Friends and Secrets

by Grace Thompson

  ‘Why not?’ John said in exasperation. ‘It’s something Dolly couldn’t manage but it would be nothing to you.’

  ‘Nothing? I do have an idea of what my skills are worth and I want my fee. Surprising as it might seem, I do have some self-esteem left!’

  ‘It’s a favour for a business associate, who’s in a position to do me several favours in return.’

  ‘None of which will reach me or the boys!’

  ‘What are you talking about? You live in this house and you and the boys have what you need. It’s my business that keeps us here and for once, instead of always moaning and complaining, you can help!’

  ‘Not with this.’

  Joanne wondered afterwards what had given her the strength, but she adamantly refused to do what he asked. It was as though her training, her experiences as a cook had been all she had left and John was stripping her of that, reducing it to a casually requested favour, like minding someone’s dog.

  John slammed the door and the boys heard the car drive away. Creeping down the stairs they went into the living-room. peering around the door, preparing to retreat if their mother was crying. She was not.

  ‘Come in, Jeremy and you, Justin. Sorry you had to hear that. but what your father was asking me to do was unreasonable.’

  ‘To make a wedding cake for nothing?’ Justin tentatively asked.

  ‘To reduce my skills to something worth nothing, a very different thing.’

  ‘Is he really marrying a girl?’ Jeremy asked. ‘How could she marry an old man?’

  ‘Money and security,’ Joanne said bitterly. She looked at her sons and decided it was an opportunity not to waste. ‘You see, this girl, she is going to have a baby. And that is something you two have to be wary of.’

  ‘Mum!’ Jeremy gasped. Justin, his face reddening, looked at his brother for guidance.

  ‘Sex is so pleasurable,’ Joanne warned. ‘Be prepared for how urgently you’ll want to succumb. Pleasurable, desirable and so very easy,’ Joanne went on, oblivious to their embarrassment, ‘But the results of it are not.’

  ‘Is succumb the same as seduce?’ Justin wanted to know as they crept back up the stairs, lecture over.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Jeremy said airily. He was thoughtful as they gathered their books and began to settle to their homework once again.

  ‘D’you think it’s serious and we’ll have to move out of this house?’

  ‘No, but Dad might have to leave.’ He grinned then. ‘Sex education from Mum. Weird.’

  * * *

  In Churchill’s Garden the following morning, Joanne tried to explain to Meriel how she felt.

  ‘I can understand,’ Meriel told her. ‘After all, I had a small business. Art teachers sent their students to me, knowing I was reasonably priced and reliably stocked, and it was really successful. But I sold it to start Evan in business. It wasn’t even mentioned when we divorced. Yet, for me, it was a big commitment in our marriage. It was enough to pay Evan’s fare to Thailand to make contacts with the makers of the furniture and fancy goods he wanted to sell. It paid for the first two consignments. We lived in a small flat above the shop I had once owned and I worked in a supermarket for a year to keep us while he got the business off the ground. All that has been forgotten. It’s no longer important. So, yes, I do know how you feel when John regards your skills as something to casually give away as a favour from him to one of his business friends.’

  ‘And you don’t think I was wrong to refuse?’

  ‘I certainly do not.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Joanne, why don’t you pick up that business again? You won’t need premises to start, just to decorate a few cakes, make gateaux and lovely stuff like that. I’ll bet that once you start, the requests will come rolling in.’

  ‘I couldn’t. The boys take so much of my time.’ Joanne waved a hand brushing the idea away. But something had happened when John had shown such disregard for her abilities, and the idea of earning money, for herself, from something she had once enjoyed, was already beginning to grow.

  It was a few days before John spoke to her civilly and then it was only to tell her that another arrangement had been made regarding the cake and that, in spite of her churlishness, she was invited to the wedding. ‘And,’ he said firmly, ‘We are going and no excuse will be acceptable. Right?’

  ‘I’ll need money for a decent dress,’ she said defiantly. ‘And suits for the boys of course.’

  ‘The boys aren’t invited. It’s a small affair, only a dozen guests. You’ll have to ask one of your friends to have them for the day.’

  ‘And the money for my clothes?’ she insisted.

  He took out his wallet and handed her eighty pounds. ‘That will have to do, there’s no more so don’t ask for a handbag or matching shoes. That is it.’

  ‘Do I have to buy you a shirt and tie out of this too?’ she asked sweetly.

  * * *

  Cynthia was careless with her handbag and she often left it on the table while she went to the ladies, or to order more coffee. There was a fold of ten pound notes just inside it one morning and as Joanne was the only one there besides Cynthia, and Meriel, who went with Cynthia to choose cakes for them all, she slipped a note off the roll and into her own bag. She was looking at a magazine for brides with a special feature on cakes when they returned.

  Later that day, Cynthia called the bank and asked if there had been a discrepancy in one of the tills. ‘I cashed a cheque for fifty pounds when I came to pay in some money for my husband,’ she explained, ‘But when I got home, I only had forty.’

  The bank assured her they would be in touch if they found a mistake had been made, but when they telephoned it was to say that none had been found.

  Cynthia was thoughtful. Only Joanne had the opportunity to take that money. It was at Joanne’s house that a previous twenty pounds had gone missing. The wallet containing fifty pounds had been taken from Churchill’s Garden and again, Joanne had been there.

  She knew Joanne lied about having a cleaner and had boasted about arranged holidays that never materialized, so were her money difficulties so serious that she had resorted to stealing from friends? How could she ask Meriel or Helen or Vivienne? And how could she accuse Joanne without experiencing terrible embarrassment if she were wrong?

  * * *

  Buying an outfit for the wedding of Dolly Richard and Carl Davies was not something Joanne was looking forward to. The eighty pounds John had given her wouldn’t buy anything like she would have chosen. Shoes alone would cost at least forty. She wondered wickedly whether she might get away with finding something in a charity shop, and announcing the provenance of her purchases, loudly, at the wedding ceremony. It would serve John right, but she knew she couldn’t embarrass him in front of his business acquaintances. But, if she could find a second-hand outfit at a ‘Nearly New’ place, the rest of the money could go towards the pocket money for Jeremy’s school trip.

  Cynthia spoilt it by asking, a few days later, when she was intending to go to town and choose her clothes.

  ‘Oh, I thought I might go this afternoon,’ Joanne said airily, convinced she was safe as it was Thursday, one of the days on which Cynthia ‘did lunch’ with a friend.

  ‘I’ll come with you!’ Cynthia announced, much to her dismay. ‘I’m free as my friend is in Gstaad for a couple of weeks. Walking on an Alp or something,’ she said with a smile. ‘So? Shall we go straight from here?’

  ‘I did intend to go back home first.’ Joanne tried desperately to think of a reason why she should, but one was supplied by Cynthia.

  ‘Your cleaning lady is there?’

  ‘Yes, I have to check she has done all I ask and, of course, to pay her.’

  ‘Phone her.’ Cynthia handed her her mobile. ‘Tell her you’ll call in with the money later.’

  Joanne picked up the phone and walked outside into the small courtyard and dialled her own number. She smiled back at Cynthia and pretended to speak into
the mouthpiece. ‘She’s managed to get the bed stuck awkwardly, I’ll have to go back,’ she reported.

  ‘I’ll come with you and wait!’ Cynthia smiled. Joanne recognized the determined challenge glowing in her green eyes.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right, I won’t bother. She said she would try and sort it out herself,’ she said. ‘Your car or mine?’

  It was difficult to find reasons not to buy some of the beautiful clothes Cynthia urged her to try. But confessing that she was tired and undecided, they at last drove home.

  Cynthia had been looking at her oddly all afternoon and Joanne knew she had guessed that her finances were not as rosy as she tried to pretend. Should she carry on with her pretence? Or should she take Cynthia, a friend from whom she had stolen money, into her confidence? Once again Cynthia took the initiative.

  ‘You’re having money worries, aren’t you?’ she said as she pulled up beside Joanne’s car in the car park. ‘Is John’s business in trouble? You can tell me and I promise it will go no further.’

  ‘Of course John’s business isn’t in trouble.’ Joanne’s voice was harsh and Cynthia thought for a moment that she had been wrong to ask. But Joanne went on, ‘John’s business is fine, but he keeps me short of money. Increasing his businesses at the expense of the boys and me. There. Now you have it. I haven’t had a cleaning lady for months and months. I simply can’t afford to pay her. I’m at my wit’s end wondering how I can buy the clothes Jeremy needs for this damned school trip and then John gives me eighty pounds so we can go to this wedding.’

  ‘Borrow something of mine. He’ll never know, and use the money for something you’d really like.’

  Joanne stared at her, a muttered ‘thanks’ drowned by choking sobs.

  ‘There’s something else,’ Cynthia said, ignoring the tears, which she suspected were tears of remorse, flowing down Joanne’s cheeks. ‘You can use our chalet in Tenby if you wish. no charge of course, give the boys a couple of days away?’

  ‘I couldn’t.‘

  ‘Regarding the wedding outfit, I don’t think you have a choice. Not unless you want to wear M and S! No one else will know. There are a few dresses I took to Paris and never used. People don’t dress up like they used to, more’s the pity, so you can try them and take which ever you like best.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Joanne tried to hold back the sobs that were filling her throat.

  ‘Friends aren’t only for the good times,’ Cynthia said. ‘And think about the chalet, you haven’t had a holiday for almost two years, have you? It’s yours whenever you want it. I know it’s early, but with a bit of luck with the weather you’ll enjoy a change of scene. Now, we’d better get home and see our children, hadn’t we? And Joanne, dear, think also about Meriel’s suggestion about starting your cake making and decorating service.’

  Getting back into her own car, Joanne felt stiff and aching as though heading for a dose of flu. She sat there for a long time afier Cynthia had driven off, guilt and humiliation towards herself, anger and bitter disappointment towards John, and affection for Cynthia, all changing places like a crazy nightmare in her head. Her one thought as she went into her neat and orderly house was, it was time to stop the pretence. Time to stop covering up for John’s meanness.

  ‘Jeremy, Justin,’ she called, waving the eighty pounds in the air. ‘I have a surprise for you. I’m going to book a weekend in a chalet down in Pembroke. What d’you think of that?’

  ‘Cool,’ was the reply.

  ‘It probably will be,’ she laughed.

  The boys quirked eybrows in surprise. Sex talk and now jokes?

  ‘Good one Mum,’ Justin said approvingly.

  * * *

  At Churchill’s Garden, the next time Joanne met Cynthia, she waited until Helen and Cath and Vivienne had arrived, then said loudly, ‘Cynthia has kindly offered to lend me one of her gorgeous dresses to wear at this wedding. Isn’t that kind?’

  Cynthia stared at her, then smiled, fully understanding what Joanne was doing.

  Meriel saw nothing odd in the arrangement, but was puzzled that Joanne, who was normally so boastful about her husband’s wealth, was admitting to it. She was even more surprised when Joanne went on, ‘I can’t really afford the kind of clothes I’d like to wear, what with the skiing trip and one thing and another, so Cynthia generously offered to lend me something of hers.’

  ‘With a business continually expanding the money is ofien tight,’ Meriel said. ‘There are times when even the most well run firms have to be extra careful.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that,’ Joanne said, ‘I think John is simply too mean to enjoy giving money to his family. Now, any cakes this morning? My treat.’ She tip-tapped in her fussy way to the counter to replenish their supplies.

  ‘I don’t want to go to this wedding,’ she said later as they demolished the fresh cream doughnuts, ‘But as I have to, I intend, with Cynthia’s help, to knock-’em-dead!’

  * * *

  The wedding of Dolly to Carl Davies was indeed a small affair, with no one on the bride’s side except for a girl who looked about fifteen, who was introduced as Dolly’s friend, Marlene. Dolly wore a white dress that strained slightly across the front, with a short veil and a flowered head-dress. The dress was supported by a hoop that was clearly visible under the thin material of the dress. But in spite of the inferior quality of the clothes, Dolly looked happy and it was this that people would notice and remember long after they could recall what was worn. She had been made-up by an expert and had the look of a shy, fresh-faced young girl that was very appealing. Joanne told her she looked lovely and meant it.

  Marlene wore a soft pink dress and carried a posy that matched Dolly’s. They both wore their hair loosely curled and falling wildly down their backs.

  Not knowing anyone except her husband, whom she coolly ignored, Joanne was relieved when it was time to leave the brief wedding breakfast in an hotel room near the register office. Carl shook her hand and told her he quite understood about the cake, ‘John explained that you’re out of practice and afraid of not doing a good job,’ he said. The stiff smile on Joanne’s face threatened to crack it.

  ‘You’re coming to the do tonight, though,’ John said as they prepared to leave.

  Aware that they would have a serious quarrel if she argued further, still seething about Carl’s condescending remarks, Joanne could only agree.

  The party was in the basement room of a public house and there was a small band which was too loud and too large for the size of the room. She knew no one there and, apart from a smiling welcome from Dolly and a brief nod from her new husband Carl, she spent most of the time on her own.

  She stood in a corner wearing shoes that had cost two pounds in a second-hand shop and were too high and too tight, longing to ecape. She didn’t see John after they had left their coats in a small room leading off the dance floor. He was smoking cigars, drinking whisky and introducing himself to those who might be useful. Business contacts. It was obviously the reason they had come.

  Seeing people getting more incapable and unable to join in the foolish laughter that increased in ratio to the amount of alcohol swallowed, Joanne felt utterly miserable and lonely and realized she had felt that way for a very long time.

  A man appeared beside her and asked if she would like a drink. ‘Something long and cool? It’s uncomfortably hot in here isn’t it?’ he smiled. In the depth of her loneliness, his smile was warming. He was taller than her by almost twelve inches and he touched her shoulder lightly as he bent down to hear her reply.

  She hesitated and he went on, ‘To be honest, you look as bored with the whole thing as I feel.’ He led her to the crowded bar, a hand on her elbow. ‘A wedding should be a celebration of the new life beginning for Dolly and Carl, not an excuse to talk business and do a few deals.’

  ‘It’s certainly an unusual party,’ Joanne agreed. ‘I don’t think the happy couple have spoken a word to each other,’ She looked around while the man boug
ht drinks: at John who was laughing and talking with a group of men, his face red with the heat of the room and the drinks he had consumed. At Carl who was writing down something in a notebook. Some useful telephone number she guessed. At all the strangers gathered in groups which formed and reformed as people drifted around, seeing a face they recognized, stopping to exchange a greeting. Joanne wondered just how many of these people were Dolly’s friends. Voices called, raucous, trying to make themselves heard over the music to which no one was dancing, and which Joanne decided was nothing more than a damned nuisance.

  Dolly had a group of her own in a corner. Young girls dressed in skimpy dresses and heavy make-up. Dolly was still wearing her wedding dress and Joanne noticed it was torn at the hem, as though someone had carelessly trodden on it. There was a shriek of laughter as someone else did the same thing and a large tear appeared. Joanne tutted in disapproval at the lack of concern.

  ‘What does it matter?’ her companion said, having followed her gaze. ‘It has done its work and can go out with the rubbish tomorrow.’

  Joanne laughed. ‘You sound more cynical than me!’

  They talked with difficulty, standing close to hear each other to reduce the need to shout. He smelled clean and fresh in spite of the overheated room. They exchanged names and their connection to the wedding-party and Joanne learned that the man was Dai Collins who owned a chain of cafes called Gingham.

  ‘I know them, repro early thirties, wooden tables and chairs. waitress service, aiming at comfort and style and good traditional food,’ she said.

  ‘No plastic, no freezer-to-microwave, and, no music!’

  ‘Wonderful,’ she breathed.

  John called to her after a while and she followed him to where he wanted to introduce her to one of Carl Davies’s associates. When she was once more left on her own. Dai Collins said, ‘If you wish, I could run you home. It’s obvious that, like me, you’re only waiting until it’s polite to leave.’