by Gill Mather
“What does it look like?”
“Well from where I’m standing, trying to wreck your mother’s things!”
Emma gave a small dry laugh. As though you care, the laugh said.
“Why are you doing this?” Don said frowning. “And where are you putting your mother’s things?”
“Just in the tool shed for the time being. Perhaps when I have time I’ll put them up in the loft. I just thought I’d move down here. That’s all. It’s no big deal is it?”
“I don't know. Why do you want to move rooms at all?”
“I’d really rather not spell it out. Not very subtle and all that.”
“Well you’re going to have to. You’ve been in your bedroom upstairs since you were a baby. There hasn’t been anything wrong with it up until now.”
Emma didn't say anything as she stacked pictures into a heap and put ornaments and old clothes into the tub until she couldn't get any more in. She started to walk out of the room again with the overloaded tub but her father stood there looking troubled, though not quite barring her way.
“Look,” said Emma. “It’s quite obvious you don't want me around.”
“Actually I rather think it’s the other way round,” said Don.
“Oh, yeah, of course!”
“I don't know where all this is coming from apart from your own imagination. I was looking forward to you coming back for the summer. Grace was looking forward to meeting you. I thought we’d all be….happy together.”
Emma shuffled her feet not quite knowing what to say. When he put it like that, it made her into the guilty party when she was sure she wasn't at all.
“You’re twisting everything,” she said.
“Sorry? I don't understand,” said her father.
She wanted to say that she’d come back to her own home and found it an alien place, all different. And having to put up with a strange woman in her house. Only a fool wouldn't understand her position. Or someone who just didn't want to. Her mouth drew into a straight line.
“I think it’s better if I try to be as independent of you as possible. I’ve….er….got used to looking after myself at uni and….you’ve obviously got your own life and interests now.” She hunted for a way to put it that wouldn't be confrontational and in particular wouldn't confront headlong the real problem as she saw it. “It’ll be better this way. And there’s a loo next door to the room. I’m going to turn the room into a bedsit. Then I can use this backdoor here to come and go and we won't need to….get in each other’s way.”
Don stood aside. “Well I must say I’m disappointed. I hoped….we hoped….” Here it comes again, the wretch “we”, thought Emma….“that we’d be a family unit once you came home. Have fun together. Anyway,” he turned away looking back briefly, “don't damage your mother’s things too much.”
He had to be making it up, thought Emma, to keep up his side of things and avoid having to stand down, to lose the argument, to be in the wrong. A family unit! Him, her and a woman she’d never met before!
Emma worked away for the rest of the morning with a clear conscience, no doubts about her decision, clearing, cleaning, sweeping and mopping the room and the loo next door, unaware that the woman’s husband had been here earlier attempting to undermine her father’s life and that she was just adding to his turmoil.
The old toilet, while initially awash with live spiders and dead flies, still seemed to work OK. The washbasin was equally dirty and insect strewn. When she turned the taps on they glugged a bit but soon ran smoothly. Tomorrow she would move in the spare single bed, a throw and some cushions, some rugs and hangings, the spare TV. She would Blu Tack some posters to the walls (she’d found some very nice large Aubrey Beardsley ones of her mum’s rolled up in the room), create a makeshift wardrobe out of a broom handle and a long brightly coloured curtain, oil the lock on the old second backdoor and tomorrow night she’d move in.
Satisfied with her morning’s efforts, she ran upstairs to shower and get ready for work.
005 The Brainworms
“I HAD A CALL at work from Greg today.”
“Oh,” said Don a little warily. “Did you take it?” He knew that Grace had asked the receptionist not for the time being to put Greg through to her. Her leave-taking from her old home had been traumatic and she didn't want to be repeatedly reminded of it by pestering telephone calls from her estranged husband.
“I hadn't intended to but the receptionist was away today and so the phones were switched over to the automatic system where we answer our own extensions directly and his call just came straight through to me.” She hadn't said any more therefore Don had enquired:
“Did he want anything in particular?”
“He called ostensibly to say that I could go round and collect some things if I wanted to. You know, things I had to leave behind.”
“So what was his real purpose then? You said ostensibly.” Don didn't really want to ask or know but he didn't want either to appear silent and awkward and not say the natural thing you would say in this conversation.
“Oh, he rambled on obviously. Having got me on the other end of the telephone, he couldn't resist having a tantrum.”
“Well I hope it wasn't too upsetting,” Don said.
Grace didn't directly answer this. Instead she said: “I learned that his PA Cindy is supposedly no longer working for him. That he’s flying off to China next week. That Luke was being a pain. He won't look for a proper job or help around the house. That Ryan’s hoping for a promotion though I know that already from our emails.” Grace looked at Don for a moment and then looked away and started to unload the shopping she’d bought on the way home.
Don got up from the kitchen table and went over and put his arms around Grace, snuggling his face into her hair. He supposed that at least Emma having isolated herself at the back of the house meant that she wasn't likely to burst in and be appalled by scenes of affection taking place, though most evenings this time she was out at work in the restaurant as she was tonight. Grace stopped her rather frantic unpacking of shopping and rested her hands on his and relaxed against him. They stood there swaying a little for a time until she said:
“I suppose you’d better get back to work and I’d better carry on with this lot and get some dinner going. I put the chicken in the fridge to marinate this morning, and I’m doing baked potatoes. I’ll start them off in the microwave. And I’ve got some salad so it won't take long. And I’ll defrost some slices of cheesecake.”
He could smell the bread baking in the machine that she put on timer every day before she went to work. Though she went out to work and he worked at home, she had asked at the outset if she could make their supper most nights and, having spent the last eighteen years odd doing most of the housework and cooking indifferent meals every night, he had readily agreed. He certainly preferred her cooking to his own efforts and she seemed to be able to whip up a lovely fresh meal in no time at all. And something different every night too. His slim frame had started to fill out and become more muscular, Grace said she thought rather attractively, what with their exercise regime as well.
“OK. I’ll pour you a glass of white shall I?” he said.
“Hmm. That’d be nice.”
He did so and took it over. He saw her swallowing and her profile looked tense and not at all happy. “Hey,” he said putting the glass down and an arm around her. He saw a wetness on her cheek.
“It’s OK. I’m OK,” she said. “It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all. Speaking to him after a couple of months.”
Don wasn't so confident as to not wonder for a moment whether she to any extent regretted leaving Greg. He didn't want to ask this however not so much because he was afraid of the answer but it was just his natural way not to interrogate people but to let them come out with information if they wanted to.
“Try not to let it upset you. I know it’s difficult for you.” He meant her having so recently left her home of many years’ duration with
very few of her own possessions, having to get used to a new home and having now to put up with a stroppy teenage daughter of his. Adjustment was bound to take time, and hearing her husband’s voice would be bound to have re-opened some barely healed wounds. He decided he would leave her to her thoughts for the time being and therefore kissed her hair and walked off to his study. He couldn't believe that Greg would have said anything about his visit. Hopefully the man would have wanted to keep that to himself.
JUST AT THAT point in time, Emma was outside with a few of the staff having their early evening break in the warm sunshine on the western side of the building outside the kitchen. Alex was amongst them. Emma had avoided being alone with Alex after her unsettling previous insinuations but they were in a group now so Emma felt safe enough. Anyway it was ridiculous to feel intimidated by someone as small and scrawny as Alex. She looked like a plucked chicken, even with her clothes on. However it was the case in some respects that size didn't matter. Some people regardless of their appearances or anything else about them seemed to be able to get effortlessly to the top of the pecking order. It was subliminal how they did it because you couldn't actually see it happening. They didn't say anything that was outright unpleasant that you could justifiably get back at. They just seemed to be dominant.
All Alex had suggested before was that she, Emma, was jealous of her father’s girlfriend which wasn't of itself that bad. Jealousy did after all happen in families even if she actually wasn't in fact jealous. It was the change in living conditions that mattered to her as she’d said. And the first bit about it being pervy of her dad to have got a girlfriend who looked like Emma she had taken as a joke at the time to begin with. After all she looked herself quite like her mother so it wasn't at all strange that her dad had gone for another blonde.
But the remarks had been steadily eating away at her since then. Both of them were hopelessly wide of the mark, neither even remotely on target. Nonetheless Emma was troubled by them and it was threatening to become an obsession.
The group were talking now about what they were variously doing that weekend. Alex was puffing away as usual.
“A load of us are meeting up at the pub on Sunday evening if you want to come along,” she said directly to Emma. “Luke might even be there.”
“Luke?”
“Luke Bennett. You know, the son of your bette noir.”
“Oh right. Well I might.” She should make a joke of this she knew but felt instead irritated by Alex’s phraseology. She tried to ignore it. The pub she knew would mean the Duck and Lizard.
“Thought any more about moving into our house then?”
“Oh, no. No need really. I’ve turned a room downstairs into a bedsit and it’s got a loo next door and a separate entrance door to the garden. So it’s really good.”
“Very convenient, I’m sure,” Alex said archly.
“What….” Emma began but they were all getting up to go back in.
“EMMA, REALLY WHAT’S got into you this holiday! You’re just in a dream world,” said Ginger half way through the evening as Emma mooched about next to the cutlery cupboard. “You’ll have to get your head together better. Can you go and lay number 10. I take it that’s why you’re near the cupboard. Isn't it?”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry,” Emma said languidly picking out the necessary number of knives, forks, spoons and napkins. Then she dropped half of them, picked them up, put them in the tub for used cutlery, picked some more out and started to move away.
“Look Emma, I don't mean to be….mean, but if you can't sharpen up a bit, I don't think you’ll be able to stay here. It’s been noticed your attitude this last few weeks.” Ginger got closer to Emma and whispered, “If you’ve got a problem of some sort, come and see us before or after a shift. I don't know but maybe it’d help if you transferred to the kitchen. You’d be learning a bit about kitchen practice. It might help you to concentrate better to be doing something new.” Emma didn't know what to say. “Anyway, think about it.”
“Yes, all right.”
“But for the time being, do lay number 10!”
“I’ll be right onto it.”
Being told her job was in jeopardy didn't exactly result in Emma being less preoccupied but it did have the desired effect and by the end of the evening, Ginger was telling her she was doing much better. And she was looking relieved too. No-one wanted to have to sack anyone or recommend someone for the sack. Then Emma of course started to feel guilty at putting Ginge in that position.
Alex flew past her just at that moment as Ginge walked off. “Think you’ll come to the pub Sunday?”
“Well I wouldn’t mind actually. I think I will. I could do with a night out. What time?” Alex stopped.
“Well not too late. The ones with office job’ve got to be up next day. Say from about seven thirty.”
“Right you’re on.” It was nice that she was being friendly, thought Emma. Friendly enough to ask her out for the evening, albeit with a group of people. “By the way Alex. What did you mean when you said it was convenient me moving myself downstairs? Convenient how? For whom?”
Alex looked at her and a funny smile played round her mouth. Then she said straightforwardly enough, “Well for you obviously. You know. You don't have to be near your dad and his new squeeze and you can have friends and that round more easily I should think. And if you got a boyfriend, say, it’d be a lot better surely.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“What did you think I meant then?”
“Oh….nothing.”
“Guilty conscience eh!”
“No! Alex. I wish you wouldn't say things like that. Trying to needle me. It really gets up my nose.” Emma was tired at the end of a long shift otherwise she probably wouldn't have reacted so strongly. It was nearly midnight and even her dad, a bit of a night owl, would probably be in bed when she got back.
For just a split second, Alex looked very angry indeed though the look disappeared as soon as it came leaving Emma wondering if she’d imagined it. Alex laughed. “I was just joking. You shouldn’t be so sensitive and take things the wrong way all the time. Listen I’ve got to go. We might all go out clubbing tonight when I get back. And I’m dying for a fag.”
“God I don't know how you do it. I’ve had it for tonight. Perhaps it’s the ciggies that give you the energy.”
“Perhaps it is. You should try yourself maybe.”
But Damon the chef was calling to Emma to come and get her lift so she said goodbye, grabbed her coat and bag and left.
.
IT WAS LATE when Don got to bed. He had as Grace knew, had to work all evening on his current job and it was likely he'd have to work most of the weekend as well to get the site ready to send a draft to the client on Monday. However it wasn't unusual for him to go to bed quite late, a couple of hours often after Grace did. He'd spend the evening with her if they didn't go out anywhere and then she'd go to bed and soon be asleep while he got on with some more work.
When he got to bed later, Grace would usually stir and make welcoming, contented noises as he slipped into bed and touched her. They would naturally make love, her all soft and warm and sleepily sexy, him massively aroused but enjoying containing himself until she was ready. And within five minutes, she would be asleep again, curled up around him. They would often make love again during the night and usually in the early morning before she rolled out of bed to go down and start preparing something ready for their evening meal.
It seemed a wonderful thing, a gift, that she apparently got such pleasure out of coupling with his sixty year old body as he did from hers, though the latter was hardly surprising as she was so lovely. It was a long time since he'd had a sexual relationship with anyone, Carol having been so ill, but he couldn't recall any previous relationships being quite so satisfactory between the sheets as was his and Grace's. Of course he'd had relationships before but nothing quite like this, so vibrant and fulfilling. Maybe it was because they were older and less inhibi
ted or worried about appearance or performance, they could be more honest and also of course because there was no need to worry about contraception. That in itself was a big advantage over fumbling with condoms or caps or the disadvantages of the pill and coils.
It hadn't been as it was now to begin with. At first it had been faltering and they'd both been very shy and nervous, but that hadn't lasted long and they'd found they both liked quite vigorous sex with lots of heavy kissing. There was nothing, no worries, no children, no early career-building, no separations for college or university to get in the way and stop them enjoying themselves and each other whole-heartedly.
Over dinner that evening Grace had, apparently casually, asked him why he hadn't told her about his visit from Greg. He wasn't fooled and realised Grace had been stewing over this and that it had taken some time for her to get up the courage to mention it and that now she was covering her discomfiture with a veneer of unconcern.
"I didn't want to upset you," Don replied.
"He got angry when I didn't want to speak to him and then he said he'd told you all about me. What did he say?"
"Nothing much. I didn't take any notice of it. It was all rubbish. He was trying to get me to agree that you should go back to him which of course is out of the question. I couldn't live without you." He had put his hand on hers. He had said this to try to reassure her though of course it was true. He couldn't. She had sighed and still looked troubled but had nodded, patting his hand with her other hand. He hoped that that would be that at the time.
Now in bed he touched her as usual and immediately became highly aroused also as usual, but the response wasn’t as expected. She had her face buried in her pillow and apparently hadn't been asleep tonight.
"I can't," she said.
"Oh," said Don. He was terribly disappointed. He so looked forward to their love-making and wished now that he'd come to bed earlier with her rather than her being up here on her own obviously fretting about the visit and what Greg might have said.
