‘You bitch,’ he said aloud. “You bloody bitch.”
It was turning into a very bad evening for Nigel. He decided to leave before he created a scene. It was time to let others make their own decisions, both Charlotte and Louise, and stupid Frank. He pushed his way past the dancers and went out into the night air.
His mind flashed to his offshore account, the one no-one knew about except the tax man. This last session, getting the consents to build the shopping mall and the housing estate, had given him enough money to live a very comfortable new life. In a new place. Without Charlotte the Harlot.
With that thought he was happy and would stay on the job as the payments for each house on the new development came to hand and increased the five million already in the bank in the Caymans. Charlotte the Harlot had no idea it was there.
The night was quiet, with summer stars rippled by the tide of the atmosphere twinkling as if alive, like glow worms in the Waitomo Caves. Nigel left the noise from the party behind him when he closed his car door.
Happy now, Nigel drove at exactly the maximum speed of fifty kilometers an hour. He had paid to have his speedometer calibrated to show his exact speed. He was that kind of guy.
He was pleased that he had not been drinking when he ran into a road checkpoint and was asked to submit to a breath test.
“Just one red wine, Officer,” he told the policeman.
“You’re clear. Drive safely, sir,” said the officer as he waved him away.
‘Look after number one,’ said his father’s voice in his ear. His father was still alive, still working in fact, as an insurance salesman in Cardiff. His father’s voice spoke again. ‘She’s old enough to look after herself.’
It never occurred to Nigel that he was thinking about Louise, not Charlotte. By the time he got back with more beer that was not needed, Louise and Stuart were presumably still upstairs in Stuart’s room. Frank and Charlotte were nowhere to be seen but everyone else in the room was having a great time.
“Great party!” shouted a loud voice and everyone cheered.
Nigel did not see Charlotte when the party ended. He went home to an empty house, showered and climbed into bed. When he woke up he was still alone.
At the party Charlotte had been dancing in her usual exhibitionist display of bare arms and legs in a dress that left little to the imagination. Probably, Charlotte was still with the young man, one of the young people whom Nigel had employed to make the party lively, who had taken her behind the large settee near the wall. The account in the Cayman Islands looked more attractive than ever.
CHAPTER 7.
Louise had to wait twenty minutes for her taxi. To her, it seemed like eternity, being constantly afraid that someone might see her. She wished Frank was beside her to give onlookers a different scenario, a couple returning home after an all-night party rather than a rather bedraggled woman going home alone in her party best.
She looked about her, thinking how pleasant it would be to live in a neighbourhood like this, with its trees and shrubs lining the streets, and well-maintained gardens, obviously cared for by professional garden-care firms. Birds began to sing as the new day gathered its strength. Looking about her and listening to the birdsong, Louise did not hear the hybrid vehicle until the taxi drew up alongside her. She gave her address to the taxi driver as she opened the rear door, turning away from him so he could not study her face. It would not have mattered because the taxi had a camera fitted for the driver’s safety. Louise hunched low in the back seat hoping that nobody would see her through the windows of the taxi.
“You all right, lady?” asked the driver, thinking that Louise might be sick in his taxi.
“Yes, I’m fine,” said Louise. “I’ll be all right when I get home, Just a little hung over.”
The driver nodded. He had seen it all before. But this lady lived in a nice area and was well-dressed, quite a stunner in fact. He turned the car into Finisterre.
“We’re here, lady,” he said as he pulled the car to the side of the road. “Thirteen Allnatt Street. Finisterre. A nice area if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Louise paid the driver. As he drove away Louise looked around and took stock. She lived in a modest house on a large plot of land in the district of Finisterre, an older part of town set further back from the sea where the valley floor slowly rose until it levelled out into a plain. She liked living there. Over time, she had developed a beautiful garden, with shrubs and flowers at the front and sides of the house and a vegetable plot at the back. Frank usually cut the grass but Louise trimmed the edges and had everything spic and span. If Frank had set her up at the party to get her to agree to a divorce she could lose a lot.
She loved working in the garden. She loved the changes in the garden as the seasons changed, as seeds grew into plants and matured and died back to make way for and feed the next generation. It seemed to symbolize her life: the way she had grown, and how Frank and she had worked so hard to buy this house and to set aside money for the children to go to university.
Frank thought sending Kezia to university was a waste of good money. “What? Spend all that money just to have her marry and have kids?” he would say. “Waste of bloody money.”
Louise’s gardening also appeared to upset Frank. He complained that she was neglecting both him and the children because she spent so much time there. As a result, Louise felt pressured to work in the garden only when Frank was away during the day, adding to her already busy schedule with her work at the Hospital. Frank got very angry if she went into the garden after the evening meal and at weekends. On this day, early on a Sunday morning, the garden suddenly looked neglected to her, especially comparing it to the gardens she had seen in Cadiz.
Frank had told Louise that she had to stop wasting time in the garden.
“You spend too much time over-thinking things, getting yourself into a right state,” he claimed. “Then meals are late, or Kezia has to get them, the kids and I get neglected.”
Louise thought he really meant she was too tired for sex, something that seemed to be a perennial bone of contention, a long-standing issue between them. He locked her gardening tools away in his garage, where he had a workshop and kept his car. Her little car stayed outside.
Louise was frightened of Frank’s black looks and swinging arms that could accidentally hit her as she turned away or walked past him. He was always apologetic but it hurt. Louise decided that even though she did not understand why Frank got so upset about her gardening and not about her going to work, it was not worth risking her marriage for.
Finisterre was a pleasant neighbourhood where people owned their own homes. Rented houses were an exception, except for the house next door where the Thomsons rented from a Wellington absentee owner. They were new immigrants from the Midlands in England. Louise had trouble understanding their accent but they kept their garden tidy.
It was the kind of neighbourhood where everybody minded their own business but would come to your aid if they felt there was a problem. Except for Frank.
He shouted at Mrs Hohepa, the old lady from across the road, who came to the door one evening to see if Louise was all right. Mrs Hohepa had noticed that the garden had become weedy and neglected.
“I haven’t seen her garden looking so poorly, ever,” said Mrs Hohepa. “Is she well? Has she hurt her back? Can I offer some help?”
“You mind your own business, you bloody busy body,” shouted Frank as he waved his arms and pushed her off the front step.
And she did. She never came to Louise’s house again, not even when Frank was not there, instead staying on her own property while telling anyone who would listen to her that Frank was a dangerously violent man.
Louise shook herself out of her reverie and walked up the path to the front door. She got the key from under the stone in the flower bed, the stone with a smiling face on it and the word ‘WELCOME’.
It was early on Sunday so nobody was about. Louise crept into the house and
took her shoes off before opening Alexander’s bedroom door a little. Alexander was sleeping over at a friend’s house, after a birthday party and a visit to the cinema. Louise checked that Frank was not in Alexander’s bed. The room was as she had left it the morning before. She opened the door to Kezia’s room. Kezia was asleep with her head turned away but her body lying flat on her back. Her room smelled flowery, like a woman’s body, in contrast to Alexander’s stale boy smell.
Frank was not in their bed, which had not been slept in at all.
‘Too drunk to come home,’ thought Louise as she slipped out of her clothes. She debated whether to have a shower before climbing into bed, but thought better of it after all. When he came home Frank would be reeking of beer and would not smell a thing.
The duvet soon warmed her as she snuggled deeply under the sheet. She was wide awake, going over events in her mind. How much had she drunk? Four white wines and a Coca Cola over the whole of the evening. Then why did she get so drunk she could not remember anything after Stuart had asked Nigel to go and get some more beer and ‘something to liven up the party’? Had Stuart put ‘something to liven up the party’ in her drink?
No. Her last wine had been long before and she felt fine. The Coca Cola had been brought from the bar by Mr Bannister. Louise shuddered as she thought of David Bannister, a man she avoided whenever their paths crossed.
She heard Kezia stirring. Next she heard the toilet so she turned away from the door and closed her eyes. Kezia shook her shoulder so Louise opened her eyes and feigned waking up.
“Hollywood! I heard you come in,” said Kezia. “I was pretending to be asleep. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Coffee might be better,” said Louise. “I’m not normally so affected by alcohol.”
“Did you drink much?” asked Kezia.
“No,” answered Louise. “Only four white wines and a Coca Cola all night.”
“Someone spike your drink?” asked Kezia. “The girls at school have all been warned about that. ‘Never leave your drink unattended’, Miss Adams says. But someone your age should be all right.”
At sixteen, Kezia had not yet learned the value of tact. She was of an age where to voice one’s thoughts directly regardless of the hurt they caused was honesty in its purest form.
“Sally Groves said she had her Coke spiked, then someone ... you know.”
“You know what?” asked Louise.
“You know. Had sex with her. Or so she says.”
Louise felt uncomfortable. Sex education lessons from your daughter? Whatever next? But is that what had happened to her?
“But I’m too old,” she said. “Nobody would bother, you reckon?”
“Well,” said Kezia looking her mother over in a calculating way, “You still have good looks and a figure even if you are over forty. And sometimes you look like you’re only thirty.”
Louise could not tell if Kezia was teasing her or if she really believed what she was saying. Probably the latter, she concluded.
“Go and put the jug on,” she said. “I’ll stick with tea rather than coffee. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“You’d better shower first, Mum,” said Kezia. “If Frank’s finished in the bathroom.”
For a moment Louise’s heart skipped a beat. Then she recovered and said, “What made you say that?”
“Smell. Dad always showers before you, after you’ve ... you know.”
Kezia left the rest of the sentence hanging. Louise did not dare to ask ‘after what’.
“Your mind is fixated on sex, young lady. Off you go. And some toast with the tea would be nice.”
Louise’s previous husband, Julian Ricciardello, had been nice, at first. Known as Ricky, he had wavy black hair that he brushed straight back, giving prominence to his almond eyes and clean facial lines that reminded Louise of an Italian marble. His skin was soft and creamy like a woman’s. Then other women discovered his charms and Louise discovered the other women. Julian was not smart at covering his tracks. His mobile phone and the monthly credit card statement told Louise the story each time he became emotionally distant and had to spend long hours at work.
Remembering Julian’s lean muscular body and her own slim self, Louise wondered how they could have made plump straight haired Kezia. Perhaps when the puppy fat disappeared and she finished growing, Kezia would turn into a swan instead of an ugly duckling. On the other hand, Kezia was honest and strong-minded, intelligent and sensible, two attributes that did not always go together.
After Louise had taken a shower, there was still no sign of Frank. Louise was not worried; his lateness gave a greater distance between her arrival home and his.
Kezia had the toast fresh from the toaster and was mashing sugar and a banana on to the toast. She used a fork and pressed the fork down on the banana, which looked like a white curved penis with Kezia’s hand gripped right around it. Louise’s mind flashed back to Mr Bannister, her phys ed and maths teacher at Wahanui High School. His penis was like that, rigid and slightly bent. When he made her hold his penis it looked just like the banana in Kezia’s hand. Louise shuddered at the memory.
‘Is he the reason I choose such unsuitable men?’ she asked herself. ‘No, you’re evil. That’s why. You actually enjoyed it. You’re rotten to the core,’ a voice in her head said.
“I think I’ll just have Marmite,” Louise said. “You can have the banana, dear.”
Was she choosing clones of Bannister? Ricky was tall like Bannister. He was dark like Bannister, but Mediterranean in his looks, clever but not academic like Bannister. He was big and strong and admired by all the women they met, like Bannister. Unlike Frank, who turned to drink, Ricky solved the problem of her anxiety by spending time with his latest female friend and leaving Louise with weak excuses about working late or staying over in the company flat.
Kezia began spreading Marmite on the other two pieces of toast. Her mother loved banana on toast. Why leave it out today?
‘Could be the drink,’ she thought. ‘Changed her taste buds.’
Unlike Bannister, Frank was fair haired and pink skinned. But he was also tall and athletic, and even now with his beer belly, attracted women as a honey pot attracts bees. Like Bannister, both men had an attitude towards women. They did as they were told, they were available whenever needed, they did not think for themselves. And, thought Louise, the women have to be less than the man.
So, what would be the opposite? Not necessarily tall, but clever and learned, handsome, kind and caring, equal to and not above a woman, loyal and faithful. Sorry, men like that were all taken, there were no men left like that. Not even a prayer of catching one of those.
“Want to come to church with me today?” asked Louise.
“Yeah. I’d like that,” said Kezia. Her Dad, Julian Ricciardello, was Catholic. So was Louise, but her attendance at church was irregular. When Julian had been around they had gone to church every week. It was a calm and peaceful routine each Sunday; a chance to meet and mix with like-minded people. Frank was not a Catholic and always made a fuss when they went to church and so their visits were sporadic and usually made only when Frank wanted to lie in.
“Got something to confess?” teased Kezia.
“Certainly not!” Louise replied. “It’s just been a while. Anyway, I like the priest.”
So did Kezia, but a priest is untouchable. She thought by her mother’s quick and firm response that her Mum probably did have some little transgression to confess, or maybe she fancied Father Larkin so Kezia did not press the matter.
“No sign of Frank, then?” quizzed Kezia.
“I think he’s sleeping it off,” said Louise. “I didn’t see him, but Charlotte said he could hardly stand up he was so drunk.”
“Mum, do you think Frank is a problem drinker?” asked Kezia.
“I’ll talk to him,” said Louise.
Kezia was not convinced by her mother’s response.
“Mum, I don’t want to cause trouble, but
I have had enough of the way he treats you. He criticises everything you do. I don’t know how you put up with it.”
Louise was quiet for a moment, and then said, “Kezia, you’re a young woman now. One day soon you’ll marry the man of your choice. Then you may find he is different from what you thought, or he changes as the years go by. Then you have to make a decision, like I had to with your father. Be loyal and enjoy the good things, or tally up the personal cost and quit.”
“Good reason for not getting married in the first place,” said Kezia. “If you’re just living together, you can walk at any time.”
“Oh, I can walk at any time. But I’m responsible for you, and for Alexander. Look at the torment my leaving Ricky caused you. You’re still in touch with Ricky, aren’t you?”
Kezia was feeling guilty that she had gone behind her mother’s back. “Yes, Mum. Do you mind?” she asked.
“No. As long as you are honest with me, and listen if I feel I need to give you some advice. I don’t want you learning the hard way, like I had to,” said Louise. “Let’s get going, girl. Alexander will be home for lunch so we need to be back by then. Frank can look after himself.”
Mother and daughter got ready for church. It did not involve the preparations that had been needed when Louise was a teenager, but care was still needed. With no sign of Frank returning they left the house together, and walked side by side to St Mary’s. The sun was warm and sent little dappled shadows sliding through the green leaves of summer to splash on the pavement beneath their feet. Louise’s heart filled with happiness in the company of Kezia, whom she saw as her child and her best friend. Family was everything for Louise.
CHAPTER 8.
After church, Louise and Kezia chatted for a few moments with some of the parishioners. It was comforting in a way but scary in another because Louise kept imagining they could somehow see what had happened to her at the party. Suddenly she was a teen again, with a terrible secret and a huge load of guilt, a double load because she was committing the sin of adultery and not cleansing her soul before God.
The Stalking of Louise Copperfield Page 4
