Difficult Husbands

by Mary de Laszlo

  His plans were vague; he might go to a skiing resort and try and get a job there, or go to Cornwall with friends, Scotland with others. ‘Can’t you go after Christmas? Boxing Day, even?’ she’d asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the plea in her voice and feel he had to come back just for her.

  ‘I’ll see how it works out, Mum. I’ll come home before, come and see you soon. Dad there?’ he added in a rush and she knew that what he really wanted to say was, ‘I’ll come when he’s not there, I can’t bear to see him like he is now, his behaviour is so embarrassing.’

  ‘No, he’s not back yet.’ She made it sound as if Adrian was still at work, or somewhere normal and important. Not drinking himself into a stupor somewhere, pissing himself, lying in the gutter.

  ‘Drunk somewhere, I suppose.’ Justin’s voice was harsh with pain and disgust. ‘I’ll see you, Mum,’ and he’d rung off, leaving her to cry alone.

  Adrian used to be such an amusing father, one who got down on his knees to play with Justin and took him out on ‘boy’s jaunts’. He even took him to the pub for his ‘first drink’, and taught him about the quality of fine wines; the grapes, the vineyards, their history. She remembered him talking about the ancient skills of wine-making as if it were a religion, which perhaps it was, to passionate growers.

  When had the joyful bon viveur turned into the monster? She couldn’t quite remember. She’d noticed he seemed a little more affected by the amount he drank at dinner parties and curtailed her own drinking, so that she could drive them home. The first time he had staggered home legless she’d been annoyed, really because she didn’t want him to set Justin a bad example. Then, one night, when he was sixteen, Justin had rolled home the worse for wear after a party. She put him to bed rehearsing what she would say to him when he’d sobered up. She would explain that getting drunk was stupid and could put one in danger, of being mugged, run over – she was going to add rape to the list, as she’d read of boys being raped by men. But she’d decided not to; he was young and not used to alcohol and a thudding headache in the morning might hopefully deter him from doing it again. She had expected Adrian to back her up. Only he hadn’t. The memory of that night haunted her still.

  A friend almost as inebriated as himself had brought Justin home. It was after midnight and Adrian was asleep in bed. She’d put Justin to bed and then Adrian had woken and demanded to know what was going on. She’d made a slight joke of it, saying that coming home drunk was part of growing up, and that they would both speak to him in the morning.

  ‘We’ll speak now.’ And before she could stop him, Adrian had charged into Justin’s room and dragged him from his bed, shouting at him for being drunk; saying how disgusting it was and that he wouldn’t have it, and that if Justin did it again, he’d chuck him out. She’d been horrified, terrified too, for she had never seen him so angry, and angry about something that really was not that serious, not this once. Anyway, hadn’t he too drunk too much recently?

  Justin had walked, or rather staggered, out – though she had begged him to stay, holding on to him until he promised he’d go to his friend in the next street. She’d followed him, creeping behind in the dark, itching to catch him as he swayed and once almost fell over the curb, to make sure he was safe. But that episode woke her up, forced her to stop making excuses and realise that Adrian was no longer the amusing drunk, but had a serious problem. He had apologised, tried to make it up to Justin, but the warmth and joy they’d shared as a family had gone. Now it looked as if Christmas would be ruined, with just her and Adrian sitting forlornly together.

  She blew her nose firmly. She must get on, or she’d be late. She packed up the cashmeres in one of the large, squashy bags she used to transport them to the fairs, checking she had enough of each size and colour. She wondered if Nathan would be there. She planned to buy a lot of his produce this Christmas, having neither the energy nor the heart to make her own things. She had taken on many more fairs this year as money was getting tight. But was it worth buying anything if Justin was not coming? Adrian wouldn’t appreciate it any more and if Justin wasn’t there, what was the point of making any effort just for an old soak?

  The thought of her lonely Christmas made her want to cry again, but then her eyes would be red and her face blotchy and she hadn’t time to re-do her make-up, so she firmly switched her mind to Nathan. She hadn’t really noticed how attractive he was before and she felt her body warming thinking of him. She hoped he would be there tomorrow, then she could buy the goodies she wanted straight away and save on the postage.

  She wished she had an attractive, loving man in her life; someone fun who’d make her laugh, hold her in his arms and love her like Adrian used to do. She sighed. The thought of an affair crossed her mind. That’s what I need; a passionate, sexy affair. That would wake Adrian up! Perhaps make him see what he’s missing. She smiled to herself; she’d never had an affair before so perhaps it was high time she had one while all her bits were still fairly presentable.

  6

  Hint Of A Mad Idea

  The traffic was snarled up all the way from Piccadilly to Knightsbridge, where Lorna was to meet Gloria and Rosalind for lunch, so she was late. Gloria poured a glass of wine, ‘I really don’t know if he’ll be there or not and… Adrian doesn’t take in a thing I say about his drinking.’

  Lorna took off her coat and settled down on a chair. She was starving; she’d only had a cup of coffee for breakfast. She picked up a piece of bread, dipping it in the dish of green olive oil in front of her and popping it into her mouth, savouring the taste.

  Poor Gloria. Lorna guessed she was going through another of her bad times with Adrian. The Christmas season was a difficult time for her, for them all. Adrian had ruined last Christmas, appearing drunk at lunch time, embarrassing Justin their son, who’d stormed out with the girlfriend he’d invited. She’d dumped him soon after. Gloria had cried for days. Lorna shuddered, what would Christmas be like this year?

  As if she had guessed her thoughts, Gloria turned to her, her eyes bright with tears. ‘Justin might not be here this Christmas.’ She tried to sound as if it were no big deal, he was, at nineteen, grown up, after all, and could make his own plans.

  ‘What’s he going to do?’ Lorna asked, squeezing her hand in sympathy. All their children were special, but Gloria had suffered many miscarriages before Justin was born. She felt the tension grip her too, what if her children decided to opt out of Christmas this year? Marcus had threatened it and now that Flora was pregnant, she might go and spend it with the father of this child.

  ‘I’m not sure, his plans are vague. He might go to a skiing resort, persuade some chalet girl to let him camp on the floor of the chalet she’s working in, or go to Cornwall with another friend. Anything but suffer a re-run of last year’s fiasco,’ she said desperately. ‘He can’t bear to see his father in such a state. They used to be so close, I used to feel left out,’ she laughed bitterly, ‘but now?’ She lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture. ‘But enough,’ she smiled bravely. ‘Let’s enjoy our lunch together. What are you going to eat?’

  They ordered their food and Rosalind, who was a few years younger than them, said, ‘It will be hard for you this year, Lorna’. She pressed her shoulder sympathetically ‘Your first one since the divorce.’

  Lorna gulped at her wine, not wanting to think about it.

  ‘I can’t afford to divorce, though if I did leave Adrian it might force him into rehab,’ Gloria said despairingly. ‘Getting the value of half our house would hardly leave me with enough to buy a hut on some far off moor. That’s the trouble with this ‘no fault’ divorce; cutting everything in two often leaves not much for either person. Also, I just hate being alone,’ she said. ‘Feeble, I know, but I’ve never lived alone in my life – coming from such a large family, not to mention various hangers-on.’

  ‘I doubt you’d be alone for long, Glory,’ Lorna said, certain she’d rather be alone than put up with the worry of not knowing where and wha
t state her husband was in.

  ‘I wouldn’t want someone just for the sake of it,’ Gloria sighed. ‘I just want Adrian really, but not drunk and dirty of course. Deep down I’m furious with him for not making an effort to get help.’

  The topic of conversation was one that had preoccupied the three of them since their older husbands had started playing up so alarmingly. Lorna’s divorce had shaken them, especially when they found that, unless you spent a fortune fighting it, the law decreed that as the ‘partnership of marriage’ had broken down, their money and possessions should be divided fifty- fifty. Divorce was brutal; the cold, calculated murder of a dying marriage

  Lorna had had to make a list of all she possessed, even down to the five Premium Bonds she’d been given for her Christening, and had forgotten about. It was hard, and in a sense ridiculous, not to be able to ask Stephen how much she needed to live on. He was the one person who knew all the answers to their finances; insurance, pensions and all the things she had relied upon him to cope with, which he’d done with great efficiency before being befuddled by the ‘happy pills’. She’d achieved it with the help of her family and friends. It was over now but she could understand why Gloria and Rosalind battled on with such difficult husbands.

  It was good being here with these friends, whose once-decent husbands seemed to be struck down with some insidious form of self-destruction, threatening to drag the whole family down in its wake.

  Rosalind too was going through a difficult time with her husband Ivan, who having retired had developed a penchant for social workers connected with the voluntary work he was engaged in. This was not made any easier by her ‘princess’ type stepdaughter Polly, who hated having to share her father with another woman and was jealous of her younger stepsisters.

  They were eating in a bustling Italian restaurant. Rosalind had the dark looks of her Italian grandmother and enjoyed showing off this heritage becoming quite excitable; her hands swooping like birds as she ordered tagliolini con asparagi. Lorna and Gloria humoured her as they always did when they ate at an Italian restaurant, amused when often the waiter stared at her exclaiming, ‘Yer what?’ pizza being the only Italian word in his vocabulary.

  ‘Ivan has hurt and humiliated me more than I can say with all this womanizing, even bringing one home last Christmas.’ Rosalind’s face was tight with pain. She poured out more wine, finishing the bottle. ‘Per favore,’ she waved the empty bottle at the waiter as he approached the table. ‘It’s not as if we didn’t have a sex life together, or slept in separate rooms, or I had constant headaches – in fact he’s the one with headaches.’

  ‘Impotence,’ Gloria said. ‘We all know that men worship their willies, would rather lose the use of their legs than that.’ She smiled pityingly at the waiter before ordering another bottle of wine, in English, ‘And I suppose now they look old and we, being so much younger, do not. In fact I think we look very good, and many career girls, still single at our age, are making frantic clucking noises to settle down and make babies, while we’ve done it.’

  ‘Not every man behaves like that,’ Lorna chipped in, thinking of some of their other older male friends, who seemed perfectly happy to potter about in their sheds, or bury themselves in their books while still being good to their wives.

  ‘True, but perhaps the fact that we are still young and energetic, especially you, Rosalind, has panicked them, made them behave like geriatric adolescents. If we were nearer their age we could moan about our saggy and aching bits together.’ Gloria leant back as a plate of steaming pasta was put before her. ‘Ivan and Adrian are sixty-five, born in the same month and Stephen …?’ Gloria turned to her.

  ‘Just sixty-six.’ Lorna said.

  ‘And we are hovering round forty. I felt so secure with Ivan when we first started going out, even though he was going through hell at home. He so enjoyed being with me, it made him feel wanted. As I’ve told you, I wasn’t very happy growing up … it was heaven.’ Rosalind’s dark eyes glazed a moment before flooding with tears. She sniffed madly.

  ‘Even after I met Polly and suffered her spoilt princess behaviour, we were happy. Then we had our two, but now they’ve hit adolescence and things seem to get more tricky every day. Ivan seems to have opted out of being a father, as if he can’t go through any more teenage behaviour, at least with Emma and Chloe. He seems more interested in the teenagers coming in on work experience where he works.’

  Lorna smiled sympathetically, worrying how Stephen would take the news of his daughter’s surprise pregnancy.

  ‘It’s the constant worry of wondering where Adrian is and what state he’s in that gets to me,’ Gloria said. ‘Even if we did split up, it wouldn’t stop me worrying about him. You can’t just cut off all feelings for someone you’ve loved and lived with for years and who’s given you a child. It’s not like pruning a plant.’

  ‘I suppose that’s what they bank on,’ Rosalind said. ‘They know we don’t want to break up the family we’ve given so much time to and struggle with less money, a smaller home, being alone, and all the rest of it, so every so often they are nice to us, just to lull us into a false security and make us hold on.’ She turned to Lorna. ‘You’ve been through the horror of Stephen leaving you, you are braver than us, and though I know it is hard, you’re doing marvellously. Sometimes I envy you.’

  ‘You needn’t,’ Lorna wondered if she really would rather have Stephen as he was now than be alone, especially facing Flora’s bombshell.

  Lorna was itching to tell them about Flora, but she felt that, until she’d seen her, she should not release her news about becoming a grandmother. A grandmother – that aged her, a mad state of affairs when perhaps she could still have another child herself. She told them instead about Fergus’s death and the house he had left her.

  ‘A house in the country! What fun!’ Gloria perked up. ‘You can do it up, use it for weekends and holidays, even sell your London house and move in.’

  ‘Sadly the house is far too big and needs so much doing to it. Anyway the last thing I want now is to be stuck alone deep in the depth of the country.’ She went on to describe Ravenscourt.

  ‘Sounds like Colditz,’ Rosalind said. ‘I wish I could rent it off you to put Ivan in until he comes to his senses and remembers he still has a lot of years fathering to do.’

  Gloria laughed. ‘What a good idea! Adrian can join him, then at least we would know where they were.’

  ‘We could find their old school matron or someone like that to keep them in order,’ Lorna giggled, having a sudden picture of the three men there, all reminiscing and ragging each other as they had in childhood.

  ‘They’d love it. It seems they have regressed into their teenage years anyway, they’d think they were back at boarding school or university together,’ Gloria added.

  Their laugher froze: they were all struck with the same ludicrous thought.

  ‘We couldn’t.’ Rosalind was the first to speak.

  ‘It would never work, they’d escape.’

  ‘We’d be arrested for kidnap or something. Think how they’d love that; they would get everything and we’d be out of the way.’ Lorna felt suddenly flat. When she and Gloria were children at school, they’d come up with mad ideas to alleviate the boredom of boarding school, each topping the other with ever-wilder ideas. Now, together like this and perhaps a little drunk, they’d succumbed to that old habit of thinking up mad schemes perhaps as a sort of antidote, or light relief, because each of them was going through a hellish patch, dreading Christmas with their difficult husbands.

  ‘It might work if they enjoyed being there,’ Gloria sounded hopeful. ‘If they thought it was their own idea. They are all retired, or consult occasionally, like Ivan with his investment advice, which he does along with his charity work with the work experience scheme so they could take time off without much difficulty.’

  ‘Short of bringing in dancing girls and unlimited amounts of booze and porn, we’d never keep them there,’ Ros
alind said, in her sensible voice. ‘And since it appears they have all that already they won’t be drawn in, especially if it is cold and miserable.’

  ‘Sad it won’t work; think what a relief it would be for us to have a few days respite, even just for Christmas,’ Gloria said wistfully.

  ‘Especially for Christmas,’ Rosalind jumped in. ‘It would take away that awful anxiety of not knowing what mood they’ll be in on Christmas Day. If Ivan has someone from his charity work that he feels sorry for, or wants to impress, I’m never sure which, he insists they come for the day and spends most of the morning fetching them. If I make a fuss he makes me feel mean, saying the woman – they’re always female – is alone and all that. You dread what they are going to be like and how everyone else will behave with them, or worse still how Ivan behaves with us all, as he brings in a stranger and makes a fuss of them while his own children feel left out.’

  ‘He’s not …well, he’s not sleeping with them is he?’ Lorna asked in horror, having visions of an older man grooming adolescent girls. ‘Surely your daughters and Polly, if she’s there, complain, even if it is only to him later?’

  ‘Not the young women, no, he doesn’t sleep with them,’ Rosalind said quickly. ‘It’s the slightly older women – social workers, I suppose they are – who run the work experience scheme.’

  ‘The bastard,’ Gloria exclaimed.

  ‘It’s as if he has convinced himself that I have invited them, even though he … well, with the older ones, he often wants me to think he is going to bed with them … as a sort of … punishment,’ Rosalind finished in a rush, fiddling with a piece of bread, scattering the crust over the tablecloth.

  Lorna and Gloria exchanged furtive glances. Gloria said gently, ‘Punishing you for what, Ros?’