Difficult Husbands

by Mary de Laszlo

  Gloria, hovering beside her, said quietly, ‘You’ll be glad you’ve let him do it. He’ll take some lovely photographs, and perhaps make it possible to carry out our plan to send the men here for Christmas.’

  ‘That idea was mad, Glory, just a joke,’ Lorna reminded her. ‘However can we get them here? And even if we did, they’d escape. Adrian might be persuaded if he was drunk but I doubt Ivan would come, or that I’d get Stephen here. He knows Ravenscourt and always thought it too secluded, and if he did come he’d bring that girl.’

  ‘We only want to keep them here a few days so we can have a relaxing Christmas.’ Gloria said. ‘Three days, even two would be heaven. I’ve had so many Christmases spoilt by Adrian. I want a good Christmas this year – if I don’t,’ her voice wobbled, ‘Justin won’t come home. He can’t bear it you see; his father drunk, looking so dirty and smelly, and everyone on tenterhooks wondering what he’ll do or say next. Justin used to ask his friends over but he doesn’t any more and I find that sad.’

  Lorna put her arm round Gloria’s shoulders. This would happen to her too. Their children were mortified at their father’s behaviour and had threatened to do their own thing for Christmas this year, dreading a re-run of last years’ traumatic one when Stephen kept disappearing on mysterious errands and returned late for lunch looking bedraggled. When Dan, her cousin, asked what he’d been up to, Stephen mumbled something about seeing to some work and that the car had played up, delaying him.

  ‘More likely you’ve played up,’ Dan retorted. The memory of the shame and pain of it and the horror on the children’s faces burnt her still. Would Stephen think it was his divine right to come for Christmas this year? Would he want to bring the girl, making up some story to prick her conscience, as Ivan did for Rosalind with his social workers, about being kind to someone who had nowhere else to go?

  Flora could easily choose to spend Christmas with Ben, the father of her coming baby and his mother, who longed for a grandchild. Ben’s wife might leave him and Flora marry him and their life together might not include her. Rosalind felt the same about her children, who were too young to leave home just yet, though there was a possibility that they could be invited to go skiing with a family they knew from school. Normally they would have hated to be away for Christmas but now, feeling moody and unloved by a father who seemingly preferred to be with other adolescents and their social workers than them, the idea of being away in the snow for Christmas seemed enticing.

  Ravenscourt had thrown up a sort of mad solution, but the choice was clear: it was between putting up with their husbands or losing their children, and she knew which all of them would sacrifice. Why stay with a difficult husband who no longer cared enough to treat them properly, when you could lose your children and possibly future grandchildren too?

  ‘It won’t work, Gloria, but how I wish it would. I’ll agree to let Nathan use the house for his shoot, if he can get out some insurance in case there is a dreadful accident.’

  ‘You’re a star,’ Gloria kissed her. ‘We’ll make our Christmas plan work, you’ll see. It might give the men a fright and bring them to their senses.’ She went off happily to find Nathan and tell him the good news.

  Clara produced some tea and they all sat round the kitchen table discussing Nathan’s brochure. Clara gave him her telephone number saying she’d be available any time to let people in and do anything he required.

  Nathan sat down next to Lorna. He’d made some notes and he asked her what she thought of them. ‘The hall could be made to look like a dining room, don’t you think? I know the staircase is there and that in itself is amazing, sort of Arts and Crafts, so ornate with all those twisting vines and lilies, we might use it in another shot as part of the scene.’

  They sat close together at one end of the kitchen table and every so often his fingers would brush against hers as he turned over the pages of his pad of paper, or leant close, his hand skimming over the paper as he drew a sketch of how he wanted the scene to be. Her body glowed as if it were lit from inside. How good it was to be close to such an attractive man again. She caught Sonia’s eyes on her and pretended indifference. Trust a mother to suss her out; she expected that any minute, Sonia would remind Nathan that he was married. But these moments with him were harmless. She was surely too wise to read anything romantic into his gratitude at lending him Ravenscourt. It was just good manners for him to tell her his ideas, and ask her own, and hadn’t she only a short time before been complaining to herself that she felt left out?

  It was dark now; the lights in the kitchen dim from lack of working bulbs – the lights were set so high it would be quite an exercise to clamber up a ladder to change them. The dusk pressed in through the windows; the scratch of branches against the glass coupled with the half-light added to the feeling of intimacy. Lorna’s leg was against Nathan’s and he did not move his away, not that there was much room to move it to. What if he put his arm round her, leant his face close to hers, his lips caressing her cheeks, her own lips … The thought flowed into her and she let it grow in her imagination, warming her body. I can dream, can’t I, she told herself, my life’s so tough just now, what harm is there in escaping into a fantasy world for a moment?

  ‘It’s dark, we’d better get back.’ Rosalind broke the spell. Gloria agreed, getting up sharply, the leg of her chair whining against the stone floor.

  ‘Well thank you so much again, Lorna,’ Nathan smiled at her. ‘I’ll give these notes to Beth and see what she makes of them. I hope you’ll come down for the shoot and keep an eye on us.’

  It was as if a cork had been pulled from her and all her foolish dreams and happiness ran out, dispersing into the gloomy room. Beth would be the one to take charge of everything that might have made her happy. But how foolish she was being. Just because her leg had sat cosily against Nathan’s leg, it didn’t herald undying love – or even love at all.

  12

  The Father of the Child

  It was Saturday and Flora was bringing Ben to lunch to meet her. Lorna was dreading it. It was one thing accepting that her daughter was pregnant and a baby would soon be here, quite another to accept its father, a man she disapproved of for cheating on his wife, but it had to be done.

  Lorna cooked one of her famous fish pies, followed by Flora’s favourite pudding – if she didn’t feel too nauseous to eat it – homemade cinnamon ice cream and pears poached in red wine. She’d made a batch of cupcakes too to try out for the shop, Victoria sponge mixture with a dollop of fresh fruit curd hidden inside. She had made three different kinds; passion fruit, orange and lime. Marcus was supposed to be here too, though Lorna now wished that he wasn’t coming. She hadn’t arranged it, thinking it better to tackle this first meeting with the errant husband alone, but he’d rung her last night to announce that he was coming home for a night or so. He had some revision to do and he might as well do it in comfort.

  ‘I’ll give him the once over,’ he’d said. ‘Flora’s mad to get knocked up like that.’

  If only Marcus were older and would take this situation seriously, but then, he was only eighteen and took life as it came without much thought of the consequences.

  She heard the scrape of Flora’s key in the lock, the sound of the door opening, Flora calling out, ‘Mum, it’s us!’ and the door close behind her.

  Her heart was racing, if only she could escape, but it had to be faced. Pinning a tight smile on her face she went into the hall to greet them.

  Flora kissed her and turned to the man behind her. ‘Mum, this is Ben.’ She threw his name at her with an air of defiance, as if daring Lorna to dislike him.

  ‘Hello, Ben.’ Lorna regarded him carefully; the man who’d fathered her grandchild, and was surprised. His brown hair had begun to recede quite sharply; his face was square, ordinary-looking but pleasant. He was wearing dark trousers, a blue shirt and a grey corduroy jacket, clothes that looked stiff with newness as if he’d bought them especially for the occasion. He was quite d
ifferent from the man she had created in her mind.

  Flora steered him into the living room, making Lorna think of rounding up a confused sheep. They all sat down awkwardly.

  ‘Flora’s brother is coming for lunch.’ Lorna broke the tense silence, addressing Ben who sat on the edge of his chair as if poised for flight. ‘He only rang last night,’ she explained to Flora, in case she was annoyed at having to share this meeting with him.

  ‘I know, I asked him to come.’ Flora’s face was tight and sulky and it tore at her heart. Her hair hung loose around her face and she looked very young and pretty. She went on, ‘As Dad’s not here, I thought Marcus should be. We should be as near a family as we can be.’

  Lorna got up to offer drinks to hide the sudden tears in her eyes. There was beer and wine. ‘Are you still drinking, darling, or does it make you feel ill?’

  ‘Alcohol tastes like metal, hope I’ll be able to drink after it all,’ Flora said. ‘I’ll have water, no, tea; I’ll go and make some tea. I drink a lot of that at the moment, I used to hate it before. What will you have Ben? Beer? Wine for you, Mum?’ Flora went to the door to go to the kitchen.

  ‘Tea, please.’ Ben half-rose to follow her, his face anguished.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Lorna said.

  Flora called back over her shoulder, ‘No, talk to Ben, get to know him.’ She disappeared. Ben, swallowing nervously, slumped back in his chair and bowed his head as though waiting for her verdict.

  Was she really as terrifying as all that? Lorna rather despised him. She’d imagined a dashing man; perhaps a bit of a rogue who was amazingly attractive to women and seduced her daughter, been so persuasive that Flora couldn’t help herself, like Stephen when she’d first known him. Ben didn’t look as if he had the guts or the charm or whatever it was, to dare to be unfaithful to his wife. She’d have to tackle this but she was reluctant to start, not knowing what to say.

  She took a deep breath and began hesitatingly, ‘B … Ben, this is a difficult situation. Is it not? Flora is so young and …babies need a lot of time and care, not to mention money.’

  ‘I know.’ He looked miserable.

  ‘How did it happen?’ She blushed, ‘I … I mean your relationship. I understand you are married – or are you separated?’

  ‘I … I’m married, and Flora is so kind, so understanding,’ he mumbled.

  ‘That is no reason to make her pregnant, or even sleep with her.’ He flinched at her tone of voice. Her irritation made her sound sharp, but she felt sharp. She’d not been expecting such a mouse of a man. Would he be any support at all in the situation? She didn’t want to take full charge of this baby. It may be the sweetest thing and she’d love it but it was its parents who should take the most responsibility for it. She needed to be independent, make a new life for herself now she was on her own and not allow herself to be tempted back into the safety of the nursery.

  The front door opened and slammed and Marcus charged in, dumping a large, squashy bag, no doubt full of dirty laundry, in the corner of the room. ‘Hi, Mum.’ He seemed even taller and skinner than when she’d last seen him. He bent over to kiss her, his over-long hair flopping into her face. Then he turned to inspect Ben. ‘I’m Marcus.’ He thrust out his hand, and she could see from his expression that he was as surprised as she was.

  ‘Hi,’ Flora appeared, a glass of wine in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. She put these down near Lorna and Ben and turned back towards the kitchen.

  Marcus glanced at her stomach as if expecting to see the baby through her clothes. ‘How’s things?’ He threw himself down on the sofa. ‘Get me a beer, while you’re there, please.’ He addressed his sister. Turning to Ben, he said ‘Beer, mate?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No thank you, not just now.’

  Flora returned with Marcus’s beer and a glass. He pulled open the tab, licking off the white foam that crept round the opening of the tin before pouring the rest into his glass. ‘So I’m going to be an uncle. It’s a bit grown up.’

  Lorna sighed; she didn’t feel grown up enough to be a granny.

  ‘You might all be pleased,’ Flora said grumpily.

  Lorna remembered the fish pie in the oven. Flora was sitting down again but it needed to be checked. What could she say about this situation anyway? Sermons on babies needing stable, two parent families like they had had, would be wasted. The young didn’t seem to think like that any more. If a baby came along it was just like another friend, or worse still, a pet they’d acquired. Flora would love it, she would love it, perhaps Ben would love it, and Marcus would play with it and Stephen…what would Stephen do? So far he’d just ranted like a Victorian father. But that was not the same as having a proper home, a routine, she remembered her mother saying. People didn’t have routines today, not if they interrupted their lives.

  ‘It’s a difficult situation,’ Lorna said. ‘But let’s have lunch, we can discuss it later.’ She got up quickly and went into the kitchen with the large alcove that doubled as a dining room, and led into a small garden. She’d laid the table nicely, an arrangement of fresh flowers in the centre and the creamy, linen napkins that used to belong to her mother. She’d decided she would make an effort for Ben – the Ben she had imagined.

  ‘I’ll help, Mum.’ Marcus followed her into the kitchen. ‘Mmm fish pie, my favourite.’ The pie was perfect; crispy potato and sweet potato, topping fish in a creamy sauce. There were carrots and beans to go with it.

  ‘He’s a bit of a nerd,’ Marcus whispered as he nipped off a piece of crusty potato and popped it in his mouth, ‘not at all what I imagined.’

  ‘I thought that too,’ she said, and then, feeling disloyal to Flora, added, ‘I’m sure he’s very nice.’

  ‘Hidden depths,’ Marcus laughed. ‘Let’s help ourselves in here, I’m starving.’ He called to the other two to come and get their meal.

  Marcus kept them going through lunch, telling them about his goings on at college. It was a wonder that he found time to study, though Lorna didn’t say anything; why should she spoil his fun, just because she didn’t have any? He came to the end of his stories and there was a long silence. He’d been so animated a moment before and now, his face strained as if fearful of her answer, he blurted, ‘So, Christmas. Mum, what are we doing?’

  Panic whirled through her, were they both now going to say they had other plans, abandon this new, one parent family? She said as cheerfully as she could, ‘Aunt Felicity and family are coming, perhaps the Elliots, and you both I hope and . . .’ she glanced at Ben. ‘You are of course welcome, if you have no other plans.’ Then she thought the way she had said it sounded a bit unfriendly, but what was she meant to say? And what about his wife?

  ‘What about Dad?’ Marcus clenched his jaw as though the question hurt him.

  She swallowed, picturing images of happier Christmases: Stephen carving the turkey, paper hat on his head, reading out the silly jokes from the crackers, often in his Peter Sellars voice, drinking champagne while they opened their presents. ‘No,’ she said, ‘he won’t be coming. Remember we are divorced.’

  ‘He is our father,’ Marcus said.

  ‘I know and you … both of you …’ She picked her words warily as if she were walking through a minefield, ‘must see him whenever you want to. I just can’t, that’s all.’

  Flora said, ‘I think he’s disgusting going off with such a young girl. She’s only after his money; he’s such a fool. You don’t think he’ll marry her, do you, Mum?’ Her face was anguished.

  If only Ben wasn’t here, studying his plate as though the pattern on it was a code that needed breaking. But obviously it was awkward for him, thrust into the middle of a wounded family as well as being inspected as the father of Flora’s child. They must talk of something else and Lorna racked her brain to think of another topic to discuss.

  ‘He might just turn up and we can’t turn him away at Christmas. Other divorced people have to do it, get together for family things. You are both o
ur parents after all and if we get married, or at our graduation and things like that, you both ought to be there,’ Marcus said defiantly.

  ‘We simply can’t have that girl here,’ Flora said, her mouth curling, her eyes anxious. ‘I wouldn’t talk to him anyway, but it is Christmas and I bet she can’t cook, not as well as you can anyway Mum, and you know how Dad loves his food and always said Christmas lunch is his favourite meal of the year.’

  She felt tortured, they were Stephen’s children and no doubt under their pain and confusion they still loved him, she could not expect them to turn him away. They might not understand, or want to understand, what hell it would be for her. Perhaps they both harboured a hope that he would snap out of the stranger the drugs had created and be the loving father they were used to. Even if they asked him, he wouldn’t come without that girl and she couldn’t cope with that. They were divorced, their marriage severed in two. That was it; simple, yet fraught with complications. If only Gloria’s idea of shutting them all in Ravenscourt could be made to work.

  To change the subject, Lorna began to talk about Ravenscourt, reminding them of the times they’d gone down there as small children.

  ‘Why don’t we go live and there?’ Marcus said, ‘Sounds great for parties.’

  She explained about the sad state of the house, trying to include Ben in the discussion. She told them about Nathan’s project of using parts of it – heavily decorated – for his Christmas brochure.

  ‘Why don’t we have Christmas there? I could ask loads of friends, it sounds just the place.’ Marcus said excitedly. ‘It’s quite big, isn’t it? We could have Dad, put him in the west wing or something, keep him out of your way most of the time.’ He regarded her intently, looking so like his father, willing her to agree.