Linda followed her into a room with a thick Persian carpet on the floor. A king size bed was made up with pastel satin sheets. Helena switched on a light which threw a glow of scarlet into the room. Another switch brought on a stereo. Oriental music played.
‘I do like the exotic,’ commented Helena, spraying herself and Linda liberally with a musky heady perfume, ‘but I’ve got all sorts of music.’
She opened a drawer revealing rows and rows of cassettes. ‘Here’s Ravel’s Bolero. I heard it in some film with Bo Derek. Before your time, dear; it must have been ten years ago. Used to turn her on. Does the same for me. I liked it even before Torvill and Dean. Weren’t they fabulous at the Olympics?’ Linda didn’t manage to get in an answer, before she took out another tape. ‘I like The Stripper too.’
‘Are they all your clothes in that cupboard?’ asked Linda, looking agog at the long, full width wardrobe, which was half open. Helena slid the mirrored door back to reveal numerous outfits filling the space. Silk underwear of black and purple and scarlet hung cheek by jowl with demure long-sleeved nighties of alabaster and delicate rose-petal pink.
‘I have been known to feel bridal,’ commented Helena. ‘I’m quite a sentimental soul really. Sometimes I get maudlin when I’m on my own. He doesn’t come every night of course. It’s nice to have some company.’
She led Linda into an ensuite bathroom.
‘This is a bit of a pig to clean,’ she said, indicating an olive sunken bath. ‘Still, we like to have a bath or shower together. Lawrence says it reminds him of rugby - vive le difference, I say. Well, enough of this nonsense. Let’s go and have some more sandwiches and a nice cup of coffee, and I’ll tell you all about my boy.’
As she described her son in glowing terms, she could have been any middle aged mother full of maternal pride.
‘She’s no different to Janet,’ thought Linda and felt again that stab of sorrow that she herself could not share in this particular joy.
There was so much to talk about that it came as a surprise to Linda when she realised it was already ten-thirty. Helena pressed Linda to take a taxi home.
‘Spoil yourself sometimes, dear, if he won’t. We all deserve a little cosseting. But if you get him sorted out, he’ll be the one to do the pampering. You take notice of what I say. Forget about getting pregnant for a bit. Maybe you will have a baby, maybe you won’t. Have some fun in the meantime - both of you.’
Linda got out of the cab carrying a Gucci carrier bag.
‘Have a little treat on me,’ Helena had said, pushing it into her hand.
The house was in darkness. Linda turned on the light and smiled. She was aware that the alcohol was making her feel quite unlike her normal self. She went to the stack system, put on a cassette of ‘Ravel’s Bolero’ and turned the volume up loud. She noticed with disapproval the empty beer can in the lounge and the unwashed plates in the kitchen, but chose to ignore them.
‘When I’ve got him eating out of my hand, like Helena said, things’ll be different,’ she told herself, stripping off her clothes and leaving them where they fell on the living room floor.
She opened the carrier bag and donned the wisps of black lace contained within, with shaking hands, careful not to snag the flimsy material. Black fishnet stockings and a red suspender belt completed the effect. She teetered up the stairs in her high heels and opened the bedroom door, turning on the dimmer switch, so that the pink shaded lights brought a soft glow to the room. The music followed her, its insistent repetitious melody increasing in volume and urgency. Linda waited at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips, as her husband’s breathing became irregular and he made small wakeful grunts. As Ravel’s Bolero reached an excited crescendo, Barry opened his eyes.
Chapter 5: Behind Net Curtains
(Wednesday morning and evening)
At Reception, the telephone rang. Helena picked it up, her other hand occupied in waving to Linda, whose brilliant smile and pink cheeks told her all she needed to know about the previous night.
Still smiling, she chanted in her front of house voice, ‘Chapman and Hillborough.’
‘Helena, it’s me.’
Helena dropped the sing-song mode. ‘What do you want, Justin?’
‘I need to see you. I wondered if you’d drop over tonight, Sis.’
Helena winced at the word ‘Sis’.
‘I wish you wouldn’t call me at work. I don’t like having personal calls. People are passing through all the time.’
‘Keep your hair on, Sis.’
‘What is it anyway? Money?’
She’d been bailing him out as long as she could remember, and it didn’t make for an easy relationship.
‘What do you take me for?’ Justin said, interrupting her thoughts.
‘If it’s money you’re after, Justin, you can just forget it,’ Helena said. She didn’t want to be harsh, but she wasn’t going to be taken for a ride again.
‘I want to talk to you about Ma.’
He always knew which buttons to press. Helena felt her heart lurch. ‘Is she all right?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it tonight.’
Helena’s brain kicked into gear again.
‘You conned me last time you brought Mum into the equation.’
‘If you come tonight, I’ll explain about that…’
‘You told me that the home had asked for four hundred pounds for a special course of drugs. You told me you’d paid them. And I was stupid enough to believe you. When I went to see them, they didn’t know anything about it. Didn’t even have your number.’
‘It’s just one nurse, see. She does everything for Ma, and I’ve been giving her cash on the QT. It’s no good talking to the officials. They’ll just give you a load of bull.’
‘But why would you need to pay out extra money?’
‘She needs someone to keep an eye on her. Otherwise …’
‘Otherwise what?’
‘Otherwise it could be nasty. Just come tonight. I can’t explain on the phone.’
There were all sorts of things that could be going on at the home. Sometimes you heard about bullying at these places. Helena felt her resolve slip.
‘All right. I’ll come.’
‘See you then, Sis - say about seven.’
‘That’s too early. I won’t have time to eat. It’ll have to be nearer eight thirty.’
He didn’t ask her to come for a meal, just grumbled, ‘Oh well, just make it as early as you can.’
‘OK,’ she agreed, her mind now full of the potential problems at the home.
During the day she continued to speculate on the possibilities. She couldn’t bear to think of her elderly mother being bullied, whether it was by the staff or other patients. Or maybe drugged so that she was nothing more than a vegetable, though she heard this sort of thing went on at these old people’s homes, when the patients were difficult.
Helena knew she wasn’t the best of daughters. It upset her to see that her mother’s mind had gone and she had ceased to be the person Helena remembered; most times she blotted it from her mind. But she did the best she could. She made sure she found the cash for a private nursing home, and that was on top of John’s boarding school fees - she wanted her family to have the best of everything.
Should she look out for somewhere else for Mum, she wondered. Closer perhaps, so she could call in more often. It wouldn’t be so bad if Justin pulled his weight. She’d thought things might improve when he got married. After all, his beloved Andrea might have been modelled on one of the Stepford Wives. She was always immaculate and seemed to spend her entire life cooking, and dusting dinky ornaments. If anyone could have made him respectable, she could. For a while it seemed to have worked and, for quite a long time, there hadn’t been any requests for handouts. Then she started getting the occasional phone-call with a plea for a bit extra. Apart from that, she didn’t get to see either of them very often and that suited her fine. She and Andrea hadn’t clicked at all -
no surprise there - she just wasn’t Helena’s cup of tea.
But, to give him his due, Justin had sounded genuinely concerned on the telephone. She felt a brief glow of affection for him, pleased that he still cared about the old girl in spite of her present state.
That night, she ate a solitary meal of steak and vegetables and debated whether to open the wine that Linda had left the previous day. She picked up the bottle - just a bog-standard supermarket red. Someone had drawn a funny little doodle on it which, at first sight, looked part of the label. Could it have been Linda? No there was an initial ‘J’. ‘J’ for - who knows? She might as well take it to Justin; He’d never notice and it would be a gesture of good will.
She placed the bottle next to the car keys and got ready to go.
Arriving at Justin’s pleasant semi shortly after eight o’clock, she collected the wine from the back of the car and walked towards the door which was framed by pink clematis blossom. In the evening sunshine, the net curtains looked less crisp and white than usual.
She rang the chiming bell which had always irritated, as it seemed a confirmation of all Andrea’s suburban habits.
Justin came to the door and opened it a crack.
‘Let me in, Justin. Stop mucking about.’
He opened the door and pulled her in. She looked at his face. It was thin and dark with strain.
‘Tell me about Mum, Justin. What’s been going on?’
He opened the kitchen door.
‘You’d better come in here. We’ve got the decorators in, in the other room.’
Helena followed him into the kitchen and put the wine down on the work-surface. Despite the pigtail, a male fashion which she didn’t like at all, Justin was as good looking as ever. That blue-black hair, and surprisingly blue eyes. You had to be very careful not to give in to him, just because of his looks. He was always wheedling things out of her when he was a little boy and Mum had spoiled him rotten too. And now her John was getting to look like him. She’d better keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t go the same way.
‘Well?’
‘Look, I’ll get you a drink. Let me explain what’s happened.’
Helena watched as he poured a couple of miserly Martinis into two beakers and topped them up with lemonade. Of the fancy crystal glassware that Andrea was so proud of, there was no sign.
She sat down on the only kitchen stool.
‘There’s this nurse. She collared me the last time I went there. Said she could keep Ma out of trouble.’
‘Which one was it? That small one with the dark hair, what’s her name? Doreen? She’s a nice girl.’
‘Yeah, that might have been her.’
‘Or was it Martine, the blood-nut?’
‘What does it matter? Just listen, will you?’
‘Well, whoever she is, I’d like to talk to her about all this. We pay enough. We shouldn’t have to fork out extra. And what kind of trouble is it?’
‘Don’t worry about it. Just give me some money and I’ll get it sorted.’
There was something wrong with his story. Now she was here, the old doubts started up again. She glanced out of the window. The sky was getting darker. She shivered involuntarily.
‘Why don’t you put the light on, Justin?’
‘The bulb’s gone. I forgot to get a spare.’
The place looked so unkempt. Helena ran a finger over the kitchen work surface and it was grubby.
‘Where’s Andrea?’ she asked.
‘Never mind Andrea. We’ve had a little tiff, and she’s gone home to Mum. She’ll be back. She’ll soon start missing me,’ he added, a supercilious smile playing on his lips. Helena was familiar with that look, but tonight it seemed a bit forced.
‘What did you fight about? I didn’t think Andrea was the argumentative type.’
‘She bought a pricey three piece suite and got us into the red. Look, what does it matter?’
He shouldn’t have said that, Helena thought, because at that moment she knew.
‘Why are you decorating if you’re so short of cash?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t know until today, did I?’ He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
‘Where’s this posh suite then. Let’s have a look at it,’ said Helena getting up from the stool.
‘Eh? Well, we haven’t got it yet.’
‘Well, why don’t you just cancel it?’
‘Why all the questions?’ said Justin, his face getting dark and sulky. He stood up himself and put his hand on her arm. ‘Are you going to give me some cash or aren’t you?’
‘Stop lying to me, Justin. There is no problem at the home, is there? Mum’s OK, isn’t she?’
‘What are you talking about? What do you take me for?’
Helena ignored the questions. Putting aside Justin’s restraining hand, she walked out of the kitchen. She opened the lounge door and peered in.
She let out a gasp. ‘Oh my Gawd. Whatever’s happened?’ The room was completely empty of furniture, carpets and furnishings, devoid of all the knickknacks and well known prints that Andrea so liked. Of decorators, or their accoutrements, there was no sign.
Justin followed her into the bare room.
‘Where is everything, Justin?’ Helena gasped.
His face was white now. She felt a moment of pity for him, in spite of everything.
‘You’ve got to help me, Sis. I’ll tell you the truth. You’re bound to find out. Andrea’s taken everything. Well at least, what she hasn’t taken herself, she’s either sold or the bailiffs have taken.’
‘Bailiffs?’ echoed Helena.
‘Look, Sis, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Andrea’s a compulsive gambler. She has been for years. Now we’re wiped out. We’re in debt up to our eyeballs. She’s overdrawn every joint account we’ve got. She’s hocked things - the good things, that is. She left all that cheap tat around so it wasn’t noticeable that the good stuff was going.’
‘Couldn’t you stop her?’ asked Helena, amazed at this unknown side of her sister-in-law.
‘Stop her - I didn’t even realise until a couple of months ago. She fooled me completely - well you can understand that - she fooled you too, didn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Helena.
‘She owed so much, she couldn’t handle it - that’s when she told me. I couldn’t believe it. If there was a flutter going, she was in on it.’
‘Well, who’d have believed she had it in her,’ marvelled Helena. ‘Isn’t there anything left?’
Without answering, Justin led her upstairs to the bedroom.
The camp bed from the loft had pride of place in the otherwise empty room. Helena suddenly noticed the net curtains, hanging drab and grey on the windows. Andrea would never have allowed them to stay up in that state. And yet, and yet, it seemed she had other things on her mind.
Brother and sister sat down side by side on the bed.
‘It started with small stuff, horse racing on TV, greyhound racing - that sort of thing.’
Helena tried to imagine Andrea at the greyhound track and failed.
‘Then there were the nights out at the Casino - one or two evenings a week - said she was at evening class. But the real trouble came when she started with stocks and shares. Investment she called it - she was on the phone to the stockbroker day in, day out, watching the shares rise on teletext, “sell” one day, “buy” the next. While the stock market was rising, that was OK; she was making money and having fun at the same time. The stakes were getting higher and higher. It was like a giant crap game.’
‘Then what happened?’ asked Helena, fascinated.
‘Black Monday.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You must have read about it. Eighteen months ago - October 1987 - the Stock Market crash. Don’t you remember?’
Helena shook her head. She didn’t get involved with stocks and shares.
‘Take my word for it. It was bad. And Andrea couldn’t believe the bubbl
e had burst. She went on buying, selling like there was no tomorrow, but it was all wrong. Each time the account ended she was out of pocket and it’s all been downhill from then onwards. It was back to the Casino, staking big money to try to get back to Square One. But it didn’t work. The only thing we’ve got left is the house and she couldn’t get at that without my signature.’
‘You say she’s gone home now.’
‘Yeah. Once I wouldn’t agree to sign away the house, she left - she went back to her parents - heaven help them - took a few bits and pieces, and the bailiffs took the rest. The electricity’s off. The phone’s off.’
‘I can’t believe this, Justin - it’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever heard,’ said Helena, filled with unusual sympathy for her brother. ‘But I don’t know if I can help. How much do you need?’
‘Helena, I wouldn’t ask you, but I’m still being chased by people for these debts of hers. If you could see your way clear to letting me have a couple of grand - just to tide me over - that would get me out of trouble - just until I’ve got myself sorted out.’
Helena hesitated. ‘A couple of thousand pounds, Justin - that’s a lot of money.’
‘Not to you surely, Sis. I’ve seen that Golf you drive. You must be raking it in.’
‘Look, Justin, it’s true I’ve got a good job. But the car’s not in my name. And I’m still shelling out for John, and for Mum too, don’t forget. I couldn’t give you more than a thousand.’
Justin’s lips quivered. His blue eyes bore into her.
‘Please, Helena. I’m in real trouble.’
‘A thousand is all I can do, Justin. That’s about as much as I can cope with.’
His face distorted with disappointed fury.
‘You self satisfied bitch,’ he snarled. ‘Cope with - you’re not coping with anything. You’ve packed Ma into a home, and your precious bastard’s miles away, so you don’t have to think about either of them. As for your good job - you call that a job? You get money for jam - waggling your arse to impress a lot of dirty old men. Shacked up with the dirtiest of the lot. Your face plastered with makeup like Polyfilla. Well, make the most of it, you stupid tart. When your old man has a heart attack, you’ll be back on the street where you belong.’
A Bottle of Plonk Page 5
