by Maureen Lee
‘You don’t want to go in there, Josie,’ she said quickly. ‘They’ve already started pairing off, and there’s a floor show. I daren’t tell you what they’re up to.’
‘I’ve never seen anything so depraved since I was in Cairo during the war,’ Neville boomed. ‘It’s utterly repulsive.’
‘But Jack’s still there,’ Josie said hesitantly.
‘Jack’s in the kitchen, vomiting his heart up.’ Neville pursed his lips disapprovingly. ‘He’ll come home as soon as he realises what’s going on.’ He slammed the door and took his wife’s arm. ‘That’s the last party we go to in Bingham Mews.’
For some reason Josie waited until they’d gone indoors before she rang the bell again, but although she pressed the buzzer for ages and ages no one came.
It was gone six o’clock when Jack came home. Josie, still wide awake, heard him stumble upstairs. He lurched into the room, removed his jacket and trousers and fell on top of the covers, half-dressed. She got up and put on her dressing-gown because she couldn’t stand the thought of lying beside him.
She went down and made tea. The central heating had just switched itself on and the house was still cold. She took the tea into the lounge, but found she couldn’t sit down. Perhaps it was lack of sleep that made her head feel so fuzzy and thick, as if there were a tight band around her forehead preventing her from thinking, for which she was grateful because she didn’t want to think about last night. She drank the tea as she walked to and fro across the room, and found comfort in the scalding liquid coursing down her dry throat. There were dirty dishes in the kitchen, which she washed and dried, hardly aware of what she was doing, just knowing that she had to do something to keep herself busy, not think. Then she polished the walnut table and the six chairs, two of them carvers, rubbing the satiny wood until it shone as it had never shone before.
Elsie came down when Josie was clearing out the cupboard under the sink. ‘The paper was dirty,’ Josie explained. ‘I thought I’d put a new piece in.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Elsie nodded. Josie could tell by her eyes that the older woman had guessed something was wrong.
‘There’s tea made.’
‘Shall I pour you a cup?’
‘Please.’
They sat on the padded benches and chatted about perfunctory things. What would the sixties bring? Elsie wondered. ‘At least we’re not at war,’ she said thankfully, ‘not like in nineteen-forty. In nineteen-fifty, we were still on rations, and there weren’t enough houses for people to live in. Can you remember the squatters? I reckon we’re all better off these days, and things can only improve.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
She refused Josie’s offer to phone for a taxi. ‘I’d sooner walk, dear. It’s not very far.’ It had stopped snowing, and none had stuck to the ground.
Josie finished cleaning the cupboard. She made more tea and took up a cup to Laura, who was disappointed to learn there was no snow. ‘I was going to play snowballs with Tristram and Petronella.’
‘Happy New Year, luv.’ Josie kissed her forehead. ‘It’s a new decade. Today is the first of January, nineteen-sixty.’
‘I’m getting old,’ Laura said glumly.
Her mother laughed. ‘Is such an old lady in the mood to accompany me to the pictures this afternoon to see Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?’
‘Will they sing “Whistle While You Work”?’ Laura forgot her age and bounced excitedly on the bed.
‘It’ll be exactly the same as when you saw it before. Mummy saw the same picture when she was a little girl. I went with Auntie Lily and her mummy.’
‘Mrs Kavanagh?’
‘That’s right, luv. You can wear your new blue velvet dress.’ It was almost identical to the one Mam had bought in Paddy’s market.
‘Will Daddy come? He liked Snow White the first time.’
‘We’ll just have to see. Your dad’s got a bit of a cold coming on. He might prefer to spend the day in bed.’
There was no sign of Jack when they got back from the pictures. Laura raced up to the bedroom to tell him about the film. She came down again, her face crest-fallen. ‘Daddy’s not there.’
‘Wait here, luv. Perhaps he’s in his study.’
Jack was still in his dressing-gown, elbows on the desk, staring at the typewriter which had no paper in. He raised his head when Josie went in. His eyes were swollen and puffy, half-closed, he was badly in need of a shave and his chin was bluish. He looked utterly wretched. She felt a pang of longing for the man he used to be.
‘Didn’t you hear us come in?’ she asked sharply from the door. ‘Your daughter would like to see you, even if I wouldn’t.’
‘I didn’t do anything last night, you know.’ His voice was as wretched as his appearance. ‘I fell asleep on the settee. I kept waking up and dozing off again. There were things going on, I thought I must be dreaming.’
‘If Neville Ward-Pierce was right, you must have had some dead peculiar dreams. I think pornographic is the word.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’ He rested his head on his fists.
Josie closed the door in case Laura could hear. ‘I’ve only got your word for what went on after midnight, Jack,’ she said tightly, ‘just like that episode with Mattie Garr three years ago. But I’ve got the evidence of me own eyes for what went on before. You were as drunk as blazes, and too attached to that blonde to wish me a happy new year. You still haven’t.’ Her voice broke. ‘It really hurt, Jack.’
He raised his head again and said mockingly, ‘Happy New Year, sweetheart.’
‘Is there any need to say it like that?’
‘What other way is there to say it in this house?’
‘And is that your fault or mine?’
Jack stretched his legs under the desk and put his hands behind his head. He grinned. ‘Mine, I suppose.’
She itched to slap the grin off his face, though she knew it was merely bravado. Her eyes swept the room, looking for something to attack instead of him, and they lighted on his plays, neatly stacked on the top shelf of the bookcase. She went over and swept them to the floor, then turned on him. Her face felt ugly with anger.
‘You know, you need your head examined. There’s thousands of writers who’d give their eye teeth to be in your shoes, but you? Oh, you’ve written a few lousy plays, and you’re so bloody childish that you’ve decided to ruin your life, as well as mine and Laura’s, just because no one wants them. Grow up, Jack, count your blessings. You’re a very lucky man.’
He grinned more widely. ‘So, you think my plays are lousy?’
‘If you must know, yes.’ Josie folded her arms and glared at him. ‘They’re hectoring and lecturing, not the least bit entertaining.’
‘Oh, well, now that the esteemed critic Josephine Coltrane has given my work the thumbs down, I might as well burn it.’
‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea, except we don’t have a fire.’
They stared at each other challengingly across the small room. Then Jack swivelled the chair around until he was looking at the door. ‘Have you never wanted to do something? Something magnificent that would set people talking, change things.’
‘No.’
‘Have you never wanted anything, Josie?’
‘Yes.’ She wished there was another chair so she could sit down. ‘I wanted a family, a mum and dad, sisters and brothers. I wanted to belong. I always felt terribly alone, rootless. But I met you, we got married, we had Laura and the feeling went. Last night it came back again.’
His lips curved in a wistful smile. ‘I’d always hoped I’d change things with my plays. They gave me a sense of purpose, a reason for being alive. They were part of me, almost like Laura.’
‘Have plays ever changed things? Did Shakespeare?’
He smiled again. ‘You’re very down to earth all of a sudden. Are you intent on destroying all my dreams today?’
Josie gestured impatiently. ‘I think it’s time you stopped dreaming,
came down to earth and counted your blessings.’
‘You’ve already said that.’
‘Well, I’ve said it again.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Things can’t go on like this, Jack. You’re hardly ever sober, we hardly ever talk. If you don’t stop behaving like some silly …’ She paused, searching for words. ‘Like some silly prima donna, then I shall leave you.’
The chair swivelled round, and his eyes were like black holes in his puffy face. ‘And take Laura?’
‘I’m not likely to leave her with a drunk, am I?’ His eyes both frightened and repelled her. She recalled having planned to say quite different things today. It wasn’t too late to say them, suggest they go back to New York. She took a hesitant, placatory step towards him, but her foot caught on one of the cardboard folders she’d swept off the shelf, and she was shocked by the scorn and disgust she felt as she stared down at the scattered plays. Stupid things, she thought. Fancy mucking up everyone’s lives on account of them. It’s time he grew up and lived in the real world.
Laura burst into the room. ‘Why are you so long? Laurel and Hardy are on television.’ She threw herself on Jack’s knee. ‘Happy New Year, Daddy.’
Jack refused anything to eat. He also refused to meet his wife’s eyes. ‘Black coffee’s all I want,’ he said shortly to the wall.
‘There’s loads of Christmas cake left, Daddy. And a big tin of biscuits with only half gone. Would you like a ginger cream, your favourite?’
‘No, thank you, darling.’ He reached out for his daughter and held her tightly in his arms. ‘I love my little girl. Always remember that, won’t you?’
Laura looked slightly startled. ‘I knew that already, Daddy,’ she solemnly replied. ‘I love you, too.’
It was pitch dark. Laura had gone to bed and it had started to snow again when Jack announced he was going out. They had spent the hours since the row ignoring each other. Josie was already regretting some of the things she’d said. She shouldn’t have criticised his precious plays.
‘Where to?’ She felt a pang of concern.
‘For a drive, to clear my head.’ He put his hands to his forehead. ‘I can’t think straight.’
‘Don’t have anything more to drink, Jack,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s not safe to drive if you’ve been drinking. You might have an accident.’
‘Would you care?’ He looked at her sardonically.
She stamped her foot. ‘Of course I’d care. I worry about you all the time when you’re driving.’
‘Oh, well, that’s something, I suppose.’
‘You’ll need a coat.’ She went upstairs to fetch it, but when she came down Jack had gone, and she heard the inside door to the garage slam. Then there was the grating roll as he pulled up the main door. A few minutes later the car backed out, and Jack drove away. The sound of the engine seemed to go on for ever in the stillness of the night.
‘What have I done?’ Josie whispered to the empty room.
Jack stayed away for almost two days, and during most of the time it snowed. On the first night Josie slept soundly as she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. She wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t in bed when she woke up, or particularly bothered when the spare room proved empty when she looked. He was probably indulging in a long, drawn-out sulk. She regretted telling Laura that he’d be back any minute when she demanded to know where Daddy was, because the child visibly itched with worry as the hours passed and he didn’t return.
On the first afternoon the Ward-Pierce children called, and Laura helped to build a snowman. It had black stones for eyes, and Charlotte made something resembling a pipe out of cardboard.
‘Have you heard from Daddy?’ she demanded the minute she came back.
‘Not yet, luv,’ Josie said brightly.
Her face fell. ‘Mummy, everything in our garage is covered with snow.’ She frowned. ‘It looks funny, like a Christmas grotto, but there’s no Santa Claus.’
‘I left the door up so Daddy can drive straight in.’ In fact, she hadn’t been outside the house all day and had forgotten it was open. It didn’t seem worth closing it now.
When darkness fell, and Jack had been gone twenty-four hours, Josie began to worry herself. Laura was fast asleep in the double bed with Blue Bunny clutched in her arms. If Jack had had an accident, surely the police or the hospital would have been in touch. He had his driving licence in his wallet. Maybe he’d holed up with a friend, not that he had many friends these days, or maybe Mattie Garr had offered him shelter from his ogress of a wife. She actually hoped this was the case, and the Austin Healey wasn’t buried in a ditch in the depths of the countryside covered in snow, with a dead Jack draped over the steering-wheel. If she rang the police, they’d want to know where he’d gone, and she had no idea. He could have gone north, south, east or west. He might be hundreds of miles away or hundreds of yards.
Why didn’t he pick up a phone and let her know he was all right? If he was all right. And if he was, she would never forgive him for putting her and Laura through the mill like this. He’d passed the point of no return, she thought angrily. As soon as he came back, she would leave. But where would she go?
Liverpool, obviously. She felt hungry for the place where she was born. Jack would never see his daughter go short, even if he didn’t give a damn about his wife. He would let them have an allowance, them she would rent a nice little house and look for a part-time job. Jack could come and visit whenever he pleased. Life would seem dead peculiar without him, but she welcomed the peace it would bring. She was fed up with the non-stop worry, the guilty feeling that she had ruined his life. It was all her fault that he had become a successful, highly paid writer when the poor man preferred to write lousy plays for nothing at all!
Josie woke up next morning and met the brown eyes of her daughter on the pillow next to hers. ‘Daddy’s still not home. I’ve just been to look.’ The eyes, normally so shining and full of fun, were wet with tears. ‘He’s coming back, isn’t he, Mummy?’
She inwardly cursed Jack Coltrane with all the invective at her command for causing such misery to a five-year-old child. Reaching out, she took the small figure in her arms and wanted to cry herself when she felt Laura’s heart beat anxiously against her own.
‘Daddy telephoned,’ she lied. ‘He called last night, long after you were asleep. The car broke down miles from nowhere in a place called Essex. He had to walk for ages through the snow to find a garage, but they didn’t have the parts to fix it. He’s staying in a hotel until they arrive. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but there’s no more need to worry.’
Laura regarded her gravely. ‘Are you sure, Mummy?’
‘I wouldn’t have imagined all that, luv, would I?’
‘You’re not just saying it to make me feel better?’
‘Ask Daddy yourself when he gets home.’
Throughout the day, Laura inundated her with questions. Where exactly had Daddy phoned from? Had they got a map so Josie could show her the precise spot?
‘The road atlas is in the car, luv. It was somewhere round Chelmsford, I think.’ She had a feeling Chelmsford was in Essex.
‘Is it a nice hotel where he’s staying?’
‘It’s more a pub than a hotel. He said it’s nice and warm.’
‘And they’ll make him something to eat?’
‘Of course.’ She wondered if Laura was trying to catch her out, expose her lie, and wished she could tell herself a lie and stop worrying.
The day wore on. She made dinner, and forced herself to eat for Laura’s sake. For tea they had soup and finished off the Christmas cake. By then it was dark again, and the snow fell relentlessly against the blackness of the sky, obliterating the outline of the houses opposite. The windows were bright blurs in the midst of nowhere. Josie couldn’t have felt more isolated in her expensive home if she were living at the North Pole, hundreds of miles from the nearest neighbours.
She made up her mind that, as soon as Laura went to bed, she’d ring
Mattie Garr. She’d ring every single person who had anything to do with Jack and ask if they knew where he was. If they didn’t know, she’d call the police.
Laura was ready for bed in her nightie and dressing-gown. She lay on the settee with her head on Josie’s knee, sucking her thumb, which she hadn’t done for years, and idly watching television. The nightie was fleecy white cotton with a pattern of tiny rosebuds. It had long sleeves and a lacy frill at the neck. Josie had bought another at the same time, and they’d cost a mint. That would have kept me and Mam for a few months in Huskisson Street, she recalled thinking in Peter Jones.
She picked up the swathe of black silky hair that was spread like a fan over the blue dressing-gown. It lay like a rope in her hand. Laura gave a little bothered sigh, as if she were half-asleep with her mind on her missing daddy. It was nice to be in a position to buy anything she wanted for her daughter. Mam would have loved doing the same for her. She’d been thinking about Mam a lot over the last two days. Perhaps it was because the house seethed with the same sensation of dread she’d felt when she’d looked across the street and seen the ruins of the Prince Albert. She had known then that something terrible had happened. She had known life would never be the same again.
And life would never be the same if Jack was dead. She would miss him for ever. In the two days since he’d gone, her emotions kept changing by the minute – she loved him, she hated him, she would leave, no, she would stay. Just because she had never wanted to write, she reasoned, or paint, or act, or do anything creative, what right had she to judge someone who did? It was impossible for her to comprehend how Jack felt about his plays. When he came back, and he had to come back, she would make everything right again. Somehow.
‘I love you, darling,’ she whispered.
Laura wriggled on her knee. ‘I know, Mummy.’
From outside, there came the sound they’d been waiting so long for, the harsh whine of the Austin Healey turning into Bingham Mews, the wheels muffled by the snow.
‘Daddy!’ Laura raised her head and stared, starry-eyed, at her mother. ‘Daddy!’
‘Not so fast, luv,’ Josie cried when Laura leapt to her feet and raced out of the room. ‘Wait till he stops,’ she called, when she heard Laura’s light footsteps running down the stairs. But the little door to the garage opened, and the car’s engine roared, as if in relief at the end of a long journey and the sight of home. There was an unfamiliar bump then the engine was switched off, followed by a silence that went on too long, far, far too long.
