In turn I learnt all about his life. He was born in 1960 in Peterborough. His father, Jim, and his mother, Linda, moved the family to Cambridge in 1981 when Jim wanted to move job. He was a science teacher. He hated his previous school. The kids there had no respect, Larry said. No doubt he was echoing his dad.
Linda was a homemaker.
Larry had a younger brother, Eric, who, he told me, he got on well with. It seemed Eric had a weakness for gambling and the horses. Larry told me he spent a lot of time in Newmarket at the racecourse. My mother would have described him as a rogue. ‘Stay away from men like that Debbie,’ she would have said. But it wasn’t Eric I was interested in.
Larry’s family lived in a Victorian house they owned in the Romsey area of Cambridge, just off Mill Road. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. He came from a better family than I did.
Larry talked all about how he was going to be an optician. He loved eyes, he said. For as long as he could remember he’d been fascinated by sight. He wanted to help people keep seeing, he would say. To have no vision would be scary, he thought, and I agreed. I’d never known anyone have such enthusiasm for anything.
The fact that he loved his job came as real surprise to me. Working in Woolworths was OK, but I couldn’t say I loved it. Larry said I needed to find my calling. He said he’d help me. I told him I liked books and he said I must love eyes, too, because without eyes you couldn’t read. I’d never seen it like that before I said, and he laughed.
‘There’s lots of different ways of looking at the world. You just have to find your own way of seeing it,’ Larry said once. I didn’t really understand what he meant by that back then.
By June we had grown close but those were the early days and our relationship moved at a snail’s pace. He was very respectful. I wasn’t ready for kissing and heavy petting then. I had to get to know him first, to be able to trust him. I was still a virgin and the thought of being anything different terrified me.
I hadn’t met his family and he hadn’t met mine. I liked it just the way it was: the two of us in our private world uncomplicated by adults. Although he was twenty-three and I was seventeen, we still felt like kids inside. But Larry was more grown up than I was. He was older and he had his head screwed on. He knew what direction he wanted to go in. He had plans. I was still working out who I was. Sometimes I used to think that I would never know. But having him in my life helped me to focus. I was caught up in his positive outlook. It started to rub off on me.
On that day as we sat by the river enjoying the warm sunshine, Larry turned to me and said, ‘I think you should hand in your notice at Woolworths. It’s no good for you, Dee.’ That was his nickname for me.
‘I can’t. What else would I do? I need the money.’
‘I know what you should do. You should get a job working in a bookshop. Then you could read all the time.’
‘I don’t know–’
‘Sure you do. It would be perfect. If you worked in the bookshop in the centre you’d be closer to the opticians and I could pop in all the time. It would be great.’
‘They probably don’t have any vacancies–’.
‘They do.’ Again I was cut off. ‘I went in yesterday and asked the woman behind the desk. I told her all about you. How much you love reading, how you don’t really like your current job and she said you should go in and give her your CV. I’ll help you write it, if you like. I’m really good at that sort of thing. I know just want people want to hear.’
I looked down at my chubby pale knees that were sticking out just below the hem of my blue tabard and noticed my legs needed shaving. I’d never shaved my legs before or even thought about doing it. I felt self-conscious and tugged at the skirt hoping Larry wouldn’t notice.
‘What do you think?’ He leant in with his eyebrows raised.
‘Well, I’d need to check with Dad.’ I knew he wouldn’t approve.
‘Rubbish. Look, as long as you have a job I don’t think he will mind where you’re working. I’m sure he’d want you to be happy.’
The idea was laughable. I pictured him scoffing at the prospect. ‘What do you want to work in a bookshop for?’ he’d say, ‘You need to get your head out of the clouds and step into the real world, my girl.’ I could imagine the whole conversation.
‘I’ll do it.’ I felt a burst of pride and strength. ‘I’ll go and speak to the people in the bookshop after work today.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Larry put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him. I could smell his musky aftershave and inhaled. ‘You should think about yourself more. Stop worrying what your dad will think. I’m proud of you.’
It was the first time I’d heard anyone say that since my mum had died and I felt my bottom lip quiver.
‘What’s wrong?’ He lifted my chin in his hands.
‘I’m just happy.’ A large tear rolled down my cheek and he wiped it away.
‘Not as happy as me.’ He kissed my lips, lingering a moment longer than usual. ‘You are so special, Dee. You can do anything you set your mind to. You just have to believe.’
I told Stuart that I had a headache so I could leave work half an hour early. The bookshop closed at five-thirty and I wanted to make it there in time to talk to the manager.
As agreed, Larry met me on the corner and we walked through the town past Sydney Sussex College and on to Trinity Street where the bookshop was located. Freeman’s Bookshop had been there for years. It was the place I always went to browse for my next read. It was the most popular bookshop in the town, always full of students looking for textbooks and bookworms in search of fuel.
As we approached, I started to feel my nerves getting the better of me. The cream stone building was old and I found its history suddenly daunting. Larry picked up on it and linked his fingers with mine.
‘It’s just an informal talk. Relax.’ His tone was soothing.
‘I’ve only ever had one interview before and that was at Woolworths.’
‘This isn’t an interview, Dee. You just have to introduce yourself and tell her you want to apply for the job. Simple.’
The street was busy with shoppers and kids who were killing time together after school.
A cyclist passed too close to me, almost knocking me over.
‘Idiot!’ Larry called out. The cyclist kept up his speed and didn’t look back.
‘It’s OK.’ I’d never seen him look cross before. It unnerved me.
I was used to close calls with bikes. Everyone who lived in Cambridge needed to have eyes in the back of their head. Cyclists were everywhere but not all of them were very considerate of pedestrians. I can’t count the number of times I’d been knocked over or had to jump out the way of an oncoming cyclist.
‘Still,’ Larry said calming down, ‘he should look where he’s going.’
I was still too worried about going into the bookshop to be bothered by the selfish student.
‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’ I hoped I sounded convincing.
‘Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you out here.’
I nodded and pushed the door open.
It was nearly closing time and the last few customers were queuing at the till waiting to pay. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d not chosen the best time to come in. I stood there for a moment wondering what to do. I looked around to see if I could see someone else who worked in the shop, other than the middle-aged woman who was behind the till. There was no who else who obviously worked there. I wanted to turn and leave and never look back but I was more worried about appearing foolish in front of Larry than being dismissed, so I straightened my skirt, made sure my peach T-shirt was tucked in and went to join the line.
As I walked across the shop I noticed how shiny the dark wooden floor was and wondered how many people had passed through over the years.
When I reached the line there were two people in front on me. A man in a green tweed jacket, who looked l
ike he might be a doctor, was being served. He had grey hair and a kind face. I imagined myself serving him and I liked the idea of it. Between us stood a young woman who was absorbed in the book she was holding. She wore a smart grey skirt suit and her brown hair in a neat bun on the top of her head. She had an air of intelligence about her that I admired even though it intimidated me.
It was then that I realised that both the people in front of me shared one thing in common. They looked presentable. I looked down at my peach T-shirt tucked into my knee length beige corduroy skirt and wondered if I was making a huge mistake. The lady who was serving them was also well turned out in her white blouse. She had a small broach just above her left breast. It was a little diamanté fox with red jewels for eyes. I thought it was really stylish.
On the far wall, above the entrance, a large old round clock hung. It was five-twenty and the shop would be closing in ten minutes. Panic set in when I realised how little time I had left. I wasn’t even wearing the right clothes. If only Larry hadn’t been outside I could have left.
I was so busy worrying that I didn’t notice that both the people in front of me had paid and left the shop. The woman behind the till stood there looking at me with her head to one side.
‘Can I help you, dear?’ Her impatience was tangible.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I mumbled, ‘I came to– my friend said– I mean, I wanted to talk to you.’
She folded her arms across her chest and raised her salt and pepper eyebrows. On a second glance she was older than I first thought.
‘I haven’t got all day.’ It was not going well.
‘Ms Faulks,’ Larry’s voice echoed through the room. ‘This is Deborah,’ he said, sauntering over wearing his charming smile, ‘my friend who we talked about earlier. She’s here to inquire about the job.’ I watched in amazement as the expression on the woman’s face instantly softened.
‘Why didn’t you say?’ Ms Faulks turned to me. Her breath smelt of instant coffee and her small grey eyes peered through her gold-framed glasses, which sat at the end of her pointy nose.
‘I was about to,’ I dug my nails into the palms of my hands.
‘This is Dee. She’d be perfect for you.’ Larry was leaning on his elbows on the desk looking relaxed and I realised that they knew each other.
‘Have you worked in a bookshop before?’ she asked, her gaze unflinching.
‘No, no I haven’t.’ I could tell immediately that she didn’t like me.
‘But she’s got lots of experience dealing with customers, haven’t you, Dee?’ I was grateful for Larry’s presence.
‘Yes. I currently work in Woolworths. I have to talk to customers all the time.’
‘But never about anything other than loo brushes,’ Ms Faulks cut in.
‘No, that’s true. But I love reading. I read all the time. I’m never late and I’m respectful of others.’ I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
‘I see.’ Ms Faulks turned her attention to a pile of book to the left of the till while she considered my response.
‘Some people think it’s easy working in a bookshop. It’s not. You need to keep on top of things.’
‘Very organised aren’t you, Ms F?’ Larry winked at me. ‘She’s only asking for an interview,’ he continued fighting my corner.
‘Very well.’ The spinster turned to me. ‘You can come back on Saturday morning at nine a.m. before the shop opens and we can have a proper discussion then. Make sure you bring your CV.’
‘I won’t be late, I promise, thank yo–’
‘And, dear, a piece of advice. Try not to look so, so…’ she was searching for the word, ‘dowdy next time. Never wear a T-shirt to work. That might be fine in Woolworths,’ she couldn’t disguise her disgust at the mention of it, ‘but here we have standards.’
‘Ah, thanks Ms F. You won’t regret it. Dee’s a really hard worker.’
Once outside I was able to finally relax my shoulders. The intensity of the woman’s stare had been too much for me. I was dreading the formal interview.
‘There you go,’ Larry removed a large red apple from his bag and bit into it, ‘easy as pie.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew her?’
‘Didn’t think to. She comes into Rook’s to get her glasses prescription. Got a bit of a soft spot for me, I think.’
‘I don’t think she liked me very much.’ I didn’t hold out much hope for getting the job.
‘Ah, take no notice. She’s a pussycat when you get to know her. You’ll see.’
I doubted he was right.
July 16th 1983
On Saturday morning I woke at seven. The sun was making its climb, warm rays flooding through the green leaves on the branch that overhung our garden in front of my bedroom window.
Dawn was still fast asleep, her satin eye mask blocking out the light. She was sleeping in her favourite Frankie Says Relax T-shirt. She must have got home late last night. I didn’t hear her come in and I stopped reading at about ten o’clock. Dad never told her off for coming home late. He was always too drunk to notice. I suspected Dawn had a boyfriend, not that she’d ever confide in me.
Pulling the covers back I got out of bed. I was wearing the mint green V-neck short-sleeved polyester nightdress I always wore. Looking down at my feet I could see that my toenails needed cutting. Tiptoeing out of the room, so as not wake Dawn, I pulled the door closed quietly behind me. From Dad’s bedroom I could hear snoring as I went into the bathroom.
Our bathroom was as dated as the rest of the house. All the taps on the moss green suite were loose and drippy. The floor was grey speckled lino that looked dirty no matter how often I mopped it. I opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink and hunted for the toenail clippers. The shelves were filled with Dawn’s products. I didn’t know what most of them did but one thing was for sure, she always looked and smelt nice. Behind a large bottle of bubble bath I eventually found what I was searching for.
Sitting on the edge of the bath I lifted one knee up to my chin and started to trim my nails. The hard crescent clippings fell to the floor and collected in a pile. I couldn’t remember the last time I paid attention to my feet and wondered why I was bothering on that day. Ms Faulks would not be seeing my toes.
After having a quick shower, I brushed my teeth. I watched in the mirror as my hair dried in front of my eyes until it stood up in the usual halo of frizz around my head. Even though I was clean, I looked like a mess. Determined to make a good impression at the interview, I opened the cabinet again and pulled out the box containing Dawn’s vast collection of hair accessories. Fingering through the content I wondered what some of the knick-knacks did. How they fixed into your hair was a mystery to me. But then I found a black Alice band that would do the job. I did my best to flatten my hair then placed it carefully on my head before inspecting myself in the mirror. I looked so different with my hair pushed back from my face. My skin was so pale and my cheeks lacked colour. I toyed with the idea of applying a little bit of make-up but didn’t want to risk putting it on wrong so decided against it.
With a towel wrapped around my body, I crept back past Dad’s room and into my bedroom. Dawn was still in the Land of Nod as I carefully opened the wardrobe door and removed an old white shirt I used to wear to school. Since I didn’t have a suitably smart skirt to go with it I reached for a pair of black cotton-mix trousers and got dressed as quietly as I could. I didn’t want Dawn to see me leaving the house looking like that. She would ask questions.
It wasn’t impossible that I would have time to go the interview and make it back to the house in time to change before either of them rose from their pits, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I stuffed a long brown cotton skirt and blue T-shirt into my rucksack before putting on my old black lace-up school shoes. I would change in the public toilets on the green before I came home. Just to be on the safe side.
Once downstairs in the kitchen I prepared my breakfast, which
consisted of a bowl of Ready Brek, a glass of water and an orange. On the hob I warmed the milk and water before plunging the oats in to cook. There was something quite soothing about watching the grains expand in the liquid. Gradually they turned into a grey mush and I added half a teaspoon of sugar before removing them from the heat.
Mum always used to make me porridge when I was little, especially when it was cold. It made me feel close to her repeating the habit and so it became my tradition every morning, whatever the weather.
Dawn only ever ate fruit. Better for my skin, she used to say. I’m sure she was right but I pitied her. She didn’t remember mum the way I did.
I put my empty bowl into a sink full of water to soak while I turned my attention to the orange. Taking a knife out of the cutlery draw I sawed carefully through the waxy skin of the fruit. When the metal met the juicy flesh I took my time. Watching the juices spill out and drip down the blade was hypnotic.
When all that was left was the dimpled skin of the fruit on a plate, I tidied away the evidence of my breakfast and got ready to leave. It was eight-twenty. I had forty minutes before I was due at the bookshop. On a warm sunny day, like it was, it would only take me twenty-five minutes to walk there. That meant I wouldn’t be late. That was a good thing. The interview was going to be challenging enough without my timing being brought into question.
As I left the house I was convinced that I heard someone stirring. It would be just my luck if on that day one of them decided to get up early. The world was against me, and I wondered why I had always ignored this fact until now.
Pulling my rucksack over my arms, I tugged the door closed behind me and stepped out on to our bland street. Even in the sunshine, when it should have looked its best, it was uninspiring. No wonder most of the people who lived locally had issues with alcohol.
Determined not to let my new-found resolution take a hit, I marched along the concrete pavement towards my future. It was as exciting as it was sobering. I did my best to forget my first encounter with Ms Faulks. She clearly had a soft spot for Larry and I hoped that might extend to me, too.
The Optician’s Wife: a compelling new psychological thriller Page 3
