Me and Mr Jones

by Lucy Diamond

  Her heart turned over, knowing how miserable he’d found it being unemployed. Being active and busy again might be just what he needed. ‘Great idea,’ she agreed. ‘And then if you two do decide to sell up after the summer,’ she went on to his parents, ‘at least the place will be looking wonderful. You’ll certainly be able to get a better asking price if everything’s been freshly painted and decorated.’

  ‘Good, excellent,’ Hugh said approvingly. ‘How does all that sound?’ he added, turning to his parents.

  Eddie nodded. ‘Very sensible,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Lilian said, pressing her lips together suddenly as if she felt emotional. ‘That’s an enormous weight off my mind, I can tell you.’

  Charlie was the only one who didn’t seem happy. Emma got the feeling he was sulking because nobody had taken seriously his initial offer of shouldering the business single-handedly. Even David talking enthusiastically to him about how they could transform the barns over the next few weeks didn’t draw the youngest brother out of his pique.

  Get used to it, Charlie, she found herself thinking unsympathetically. You can’t have everything your own way.

  Emma hadn’t realized just how keen David was to get started with the paint rollers and dustsheets until he broke the news that she would be driving back to Bristol alone that evening.

  ‘What … you’re not coming back?’ she asked in surprise. ‘But …’ But what about the shagathon? she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat. Oh God, he’d forgotten that this was the crucial time for conceiving. Dare she remind him? What if he shrugged it off?

  ‘You don’t mind, do you? I just want to do something, Em. I want to feel useful again. Dad’s got some spare painting overalls he can lend me, so I might as well get stuck in straight away.’

  How could she say no, when he put it like that? How could she start nagging about ovulation windows and fertility, when he was cheerful for the first time in weeks? ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said untruthfully, after a moment.

  It was the right reply to give, but nevertheless there was a hollow ache inside her as she hugged him goodbye later on. And as she drove away, all on her own, waving over her shoulder, the tears were brimming before she’d even reached the main road.

  There went another egg, wasted and unfertilized. And here came another long, miserable four-week wait racking up ahead of her. She was starting to get the feeling that maybe this was never going to happen. Perhaps she was destined to remain childless and barren for the rest of her life. Maybe it would serve her right for—

  She gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. Don’t go there, Em.

  All the same, she wished she’d had the nous to persuade David to return with her now, wished she’d said, Actually, why don’t you come home tonight, pack a few things and then head back in the morning? That was a perfectly reasonable request, wasn’t it? And then she could have seduced him back at the flat; he’d have been up for a farewell shag, surely? She wouldn’t even have had to say the word ‘pregnant’.

  Damn it. And now it was too late, and she would spend tonight alone, while her husband (and his sperm) was fifty miles away. Bloody Eddie and Lilian, she thought, banging her fist on the steering wheel. Wrecking everything, as usual! Did they want another effing grandchild or not, for heaven’s sake!

  The only tiny thing that comforted her, the only meagre crumb of solace that kept her going, was the knowledge that back at home, the Oh Baby! forum would be waiting for her on her computer. Those women would understand, even if her own husband didn’t.

  Chapter Nine

  Alicia was already regretting her offer to muck in with the Mulberry House laundry. That very afternoon Lilian had loaded up their car with two bin liners full of sheets, duvets, pillowcases and towels, all of which needed washing and ironing. ‘By Wednesday, if you can,’ she added.

  ‘Right,’ Alicia said faintly, mentally kissing goodbye to all the marking she had planned for that evening, and the next, and the next.

  Hugh hadn’t come away empty-handed, either. Eddie had pressed on him a cardboard box full of files and folders, a stack of bills and the company bank accounts. Great, Alicia thought with an uncharacteristic attack of sourness as they drove home. So much for the Turning-40 Action Plan; in just a few hours it had been rudely shouldered aside by the Helping the In-Laws Chore List. And surprise, surprise, while she and Hugh were saddled with the dirty work, Charlie and David got to lark about with paint pots. How come it always turned out that way?

  Still, in fairness, she only had herself to blame. The guilt reflex had inevitably kicked in and she’d ended up conforming to type after all, old Goody Two-Shoes sticking her hand up for more drudgery. Why couldn’t she have thought of a more interesting contribution to make, though, like the others, instead of washing and flipping ironing?

  It was time to go back to her Action Plan and step up her game, she decided, if only to shock the rest of the Joneses into realizing that there was more to Alicia Jones than laundry and home-making. Hell, yes!

  She was prompted into action the very next day, during her lunch break in the staffroom. The morning had been spent invigilating a history mock-GCSE exam and she’d sat there watching all those young heads bent over their papers, brows crumpled with thought. What lay ahead for this group of bright-faced teenagers? she wondered. What were their dreams, their futures? She remembered so clearly sitting her own GCSEs, the gruelling revision timetable she’d drawn up with different coloured felt-tips for each subject, the butterflies she’d felt every morning the instant her Snoopy alarm clock went off, the solemnity of her teachers’ voices as they intoned, ‘You may now turn over your papers … and begin.’

  Little had she known that she’d be saying those very same words to her own students, twenty-three years later. And if she had known, would the thought have filled her with pride at the achievement … or a twinge of disappointment? Might she have thought: Is that it? She gazed out across the hall unseeingly. Did I do enough, Christine? she wondered. What would you have done differently?

  Afterwards, in the staffroom for morning coffee, she happened to tune into a conversation taking place behind her, and her ears pricked up.

  ‘Oh, you should come along next week! It’s such fun. Martine and I were in hysterics the whole time, honestly. And you don’t have to be super-fit to do it, either, it’s just a laugh. Something different, you know.’

  Alicia’s interest was caught. Such fun. Just a laugh. Something different. Wasn’t this exactly what she had been hankering after?

  She turned, coffee in hand, to see Juliet Cannock, one of the music teachers, talking to Wendy Turner, who taught IT. ‘What’s all this?’ she asked brightly, hoping she wasn’t blushing as she sat down beside them.

  ‘Oh, hi, Alicia,’ said Juliet, who was in her early thirties and wore floaty chiffon tops and pert-bum jeans. She had perfect eyebrows and a nose-stud, and a certain air of coolness that Alicia had always envied. ‘I was just trying to persuade Wendy to come along to my belly-dancing class with me. It’s a total scream. Go on, Wend, you’ll love it.’

  Wendy wrinkled her nose. She was younger than Juliet and on the plump side, with a cloud of dark wavy hair, enormous boobs and a penchant for high heels. Today she was wearing bright-red strappy sandals with a two-inch heel, the sort of thing Alicia wouldn’t have been able to walk in, let alone stride around a classroom with any confidence. ‘Maybe,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure it’s my cup of tea, though.’

  ‘Go on, you’ll have fun. It’s a beginners’ class, so anything goes. And you feel great afterwards – really buzzy.’

  Alicia couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt ‘really buzzy’. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had fun. Before she could stop herself, she heard her own voice saying, ‘I’ll go with you. I’ll give it a whirl.’

  Juliet did a double-take as if the reply was unexpected. ‘Seriously?�
�� she asked. She didn’t quite say ‘YOU?’ in a tone of disbelief, but she might as well have done. ‘Okay. Excellent. Now you definitely have to come, Wend, if Alicia’s brave enough.’

  Alicia felt almost tremulous at what she’d just put herself forward for. Her – belly dancing? What on earth would Hugh say when she told him? The thought of his stunned face made her want to giggle. ‘Yes, come on, Wendy, you know you want to,’ she said, light-headed at her own daring. ‘Life’s too short not to give things a try, right?’

  Juliet and Wendy were goggling at her breezy optimism. It was a staffroom first. ‘Um … okay, then,’ Wendy said after a moment. ‘Why not. We could make a night of it, couldn’t we?’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Alicia said. ‘You’re on.’

  Getting a nice haircut was one thing, but belly dancing … As the days passed that week Alicia began to wish she hadn’t been so quick to put herself forward for it. What had possessed her? She hadn’t done any dancing since she was a student, when she’d shuffled about self-consciously at the uni bop every week. Maybe the occasional embarrassed jig at friends’ weddings, after a glass too many of bubbly, but that was her limit. Alicia had always been a fan of limits – and for good reason, she thought now.

  Just as she was on the verge of backing out and composing an apologetic, untruthful text to Juliet about an unexpected family emergency, Hugh came back on Thursday with another carload of washing from Lilian, and something seemed to snap inside Alicia as he heaved it into the utility room. More drudgery. More washing. Was this really all she was good for?

  Come on, Alicia, a voice said in her head. It sounded how she’d always imagined Christine’s voice to sound – encouraging and kind. There’s more to you than housework and moaning. Don’t back out now.

  ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that tonight,’ she found herself telling Hugh as she went to get changed. ‘I’m going out with some friends. Belly dancing, actually.’

  So there she was that first evening, her face a study of trepidation, her body a mass of nerves, as she drove to meet Juliet and Wendy at the dance studio in Lyme for the class. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, she thought dazedly. Nor, it seemed, could Hugh.

  ‘Have a nice time,’ he said as she left. He still had that same confused, wary expression, as if he half-expected her to elbow him and laugh that of course she wasn’t really going belly dancing, she was taking up flower arranging at the WI club. Silly husband! Had he seriously believed her?

  ‘Thanks,’ she said instead and shut the front door, feeling a prickle of excitement despite her nerves. She never usually went out in the evening. Occasionally there was something on at the school, a PTA meeting or a fund-raising event that she and Hugh tried to go along to whenever possible, babysitters permitting. But going out like this, just her on her own, before the children were even in bed – that was a novelty. It felt like a small but significant uprising.

  ‘Alicia! You made it!’ said Juliet when she walked in. Juliet managed to look chic in a pair of yoga pants and a clingy turquoise shirt, whereas Alicia instantly felt like a PE reject in her jogging bottoms and a black vest top. You were meant to wear something fitted on top, apparently, so that you and the teacher were able to see your muscles working as you danced, but Alicia wasn’t sure she actually wanted her gut bobbling around on display to a room full of strangers. Not everyone was so modest, though. Some women in the studio were wearing floaty harem pants and cropped tops, which showed off sickeningly toned sets of abs. One or two of them even had golden coin belts around their trim waists, in proper Egyptian style.

  Oh, help. Why had she ever thought she could do this? ‘Where’s Wendy?’ she asked, looking around for moral support. There was no way solidly built Wendy would be in anything sheer or clinging either, she reassured herself.

  ‘Bailed out,’ Juliet said, with a hint of scorn. ‘Said she’s coming down with a cold. Coming down with skivilitis, more like.’ She waved at someone across the room. ‘Look, there’s Martine. I’ll introduce you, she’s fab.’

  Alicia just had time to say hi to Juliet’s friend Martine when a blonde woman in a purple cropped top and matching yoga pants strode to the front of the studio and spoke into a clip-on microphone. ‘Evening, all,’ she said, beaming around at them as the chatter died down. ‘I’m Debbie. Everyone ready for the warm-up? Then let’s begin!’

  To Alicia’s surprise, the class wasn’t as difficult as she’d been dreading. The warm-up seemed to be largely cardio-style exercises with big hip-circles and bottom-swings, then came a series of more focused exercises, such as squats and crunches. ‘Squats and pliés will strengthen our legs for the shimmies and hip-accents,’ explained Debbie. ‘Whereas these abdominal exercises will give us beautiful belly-movements.’

  Alicia was starting to care less and less about having beautiful belly-movements after countless agonizing stomach-crunches and it was a relief to move on to the dance steps themselves. Debbie showed them hip-bumps, ribcage-circles and snake-arms and, apart from poking her neighbour in the face during the arm-ripples and having to keep a hold of her ancient joggers every time she swung her hips, for fear of revealing her bum-crack to the woman behind, it wasn’t long before Alicia realized that she was actually quite enjoying herself.

  ‘Practise the routine over the week, and we’ll keep adding to it throughout the term,’ Debbie said at the end. ‘That’s it for tonight’s class, thank you all very much. See you next time!’

  Whew. Alicia was exhausted. She was absolutely hanging. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so done in, apart from after childbirth perhaps. Despite the deep throbbing weariness of her limbs, and the embarrassment she’d felt when she discovered just how hopeless the elastic in her joggers was, she had what could only be endorphins a-gogo sprinting elatedly around her tired, hot body. She had done it: she’d leapt and stretched, she’d shimmied and swayed. What was more, it had even been a laugh, bum-flashing moments aside. She hadn’t felt so alive and tingly for ages. Months. Years, even.

  ‘That was FUN,’ she said to Juliet as they went to put their shoes on. ‘Thank you so much for letting me tag along.’

  ‘Pleasure!’ Juliet said. ‘Really glad you could come. Are you going to join us for a drink? You’d be very welcome.’

  Did she want a drink? Ohh … She did want a drink, she could absolutely murder a large, cold, ice-clinking gin and tonic, but on second thoughts she was sweaty and red-faced and probably a bit smelly too. ‘Better not,’ she said. ‘Hugh’s expecting me. Another time, though.’

  ‘Brilliant. Well, see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘See you. Bye, Martine! Nice to meet you.’

  She was so glad she’d tried it. So glad she’d dared. She walked out of the studio humming the Egyptian music with a spring in her step. Christine would have been so proud of her. And just wait until she told Sandra!

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Hi, Lou – it’s me, Izzy.’

  ‘Hiya, love! God, I thought you’d dropped off the edge of the Earth. How are you?’

  Hmmm, good question. Increasingly paranoid, she felt like replying. Like I’m going mad. As winter turned to spring, a whole new crop of worries seemed to be sprouting, namely the texts buzzing in from Gary, from a different number each time. She blocked them one by one, but that didn’t stop him.

  Dirty slag.

  I want my girls.

  I’m gonna find u, Iz.

  It was doing her head in. It was really starting to scare her. Her fingers shook whenever she opened a new message, as if the phone might blow up in her hands. Go away, Gary, she thought desperately. Leave us alone.

  ‘Things are a bit difficult’ was all she said to Louise. She sighed, missing her friend suddenly, wishing she could walk into Louise’s warm kitchen and have a cup of tea with her. Louise had one of those bright, open faces you could tell anything to; she had always been on Izzy’s side. She was the one who’d encouraged her to leave Gary in the first place, who had
tutted and sighed with every new bruise and black eye. You can’t let him do this, she’d said at the end. You’ve got to have a bottom line – know when to get the hell out.

  ‘What do you mean, difficult? What’s happened?’

  Izzy shut her eyes and leaned back against the armchair. The girls were in bed, and she could hear the trees rattling in the wind outside. ‘Gary’s been in touch.’

  ‘Shit. What did he … ? Hang on, I’m just going to take you in the other room. Wait there.’

  Izzy tucked her feet up into the chair and put an arm around her knees. She missed having somebody hold her. Sometimes she even missed Gary, crazy as it might sound. She knew the girls did too; Hazel in particular was always asking after him. No, we can’t phone Daddy. Because we just can’t. I don’t know when we’ll see him again. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is, I’m afraid. We live here now.

  Had she been fair, taking them away from him, ripping the family apart? God knows she’d hung on for as long as she could. But he had gone too far that last time. Staying put and hanging on wasn’t safe any more.

  ‘Hi, sorry – I’m here. Just wanted to go in the kitchen, because Ricky’s watching TV and you know what he’s like, getting in a hump with me for yacking over it.’

  Izzy smiled weakly. ‘Yeah,’ she said. Louise and Ricky had the comfortable, easy sort of relationship where they only ever got annoyed with each other about things like what to watch on television, or who had scoffed the last biscuit in the packet. Lucky bastards.

  ‘So tell me. What’s happened? What did he say?’

  ‘He keeps sending horrible texts,’ Izzy said, lowering her voice, even though both the girls were definitely asleep. ‘Threatening ones, saying he wants the children back and that he’s going to find me. Horrible stuff.’