First Friends

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Well, only that this is a temporary move, isn’t it? When you buy your own place you can be a bit further out, you don’t need to be so close, do you?’

  ‘Close to what? I shall be working in Tavistock, remember.’

  ‘Quite, but you don’t have to live right on top of the office, do you? Surely you won’t mind a bit of a drive to and fro.’

  ‘Anything to oblige.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to put you out. Don’t worry about any inconvenience to me.’ She turned some sliced potatoes cooking separately in another pan, wondering what had come over her. Sex—or should she call it love-making?—had left her irritable, empty.

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Tom got up and went to her, turning her by the shoulders to face him. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She tried to twist away from him. ‘Look, let go, or the omelette will burn.’

  ‘Sod the omelette! I want to know what’s going on. You’ve been behaving strangely ever since I arrived. What is it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She stopped struggling and relaxed in his grip. ‘I suppose I feel you’re taking me over a bit too much. You come in, out of the blue, expect to lay me at once, practically on the hall floor, and then start telling me where to live. It just seemed a bit much, that’s all.’

  His hands dropped abruptly away from her.

  ‘I see. Anything else?’

  ‘What else should there be?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He sat down again at the kitchen table. ‘Perhaps I should have said “who” else?’

  ‘Who else? What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, if I had to guess I’d suggest that chap you were living with the last time I was home, Michael, is it?’

  To her horror she found herself blushing.

  ‘Rubbish! I’ve known Michael for years. Why does it have to be someone else? I’ve told you exactly what it is. Or is it that you prefer to think that it’s someone else rather than your own behaviour?’ What am I saying! she thought aghast. What am I doing?

  Tom stood up and moved his chair back under the table.

  ‘OK. I can take a hint. Why didn’t you just say so at once? I don’t know what’s happened, Harriet, but you’ve changed. You always seemed such a warm, gentle, feminine person but now I’m beginning to wonder if I know you at all.’

  ‘For warm, gentle and feminine read infatuated, weak and ready to be used! I don’t think we know each other at all, Tom. I think we’ve had a very idealised view of one another which was bound to dissolve once we came into close contact. The point is, do we want to get to know the real people underneath?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tom shoved his fists into his pockets. ‘This is a hell of a shock.’ He managed to look both pathetic and cross. ‘I was so looking forward to being with you.’

  She felt both impatient and sympathetic but the inevitable feelings of guilt stirred.

  ‘Well, you still can be. I just want it to be real and not pretend.’ She went to him and slipped her arm through his. ‘We’re old friends, that must count for something. Shall we try again?’

  ‘If you really want to.’ He looked down at her and she saw that she’d shaken his confidence as well as annoyedp him. The guilt became stronger.

  ‘Of course I do,’ she lied. ‘Where shall we start?’

  ‘Let’s go back to bed.’ He looked much happier; more in control, of himself and the situation, and, unlike Michael, he had no doubt as to his abilities in the bedroom. ‘It’s always a good place to start.’

  Biting back a retort Harriet switched off the hotplates.

  ‘You don’t want to eat first?’

  ‘I couldn’t. I just want you. Oh God, you gave me a fright, Harriet. Come over here.’

  She went to him praying that she could put up a good performance. It was going to be a very long weekend.

  FOR CASS THE WEEKEND passed in a haze of sunshine, mellow wines, good food and love-making. Nick was tender, exciting, thoughtful and untiring. If this is an older man, thought Cass at one deliriously exciting moment, you can keep all the young ones!

  They walked across the Long Mynd hand in hand and embraced, knee deep in heather, with the sunshine warm on their shoulders and the wind tugging gently at their hair. They explored Offa’s Dyke and Clun Castle and drove to Bishops Castle and Shrewsbury. In the evenings, Cass exchanged her tweed skirt and Aran jersey for the calf-length suede skirt and long, supple leather boots; a soft, woollen shawl flung round the silk shirt. Nick wore a fine wool grey suit with a silk shirt and tie and thus attired they sallied out to eat. They made a handsome couple. They had decided to make the small room at the Bear ‘their’ place and went there on each of the three evenings. They called the waiter, George, by his Christian name and delighted in his special attentions.

  ‘You’d think he’d known us for years,’ whispered Cass, lifting a little spray of flowers put specially by her plate, as George left the room with their order.

  ‘People don’t have to know you years to love you, my darling. It’s instantaneous. Look how it was with me.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ They’d already discussed this ad nauseam.

  ‘What can I do to make you believe me? Wait ‘til we get back home, I’ll show you then!’ And they smiled at each other, delightfully, secretly, in the candlelight.

  On Sunday night, however, clasped in Nick’s arms, Cass watched the firelight flickering in the room below them and felt miserable.

  ‘Nick,’ she whispered and felt his arms tighten around her, ‘I don’t want to go home tomorrow. I want to stay here with you.’

  ‘Darling.’ She felt his lips move against her hair. ‘I’d like that too, but you know it’s impossible.’

  ‘Why?’ She felt his chest move as he chuckled.

  ‘You know very well why, my love.’

  ‘I don’t. There’s no real reason why we can’t always be together like this.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be like this. I’m a partner in a busy practice and I have to work. And what about our families?’

  ‘You haven’t got a family.’

  ‘I have Sarah to look after. I could hardly abandon her, could I? She’s older than I am, you know, and she’s been a loyal wife.’

  ‘Yes, but you say there’s nothing between you any more, you have separate bedrooms and different interests. Wouldn’t she give you your freedom if she were well provided for? We’re so good together, Nick.’

  ‘Ah, my darling. Don’t you think I haven’t thought about it? Of course I have. But it’s not something to be entered into lightly, you’d probably tire of me in a fortnight.’

  ‘You know that’s rubbish!’

  ‘How sweet you are. Come here, my darling, don’t let’s spoil our last evening. We must be together again very soon and meanwhile we’ll think very hard of what is to be done.’

  And, as his lips touched hers and his hands moved against her skin, Cass felt that she’d give up family, friends, everything, if Nick and she could stay like this forever, in the little magic world she’d found here in the Shropshire hills.

  I WONDER, THOUGHT HARRIET, as she lay beside the sleeping Tom, how I could have been so obsessed by him for so long? The thought of him has dominated my life for years, like some long illness. It ruined my marriage and has all but destroyed any happiness I might have found with Michael. What a fool I’ve been, like a lovesick infatuated kid of fifteen. How am I going to tell him it’s all over when it’s only just started?

  It was early Sunday morning and the weekend had indeed been a long one. They had patched things together on Friday evening but, for Harriet, the vital spark had been extinguished and without it she found the pretence an enormous strain. Tom, however, seemed to have been taken in by her efforts and for that she was grateful. He had decided that the idea of a mistress near to hand was very attractive. He had always taken his pleasures where he’d found them but now he was getting older a more permanent arran
gement would have many advantages. Harriet had given him a rather nasty shock but he was already putting that down to feminine megrims or PMT. Nevertheless he felt that a few treats were in order. So he’d taken her to Exeter on Saturday and, praying that he wouldn’t see anyone he knew, had given her lunch.

  Later that evening they’d gone out to dinner at Grumpy’s in Tavistock, Harriet in terror that she should see Michael but Tom, by now, very blasé about the whole thing. As it happened it all went very smoothly but Harriet was finding it increasingly difficult to behave as though she were at the beginning of a relationship when she knew, in her heart, that she was at the end.

  I should have told him at once, she thought now, edging cautiously across the bed. It would have been fairer. I’m just a coward.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Tom put out an arm and caught her round the waist. ‘Sneaking off when I wasn’t looking.’

  Oh, for God’s sake, not again! Harriet bit back the words but resisted firmly.

  ‘Must go to the loo.’ She prised away his hand. ‘Shan’t be long.’

  ‘Mind you’re not.’ He rolled over and seemed to go back to sleep.

  She picked up her dressing-gown and slippers and went out quietly. She could not, simply could not, face any more sex. Her whole body ached with it. He seemed indefatigable. They’d made love before rising on Saturday morning, on their return from Exeter and having arrived home from Grumpy’s. Thank heavens he had to be back on the boat this afternoon!

  Twenty-seven

  On Monday morning Mrs Hampton and Jane Maxwell met by chance again on the step of the village shop. This time Mrs Hampton was going in and Jane was coming out.

  ‘How’s everythin’ goin’, my lover?’

  ‘It’s worked out like a dream.’ Not usually given to demonstrative ways, Jane clasped Mrs Hampton’s forearm and shook it. ‘You were right, you know, about Mrs Wivenhoe—Cass. She’s just sorted everything out like magic. She seems to know everyone. I’ve wanted to come and tell you but I’m staying in as much as possible. See what I mean? In case I see Phil. That’s why I’m out so early.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper, though there was no one in earshot. ‘He keeps phoning up. Threatening to come to the house.’

  Mrs Hampton drew Jane to one side as someone opened the shop door from inside.

  ‘You haven’t told him?’

  ‘God, no! Told him I wasn’t well and the doctor said I had to rest or I’d lose the baby. Last time we were together he was a bit, well, rough like. He’d had a few. So I told him it was his fault and I’ve got to stay in bed. Only a week or so to go now, thank God.’

  Looking at Jane, Mrs Hampton began to wonder if she were, after all, doing the right thing in encouraging her. Of course it was right to be faithful and loyal to your husband, no question about that, but she couldn’t, somehow, see Jane placed happily amongst the officers and their wives.

  The simple truth of the matter was that Jane had tried to better herself. Mrs Hampton didn’t hold with it. No harm in improving your lifestyle, broadening your outlook, stretching the brain, as long as you didn’t pretend. Once you started to pretend you were all set for misery. And Jane did pretend. Mrs Hampton was well aware of Jane’s refinements; her speech—which tended to slip when she was excited or relaxed—her clothes and her home were all proof of this to those who knew her of old. Mrs Hampton sighed, filled with foreboding. Well, it was too late now. She’d made her bed and she would have to lie on it. She was as likely to have as much happiness with one as with the other.

  ‘I’m glad to see you lookin’ brighter,’ she said. ‘You looked right worried when I saw you last.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Jane gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘I was out of my mind. But I’ll be all right now, though. As long as I can keep out of his way.’ She looked, almost fearfully, up the village street. ‘Silly, isn’t it?’

  ‘When d’you think you’ll be off?’

  ‘I’m waiting to hear from Alan. Could be as soon as this weekend. Dunno how he’ll take it. All sudden, like. I shall be glad when it’s all over.’

  ‘ ’Course you will. I ‘ope we’ll be able to say goodbye proper like.’

  ‘I’m gonna miss you.’ Looking at Mrs Hampton’s comfortable shape and kindly face representing, for the moment, her childhood and roots, Jane felt an overwhelming sense of loss and fear: she would miss Mrs Hampton, her mum and sister down near Plymouth, the village and the friends of her youth. Although she had tried to separate herself from them, rise above them as it were, they had been there, within call, part of her daily life. She was going among strangers—she included Alan—and leaving her own people.

  Mrs Hampton saw the panic in her eyes and guessed, rightly, the reason for it.

  ‘Everythin’ll be fine, my lover. It’ll all blow over an’ then you’ll be ‘ome again with a new member of the family to show us all. ‘Twill go like a flash.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Jane slowly. ‘I hope so. I don’t want to go away forever.’

  ‘An’ why should you? ’Tis your ’ome. Young Philip’ll get over it an’ ’twill be good for you to get away an’ see somethin’ of the world. We’ll still all be ’ere, waitin’ for you.’

  ‘You’d better be.’ Jane tried for a lighter note. ‘We’ll stay in touch, though, won’t we? I’ll be able to ring you up for a chat, like. It’ll be strange at first.’

  ‘We can write too, can’t we? Taught you that at the village school, didn’t they? Well, then! An’ you’ll ‘ave your Alan with you. ‘Tisn’t as if he’s at sea. You’ll ‘ave a lovely time. Little outin’s in the car. ‘Tis a pretty county, Kent. Oh, you’ll ‘ave a wonderful time! An’ then there’s the baby to look forward to; you’ll be rushed off your feet.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, really. I’m being silly. It’s the baby, I reckon, makes you all emotional like. You can’t come over for a cuppa?’

  ‘Not this mornin’, my lover. I’ve gotta go over to the Rectory. They’ve all been away for the weekend so I may be able to get on a bit before any of ’em’s back.’ She felt compassion, however, at Jane’s expression. The days are long when you’re in hiding. ‘Course I could come in about teatime. ‘ow’s that suit you?’

  ‘Oh, yes! That’d be great! I’ll go home and do a bit of baking. It’ll make a change from knitting.’

  ‘Thass right, love, keep yourself busy. I’ll see you later on, then.’

  They parted and Mrs Hampton entered the shop. Having bought one or two items, which, since they were to be used for the cleaning of the Wivenhoes’ home, she put on Cass’s bill, she crossed the green and went up the Rectory drive. The kitchen door was locked but she had her own key and, letting herself in, hung her coat up on one of the hooks in the passage, changed her shoes and went into the kitchen.

  Charlotte sat at the kitchen table staring at a bowl of uneaten cornflakes.

  ‘Well, there! I didn’t know anyone was ’ere. When did you get back?’ She looked more closely at Charlotte. There was something wrong with the child.

  ‘And ’ow was Bristol then?’ she asked when Charlotte showed no disposition to speak. ‘Did you manage to see Hugh?’

  Charlotte shook her head and her lips trembled. ‘He wasn’t there. They said he’d gone away for the weekend. With friends.’ She paused, rubbing her hands over her mouth and gazed wildly round the kitchen. ‘But I saw him. I went out for a walk and I saw him. Them.’ She stared at Mrs Hampton. ‘He was with a girl. That Lucinda that was at the party. They didn’t see me. They were all over each other, in public, kissing, his hands were all over her. And then he saw me.’ Her face twitched uncontrollably, as expressions of horror, distaste, anger and misery chased across it. ‘They came up to me and started talking. Hugh didn’t know what to say but she didn’t care. She laughed and said they were having a naughty weekend at her brother’s flat, just the two of them. She had her arms all round him. And he . . . he . . . ’ She choked over her words. ‘He spoke to me as if I were just some frien
d or other. Asked who I was staying with. I told him I was with Ma and he looked . . . he looked . . . relieved!’ She wrenched the last word out painfully and, as she did so, she collapsed across the table, arms outstretched, her head upsetting the bowl of cereal, milk splashing over her face.

  Mrs Hampton, who had been shocked into silence by this recital, pulled herself together and hurried to her, hauling her upright and wiping Charlotte’s face with the apron she still held in her hand.

  ‘There, there, my lover, gently, gently now. Let ‘Ammy dry your face. Ssh, now, quiet now.’ The abandonment of Charlotte’s grief terrified her and she rocked her against her bosom while the tears poured out of the girl’s eyes into her open mouth, stretched wide in a silent scream. She lay like a great rag doll in her arms. Desperately Mrs Hampton looked round for inspiration. She would phone Kate. Kate would know how to handle it.

  ‘Look my lover, look, sit up properly now. Up we come.’ It was like dealing with a drunk person. ‘Look, come over ’ere, then, where ‘tis comfortable.’ She led Charlotte, reeling, to the rocking chair and propped her in it. ‘I’m gonna make you a nice ‘ot strong cuppa. Sit there, now. That’s it.’ She went to the Aga where the kettle, probably put on by Charlotte earlier, had almost boiled itself dry, refilled it and glanced back at her. The girl sat, slumped in the rocker, tears trickling from beneath her closed lids.

  Mrs Hampton slipped into the hall and picked up the telephone receiver.

  AT LUNCHTIME ON MONDAY, Harriet paused outside Michael’s office and peered through the window, looking beyond the revolving photographs of desirable properties to the brightly lit interior. There was no sign of Michael. He might be closeted with a client in his office, out taking on a new property or doing a survey. She was conscious of a feeling of great disappointment.

  Yesterday afternoon, after Tom had left, she had washed her hair and soaked in a hot bath for some time before dressing in clean clothes and changing the sheets on the bed. Then, after a general clean round, she had driven up on to the moor and, parking at Sampford Spiney, embarked on a long, refreshing walk. She felt that she wanted to slough Tom off, to rid herself, as it were, of the feel of him, the smell of him and his presence generally: she wanted to cleanse herself of him, mentally and physically. Her obsession for him was over as if it had never been and she could only marvel at and regret all those years she had spent mooning after him. What a fool she’d been. She thought of Ralph and felt a wave of remorse and self-disgust. With her mad infatuation colouring her emotions the marriage had stood no chance. She knew now that she had never been in love with Ralph; nevertheless, she knew that they would have done much better if she had not clung to her stubborn idealistic love for Tom. She thought of him, dying alone in the water, and felt horror, guilt and real sorrow. She knew that it had been an accident, Ralph was not the suicidal type, and she knew too that he had not been in love with her, but they might have been as happy as most people are and certainly a great deal happier than they had been.