Friends and Secrets

by Grace Thompson

  * * *

  Meriel thought her house seemed particularly empty this anniversary morning. The ticking of the clock was very loud in the silence: it marked the passing days she spent alone, mocking her. She picked the newspaper up from the doormat and tossed it on to the table. She ought to cancel it because she rarely read it and it was a hurtful reminder that Evan was no longer there to enjoy it. She wondered whether he still read The Daily Telegraph, or whether his new love had persuaded him to read something different.

  It wouldn’t have been just herself Evan had left behind. He would have moved on in a hundred different ways. He probably watched different television programmes, saw different films. Lovemaking would have changed too, she reminded herself with a jolt of longing.

  On the verge of tears she put down plates of food for Nipper and Patch and hurried upstairs to the bedroom to change. Trying to shake off the melancholy was impossible. The bed, with its large expanse of sheets and pillows and a solitary indentation, taunted her. She sat on the edge and gradually slipped down until she was resting on the pillow and allowed her tears to seep into its softness.

  Below, Nipper barked to remind her he liked a drop of milk after his meal, and she ran into the bathroom and angrily washed her face, forcing herself to lift her thoughts from her unwanted and, she thought, her undeserved predicament, and face the day. This was no way to behave. Evan had gone and she was alone. Punishing herself about him in this maudlin way had to stop.

  After giving the dogs their milk and replenishing the drinking bowl, she changed out of her walking shoes and, with a deep sigh, prepared her smile for greeting Cynthia and Joanne and hopefully, Vivienne too. Please let them be unaware of the importance of today, she whispered, as she got into the car and set off for Churchill’s Garden.

  * * *

  As the late May morning was now calm and bright, Meriel found Joanne, Vivienne and Helen in the cafe garden. Joanne was smartly dressed in a beautiful two piece suit with blue leather shoes and matching handbag while Vivienne wore a short black skirt and a bright red top. Her white jacket was thrown across a chair, reserving it for her, she presumed. Helen, the oldest of the group at forty-two, was slightly overweight so she always wore long tops over loose trousers in cheerful blues and greens. Her badly permed hair was untidy and held back with an unbecoming braid. ‘Bandbox and jumble sale,’ she frequently joked when she sat beside Joanne. The three women had their heads together as though sharing a spicy piece of gossip, confirmed by the way they hurriedly stopped talking when Meriel approached them.

  ‘Where’s Cynthia?’ she asked after greetings had been exchanged. ‘She’s usually here on Tuesdays.’

  ‘Trouble with her boys,’ Joanne whispered, disapproval tightening her lips. ‘At the last parents and teachers meeting I was told they had been absent from school on two occasions.’

  ‘Mitching, we called it,’ Vivienne said, with a lack of concern. ‘They all do it sometime, don’t they? I know I did. I remember mitching more than twice, don’t you, Joanne?’

  ‘I do not! I wouldn’t have dreamed of disobeying my mother!’

  Meriel and Vivienne exchanged glances of amusement and Meriel said, ‘No, of course you wouldn’t, Joanne. But I did. Like Vivienne, I sometimes felt stifled by school and stayed out in the fields until it was time to go home.’

  ‘Once I discovered an injured fox cub and I didn’t know what to do,’ Vivienne said. ‘I could hardly tell Mam and Dad that I’d found it in the classroom, could I?’

  ‘What did you do?’ Meriel asked.

  ‘I went to a neighbour and owned up to mitching. She took it to the vet and paid for its treatment. I was in a terrible mess, my clothes were muddy and streaked with blood so I had to own up to Mam in the end. But she didn’t mind. Said she was proud of me for caring enough for a wounded animal to admit my bad behaviour.’

  ‘Proud of you?’ Joanne frowned in disbelief. ‘My mother would have given me a good hard slap for staying away from school!’

  Cynthia appeared just then, slipping out from behind the net separating cafe and hairdressing salon, smelling of shampoo and looking bandbox smart.

  ‘Wait till you hear this,’ Joanne said. ‘Go on Vivienne, tell her your mother’s reaction when you stayed away from school.‘

  ‘Mitched,’ Vivienne explained.

  ‘It’s hardly a crime,’ Cynthia said. ‘As I told the headteacher, I think it showed a sense of confidence and adventure. When I ran away from a House Craft lesson to go to a gymkhana, dear Aunt Marigold roared with laughter and said she didn’t blame me for preferring horses to housework.’

  Leaving Joanne and Cynthia to exclaim over the amazing remarkable tolerance of the oft-quoted and saintly Aunt Marigold, and Vivienne’s mother, Meriel went to the counter to collect coffee. Thank goodness the conversation had centred around Vivienne. It was unlikely now that they would remember the date she had repeated so frequently over the past year, declaring it to be the worst day of her life.

  But she wasn’t to escape. In a lull, the dreaded moment came and she took a deep trembling breath as Cynthia lowered her voice to denote sympathy and asked, ‘How are you today of all days, Meriel dear?’

  Fighting down the pain and the dread of tears, Meriel smiled brightly as she said, ‘Today, I might have found myself a job.’

  ‘You have? Well, isn’t that marvellous?’ Joanne turned around to include the others in her approval, her voice soft and caring. ‘You’re so brave, Meriel. Isn’t she brave?’

  Meriel rather unkindly thought that Joanne sometimes sounded like a purring cat.

  ‘Nothing boring I hope,’ Vivienne remarked.

  ‘Gardening, for a teacher over in Holly Oak Lane. Two men sharing but neither likes the work so I offered to do a morning a week and keep it under control for them.’

  ‘What?’ Joanne was amazed for the second time that morning. ‘Just think what it will do to your hands!’

  Quickly. Vivienne said, ‘Don’t you think that’s a stupid name? Holly Oak? There’s no sign of either.’

  ‘It used to be Holy Oak I believe and the name somehow changed,’ Meriel informed them with determined brightness.

  ‘But gardening! I wouldn’t have the stamina. Not after I’d done my own house and garden properly. I’m up at six thirty, winter and summer as it is. I like to have everything perfect for when John comes home as you know and—’

  ‘I thought you had a “Woman Who Does?”’ Cynthia said.

  ‘I do,’ Joanne lied quickly, ‘But they never give it that final finish, do they?’

  ‘Any chance of one of you Toby-minding on Saturday? It’s weeks since I went clubbing and…’ Vivienne tried but failed again to change the subject.

  ‘Gardening is a skill given to few,’ Cynthia said, with an approving glance at Meriel. ‘My gardening lady is amazing and I admire her enormously for what she does. People don’t consider it a career for the lowly any more, Joanne, not with so many facinating programmes on the television. I did a bit myself in my student days, but I wasn’t very good at it.’

  ‘So did I,’ Vivienne said. ‘I was sacked after a day! I nurtured the ground elder and pulled up the aubretia which I thought looked a mess. Anyway, whatever Meriel does, it’s better than moping about wondering what Evan’s getting up to with that new woman of his – rot his socks.’

  ‘I kill off anything I’m given for indoors or out,’ Helen said with a rueful sigh. ‘My Reggie doesn’t even trust me with the grass — thank goodness!’

  ‘That young woman isn’t here today,’ Joanne whispered, after a brief lull.

  They glanced towards the isolated table just inside the door, now occupied by an elderly gentleman. As they watched, the man stood up, gathered the paper he had been reading and went out. A moment later, the young woman they called the Tragedy Queen sat down and placed a coffee on the table and took out a magazine.

  ‘I wonder who she is,’ Joanne whispered. ‘Poor thing, she looks as though lif
e has hurt her terribly.’

  ‘Her name is Cath Lewis and she lives in the end one of the three chalets,’ Helen informed them. ‘The one tucked right up against the rock face. Dark it is and damp for sure. Poor dab. I suppose she can’t afford anything better.’

  ‘What does she do?’ Cynthia asked, attempting to keep her loud voice confidential, and failing.

  ‘She cleans for the two men Meriel’s going to garden for,’ she added with a wink, ‘so we’ll be able to find out more, won’t we? It’s over to you, Meriel.’

  Meriel frowned. ‘D’you think that’s sufficient for me to go and talk to her, ask her about the men and whether they’re easy to work for?’

  ‘She must have to gather wood for her fire, there’s only a shower and an outside lav and she’ll have to boil water for a tin bath if she wants one. That’s according to old Megan Philips who lived there until she went into a home.’ Helen mused, half to herself. ‘Poor dab her. What a life, eh?’

  ‘Now we know her name, we might give her one more chance to join us,’ Cynthia said. ‘It’s always interesting finding someone new and learning all about them.’

  ‘Gossip!’ Helen sniffed.

  ‘Who’s talking!’ Joanne laughed. ‘We don’t call you “fount of all knowledge” for nothing, dear.’

  ‘Well, working in a newsagents I can’t help learning about people, can I?’

  ‘What if she’s a bore? We could be stuck with her for weeks.’

  ‘We can change our time, or buy coffee at The Artist’s Palette for a while.’

  No one was prepared to ask. Meriel didn’t think she could, and besides, she and Cath Lewis might meet naturally if they both worked for the same two young men. As she went out, she heard Joanne say in a stage whisper, obviously intending her to hear, ‘Poor Meriel, it’s so sad. I do feel sorry for her, even though she brought it on herself.’

  ‘We did our best to make her see the dangers,’ Cynthia agreed.

  ‘Poor dab,’ Helen whispered sadly. ‘And doing nothing to deserve it.’

  Meriel winced and hurried from the shop. Those were the remarks her so-called friends had been making ever since Evan had left her. Remarks made just loud enough for her to hear and, presumably, to wallow gratefully in their sympathy and concern.

  The two women who watched her go were both dressed in stylish clothes and both oozed confidence. They were also complacent that a marriage breakup wouldn’t happen to them.

  ‘I wonder how long it will be before Meriel gets a real job?’ Joanne mused as Helen stood up to leave. ‘Her ex has been extremely generous. She can’t fault him there. He isn’t in a rush to sell the house, he’s allowing her to stay there while she sorts her life out and there aren’t many who would do that.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s just not burning his bridges? If it doesn’t work out for him with this Sophie Hopkins woman, he might want to go back?’

  ‘Would she let him d’you think?’

  Cynthia opened her compact to check her face once more, adjusted an eyebrow with a delicate touch of her little finger. ‘Who knows, my dear?’

  ‘I think she might,’ Joanne said thoughtfully. ‘Meriel is the type to take the simplest route.’

  Cynthia gathered her shopping and began to rise. ‘Lunch at The Fisherman’s Basket?’

  ‘Lovely,’ Joanne smiled then the smile turned to a frown. ‘Oh dear, I’m forgetting, Cynthia. I can’t. My cleaning lady is there and I do like to make sure she’s done all I asked.’

  ‘I thought her day was Monday?’

  ‘Oh, just a few extra things needed doing, you know how it is.’

  Cynthia shrugged. ‘Another time then? I just happen to be free.’

  ‘Sorry.’ How could she explain to Cynthia of all people that she couldn’t afford to eat at The Fisherman’s Basket? Cynthia, Meriel, Helen, Vivienne and several others met for lunch two or three times a week and it was increasingly difficult for Joanne to find excuses not to join them to spend a few hours and a lot of money. She watched them go with a surge of envy in the pit of her stomach. Why was life so unfair?

  * * *

  Evan hadn’t been ungenerous to Meriel when they parted. His guilt revealed itself in many ways. He had agreed that she could stay in the house for up to a year before putting it on the market and he knew she was half-heartedly looking for a flat that wasn’t too expensive. He quickly learned of everything she did and she had been working for Tom Harris and his brother in Holly Oak Lane for only two weeks before he found out. The knowledge worried him.

  Although he was living with Sophie Hopkins and was happy, he still had strong feelings of responsibility for Meriel’s welfare — a notion that irritated Sophie more than a little.

  ‘She isn’t your wife any longer, Evan,’ she complained when he told her, with some dismay, about Meriel’s choice of job. ‘She can decide for herself what she wants to do with the rest of her life, she doesn’t need to ask your permission.’

  ‘But it’s embarrassing, darling. I earn a good salary and what will people think when they see my wife — I mean my ex-wife — working for other people?’

  ‘Most people do that, work for other people, don’t they? There’s no shame in that.’

  ‘She’s clever and intelligent and, she always hated working in the garden,‘ he finished lamely.

  ‘Did she really hate gardening? Or was she pushed out of something she enjoyed because you thought it was your job to do the heavier outside work? You are an old-fashioned dear, you know. Weak little woman and big strong man. It’s really old hat.’

  In fact Evan needn’t have worried unduly about Meriel’s new career. The month of June was one of the wettest on record and she found that most of her appointments had to be cancelled. The money was left out for her at the Harris’s but she didn’t take it. She left a note each Monday letting them know she had actually arrived, but didn’t attempt to deal with the tasks she had been set. Apart from the initial interview she didn’t see the brothers. Neither did she see Cath Lewis, their Tragedy Queen.

  At Churchill’s Garden one Wednesday towards the end of June, she went in, to see Vivienne sitting alone.

  ‘Only me today,’ Vivienne smiled. ‘Joanne has gone to the school insisting her boys are falling behind would you believe. Cynthia has gone shopping.’

  Meriel nodded towards the tall thin young woman in her usual solitary state. She looked far from happy. ‘Now might be a good time to invite her over,’ she suggested.

  To their surprise and pleasure, Cath Lewis picked up her cup, tucked her newspaper into her bag and joined them.

  ‘We don’t want to intrude’ Meriel said, ‘But as we all meet here several times a week, it seemed churlish not to invite you to join us.’

  ‘We’re talking about jobs,’ Vivienne began. ‘Meriel has a gardening job but the weather has put paid to that. She’s divorced you see and is wondering about the best way to restart her life.’

  ‘It isn’t easy when you’ve been out of the working fraternity for fifteen years,’ Meriel added. ‘I thought gardening might be an idea, get me used to being out of the house at certain times. A routine of sorts.’

  ‘You must have some skills?’ Cath said in her low, melodious voice. ‘Everyone has, and it’s amazing the varied ways in which people earn money these days.’

  Meriel frowned and shook her head. ‘I ran my own business for a while, but before that I worked in offices. My shorthand and typing skills are no longer needed and I haven’t the first idea about computers.’

  ‘What about a hobby which you can develop into a business?’ Cath queried. ‘The happiest people are those earning their living with an interest that began as a hobby.’

  That made Meriel start guiltily. There was something. Something she had told no one about, not even Evan. But she denied it, shaking her head and lowering her eyes to hide the lie.

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked, and at once wished she hadn’t. A cloud came over Cath’s face as though she w
ere wondering how to answer without giving a truthfull reply. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It was just another idea to throw into the pot.’

  ‘I don’t mind you asking, really I don’t.’ Cath reached out a long, slender hand and touched Meriel’s arm. ‘I was wondering about the best way to answer. I clean for two men on Holly Oak Lane, and I do a bit of buying and selling. Anything I can make a few pounds on.’

  ‘You own a shop?’

  ‘Nothing so grand,’ she replied solemnly. ‘I buy all sorts of things at charity shops and car boot sales, repair them, then I take a table at a sale and sell them on.’

  ‘Is there much money in that?’ Vivienne asked.

  ‘I don’t need much.’ The long thin hands played with the coffee cup. The dark eyes, rimmed with purple so they looked bruised, were filled with melancholy. Both women looked away, afraid their stare would be an intrusion.

  She was such a quiet, sad and lonely creature that Meriel and Vivienne were bursting with curiosity, but they talked about themselves and avoided further questions, afraid too much probing would send the girl away. She was obviously a very private person and whatever was making her so unhappy was not their business.

  Vivienne talked about the previous Saturday night, when an ex—boyfriend had Toby-sat and she had gone to a nightclub with friends. Cath smiled as Vivienne exaggerated the stories she told to make them laugh, but made little comment. Then her eyes went misty and she appeared to sink back into her own thoughts; thoughts that were far from happy.

  They had discovered enough for a first conversation. They left her there ten minutes later and when they looked back from the doorway they saw she had taken out her newspaper and was staring at its pages. Meriel thought she was not reading it, but using it as a screen.

  Meriel spent some time in the shops, choosing food and buying a few items in the chemist. When she reached home she was hungry and her mind was filled with thoughts about what she would have for lunch, and how she would spend the rest of her day. But the first thing she noticed when she stepped inside was a note pinned to the cork board. It was from Evan, telling her he had called to take Nipper and Patch for a walk.