by RJ Hunter
Unlike, Janice, Lizzie had always liked Pamela. She had been her father's secretary for more years than she could remember, and she always took the time to seek Lizzie out and chat to her. However, although it was not unusual to see Pamela at the house, it did seem odd for her to be there during the evening, and having dinner with her father. Lizzie cast a bewildered look back to Sally, and the two women followed Pamela into the lounge.
"Who is it darling, what was all that damned commotion - not bloody carol singers again?"
Lizzie immediately recognised her father's loud, and often-gruff voice. He coughed, and almost choked on his cognac, as he saw his daughter unexpectedly enter the room behind Pamela.
Edward Marchmont, successful lawyer and freemason looked as if he'd just seen a ghost. He brought the large brandy glass down noisily to the table, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then rose to his feet.
"Lizzie, for god's sake, why didn't you say you were coming? Good heavens, it's lovely to see you girl, but what a surprise! My word, come over here - let's get a good look at you."
"Dad, don't make such a fuss, I'm not a film star - well not yet, anyway!" Smirked Lizzie, obviously pleased to see her father.
Edward gave out a hearty laugh.
"Let's get you a drink. Are you hungry?" Then, noticing Sally, he seemed even more surprised. "Why, you've got someone with you - who's this beautiful creature? Welcome young lady, don't be bashful, what's your name?"
Edward seemed to be going a bit over the top, and Lizzie knew he was uncomfortable. She kissed him on the cheek, removed her coat, and gazed around the large, oak-beamed room. It seemed to look so different to when she was last there over two months ago. It didn't even smell like the home she knew, the whole atmosphere of the house had changed. She noticed that many of the ornaments and little curios that her mother had collected over the years were missing. None of the items were valuable in monetary terms, but they did give the old place its charm and character. Even the Christmas tree, although lit up, and looking rather spectacular wasn't the same as when the girls used to decorate it.
Lizzie turned to her father and decided to get to the point.
"I had a letter from Janice - it was about Mum. Is she upstairs? Janice said you were going to put her into some awful place. I want to see her." There was emotion in Lizzie's voice. She again looked about her, "Where's Bobby and Sandy?"
Edward gave Pamela a sidelong glance, then picked up his drink and walked over to the fireplace. He was a tall, thickset man of forty eight, an ex-army colonel, with short, black thinning hair, flecked with grey. The immaculately trimmed moustache made him even more distinguished looking. He cut an imposing figure, shoulders well back, and still wearing his charcoal-grey business suit. The flickers from the fire reflected in his blue, piercing eyes, and the warm glow gave his face a puce, dangerous look, as if an uncontrollable rage was brewing just below the surface.
"Don't worry about Bobby, he's staying at Janice's. The dog's there too. We thought it best. So what else did your sister have to say in this enlightening missive. Did she mention Pamela at all?" He asked, swirling the cognac around in his glass.
"Janice mentioned that Bobby was staying with her, but she said there was something else. That's all I know." Replied Lizzie, averting her eyes from her father's gaze.
"I see. It looks like I'll have to clarify things for you," he continued in a condescending manner, as if he was about to explain some legal complexity to an imbecile.
Lizzie was in fact, Edward's favourite daughter. He loved her sense of adventure and volatile temper, that was so similar to his own. He had wanted to explain things to Lizzie in his own way, to at least allow her to get through her first term at university unhindered by emotional distractions.
"Perhaps, your friend would be good enough to wait in the library, Elizabeth, while we have this little chat."
"No!" Replied Lizzie defiantly, expecting the worst whenever she was called by her name in full. "Sally has been a good friend to me, and I want her here!"
Edward, Pamela and Lizzie all then stared over at Sally, who suddenly felt positively embarrassed and now wished she hadn't come at all.
There was a long, silent pause, until Edward finally asked Sally to be seated, before beckoning his daughter over to him. Sally watched intently from the corner of the room, as Lizzie reluctantly sat herself down in a large, leather armchair opposite her father.
Although Sally could only make out the odd word, it was obvious that Lizzie was getting very upset. After a few moments she saw Lizzie's face redden, and she stood up sharply and glared down at her father.
"I don't want to hear anymore of it!" She shrieked, unable to believe what her father had just told her. "How can you do this to Mum, it's totally disgusting."
Lizzie cast her eyes at Pamela, who was still clutching Poppy, and was now looking very distressed herself. Lizzie's mind was in turmoil - she wanted to challenge and banish this impostor from her home, and vent her anger on Edward, the father she had once loved and respected. How could he be carrying out this unspeakable act in her very home, and with Margaret upstairs.
Pamela quickly moved aside when she saw the young woman moving menacingly towards her, but to her relief, Lizzie just brushed past her and hurried upstairs to find her mother.
Lizzie was mortified to learn that Pamela, apart from having an adulterous relationship with Edward, had now moved into the family home, and was occupying the same bed that Lizzie's parents once shared together.
Sally's discomfort continued. She glanced around the room looking for something to fix her eyes on, while all the time, trying to remain inconspicuous. She was praying Lizzie wouldn't be too long seeing her mother. The atmosphere was unbearably tense, and Sally felt it would be totally inappropriate to pass the time indulging Lizzie's father in small talk. However, she couldn't help noticing Edward go to Pamela and put his arm protectively around her shoulder. Edward kissed Pamela lightly, but affectionately on the lips and forehead. He had temporarily forgotten about Sally sitting quietly over in the shadows. He glanced across, and for a second their eyes locked. Edward felt very uncomfortable in the knowledge that a complete stranger had not only witnessed such an undignified family argument, but had now seen him in a moment of intimacy with his mistress.
Sally was equally embarrassed and was more than relieved to hear Lizzie calling her from upstairs. She followed her friend's voice into a bedroom, just off the landing. It was extremely warm inside and smelt like a mixture of excrement and paraffin. The latter smell was emanating from a portable heater, which was turned on full, and backed up against the fireplace. The room was quite dim, lit only by the artificial glow from the heater, and a bedside lamp. Sally looked around and noticed a commode next to the bed and a wicker wheelchair parked next to a large antique, mahogany dressing table.
“I want you to meet her. This is Margaret Marchmont, my mother.”
Sally, her eyes adjusting to the dimness, looked down at a once-beautiful, but now wasted woman in her mid-forties. She was lying peacefully on a single bed in what was, one of the spare rooms. She noticed Margaret’s clear, sparkling brown eyes as they stared out at nothing but emptiness.
“Hello, Mrs. Marchmont, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Sally awkwardly, as if she were speaking to a child. But there wasn’t even a flicker of acknowledgment from those brown eyes, they just carried on staring blankly.
“Can your mother hear me, Lizzie?”
“I honestly don’t know. Apparently, there’s nothing wrong with her hearing,” replied Lizzie, gently stroking the side of her mother’s face. “Mum, can you hear me? It’s Lizzie. I’ve come all the way from Wales, to see you. I’m at university now. This is my friend, Sally.”
Lizzie reached down and took Margaret’s hand.
“Look, Sally, that’s answered your question, she can hear us - she’s squeezing my hand.”
As the two girls made Margaret more comfortable, Sally saw a completely d
ifferent aspect to Lizzie’s personality - a benevolent, caring side that she had never seen before.
“If only you could have met her before the accident - you would have loved her. She was so refined, so reserved - a real lady, and she could be very witty too. My mother was the most wonderful person. Sometimes, I wish I was more like her.”
“You are, Lizzie, believe me.” Replied Sally, her voice quaking with emotion.
“But I couldn’t look after her, not like Janice - do you despise me for choosing university?”
"Lizzie, I can tell how much you love your mother, just by seeing you with her. I don't think badly of you for what you did. It took a great deal of strength and courage for Janice to look after her all that time. Equally it took courage for you to choose not to succeed her. Personally speaking, I think your mother needs proper medical care. Perhaps, you and Janice could find an alternative solution to the mental hospital."
Lizzie looked at her friend thoughtfully, "Sally, I can't even think straight at the moment - look at my hands, I 'm shaking like a leaf. I'm so angry with him. I've never faced up to my father like that before, but I'm correct, aren't I? He can't have that Pamela living here - it's not right."
Sally nodded her head in agreement, and followed Lizzie back downstairs. A nagging feeling was warning her not to say anymore in case she may regret it. But still, she felt totally helpless as she allowed herself to be sucked into a domestic crisis that really, she wanted nothing to do with.
"So where are we going now?" Asked Sally, as Lizzie began to put her coat on.
"I'm certainly not going to stay here!" Was the short reply. "We'll go over to Janice's and stay there for the night - she wont mind."
Once the two girls had left, Edward went up to check on his wife. He turned the heater off, and sat on the edge of the bed, studying her face.
"It must have been nice to see Lizzie again, Margaret. She's doing so well at university, I'm very proud of her." As Edward kissed his wife, and put the light out, he didn't notice the large tears welling up in her eyes. He said goodnight, closed the bedroom door, and made his way back down to Pamela.
Thursday evening turned out to be quite eventful for Pauline as well. Although, she wasn't due to work in the club that particular night, she had arranged to go there with Jenny and Maureen a little later on. The student's Sports and Social Club was really nothing more than an old war-time Nissan hut, with various bits added over the years. Now it was the hub of the university and, for many, the place to meet friends and perhaps, make new ones. Pauline had spent the afternoon at a history lecture, then had gone straight over to the library with her two friends to write her notes up and complete an essay. Although, the work wasn't due in until early the following week, it was her last essay before Christmas, and Pauline wanted to make sure she was ahead of everything. Jenny and Maureen left early to go to the refectory for supper, but Pauline, still sticking religiously to her diet, had stopped going there some time ago. Besides, being seen eating in 'refec' didn't quite fit in with Pauline's new image nowadays.
At about 6.30pm, she packed up her books and headed back to Thomas House, her hall of residence. She would have preferred to stay longer in the library and finally finish her work, but she didn't want to be one of the last one's there. Most of the other students were winding down and getting ready to go home for the holidays.
Once back in her room, Pauline fell asleep on her bed for what seemed like hours, but it was in fact only about twenty minutes. It was the loud knocking on her door, and hearing her name being called that had roused her from her sleep.
At first, she had briefly dreamt that she had been back at school. Here, the pupils were allowed to sleep on camp beds in the gymnasium for half an hour after lunch if they wanted. Often, and to Pauline's delight, the duty teacher would be Mr. Bridges, a New Zealander, who worked part-time and taught geography. To her, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen, obviously apart from, Paul Newman, or the singer, Adam Faith, perhaps. His soft, deep voice would sound so gentle and comforting to wake up to. Pauline, of course never hinted to anyone that she had a crush on Mr. Bridges, that remained her secret.
The remnants of Pauline's brief dream were finally dispelled when she opened the door, to find the impatient caller was none other than, Ken - armed with a dozen red roses. She eyed the look-a-like renegade from West Side Story suspiciously, as he stood in the chilly corridor dressed in white T-shirt and blue jeans. He smiled not an unpleasant smile, with a cigarette dangling loosely from the corner of his mouth. He then hastily pushed the flowers into Pauline's arms before anyone came along and saw him. She gasped with surprise - no-one had ever given her flowers before. There was a card attached to the roses, which she eagerly tried to read without her glasses. Ken, meanwhile leant back against the wall and calmly smoked his cigarette. He let his eyes wander up and down Pauline's body, while she flicked back her tousled hair and tried to make sense of the spidery writing.
Within moments, her face lit up, and she had to re-read the card to make sure she wasn't imagining things.
"Yes, yes, I can go, but half an hour's very short notice!" She exclaimed excitedly.
"That's typical Frank, he doesn't like to be predictable!" Replied Ken, now realising Pauline's potential himself.
"Where's he going to take me?" She asked, now wide awake and eyes sparkling.
"It's a surprise, so make sure you wear something nice, Pauline!"
Once Ken had gone, Pauline hurried downstairs to Jenny's room.
"Jenny! Jenny! Quick, open the door, I've got some great news!" Jenny appeared at the door, with Maureen directly behind her, "Pauline, what's happened?"
"It's Frank, I'm going on a date with him - tonight!"
Sally was amazed at the very obvious differences between Lizzie and her older sister. Janice, although still only twenty five, displayed the beginnings of premature ageing. Crow's feet were appearing around her eyes, and grey hairs were clearly visible in her mousy bob. But it wasn't only this, Janice had a pale, worn-out look about her that betrayed her years. She was painfully thin, and to some, her face could be described as gaunt. When she spoke, her tone was monotonous, and her use of language was plain. It was as if every word she spoke caused her intense suffering.
Janice had just been putting the empty milk bottles out when she saw the visitors walking up the path towards her. At first, she didn't quite recognise Lizzie in the darkness and drizzle. Even when Lizzie called out to her, she remained indifferent and showed not a hint of pleasure at seeing her sister after so long.
Janice was wearing a grubby, white dressing gown, made out of towelling material. She shivered and pulled it closer together as a gust of wind whistled around her ankles. She hastily closed the front door and led the girls into her house.
Sally drew in a deep breath and wondered how this latest reunion would work out, as the sisters reluctantly swapped pleasantries. At least Janice wasn't quite so cold towards Sally, and even gave her a hint of a forced smile.
Janice lived in a three-bedroom, 1930s, semi-detached house, just on the edge of Gloucester. The house was a direct reflection on her often-morose character, and contained just the bare minimum for moderate human comfort. In the front room, Lizzie and Janice sat themselves on a grey, fabric settee, with black plastic armrests. This, formed part of a three-piece suite, and like its two fellow armchairs, was pushed back against the wall. The room looked as if it had been set up for a party, but no-one had arrived.
On one side of the room, stood a bulky black and white television set, which was blaring away to itself. The incessant arguing of the two politicians was irritating, but Janice made no attempt to turn it off. A wooden radiogram took pride of place along the opposite wall, and upon this, stood a tiny, imitation Christmas tree, with large gold baubles and strands of silver tinsel draped across its branches. In one corner, stood a standard lamp, with a yellowing shade depicting canal scenes from Venice. Several pictures were dotted around the
walls, again featuring Venetian gondolas. These were apparently a gift set given to Janice and Graham for their engagement. The wallpaper was a light tan colour, patterned with gold and russet falling autumn leaves. Small clusters of balloons were hanging from the ceiling and lengths of paper streamers stretched from each corner of the room, to gather and meet in the centre.
The most striking feature however, was the brand-new, pink pile carpet. This was Janice's pride and joy, and when Lizzie proceeded to light a cigarette, her horrified sister scuttled out of the room, only to return immediately, clutching an ashtray.
Janice glared at Lizzie, "Why on earth didn't you phone first? Graham and Bobby have already gone to bed, and I was about to follow. I take it you received my letter then?"
"Yes, I got it," quipped Lizzie, as she stroked the excited Sandy. "We've just come from Dad's. I saw Mum, and she looked so pathetic just laying there, almost angelic. It's just so sad. I also saw Pamela. Why didn't you tell me Dad has a thing going with her? It was such a shock."
"I was going to tell you," snapped Janice. "That's why I said in the letter to contact me. You never listen - you always have to do things your way!"
Lizzie breathed in sharply, "I just can't believe you allowed this to go on right under your nose. You should have stopped it, Janice!"
Even Sally was shocked at this outburst, and looked across at Janice, for her response - which was immediate.
"How can I stop Dad, you silly mare. I see you haven't changed for the better during your absence. You're still a rude, spoilt, insensitive parasite!"
Lizzie was visibly stunned by the ferocity of Janice's remarks.
"Parasite? So, that's it, we're back to the university issue again," stormed Lizzie. "Well, Janice, I'm sick and tired of your petty jealousy. You could have done the same as me. But no, you enjoy playing the martyr too much. Because it gives you the excuse not to try anything, and that's why you hate yourself so much, and live like this. No, Janice, you're the parasite. You feed on my guilt and try to drag me down to your level - but I'll never stoop that low!"
