Just Between Us

by Cathy Kelly

  She knew she shouldn’t have gone ahead with this day,

  knew it was asking for trouble. Some 200 guests were arriving to celebrate the fortieth wedding anniversary of Hugh and Rose Miller when both Rose and Hugh knew that their marriage wasn’t of the fairy-tale variety.

  Then the realisation reached her with such a jolt that it was almost physical, like being hit in the solar plexus. Rose had to sit down on the bed, winded. It wasn’t just her and Hugh who knew. God knew how many other people knew. The women he’d slept with over the years certainly knew. She’d thought there were three but there might have been more. And surely some of his friends knew too? He’d always been so close to Alastair Devon. There was no way Alastair didn’t know. They’d been best friends for thirty years, he and Angela had been close to Rose and Hugh all that time, and even though the two women had built up an enduring friendship, the real bond was between the men. What would Alastair have done for Hugh: given him an alibi; told him he was stupid to risk it all? Encouraged him to leave Rose?

  The anger was slow to burn. For years, Rose had carried this secret with her. She’d told no-one. Not her mother, dear Anna who’d died thinking that her beloved Rose was the happiest woman in Christendom. Nor her daughters, whom she didn’t want to hurt with the information. She never wanted to diminish their father in their eyes. That would be true bitterness and would only be for her own pleasure. So she’d misled well-meaning friends who’d thought they’d seen something and had kept her silence, hoping that in so doing, she would hold the Miller family together. But at what price?

  Even Hugh was experiencing a moment’s worry. The marquee was getting fuller with every moment and people were keen to see Rose. There was only so many times Hugh could blithely say, ‘Oh Rose, she’s just checking something with the caterers, she’ll be here any minute.’

  Stella, Tara and Holly had jaw strain from smiling as if nothing was wrong. Only Aunt Adele seemed oblivious to any tension and had set up camp near a few like-minded old friends and was reminiscing about the old days; how young people had terrible haircuts now and wasn’t it an awful pity that gloves had gone out of style. There was nobody the same age as Amelia, but she’d made friends with a chubby-faced toddler and was playing at being a grown-up and leading him round gravely, helping him over steps and stopping him eating the roses.

  ‘Naughty boy, they’ll make you sick,’ she could be heard saying sternly every time one of his fat little hands headed for a clump of petals. ‘I’ll get you some orange juice instead.’

  ‘Mum says she’s ready and will be down in five minutes,’ Tara reported after her most recent trip upstairs. ‘But she still won’t let me in.’

  ‘I’m worried about her,’ said Stella. ‘This is so unlike her.’

  The jazz band Hugh had specially wanted struck up a tune. They were booked to play until half six. People’s feet tapped on the wooden marquee floor.

  Holly emerged from the kitchen. ‘The caterers say can we make a decision on the hot food now. They’re ready to go and if they cool it and reheat, the stroganoff will toughen up and taste like old boots.’

  The sisters stared at each other. Stella went back upstairs but stopped when she heard her parents’ door open.

  ‘She’s coming,’ hissed Stella, rapidly retracing her steps.

  At that moment, Finn walked up to where they were standing, perfectly sober and beautifully dressed in a grey linen suit and open-necked shirt the same sky blue as his eyes. He kissed Tara on the mouth deliberately so that she’d know he hadn’t been drinking.

  ‘See,’ he whispered, ‘I haven’t touched a drop. Happy now?’

  ‘Hello, Finn,’ said Rose, wafting down the stairs gracefully, looking far too bright-eyed and elegant to have been confined to her room for the past two hours with a migraine. Her cheeks were healthily flushed, she’d glossed her lips with a rosy pink and not one dark hair was out of place. She kissed each of her daughters on the cheek, then headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll just check the food and I’ll be right out.’ She whirled round to smile wickedly at the four of them. ‘I promise, this time.’

  The sisters began to relax. Stella took a glass of wine and found Nick.

  ‘Crisis over,’ she murmured. ‘Mum’s headache is better.’

  ‘She certainly looks great,’ said Nick, watching Rose emerge from the house and make for the marquee. He adored Rose and thought she was funny, wise and strong. She’d welcomed him into the family with great kindness.

  ‘Yes, she does look great,’ Stella replied. ‘I’m just afraid she’s tired herself out with this party. Mum’s so vital that it’s easy to forget that she’s not as young as she used to be.’

  ‘She’s certainly enjoying herself now,’ Nick pointed out, as Rose was surrounded by well-wishers.

  If anyone had been watching carefully, they’d have noticed that Rose deliberately stayed away from her husband as she circulated. It was done subtly. Rose could see Hugh’s silver head towering over most of the guests, so she moved away from him, greeting, hugging, kissing and thanking people, but always aware of where her husband was and somehow, managing to be somewhere else.

  Everyone was thrilled to be there. It was a happy day, they all told Rose, ‘proof that true love really does last forever and makes a strong marriage’ said one neighbour with a fondness for romantic novels and two unaccustomed glasses of champagne down her. When Alastair Devon and his wife Angela appeared in front of her, Alastair beaming at Rose happily, Rose felt her fixed smile harden.

  She kissed Angela and stared up at Alastair with a stony gaze.

  Alastair blinked nervously. Rose looked angry with him for some reason. He racked his brains for what he’d done wrong, but it was too late, Rose was talking to Angela, ignoring him.

  If anybody thought it was odd that the happy couple weren’t standing together, nobody mentioned it. When the food was finally being served and the buffet queue wound untidily around the tables, Rose nipped back to the house. The dining room table was laden down with gift-wrapped packages. Rose had specifically asked people not to bring gifts, but they hadn’t listened. They wanted to do something nice for the Millers to celebrate this special day.

  ‘Whatever was wrong with you?’

  Rose turned to face her sister-in-law.

  ‘Hugh was worried,’ continued Adele, running a finger over the dining room table to check for dust. ‘Really, Rose, it’s not the done thing to let your guests arrive without being there to greet them—’

  ‘Adele,’ interrupted Rose, ‘please don’t fight with me today.’

  ‘I’m not fighting,’ harrumphed Adele. ‘I’m only saying…’

  ‘Don’t say anything, for my sake.’

  ‘It’s for your sake I’m doing it,’ Adele protested.

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Rose did her best to keep her voice even but it was hard to disguise the tremor. ‘You’re doing it for Hugh because you want everything to be perfect for Hugh, don’t you? I wanted everything to be perfect for him too but it wasn’t perfect enough, evidently. He needed someone else.’

  She saw Adele’s eyes widen.

  ‘Lots of someone elses,’ Rose added.

  Adele’s hand was at her breast now, as she clutched the lapel of her suit in horror. For the first time in years, words didn’t flow automatically. She held onto the back of a dining room chair for support. ‘How can you say such terrible things?’ she cried.

  ‘Because it’s true.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Adele said fervently. ‘Not Hugh; he idolises you, always has.’ For once, the jealousy wasn’t there. Adele was simply stating a truth. Hugh loved Rose. He would never cheat on her. Yet Rose looked so…so sure.

  ‘I’m going to see Hugh now,’ announced Adele. ‘This is all some silly misunderstanding, some woman who’s got a crush on him. They were the same with my poor father, women could never resist him. My mother ignored them, stupid women. I’m sure Hugh’s done his best to deal with this but you�
�ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Don’t say anything, Adele,’ Rose said softly. ‘Let’s wait till later, we’ve guests here.’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Reminded of her social duties, Adele stopped in her tracks but she still looked shaken.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down here, Adele, and I’ll get you a glass of port.’ Adele rarely drank but was fond of port.

  ‘Thanks, Rose.’

  With Adele breathing deeply on a dining room chair, Rose hurried to the drinks cupboard in the other room, feeling guilty for what she was doing. She couldn’t go through with this. It would hurt too many people: the girls, Adele. It wasn’t fair on them. Hugh had never been any different. She was just hurt because she thought all those other women were in the past, that he had finally got over it and was content with her. She poured a glass of port for Adele and considered pouring one for herself, but no, she needed to be stone cold sober. Alcohol would only make her more emotional.

  Holly had taken a walk round the garden to have a final cigarette before lunch. She was just on her way back to the marquee when she was stopped by the guy who’d driven Mrs Murdoch to the party. He was smiling broadly at her, in a remember-me sort of way. Holly smiled back and racked her brains for his identity.

  ‘Hi, Holly, you’re looking a million dollars, and I don’t mean all green and crinkly,’ he said with a lascivious wink.

  The voice did it. Holly’s mouth fell into an oval. This was Richie Murdoch? Where was the devil-may-care charm, the sparkling eyes and the buckets of sex appeal? Had she imagined all that? Because her mental image of Richie bore no resemblance to this guy with his smug, avaricious face and a tight haircut which revealed a bull neck.

  ‘Speechless, eh?’ said Richie, still looking delighted with himself. ‘You always were quiet but wow, look at you now, babe.’

  While Richie’s gaze travelled unashamedly from her head to her toes, Holly smothered the impulse to giggle out loud with relief. She could barely believe that she’d ever fancied him, motorbike or no motorbike. And as for that suit. Chalk-stripe suits were always on the tightrope of fashion and could look very classy or, as in Richie’s case, very tacky. All he needed was a huge pinkie ring to complete the effect.

  ‘How have you been, Richie?’ she asked.

  ‘Great, just great. Business is top,’ he boasted, making a gesture with both hands to prove this. A pinkie ring glinted in the sun. ‘I’m in import/export,’ he elaborated. ‘Doing well. Very well.’

  ‘You don’t have the motorbike any more?’ Holly said, for lack of something else to say.

  ‘Hell, no.’ He was shocked. ‘Got the latest Jag. So,’ he moved closer to her. ‘Are you going to be around for a while? We could go out maybe, I’ll show you how fast the Jag goes from nought to sixty, eh?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Holly gravely. ‘Speed kills. I’ve got to go, Richie. Bye.’

  She hurried back to her seat in the marquee. Had Richie really changed beyond all recognition? Or, had he always been awful and, because she was lost in her first romance, she’d just never realised it?

  Rose stood at the main entrance and watched the guests enjoying themselves. Most people were seated and eating. The jazz band were purring their way through a Cole Porter medley. Rose loved Cole Porter, both for the melodies and for the memories.

  Hugh stood waiting for her, arms outstretched, an expansive smile on his face. She could see the family already seated at their table, with places waiting for Hugh, herself and Adele. Hugh had a microphone in his hand.

  ‘Welcome my darling lady wife,’ he said to roars of applause.

  The band stopped playing, ready to leap into song whenever Hugh ended whatever clever speech he’d worked out on the back of an envelope.

  ‘It’s a very special day for myself and Rose,’ he began, ‘the anniversary of our wedding, one of the most important days of my life.’

  Hugh smiled at Rose and put an arm round her, drawing her close.

  The crowd sighed happily. Wasn’t this lovely?

  At one of the front tables, Alastair Devon was still a bit anxious. Rose didn’t look herself, he could tell. He’d known her for nearly thirty years and although her face looked outwardly serene, she had a mad look in her eyes. Women got like that, Alastair knew. The change. Stupid name, that. It wasn’t a change, it was a bloody cataclysm. But Rose must have gone through all of that already, surely? So what could be wrong with her?

  Tara and Finn were sitting as far apart as it’s possible to sit when you’re actually seated beside someone. Finn was still not drinking and he’d barely touched the Thai chicken he’d piled his plate with. Tara had taken some shellfish and salad, but couldn’t eat either. Her fingers beat a tattoo on the tablecloth as she watched her parents.

  Stella and Nick were seated next to Tara. Amelia was standing between them, leaning against her mother who had one arm round Amelia’s waist. Nick was holding Stella’s other hand, stroking her fingers with his thumb as they watched Hugh address the crowd.

  Holly sat at the bit of the table nearest the edge of the marquee. She was smoking surreptitiously, holding the cigarette down near the tent flap and turning away from everyone to take a lengthy drag every few moments. Imagine meeting Richie Murdoch again after all these years. Imagine not feeling anything but dislike for him.

  ‘As you all know, I wouldn’t be where I am today without Rose,’ Hugh continued. ‘She’s been my rock, my centre, the centre of our family. And it’s thanks to Rose that our lovely daughters, and granddaughter, are here today.’

  Amelia grinned, delighted to be included.

  Holly threw down her fag and stamped it out hurriedly. Maybe they’d have to get up and stand beside their parents in front of all these people. Her triumph with Richie notwithstanding, Holly quivered with nerves at the very idea.

  ‘I want to pay tribute to Stella, Tara, Holly and little Amelia,’ continued Hugh.

  Everyone clapped.

  ‘But,’ Hugh shut them all up by talking even more loudly into the microphone, ‘the jewel in the crown is Rose.’

  Alastair must have helped him write the speech, Rose thought, still smiling. Hugh would have never thought of that ‘jewel’ nonsense on his own.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll agree with me on that.’ Cue more clapping.

  ‘I want to…’

  Rose had heard enough.

  Smiling, she leaned over and gently took the microphone from Hugh’s hands. ‘It’s my day too, darling,’ she said, eyes glittering.

  Hugh relinquished the mike and kissed her hand in a courtly fashion.

  The crowd clapped happily again.

  Rose surveyed her audience, who were beaming up at her, their faces full of goodwill. She hated hurting them too but it had to be done.

  First things first. She went over to Amelia.

  ‘Darling, would you go into the house and talk to Aunt Adele for a few minutes?’

  Amelia nodded and ran off. Stella looked at her mother curiously, but Rose just smiled benignly and waited until Amelia was out of sight to begin.

  ‘At our wedding forty years ago, I didn’t have the opportunity to make a speech,’ she said. ‘Brides didn’t make speeches in those days, even though that will sound very odd to the younger women here.’ She spotted plenty of women grinning.

  Rose moved away from Hugh and walked down the marquee, looking comfortable, like some skilled chat show host who could charm a crowd, marvelled Tara. ‘In those days,’ Rose said chattily, ‘marriage was seen as the be all and end all for women. Even if you were lucky enough to go to university, it was to keep you busy until you got yourself a husband. That was women’s lot.’ She laughed. ‘God help our sense.’

  Alastair wasn’t the only man in the place who felt a frisson of anxiety at the way this speech was going. At the top of the marquee, Hugh himself experienced a smidgen of unease. This wasn’t very Rose-like.

  ‘When I married Hugh,’ went on his wife
, still in that same conversational tone, ‘I didn’t expect a fairy tale. I came from a small farming community and marriage was often as not a matter of two people joining together to face the world, to earn a living from the land and, hopefully, raise a few children as well.’ She turned and looked lovingly at her daughters.

  ‘My daughters are the love of my life,’ she said, ‘my proudest accomplishment, if it’s fair to say that adult human beings who have found their own way in the world could be called my accomplishment. But, I brought them into the world, even if I was knocked out for Holly’s birth.’ She sent a smile of such extraordinary sweetness to Holly that Holly made a little noise of recognition, like a small animal in pain.

  Rose carried on. ‘That’s what marriage became for me: my daughters. They were my life. And it’s all down to Hugh.’ The crowd smiled again, thinking that this was back on slightly more familiar territory.

  ‘Yes,’ Rose paused and sent another smile, this one chilly, up to her husband, who blanched. ‘I told you I didn’t expect the fairy tale but I didn’t expect Hugh.’ If she hadn’t turned away from Hugh, she’d have seen him go even paler. ‘That’s why I feel that it’s unfair to invite all of you lovely people here to celebrate a ruby anniversary when in fact, there’s nothing to celebrate.’

  The whole room held its breath in shock.

  ‘Hugh has been unfaithful to me throughout our entire marriage. I stayed with him because well, girls,’ she smiled at a group of her charity committee friends who were sitting, shell-shocked, to her left, ‘that’s what women of our generation do. We stay. We knit sweaters. We raise money for famine victims and for sick children. We carefully cook stews with the cheaper cuts of meat. We vacuum. But not any more.’

  Stella’s hand dropped limply from Nick’s. She couldn’t believe it. Finn broke the Cold War to squeeze Tara’s knee in sympathy, but she seemed oblivious to it and just stared, open-mouthed, at her mother.

  Holly, with tears glittering in her eyes, pulled an empty glass towards her to act as an ashtray and lit up openly.