Her father had phoned her late one evening with news of the death, his voice revealing shock, for all its bluster, because his brother had been two years his junior.
‘Bert’s next-door neighbour,’ Frank May had thundered down the line, ‘a Mrs Wardle – ever met her? Well, she thought you might like to go to the funeral. Apparently you always sent Bert a card at Christmas. Can’t think why,’ he’d added with a sniff of contempt, because he’d never had much regard for Bert himself.
‘He taught me to play Canasta,’ Susannah had tried to explain, remembering how her uncle had sat opposite her at his little card table for hours at a time, sucking placidly on his pipe while the more boisterous members of the family cavorted around them. That was how she had always thought of him, if she’d thought of him at all: as something of a loner; a bit of an oddball whom nobody understood, except maybe herself. Perhaps she took after him, she mused, lifting a black satin party dress from the wardrobe rail.
Of course, black satin was entirely unsuitable for a funeral, even supposing she could still get into the dress, which was doubtful, but it had long been one of her favourites and she couldn’t help holding it against herself, recalling happier days. Days when she had been content with her lot and this madness about wanting fulfilment hadn’t seized her. What had happened to change things? Was Paul right? Should she really see a doctor?
She turned her head from the mirror to listen to a sound outside. As if conjured up by her thoughts, Paul’s car had squeaked to a halt on the drive. And that was him coming into the cottage. Now he’d stopped on his way through the kitchen – no doubt to look at the day’s mail – and silence fell once more.
Susannah pretended absorption in her task, dreading the coming confrontation. Another battle, she thought wearily, because she no longer felt inclined to apologise. And the likelihood of Paul suddenly seeing the light and showing understanding towards her was very remote indeed.
Eventually – after what seemed like decades – Paul creaked up the steep little staircase to their room in search of her. She didn’t have to look round to know that he had come into the room and was standing at the foot of the bed, his jaw tense and truculent as he slowly pulled off his tie.
But suddenly he was behind her, much closer than she had imagined, his hand coming up to knead the back of her neck.
‘Susie,’ he sighed into her hair, ‘I’d forgotten all about your old Uncle Bert. And I’m sorry. No wonder you’ve been so uptight. It must have been a bit much, coming on top of the kids flying the nest and us selling up the old family home.’ He turned her round to face him, his hand still massaging imagined knots at the top of her spine. ‘There’ve been too many changes in a short space of time,’ he told her, smiling down at her indulgently. ‘I think perhaps I should have been surprised if you hadn’t blown your top. Don’t you?’
She swallowed her amazement and gazed back at him; he had actually managed to come up with a solution that let them both off the hook without either of them having to admit they were in the wrong.
Did he really believe his own reasoning, though? His expression revealed nothing, it seldom did, but she thought not. The problem was still obvious to them both, and they really ought to discuss it. But when it came to relationships it was typical of Paul to sweep difficult issues under the carpet.
He couldn’t help being that way: he had been brought up by a single aunt, his parents having been killed in a London air-raid towards the end of the war, and he had had only narrow experience of relationships. His views on parenthood and families were consequently based on ideals, and he couldn’t bring himself to admit that they might fall short in any way.
‘Paul, I –’ she began, but he put a finger to her lips.
‘Don’t let’s waste any more time, analysing,’ he said, turning away. ‘It’s all over. Finished. Forget it.’
‘OK.’ She caved in. She hadn’t the energy to pursue the matter right then.
‘Well, what do you think of this for the funeral?’ she asked, snatching at a hanger and swinging a pleated skirt around on it. ‘I’ve a jacket that matches, somewhere.’
‘It’s fine. Perfect. I like it.’ The relief in his voice was obvious: they were back on an even keel. He flashed her his most wicked grin, which prompted her to throw the garment aside in disgust.
‘It looks like my old school uniform,’ she said.
‘I know; I remember it from your old photographs.’ He squeezed her bottom. ‘Perhaps that’s why I like it.’
‘Cradle-snatcher pervert,’ she murmured, knowing he was nothing of the sort. She nestled against his chest. She hated not being friends as much as he did and wondered again why she had rocked the marital boat. Held tight in the circle of his arms, the temptation to forget her crazy ideas was immense; life would be so much easier if she could do that. Could she?
Paul unbuttoned his shirt and drew her closely against him so that she could feel his erection against her navel. For a moment she tensed and almost prevented him from taking things any further, but then she remembered that they could make love when and wherever they fancied without fear of interruption, or the possible embarrassment of their offspring. It had taken them a while to adjust to this new-found freedom, but when they had got used to the idea they had made love joyfully and with abandon in just about every room in the house.
‘Would you like me to come with you tomorrow?’ Paul asked, unclipping the fastening on her bra. ‘Drive us both up to London?’
‘To the funeral?’ Her head jerked up, leaving the tickly nest of chest hair and the comforting smell of his skin. For Paul to make such an offer was a penance indeed. ‘But why? You hardly even knew my uncle.’
‘Neither did you,’ he tossed back at her, then he quickly compressed his lips. But he was too late; he’d given the game away. Using Uncle Bert as an excuse for his wife’s odd behaviour didn’t wash.
Desire flew out of the window.
‘You’ll hate the funeral, you know you will,’ she said, pulling away from his arms. ‘It’s not your kind of thing. Thanks all the same, Paul, but I’ll go on my own as planned.’
CHAPTER 4
Julia crawled across the mattress to her own side of the bed, her buttocks wobbling invitingly. Leaning out to retrieve her nightdress, she was careful to take her time; Harvey would get a good long – and hopefully stimulating – view. But it was no good and they both knew it, although there was nothing he would have liked more than to oblige her.
‘I’m sorry.’ He sighed, staring helplessly. Oh to feel normal again!
‘It’s OK,’ she said, and collapsed into the pillows.
‘But it’s your birthday …’
‘I said it’s OK. It can’t be helped. Forget it.’
‘But we always do something special on our birthdays.’
‘Well, we’ll have to do something else that’s special, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I’m getting o-o-old,’ he said, dragging the last word out into a long self-pitying moan. ‘Correction, I am old.’
‘You’re only as old as you feel, Harvey.’
‘Right now I feel a hundred.’
Julia knelt up beside him and began pulling the sparse folds of shiny blue satin over her shaggy, highlighted hair. She wriggled, shaking the bed as she eased the garment over her breasts. Harvey looked on morosely as he watched them bounce, rubber-like, back into place. Nothing.
‘Look,’ she said, sliding under the quilt, ‘this is only a temporary thing. It’s like – well – missing periods, you know? You get a shock in your life, a bit of bad news, and the next thing you know your body’s all up the creek. Women are used to this sort of thing. Well, I am anyway; you know what my cycle’s like.’
Harvey did know. He had had to learn to live with it.
‘It’s this being pensioned off that’s done it,’ Julia went on. ‘But we’ll get over it soon. You’ll see.’
‘Made redundant,’ he corrected through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t
make it sound even worse than it already is. And it’s nothing whatever like missed bloody periods! For heaven’s sake, girl –’ he thumped the mattress with his fists – ‘don’t you hear what I’m telling you? I’m old. I’m old! They were right, weren’t they? They were right all along.’
‘Who were? What?’ Julia lay back on one elbow and considered getting up. It was probably too early for her yoga class, but anything was better than lying here listening to Harvey in one of his moods. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table, spotted a stack of cotton wool pads and a bottle of nail varnish remover among the debris, and began to take off ‘Burnished Bronze’.
‘Everybody was right,’ Harvey went on. ‘All those kind, well-meaning souls who told us we would regret it.’
‘Regret –?’ The word had caught Julia’s attention.
‘I mean,’ Harvey amended hastily, wrinkling his nose as the acetone hit him, ‘you must be regretting it. Marrying me. You’ve still got your life ahead of you. And all those things they said about finding it difficult with such a big age gap between us are beginning to make sense. There you are, in the prime of your life. And here am I –’ he looked down at the mound of his body under the covers – ‘a clapped-out husk.’
Julia regarded her husband gravely for a second. Until recently he had not been so – so – negative. Yes, that was the word to describe him these days. She had never seen him like this in all the time she had known him. On the contrary, he had always been so positive, so alive, and vital, and – what did they call it? – motivated. The way she liked him to be. She scarcely fancied him like this. Actually she’d gone off sex a bit herself just lately, so perhaps that had something to do with it …
But these thoughts disturbed her a little so she dismissed them.
‘Oh, you’re being silly, Harvey,’ she scolded. ‘Just because you aren’t in the mood for once doesn’t mean anything at all. Talk about making mountains out of molehills!’
Harvey kept his next thoughts to himself. He couldn’t tell Julia that this morning’s fiasco was the culmination of days of going off it. There had been times when he had had to exercise his imagination even more vigorously than his body, just to see him through. Up until now it had worked well enough. But this time it hadn’t worked at all.
‘I tell you,’ she said, throwing back the quilt to deal with her toes, ‘you weren’t like this when you were working. You were full of energy all the time, not lying around moaning and feeling sorry for yourself.’
She’s right, he thought, pulling the bedding back to cover the parts of him that offended right now. And that was a first, too. When did Julia last let drop a pearl of wisdom from her full, pouting lips? Must have been some time before he met her.
Annoyed with himself for his lack of charity – especially as it was her birthday – he put out his hand. ‘Sorry,’ he said, stroking the warm roundness of her left arm and finding that the feel of it under his finger-tips only brought home to him more vividly her enviable youth. ‘I don’t mean to be a pain. I’ll take you to Partridges for dinner tonight. OK?’
‘Lovely,’ she said, bending to kiss him and letting her breasts swing forward near his face. Perhaps there’s still a chance, she thought, flicking her tongue out to find his. But she quickly pulled away from him and left the bed; she could see by his eyes that he had slipped further from her than ever.
Frankly relieved that she’d gone, Harvey watched her snatch underwear from an open drawer and waggle her way around the bedroom in search of other bits of clothing. Then she disappeared into the bathroom and turned the shower on full gush. Never mind that she switched off The Time, The Place en route without asking him whether he wanted to watch it or not; he did, as it happened. And never mind that she activated a country and western cassette in the hi-fi system without asking him whether he wanted that either. He didn’t. At least she had gone.
Without too much effort he managed to reach the remote control where she had tossed it, and retrieved the programme; it would at least stop him thinking. But as luck would have it what did he find? A group of po-faced people banging on about how they had had to face redundancy.
‘Terrific,’ he muttered, and was about to zap it to kingdom come when one of the speakers caught his attention. In spite of himself he was soon straining to cut out Julia’s sing-along with Tammy Wynette in the shower, and to concentrate on the tragedies of life.
Well, what should he do with the rest of his own, he wondered as the presenter signed off rapidly and the closing music began to clash with the Tammy/Julia duet. Open a restaurant with his redundancy money like that twit on the box? At least, having loaned thousands in the past for similar ventures, he knew all the pitfalls one had to avoid. That chap he’d just been watching hadn’t a clue: he was obviously grossly under-funded and going to come a cropper.
How about back-packing round the world? Even though he had all but forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other. No, better to sell the car – perish the thought – and sail round. He stared at the ceiling. He really must do something.
A cloud of ‘Obsession’ announced Julia’s return to the bedroom and unaccustomed jealousy licked through him. Julia had always found plenty to keep her occupied. Since leaving the bank where she had worked as his secretary she had, at various stages, taken up ‘hairdressing in the home’, sold underwear on the party plan, and taught aerobics, aromatherapy, yoga and more recently, reflexology. She was qualified in none of these things, it had to be said, and would have looked blank if anyone had suggested she ought to be. But she always got by, and no doubt she always would.
Harvey had often wondered whether the typing certificates that had got her the bank job were genuine.
In the early days, when she had first tripped into his office each morning trailing a blanket of powerful perfume and oozing sex, he had hardly cared whether she could type or not. She had pepped up his life no end at a time when it had begun to go stale because all his friends seemed suddenly to be married and unavailable.
He found her fascinating and different, like no other woman he knew. The fact that her lip would curl in a snarl if he dared to ask her to type something, or that his letters came back as mis-spelt missives set crookedly on the page, seemed somehow irrelevant. She would bat her long lashes at him, rendering futile any complaint, and make him feel horribly wrong for daring to be critical. He felt the need to protect her; to do things for her, when she was supposed to be looking after him! Before long he was in love and wondering how it had happened.
Rediscovering Lucy-Ann lying on the carpet Julia picked her up and sat her on the shelf where a crowd of other dolls and stuffed animals jostled for space.
‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’ she said, standing back with her head on one side. She smiled at Harvey where he lay spread out on the bed with his arms behind his head, and blew him another thank you kiss.
But Harvey knew it was the bracelet he had tucked inside the doll’s bloomers that had gone down best. It sparkled on Julia’s wrist as she dressed herself in a red stretchy body-suit and tight black jeans. He sighed. How much longer would she stay with him? Until his money ran out? He’d never felt absolutely sure of her; now he was even less certain. And she was so damned difficult to talk to. She kept her thoughts to herself – presumably in the belief that she had nothing worthy to say to a man of his superior intelligence. So he’d given up asking for her opinion, and if he were suddenly to defer to her after all these years he felt he would take a dive in her estimation.
He opened his eyes slowly. Julia had pulled on cream high-heeled boots and a matching leather jacket with fur lining. Her lips were an identical red to the body-suit, and her skin sported a false tan. Leaning towards him for a final kiss she gazed into his worried face.
‘You know, Harvey,’ she said in her earnest, oddly motherly way, ‘you really should find yourself something to do.’
The garnet and pearl bracelet clashed against the steering wheel as Julia star
ted the engine. She clucked her tongue and secured the clasp. Really, she thought, Harvey should not have spent so much money. He might not get another job. He kept saying he would, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. She was more aware of the situation than he gave her credit for.
Huh! When did he give her credit for anything? He wouldn’t even discuss things with her – kept his own counsel about anything important on the assumption that she wasn’t clever enough to understand.
And she didn’t need to be given things like this, either, beautiful though they were. But he went on doing it year after year as if this was the only way he could hang on to her. It was annoying and somehow degrading; as if she could be bought. She loved him for himself, but he never seemed to believe it.
Her eyes fell on the pile of books in the passenger foot-well. He wouldn’t believe her capable of doing GCSEs either. Actually she could hardly believe it herself. Her tutor was constantly having to assure her that she really had it in her. Fancy! Dumb old Julia doing exams! Harvey would laugh his socks off if he knew.
But he wouldn’t know … yet. Wait until she passed and had certificates to prove it. Then he would have to laugh on the other side of his face.
She had thought the game was up when he was made redundant. How could she continue to keep her studying secret? But the past few weeks had shown how easy it was to pull the wool over his eyes, even with him being at home all day. He had simply assumed that she was out of the house so much because she had taken on more hairdressing; more yoga classes. He hadn’t objected at all. Presumably he felt he could hardly do that since what she earned would be their only income for a while.
Until recently she had wrestled with her assignments at home or in the college library, but of course home was out of the question now, and she had taken to going to the public library because it was eight miles nearer than the college and there were so many things to fit in to her day. This was undoubtedly risky but it couldn’t be helped. She just had to keep her fingers crossed that Harvey didn’t walk in one day and find her there. She would die if that were to happen. She would. She would die.
Puppies Are For Life Page 3
