by Jane Davis
'Faye.' I was relieved, and offered her my hand to help her to her feet. I should have sensed trouble.
'Well, that wasn't exactly the entrance I planned.' She clutched her coat tightly around her, although the evening wasn't particularly cold. I presumed that her pride, if nothing else, was a little bruised.
'I'm afraid the others are out,' I explained, gesturing around the clutter. 'You've had a wasted journey. It's just me here at the moment.'
'That's what I was counting on.' She smiled coyly, turning to bolt the side door to the workshop then letting her coat drop to the floor, revealing little more than a black basque, French knickers, laddered fishnets and stiletto-heeled ankle boots. I had the uncanny feeling of being in a dream where the wrong people turn up in the wrong places, but at the same time I was fascinated. I had no idea what I had done to deserve such a display. I wondered if Faye was putting on a theatrical performance and if this was 'art'. If so, it seemed that I was about to become her latest project. Part of me was rooted to the spot. Another part of me wanted to laugh out loud. I was tempted to try and defuse the situation by joking, 'Good God, woman, put some clothes on. You'll catch your death in here.'
She used one hand to push me against the side of the minibus, while she held herself at arm's length.
'Have you ever seen anyone wearing one of these, Peter Churcher?' She ran the index finger of her spare hand along the top seam of the basque, drawing my eyes downwards.
I swallowed, trying to focus on her face. 'I think my mother wore a corset occasionally.'
'And did your mother wear stockings, Peter Churcher?'
I cleared my throat. 'Tights. American tan. And if they were as laddered as yours she would have mended them with nail varnish.'
'She sounds like a resourceful woman.' Her mouth was close to mine. 'Do you like resourceful women, Peter Churcher?' But she did not wait to hear if I liked resourceful women, or any other kind for that matter. Sometimes, you need someone who knows what they want and is prepared to make their intentions all too clear. The fact that she took control seemed to remove any choice that I had and, at the time, the need for any guilt. If I had thought for one moment that she was a shy and retiring virgin, or that she had any strong feelings for me, I would have pushed her away. As it was, I thought of very little apart from her guiding hands.
Afterwards, we sat in the front seat of the minibus while she leaned backwards with eyes half closed and smoked a cigarette, looking pleased with herself. I was happy that our facing-forwards positions meant that I didn't have to look her in the eye.
'Well?' she said at length, enquiringly, still flirting.
'Thank you very much.' I was not sure what it was appropriate to say under the circumstances, unaccustomed as I was, but I had been brought up to mind my p's and q's.
'Do you know what I think?' She moved her hand into my lap. I doubted that I was expected to reply. 'I think that sister of mine has mucked you around for long enough, hmmm? What do you say we make a regular thing of this?'
I must have looked at her in confusion – possibly in horror – as I said, 'But you must know that I'm in love with Laura. I've always been in love with Laura.' I could tell from the speed with which her manner changed that this was completely the wrong thing to say.
'Well, fuck you!' Faye stubbed out her cigarette and let the end drop to the floor as she struggled to find the door handle. 'You know, that's the type of thing you just might have mentioned beforehand. Do you think I do this sort of thing all the time? Huh? Well, do you?' She stepped out of the cab and slammed the door, turning to face me through the open window. My lack of reply must have spoken volumes. 'You do! You complete and utter arsehole! You think I'm some sort of slut!' Her banshee face disappeared as she moved away to find her coat. When she returned, fully covered, I was staring at my knees miserably. 'Just for the record, Peter Churcher, Laura thinks of you as the brother she never had. Do you know what that means? Let me spell it out for you. It's not that she doesn't care for you, it's just that she will never, ever, sleep with you. Get your head around that!'
But there was only one thing occupying my mind at that moment: how to get to Laura before Faye did.
Chapter Twenty-one
'That's great news,' was Laura's rather surprising reaction when I told her apologetically that I had slept with her sister. I had known that if I waited, sooner or later she and Tom would turn up at the workshop. It was not only Faye who took advantage of the privacy it offered when we were all living under our parents' roofs. Whether they were as puritanical as mine, as protective as Laura's or as liberal-minded as Tom's, it saved any embarrassing questions.
'How is it good news?' I was completely thrown by her, expecting disapproval at the very least.
'Well, if you got together with anyone else we probably wouldn't see each other so much any more, but this way—'
'You don't get it.' I was pacing the floor. 'I told her there can't be anything more to it.'
'You did what?' Laura's mouth dropped and her face turned red. This was more along the lines of the reaction I had expected from her. I looked to Tom for moral support, not wanting to explain out loud to Laura what was obvious to him. 'What the hell were you thinking of? You know how badly she's been hurt in the past and she adores you.'
That was all news to me. The look on my face was enough for Tom. I could see him trying to contain a smile in the palm of his hand, but it was seeping out of the edges.
'I'm sorry,' he blurted when she looked at him accusingly. 'But look at the facts. This is Pete we're talking about. Sorry, Pete,' he appealed to me as an aside.
'No offence taken.' I knew that he was standing up for me, although I had no idea exactly how he might defend me when the situation seemed indefensible.
'There is no way that Pete would have deliberately got himself into this mess. It's obvious what happened.'
'And what is that, exactly?' Laura crossed her arms, facing him squarely.
'Faye seduced him,' Tom explained quietly, mirroring her stance.
'Oh, come on!' Laura looked at me and waited for me to deny it. I hung my head.
'Well, even if she did,' she changed her tack, 'that's no excuse. You could have turned her down gently.'
'It's not as simple as that.' Tom shook his head. 'It's very difficult not to cause offence. If a bloke tries it on and a woman pushes him away, it's like, "Fair enough, you can't blame me for trying." When the shoe is on the other foot, the woman wants a full explanation about what's wrong with her – and God help you if you try to answer that one – and she won't even take the fact that you're involved with someone else as an excuse.'
'I wouldn't know.' Laura was dismissive. I could have said exactly the same thing. Unlike Tom, I had no experience of seducing women and, equally, I had no experience of trying to turn women down, gently or otherwise. There had never been the need.
'Stands to reason,' he countered.
'And what exactly is that supposed to mean?'
'Well, who in their right mind would turn you down, Laura?'
She allowed herself a small smile before composing herself. 'So, you're saying you think that you would cause less offence by sleeping with a girl who makes the first move and then letting her down, than by saying no in the first place?'
Tom and I looked at each other. It was a question that was impossible to answer without looking bad. Tom was the one who nodded. He was the one with sufficient charm to make it sound like the man was the innocent victim in this scenario.
'You're pathetic. Both of you!' She walked to the other side of the workshop and leaned on a bench before turning back. 'Are you going to tell me exactly what happened, Pete, or not?'
'Not,' I said, feeling the need to stand up for myself.
'I thought you had nothing to hide?' Laura accused.
'If it's not too late, I'd rather try to do the gentlemanly thing.'
'So now you start to worry about being a gentleman! You' – she pointed a
t me – 'I want you to know that you have ruined my evening. And you' – she pointed at Tom – 'can forget it for tonight. You'd better take me home to see what kind of a mess Faye's in. I said that I'd kill the next bloke who mucked her about. I just wasn't expecting it to be you.'
'Hang on a minute . . .' Tom frowned. 'Pete was on his own here this evening. You were the only other person who knew that, and you told me that you and Faye got ready to go out together. You didn't look nearly surprised enough when Pete told you what had happened . . . you knew what she was planning. Why didn't you put her off?' Laura turned red and wouldn't look him in the face. 'You encouraged her, didn't you?'
I looked from Tom to Laura.
'Well!' she exploded, her arms waving out of control. 'We can't just carry on like this, can we?'
'Like what?' It was Tom's turn to look accusing.
'I can't carry on like this,' she back-pedalled. 'It's just too confusing. I had to take one of you out of the equation.'
'What equation is that, Laura?' Tom asked, gently but firmly.
'It's like . . .' She made one false start before she blurted out: '. . . having a boyfriend in two parts. I have this one wonderful boyfriend who takes me shopping and to the movies and listens to me moan about my day and laughs at my jokes and walks me home at night. And we always have a great time and we never fight. And he has never, ever, let me down. And I have this other boyfriend who I fancy like crazy and we have fantastic sex together but he can't find it in himself to put me first.' She looked at me tearfully. 'I'm sorry, Pete. And I have asked myself time and again' – she was talking more loudly now – 'who I should really be with. And it's making me very unhappy constantly looking at them both and wondering what kind of a life I could have with each of them. And it's not fair, and it's nobody's fault, but I can't do this any more.'
Tom went to her and held her, one hand against the back of her blonde head. 'I can't promise what you want me to promise, Laura. I won't give up the band. I've worked for this and dreamed about it for so long. And there's something else.' He looked at me then held Laura at arm's length, looking her in the eye. 'I don't mind you hearing this, Pete. I haven't asked you to marry me, Laura, because there's a very good chance I can't have children and I know how much you want them. And you should have the chance to have them. A late case of the mumps. It hasn't mattered to me before because I have never met anyone else that I would like to have children with. So, it's up to you. Another unfair choice for you to make. Or maybe it will help you make your mind up.
'I'm going to say goodnight now and ask you yet again, Pete, to see Laura home, because I'd like to be on my own.' He sat down at the drum kit and started thrashing out rhythms so painful and lonely that it made it easy for us to leave.
'Well, that's the end of plan A and plan B,' Laura said to me as we walked home slowly and awkwardly. She was trying to make light of the situation but I could sense how fragile she was, how apologetic and how utterly miserable. On the one hand, marriage had been mentioned, but the issue of children must have floored her.
'Tell me there's not a C?' I said in all seriousness. 'I don't want to be involved in that one, if you don't mind.'
'Any other bright ideas?'
'We could always elope.' It was as close as I had ever come to asking her out.
She laughed in spite of herself, not necessarily the reaction I was looking for. 'So, you're not too angry with me then?'
'Are we quits?'
'I can't speak for Faye, I'm afraid.'
'I think that she can probably stand up for herself. My name is going to be mud in your house. It's going to be very difficult for you.'
'Not unless she admits to my parents what happened and I don't think there's much chance of that. But you may have just lost your Mr-Nice-Guy image.'
'It hasn't got me very far in life so far.'
'I'm sorry, Pete. I'm sorry you had to hear that. I'm sorry I said half of it and I'm sorry I set you up. And I'm going to be even sorrier when I get home. I honestly thought that if you saw Faye on her own, you would see what a beautiful person she is . . . oh, I don't know what I was thinking now.'
'Tell Faye I'm sorry too, will you?'
'Oh, no! That's down to you, I'm afraid.'
But there has only ever been one thing I was really sorry about and that evening didn't even come close to it.
'Friends?' Laura asked with those big eyes brimming over.
'Friends,' I lied.
Chapter Twenty-two
We all treated each other with kid gloves for a while after that. Silences that would have been comfortable beforehand were filled with unspoken words. I seriously considered leaving to give Tom and Laura the space to think, but at the same time I sensed that I was needed to diffuse the situation. In the end, it was Tom who needed to know where he stood and he forced the issue by asking Laura to marry him.
'I knew straight away from how I felt that it's the right thing to do,' she told me.
I wanted to ask, 'What about your plans for a family?' Not wanting to sound the least bit jealous, I kissed her on the cheek in the most brotherly way I could and said, 'I'm really happy for you. You couldn't have found yourself a better man.'
She remained on such a high that the practicalities were unimportant. She even managed to brush aside her parents' open disapproval of the long-haired lout that she brought home and introduced as her husband-to- be. Having never met him before, Tom – on Laura's recommendation – skipped the all-important tradition of asking Mr Albury for his daughter's hand. There is no doubt what his answer would have been. What Laura refused to listen to, I sat through on two separate occasions after being lured into their living room under false pretences.
'Mark my words, he will never be able to provide for her and make her happy,' Mrs Albury confided in me. 'That girl needs security. You've worked with her, Peter. You know that she's never going to go far under her own steam. We wouldn't be so worried if it was Faye we're talking about. She's always had a good head on her shoulders.'
On the second occasion, after sitting through half an hour of nonsense without being allowed to get a word in edgeways, I did the only thing that I could do and walked out. With that, I managed all on my own to do what Faye hadn't. My name in the Albury household was officially mud. It was a relief of sorts. I no longer had to live up to yet another set of expectations about who I was and how I should behave.
'The best man won,' I congratulated Tom, shaking his hand.
'I wouldn't say that.' He smiled sheepishly. 'In fact, I was hoping you would agree to do the honours.' I was flattered to have been asked. Despite the fact that Laura had openly admitted that I was the competition, Tom wanted me to be part of the day. There was no avoiding the fact that it is traditionally the groom's closest friend who is asked to perform the duties of the best man. How could I have refused?
But things didn't settle down. Laura's father suffered a massive heart attack and died. He was only forty-seven and had apparently been in excellent health otherwise. They were all devastated but Mrs Albury was cruel in her grief.
'There's no doubt in my mind who is to blame for this!' she told anyone who was willing to listen. It was the first time that Laura had ever known her mother's anger, having always been her blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. Instead, Mrs Albury clung to Faye, who had never been the sole recipient of her mother's affection before and didn't know how to react. The dynamics of a family can change overnight. By the day of the funeral, they were at each others' throats.
Although the wedding took place as planned, and Mrs Albury was on her best behaviour for the day, it was never going to be a completely happy occasion. I found myself in the peculiar situation of giving Laura away and acting as best man, while Faye was the bridesmaid. It was strange to see her in a dress that had been chosen for her by Laura and fitted perfectly, with her spiky hair flattened down and curled under at the ends. She could barely disguise a sneer as we faced each other across the aisle in the registe
r office. It certainly took the edge off any other feelings I was struggling with. After she unexpectedly caught the bouquet, she threw it to me, saying, 'See if they work for you, Peter Churcher.'
I felt sorry for Mrs Fellows, who wondered what kind of a family her angel of a son was getting himself involved with. 'The Alburys,' she asked me. 'Do you know them well?'
'Well enough.'
'I mean, I know that they've suffered a bereavement – and I don't want to sound too harsh – but do they always speak to each other through gritted teeth?'
Gritted teeth? I thought to myself. It's the forked tongues you need to watch out for!
I drank too much for courage and made an overly sentimental speech about love conquering all. After the reception, the happy couple left for the coast for a couple of days and I left alone, taking a detour via Tom's workshop and thrashing those drums for all I was worth. I slept in the back of the van, which was as usual filled with some rather suspect bedding. I felt something had ended and I needed to remember who I was before it had all begun so that I could start again. The problem was that Laura had always been there and I could recall so little before her except the gloominess of my parents' house, the desire to escape the confines of its dark brown walls and my father's all-consuming grief.
Eventually I was disturbed by Tom's mother, who rarely ventured as far as the garden, let alone the 'shed', but had been overwhelmed by a desire to mow the lawn in her son's absence. She showed no surprise at finding me there and brought me tea and scrambled eggs on buttered toast, and for that kindness I will be eternally grateful to her.
Tom and Laura moved into a small, rented flat above a fish-and-chip shop when they returned from their honeymoon. Laura threw herself into making the place look homely and made the most of Tom's carpentry skills and his legendary ability to mend things. Mrs Albury visited and, having proclaimed their new home to be 'nothing more than she had expected', left without having so much as a cup of tea. Laura, who had thought that things would be better once they were married, was beyond comforting. Tom visited his new mother-in-law to try and talk things through, thinking that she would soften once she got to know him, but only managed to make things worse.
