by Anita Waller
It turned out Malcolm would call the shots. Yes, he would make as much compost as they wanted and yes, they could pay him an extra £10 per week but no, he wouldn’t give them the secret. He wanted sole control of the compost heap and he wanted every bit of recyclable material that Ken and Brenda used in the home.
And he wanted a hut… with a lock.
The hut became known as Malcolm’s Place and neither Brenda nor Ken dared enter without permission.
He began production of his fertilizer immediately – he said it needed five and a half weeks to brew before being bottled. He spoke of nettles and took two comfrey plants from stock that he said were adequate.
On the day the hut was erected, he turned up for work on a bicycle that was in a state of disrepair but none the less strong enough to pull the box on wheels he had attached to the back. He was very proud of it.
‘Made this last night,’ he said. ‘Bought the bike for a quid and made the trolley. It’s for collecting stuff.’
‘Stuff?’
‘For the compost.’
Brenda looked at the contraption with interest. The brakes were so worn as to be dangerous; the back mudguard was tied on with green garden twine and although it had two lights, neither worked.
‘So it’s a company vehicle, then?’
He gave one of his rare laughs.
‘Suppose so. It gets me here quicker than the bus does anyway.’ She didn’t doubt it, with virtually non-existent brakes.
That week Brenda put a bonus payment in his pay packet.
‘For the company vehicle,’ she explained with a wink.
Ken was happy at Stonebrook. He tried not to worry about the love he felt for Brenda; she was an independent lady who didn’t need the encumbrance of a man in her life.
He was too much of a Yorkshireman to say it, but when they sat together at night watching television he felt a sense of peace and happiness that had never existed during his marriage.
And so it fell to Brenda to make the first move.
‘Ken, are you happy here?’
‘How long have I lived here?’
‘Nearly six months.’
‘It’s flown. I’m happy.’
She liked his Yorkshire stoicism.
She had seen him looking at her with adoration and that look had given her confidence.
‘And do you think we made the right decision?’
‘Brenda, I’ve told you I’m happy here with you, love this cottage, and feel settled here.’
‘I meant the right decision about the business.’
‘Oh, er yes, we made the right decision. It’s paying, we’re getting more visitors than soft Mick since we started advertising, so we were right.’
‘So everything’s okay? And who’s soft Mick?’
‘Nobody you’d know. Brenda, you trying to say something? Ask something?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ He felt intrigued and reached over turning off the news on the television. She stood and came to sit by him on the settee. He blushed.
‘Would you like to kiss me?’ she asked.
His blush deepened.
‘Kiss you?’ He knew he sounded stupid.
‘Here,’ she touched her lips with a finger and he saw the sparkle in her eyes.
‘How did you know?’ he asked quietly.
‘Know what?’
‘How I feel about you.’
‘You looked at me.’
‘I tried to hide it, you know.’
‘For goodness sake, Ken Buckingham, I know you’re a foreigner but they still kiss up in Yorkshire, don’t they?’
So they did. Successfully, solidly and with more passion than she had been expecting.
‘I love you, you know,’ Ken said, as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
She nodded.
‘I know. And I’m a bit stunned that I love you. When Jack died I felt… bereft. I didn’t think it possible that there would ever be another man in my life, but here you are. I’ll always love Jack, but you’ve crept up on me, Ken Buckingham.’
‘And where do we go from here?’
She looked at him, at the firelight flickering on his face, at the love in his eyes.
‘Bed?’ she said simply.
It was Malcolm who unwittingly let their secret out. Amy met him as she walked up the lane and asked the whereabouts of her mother.
He looked around.
‘I’m not sure. Last time I saw them they were heading for the top greenhouse. They’ll be together, anyway,’ he finished with a grin. Sometimes he could do sums – like adding two and two together.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re always together now. ‘Bout time as well.’
Amy stared at him for a moment then stormed into the cottage.
‘Mother, are you in here?’
Brenda looked over the banister and waved at her daughter.
‘Up here, Amy - won’t be a minute. Put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea.’
‘Don’t bother. I’m not staying. I just want to know if what Malcolm is hinting at is true.’
Brenda went cold. Damn Malcolm – she’d wanted to tell Amy herself. She wished now she’d not delayed imparting the news as she walked slowly downstairs.
‘What are you on about?’
‘You and Ken. Malcolm seems to think there’s something between you.’
‘And what if there is? Don’t you want me to be happy?’ Brenda placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder.
‘Mother, you can’t! Dad’s only been dead –‘
‘Nearly four years, Amy. Life doesn’t stop.’
‘But he’s not right for you,’ she wailed.
‘He’s absolutely right for me. Just as your dad was. Loving Ken – ‘
‘Loving Ken!’ Amy spat the words. Two bright spots of colour glowed angrily on her cheeks.
‘Yes. Loving Ken doesn’t stop me loving Jack. I’m only forty-five, Amy, not ninety. I still need the companionship of a man…’
‘Sex, you mean.’ Her tone was vitriolic.
‘That as well, but Ken is good for me in every way.’
‘I just bet he is,’ and she turned and stormed out of the cottage unable to bear her mother’s company a minute longer.
Malcolm watched her go and knew without having to do any sums that he shouldn’t have said a word, not one word.
Amy stopped halfway down the lane and then cut across the field towards the glass houses. She spotted Ken inside and went in, carefully closing the door behind her.
‘Amy? Can I help? Your mum’s down in the cottage.’
‘Well, I don’t really know,’ she said softly, moving closer to him. He looked at her for a moment wondering what was on her mind. He didn’t trust Amy, never had done, and he sensed she was up to no good.
She pressed herself against him and linked her arms around his neck. Forcing his head down she pressed her lips to his, pushing her tongue deep into his mouth. He staggered away from her, still feeling the outline of her breasts against his chest. A huge surge of anger overwhelmed him, as well as the sexual response she had intended.
‘What the -?’
‘I just thought I’d show you that you’re anybody’s, Ken. You enjoyed that, didn’t you? Do you want me to lie down? I’m sure you’d enjoy that too. I’ll do it if that’s what it takes to get you out of my mother’s life.’ She started to pull up her skirt and he stared mesmerized as she revealed her long legs. Slowly she rubbed the palm of her hand along her thigh, bringing her hand round and in between her legs.
‘Here, Ken, you do it. You touch me,’ she said softly.
He deliberately turned his back to her, trying hard to hold his temper in check.
‘Bugger off, Amy. You may be beautiful but your mother is worth twenty of you. Straighten yourself, girl, and get out of here.’
He didn’t anticipate the fingernails. They raked down the back of his neck and he felt sick with the stinging pain.
> ‘Don’t call me beautiful,’ she panted. ‘Don’t ever call me beautiful!’ She turned and ran from the greenhouse.
Standing in the back bedroom window, Brenda watched the drama playing out before her; saw Amy run down the field and back onto the lane. She knew what Amy had tried to do and it made her feel drained and miserable.
Ken gave her only the sketchiest of detail because he had to have the scratches bathed.
‘Forget it, Brenda, she’s just a mixed up kid,’ he said and kissed her.
‘I love you.’
‘And I love you, even if you do have a crazy daughter,’ he said with a brave attempt at laughter. But he couldn’t help wonder if she really would have had sex with him on the floor of the glass house… would she really have gone that far to get him out of her mother’s life?
24
Carefully, meticulously, Amy dusted along the mantelpiece, her mind in turmoil. She didn’t know where to turn; suddenly her life was undergoing great change and she was out of her depth. The cocoon she had so carefully built around herself was crumbling; her self-imposed security dissipating.
The problem – and she knew it was most definitely a problem – concerning her was John’s withdrawal. Slowly, inexorably, he was moving away from her, away from their relationship. Yet in many ways he was still the same man she married.
She couldn’t figure out what was wrong. There had been no evidence of another woman, but…
She paused, the can of spray polish held aloft, and then moved across the room to stare out of the French windows at the neatly trimmed lawn. She shivered. Was it possible? Could John really be involved with someone else? A secretary perhaps? A young secretary called Linda? A surge of anger threatened to overwhelm her and she banged a fist against the door frame.
John was hers and she would not lose him to anyone – not to a floozy of a secretary, not to a baby, not to anyone.
The baby. Inwardly she groaned and began to pace backwards and forwards. She had concealed her true feeling from everyone. To others, their lives would be fulfilled; she would become the woman Treverick had tried but failed to destroy.
Treverick. Again she paused and moved towards the window. The weather outside was cool yet she burned with intensity. Treverick was haunting her…
She was still afraid of him and remembered telling John how she felt. What had he said? ‘Forget him, Amy. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re an adult now, not a child. You could fight back, and you have me, don’t you?’
There had been impatience in his tone and she had vowed never to bring up the subject again.
Would there be a Treverick waiting in the wings for her baby? The baby, sex still unknown, was weeks away from arriving in their home. Perhaps already born, just not allocated yet.
And only she knew the real reason for wanting this baby – to tie John to her that he would never be able to fall into some other woman’s arms.
She knew John wanted a baby for all the right reasons but she just wanted another possession, one to add to her list; John, her mother, Freda and a baby.
Did she possess her mother? The great Brenda Andrews slumming it in bed with a younger man; a man who was threatening to take the place of her father. How could she?
Amy gave an anguished cry as shame flooded her. Her behaviour in the glass house had been so uncharacteristic and yet it had happened. Exposed herself, blatantly offered herself to him, and for nothing. They were still together and she might be about to lose her mother.
Freda had been no help; she had made it perfectly clear that she approved wholeheartedly of the liaison and welcomed Ken Buckingham as a replacement for Jack Andrews.
Amy opened the French windows and allowed the cool air to bathe her hot face. She had problems. She would resolve them all.
She would start with John… and Linda.
25
Lauren came into their lives in late February 1970. She was just six weeks old and totally captivating. They were told very little about her background – her birth mother had not wanted her and the father had abandoned his responsibilities.
To Amy, she represented perfection; she was kept spotlessly clean and fed at precise times. She was a showcase baby. Her sheets and blankets were meticulously wrapped around her – Amy’s compulsive tidiness undiminished.
Lauren’s finalized adoption was to happen in June and would coincide with the publication of John’s fourth novel, The Son, and they decided to throw a party to celebrate both events.
Amy chewed the end of her pencil as she stared at the list. She was tired; Lauren had been troublesome all day and she was finding it hard to concentrate.
‘Do we have to invite Ken Buckingham?’
‘Naturally, he’s your mother’s partner.’ John was looking out of the window watching the grey skies turn darker. They were in for a good old storm.
‘He’s more than her partner…’
‘That’s what I meant,’ John responded drily, turning his head to look at his wife. ‘Stop knocking him, Amy. He’s a decent chap and she’s lucky to have found him. Just as lucky as she was to find your dad all those years ago.’
‘Criticising me again, John?’ Amy was close to tears; it was all too much for her.
No matter how hard she tried, Lauren remained like a doll to her, not a child to cherish and because she did nothing purely out of love for the little girl, everything became harder.
He stifled a sigh. Every day now they bordered on an argument and he recognised that it wasn’t always Amy’s fault. His deepening relationship with Dawn was to blame for his intolerance. He wanted to be with Dawn more and more, the only thing drawing him back to his home was the baby, not his wife.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not criticising you. You liked Ken before he became such a big part of your mother’s life and I fail to see why that should change. He’s still the same man.’
‘But Dad…’
‘But Dad, nothing. Your dad would have welcomed Ken, would have wanted someone to look after Brenda and if you’ll only stop being so self-centred and melodramatic about it, you’d see that for yourself.’
She flinched, recognizing something new in John. He was no longer easily manipulated.
‘Don’t shout at me, John. You’re probably right – perhaps we should have them over for dinner one night before the party, build some bridges.’
The rain began to patter on the windowpane.
‘Perhaps we should… if they’ll come. Personally, I wouldn’t blame them if they never wanted to set eyes on you again.’
He returned to chapter three of Blood Red and switched off from his wife. It was a difficult part of the book and required all his concentration – let Amy cope with the party arrangements. And let the damn rain come down. It matched his mood.
‘John – can I talk to you?’
‘Sure, Linda. A problem?’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Sort of. Can I have a general job description?’
He laughed aloud.
‘Job description? For this job? It’s just to type, re-type, and re-type the re-type I suppose.’
‘So it’s not to babysit and make party arrangements?’
The laughter died in him.
‘No, it’s not. What do you mean, babysit? I wasn’t aware we had asked you to look after Lauren.’
‘No, you haven’t. It’s Mrs Thornton.’ Linda couldn’t bring herself to use Amy’s Christian name. ‘Whenever you go out, she treats me like a housekeeper.’
John looked at her and tried to disguise his guilt. He had been going out more, generally at four o’clock so that he could meet Dawn as she stepped off the ferry.
‘Explain.’
‘Well, Mrs Thornton brings Lauren in here as soon as you go – oh, she’s always got a good reason and she really is a good baby, but it does tend to stop me working.’
‘What sort of reason?’
‘It varies. She wants a bath, or she needs to go to the shops, a
nything really. I do hate telling you this but I don’t want you thinking I’m not doing what I’m paid to do.’
‘Leave it with me, Linda. I’ll talk to Amy. She probably doesn’t realise…’ He knew he was lying to himself. Amy realised perfectly well.
Amy denied it and accused Linda of lying.
‘Why on earth would I want to leave Lauren with her? Our baby is very precious, John, she’s mine, not Linda’s, and I want her with me.’
‘I’m only repeating Linda’s complaint, Amy,’ John said mildly. ‘Don’t go off the deep end.’ He waved a piece of paper at his wife; a list of people they had decided to invite to the celebration. ‘And if you want to send invitations out to this party, don’t expect Linda to do it. I employ her to type my books, not arrange your social life.’
The words sounded harsher than he intended and guilt washed over him again. Would he have been so nasty to Dawn?
He looked down into the baby’s crib and smiled.
‘You’re right. She is precious.’ He reached out and stroked a finger across Lauren’s cheek; the baby snuffled in her sleep.
‘Don’t wake her,’ Amy said quickly. ‘She’ll want feeding if you do.’ She tried to quash the feeling of jealousy that erupted when she saw the love John felt for his tiny daughter.
‘I thought you liked feeding her.’
‘I do, it’s just that I wanted to go up to Mum’s house, take the invitation, and I can feed her there.’
‘Oh, you’re going out.’ He felt a surge of excitement. He had told Dawn he wouldn’t be able to see her but if Amy was going out…
‘Yes. Will you come with me? You’ve not stopped today; you must have done more than usual – unless you and that girl haven’t really been working.’
‘Amy…’
‘Well, she is attractive.’
‘Not to me.’
‘Oh, come on, John. When was the last time you tried to make love to me?’
‘When was the last time you allowed me to make love to you, Amy? Go on, answer me that.’ He felt his temper begin to rise. It subsided when he saw the tears in her eyes.
‘You know I have problems,’ she began and he put his arms around her shoulders.
