by Martina Cole
Barry’s macho half wanted to tell her to get stuffed. The part of him that loved Roselle, and what she could give him, hoped this reprieve would give him a chance to sort it out with her. A few more days to get into her good books. He couldn’t go home to Sue, he just couldn’t. She would know what had happened as soon as he walked in.
As he shut the door carefully behind him Roselle allowed herself a little giggle. She would make him sing for his supper, and enjoy doing it. What he did out of her sight was his business, but to do it with one of her hostesses was a real piss take. She could not let it go. If she did she would be giving him licence to do it again, a red flag saying anything he did was acceptable.
And as she had said to him, she was most definitely not Susan.
A sheepish Barry returned home to his wife that night. As soon as Susan heard the key in the front door she knew it was him. Two minutes later he was standing in the bedroom doorway looking at her and the three kids in bed together.
The new baby was nearly due and Susan was heavy with the child. Her ripe body was bloated even more than usual and her face and hands seemed to have swollen.
‘All right, Bal?’
He shook his head, sorry for himself. Little Barry opened one eye, saw his father and cuddled closer into his mother, uninterested in the new visitor.
‘He ain’t getting in here, is he?’
Susan laughed.
‘He couldn’t fit in, son. I’m amazed we all do.’
Even Barry laughed.
‘Put the kettle on, Bal, I’ll come down.’
He went back downstairs and Susan moved all the kids gently and slipped from the bed. Shoving her swollen feet into an old pair of slippers, she dragged on a stained dressing gown and quietly stole from the bedroom. At the door she looked the kids over once more to see they were well covered then made her way downstairs.
She was yawning as she walked into the kitchen, her hair a bird’s nest of tangles and her belly practically down to her knees.
‘Fuck me, girl, you look rough.’ Barry’s voice was kind.
She patted her belly happily.
‘Once this one makes an appearance I’ll be all right. But this baby is killing me, Bal. Taking everything from me. I’m so fucking tired all the time.’
He nodded sympathetically. As he poured out the tea Susan lit a cigarette and drew on it deeply. Barry always made her crave the rush of nicotine, it was how he affected her.
‘So what brings you home at this time of night? I wasn’t expecting you.’
She had picked up a hairbrush from the table and was pulling it through her hair, the fag perched precariously in the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were screwed up against the smoke, her cheeks red and rough from the late-winter weather.
Barry thought of Roselle in the silk dressing gown with the red embroidery that she had bought in Portugal. Her graceful feminine ways. Very different from Susan who was more in the class of Yootha Joyce than Ursula Andress, Ursula being his all-time erotic fantasy.
Susan sipped her tea noisily and gratefully.
‘I just needed that. So come on, Bal, answer me. What brings you home then?’
He started rolling a joint on the table.
‘Have you fallen out with Roselle?’ Her voice was harsh now and he didn’t answer her. Telling her all she needed to know.
‘Oh, Bal, are you stupid or what? You will never, ever get another girl like her.’
Barry was concentrating, getting the roach in nice and tight. He finished what he was doing and lit the joint, taking a deep puff of it.
‘I fucked meself, Sue. You know what I’m like.’
Susan sighed heavily, annoyed with him. Now she was expected to take him back and she didn’t want to.
‘Do you want me to talk to her like, see what I can do?’
He looked at her with a strange, disgusted expression.
‘You telling me you want shot then, is that it? I thought you’d be pleased.’
Susan forgot herself then and snapped, ‘Well, you thought wrong then, didn’t you?’
Barry shook his head in amazement.
‘Fucking real, ain’t it? Me old woman don’t want me back. I pay all the bills, keep you all clothed and fed, make sure everything is hunky-dory - and now you’ve got the cheek to tell me I’m an inconvenience.’
Susan shook her head, distressed at the change in him. Like this he was dangerous.
‘I never said any of that and you know I never. You was happy with Roselle, that’s all, you was a good team, you two. I liked seeing you happy, Bal. As hard as that may be to believe she made you into a better person. She could give you what I never could in a million years.’
‘And what was that then, smart arse? Other than decent conversation, a nice face to look at and the best sex I ever had.’
Susan hitched her belly up to get more comfortable and give herself time to think.
‘She gave you peace of mind and a reason to work. Me and the kids never gave you that. You’ve always seen us as a millstone hanging round your neck. With Roselle you was content, happy, and if you’ve ballsed it all up, it’s hardly my fault, is it? Don’t take it out on me. I think the world of her.’
Barry started laughing then.
‘You’re a fucking case, you are, but you don’t fool me, Susan Dalston. You live the life of Riley, you. A few quid and the kids, that’s all you want from life, ain’t it? I provided you with all that: kids, money, a nice drum. And what have I got in return?’
Susan looked into his face, her heart heavy. She had given him the best she had, and though he might not have thought much of it, it had been all she had to give. Herself, her self-respect, the best years of her life. She had produced his children, brought them up decently against all the odds and kept a home here for him whenever he deigned to come back to it.
Now she was ripe with yet another baby, one she loved already even though it had been forced on her like the others. She had saved and scrimped and made sure the kids had everything they should have and a little bit more on top. And he had the gall to sit there and compare her with Roselle who had a life Susan often dreamed of. Fantasised about. He beat her on a whim, took away any happiness she had by ridiculing everything she did, he laughed at her attempts to better herself and the kids, and now he expected her to take him back with open arms?
Yet she knew she had no choice.
If he wanted to come home, he would come home and that was it.
Life was shit. At least her life was anyway.
Roselle looked wonderful and Susan told her so. Roselle basked in the pleasure of a genuine compliment.
‘You look fantastic, girl, like something from a magazine.’
Roselle grinned.
‘I’ve just been and had a facial, and there’s this queer in Soho who does your make up for you. I’ll take you there next time, he loves a challenge.’
The two women laughed.
‘Well, he’ll fucking get one with me, eh?’
Roselle laughed affectionately. What you saw was what you got. That was Susan’s secret though she never realised it.
‘How’s happy Harold?’ Her voice was neutral and Susan thought for a while before she answered.
‘Honestly?’
Roselle nodded.
‘He’d kill me if he knew I’d told you, but fuck him. I can honestly say I have never seen him in such a state in me life. Not even when he was up on the GBH and attempted murder. He’s like a little boy who’s lost his best gun. Straight up, he’s in a fucking dream world half the time. And the other half he’s giving me and the kids serious grief.’
Roselle looked pained.
‘I’m sorry, Sue, I should have realised you lot would bear the brunt of it.’
Susan sighed.
‘He loves you, Roselle. You were good for him too. Made him into a nicer person.’
She shrugged slightly, her face a beautiful mask.
‘He should have thought of that
when he started trumping that little whore.’
Susan flapped one hand at her and shook her head knowingly.
‘She was a nothing, love. I’ve seen them ones off meself. With Barry it’s just something to do, it don’t mean nothing. A little ego boost, that’s all, and as he has the brain capacity of a gnat you have to allow for it. But he regrets it big time now.’
The waiter came and took their order then and both women smiled up at the handsome young man. Susan watched as he bent over backwards to serve Roselle and wondered at the power of a pretty face.
He didn’t even realise she existed.
She looked around the restaurant. It was a nice Italian in Dean Street and she felt at home here, she had visited it so often. She remembered her first visit. Her nervousness as she wondered if her clothes were good enough, her make up applied properly. Whether Roselle would regret asking her to come to lunch. But they had had a right laugh and Susan had felt at home. This was part of the real world where people went to lunch and had conversations and fun.
Since Margaret Thatcher had become Prime Minister even the Susan Dalstons of this world realised that women could do what they wanted if they tried. Providing, of course, they didn’t have a Barry hanging round their neck to stop them.
Barry hated the PM, hated everything about her, and believed Denis Thatcher should give her a ‘fucking right hander’ to ‘sort the mare out’. Susan liked and admired her. More so because Barry hated her and was so vocal about it.
Margaret Thatcher gave hope to Susan, hope that her girls would get a fair crack of the whip one day in the workplace and their private lives. The teachers said that Wendy could make it to university. She absorbed knowledge like a sponge and was of well above average intelligence. She was also good-natured and loving, looking out for the little one and helping her mother when she could.
Now Susan shifted uneasily in her seat. This baby was huge and constantly pressing on her bladder.
Roselle finished ordering and turned to her again.
‘I ordered you a nice bit of Dover sole, cooked in butter and lemon, some veggies and a big pasta salad. We’ve got a nice red wine, light and crisp to give that baby a bit of iron. One glass won’t harm you, not the amount you smoke anyway.’
They both laughed together.
‘I should give up, but since Barry’s been back me nerves have been shot. I liked it on me own. No smelly feet, no aggro, no bloody tantrums. It was nice. Quiet but nice.’
They both laughed again then Roselle looked serious.
‘He hurt me, Sue, doing that with a little tart like her. Especially in me workplace and all. I mean, the girls have to respect me and if they think I’m swallowing that they’ll only take the piss.’
Susan nodded sympathetically.
‘I can see your point, but that’s him all over, ain’t it? Probably the only reason he did it. See how you’d react. He’s like that.’
Their starters arrived and Susan smiled.
‘I guessed you’d order me this, you cow.’
In front of her was a large bowl of spaghetti bolognese dripping sauce.
‘Get it down you, the baby needs the nourishment.’
Susan did not need to be told twice and began to eat.
‘How are the kids?’
‘The usual. Wendy and Barry are still at loggerheads. She’s twelve now and thinks she knows it all. Mind you, compared to Barry she does. But she does annoy him. I tell him she’s just at that age when they have opinions and he says she’s not entitled to any until he’s told her what they are.’ Susan shovelled in more food and giggled between each mouthful. ‘He’s a case, ain’t he? He really meant it and all.’
Roselle bit daintily on a crostino.
‘Doesn’t it bother you, having another baby?’
Susan shrugged.
‘Not really. It’s all I’m good at, I reckon. Having kids, taking care of them, loving them. I’m boring really. Anyway, what else is there for me? Another one won’t make much difference to me, will it? I just wish he would see them as I see them, but Barry thinks they’re solely my responsibility. If they’re good, they’re his, but if they’re fuckers they’re all mine.’
‘My little lad, Joseph - well, I don’t really see him that much. He goes away to school as you know and lives a lot of the time with another family. I love him but my lifestyle is hardly conducive to bringing up kids properly.’
Susan nodded sympathetically but deep down this was the one thing she’d never understood about Roselle. The fact that she barely saw her son. Only now and again at school or on the odd visit to the Grangers, the family he lived with.
But Susan didn’t press the point. She knew her friend had her own reasons, and being Roselle they would be good ones.
Ivan would leave them well set up and that would enable her to indulge the boy as much as she wanted. She was already planning to send him abroad at eleven to be educated in Switzerland. It was her dream, a son who’d become someone. Even if she could never tell anyone in her world about it, she would know and that would be enough for her.
‘I’ve a few presents in the car for the girls, and something for little Barry too. I couldn’t resist them.’
Susan laughed. ‘You ruin them.’
‘I know, but they’re worth it. So how’s everything else going?’
Susan picked at the table cloth, an agitated gesture, and said softly, ‘I wish you’d put him out of his misery. He really is in a state. It’s over a week now and he’s getting more and more dejected.’
Roselle laughed out loud, bringing the other diners’ attention upon them.
‘Good. Do him the world of good. I might get in touch on Friday, say we need him for another few weeks until we find someone else.’
Susan relaxed then.
‘Thank fuck for that, Roselle! I really thought you was giving him the bad news for good.’
Roselle laughed again.
‘Why I care about him, I don’t know. I suppose it’s having power over him. That’s a lot to do with it. When I see you and hear what he’s done to you, I hate him. But he isn’t like that with me.’
‘He wouldn’t dare be, girl, and that’s the crux of it all. You have his respect and his love, that’s why he treats you so well. Other than that little lapse, of course, and I think we can safely say he won’t be trying that on again!’
Susan felt as if all her birthdays and Christmases had arrived at once. Little Barry would be back in bed with her once more, the girls would have peace and quiet, and she could relax at night in front of the box, watching all her ‘old crap’ as Barry put it, and just live in peace and tranquillity.
What a touch.
She rubbed her belly and grimaced.
‘I think I ate that Spag Bol a bit quick.’ She burped loudly and put her hand over her mouth, grinning.
‘Trust me to show you up.’
Then her face went white, drained of blood as she felt the warmth of her waters breaking and flooding the chair and floor beneath her.
‘Oh, fuck, Roselle, me waters have gone.’
She started laughing, thinking it was a joke, then jumped from her chair, shrieking, ‘Come on, girl, let’s get you to hospital.’
Ten minutes later Susan was sitting on the leather-covered seat of Roselle’s Aston Martin, gripping the walnut dashboard with her fingernails.
‘Did you see those people’s faces? I bet a few of them regretted ordering liver, I can tell you.’
Roselle and Susan started to laugh again.
‘Can you keep hold of it until we get to the East End?’
Susan nodded.
‘I reckon so, but for fuck’s sake, girl, get a move on. This little git is on its way out, I can feel it in the birth canal pushing already.’
Barry and Roselle stood looking at the new baby. She was beautiful. Even Barry was amazed at the looks of the child who was exquisite. She already looked a few weeks old. There was no redness, or wrinkling, she was a
peachy skinned little darling.
‘How that ugly mare manages to produce such good-looking kids I will never know.’
Barry’s voice was jovial. He had his Roselle beside him and that cheered him up no end.
Susan opened one eye groggily.
‘I heard that, you cheeky bastard.’
Roselle held her hand tightly.
‘She’s a blinder, Sue, really gorgeous. Makes me feel broody!’
Barry frowned at that but let it pass. Though sometimes he wished he could keep her in the club so no one else could have her.
Susan pulled herself up in the bed and said seriously, ‘Don’t say that to him. He is a great believer in the old adage “well fucked and poorly shod”. Otherwise known as barefoot and pregnant.’
‘Well, if anyone should know it’s you.’
Barry watched his wife and mistress laughing together and felt slighted. Knowing that they had been friends all along made him feel as if he’d been manoeuvred into something, though it was something he wanted.
His Roselle back and everything hunky-dory again.
Now he could see the real friendship between them and marvelled at the ways of women. By rights they should hate one another’s guts. He guessed he would probably prefer that.
‘I want to name her after you,’ Susan was saying. ‘I mean, you were with me for it all, Roselle.’
Barry stared at his wife as if she had just told him she was the mistress of Henry Kissinger.
‘Don’t be so stupid, Susan . . .’
She interrupted him.
‘I’m naming her Rose, an abbreviation of Roselle. All right?’
Roselle smiled with delight.
‘I’ll take that as a great compliment, Susan, really.’
She looked down at the perfect child regretfully.
‘I’d better be off. I can’t leave that place to run itself and Ivan will be like a madman, wondering where I’ve got to. He’s getting old, bless him, and the club is too much for him really. Not that he would ever admit that.’
Barry felt awkward.
‘I’ll walk you to your car, eh?’
Roselle nodded. Kissing Susan and little Rose she left them, promising to return the next day.
