by Frances Pye
She chopped some parsley, scattered it over the stew, and shouted, “Paul! Dinner,” just as the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Terry yelled, and went to the door. Probably someone delivering pizza to the wrong address. Although Minnie, bizarrely, wasn’t barking but was running around and around in circles in apparent delight. Strange dog. She’d not been the same since Sean had stopped visiting. Well, none of them had been, had they?
Terry pulled open the door, oven gloves still in hand. Minnie ran past her and leapt into the air. And into Sean’s arms.
He grinned. “You’re a mad dog,” he said, and she licked his face in delight. He was back.
Sean looked at Terry. “Can I come in?”
Terry didn’t move. She couldn’t. The moment she’d seen Sean, she’d felt the same way she had the night he’d kissed her. Excited and breathless and sort of desperate. And all of that without him even touching her.
“Please, Terry, I need to talk to you.”
Terry snapped out of her coma. And stood back to let Sean in. Paul, on his way down the stairs to the kitchen for his dinner, stopped the moment he saw who was at the door. He didn’t want to get in the way if there was a chance that Sean had come to ask his mam out. “Hi, Sean,” he called out. “Mam, I don’t need dinner, okay? I’m going to stay up here, do some work, maybe go to bed early. Leave you and Sean alone to enjoy yourselves.”
Terry stared at her son. It wasn’t like him to choose work over food. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. I ate when I got in from school. See you, Sean.” In fact, he had had only a bag of chips and was ravenous, but the sacrifice would be worth it if his mam and Sean got together. As he walked back to his room, his stomach growled at him but he ignored it. He had a bit of a Mars bar left in his school bag, that would have to do.
Terry walked down the corridor to the kitchen. Sean’s arrival had blown away her certainty. Part of her still yearned for safety, for the simplicity of her long-celibate life. But another part was screaming for her to take a risk.
Sean and Minnie were right on her heels. She had mere minutes, if not seconds, to make up her mind. No chance to reread her stars in the evening paper for a bit of guidance. She tried to think back but her mind seemed incapable of concentrating. Was it a good or a bad time for change? Was she due for a lucky break? Was Venus rising?
“WHAT DO you mean he wasn’t the man I think he was?”
“Just that there are things you don’t know about Jake.”
“I was his wife. How can there be things I don’t know?”
“Do you think any of us ever truly know anyone?” Lily cringed at her Woman’s Own words. She took a deep breath, then another. Facts. That was what she needed. Facts. Not this nebulous, cod-philosophical, there-are-things-you-don’t-know crap. Facts. Give Mara something to hold on to. “After he died, you remember we cleared all his stuff out for you? When you couldn’t cope?”
“You were wonderful.”
“You may not think that in a couple of minutes.”
“Of course I will, silly.”
Lily looked at her friend sitting opposite her, looking as worn down as she had the other day but smiling slightly, sure of the love of her dead husband. Shit, this wasn’t difficult, it was well-nigh impossible.
“We found some papers. Letters.”
“Letters?”
“Yes. From girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends?”
“Yes.”
“Jake didn’t have girlfriends.”
“I’m afraid he did. And lots of them.”
“No.”
“He did, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Mara. I know it’s hard. But it’s true.”
“It’s not. It’s not. I know it’s not. Why are you lying to me like this? You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am your friend. And I’m not lying.”
“Lies. Lies. Lies.” Mara put her hands over her ears. She would hear no more.
Lily took a deep slug of her wine. Then looked up at her disbelieving friend. “I didn’t want to have to do this. I was hoping you’d take my word for it.” Lily put down her glass on the rickety old kitchen table, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a sheaf of letters. “We couldn’t decide whether or not to destroy them.” She held out the letters to Mara, who ignored them. “Mara. You’ve got to stop burying your head in the sand. Here.”
Mara shrank backward. “No. I won’t listen. This is not true.”
Lily scrabbled around for a way to persuade her friend to face the truth. “Go on. One look. If I’m lying, there’s nothing to be scared of, is there?”
Mara stared at the letters lying on Lily’s outstretched hand. She didn’t want to take them. She shouldn’t have to check up on Jake. He had been faithful to her. He had. She knew that. Lily was lying. And yet her hand moved and took the sheaf. She opened and read first one then another then another.
There was no doubt. These were love letters. And they were written to Jake. Mara tried to stop reading, tried to protect herself from all the details of where and when and how, but things kept springing out at her.
Jake spending the night with a girl when Mara thought he was away driving a client.
Jake with another one the day Mara brought Moo home from the hospital.
Jake using their house, their bed while she was out at play group with the girls.
Mara started to shake and the letters fell from her hands, onto the floor around and under her chair. She made no effort to pick them up. Instead, she slumped forward, her head cradled in her hands.
Lily let her cry for a minute. Then she reached out to put her arm around Mara’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” She knew this was inadequate but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Sorry?” Mara’s voice cracked.
“Yes. But we had to tell you. We had to.”
“We?”
“Jules and Terry agreed. We hoped we’d never have to say anything, but now Jake’s stopping you doing things and we thought—”
“You all got together and decided what to do?”
“We talked, yes.”
“With my life?”
“We didn’t want to hurt you….”
“So you lied to me.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It looks like it from here. My best friends hide the fact that my husband was fucking around on me for years and that’s not lying?”
“It wasn’t lying. Just not telling.”
“And I’m supposed to see the difference? You three have spent the last four years watching me worship a man who you all knew was no good. Did it make you want to smile when you heard me go on about how faithful he’d been? What a great husband I’d had? How’d you manage to hide the laughs when I went on and on and on about how I wished you all could find someone like him?”
Lily stared at Mara in shock. She’d never seen or heard her calm, gentle friend so angry. “I never laughed. Nor did the others. It was terrible.”
“But you never told me. Never. It was terrible, but you still kept your secretive little mouths shut.” Mara heard herself shouting and forced herself to lower her voice. She mustn’t wake up Moo and Tilly, they mustn’t know about this. “I suppose you enjoyed jeering at the silly girl who couldn’t even see what a pig her husband had been?”
“No. Of course not.” Lily was horrified. This wasn’t Mara.
“Or was it the pity you liked? I can hear you now. ‘Poor stupid little Mara. Poor, deluded girl, swallowed Jake’s line and wouldn’t let go.’ Aaaah.” Mara stood up and walked over to the kitchen window to look out. But her eyes didn’t see the darkened garden, its neat empty beds waiting for the spring. She was blind to everything but the fact that her great love had been a mirage, something she’d created, all in her head, to make herself feel special.
“It wasn’t like that. I promise,” Lily said. “When we f
ound out we just thought it was better not to tell you, you were so destroyed by Jake dying. After that, well, there never seemed to be a right time.”
“I think I’d prefer to be laughed at than pitied.” Mara took no notice of Lily. All she could hear was the voice in her head that kept repeating, “Jake cheated. Jake cheated. Jake cheated.”
Lily got up, went to the window, put her arm around her friend’s shoulders, and gently turned her around so they were face-to-face. “Mara. Listen. It wasn’t like that. We didn’t want to hurt you. So we said nothing. And hoped you’d grow out of it.”
“Grow out of it? Like a child with a bad habit?” Mara pulled herself away from Lily. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out of my house. Now.”
“But…can’t we talk about this?”
“You’ve just destroyed everything. J…Jake. My marriage. My memories. And you want us to sit round and discuss it? Well, fuck you. Get out.” Part of Mara knew she was being unreasonable, shooting the messenger when the person she should be blaming was long dead, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to lash out, and Lily was there.
This was the first time Lily had ever heard Mara swear. She wasn’t a prude, didn’t object to her friends’ sometimes terrible language, but never did it herself. Not even a mild “bloody” or a gentle “damn.” And now she’d said “fuck” twice in one night. Lily looked at her friend, aware of how miserable she was, and tried desperately to think of something, anything, to say to make it better. But nothing came to mind.
“Get out!” Mara shouted, the girls forgotten for a moment. “GET OUT!”
And Lily got out.
THE LENTIL and mushroom stew sat, uneaten, on the top of the stove, a thin wisp of steam rising from it. Terry stood, her back to the sink, her face tense, her body stiff. Sean, Minnie still in his arms, leaned against the propped-up dresser, looking easy and relaxed. From a distance, that is. Close up, he was as on edge as Terry. His eyes never left her for a moment, his jawline worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth, and he held on to Minnie for dear life.
First there was silence. Now that the moment was here, neither of them was ready to start. Sean was hoping for some kind of signal from Terry, some hint as to how she felt and what he should do to make her want to see him again. And Terry was scared. In the time it had taken to turn off the stove, put down her oven gloves, and turn to face Sean, she had made her decision. She was going to tell him the truth. Explain to him about her frigidity and how she had been celibate for years. Be honest with a man about her problems for the first time in her life. It might scare him away, but if it did, he was not the person she thought he was.
Terry took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. At the same time as Sean.
“There’s something I need to explain—”
“Terry, I need to talk to you—”
“You first.”
“No, you.”
“I…I…”
Terry tried to think how best to put it. Every phrase she could think of—“I am frigid”; “I have never had an orgasm”—either sounded too clinical or too alienating. So she drew a deep breath, ignored the sick feeling in her stomach, and rushed in.
“You see, I haven’t ever enjoyed it. Sex, I mean. So I gave up years ago. I was just tired of it all. Pretending I was having fun when I wasn’t. Or of not pretending and being attacked for it. Or it not being noticed.”
“Terry—”
She held up her hand to stop Sean’s interruption. She needed to get through this in one piece. “So when you kissed me, that’s why I pushed you away. I hadn’t touched a man in ages, had I? And I wasn’t expecting…wasn’t expecting…”
Sean put Minnie on the floor, walked over to Terry, and stroked her cheek. “Wasn’t expecting what?” he asked.
Terry flinched away from Sean’s hand. If the attraction was strong when he was on the other side of the room, it was overpowering when he touched her.
Hurt, he pulled back and started to walk away.
“No, don’t. I’m sorry. I just…I can’t concentrate when you touch me.”
Sean turned back, his face split by an enormous grin. “And why do you have to concentrate?”
“I need to tell you. To explain.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t need to say a thing. Not one word.” Sean leaned over and kissed Terry. Kissed her eyes, her ears, her nose, then at last her mouth.
And she forgot everything. Forgot the stew sitting on the stove. Forgot the ironing she had intended to do after dinner, the evening walk that Minnie hadn’t yet had. Forgot the years and years of pleasureless sex. And for the first time in his life forgot her son waiting upstairs in his bedroom.
Sean took her by the hand, led her out of the kitchen and along the corridor to her room.
On the stairs up above, Paul watched the door close behind them, then jumped up and punched the air in delight. His mam was with Sean. And he could have his dinner.
CLIVE LOOKED at his watch in the light of a nearby street lamp. Three quarters of an hour and nothing. He must have been wrong. Lily and Mara were just visiting, talking girlie talk about whatever it was women discussed when they got together. Tampons and chicken casseroles, for all he knew.
No question, one-man surveillance was a boring, lonely job. He couldn’t even go and get himself a coffee, for fear that he’d miss something important. Although that was beginning to look less and less likely. Maybe his nose had misled him for the first time. Mara seemed to lead a very quiet life. Apart from Sean the night before and the kids coming back from school, Lily had been her only visitor in twenty-four hours. Not exactly Euston Station.
And then the front door opened. Lily flew out and Mara slammed the door shut behind her. Lily stopped on the street, right opposite Clive’s blind, and burst into tears.
Clive just stopped himself clapping his hands together in delight. Now, this was more like it. It appeared Mara and Lily had fallen out in a big way. Clive had no idea over what, nor did he much care so long as he could exploit the situation to his own benefit.
He waited while Lily walked along the shadowy street to her car, got in, and drove away, then crossed the road to Mara’s house and knocked on the door.
Inside, he could hear footsteps marching to the door.
“What are you doing back? I told you to get out,” Mara said as she flung the door open. Then she saw Clive. “Oh. I thought you were…um…right.”
“Hi, Mara. Sorry to bother you. But you wouldn’t be a darling and let me use your phone? My car’s just broken down and my mobile’s on the blink and I’m supposed to meet a friend in town. Then I remembered you were here and I thought, Mara won’t turn away an old pal in trouble.” Clive shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly, turning on the charm. Years of experience had taught him that even the most suspicious source could be tricked into talking if he could just wheedle his way into their house.
“Well, I suppose….”
“Thanks, thanks. You’re a great lady.” Clive walked past Mara and into the living room. “Lovely house you’ve got here.”
“It needs some work.”
“Adds character. How about some tea?”
“I don’t know. It’s not a great time.”
“Sorry about that. Maybe I can help? I’m a very good listener.”
“What about your friend?”
“You put on the kettle and I’ll give him a quick call.”
And before Mara knew it, the two of them were sitting in the kitchen with cups of tea in front of them. She knew that she didn’t want to be with Clive, didn’t want to be with anyone, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say anything. It was as if her brain were stuck in neutral, unable to summon up the energy to move one way or the other, to do anything. It was shock, of course, Mara knew that, but knowing it didn’t help her avoid its effects.
“So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She wasn’t going to di
scuss Jake and the letters with Clive.
“Must be something. Come on, we’re old friends.”
She wouldn’t have put it like that. But she didn’t have the mental strength to argue.
“Come on, love. You can tell me.”
Mara cast about for something she could talk to him about. And told him about the house.
“Can’t that chap of Lily’s help? That builder. What’s his name?”
“Sean.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Sean. Well, can’t he mend things for you?”
“No.”
“No? He looks a decent sort of bloke to me. Isn’t he?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
“So there you are. Get him to do it. He’s helping Terry and Jules, isn’t he? Why shouldn’t he help you?” Clive took a punt, hoping he was heading in the right area. “Helping” seemed a general enough word. And Mara seemed dazed by something. If she’d been herself, chances were she’d have shown him the door.
“You know about that?”
Bingo. “Of course.”
“Lily told you?”
“Yeah. We talked the other day. I was very surprised. Shocked, even.”
“So was I. When I first heard about it.”
“I mean, this thing they’re doing with him. What’s the word Lily uses?”
“‘Sharing.’”
“Yeah, that’s it, sharing. I just didn’t see how they could.”
“I know.”
“Lily didn’t say, but I bet it was her idea.”
“She thought it would solve all our problems.”
“Until it fell apart.” That seemed a reasonable guess; certainly, the girls weren’t all sweetness and light with each other at the moment.
“Yes.”
“Though Lily said Terry was happy enough.”
“Maybe. She only wanted a friend for Paul, after all. Nothing messy like…you know. No sperm or sex or anything.”
