Friends and Secrets

by Grace Thompson

  Reaching for the kettle, she was surprised to notice a small glove on the work surface. She smiled. The brothers obviously had family, a sister perhaps and they had been entertaining a young relative. It reminded her to make sure she covered the pond before she went. A fall down there would frighten a child if not actually harm him.

  The door to the rest of the house was usually locked, but, probably because they had not been expecting her, today it was ajar. Curiously she peeped around the door and saw that the floor was spread with children’s videos and, in a corner, was a large tractor, just like the one Cath had described as having given to Toby.

  Meriel was not overly inquisitive, but something made her explore further. The opportunity, and seeing the toys, made her intensely curious about the two people for whom she worked.

  A second room was neatly and rather sparsely furnished with a three-piece suite and a nest of tables, a music centre and a television. Telling herself she would make the excuse of needing the toilet should either of the brothers suddenly appear, she walked slowly up the stairs. She walked with her back to the wall, moving from step to step sideways, a need to protect her back unrecognized, instinctive, her breathing shallow, her heart racing. She really shouldn’t be doing this, she scolded herself silently.

  The first room was a small one containing little furniture, only a single bed, the covers neatly in place and with a few toys scattered about. The smallest room was used for lumber, the third unfurnished. It was only the large front room that looked as though it was used. A double bed, with lots of men’s clothes thrown casually about, the two pillows indented from sleepers’ heads. The bathroom was untidy, razors, men’s aftershave balanced on the edge of the bath, shirts and underwear thrown carelessly towards a clothes basket. Aware of the implications, Meriel ran down the stairs, closed the door and shut herself in the kitchen.

  Why had she invaded their privacy? She would have given a great deal not to have known what the use of that bed told her. Tom and Ray were not brothers, that much was certain. Again she went to tackle the stubborn roots around the pond, again needing hard physical work to blank out her feelings. Not anger this time, but embarrassment. Her feelings were ambiguous. She wasn’t anti gay men or women, she just hadn’t knowingly met any before. Would Tom guess she knew next time they met? Could she face him again?

  Time passed without her being aware of it and it wasn’t until it was too dark to see the fork she was wielding, that she stopped and cleaned up and went home. She hadn’t left a note. She didn’t think she could go there again, she would be afraid her expression would give away the fact that she had sneaked into their house without permission and learned their secret.

  Heaving her wellingtons into the boot of the car with the mud-covered coat, she got in and drove off. When she pulled up outside her house she felt too stiff to move and sat there for a moment, still thinking about the secret she had discovered. She had no one with whom to discuss it. That, she decided sadly, was one of the worst aspects of being on her own. She was very tired and for a weak moment imagined Evan coming out and hugging her.

  She would walk through her door and step into a cold, empty house, tired and confused, with no one there to hold her and comfort her and help her to understand how she felt. No man had held her, touched her, even with an arm around her shoulders, since Evan left her for Sophie Hopkins. She wanted to be held now, she wanted it badly.

  In a melancholy mood she stiflly eased herself out of the driving seat and gathered her filthy clothes out of the boot. As she stood there, smelling of rotted vegetation and stagnant pond, a mud-spattered coat over her arm, her hair limply hanging around her far from clean face like an abandoned floor mop, her wellingtons in her hand, a voice called, ‘What the hell have you been doing! Get into the house before anyone sees you!’

  Evan stood at the door staring at her before running towards her in great agitation and bustling her around the house and in through the back door which, she noticed with irritation, he opened with a key. ‘Why are you working like a navvy? Is it just to humiliate me? If it is then you’re doing a fine job.’

  ‘I like what I do. The garden is a fascinating hobby and I’ve no intention of giving it up,’ she shouted back. They were leaning towards each other like fighting bantams.

  ‘I insist that you stop!’

  ‘You can’t insist on anything! And if this is the way you behave, I pity Sophie. I realize I’ve had a narrow escape! And, give me that key!’ she demanded. ‘You promised not to come here unless invited and you’ll wait a long time for that to happen!’

  She was tired and longed to flop into a sudsy bath and was prepared to argue furiously, knowing it was the quickest way to get rid of him. Evan always walked away from confrontation. ‘Go away, Evan! You don’t belong here any more!’ Her voice sounded ugly and harsh. She felt ugly, her anger making her so, and she hated him for making her like this. She took a deep breath ready to shout over his next criticism but, to her alarm, his shoulders dropped and he said quietly:

  ‘I was worried. I called this morning and again at lunch-time. Patch and Nipper were desperate to go out. It isn’t like you to neglect them. I remembered I still had the back door key and I took them out. I’ve been waiting for you.’ He took out a key-ring and, slipping off the one for the back door, he placed it on the kitchen table.

  In a calmer tone she said. ‘I got involved in what I was doing and forgot the time. I really do enjoy taming that garden. I do it for me, nothing to do with you or your hang-ups. I’ll make it up to the dogs tomorrow.’

  It was almost dark, the only light was from the porch light. The key was glinting slightly as it sat on the table between then, a reminder of their separation. Neither of them moved and Meriel felt an aching longing for Evan to take her in his arms. To end the tense moment, she deliberately and slowly picked up the key.

  ‘Would you like me to run you a bath before I go?’

  She shook her head. She didn’t want him to see the look in her eyes; he would guess how much she still loved him. Turning away, she said, ‘Goodbye Evan,’ and placed the key in a dish on the dresser. As he left, unnoticed, he reached out and retrieved it.

  * * *

  Christian and Ken were negotiating for a plot of land on which they planned to build three houses and two shops. When they left the site they called at a smaller site where two semis were nearing completion.

  ‘It’s almost Christmas,’ Ken said. ‘Let’s send in the estimates and then let it go until after the holidays. You and I could both do with some time off. The men here will work for a couple more days then they’ll want to be off.’

  ‘Will you be seeing your Mam?’ Christian asked.

  ‘Oh yes. I’ll visit her although she’s so far gone she doesn’t seem to know me,’ he said sadly. ‘It’s a hell of a thing, especially after the life she had. Now, when I could afford to give her some comforts, it’s too late.’

  ‘Are you sure we can’t go and see her? Perhaps, if we talked about the old days, and of her kindness to Cynthia and me, it might bring her memory back, for a while at least.’

  ‘No, I’ve spoken to the doctors and they don’t advise it. Sorry, Christian, I know how much you want to help.’

  When Christian had gone, Ken called one of the labourers over.

  ‘Will you go to the betting office and put this on for me?’ he asked, taking a note and some money from his wallet. ‘You don’t have to say who it’s for, tell them it’s yours if you like but, try and run off with my winnings and you’re dead,’ he said with a grin.

  The young boy smiled and went off to do as he was asked. He had tried a few bets in the past but with little success and, seeing the large amount with which he had been trusted, he was tempted. It couldn’t win. The odds were too high for it to be more than an outsider. He decided to pocket the money. Why should the bookies get all the luck?

  When the results were broadcast later that day, Ken sighed with relief. He’d actually won!
Perhaps his luck was changing at last. It wasn’t much, but if he paid off some of his spiralling debts it should keep a few of his debtors happy, at least until after Christmas, he thought.

  Perhaps he would treat his old mum to a video and a take-away tonight. It was lucky that Christian wouldn’t be able to see them. The way his mum laughed at the innuendoes and tucked into a curry there was no doubt that she was strong and healthy!

  * * *

  Joanne resentfully prepared a meal for John and some of his friends and colleagues. As a small retaliation she invited Cynthia and Christian to join them.

  ‘Sorry Meriel,’ she breathed, sweetly apologetic, ‘I can’t include you without a partner. It throws out the seating arrangements.’

  John had given generously for her to prepare good food but she had planned the meal with great care and had managed to spend far less than he thought. Pasta as a base for both starter and main course was filling and cheap. An exotic-looking dessert containing cream and chocolate hadn’t cost much and she was flattered by the praise she received from guests and John.

  She used the money she saved to pay for Cynthia’s lunch at The Fisherman’s Basket. It gave her a good feeling. Besides, Cynthia would reciprocate at the first opportunity. A guilty thought about the money owing for Jeremy’s skiing trip she pushed aside. New Year, that was the time to worry about that.

  * * *

  Cynthia’s Christmas party was simply arranged. Millie did some of the food preparations, set out the extended table. brought in extra chairs, and the rest was left to caterers. A clothes rail was brought in from the garage for coats and Millie left to spend a few days with her sister.

  Joanne’s two arrived first and they joined Rupert, Oliver and Marcus in preparations for some party games. Helen’s three children were staying with her and Reggie for the weekend, so they came too, accompanied by Reggie, who promised to collect them at ten thirty.

  ‘Eleven,’ they pleaded and Reggie relented. Eleven o’clock was what Helen told him anyway but, knowing the awkwardness of teenagers, he offered less to get what he wanted.

  Henri, the only girl to arrive so far, was given the task of handing out paper hats to the guests as they arrived. But only as long as it took Cynthia and Christian to get ready and go out. Once their car had left the drive, the paper hats were thrown aside, games discarded, the music changed and bottles of wine revealed. The lights were turned low, doors opened and closed with increasing regularity and the volume of excited chatter rose as more and more guests arrived; approximately double the number Cynthia had expected.

  Many of the guests were not known to Joanne’s boys. Jeremy and Justin went to a different school from Oliver, Rupert and Marcus. Some of the girls looked much older than the hosts and Justin stared in jaw—dropping amazement as girls he had only seen wearing uniform took off coats and revealed minuscule dresses.

  * * *

  Cynthia and Christian went for a meal and on the next table saw Vivienne.

  ‘Vivienne! What a surprise, would you like to share our table?’ Cynthia asked.

  ‘Thanks but no, I’m waiting for someone.’

  The restaurant was decorated for the season, with a great deal of sparkle, and boughs of holly and mistletoe, some real most not. Cynthia looked around while Christian, always a slowcoach at choosing his meal, made up his mind. A tall, rather effeminate but elegant man entered, dressed in an evening suit that fitted just a little too well and, walking with a swagger, looked around the room in a way that suggested he was used to being admired. He joined Vivienne but, from the way he greeted her, the effeminate impression was wrong.

  Slightly embarrassed by her thoughts, Cynthia took out her compact to check her make—up. She moved her chair slightly to enable her to look in a different direction and saw someone else she knew.

  ‘It’s Meriel’s ex, with his new wife, or woman. I don’t think they’re actually married,’ she whispered to Christian. ‘According to Helen, she wants to but he won’t agree.’

  ‘Blimey, we might as well have gone to the local pub for all the privacy we’re getting,’ he muttered as Evan left his table and came over.

  ‘How is business?’ Christian asked. ‘Keeping you busy?’

  ‘I have to keep busy with the rate Sophie spends,’ Evan said jokingly, but the smile was forced and didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘Seen your Meriel lately? I hear she’s doing gardening. At this time of year too.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to,’ Evan defended at once. ‘I give her a generous allowance and she only has to ask if she needs more.’

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t criticizing you, old man. She’s your ex, after all, and no longer your responsibility. I just think she’s admirable, doing something like that. She was filthy when I saw her coming home one day last week, cleaning out an old pond she told me. I could get her a job with my gang of labourers any time!’

  Evan looked tense and tight-lipped as he made some brief comment about it being her choice, and women having minds of their own, before returning to his table and Sophie. A few minutes later, when Cynthia and Christian looked, the table was empty, Evan and Sophie had gone.

  * * *

  ‘What’s she trying to do to me?’ Evan demanded of a sulky Sophie. ‘She doesn’t have to work, and if she wants a job I’ve no objection. But why choose something like that? Is it to humiliate me d’you think? She says not, but I don’t believe her.’

  Sophie made some uncommunicative grunt and quickened her pace as they headed for the car, leaving Evan behind as he went on complaining. She got into the car and, when he joined her, still discussing the gardening and the alternative work Meriel could find, she got out and ran for the bus stop as a bus loomed into view.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he shouted, hurriedly trying to lock the car and follow.

  ‘Going for something to eat, where I don’t have to listen to you whining on and on about your ex!’

  The bus slowed for her to jump on and Evan had almost reached it when the door closed and it drove off. ‘Damn!’ he shouted after it.

  He thought for a moment of following the bus and trying to repair the disastrous evening, but he watched it go then turned away and drove home. He wasn’t in the mood to soothe her feathers.

  He sat outside his house for a while. It was one of two small semis, built by Sewell to fill an unwanted corner and tucked out of sight in a small vee where the cliff curved inwards between the bigger gardens and more expensive properties belonging to the Sewells and Morgans. Small and with very little ground, they had sold because of the prestigious address.

  Damp night air penetrated his feet and worked up his shins like cold water, creeping insidiously under his clothes and chilling him as he sat with the engine off. He was stiff when he stepped out and the noise from the party at the Sewells’ house hit him. He began to walk back along the cliff path towards Meriel’s house.

  The dogs barked their welcome when he knocked then called through the letter-box. Meriel opened the door and asked, rather ungraciously, what he wanted. She was dressed for bed, smelling sweetly of soap and shampoo, wearing a fluffy pink dressing-gown, her hair still damp from the shower.

  ‘It’s this job of yours,’ he said, pushing past her and going towards the gas fire, rubbing his hands to warm them. ‘Any chance of a coffee, I’m freezing.’

  ‘Before we row or afterwards,’ she asked coolly.

  ‘I don’t want to quarrel, Meriel. But I do feel rather strongly about you doing heavy, labourer’s work and coming home so filthy people remark on it, and look at me as though it’s my fault.’

  ‘I like what I do and I’ve no intention of stopping just because it offends your idea of what’s right for me. I am no longer your concern, Evan.’

  ‘But you are, you always will be. Divorce doesn’t make the past disappear. We can’t forget the years we were married.’

  ‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Forget how I worked to get you started? How I sold my pro
fitable business to give you the deposit you needed? That’s a part of a different life, a life that’s gone for ever. You chose to move on and I have to do the same. At the moment, I choose to work a couple of mornings a week rescuing a garden from years of neglect.’

  ‘What about these antique sales? Couldn’t you develop that instead?’

  ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘I’ve known for years about your secret hoard of treasures in the loft,’ he grinned. ‘And you’ve been seen at these local table top sales and the like.’

  ‘It’s a hobby, nothing more.’

  ‘But when you get more experienced, a shop isn’t such an impossible dream. You’re an astute businesswoman, running your own artists’ supplies business in your early twenties and helping me establish mine.’ He moved a step closer and spoke more softly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how much I owe you. You were an enormous help, darling.’

  Trying not to show it, determined to remain aloof, the endearment was a painful shock. She was nevertheless pleased with his flattery, even though the ‘darling’ was an empty, rather offensive ploy. A boost to her confidence was welcome. ‘Perhaps I’ll try again, one day,’ she replied coldly. ‘But that is my decision.’

  They had a coffee and when he remarked that he was ‘peckish’, she made him a plate of sandwiches, making him smile at her assurances that she had scrubbed her hands after dealing with the pond.