionate towards Dad. (Later on, he got an overdose of that from Gloria – and later still from Malee the Thai child bride, his latest squeeze.) When he was with Mum he always seemed downtrodden and a bit unhappy so my image of marriage wasn’t exactly bliss. When I tried to imagine them joyous, happy, in love, getting married, I couldn’t. How the hell did those two ever get married in the first place? It was only when I was a bit older and knew a bit more and could work a few things out for myself that I realized. They’d had a quickie. Mum had got pregnant with me. The two families had threatened them and they’d caved in and got married. So it was all my fault. No wonder she wasn’t exactly fond of her daughter.

  Marry in haste, they say. Big mistake. Better not to marry at all.

  I came along months later, squawking like a screech owl, Mum said, and the scene was set for a tragedy. Misery, unhappiness, lies, quarrels, disaster. A resentful bride, a cornered groom. Two incompatible people. Wasted lives. To be honest, apart from being left homeless (living in a bedsit, Dad only had room for Josh who must have been, at best, an accident), I was glad when she vanished from our lives. And my dad seemed happier too. My dad’s name is Gregory (don’t ask!) and he never speaks unless you talk to him first. He is one of the world’s quiet folk. But he’s gentle and kind. And he never gets angry. I guess some people would call him passive. I call him lovely. I love my dad. But he moved on. Three years after Mum left, Gloria abandoned him too. Not sure what really happened. One day she was sprawled all over him like an octopus and the next she’d just vanished and been replaced by various Thai girls, culminating in Malee with her singsong high-pitched voice. Men are such fools.

  So that’s my family.

  And Steven’s? I knew absolutely nothing about them.

  Brothers, sisters, mother, father? Nothing.

  When I told my mum, having tracked her down through her mum (my grandma whom I never saw – I didn’t even get a Christmas card from her), she snapped, ‘So I suppose you want some money from me.’

  That was my sweetest moment. ‘Oh no, Mum,’ I said. ‘We don’t need your money. We have enough. Steven is financially secure. He has a good job.’

  ‘What?’ I could hear the vitriol in her voice. ‘So what is his job then?’ She couldn’t resist an extra jibe. ‘Not a brain surgeon is he, sweetie?’ I particularly hated it when she called me sweetie. Besides which, I didn’t actually know what he did. So I made it up.

  ‘He works for the government.’

  ‘Really,’ she scoffed. ‘MP, is he?’

  I didn’t bother to answer.

  ‘I just thought,’ I continued, ‘that as I’m your daughter you might like to know. You might even like to buy a bloody hat.’

  And I slammed the phone down, only too aware that all I’d had was a mobile number. I didn’t know where she lived now. I didn’t even know whether she was still in France or not. All I knew was that my gran, whom I’d tracked down to Eccleshall, sixteen miles away, hadn’t suggested we meet up as a threesome. That didn’t surprise me. When I’d lived rough, I’d asked her once, just the once, if I could stay with her. She lived in a council flat at the top of the High Street and there was probably a rule about having guests to stay. But hell, I’d just told her I was camping out in Hanley Park, along with druggies, alcoholics and rapists. You’d have thought she’d have broken just that one little rule. But I found more kindness, more g
enerosity, in the other homeless creatures – like Minnie Ha-Ha, who didn’t have two pence to rub together – than in my own flesh and blood.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she’d said. I could picture her sour expression even now. So now I knew where my mother’s nasty streak originated from. Like mother like daughter. It was in her genes. Thank goodness not in mine. I was nothing like my mother. One of the rare occasions she’d agreed with me once, she said, ‘Just like your father.’ Well, I’d rather take after my dad and be a gullible fool than that miserable, nasty, mind-polluted piece of crap.

  Of course, it was different with my little brother, Josh, three years younger. He was like mum, with a nasty, suspicious turn of mind and a mean streak. When we were kids, he’d say or do anything to get me into trouble. Telling tales whether they were true or not. From the second he was born I knew what the word hate meant. I hated him. I would look at his nasty, tiny blackcurrant eyes, see them slide into malice as he plotted the best way to hurl me into trouble, and when Mum walloped me he’d stand right by her, savouring every smack. And then I’d go wailing to Dad looking for a bit of sympathy – if he was home. If he wasn’t, I’d sit on the front step and wait for him. Even when it was dark, rainy, cold, snowing, I’d sit on that bloody step and the minute he turned the corner I’d run to him. Dad always stuck up for me.

  So no Mum to the wedding. Grandma probably wouldn’t bother even if I sent her an invitation, so I wouldn’t waste one. And there was no chance I’d waste a stamp on inviting my horrible little brother. I wouldn’t want him there. And I wasn’t sure exactly how to get hold of Dad with his plastic Thai lady. Last I’d heard he was on a long vacation somewhere. I wanted to warn him, tell him about Ruby Ngoma. Careful. When the money goes so will she. I tried the last mobile number I’d had for him but it didn’t even ring.

  When I told Stella we were getting married she was noticeably appalled. ‘What on earth are you getting into, Jenny? You don’t know the guy. He could be a serial killer. You don’t know about his previous marriage. He’s creepy at best. At worst … Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jen, you don’t even know what’s in that bloody store.’ And then she homed in on the weak spot. ‘You don’t even know for sure that his first wife is dead. Have you seen her death certificate?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You must have lost your marbles.’

  ‘No,’ I said with dignity. ‘I have not lost them, Stell. I’ve found them.’

  The person I really wanted to get hold of was Minnie Ha-Ha. But how do you find a homeless person? No fixed abode means exactly that. I thought I might trawl the streets of Hanley on the off chance that I’d happen upon her.

  I finally tracked Dad down through an old friend who had a more up-to-date number for him than I did. Apparently he was back in good old Blighty and, surprise surprise, had brought Malee with him. Even more of a surprise, he was living in Stafford. I visited them in an ex-council house and broke the news.

  When he opened the door to me my first thought was, Goodness, he’s grown fat.

  Malee was hanging off his arm. Tiny, bad teeth, big smile. Lots of black hair.

  They invited me in and over a cup of tea I broke the news. ‘Darling,’ he said, beaming. ‘My beautiful little girl. Getting married.’ He paused, then glanced at Malee, a little embarrassed. I could see what he was thinking. She and I were roughly the same age, which was probably one of the reasons he’d clearly been avoiding me.

  He moved on pretty fast. ‘So,’ he continued far too heartily, ‘when do we get to meet him?’

  ‘Soon. I’ll arrange something. We can have a night out at the pub all together. Eh?’

  Malee giggled.

  My dad put his arm round her. ‘What’s he like, love?’

  ‘A bit older than me,’ I said. ‘Married before. But his wife died.’

  Malee butted in. ‘Children?’

  ‘No.’

  Dad chipped in then. ‘Just give us the date, love. Tell us where and when. And we’ll be there.’

  No offer of financial help, I noticed. And I didn’t have much spare for my wedding dress. Do bridegrooms often have to buy their bride’s dress?

  Dad tried to sound cheery, but I could hear unhappiness in his voice tinged with insecurity. Like he knew Malee would walk out on him sooner or later. And he would be left all alone again and a lot poorer.

  ‘So, what’s he like, this Prince Charming who’s captured the heart of my beautiful daughter?’

  I didn’t respond with, Yeah, the beautiful daughter you abandoned so she lived on the streets, the beautiful daughter you didn’t even bother to tell that you were back in the country. The beautiful daughter who didn’t even have a mobile phone number for you. Yeah, that beautiful daughter.

  I told him the little I knew about Steven, that we’d met because he’d stored some stuff of his wife’s at the place where I was now working. I said he had a nice bungalow in Stanley where I would be living and that he was welcome to come and visit. Everyone knew Stanley as being a smart, pretty village near Endon, gateway to the Staffordshire Moorlands, and my dad looked suitably impressed. Malee just looked thoughtful. I could read her mind. How could she benefit?

  ‘So, when is it to be?’

  But his question focused my mind. When and where was the wedding to be?

  I didn’t know. When you accept a marriage proposal your mind fills with a vision of white tulle, lace, flowers, veils. Or at least mine did. The actual detail, the ceremony, the nitty-gritty, the time and place to fill in on the invitations, et cetera et cetera, that all comes later.

  Only it didn’t.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Two weeks after that happy evening outside The Mermaid Inn, Steven had not followed his proposal up with anything concrete. No ring, no discussion about when and where. I was beginning to get worried. Maybe he’d meant that bloody phrase – ‘get married sometime’. Maybe I’d imagined it or read too much into his words. Maybe I’d dreamt it, like the stairway to heaven. Maybe the mermaid had bewitched me.

  I was reluctant to bring up the subject – it would look too desperate. And I was nervous that he would back off. When we met he seemed his usual self, friendly and relaxed, a bit distracted sometimes, but I was beginning to be doubtful that this wedding would ever take place. I hadn’t told Jason and Jodi that I was engaged because … What’s the first thing people ask when you announce an engagement? Where’s the ring? And the second? When’s the wedding? I could answer neither question.

  Until we had discussed the detail it didn’t feel real.

  Detail. I picked the word out like debris from between my teeth. I wanted the details. Not just about the wedding. I needed to know more about the man I’d agreed to marry.

  In early December he took me back again to Yr Arch. It was a Sunday, late afternoon. We were having a takeaway and a bottle of wine. And I began my interrogation. We were sitting on the sofa, a small lamp lit in the corner. Once we’d finished our takeaway, Steven took the dishes into the kitchen. I heard the tap running as he rinsed the plates then the sound of plates being stacked. While he was gone, I eyed the picture over the fireplace and wondered about his life with Margaret. I couldn’t imagine it. I couldn’t quite picture her here, and then he was back.

  I inched in. ‘I know so little about you, Steven.’

  He gave me one of his ‘looks’. A sort of quizzical expression but with a nervousness behind it. ‘You’re not going to call it off, are you, Jennifer? You’re not regretting saying yes? You aren’t going to abandon me, are you?’

  I was surprised at the level of anxiety in his voice.

  ‘No. No.’ I kissed him and patted his arm. But I could tell he was worried where this conversation was leading. He’d tucked his mouth in so it felt tight, unyielding, ready for a let-down and I felt his body tense.

  ‘I don’t even know what job you do.’

  His smile now was indulgent. Is that all? ‘Nothing very glamorous, I’m afraid.’

  I waited.<
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  ‘I work for the council.’ Maybe sensing that wasn’t enough, he added, ‘For the Highways Department. Coordinating roadworks.’ He spoke the words slowly, enunciating with deliberation.

  ‘So you’re the guy who shuts the roads?’

  His face was serious. ‘Only when it’s necessary.’

  I sighed. On the Sense of Humour Scale, Steven Taverner did not score highly.

  ‘Did you have to go to university to get that job?’

  ‘I did.’ He was still relaxed, leaning against the back of the sofa. ‘Birmingham. Engineering and then a Road Management MSc course.’

  ‘Gosh.’

  He was watching me, his face softening into an indulgent expression as he let his guard down. ‘Your family,’ I continued. ‘I don’t know anything about them.’

  ‘We’re not close,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Do they know about me?’

  ‘I haven’t told them … yet.’

  ‘And Margaret? Did they get to meet her?’

  ‘Of course.’ If Steven had a degree in Road Management, he also had first-class honours in shutting down a conversation. I persisted.

  ‘And Margaret,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anything about her.’

  ‘You don’t need to know anything about her.’

  ‘But if she was your wife and you were happily married …’

  ‘Of course we were happily married.’ He was getting angry now. ‘What does that matter to you?’

  The truth? I wasn’t sure, except I believed that the state of his previous marriage would reflect on our own.

  I felt defeated but made one more lame attempt. ‘Did she have a job?’