Duplicity

by Doris Davidson

  ‘It’s no bother, really. We’ll be needing one ourselves and my mum’ll likely have the kettle boiling. She’s looking after our baby.’

  Leila looked at the girl’s lovely face, and at the boy smiling in agreement with her. How deeply in love they were; she wished that Helen and Harry were as happy as that. Her daughter and son-in-law had no time for enjoyment; they were too busy making money. Helen was a dedicated career girl and had said, more than once, ‘We don’t want to start a family until we have everything we need for our home.’

  Leila often thought that they’d be less self-centred if they did have a baby; it would make them content with what they had, but she couldn’t tell Helen that. Realising that the young couple were still regarding her with some concern, she smiled at the girl. ‘Thank you, my dear, but I must finish my shopping, and my husband is expecting me home.’

  ‘You look tired, dear,’ Alan said, taking her shopping bags from her. ‘Sit down and I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. I switched on the percolator a few minutes ago.’

  Leila sank down thankfully into her armchair and kicked off her shoes. Her feet were throbbing. She would have to reduce her weight a bit.

  ‘There’s a Christmas service at eleven forty-five tonight,’ Alan remarked when he returned with two steaming mugs. ‘I was remembering how we always used to go when the kids were younger.’

  She looked at him, his dear curly hair almost white, but his eyes still deeply twinkling blue. ‘I’ve been remembering those times past, as well.’ The thought of having to go out again was not a pleasant one, but she said, quickly, ‘Would you like to go, Alan? It would be like the old days again, wouldn’t it?’ It would be a pity to disappoint him and she could put her feet up until nearer the time.

  He looked surprised that she had suggested it. ‘Yes, Leila, I would like to go, as a matter of fact, but are you sure you’re feeling up to it?’

  ‘Of course I am, and I want to go. We always used to come home from the midnight service feeling at peace with the world, remember?’

  They returned to the house at five minutes to one and, as he closed the door behind him, Alan took his wife in his arms and kissed her. ‘Happy Christmas, darling.’

  It was a long time since he’d kissed her like that - it was generally just a quick peck on the cheek nowadays, if that. She sighed happily. ‘It is like old times, isn’t it? At any minute I’ll be shouting to the children to stop making a noise and get to bed at once.’

  At that moment, the door burst open, almost sending them flying. ‘Ha! Caught you, you two old lovebirds.’ Michael wagged a finger at them. ‘What’s this, then? Snogging behind the door at your age?’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Alan laughed. ‘We just got home from the Christmas Eve service and I felt like kissing your mother. There’s nothing wrong in that, is there? What have you been up to tonight?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, Dad, but I’ve met a girl I’m sure you’ll approve of - for a change.’

  The weird girlfriends he brought home had long been a bone of contention with his parents, and were often the cause of heated arguments with his father. ‘She’s a medical student but she lives in the nurses’ home because she can’t travel in and out from her own home every day. I’ve invited her here for Christmas dinner … if that’s OK, Mum?’

  Leila pulled a face, then grinned. ‘That’s OK, Michael.’ The peace she had found in the church made her feel happily contented. The hall telephone shrilled at that moment and she turned to lift the receiver.

  ‘Hi, Mum, I’m just phoning to give you our news.’ Helen’s excited voice came over the line, bubbling with happiness.

  ‘But … aren’t you coming home tomorrow - I mean today?’ Disappointment clutched at the pit of Leila’s stomach.

  ‘Yes, of course we are, but I couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. We’re going to have a baby, Mum. What do you think of that?’

  ‘Oh, Helen, I’m so pleased. That’s the best Christmas present you could have given me.’ Tears were streaming down Leila’s cheeks, and she turned to explain hem to her husband. ‘Helen’s going to have a baby.’

  Her daughter was still speaking. ‘I found out for sure this afternoon, but we’d been invited out to dinner and we’ve just arrived home, so this is the first chance I’ve had to phone. We’ll be leaving shortly, Harry thinks it’s best to drive overnight when there’s less traffic. See you when we arrive, Grandma. Bye.’

  Grandma! Leila laid down the receiver and held her hands out to her husband and son. ‘What a wonderful time Christmas always is.’

  ***

  Word count 1863

  Sent to People’s Friend 31.7.86 - rejected 10.9.86

  Sent to the Sunday Post 6.10.86 - rejected 17.10.86

  From Paula’s Journal

  This journal belongs to:

  Paula Inglis, Date of Birth: 12 June 1969

  14 Jamaica Close, Colour of Hair: Reddish brown

  Forest Hill, Colour of Eyes: Blue

  Aberfithie, Height: 5 feet 2 inches

  Scotland, (in bare feet)

  Great Britain,

  Europe,

  The World.

  MONDAY 27th

  I swear to keep this journal written up every day, in the hope that it will give future generations an insight into the life of a teenager in 1986. Not that anything exciting ever happens to me, but I keep hoping.

  At the moment, I’m absolutely cheesed off with never getting out at nights, and that’s why I started writing this - to give me something to do. Mum hates being in the house by herself, and invents all kinds of excuses to make me stay at home.

  For instance: ‘Why don’t you stay in tonight, Paula, and we can have a dressmaking session? There’s still that length of blue polyester we got at Milligan’s sale, remember?’

  Or another for instance: ‘I’d be grateful for a hand to clean out some of the kitchen units. Would you mind … ?’

  Or another for instance. ‘Could you sort out your wardrobe tonight, dear? The scouts are having a jumble sale and they’re collecting tomorrow.’

  That’s the kind of thing, multiplied by dozens. I got so guilty about leaving her on her own that I started putting my friends off, and now they never ask me to go out with them, not even Tim. He’s my boyfriend, at least he was until he lost interest because I never knew if I’d be able to meet him or not. Mostly not. My social life has ground to a dismal halt.

  If only Mum would start to go out again. But she won’t. She just says, ‘When I went to other people’s houses, it was always couples, and I felt the odd man out.’

  I sympathise with her in a way. I can understand how she must feel, because Dad was a great one for socialising, and they went everywhere together. He was always there when Mike’s pals dropped in, or when my friends came round. He was young at heart and great fun, so they all used to enjoy an evening at our house.

  I don’t know what went wrong between him and Mum. I was only fourteen when they were divorced, and Mum never speaks about it, but over the past three years I’ve watched her retreating further and further inside herself. It’s very sad, really.

  My brother - that’s Mike, full name Michael - comes round every week with his wife, and they try to shake Mum out of her seclusion by asking her to their house to meet their friends, but she always says, ‘You don’t want an old fogey like me putting a damper on things.’ And she’s not that old - only just over forty.

  Mike even brought Mr Dunne, his boss, round a few months ago. He’s an eligible bachelor; eligible because he’s in his forties, too, but she suspected Mike of matchmaking, and was quite offhand with the poor man. I’m pretty sure he likes her, though, because he comes round occasionally, and phones to ask her out, but she always refuses.

  Back to my own life. I met Ti
m Reynolds this afternoon as I was coming home from work, and he told me there’s a former pupils’ disco on Friday. He asked if I would like to be his partner, though he must know I can’t. Mum would hate being left alone for so long. But it would have been fab dancing with Tim again.

  I thought of asking someone to ‘Mum-sit’, but Mike and Lorraine have a dinner dance the same night, and they’re the only people who come here these days - except Mr Dunne, of course. When he calls, to cheer Mum up he says, I take the chance to slip along to Kerry’s for a chat, but she’s often out and I end up sitting with her mum. Not much of a change, is it?

  TUESDAY 28th

  Tried to talk to Mum last night about the disco, but she changed the subject before I got round to asking if I could go, just as if she knew what I was going to say. If I could only stand up for myself and make the break, she might accept it and untie the apron strings, or sever her lifeline, or whatever it is that makes her depend on me the way she does. The trouble is, it feels more like a heavy chain to me.

  Every time I’ve ever suggested having a night out with Kerry, Mum looks at me with that pitiful, hurt expression that makes me feel like a monster, so I give up. I suppose I’m a coward, but I can’t cause her any more unhappiness than she’s had already.

  I had a look at some gorgeous outfits in Milligan’s at lunchtime. If I walk to work the rest of the month, and take sandwiches instead of going to the little cafe next door to the office, I might just manage to afford the green seersucker pants and top. Kerry said that it would really suit me with my creamy skin and reddish hair. She’s my best friend, but I must admit I feel slightly jealous of her at times, out nearly every other night with one boy or another. She can’t really understand my problem.

  ‘Just go out, Paula,’ she says. ‘Your mother’s had plenty of time to learn to adjust, and she’s not all that old, is she?’

  WEDNESDAY 29th

  Went back to Milligan’s with Kerry at lunchtime. She was right, as usual. The green pants suit is perfect for me, and shows up my colouring. I let her persuade me to buy it, though I don’t know when, if ever, I’ll get the chance to wear it. It’ll likely be out of fashion by the time Mum’s able to stand on her own two feet, and it’s left me flat broke for the rest of the month. That’s not just a couple of days, either. Our salaries go into the bank on the 15th of each month, worse luck.

  Tried the suit on at home after teatime. It’s really dreamy, and with the right make-up and a new hair style, I could be the belle of the ball, well the school hall, if only I could go.

  Must have that talk with Mum, but I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference. Mr Dunne has just called in … I wonder?

  THURSDAY 30th

  Took the chance last night when Mum was making coffee, and Mr Dunne was very understanding. He’s going to insist on taking Mum out tomorrow to let me be free.

  ‘I’ll buy two tickets for that new show at the Palace,’ he said, ‘and I’ll tell your mother they were given to me. She won’t like to refuse. Rest assured, Paula, it will be OK. You’ll get to your disco and enjoy every minute of it.’

  I dyed my white sandals before I went to bed, because I can’t afford to buy new ones, and I only hope they’ll turn out the right shade of green.

  Mr Dunne rang at teatime to ask Mum to go to the Palace with him. I could just hear her side of the conversation of course, and my heart sank deeper and deeper into my old fluffy mules with each word she spoke.

  ‘Oh, hello, John … That was kind of him. It’ll be nice for you to see a show … What? Oh, no, I couldn’t … No,

  I haven’t been out for … No, honestly, I mean it. Thanks for asking me, but it’s no use. I can’t go. Goodbye, John, and I hope you find someone for company.’

  She came back into the living room. ‘That was John asking me to go to a show with tomorrow night, but I said I couldn’t.’

  I said, ‘Mum, you’ll have to start going out again some time. This sitting cooped up in the house every night’s not good for you.’ Nor for me, I thought.

  ‘I can’t leave you on your own, dear.’

  ‘That’s rubbish and you know it. It’s just an excuse. Anyway, I’m seventeen now and there’s a former pupils’ dance I’d like to go to.’

  ‘You haven’t anything suitable to wear to a dance, have you?’

  ‘I bought a new outfit yesterday.’

  She looked at me suspiciously, but made no comment, so I pressed on. ‘Why don’t you ring back and tell him you’ll go?’

  ‘I can’t go, Paula. I haven’t been out for so long I can’t face meeting people again. They only pity me and introduce me as a divorced woman.’

  So that was it! And for years I’d been thinking she was suffering from some form of new agoraphobia that only affected women in the evenings. ‘Nobody thinks anything about divorce nowadays, Mum. A lot of my school friends had divorced parents, and a few of the girls in the office, too. In fact, there are at least three of the older women there that are divorcees. Anyway, it was three years ago, and it’s past history.’

  She looked dubious, but seemed a little more cheerful. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do really think so. Stop carrying on like a long lost soul and phone him back right now. You know he likes you, a blind man could even see that, and maybe …’

  ‘No, no. Don’t go reading anything into it. There’s a huge gap between liking somebody and loving them. I’ll tell him I’ll go with him this time, since he was given the tickets, but that’ll be the end of it.’

  I should have known it was useless, but it was worth a try. She’s a really stubborn woman, my mother, and I don’t seem to have any more success as a matchmaker than Mike did. But at least it’s all right for tomorrow night … and the disco. Whoopee!!

  FRIDAY 31st

  Haven’t time to write much tonight. Kerry’ll be round shortly to do my hair. She’s got a special mousse she wants me to try, and she’s going to put it in a new style, and we’re going to the disco together. I wouldn’t bank on us coming home together, though.

  The sandals turned out fine, a shade darker than the green seersucker, but toning in perfectly. I wonder if Tim is taking somebody else? A new girlfriend? I hope not.

  SATURDAY 1st

  Well, that’s that! What an anticlimax! I didn’t enjoy the disco all that much. The only good thing I can say is that it was a change from sitting in the house. All the boys I used to know are going steady and there wasn’t one unattached male there. I see now what Mum felt about being the odd man out.

  Tim Reynolds had taken that stuck-up Angie Davis, and she looked like a cat that had got at the cream - tickled pink with herself. At one point, she sidled up to me when I was standing trying to look as though I was having a super time, but failing miserably. ‘I was just saying to Tim,’ she purred, ‘that I hadn’t seen you for ages.’ She was absolutely gloating that she was his partner, I could tell that. It wasn’t difficult.

  He did ask me up once, though, but he hardly spoke a word while we were on the floor, and I danced with some other boys, but I came home by myself. Eric Morton saw Kerry home, so I bet she’s pleased with herself. She’s fancied him for months.

  Mum’s night out didn’t go any better than mine, unfortunately. ‘The show wasn’t all that good,’ she confessed over breakfast, ‘so John took me to Pelham’s afterwards for a few drinks to make up for it.’

  That sounded quite hopeful, but her next words sent me down in the doldrums again. ‘I told him I’m no good at socialising these days, and he didn’t argue. I’m sure he found me dull - no scintillating repartee - so it’s no good you hoping something will come out of it. ;

  I wouldn’t have minded my own fiasco so much if Mum had enjoyed her evening out - but here we are. Back to Square One.

  SUNDAY 2nd

  Wi
th all the excitement of going to the disco on Friday, and yesterday’s depression, I forgot all about it being Mum’s birthday today, until Mike and Lorraine came in with a huge box of chocolates for her, so I’d to phone Kerry to borrow some cash.

  Of course, being Sunday, the shops were closed and I couldn’t buy the kind of present she’d want, so I decided to take her out for a celebration meal. Not that either of us had much to celebrate, Mum being a whole year older and me well on the way to being a dried-up old maid, but I had to make an effort of some kind. I mean, you can’t just let your mother’s birthday pass unmarked, can you?

  Kerry came round after lunch with £12, all she could spare, and I told Mum what I had planned. She wasn’t keen on going out, not even with me, and it took a lot of persuasion to make her change her mind. ‘Slap on some warpaint and wear something really nice,’ I urged. ‘You’ll feel better, I promise.’

  We went to the Carvery on the Ring Road and had a lovely meal - I don’t know how they can do it for £5.60 each - but it didn’t make either of us feel any better. Then just before the coffee came - I couldn’t afford a sweet but Mum said she wasn’t able for one anyway - I noticed her smiling to someone behind me and blushing a deep rosy red. It actually comes as quite a shock when you discover your mother’s still a beautiful woman.

  Her hair’s dark brown with just enough silver in it to make it interesting, and her blue eyes matched her dress exactly. Someone else evidently thought she was beautiful, because, while we were still waiting for our coffee this tall, handsome man with short grizzled hair came to our table. The recipient of her smile, presumably.

  ‘Sylvia!’ He beamed at Mum as if he thought she was the best invention since TV dinners. ‘I thought it was you when you came in, but I wasn’t absolutely sure till you smiled at me. It must be twenty-five years since I saw you and you don’t look a day older.’