Her body was still shaking from this unexpected, violent exchange, as a chill ran through her and she watched helplessly, hating this demonstration of male aggression. Hating too, that she had been the cause of it. Despite the warmth of the room, she felt cold. Darren placed his arm around her shoulders, protectively.
‘Can I get you something?’ he asked, his voice making it very clear he was feeling contrite over the whole thing.
‘I … I would like to go home, please, Darren.’
‘Of course, I understand.’ He felt very disappointed. This wasn’t how he had pictured the evening would end. Nelson had always had a way of spoiling things for him. Older and more powerful, he always came out on top. He sighed. The others were drifting away; the excitement over.
As he drove they remained silent. She realized she had left without seeing Devon again. There were no parting words for her to cling to while she was away: no promise of phone calls. She’d not even been able to tell her she would miss her terribly. On second thought, perhaps that was just as well.
Soon they were outside #226 and Darren had turned off the engine. With diffidence he approached the subject of seeing her again.
‘I leave for home tomorrow.’
‘Will you be back in town for Devon’s New Year’s?’
‘I don’t know anything about that. She’s not said.’ Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. They should have had time for a proper goodbye. Devon didn’t even have her home phone number: “The Lindsay one,” she corrected herself.
Darren was speaking again; she had to force herself to pay attention. ‘ …So I really would like to see you.’ He was leaning forward earnestly, hoping not to be in pursuit of a lost cause.
‘I can’t say at this time what my future plans will be.’ She turned towards him, but her hand was at the door: ‘Thank you so much for rescuing me and for the lift home. I do appreciate your help.’ Again she felt so formal, but how else could she be?
He walked her to the house. At least he didn’t attempt to kiss her and for that she felt grateful, so she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek.
‘You are a very nice person, Darren, and my thanks were not just me being polite.’ He headed back to the car, then stopped and threw over his shoulder: ‘See you New Year’s.’
* * *
Trying to think of all the last minute things she may need was not easy that Sunday. The late night, coupled with a restless, unrefreshing sleep had left her feeling woolly-headed and slightly tenuous. It was as if someone else were going through her motions and she, the real Tenille, was the observer. Despite this very strange state, she got herself to the noisy, crowded Bay Street terminal in good time.
Toronto had entered into a severe cold snap. As soon as she had stepped outside, the moisture in her nostrils froze, giving her that prickly sensation she always associated with winter. Everyone’s breath held in clouds as they spoke. The exhaust from the vehicles passing by gave the same effect. “Funny”, she thought, “how cars are putting out that pollution all the time, but we only see it in winter.” She didn’t have far to go and getting there was easy, but the waiting around was tedious. She joined the snaking line up for return tickets and hoped she’d be able to catch up on her sleep on the journey.
Leaning against the bar, she observed the contrast of those bustling about and those sitting, bored with waiting. This hustle and activity was making her head pound; no longer used to five thirty starts. “How could all these people here be so jolly and excited?” She grimaced. An old grumps today, where was her Christmas spirit?
She wasn’t looking forward to this time with her parents. Not her parents; her mother. In close proximity, they were adept at rubbing each other the wrong way. Between her dad and herself it was much easier, less demanding; more accepting. But she would make a real effort for this to be a happy holiday.
Her business completed, she was free to move outside and station herself behind the Lindsay sign. Fumes from the idling coach engines were nauseating, but all that action inside was too much while in this fragile state. At least out here it was herself, the buses and the Salvation Army, shaking their bells and tambourines and singing out their hearts. She dropped loose change into the hat. Soon other people arrived.
The bus pulled up. She had watched it come from across the road, behind the Penatanguisheen coach. The driver jumped out to stow the baggage and she climbed aboard, selecting a window seat half way down, on the curb side. The coach pulled away and despite the early hour, took a long time to get to the Scarborough Town Centre. It only passed through. The second one would pick up the waiting passengers.
Out on the highway she let herself fall into somnolence, the magazine lying forgotten in her hands. She ruminated back over the party. She was experiencing a profound distaste for men’s attention, finding them asinine in their antics to attract her and in their efforts to dominate. She hadn’t noticed before how stupid they made themselves, trying to be macho and sexy. It was all a waste of time as far as she was concerned and she wished they’d just behave like normal human beings. But that was the trouble with men, she realized, if they were not interested sexually, then they weren’t interested period. Even Darren, sweet as he was, was attentive because he found her attractive. Her real self he probably couldn’t give a damn about. No, in Darren’s case that was being too harsh. But when men were driven by their gonads, anything would do. She had even heard of them fucking a hole in the wall. And animals too. Really, why did women worry so much about their appearance? Men would have intercourse with them no matter what. All they had to do was drop their draws. Discrimination in reverse? But when the lust was upon them they were blind. “Let’s face it,” she thought honestly, “the lust is upon them pretty much most of the time.” Love featured little in their way of being. “Give them their due for their children though,” she reflected, “they can love them.” What a jaundiced mood. What had brought all that on? She would have to lighten up before she hit Lindsay. ‘Mom will send you packing girl.’
The bus was barrelling along the 401 at a great rate, the open fields and small farm houses whizzed by. With signs of recent snow falls here, then Lindsay would be completely white.
She proceeded to speculate about the man with Devon. Was he someone special in her life? She sincerely hoped not. She could see he would be the type capable of attracting her. She was so very different. The avant-garde, the unexpected, that would be her beat. Odd how she had said nothing about New Year’s. And how she regretted leaving without saying goodbye. The omission burned a hole in her heart, yet she could not make it up. Eventually her brain, worn out from going round in ever decreasing circles, dropped her off into a fitful sleep. When the bus stopped to let someone off at the highway #15 turn off, lack of motion jolted her awake. Not much further now.
Turning her thoughts to the impending meeting with her mother, she believed it would go well. She’d bought her an expensive, cashmere sweater in a soft, delicate shade of blue, almost robin’s egg, with an elaborate applique of an orchid, in silver and bronze. She knew her mother would fall in love and although it had cost too much, she wanted to see that light of pleasure on her face. For her dad, another coin for his collection would score with him. Here she was, the prodigal, bearing gifts.
The bus pulled into the terminal and there he was, peering about myopically, as skinny as ever, despite the thick, bulky parka with its fur lined hood. In winter he had a hard time with his glasses steaming up. He was alone.
Alexander deferred to his wife in all things domestic. His autonomy lay in his work and the car. He was a senior technician at Union Carbide and there he really came into his own. His foreignness had made life difficult for him at first, but as his English improved, so did his work prospects. Now his occupation defined him, gave him substance. He would gladly put in overtime; go in weekends. At home he retreated to his den where he liked to sort and catalogue rare coins, developing quite a collection over the years. It had started
when he’d arrived from Malta as a young man, bringing with him an assortment of European currency which he had acquired by chance. He’d hung onto it, then received some early Canadian and American money, which had developed his interest. Doris had no time for it, but tolerated the hobby as a harmless pastime. At least he was home and not off, up to no good.
Fresh snowdrifts lay banked against the outbuildings, but the snowplough had cleared a driveway for the coaches, leaving everyone to negotiate over the thick, clumpy border it had created. Tenille remembered how, when she was little, she had enjoyed jumping into the middle of the drift, not following the footsteps as she aught.
‘Hi, Pumpkin,’ her dad’s voice resonated, as soon as she stepped down. ‘Which one is yours?’ surveying the array of cases and bags being unloaded.
‘That one.’
Alexander gave his daughter a quick hug before hefting up the holdall and striding off to the station wagon. ‘This is very nice,’ he remarked looking down: ‘Is it new?’
‘Very. A Christmas gift from Uncle Roger and Auntie Carmel. Weren’t they the observant chipmunks to figure this one out?’ she replied delightedly. It felt good to be back with her dad, struggling to keep up with him.
‘How’s Mom? Is everything okay at home?’ She was apprehensive over her absence.
‘Oh yes, no problem. She’s just working on last minute things. You know how she likes it all to be just right.’
Not her then.
The drive home restored her confidence and by the time they reached Maple Avenue they were both laughing and chatting, reliving old experiences as they passed familiar landmarks.
‘We’re home.’ Alexander called out, as he let them in and they stripped off their various layers. Tenille’s old slippers were ready and waiting. Doris came forward from the kitchen, arms outstretched to embrace her daughter.
‘Darling, how was your journey?’ Not waiting for a reply she ordered: ‘Alex, take Tennie’s bag to her room. Come to the kitchen and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’ She turned away, expecting her daughter to follow.
‘I’ll go up with dad, Mom. I just have a few things to do, then I’ll be right down.’
A look of displeasure crossed Doris’s face, but she said nothing. Tenille followed Alexander up to her old room, then he left her. She looked around as memories flooded back. The same pictures on the wall from her school and student days: the same duvet on the bed and drapes at the window. How quickly she could slip back to those younger years. Her mom had put a wreath of holly and fir cones across the top of the duchess mirror. Yes, that took her back. She couldn’t dawdle, she would be getting impatient. She unpacked the gifts from Carmel and Roger and her own for her parents and went down to the kitchen.
‘I wanted to get these out for you.’ Doris’s face brightened.
‘Oh, lovely. Here, Tennie, drink this.’ She placed a steaming cup before her and a plate of hot mince pies she’d just taken out of the oven. Her dad was already at the table.
‘We’ve waited for you before trimming the tree. I thought we could do it tonight, while we listen to the service of Nine Lessons and Carols from Kings College.’ She didn’t examine the parcels.
‘Great, Mom. It’ll be fun getting out the old decs.’
‘Yes, just like old times.’ Doris kept her hands busy at the sink. Alexander only nodded his head in agreement.
‘Now Tennie,’ Doris’s voice took on a more serious tone. ‘I’ve got some errands to do this afternoon and I’d like you to come with me. There are some ladies from the church I have to deliver a Christmas hamper to and I know they’d be thrilled to see you again.
‘Oh Mom. I don’t even know these people,’ she protested, ‘I …’
‘Now Tenille, don’t be difficult.’
She saw that stern look and knew this could be the start of a battle. No, she wouldn’t let it happen.
‘Perhaps she has other plans,’ Alex put forward, placatingly.
‘Of course she hasn’t other plans,’ Doris asserted briskly: ‘She only just got here …’ then she turned towards her: ‘Have you?’
‘No, Mom,’ she replied in a quiet voice.
‘There you are,’ she declared to her husband, triumphantly. This demonstration of her superior awareness put a look of satisfied smugness on her face. ‘You know I like to do my bit at Christmastime for those less fortunate and it’s good training for Tenille to be a part of charitable work.’ She pursed her lips as though she had delivered the homily of the day. Alexander looked across at his daughter to see how she was taking it. In her stride, it seemed.
He inserted a change of topic. ‘How’s life in the big city?’ smiling warmly across at her. Dear man.
Although launched happily into Toronto anecdotes, a sixth sense stilled Tenille’s tongue regarding Devon. How could she explain her?
Doris finished up her chores and finally came to sit with them. ‘Tell me, Tennie,’ everything was good between them again. ‘Is there a new man in your life?’ She was so happy to have her home.
Tenille frowned. ‘No, Mom.’ This could get boggy.
‘No. Why not?’ looking indignant. ‘A well brought up girl like you. You should be surrounded by nice, eligible, young men. What is Carmel thinking of?’
‘It has nothing to do with Carmel. My life is too busy just now.’ Could she provide someone for her mother to think about? Darren would do. She wanted to know how they had met, but she was reluctant to bring up the party. Perhaps this would paint it in a more absolving light. It did the trick; she was all ears. Then she had her own story to tell.
‘I bumped into Jerred last month.’ Tenille turned to her mother, surprised but not alarmed. Now what was coming?
‘Yes. He asked after you.’ She said nothing. ‘He told me he misses you. I got the feeling he regrets the divorce.’ Doris stopped and looked searchingly at her daughter. ‘You know, if you’d only wake up to what a good catch Jerred is, he would have you back. It’s sure he still has feelings for you.’
Tenille’s cheeks flushed red and her eyes blazed. Putting down her cup she clasped her hands, the pressure of her fingers whitening the knuckles. ‘Mom. How can you say these things to me? He would have me back. I don’t want him back. He didn’t make me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?’ Her stare was hard, challenging; the lips set tight.
‘Of course I do darling. You’re twisting my words. You know all I’ve only ever wanted is your happiness.’ Doris’s eyes were becoming red rimmed and she looked close to tears. Alexander felt sorry for her.
‘Doris, don’t distress yourself. It does no good for either of you to bring up the past.’ He looked at his daughter reproachfully. ‘Come along, get your things together and we’ll distribute the hampers you’ve prepared. Tennie will come with us.’
Both women rose from the table in silence. Tenille felt very upset. She had wanted so much to avoid flare-ups. Why did encounters with her mother so often finish with tension? It was Christmas, wasn’t it? A happy time?
With space to herself, Tenille was able to go out to the back porch where Betsy lived. She was a large, unruly Mastiff, too big for Doris and only allowed into the house on sufferance. Tenille had picked her out from the pound soon after she’d married. After the break she had brought Betsy home. That was okay, she had looked after her. The problem arose when she moved to Toronto. Now her dad was responsible, but Doris was not reconciled. One day she would be in a position to take Betsy back. Meanwhile …
Betsy was overjoyed to see her mistress again. She couldn’t jump high enough or often enough to express her pleasure. Tenille was clambered over; licked to within an inch of her life. Eventually she was able to get her own hugs in, accompanied by lavish compliments.
‘Tenille, are you ready?’ her mother’s voice called out.
She gave Betsy a sorrowful look. ‘Gotta go, Bets. I’ll take you for a lovely long run when I get back, I promise.’ The bitch followed her to the door to stand there, sad eyes reveal
ing her dejection. Tenille’s heart was torn but she had to go.
Betsy’s second greeting of her mistress showed all was forgiven. Going off to the park and romping in the snow was just like old times. She loved the attention and would retrieve for hours if given the chance. Mistress and bitch were one, as if she’d never been away. Betsy, no longer young and suffering from lack of exercise, carried too much weight, but being back with Tenille, she was a puppy again; charging about, over shooting the mark, sending the snow flying in great arcs of glistening spray. At home, she flopped onto her quilt, worn out by all the excitement.
After dinner the Fenechs prepared for church. Their denomination was Pentecostal. It was a special carol service that evening. Doris wore a stylish, fox fur coat and brown felt hat with matching trim. Alexander had on his thick, winter coat and Tenille had to make do with her old one. She felt shabby in comparison, but wasn’t happy that her mother had clothed her body in animal fur. She was about to make an observation to that effect, but at the last moment thought better of it.
The old church was filled to capacity. The intricately carved timbers of the pews showed the years of loving care they had received, the patina like satin in the candlelight. The singing transported her. This year the choir had an accomplished boy alto whose voice rose above them all, high into the rafters. His ringing notes seemed to float and hang suspended, as if from another world. In Dulcie Jubilo brought tears to her eyes. After the service they moved slowly down the aisle towards the main doors for the usual post service greetings. She could tell her mother was very pleased to have her with her. Outside it was a truly frosty night with big white flakes of gently falling snow to settle on them. Tapped lightly on the shoulder, she spun around to look directly into the pretty face of a woman a little older than she and several sizes larger since their last meeting.
‘Tenille. Is it really you?’
Outing of the Heart Page 10
