Difficult Husbands

by Mary de Laszlo

  ‘I ought to leave Adrian. How many more nights can I go on waiting and wondering if he is alive or dead?’ Lorna may have had no choice but she’d done it, cut off her rotten marriage like a diseased branch. ‘It’s a dreadful thing to say, but it might be better if he died, then I could mourn him in peace and smother his grave with flowers.’

  ‘Oh, Glory, I know how you feel. I’ve thought that about Stephen. Dead people are so much easier to live with,’ she smiled ruefully, ‘if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Perhaps we three; you, me and Rosalind, were wrong to marry them,’ Gloria said, remembering her parents warning her that marrying a man so much older than she was could mean that they might spend their best years as carers for them. But she couldn’t see it then; Adrian was so alive, so amusing and so loved her. She and Lorna, buoyed up with the optimism of youth, were convinced that they could cope with whatever life threw at them. These older men had adored them – it was a powerful aphrodisiac. They’d been kind and caring husbands but now, for whatever reason, had flipped back into outrageous adolescence.

  ‘We had many happy years and, most importantly, the children,’ Lorna said. ‘They are worth any amount of pain now, though I hope,’ she looked troubled, ‘it won’t cloud any romantic relationships they might have.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Gloria’s heart ached. Children. She’d had so many miscarriages, so many deaths of potential hopes, but she had Justin, he was her world. Sometimes she wondered if all those miscarriages hurt Adrian more than she knew and he’d drunk too much to hide his pain, and now, after all these years of heavy drinking, his body couldn’t cope with it as well as it used to.

  ‘I just hope I’m not wasting my life, wasting Justin’s life, by being so caught up with Adrian.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Glory. Are people, like you, who devote their lives to people who have incurable conditions wasting their lives? What if Adrian suffered from one of those frightening neurological diseases or was paralyzed from an accident? Would you look after him then?’

  ‘Yes, I would, or I hope I would,’ Gloria said. ‘But that wouldn’t be his fault. I know some people think alcoholism is a disease but I can’t help blaming him for not admitting he has a problem and getting help.’

  She’d said so many times to Adrian, making him angry. He’d responded by telling her she was a nag so it was no wonder he kept away from home. The pain bit deep and to block these thoughts, made worse by being so exhausted after the long day working at the Fair, she said, ‘Your cakes all went, you should bring more next time.’

  ‘Yes, there was one left and the man who had a food stall came and traded it for a slice of his ham.’ Lorna got up and fetched the navy blue bag she’d left in the hall. ‘I should put this in the fridge – or we could eat it now. I could make a risotto or a sandwich. There’s only one piece and he said that it was an end one.’

  ‘But he only took one cake. Perhaps if you’d given him a whole box he’d have given you a ham.’ Gloria said with a laugh. ‘I wish I’d bought some goodies from Nathan, what else did you buy?’

  ‘Just the ham, or as I said we – or rather, he snitched my cake and said he’d give me a slice of ham instead. Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes … sort of. He’s often at these fairs, you’ll get to know him if you come to more of them, he has his own business in the country.’ Gloria watched Lorna; Nathan was a very attractive man. There was a sort of gleam in her eyes – the gleam that people had when talking of someone sexy and famous, but surely it was just because he was a more welcome topic than their dysfunctional husbands?

  ‘Sussex.’ Lorna flushed a little.

  ‘Yes,’ she regarded her keenly. ‘He’s one of those foodies who prefer to go back to the old country skills instead of the cut and thrust of the board room. He might be persuaded to sell your cakes, they look so smart in their dark red boxes, you could always ask if you see him again and he wasn’t poisoned by the one he stole!’ Gloria joked, ‘I could ask him if you like.’

  It was tempting to stay here and eat the ham but she must go home now or she’d fall asleep. She struggled up and made for the door. Adrian might be there, probably having lost his key and wondering where she was. She ignored the icy fingers of fear that she would wait and worry all night, imagining the most terrifying scenarios that now plagued her life.

  3

  More Complications

  It was fortunate that they had ‘downsized’ just before Stephen left her – perhaps another reason he’d become so peculiar. For most of their marriage they’d lived in a large, Edwardian house in Hammersmith but they decided to sell it and get something smaller, now the children were on the brink of leaving home, and buy a holiday house in Italy with what was left. This plan had tempered her sorrow of leaving the family home where they’d been so happy, but having made the move, the happiness had not followed them and though, to her relief, she could keep this house, there was obviously no question of buying somewhere abroad.

  The house was at the end of a terrace in a nice street, and had just enough room for her and Stephen (if he’d stayed) and two occasional children. But today, after seeing her ex and that dreary girl, her fear of the future without him gripped tighter and she was glad when Gloria came in with her; she brought life into the house for a while. The nights were always the worst, especially now, as it got dark so early.

  At least she knew that Stephen had gone, left for good and would not be lurching back here in the dead of night. She worried about Gloria sitting waiting for Adrian, wondering if he would come home this evening and in what state. She often threatened to leave him but Lorna wondered if she ever would.

  Gloria was twenty-one, and Adrian recently back from a long stint in Canada when Stephen brought him to a party. Adrian soon fell for Gloria’s warm, bubbly personality and they married. He’d been such fun. He was always the one to think up amusing things for them all to do together; a chocolate trip to Bruges, the wine festivals along the Rhine, arranging walks round obscure parts of London. He was flattering and flirtatious in the nicest way. Occasionally – just enough to give them hope that all would be well – he became his old self again, amusing and generous, but when he was drunk, his clothes stained, often with his own wee and vomit, it was hard to imagine he was the same man.

  ‘Do you think I’m wasting my life?’ Gloria often asked this question and people usually said yes, she was. Adrian had made the choice to drink himself senseless so she should leave him, start a new life for herself. In fact if she left him it may shock him enough to make him pull himself together. Some of their friends thought, and indeed said, that her kindness in picking him up and bringing him home was almost like colluding with his behaviour, and that what he needed was the sharp shock of being abandoned in the gutter. But Gloria, perhaps exhausted by her struggle to keep the whole show on the road – finding money to pay the bills, running after Justin, her adored son – rarely listened to any advice that didn’t suit her.

  Letting go after making a home and having children together was very hard to do. If, despite everything, Stephen came back, told her he loved her and was sorry for his despicable behaviour, she’d take him back, wouldn’t she? Love, she thought wryly, took a long time dying.

  Lorna remembered how attractive and glamorous these older men had seemed then compared to the callow youths their own age, and they had been happy, it was only when their husbands hit their sixties that things seemed to fall apart.

  She was hungry; she’d eat that ham for supper. She got up and took the bag into the kitchen. She’d told Gloria that Nathan had bought one of her jerseys and just stopped herself saying ‘for his wife’. Gloria, who loved romance, real or imagined, would jump on her remark about his wife, and worry it like a terrier with a rabbit until she’d convinced herself that Lorna found Nathan attractive or something equally far-fetched.

  ‘Oh, did he? That’s kind of him, but then he is kind. Sexy, too,’ she’d giggled. ‘Next time Adrian short-changes
me in the bed department I wouldn’t mind a romp with Nathan. Have someone my own age for a change.’ And she’d scooped up her large bag and left, decidedly happier than when she’d first come in.

  Alone in the silent house, Lorna thought of Nathan. He was an attractive man and she’d been warmed by his smile and was ridiculously grateful that tired though he was, he’d remembered her slice of ham, Perversely, she felt irritated that Gloria fancied Nathan too. He was married and wore a wedding ring so was out of bounds. Anyway for her, she’d hate to put another woman through the agony Stephen had inflicted on the family. She sighed, being dumped like she had been made her in grave danger of turning into a crabby old witch. Why on earth shouldn’t he have a wife? No doubt she was very pretty and very, very nice; someone everyone adored.

  Lorna unwrapped the one piece of ham. It was a thick piece with a large chunk of the glaze and just the smell of it made her mouth water. She could not resist cutting off a piece and eating it. She explored the fridge and corralled some rather tired vegetables together. She would stir-fry them to accompany the ham. By the time she’d done this, though, she’d eaten most of it.

  She glanced at Nathan’s card, running her finger over the embossed writing. She’d propped it up against the jam pot she and Stephen had bought on a holiday in Brittany some years ago. She was surrounded by memories of their life together, everything from jam pots to pieces of furniture; which made up their home and told a story of a happy family life. Apart from his clothes and quite personal things, he’d left most of the rest behind. To distract herself, she picked up Nathan’s card. She’d order some ham for Christmas; she did so hope the children would be here, it wouldn’t be Christmas without them. It made her ill, thinking that they may not be, unable to cope with their father’s absence or, worse still, if he suddenly turned up with that girl.

  Afraid of being alone for Christmas, she’d asked her older sister Felicity and Jonathan, her banker husband, for the day. They were spending their first Christmas without their eldest daughter, Becky, who was somewhere far away on her Gap year.

  Felicity, her bossy older sister, was a Cordon Bleu cook, and somewhat difficult to feed, which made her a tiresome guest. Nathan’s stall had pâtés, cheese and chutneys and probably other things she hadn’t paid attention to. They would add a ‘certain something’ to her meal. Perhaps he had a catalogue? She could ring and find out.

  Without thinking, she dialled Nathan’s number and before she realised what she’d done and put down the receiver, the call was answered by a cheerful, female voice. ‘Thank you for ringing Nathan Harwood. Our hours are nine to six every day but Sundays. Please leave a message and we will call you back.’ There was a ping, followed by a silence waiting for her message. She blurted obediently, ‘Ham – no, sorry, a catalogue please.’ She dropped the receiver as if it were red hot, realising then that she hadn’t given her details. He wouldn’t know it was her, anyway, no doubt his wife picked up the messages. He’d be too busy cooking hams.

  The phone rang almost the moment she’d put it down. Nathan must have recognised her voice and dialled ring-back. She stared at it a moment, flushed with embarrassment, before gingerly picking it up, bracing herself for his sarcasm.

  ‘Hello.’ She hoped she sounded strong and forceful.

  ‘Mum, it’s me. Are you sitting down?’

  ‘Flora, darling, no I’m not sitting down; I’m in the kitchen, having supper. It’s good to hear you.’ She laughed with pleasure at hearing her daughter’s voice. ‘Why should I be sitting down?’

  ‘I just want you to in case you fall over.’

  ‘Why should I fall over? I’m not drunk.’ Did her children imagine her hitting the bottle alone, every evening? Another instinct kicked in, something was wrong. She moved from the kitchen into the dining area and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘What’s happened?’ She hoped she sounded calm. Perhaps Stephen had died, or had some sort of attack, his aged limbs contorted and intertwined with that girl’s.

  Flora responded defensively. ‘Why do you always think the worst?’

  Because recently it usually has been, she thought, saying instead, ‘I don’t, but when people tell you to sit down it’s often because they are about to break some bad news.’

  ‘I only said it because you might think it is bad news, but it isn’t really.’

  ‘Just tell me, then I can decide.’ If only Flora was not so defensive. Unlike Marcus, her younger brother, Flora seemed to find life such hard work. She took after Stephen, always feeling she had to do better than anyone else as if someone important was watching and judging her every move. Though Stephen must have forgotten this trait judging by his current behaviour.

  ‘I’m having a baby.’ Flora blurted.

  ‘A baby?’ Lorna said numbly. She’d heard the words yet she hadn’t really registered them. Flora was twenty, studying at a college on the outskirts of Oxford, and had no money or job prospects.

  ‘Yes … Mum … I’m … sorry, I know it’s a shock … it was for me, but …’ she tailed off, then said, slightly frantically, ‘It’s only a baby – not cancer.’

  ‘You’re sure darling?’ Lorna struggled to make sense of it. Being a single mother at her age would curtail the life and opportunities Flora should be having now. Jamie must be the father, which was a disaster, for he was far too lazy to take on any responsibilities. But he obviously had not been too lazy to father a child.

  ‘Yes. I’ll come home at the weekend and we’ll discuss it.’ Flora said in a small voice. ‘I’d tell Dad, only I don’t want to speak to that slut. Perhaps he’ll come home if he knows he’s going to be a grandfather.’ Her voice was wistful, and Lorna’s heart went out to her.

  ‘How pregnant are you? And you … you’re really are certain that you are? You know you’re not that regular.’ Lorna prayed that Flora was mistaken. She remembered a few heart-stopping times herself with Stephen that had turned out to be false alarms.

  ‘Yes. I’ve done the test … three times in fact.’ Flora said, gulping back tears.

  Perhaps making practical plans would ease her churning emotions. She should be offering advice, as her own parents would have done, but today’s parents were discouraged from delving into their children’s lives or being ‘judgemental’. No wonder there were so many dysfunctional children since the parents’ role had been so undermined. ‘So, how pregnant are you?’ Lorna asked, still unable to grasp it.

  ‘I don’t know, two months, possibly three.’

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘Yes, I’m booked in for a scan.’ Flora sounded scared, adding to her anxiety. There was no mention of marriage, but Jamie was far too immature for that. Her baby was having a baby, without the support and comfort of a loving, sensible man. Stephen should be here, sharing the problem with the family. She longed for him – the man he used to be.

  ‘What does Jamie think about it?’

  There was a long silence and then Flora said, as if she was owning up to some crime, ‘Oh, it’s not his, we broke up … we broke up ages ago.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ She’d only seen Flora a few weeks ago and she hadn’t said anything about her condition, or her love life, but she obviously hadn’t known then.

  ‘He’s hopeless; just lies about drinking,’ Flora sounded defensive.

  Lorna took a deep breath, struggling to calm her growing panic. ‘So whose is it, then? I didn’t know you were seeing anyone new.’ Please don’t let it be some random man Flora succumbed to during a drunken party, she prayed, her heart racing.

  ‘You don’t know the father,’ Flora said slowly, ‘but you’ll like him. The only trouble is,’ she paused, then rushed on, ‘he’s married.’

  ‘Married? Oh, Flora. How old is he?’ Images of Stephen fathering more babies sprung up to torment her.

  ‘He’s over sixteen, so what does it matter?’ Flora was crying now.

  ‘Oh, Flora, darling!’ It was getting worse and worse. If only she could b
e with her daughter, it seemed so cold to be talking about this over the phone. ‘Is he still married? Has he other children? Is he one of your tutors?’ Panic rose in her, she was bordering on hysteria, but she couldn’t stop the words pouring out like molten lava.

  ‘If you’re going to be difficult, I’m going to ring off,’ Flora said, desperately, perhaps facing for the first time the severity of her situation.

  Lorna forced herself to sound calmer. If only she could hold Flora in her arms while they talked it through.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, but it’s such a shock, I can’t quite grasp it. I’ve had a difficult day seeing Dad and my replacement.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, sorry, I forgot you were going to see him today. Is she dreadful, a blood-sucker?’

  ‘Yes, all that, but let’s talk about you. I wish I were with you. Why didn’t you tell me all this when you came home?’

  ‘I didn’t know, and anyway it’s easier like this. I don’t want to see your face looking sad and cross.’ Flora pushed on quickly, sniffing back her tears. ‘He’s thirty… well thirty, five, and his wife can’t have children. He thought he couldn’t, either, so we didn’t always take care, but it seems he can.’ She sighed heavily, ‘I don’t know what to do, Mum. Just my luck to be caught out by an infertile man.’ Flora laughed sourly, but Lorna could feel her anguish.

  She wished now that the baby were Jamie’s. At least she knew him; and his parents, after their initial shock, would have been supportive in the situation, but a married man and one so much older, though she could hardly criticise Flora for that. Guiltily, she remembered her own parents’ anxiety at her marrying a man not much younger than they were. She had accused them of overreacting. Now she knew what they felt like.

  She and Stephen should be facing this together as a unit, strong against the world, protecting their child, and the thought hit her – their grandchild. But instead of her, he’d discuss it with that girl. He might even make her pregnant too, giving Flora a half-brother or sister younger than her baby. No, it was too macabre; she must not allow her mind to imagine such scenarios. Her life was complicated enough as it was, and without Stephen at her side, however would she cope with it all?