by Jo Verity
They stopped talking as Isabel emerged from the back door, drink in hand. ‘Talking about me?’
‘Yes,’ Laura confessed. ‘We think something’s wrong. Is it?’
Isabel slumped back into her deckchair and shut her eyes. She took a long gulp from her glass and waited until she had their complete attention. ‘Geoffrey wants a divorce. He’s found someone else.’
Fay contained her laughter. Last time they’d been together, the implication had been that she and Geoffrey had both had a string of lovers, so why should this particular liaison be causing such a problem?
‘Don’t you have a what-d’you-call-it,’ Laura echoed her thoughts, ‘an open marriage?’
Isabel, ignoring this question, stared past her friends, as though the next-but-one garden held the solution. ‘She’s plain and dowdy. Rather plump. She’s called Margaret. D’you know what he said to me?’ Neither Fay nor Laura dared hazard a guess. ‘He said he wants to grow old with someone “homely and comfortable”. He makes her sound like an old cardigan. In fact that’s what I’m going to call her from now on. The Old Cardigan.’
They sat in silence, Fay staring into her own lap, picturing a silver-haired Geoffrey and a dumpy little woman, in armchairs on either side of a crackling blaze. A dog slept at their feet and they were, indeed, comfortable.
‘What aspect of this are you finding so upsetting?’ Laura asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘Oh, God, I don’t give a stuff who Geoffrey sleeps with, if that’s what you mean. It’s just that for twenty-odd years I’ve played the role of Stepford fucking wife at all those fucking law functions. I’ve produced a perfect set of offspring to continue the Lauderdale dynasty. That was the deal and I more than kept my side of it. How dare the bastard dump me for…’ Isabel flapped her hands around, as if trying to grab the right words.
‘An old cardigan?’ Fay helped her out.
Laura stood up. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’
Fay emptied the whole bottle of bath foam from her travel toiletries into the steaming water. She was ashamed to have coped so badly during the boiler crisis but, now that Isabel was safely on her way back to London, she felt entitled to reward herself with a long soak. The entire afternoon had been focused on Isabel and her inability to face the future without Geoffrey’s money or status. ‘And what will people think,’ she’d moaned, ‘when they see him with her? What will they think about me?’
Laura had tried to put it in perspective but Isabel was determined to make a drama out of it. ‘I know he’s got to support me in the manner, etcetera, etcetera, but I won’t get compensation for all the sniggering and finger-pointing, will I? They’ll think I’m fucking frigid or something.’
At last she’d gone and Fay could look forward to an evening with Laura and – her heart raced – Cassidy. Laura was chopping things in the kitchen and there was an encouraging smell of roasting chicken, rising up the stairs. The fragrant water and relief after the strain of the day with Isabel released her to a place between sleep and wakefulness. Somewhere a phone rang and she could hear the rise and fall of voices in conversation.
From nowhere, a recollection of Jack popped into her mind. There he was, a young husband and father, carrying Dylan on his shoulders and holding Caitlin by the hand, wandering along a shingle beach. His hair was a little too long, just how she used to like it, and his shapely legs were strong and tanned. Where was it? Cornwall? West Wales? Everything was so straightforward, then, and everything seemed possible. It had started to go wrong when Kingsley was born. The birth was traumatising and he’d been such a fretful baby.
Laura tapped the door. ‘You asleep? Caitlin rang. She’s going to come for supper. She can sleep in with you. That’s okay isn’t it?’
Fay sat up and pushed her damp hair away from her face. ‘What about Sarah?’
‘She didn’t say, but I have a feeling that Cass had something to do with it. Anyway, she won’t be here for an hour or so. No rush.’
Fay’s plans for an intimate evening swirled down the plughole with the bath water. She lingered upstairs, knowing that, once Caitlin arrived, she would become plain ‘Mum’ and not the vivacious sophisticate that she’d intended to be. Much as she loved Caitlin, she would have been happier not to see her until tomorrow.
The kitchen was hot and messy, every surface strewn with packets, jars and cooking utensils. Laura, flushed and perspiring, still wore the clothes she’d had on all day, without even an apron to save her from the fallout, and there was a white line across her tee-shirt, where she’d leant against a floury worktop. ‘It’s lovely to be cooking for four people.’ She stopped slicing beans and looked up. ‘Gosh. Very swish.’
‘Can I do anything?’ Fay, dressed as she was in navy linen skirt and white shirt, hoped her offer would be refused.
Laura nodded towards the dining room. ‘I’ve dumped all the stuff on the table, if you want to set it. There’s white wine in the fridge. Help yourself.’
Fay did her best to smooth the creases from the un-ironed cloth as she moved around the table. Not for the first time, she noted the shabbiness of the furniture and, spotting the cobwebs undulating between the curtain pole and the ceiling, wondered whether Laura’s eyesight was deteriorating. She found a paper napkin and was giving the cutlery and wine glasses a vigorous rub, when she realised that Cassidy was standing in the hall, watching her.
‘My Grandmother used to say “you eat a peck of dirt before you die”. I thought she meant a speck, but I think it’s more likely to be a peck in this house. As in bushels and pecks?’
‘You’re much too young to know about bushels and pecks.’ Fay blushed and fumbled the glass, catching it clumsily before it fell to the floor. ‘Your mother tells me that Caitlin is coming for supper. I’m a little confused.’
Cassidy grinned. ‘I persuaded her to dump Sarah. I promised that she’d have much more fun here.’
‘Well, as long as she wasn’t rude.’
‘She told her that you needed to go back to Cardiff this evening. Some sort of family emergency.’
Fay tried to laugh but was shocked, not so much by the cavalier way he and Caitlin had treated Sarah, but how unashamedly he admitted that they’d dragged her into the deception. She felt as if she’d been included in something underhand but, at the same time, exciting. ‘It’s very hot in here. Could we have a window open?’
Cassidy chose to open the window behind her and, in squeezing past, his arm brushed across her breast. ‘Sorry.’ He gave a knowing smile as he pushed the sash window up. ‘Better?’
When Caitlin arrived, she had the decency to be a little shamefaced about the way she had treated Sarah but they were soon diverted by Laura’s announcement that supper was ready. Fay, catching sight of her fiery cheeks in the tiny kitchen mirror as she helped carry the meal to the table, resolved not to drink any more. She and Laura hadn’t anywhere near kept pace with Isabel during the emotional afternoon but, even so, she knew she’d had enough alcohol for one day. She would need to have her wits about her this evening.
Laura’s dining table was circular. Fay was first to sit down. With only four of them, Cassidy would be sitting next to or opposite her. She was happy with either. He pulled back the chair next to hers for Caitlin and this old-fashioned courtesy seemed somehow intimate, as though he were laying claim to her daughter. He took the seat opposite and, not for the first time, Fay wondered whether this adorable young man was as wholesome as he looked. Perhaps her own less than pure intentions were corrupting her analysis of what she was seeing.
‘So, I missed Isabel.’ Caitlin sounded genuinely disappointed.
‘Yes. She left at about five, to catch a train.’ Fay put her knife and fork down and turned to Laura. ‘D’you think we should check that she’s home?’
Laura glanced at her watch. ‘She’s due in about now. I’ll ring her as soon as we’ve finished eating. Mind you, I can’t think she’ll be in any fit state to go to a dinner. Not with Geoffrey, anywa
y.’
‘What’s going on?’ Caitlin asked and they gave her a resumé of Isabel’s circumstances. ‘Why would Geoffrey swap her for an old frump? I assumed every man wanted a glamorous wife like Isabel.’
Cassidy let out a spluttering laugh, ‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor Isabel. She tries so hard but someone ought to take her aside and explain where she’s going wrong.’
The three women stopped eating. Laura looked amused, Caitlin, intrigued and Fay – she hoped – disinterested. Cassidy carried on eating.
Caitlin was the first to crack, stamping her foot under the table. ‘You can’t stop there, Cass. What d’you mean “where she’s going wrong”?’
‘Women have their secrets which, I hasten to add, make them all the more fascinating, so I’m going to keep mine and hope it has the same effect.’ He gave Caitlin what Fay could only describe as a ‘flirty’ look.
‘Take no notice,’ Laura interjected, ‘He’s feeling threatened. It’s his pathetic attempt to rattle us.’ She tapped the back of Cassidy’s hand in mock chastisement. ‘Behave. Or Cait will wish she’s stayed in Derby.’
Laura went to phone Isabel whilst Fay carried the plates and serving dishes into the kitchen. She was aware that Cassidy was, once again, watching her, and she did her best to pull her stomach in, move elegantly and keep a serene half-smile on her face.
Caitlin pointed to a framed photograph standing, with several others, on the cluttered mantelpiece. It showed a girl of about thirteen or fourteen, astride a bicycle that was far too big for her. ‘Is that Sadie?’
Cassidy reached up for the picture and wiped the dusty glass with a napkin. ‘Yes. That is indeed my dear sister. She’d just swapped her roller skates and Mum’s watch for that bike. Didn’t think to ask permission but once Sadie’s made up her mind…’
‘She reminds me of someone.’ Caitlin peered hard at the triumphant face. She turned the photograph around for Fay to see. ‘Who does she remind me of, Mum?’
Fay, not willing to admit that everything was out of focus when she wasn’t wearing her glasses, pretended to study the picture. ‘Must be one of your friends.’
‘What’s she doing these days?’ Caitlin asked. Fay waited for Cassidy’s answer. She always felt uncomfortable questioning Laura about Sadie, in case there was something dreadful to report.
‘They’re living in London. Finsbury Park. Sadie’s temping and Joe’s got a job on a magazine, doing something digital. I saw them last week. They seem to be going through a good patch.’ He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘The man must be a saint.’
Laura returned after a few minutes. ‘Yes. Izzy’s home safely. She sounded remarkably bright and breezy considering how miserable she was all day. I think someone was there with her.’
‘I’m sure Isabel never has a problem rustling up company.’ It was only after the words were out of her mouth that Fay realised how bitchy she sounded.
‘Any pudding, Mum?’ Cassidy asked. ‘It’s just that Cait and I are thinking of popping into town. See what’s going on.’
‘Typical. We prepare a lovely meal,’ Laura generously included Fay although she’d contributed nothing, ‘And all you want to do is stuff it down and dump us like a couple of Cinderellas.’ She dropped her shoulders, as if spurned.
‘Yep. That’s about it. But we love you both to pieces, don’t we Cait?’
Caitlin wasn’t used to engaging in this kind of banter with her mother and looked uneasy. ‘Is that okay with you two? You’re welcome to come with us, aren’t they Cass?’
‘Of course they are,’ he replied, deadpan.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s apple pie and cream in the kitchen. Help yourselves. Fay and I are going to have a relaxing evening here, carry on our chat and go to bed at a reasonable time. I rather fancy doing the crossword, don’t you?’ Laura waited for Fay’s nod. ‘You’re on the zed-bed in your Mum’s room, Caitlin.’
They ate their pie without ceremony and Laura opened the paper at the crossword as the youngsters left to catch the bus into the city centre.
Fay lay in bed, unable to sleep and wondering whether it was even worth trying if Caitlin was going to come in and wake her again. Caitlin – the child who never gave her cause for concern; who behaved impeccably; who was reliable and responsible. But could she have got it wrong? What Fay had interpreted as reserved and well-behaved might be devious and secretive. And she had no idea how she behaved when she was out with her friends. Completely wild and uninhibited, maybe. It was possible that she went to dubious dives, – did they have dives these days? – bared midriff, hair dishevelled and spiky.
Her misgivings dissolved when she remembered that Caitlin was a dentist and dentists were a prosaic bunch. Banality seemed a prerequisite for the job. Dafydd Morgan was the only exception she could think of. She pictured him, on that steamy July evening after graduation, in the kitchen of the flat he shared with Jack, singing a selection from Carmen whilst he cooked sausage and chips. He was stark naked and clearly trying to impress her with his skills and assets. Writing him off as an exhibitionist; a buffoon; she’d made her choice. Would she have made the same decision if she’d known that Dafydd would end up as a senior consultant and Jack a Morris dancer?
20
Each time Fay woke, she checked the camp bed. It was years since she’d suffered this sleep-depriving anxiety and she had no idea whether she should be worrying. Caitlin and Cassidy had gone into the city on the bus, so they couldn’t have been involved in a car accident. Unless, of course, they’d accepted a lift from one of Cassidy’s friends, who might be over the limit. It didn’t help that the city had such an appalling reputation. What if they’d been mugged and were fighting for their lives in A&E? She pummelled the pillow and turned over. Why was she getting into a state? Caitlin was having the time of her life somewhere – probably in Cassidy’s bedroom.
At five-thirty the camp-bed was still empty. She crept along the landing to the bathroom. Laura’s door was open a couple of inches and she heard the bed creak as her friend turned over in her untroubled sleep.
The adjacent door – Cassidy’s door – was shut tight. She paused outside, her ear to the door – but if they were together in there, they were well past the noisy stage.
The bright light in the bathroom shocked her into full wakefulness and she peered at herself in the de-silvering mirror above the sink. Beneath her usual crop of freckles which had been accentuated by a day in the sunshine, her face was pale; her squinting eyes particularly insignificant. Her night, and her face, had been made wretched by two peoples’ selfishness. Resentment started to build. ‘Sod it.’ She pulled the flush, leaving the bathroom door wide open to ensure that the swishing and hissing filled the house.
She climbed back into bed and tried to read but her book didn’t engage her. Her imagination gathered momentum, weaving the more compulsive story of Caitlin’s night with Cassidy and she was horrified to feel faint stirrings of lust. She got up again and checked her watch. It was six o’clock and when she pulled the curtain back she saw that the night-sky was marbled with the beginnings of dawn. A milk float hummed then stopped and she heard chinking milk-bottles, somewhere beyond the terrace of houses which backed on to Laura’s garden. Most of the houses were still in darkness but, here and there, lights shone in kitchens and bedrooms.
She dressed in yesterday’s creased clothes, ran a comb through her hair and went downstairs. Whilst the kettle boiled, she unbolted the back door and went into the garden. The world smelled freshly laundered, as it had at the start of every summer’s day when she was a little girl. Deciding not to bother with breakfast, she took an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, grabbed her handbag and went out of the front door.
She chose a different route from the one they had taken to the pub, surprised at how many people were already on the move. Where were they going at this hour on a Saturday? Hospitals changed shifts at strange times; and maybe factories clocked on at seve
n or seven-thirty. If there were factories in central Nottingham, would they be working on Saturday? She’d ask Laura when she got back.
Fay increased her pace, keeping up with this army of people, every one of whom was heading purposefully somewhere. She came to a dual-carriageway. Two lanes of traffic sped in both directions, making it impossible to cross the road, and she used the dank concrete underpass, graffitied and litter-strewn but which, in the clear morning light, felt completely safe.
The route she took appeared to be leading her towards the city centre. Jack would have been able to tell from position of the sun, or some inbuilt compass, whether he was walking south or west or whatever. She tried to visualise the road-map which they’d used to navigate to Laura’s house, but this morning she’d zig-zagged through the streets and couldn’t work out where she was.
Houses gave way to shops. Useful shops. Dry cleaner, florist, post office – none of them open yet. The newsagent, however, was doing a brisk trade and she went in. Several paper-boys were collecting their morning deliveries, stashing piles of papers into fluorescent yellow satchels. Gruff-voiced and gangly, they were clones of the lads who would be confronting her next week with uninspired excuses for late homework or lost textbooks. They pushed and shoved, in the way that boys do when they can’t think of any other way to show affection towards each other. She envied them, living completely in the here-and-now, at the centre of their own lives, as they spilled, laughing and untroubled, out of the shop.
She bought the Independent and some cigarettes. ‘Is there anywhere here I could get a coffee?’ she asked the Asian shopkeeper.
In lilting cadences, not dissimilar to the Welsh, he directed her to a café in the next street. ‘The place looks a little scruffy but it’s very clean and they do a delicious sausage sandwich. Tell them Raj sent you.’ He made the suggestion of a stiff bow.
