Friends and Secrets

by Grace Thompson

  Cynthia spouted the usual lies about her own privileged childhood and the wonderful but imaginary ‘Aunt Marigold’, who indulged her every whim. They were finishing their coffee when Christian came in.

  ‘I thought I’d find you here, darling,’ he said to Cynthia as he kissed her. ‘Ken has gone on alone to deal with the barn and we’ve cancelled the other meeting until tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, smiling her pleasure at his surprise appearance.

  ‘I don’t know. I just thought we could meet the boys and go to the cinema and supper afterwards. We haven’t taken them out for a while.’

  ‘We’ll have to let Millie know we won’t be in for dinner.’

  ‘Already done,’ he smiled.

  Watching them, aware of the love flowing between them, Joanne felt a stab of jealousy at the way everything else ceased to exist when Cynthia’s eyes met Christian’s.

  ‘My John will be home at the weekend to spoil me and the boys,’ she was forced to say. ‘We are lucky aren’t we, Cynthia, to have such caring husbands?’ She thanked Cynthia for the lunch and said her goodbyes but wondered if her words had been heard.

  ‘Nothing to frighten Marcus, mind,’ Cynthia was saying as they left the restaurant after her automatic goodbyes had been said. ‘You know how nervous he is and a horror film would keep him awake.’ Joanne waited until they were out of sight before going into the bargain priced grocery shop, coming out with cut price sausages and corned beef. ‘It’s for the dog,’ she whispered to the cashier. She returned to her car aware of rising imitation. What Cynthia had paid for their lunch would have bought food for herself and the boys for the whole week. How tired she was of being short of money. If only John realized how difficult it was to manage on the meagre amount he gave her each month. Ploughing it back into the business month after month was sensible, John had made her understand the need for that, but surely they didn’t have to live on special offers and out of date food?

  * * *

  The following day, Christian met Ken for breakfast. They ate in a cafe; toast for Christian and the full breakfast for Ken. When they were walking back to the camper van, Christian asked, ‘Is your Mam all right? Cynthia and I were wondering if there had been any change. We’d love to do something to help.’

  ‘She’s about the same,’ Ken said sadly.

  ‘Cynthia and I were talking about her and we really would like to do something. Couldn’t we send fruit? Or perhaps we could have the phone number so we could at least ring the Home and ask about her progress. Is it in Abertrochi?’

  ‘No, it’s miles away, the best places often are. Best you don’t see her. I’ll tell you when she’s well enough to see you, right?’

  ‘Cynthia almost bumping into her family like that, it made us think even more about how much we owe her. She helped us so much when we were children. We owe her and feel we’re neglecting her.’

  ‘If you went she wouldn’t know you and she’s often aggressive with strangers. I wouldn’t want to risk upsetting you or Cynthia. She’s lost in a world of her own. Well looked after, locked in of course, for her own safety, but safe and fed and warm. She doesn’t remember me, and it’s kinder that she doesn’t. Memories would be painful. Believe me, there’s nothing you can to do help, honestly, Christian.’

  ‘It seems so uncaring to know she’s mentally ill and we don’t even go to see her.’

  They bought the barn and set the planning application in progress, turned down the other site for reasons of access and went home. Christian stepped into his beautiful home, called to Cynthia and the boys, and thought of Ken going home to a lonely room. Millie, rosy from cooking, ageing prettily and full of energy, came out of the kitchen where she was cooking dinner, and he thought of Ken’s mother seriously ill with a sad mind-destroying illness, and wondered at the unfairness of life.

  * * *

  Ken parked the camper in the front garden of the rather run down semi and stepped through the door to savour the smells of dinner cooking. ‘Hello Mam,’ he called, ‘Is that steak and onions you’re cooking for your favourite son?’

  Mrs Morris, dressed in a summery dress, her hair neatly fixed in a flattering bun, her face made-up and wearing a smile, said, ‘Hello, son. Yes, I’ve got your favourite meal, I’ll serve while you get bathed and changed. It’s my bridge night and I don’t want to be late.’

  Two

  The morning was pleasantly warm and Meriel opened the windows to enjoy the fresh air and decided that today she would sit outside and eat her breakfast, but first the dogs needed their walk. She locked her back door and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful morning with the clouds tinted in that wonderful beige/pink which was reflected on the sea. It would be a good walk along the cliff path and with the tide out, she could take the dogs on to the beach — something they both loved.

  She wondered whether Evan, her ex-husband, would be jogging on the cliff path — she really didn’t want to meet him. Why had he bought a house so close to their previous home? Why couldn’t be have taken Sophie Hopkins to live somewhere far away? Turning left, she walked away from where the large houses — including those of Cynthia and Joanne — stretched down from the narrow road to the cliff edge. Evan rarely came further than the point where she began the walk. She hurried until her house was out of sight, the dogs scampering enthusiastically ahead of her. When she felt safe she slowed down and enjoyed the morning. The mornings were still the worst.

  Strolling along wet sand smoothed by the outgoing tide and taking in the smell of freshly washed rocks and seaweed, she calmed down, and tried to think of what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. It wasn’t easy. She had given up university and started a small business selling artists’ supplies. She had sold that to help Evan get started.

  He had spent some time in the army and when he came out had planned to build a business importing cane and teak furniture. Having made a few contacts he needed more capital and she had sold up and given him the proceeds.

  For the first year he had needed her help and she had spent as many hours in the business as he but, as the business grew and staff were employed, she gradually stayed at home. No babies came and she had settled comfortably into a routine of house and garden and meeting friends that seemed set to continue for ever. Then he had left her to live with Sophie Hopkins. Now she didn’t know where to start building a life for herself.

  Meriel passed groups of trees that were distorted, bending landward, forced into a submissive shape by the powerful onshore gales that ravaged the area. She looked ahead, eastwards to where the sun was back-lighting the clouds with a glorious red edging. Sighing, she reminded herself how fortunate she was to be living here in this beautiful part of South Wales and able to enjoy it. Even being alone after fifteen years and Evan with his new love, Sophie Hopkins, living near enough to taunt her, couldn’t spoil everything.

  Glancing at her watch, a present from Evan on their tenth anniversary, she realized it was time to turn back. Clambering down the rocky cliff face, where soil and rocks showed a well-worn path, she whistled to the dogs and made her way down to the sand. Walking back along the beach she waved at others who regularly used the path and climbed up easily a little way past Channel View, her home — for a while longer.

  * * *

  Cynthia, unlike Meriel, who dressed casually for the weather and her dogs, didn’t appear until her make-up was complete and her hair washed and dried and her dress was immaculate. It was a habit she had begun on her honeymoon and not once had she deviated from her self-inflicted regime. Even when the twins, and later Marcus, were born, she refused to allow her husband near her until she was, what she called, presentable.

  Millie presided over breakfast, the boys being called by her when she arrived at seven thirty to begin her day’s work. When Cynthia appeared, her breakfast of toast and orange juice and coffee was waiting for her. Apart from critically straightening a knife, asking for a marmalade dish to be wiped or commenting on the bro
wnness of the toast there was nothing for her to do.

  She thumbed through the post, putting those for Christian — who was away on business with Ken — on one pile, ‘rubbish’ on another and her own on her side plate. Between bites and sips of orange juice she read one or two letters. Mostly appeals for her help with fund-raising. Millie had put a pen near her place and she scribbled a few dates on the back of an envelope ready to transfer into her diary. Almost as an afterthought she looked up and asked the boys what their plans were for the day.

  ‘School,’ the fifieen-year—old twins groaned, echoed by their younger brother.

  ‘And afterwards?’ Cynthia queried.

  ‘Football.’

  ‘What are you doing, Marcus?’ she asked her youngest.

  ‘I’m playing football with Rupert and Oliver.’

  ‘Oh, no you’re not!’ Rupert and Oliver were horrified. ‘Mum, he can’t!’

  ‘Oh, don’t start quarrelling so early in the day,’ Cynthia groaned. ‘Your father should be home around four so why don’t you come straight home to greet him? You haven’t seen him for a week.’

  ‘We’ve made arrangements,’ Rupert said, and Oliver nodded agreement, his mouth filled with toast and egg.

  ‘Please yourselves.’ With a shrug, Cynthia washed her sons’ arrangements from her mind, already planning which of the morning post’s appeals she would respond to, what she needed to buy, what she planned to tell Meriel and Joanne and Vivienne when they met in Churchill’s Garden later that morning.

  Churchill’s Garden, in the main shopping street of Abertrochi, was a popular venue for ladies — and a few men — to meet for coffee and to catch up on the latest news of friends. It was a large premises which included several other shops besides the cafe. To the right of the central doorway was a hairdressers, partitioned off with elegantly draped net. Behind that was a counter selling toiletries and perfumes. On the left of the doorway was a gift shop. Behind that, a small area specializing in dried flower arrangements. Beyond was the cafe.

  The cafe extended out into a small paved area where a tree offered shade, and two sculptures added a touch of class. One was a mermaid with water gently flowing around its tail. The other was a half-open oyster-shell from which flowers and foliage tumbled. The furniture was metal; mock Victorian tables, chairs and a couple of benches.

  Meriel was the first to arrive and, as the day was mild, she had chosen a table out in the courtyard garden, where she sat looking through a glossy antiques and decorating magazine while she waited.

  Joanne arrived, dropped her shopping on to one of the chairs Meriel had saved, then went to the counter for the coffee and a cake which was her regular Tuesday treat. She was frowning, and Meriel knew this was likely to mean trouble with her sons. The session would be a long diatribe about the difficulties of bringing up children with a father who spent so much time away. At least until Cynthia and Vivienne arrived. Cynthia’s husband was away from home a great deal and Cynthia didn’t find it a problem, and Vivienne was a single mother, so Joanne would have little sympathy there. She hoped they wouldn’t be too long. Joanne could be wearing. She was so intense about everything.

  ‘D’you know, I don’t think my boys have enough homework,’ Joanne began.

  ‘I bet they don’t agree,’ Meriel laughed. ‘I can remember how resentful I was when the weather was fine and I had to stay indoors and work.’

  ‘But you’ve always been one for the great outdoors, haven’t you, dear. I want my boys to succeed academically and the only way is to work and work.’

  ‘I did pass a few exams, and I ran my own business,’ Meriel said dryly.

  ‘But you didn’t go to university, did you? I know my boys are clever enough if only they’d buckle down and work.’

  ‘I know, I failed miserably,’ Meriel sighed, hiding her irritation under sarcasm. ‘I married and sold my business to finance that of my husband.’

  ‘And then he did that to you. Such a shame everything fell apart for you.’

  Meriel was relieved to see Cynthia bustling in, loaded with carrier bags and pushing people out of her way as she made her way towards them. Her ex-husband, Evan, was a subject she wanted to avoid.

  ‘Meriel, Joanne, dears, why are we sitting outside, the wind will be so irritating. I’ll get us a place near the window, shall I?’ There were no empty tables but with her loud voice and confident air, she persuaded one woman sitting alone to share with two others then spread her shopping territorially over four chairs. ‘Come on,’ she called, beckoning to where Meriel and Joanne were still sitting. Ignoring the fact that they both had coffee, she ordered four, plus some scones, presuming that Vivienne would join them soon.

  Reluctantly, both preferring the garden to the crowded room, Meriel and Joanne joined her and Joanne went back to her tale of the neglect shown by the teachers in not setting more homework. Fortunately, Vivienne arrived as Cynthia brought the coffees, with her small son Tobias.

  ‘Morning everyone, say good morning, Toby,’ Vivienne called as she moved everyone along to get the pushchair in between herself and Meriel. ‘I couldn’t get anyone to look after him for an hour, but he won’t be a nuisance,’ she said cheerfully, filling the three year old’s hands with an apple and a chocolate bar.

  Vivienne was tall and dark and this morning was cheerfully dressed in bright red with an orange scarf draped around her shoulders. She had a dream-catcher on her head, part ornament and part hat, and the three-year-old Tobias also wore one across his jumper.

  ‘What’s that on your head?’ Cynthia asked trying to be polite.

  ‘Dream-catcher. They stop bad dreams and allow only happy thoughts to be sifted through, aren’t they lovely? Toby loves them. We have one over the bed and over his cot and several in the living—room in case we doze off unexpectedly,’ she laughed. Cynthia and the others smiled with her. Eccentric but always happy, it was impossible to disapprove of Vivienne. After exchanging news of their respective weekends, Vivienne leaned across the table and whispered. ‘She’s here again,‘ and jerked her head towards the corner near the open door to the garden. ‘The Tragedy Queen.’

  A young woman sat at a table for one, almost hidden in the shadow between the door and a large display of tea towels. oven gloves and aprons. She was thin and wore long, dull coloured clothes in drab browns and greens and grey. Her black hair was carelessly pulled back - a bunch held in place with a braid of the same material as her dress. She was often there but rarely smiled and she ignored any overtures the friends made for her to join them.

  ‘I wonder who she is?‘ Meriel whispered. ‘She seems so sad.‘

  ‘No one knows her, but she must be local,’ Joanne said. ‘She’s in here so often.‘

  ‘Well, we’ve given her the opportunity to join us but she clearly prefers her own company.’ Cynthia brushed crumbs from the table as if dismissing the woman with the same movement.

  As the conversation became more general, and Joanne had been firmly quashed in her attempts to discuss the imagined problems with her twelve- and fourteen-year—old sons, Meriel studied the lonely young woman. Her dark eyes had a bruised look about them that suggested illness or at least a lack of sleep, her nose was long and thin and painfully red. She was someone who cried a lot, she decided, recognizing the signs from her own past.

  ‘About that woman,’ she whispered to the others as they began to gather their things to leave, ‘We could ask Helen Symons. Working in the newsagents, she gets to know everyone.’

  They agreed it would be a good idea. They knew Helen well and she sometimes joined them for coffee. When she could.

  * * *

  Joanne was impatient as her sons took their time getting ready for school.

  ‘Why is it that although I put everything ready for you, you can’t find your clothes?’ she demanded as Justin one-handedly lifted cushions and moved books looking for a pair of socks. ‘Your bedroom’s a tip. It’s no wonder you can’t find anything. This evening yo
u’ll come straight home from school and tidy it, d’you hear? And for heaven’s sake, Justin, use both hands!’

  ‘Can I have the twelve pounds for the school trip, Mummy?’ Jeremy asked as he threw the socks he had hidden towards his brother.

  ‘Twelve pounds?’

  Jeremy drooped his shoulders and gave a long dramatic sigh. ‘Here we go. Why do you have to make such a fuss about everything, Mummy? You know we have a trip next month, so why do you pretend it’s such a shock? It’s only twelve pounds for heaven’s sake. It isn’t a second mortgage,’ he added in a mutter that made his younger brother smile.

  ‘I’ll give it to you tomorrow morning.’ Joanne said sharply. ‘And if you talk to me like that again you won’t have it at all. Understand?’

  His, ‘Sorry Mummy,’ brought another grin to the boys’ faces.

  Having seen the boys off to school, she drove on towards the park. Her poodle Fifi needed a walk but one look at the mud and she drove back to the house. In high-heeled shoes and a smart black coat, she walked the little dog around the estate of large houses and back into the kitchen.

  She then changed into a track-suit and went up to clean Justin’s room. It was pointless expecting him to do it and if John saw it she would be ashamed. There was no carpet, just a few rugs which never stayed in the right place. She sighed. John had promised carpets two years ago. Life would be a lot easier if only he would spend a little money on the home. Not having a cleaner was bad enough, but using a mop and having to polish floors was archaic.

  After a shower and a few minutes sitting reading the morning paper she set off to meet the others in Churchill’s Garden. She hoped Meriel would be there. Today was a sad anniversary for her, it was a year to the day since her husband had left her, and she wanted the chance to let her know she remembered. Poor Meriel. She’d be glad to know she had such loyal friends.