My Husband's Sin

by Mary T Bradford

  “Yeah well, she often can, can’t she?” the older woman sighed. “I was a bit taken aback sure, but look, no worries, okay?” Sally was all for leaving the past in the past.

  “Thanks, Sal. I know you’re all missing your mum. I mean, I miss her, too, even though...well, you know. But I feel like I’ve been hit by a large, very fast moving train.” She slammed her fist into her other palm to emphasise the collision.

  Wondering whether to continue on the sensitive subject of their parents, Sal took the bold step and probed further. “Had you any idea, Lacey, about Mum, I mean Lillian? Did Dad not say anything or even hint at it?”

  “No, not a clue. I always felt that Lillian didn’t approve of me, that I could never please her. I thought maybe she was a bit jealous that I was a daddy’s girl. You and Willow were in boarding school and there was a large enough age gap. I thought maybe my arrival had ruined some plans Lillian had.”

  “Did you really feel left out? I mean, how did you cope? Did you ever question Mum about it? Or even Dad, for that matter?” So many questions for everyone to have answered, but who would?

  “When you and the others were around, things were okay; good even. I did tackle Lillian once about how she often didn’t bother to turn up after we arranged to meet for lunch. I’d sit there like a fool in the café and wait. She would laugh and say she forgot, it was old age coming on and she would make it up to me, but she never did. I always felt it was me, I was the disappointment, the black sheep, you know the way they say there is one in every family.” Lacey grew silent again.

  “Hey, why not go upstairs and have a few hours rest? When you’ve had a nap, I’ll make dinner and we can talk some more, unless you have plans for later?” Sally began to clear away the dishes.

  “That would be heaven, Sal, are you sure?” The smile on Lacey’s face showed how nice it was to be looked after.

  “Go before I change my mind.” Sally pushed Lacey gently out into the hall and watched as she climbed the stairs of their family home, pausing to glance at photos on the stairwell. The house was filled with many memories and it was the good ones she took to sleep with her as she snuggled beneath the duvet.

  Back in the kitchen, Sally picked up her book and went into the sitting room. She was reading Diane Chamberlain’s book, Secrets She Left Behind; Sally smiled at how apt an epitaph it would make on Lillian’s headstone.

  * * *

  The evening sun was setting when Lacey woke again. She stretched, satisfaction filling her, and looked around the familiar bedroom. The soft blues and pinks of the patchwork quilt were both delicate and feminine. There were prints with flowers, hearts, and some with fluffy-looking clouds. What it would be to live in such an ideal world with those gentle blue skies, clouds as soft as cotton wool, flowers to enjoy and inhale their exquisite scent, and where no hearts would get broken. Yes a dream-world indeed! She snuggled back down; the remnants of sleep fading from her body.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.” Sally stuck her head around the bedroom door and smiled to find her sister looking rested and more relaxed.

  “Coming. Smells good. I don’t remember you ever being able to cook!” Lacey stuck her tongue out in a playful way.

  “Cheeky, what about respect for your elders, young lady?” Sally chirped back.

  In the kitchen, she had the table ready and was putting the final touches to the meal when Lacey wandered in, yawning.

  “Seriously, Sis, it smells divine, what is it? Takeaway?”

  Sally playfully thumped Lacey. “I’ve been busy while you were snoring,” she remarked. “It’s chicken chasseur with some fresh vegetables and baby potatoes. Do you cook at all, or are you a ready-meal girl?” she asked Lacey, while she grabbed some plates.

  “Depends on time. Some days I’ll take the short cut and use ready-made, then others I’ll get stuck in and start from scratch.”

  “When I was travelling, money was always tight so I ate a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables, whatever was in season. It worked out cheaper and I would experiment with spices and stuff. It was better than any Home Economics class with that old bat Mrs. Bolton. Remember her?” Sally asked, placing the vegetables into a warmed serving dish.

  “Do I ever! Her idea of the perfect housewife was turning out the best brown soda bread and sewing a seam with an invisible stitch. I still have the apron I made in her class. Pink checked material.”

  Both girls laughed out loud at the memory as they settled down to enjoy their dinner.

  “I’ve never made brown bread since,” Lacey sighed, looking at her sister, the perfect hostess tonight. “You don’t...You do! Sally Taylor, are you telling me you make your own brown bread. Well, well, Mrs. Bolton would be proud.”

  “It was the only thing she taught us, so I suppose it stuck!” Sally said in an almost apologetic way.

  The two women enjoyed their meal, with a comfortable silence every now and then as the conversation ebbed and flowed. Having cleared up the table and stacked the dishwasher, they strolled through to the living room to relax.

  Lacey decided it was time to broach the subject of recent events.

  “It’s been such a hectic time. I don’t know where to start, Sally. I mean, I’ve so many questions and, to be honest, I need help getting the answers; any answers at all. Why didn’t Dad say anything to me? Write a letter even? Leave me some clue as to the truth? Did he know Lillian was going to divulge all? There is just so much I must find out!”

  She looked towards her sister and waited for a reply. For a few moments it looked as though Sally had nothing to say.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry, Sally, to heap this on you. I mean, it’s not your battle–”

  “Do you ever stop talking or jumping to daft conclusions? Also, you say ‘I mean’ a lot!” Sally grinned at her and continued, “I don’t know where to begin really, Lacey. I suppose, break it down to smaller steps. Like, list what’s most important for you to know first. Is it, did Dad leave any letter of explanation? Or is it, whether there was some agreement between him and Mum, you know, whoever died last would break the news sort of stuff?”

  “Yeah, I could do that, that’s a good idea. When you put it like that it seems it’s more manageable.”

  “You sound like Rob. He said something similar to me a while back. You’re definitely a Taylor,” Sally said.

  “Yes, I am, but who else am I? Sally, the first thing I need to know is who my mum is. Who is she and do I have other family out there? Will you help me? I mean, will you help me find my real mum, please?”

  The older sister looked shocked. Sally had totally overlooked the issue of the other woman, Lacey’s real mum.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Willow was in no mood for anything today. After Lacey ran from the restaurant that evening, she had sat there with Robert and Sally and pretended nothing had happened. But, of course, soft sensitive Sally insisted on following the spoilt brat to check on her. It was good of Rob to stand up to Lacey and send her packing. Willow was the head of the family now and she deserved respect.

  Lacey’s behaviour only showed up her true colours, her true pedigree. A stupid little tramp! Willow smiled as she thought of what her dear mum used to say, “What’s in the cat comes out in the kitten”. So true; Lacey was obviously like her sordid, real mother. No real breeding, just a rough cheap tart, Willow reckoned. She thought about it as she twirled her pearl necklace around her fingers. What kind of woman has an affair with a married man? Especially men like her father; he hadn’t exactly been George Clooney, but of course he did have wealth – one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs ever.

  That had to be it. That whore of a woman had only slept with Joe Taylor for money, no doubt. She wasn’t even interested in her own child, for goodness sake. Willow wondered if Joe paid her off. But why did Lillian agree to raise the child? Willow couldn’t deny she was secretly intrigued by it all. Glancing at the clock, she realised it was time to leave for her hair
appointment. Arranging a taxi to pick her up, she wondered if she got the opportunity to cheat on her husband would she take it. Could she resist temptation? Would Derek?

  She grabbed her coat and stepped outside just as her taxi pulled up. She had taken to travelling by taxi more now as it was less hassle than trying to find parking in the city. It also meant she could enjoy a glass of wine or two at lunch. Of course, Derek moaned about the expense, but she was adamant she would have a good lifestyle. She had been raised in one, she would remind him with venom when he protested.

  Charlie’s Salon was busy today, but Willow had a standing appointment each Thursday at two-thirty.

  “Any refreshments while you wait, Mrs. Taylor-Shaw?” the young assistant on work experience asked, while taking Willow’s jacket.

  “A coffee, please,” she replied, as she took her seat next to the window. It was very plush, customer comfort was a priority. The whirr of blow-dryers filled the air, the phone ringing and the raised chitter-chatter of the stylists, their clients all competing with each other to be heard.

  She sat in the red leather chair and looked out at the world. It was September and the good summer weather seemed to be continuing. The people were dressed in shorts and t-shirts, summer frocks and short-sleeved shirts. Groups of students strolled by, all chatting enthusiastically. Shoppers weighed down with bags filled from the end of summer sales, and various couples, boyfriends and girlfriends walked past. Mothers and children in buggies; mothers with daughters, too, Willow guessed.

  I miss you, Mum, she thought, as she watched a woman of Lillian’s age link a young girl’s arm as they crossed the road. A tear slid down her cheek and Willow surprised herself by the aching that overwhelmed her. She discreetly wiped away the tears and blew her nose. To be caught crying in public would be so juvenile, she thought, and sipped her coffee as she turned away from the street scene.

  It was nice to be pampered. The short bob style complimented her rather full face. She liked the deep red that caught the light, and it was a simple cut to manage when she showered. Very little blow-drying was needed to keep it looking well. Willow was relaxed as the stylist prepared her for her hair to be shampooed.

  “Why, Willow, how are you?” A voice from behind her shoulder caught her unawares. It was Mrs. Thornton, a nosy old wagon, albeit an important old wagon at the golf club.

  “I’m just in for a quick tidy-up. I suppose I shall see you at the golf fundraiser on Saturday night?” Mrs. Thornton asked. Before Willow had a chance to reply, the woman continued without pausing for breath, bending in closer near to Willow’s shoulder, she spoke in a conspiratorial voice, yet loud enough to be heard.

  “I heard about the drama at The Sea Horse. Maggie Heffernan told me you were assaulted, it must have been so upsetting.” She leaned out again so her kinder words were sure to be heard. “Oh, and I’m sorry to hear about your mother, dear, a lovely woman. Must dash, I’m meeting Maggie actually for afternoon tea.”

  The stylist stood speechless, holding a cape she was about to put on Willow’s shoulders. But Mrs Thornton sashayed away without a backward glance to Willow. The woman was on a mission and Willow wasn’t important enough to spend more than a civilised minute or two with.

  Willow reddened with anger. The cheek of that old bat. How dare she humiliate her like that! She could have at least lowered her voice and allowed Willow the chance to let her explain the restaurant incident. Willow was mortified; she would never forgive Lacey now. She must be the talk of the golf club. Thinking about the club, Willow thought it strange that she and Derek had not received an invite to the fundraiser. She must talk to him about it at dinner tonight.

  The young stylist got to work on Willow. After spending time cutting and blow-drying, she finally got her chance to talk to her client. Pulling off the cape, the stylist shook it with a quick snap before launching into a hundred questions for Willow. She loved a bit of gossip that involved her customers.

  “I heard Mrs. T say you were assaulted Mrs. T-S, how horrible! Were you hurt? Were they trying to mug you? It happened to my brother’s girlfriend once outside a betting office. Scared her silly it did, emotionally scarred like,” the hairdresser chatted on at top speed. It irritated Willow, especially her habit of calling the customers by their initials but there was no point in making a complaint because somehow this young one was loved by the other customers and staff.

  Willow paid and left no tip. Her good name was ruined and now she would be the gossip of the salon. She knew by the time the stylist finished today, the story would have grown legs. She would probably have a broken jaw and black eyes by the last report of the evening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Crikey, it’s so dusty here.” Sally coughed to clear her throat, but it didn’t work. “How about we open the skylight so we can actually breathe?”

  “Good Lord, look at all the stuff packed up here, where do we even start?” Lacey asked in bewilderment.

  She had seemed a lot happier since Sally had agreed to help her, and had jumped at her idea to come back this morning and go through the attic to try and unearth any letters or documents that might be useful.

  Surrounded by boxes and bags, the two women each took a corner and settled into looking for evidence. Sally reckoned it was going to be a tougher job than Lacey thought. In her innocence, she probably expected there would be an envelope or a file with her name written on it, just waiting to be opened. Sally hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed.

  The cobwebs clung to their hair and clothes as spiders dashed away into the shadows, annoyed at their homes being invaded. Sally took a large cardboard box that was sealed with brown tape. She tried opening it but failed. Then she saw her dad’s old toolbox and grabbed a screwdriver.

  With the container opened, she discovered all of Rob’s old school reports, drawings, and even some birthday cards. The school photos were delightful: how cute Rob looked in his short pants and school tie. She must give him this treasure chest of memories to keep. Opening another box, she found newspapers, lots of copies of the same yellowed and tatty-looking local Chronicle. Why were these stored away? Had Dad’s affair made the papers? Surely not!

  “Hey, Lacey, look here, this one contains loads of newspapers. They are about twenty years old or so, do you think we should study them or will we come back to them?”

  “Wow, interesting. How about we bring them downstairs, then we can go through what we find?”

  Lacey sounded more optimistic. Until then she had found old clothes and baby stuff that had Willow’s name on it or Sally’s, but nothing related to her. They continued to search, and found a few other little treasure chests with baby photos.

  By lunchtime, they were both shattered and covered in dust. They headed down from the stuffy attic and washed their grubby hands and tidied themselves up before preparing a bite to eat.

  “Goodness, Sal, there’s a lot to go through in that load of papers.”

  “Yeah, they must be important in some way. I wonder if it was Mum or Dad that saved these.”

  The older woman washed some tomatoes while Lacey made a pot of tea.

  “How about staying here tonight, and that way we can take some time going through the stuff?” Sally took a variety of cold meats and salad ingredients out of the fridge.

  “This is exciting. What will we find?” Lacey’s excitement was infectious, but Sally felt obliged to caution her.

  “I hope it’s going to be good news for you, Sis, and not disappoint you. Have you thought about what if its bad news or something you don’t like?” She looked at the young woman whose facial expression clearly revealed her apprehension.

  “Mr. Sherman asked me the same thing, the last time I saw him. He recommended I consider some counselling.”

  “And have you?” Sally was impressed at Philip Sherman’s way of thinking. She totally approved of this idea.

  “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? My mother’s a druggy, or some low
life, or she doesn’t want to know me or see me?” The young girl looked out the window. A wistful mood had overtaken her, her mind struggling with such scenarios.

  The sound of Sally putting a large bundle of newspapers on the table brought her back to the present and she watched her sister spread the old yellowing papers across the table top. A stale smell of musty paper clung to the air.

  “Okay, these are going back eighteen years or so. Will we divide them up and just sort of glance at them first to see if anything jumps out at us? What do you think, Lacey?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” she replied.

  The two women took a paper each, and started to go through them, page by page. Headlines of murder, interest rates rising, and politicians or sportspeople misbehaving, were repeated again and again. Nothing seemed to stand out. After two solid hours of scanning, both of them were tired and agreed on a break. It was hard not knowing what to look for. There had been no mention of either their father or Lillian in any of the papers so far. Not even an advert for their father’s business. They tried to recall what interests Joe or Lillian had, and whether or not that would lead them anywhere. Everything seemed to be building up to a dead-end.

  “I don’t suppose Willow would help out?” Sally asked, weary from the search. Her neck and shoulders ached from being bent over the print. She stretched and longed for a hot soak.

  “Are you for real?”

  Sally saw the disbelief in Lacey’s eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, she knew Mum best. She might know something that could at least give us a lead.”

  “Honestly, do you see her helping me out? I’m enemy number one in her book. She would rather walk over hot coals barefoot than help me, I reckon.”

  Lacey cupped her face in her hands as she leaned on the table. She looked drained and demoralised. “Maybe if you asked her, Sally, she might talk to you. It would be good to have some sort of direction.” She picked up a paper at random and leafed through it, adding, “There must be something in these. I mean, why keep them? I’ll get on to Mr. Sherman and see if he has found out any more.”