The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

by Elizabeth Buchan

  Eve drew the sleeves of her jersey further down her wrists. ‘It’s cold, Minty.’

  I, too, was cold, with apprehension and worry. We felt worse when we discovered that two of the bedrooms were damp, the plumbing questionable and the nearest shops several miles away. Eve and I did our best. We made beds, unpacked, stacked the buckets and spades by the front door. We ate a scratch supper of beans and fried eggs, watched rain sweep across the grey sea and listened to the gulls.

  ‘Daddy came here,’ I told the boys. ‘Lots. For his holidays.’

  ‘Daddy,’ said Felix, and his blue eyes darkened. ‘Daddy.’

  After a moment, Lucas asked, ‘Am I sitting in Daddy’s chair?’

  ‘It’s possible. It looks as though it’s been here for a long time.’

  Eve chased a bean round her plate.

  In the morning Eve and I led the boys down the steep path to the tiny beach. After the rain, the mud was as sticky as toffee, and the boys squealed with joy. As we slid and slithered down, moisture from the thick clumps of vegetation seeped into our clothes. The air was heavy with salt. The leaves and branches as we brushed past smelt of it and left its residue on our lips.

  Down on the beach, the tide was retreating, leaving dark patches on the stones. Gulls screamed overhead. The boys ran madly up and down, calling to each other. I sat on a rock and watched them.

  My feet were wet and, under my jacket, I was shivering almost uncontrollably. Nathan had loved this place. That much I knew, but little else. I had never asked why, or which was his favourite spot, the best bay to swim. I had been silent. Metaphorically, I had turned my back. ‘You know, Minty, you don’t know me very well at all,’ he had once accused me.

  If only I had taken the time to answer him. If only I had sat down, there and then, and said, ‘Let’s talk, Nathan. Tell me.’

  To find myself, so ordinarily materialistic and without grace, at the mercy of such pain, impotence and ugliness was bewildering – it was like being dashed this way and that in a tide as strong as the one peeling back the water from the sand.

  Eve beckoned to Felix. ‘Felix, come. There is something here.’ They huddled together and inspected an object in the sand.

  Lucas circled them. He was cross and sang very loudly, ‘Look at me. Look at me.’

  Long ago in the Vistemax office, before the sea-change had taken place in me, I had told Rose, ‘I don’t have a family. Who wants one? I don’t have children. Why hang a millstone round your neck?’ Now I had a family, and the intolerable weight of the millstone tugged and pulled at every bone and muscle.

  ‘Mum!’ White legs flashing under his green shorts, hair pushed off his forehead by the wind, Felix came over the shingle towards me with a goosefleshed arm outstretched. ‘See what I’ve got.’

  He unclasped his hand to reveal a perfect mermaid’s purse.

  After lunch of bread and cheese, the boys were chased upstairs and put to bed for a rest. I left Eve grimly washing up and complaining of the lack of hot water, got into the car and went to find provisions.

  The nearest supermarket was on the outskirts of Penzance. It was busy and noisy. This was the beginning (as Paige would have it) of the new economy, a different fiscal regime. I chose cut-price jam and chicken breasts, the least expensive butter, and every own-brand that I could bear to buy.

  I drove away, slightly nauseous. The wind had dropped, and warmth from the sun had crept into the still air. The sea had turned into a gentle wash. It was a beautiful day, and out at sea, boats of all sizes were scudding across the water.

  When I got back, Eve had taken the boys down to the beach, and I could hear their shouts. I unpacked slowly and awkwardly, unable to shake off an overpowering, almost frightening feeling that Nathan was in the cottage.

  In the end, I snatched up my jacket and went outside. The coastal path passed directly in front of the cottage, and I headed towards the point. After a while, I increased my pace until I was almost running, my feet bouncing over the turf and stones. The sun was blinding, and the sea, shallow near the cliffs, a transparent turquoise. The seabirds wheeled and dived noisily to the rocks. As I rounded a corner, the wind hit me and I slithered to a halt.

  I smelt sea and turf and the freshness of the air. I faced the bay, where water, rock and vegetation shimmered, a mysterious and beautiful trinity. I knew that Nathan had been there. Maybe he had stood exactly where I was now and my feet were planted in the ghostly imprint of his.

  I stood and listened to the unfamiliar music made by the wind and the waves. Its chords beat in my ears and, unwillingly, suspiciously, then with relief, I gave myself up to its sensations.

  I knew then why Nathan had come to Priac Bay. Why he had loved it so.

  A week later, we returned to Lakey Street late in the evening, almost speechless and dirty from the journey, and fell into bed.

  I woke to find Lucas on my bed, wrapped in his duvet, which he must have dragged in. Reluctantly, I focused. ‘Hello, sweetie. How long have you been there?’

  ‘Ages and ages.’ His treble voice piped in the silence. ‘Why didn’t you wake up, Mummy?’

  ‘Because I was tired.’

  ‘I wanted you to wake up.’

  I knew Lucas was trying to ask me something, but I was unsure what it was. ‘You’d better come in.’ I lifted up the edge of the duvet and Lucas, importing the morning chill, climbed in. He snuggled into me, and I smelt sand, salt and seaweed.

  I waited.

  ‘Do you think Daddy can see us?’ His voice wavered.

  I squinted down at him. He stared back, trying so hard to be composed. ‘Probably.’ Then I collected my wits. He wanted certainties. ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t see him.’ His fair, rather stubby eyebrows twitched into the frown that was becoming habitual.

  I stroked the skin between his eyes until the frown was smoothed away. ‘We have to believe he’s there.’

  Lucas edged closer to me, and I slipped my arm round him. ‘Daddy was nice, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Very’

  ‘Millie says her daddy is bad. He went away too. Daddies shouldn’t go away.’

  ‘Sometimes they can’t help it, Lukey.’ Lukey… Nathan’s name for him. ‘Your daddy couldn’t help it. You must remember that. It’s different for Millie’s daddy.’

  Lucas considered. ‘Millie’s daddy said he couldn’t help it.’

  I pulled Lucas as close as I possibly could. ‘Lukey, you must listen to what I say. Millie’s daddy is different from yours. Yours would never have left you unless… unless he had no choice.’

  I was thankful that neither Poppy nor Sam could hear me.

  ‘Will I get a new daddy?’ Lucas asked.

  I spooned my body round him. He was tense, and there was a lick of sweat by his hairline. Every one of his bones was so fragile, and I was shaken by terror for his safety. ‘No, sweetie-pie. You only have one daddy.’

  Outside the bedroom, the sun made an appearance. Fastened on to me, Lucas relaxed, his breathing slowed and he tumbled into one of those instant childish sleeps.

  Cautiously, I eased myself out of bed and went into the boys’ room to check on Felix. He wasn’t there.

  Oh, my God, where was he?

  Then I spotted him at the bottom of the stairs, which faced the front door, sitting bolt upright. He was dressed, sort of, in one blue sock, and a T-shirt squashed over his pyjama top. His treasured, tatty bit of blanket was scrunched between his knees, and he clasped his teddy bear to his chest.

  He was sitting utterly still, with an air of saint-like patience and expectation, of determination far beyond his years.

  I ran down the stairs, sat beside him, my heart fluttering with anxiety. ‘What are you doing, Felix?’ I pulled him close. ‘You gave Mummy a fright. I didn’t know where you were.’

  At my touch, Felix stirred, and seemed to return from somewhere far away. His eyes were so blue, so trusting, so bright. ‘I’m waiting for Daddy to show him my treasure,�
� he said, and opened his hand in which lay the mermaid’s purse.

  16

  I drove myself into Nathan’s study where a pile of letters had to be read and answered.

  ‘Dear Minty,’ wrote Jean, Nathan’s secretary. ‘The shock is considerable and I keep asking myself if I could have done something. He was so considerate and so kind to me…’

  Charlie on Vistemax Reception wrote, ‘Mr Lloyd was never too busy to say “hallo” unlike some. He always asked after Sheila and Jody…’

  To my surprise, Roger had written: ‘Thank you for the privilege of letting me speak at the funeral. I realize what a hard decision it must have been for you. I meant every word. Nathan was a Titan, big in vision and strong in execution. He was also delightful to know.’

  Clive-of-the-wind-turbines chose a more direct approach: ‘Jolly good send-off for the old boy. Very difficult for you. Nathan and I did not always see eye to eye as he was an obstinate old buzzard but we came from the same stock and that always sorts things out in the end…’

  A couple more letters were so adulatory that they were in danger of suggesting that Nathan was one of the great businessmen of our time. Another, from an old schoolfriend, was more modest: ‘He was a sweet boy…’

  ‘Dear Minty,’ said Sue Frost. ‘This letter could not be more difficult to write. We do not know each other, and that was of my choosing. But I thought about it and I thought you would want to know that we loved Nathan dearly…’

  To read these letters was to shuffle a pack of cards. Nathan the businessman. Nathan the friend. Nathan the father.

  Each one must be kept. I would buy a scrapbook and paste them in, and one day I would it give to the boys. Perhaps we would read them together. ‘This letter is from Daddy’s boss… This one is from the lady Daddy worked with.’

  To my surprise, Jilly had written, ‘Dear Minty. Nathan’s funeral went off very well, and I know that Sam was comforted by it. Sam was going to write but he is so busy getting ready to go the States. Frieda is flourishing, and I hope the boys are not bad. Maybe we should hook up for Christmas…’

  I must have moved awkwardly, for my elbow caught the pile and caused the letters to rain on to the floor. I bent over and picked up the one written in black ink on expensive white paper. ‘Dear Minty…’ The sharp strokes of her ts and ls cut into the paper, and the rounded ds and ns cradled the letters.

  I am writing this after the funeral because I am at a loss. I know you will be too. You will be indescribably busy and tired at the moment; and perhaps the shock hasn’t really registered. Please take care of yourself. It is important. I also want to say that, sometimes, you can be very angry with a person who dies. I was when, like Nathan, my father died unexpectedly. Actually, more than angry, I was outraged. But I wanted to say, anger will weaken you, Minty, as it weakened me when Nathan decided our marriage was over. I suspect you might be thinking, How dare Nathan leave it all to me? You might be asking yourself how you are going to cope with earning a living and keeping the children…

  The word ‘children’ appeared especially black on the white paper.

  You may also be thinking as you read this that I am being indelicate, unsubtle and interfering. But I thought I would take the risk.

  Rose was inviting me to filter my grief through her. I had slept in her bed and now she was sleeping in mine. ‘But it won’t do, Rose,’ I murmured, into the empty study. Above all, and above everything, I owed Nathan direct, undiluted grief. That I must grant him. And I would. I did.

  ‘Welcome back.’ Barry looked up from the stuffed Filofax. ‘We’ve missed you.’ He was wearing his leather blouson jacket, but he had added to the red Kabbalah wristband a couple of others in pastel colours.

  He sounded as if he meant it. A lump wedged itself in my throat, but I managed a weak wave in his direction as I disappeared into my office. In my absence, it had been swept and cleaned. Two polite mountains of paper sat on the desk.

  ‘Hello.’ Deb walked lightly into the room. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I hope I’m managing.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Minty. It must be quite dreadful.’

  I managed to smile. ‘So dreadful that I need diversion. Please tell me what you’ve been doing.’

  She needed no second invitation. Within five minutes, I had been acquainted with every shudder and sigh that made up her affair with Chris Sharp. I was reliably informed that he was the most talented man since Einstein, and fantastic in the sack. Chris had such ambitions for Paradox, and vision that stretched far into the future of the industry and the changes that were likely to take place. ‘He says that people will compose their own television viewing programmes in the not too distant future…’ Her voice dipped, swooped, grew dreamy as she released one detail after another. She said things like: ‘To think I could so easily not have met him.’ Or ‘Do you think he’s good-looking?’ As I listened to the outpourings of the former cool-urban-hunter now girl-clearly-besotted, I was reminded that other things did exist.

  ‘Is he nice to you, Deb?’

  ‘Oh, sure. Sure. But he doesn’t really want absolute commitment at the moment. And that’s how we’re playing it.’ Deb reached over and flicked on my screen. ‘He’s organizing new software.’ She fiddled with the keyboard. ‘It might mean I have to find a new job because it’s not sensible for us both to work for the same set-up.’

  Alarm bells clanged. ‘Hang on, Deb. Why should you leave? You like the job, and you’ve earned your place here.’ But I could see that whatever I said would make no difference. ‘Tell me about the projects.’

  A suggestion of worry traced itself across her glowing features. ‘That’s a bit of a story. I’m afraid we had a clear-out after you went off. Chris and Barry have been talking hard about trends. Reality shows, property and things. Chris thinks we’ll improve the margins that way. There’s a couple of good ideas going through the pipeline at the moment.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You’ll have to talk to Barry, but I have a feeling…’ She paused, then added, ‘Chris feels we shouldn’t be too cultural or earnest. It brings the strike rate down.’ She giggled. ‘Do you know what he’s called the Middle Age proposal?’

  ‘Tell me, Deb.’

  ‘Finished at Forty.’

  Later on, in the editorial meeting, we discussed strike rates, and I heard myself issuing comments that made enough sense to get me through. Not that either Chris or Barry paid me much attention: they were far too busy talking to each other.

  ‘OΚ,’ I said, and my voice sounded rusty and foreign. ‘There’s an article I read in Harper’s about ballerinas. Nora Pavane, one of them, is quite something, and a defender of the arts. I think we should grab her and ask her to participate in a series on dance.’

  Chris reflected. ‘Get her to front, even.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Barry. ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘I’ll work on the treatment and think about the format,’ I said. ‘Ed Golightly at BBC2 might be interested. He’s an arts editor, and I met him at a Vistemax do. I could set up the meeting.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ repeated Barry.

  On the way home I sprinted into Theo’s office. I wanted to talk over the financial and legal position and he had suggested that I call in.

  He sat me down at his desk, and asked his assistant for tea, which arrived in a china pot. ‘The next few months won’t be easy,’ he said. ‘Probate will take a while and then I have to convene several meetings with the trustees to discuss the division. Meanwhile Vistemax are honouring the severance package.’

  I let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘And, of course, there’s Nathan’s pension. That will be sorted out.’ He paused. ‘There is the question that Rose might be due a portion.’ With a steady hand, he poured me a second cup of tea. ‘Whatever you receive won’t be riches, but it will provide you with a base from which to operate. Add to that the money from your slice of the stocks and shares, and any earnings you may have, and I think you’ll
be all right, providing you’re not extravagant. However, if you did lose your job, you wouldn’t be destitute, and it will tide you over the worst.’

  I stared at my tea. ‘Theo, what was Nathan doing when he suggested Rose as a guardian? What was he thinking? He must have known how… difficult – impossible – that would be.’

  ‘He made it clear that he wanted to put the boys’ interest first. He said he had every faith that you would understand.’

  ‘But I don’t!’ I cried. ‘I don’t. And to make it so public! He should have talked to me.’

  Theo had witnessed many such exchanges in his office. Scenes in which outrage, betrayal, bitterness had burst through the dam of good behaviour and politeness. ‘It’s difficult to absorb, perhaps, at the moment. But things change. Why don’t you drink your tea?’

  Then he showed me the facts and figures of my new life.

  ‘If you marry again, or live with someone else,’ he said, as I rose to take my leave, ‘you will be obliged to sell the house and the proceeds will be invested for the twins.’

  He left me to reflect that, since Theo’s hourly fees would make anyone’s eyes water, this had been an expensive way to learn that celibacy paid.

  I climbed on to a bus. At least I knew that now, I must be vigilant. Extra, extra vigilant. In the coming months, possibly years, I would require energy and the stamina to attack. At the moment, I was not sure I possessed either. What I did have was an overwhelming sense of panic. That would have to do. In fact, its blackness and sharpness would do very well.

  *

  Theo advised me to draw up a list of priorities, and a financial timetable. ‘Be ruthless,’ he said. ‘Put together all the facts and figures to see the whole picture. It will make it easier for you.’

  Fact. There was no one to fall back on.

  Fact I must get used to it.

  Fact A widow with two children was hampered as to what she could do to survive.