The Thursday Friend

by Catherine Cookson

  Before she got any further the old man’s interest was obviously aroused, because he pulled himself up on the pillows and said, ‘Martin Gillyman? Oh, I know him well; in fact, a lot of people know of him because he’s not only a bibliographer but a bibliophile. He’s got a mania for books.’

  ‘I could endorse that, Mr Drayton: his office is like a great warehouse. It’s stacked with books from floor to ceiling. He lives above the business in a lovely flat; but it’s noticeable that his wife won’t have a book or a magazine anywhere. She’s laid down the law on that.’

  ‘You’ve met his wife?’ This was from Mrs Drayton, and Hannah turned to her and said, ‘Yes; and she’s a very charming lady.’

  There was an exchange of glances between the husband and wife, and then George Drayton said, ‘I understand, Hannah, that we have grossly misjudged you, and I for one wish to apologise. We have been given to understand that you are a most selfish individual, but my wife tells me that you have spent over two and a half years entirely on your own at weekends.’

  ‘That is true,’ Mrs Drayton said.

  ‘Yes, it was perfectly true but not so now, not since the day of Thursday the seventeenth of August. My life seemed to change when I met Mr Gillyman and his assistant, Mr David Craventon.’

  ‘Oh. They’ve befriended you?’

  ‘Yes; yes, you could say that; and Mr Craventon and I have become close friends. As Mrs Drayton,’ she turned and looked at the older woman, ‘has been honest with me, I will now be honest with you both. My loneliness ceased from that time, because it was on that evening that Humphrey had two tickets for a Mozart concert, but, it being Thursday, he couldn’t possibly go; there was his bridge.’

  She looked from one to the other. ‘Humphrey suggested that I go on my own, and, as I was feeling lost at that moment, that’s what I did. And whom should I see there but Mr David Craventon, and he was on his own too. During the interval we got talking, and since then we have become friends.

  ‘I feel you should know, though it is a very delicate subject to raise, that Humphrey and I have been sleeping in separate bedrooms for well over two years now. This was Humphrey’s desire, not mine. I would also like to tell you, Mr Drayton, that I have never caused Humphrey to get into any debt, ever. He saw to all the bills and anything to do with money. What little he gave me for clothes bought me only the barest essentials. This,’ she now stroked her hand down her suit jacket, ‘as I have explained to Mrs Drayton, I bought out of my advance. I may tell you, and I feel no compunction in telling you this, that on occasions I have had to visit Oxfam shops for a change of clothes.’

  Mr Drayton was looking down towards the bedcover and his fingers were picking at the quilted pattern on it as he said, ‘You have no idea, Hannah, how distressed I am, and not only with my great, great disappointment in that man, but with the fact that you have been maligned for so long, while all the time you were left to suffer an unnatural marriage.’ He was now looking fully at Hannah as he said, ‘May I ask you a very personal question?’

  ‘Yes; yes, Mr Drayton, ask whatever you wish.’

  ‘What excuse did he give you for such an odd separation?’

  ‘None whatever. I had an allergy, after eating some fruit, and this he took as an excuse to sleep in another bedroom; and he never returned to my bed. He also stressed that marriage was made up of all kinds of things, and that sex wasn’t important. I . . . I went to a priest and asked his advice, but he wasn’t very helpful. On the very day I took my book to the publishers I had earlier been to my sister and unburdened myself, pouring out on her my loneliness and rejection, and she upbraided me for putting up with it for so long and told me I should leave him and file for a divorce.’

  Again the couple exchanged glances, and now Mr Drayton said, ‘Knowing this about Humphrey – and this is only part of it, for I am sure there is much more to be uncovered – how do you feel towards him?’

  Hannah’s face was straight and her voice grim as she said, ‘If I’m to be honest, I must say I hate him. I hate him for his duplicity; I hate him for the fact that I’ve defended him when my sister and brother-in-law insisted I was being badly treated: I’ve told them how kind he was, how good I thought he was, because not everybody would come every weekend and sit with you both.’ She turned her head away now, saying, ‘Yes, I hate him for so many things. I don’t know how it’s going to be possible to stay in the same house with him.’

  ‘Oh, you must, my dear.’ Mrs Drayton was on her feet. ‘Do, please.’ She turned to her husband. ‘She must, mustn’t she, George? Try to leave things as they are, my dear, until James looks into this matter further. James is our solicitor and a very old friend. I went straight to him on Saturday when I had use of the taxi, and he was astounded, even though he had told me twice before that he thought he had seen Humphrey in Worthing on a Saturday. The first time it was only from a distance so he wasn’t sure. The second time he seemed more sure, and this created an uneasiness in me, or, I should say, it increased the uneasiness that I was then experiencing. On occasions I came across Mrs Beggs using the phone and looking guilty about it. She always said she was ordering something, but I guessed it was a private call to someone. Well, now—’ She went quickly to the bed and, taking the sponge from a bowl on a tray, she wiped her husband’s brow, saying, ‘I think it’s time for coffee, dear, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes; yes, Philippa, yes.’

  They drank their coffee, over which they talked, mostly about the garden and the kindness of the staff at The Pines Nursing Home, and also about how wonderful it was that Hannah was writing books for children.

  The conversation jumped jerkily from one subject to the other; then when Hannah noticed that the old man was beginning to sweat profusely she rose to her feet, saying, ‘I’ll go now; but may I call and see you again?’

  ‘Do that, my dear. Do that, please.’ Mr Drayton was holding out his blue-veined hand, and when she took it he shook it slowly and said, ‘You’ve blossomed with the years, Hannah. You deserve every happiness, and I’m sure it’ll come to you in the end.’

  As his voice faded away his hand became limp in hers, and she laid it back on the counterpane before saying softly, ‘Goodbye for the present,’ and being followed from the room by Philippa Drayton.

  The older woman’s first words were, ‘Thank you. Thank you, indeed. You have convinced him where I’m sure I never really could, and my husband’s no fool. He’ll repay Humphrey in kind; oh, yes, he will; but you’ll do as we ask and not mention this matter to him?’

  ‘It’s going to be difficult, Mrs Drayton, very difficult; and there’ll come a time soon when I’ll find it impossible to live with him.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure of that, my dear; I’m sure of that, and for more reasons than you give. Our solicitor will be seeing to the matter, but I don’t think we can all go ahead until we’ve found out what Humphrey’s really up to. One of James’ clerks, I believe, is a brilliant researcher and a sort of amateur detective – perhaps he can help. However, if anything further transpires during the week concerning this matter, I’ll get in touch with you; but of course not in the evenings. Goodbye, my dear and thank you, not only for your co-operation, but for your honesty. We are very moral-minded people, but there are circumstances in many cases that allow for leniency, and neither my husband nor myself would blame you for continuing a friendship, considering the position you have been placed in by your husband, not just for these past weeks or months, but for years.’

  ‘Yes; that is what I say to myself, Mrs Drayton, not weeks or months but years. Anyway, goodbye. We’ll be meeting again, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes, my dear; we’ll certainly be meeting again.’

  As Hannah walked towards Worthing station the words she would keep repeating to herself were ‘postnatal condition’. Postnatal condition.

  Oh, how, during that second y
ear, she had longed for a child. Someone to really call her own, someone to love. Someone who needed her. Postnatal condition. She knew that if he appeared before her now she would be unable to keep her hands off him: she’d want to claw at him, use her feet, hurt him . . .

  Her mind was still in the same condition when she was met by David at Victoria and he, immediately noting the change in her, said, ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Has something happened?’

  ‘Yes; yes, you could say something’s happened. By the way, is there any place nearby where we could . . . I mean, I could have a drink, a proper drink? Gin, not sherry. Gin, brandy, whisky, anything you would advise. Something that will calm me down, at least for the present.’

  ‘Yes, I know a place, and it’s back in the flat. You may have your choice of gin, brandy, whisky . . . oh, not sherry, although I have a good one.’

  ‘Yes; let it be the flat.’

  On opening the door Peter showed his surprise at seeing them, but any remark that he might have made was checked by David’s saying, ‘We’re parched. D’you think you could make up two good Pimm’s?’

  ‘At your service, sir. At your service. Pimm’s it is.’ David helped her off with her coat. Then he took it into the bedroom and laid it on the bed, and when he came back she was sitting on the couch, tucked into the corner as if she were pressing herself away from something; and that’s what she was doing, against those words, postnatal condition, and all they meant.

  ‘There you are, sir and madam.’ Peter was pushing a small trolley towards them. ‘I hope they’re to your taste.’

  ‘Thanks, Peter.’ David picked up a glass and handed it to Hannah. She didn’t thank him or Peter, but immediately put the glass to her lips, and it wasn’t a sip that she took but a long drink, after which she took in a deep breath, but did not return the glass to the trolley; and Peter, looking at David, said, ‘Would you like something to eat, sir? You missed lunch. Madam? There’s plenty of food in the fridge.’

  ‘That would be nice, Peter, thank you.’

  She had her second Pimm’s. This one she sipped at while eating; but she didn’t really start to talk until the table was cleared and they were alone again. As she spoke he uttered: ‘The swine!’ and ‘The pig of a man!’ Then he asked softly, ‘And they think he’s with this Daisy?’

  ‘Oh, yes, they’re sure of it. But they want proof; they’ve got to know where he goes, and with whom he spends the weekend.’

  ‘You can’t stay in that house with him.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t want to, but I must play this game as he’s played it. I want to see the outcome of it. I don’t know how long that’ll be, not very long, I hope, but then, David, I’ll come, yes. In the meantime, if I could gradually bring some of my things, where could I put them?’

  ‘Oh; upstairs in Peter’s place; he only uses the bedroom. It’s a proper flat, you know. There’s an extra boxroom up there. Oh, don’t worry about where you’ll put your things.’ He now took her face between his hands and said, ‘I’d push them under the bed myself as long as I knew you were coming to stay; and you will be; oh yes, now you will be. But what you’ll do with what’s left of this afternoon is rest: either have a lie-down on the bed or on the sofa here. Look! put your feet up.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I say yes, and lie down there; I must go and talk to Peter. I’m going to tell him you’re going to live upstairs with him,’ and he laughed now; ‘he’ll like that.’

  Suddenly she pulled his head down towards her and kissed him, after which she said, ‘If this had come about without my knowing you I’m sure I couldn’t have stood it. I’d have done something desperate. Don’t shake your head like that, I really would.’

  ‘Well, I am here and always will be, and you’ll have to learn to do what you’re told, so lie down. I’ll get a cover for you.’

  Obediently she lay down, and he went into the kitchen. Here Peter met his gaze, which told him he knew everything that had transpired, and he gave evidence of this when he said, ‘Bloody hypocrite of a man! and to get away with it for years. It’s as she said, sir, if she hadn’t had you, God knows what she might have done.’

  David did not reprimand Peter with, you didn’t miss a word! but just said, ‘Let’s go upstairs and see where she can put her things.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Hannah knew that she would be unable to sit opposite Humphrey for their evening meal and look at him without exploding her knowledge in his face. She set the table for one, and, as soon as he came in, planned to say, I’ve had my meal; now I’m going out for a while. To this he would likely want to know where she was going, so she prepared her response beforehand.

  But events turned out differently. She was in her room when she heard his key in the door. Then she was more than surprised when her name was bellowed out.

  ‘Hannah! Where are you, Hannah?’

  She came slowly down the stairs and walked along the corridor into the hall, to see him standing there, still in his overcoat. His long thin face was flushed and his voice matched his expression as he demanded, ‘What d’you think you’re up to, making a fool of me?’

  When she did not answer but just stood staring at him, he said, ‘Answer me! You’ve been laughing up your sleeve at me, haven’t you? It was a joke to you, wasn’t it, when I told you that Brown talked about your having a double dressed up like a Vogue model? And then again, when he was coming out of St Martin-in-the-Fields there was that same model walking in with a man. And he tells me that he greeted you and you smiled back at him, saying, “Good afternoon, Mr Brown.” Well, what’ve you got to say?’

  ‘Nothing. You said it all.’

  ‘Don’t you stand there defying me.’

  He sprang at her and gripped her arm, only immediately to jump back with a painful cry as she brought her doubled fist down on his wrist, almost screaming at him, ‘Don’t you dare touch me! I’m telling you, don’t you dare come near me or it won’t be my hand I’ll hit you with.’

  He was staring at her open-mouthed while rubbing his wrist with his fingers. She saw his teeth chattering with fear, and when he did speak, it was with an effort. ‘I want an explanation; you’re not going to make a cuckold of me.’

  ‘But what if I don’t care to give you an explanation, at least not just yet? You’ll have your explanation all in good time. Oh yes, all in good time, Humphrey.’

  ‘You’re beside yourself. What’s come over you, anyway? You were never like this before.’

  ‘You came over me, Humphrey; years of empty weekends.’

  ‘You know why,’ he put in quickly; ‘it’s important that I visit the old people. And, anyway, you wouldn’t come with me: you didn’t like them, and they didn’t like you.’

  She did not answer for a moment, but then she said quietly, ‘Perhaps they were given the wrong impression of me.’

  ‘You gave them the impression, not me: going there with your hair all over the place and your short skirts; you looked a type.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I looked a type, did I? Then that was the kind of person you married.’

  His head wagged back and forth before he said, ‘Yes, and that, I know now, was a mistake.’

  ‘You’re not the only one, Humphrey.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘You say that you know now, but I’ve known for a long, long time. Anyway, I’m going out. Your meal’s ready; enjoy it.’

  ‘Oh no, you’re not!’ He took a step towards her again. ‘You’re not going out of here until we have this thing settled.’

  ‘Well, Humphrey, from where I stand it’s going to take some time, perhaps weeks. But in the meantime I’m going out when I like; that is, before I leave altogether.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that! Acting like a slut!’

  He had hardly got the last word out of his mouth before her shout, ver
ging on a scream, made him jerk to the side as if trying to escape a blow. She cried, ‘You don’t know how near you are to being brained. Yes, I mean brained! You dare use that word on me again and you won’t know what’s hit you, I promise you, as big as you are. But, then, how big are you? You’re a worm inside, an empty, blown-up hypocrite of a man. I’m going out now; and don’t you dare speak to me again until I’m calmer, for God knows what’ll happen to you. And, Humphrey,’ she spat his name at him, ‘I mean this’ – she was now speaking through her teeth – ‘I mean every word I say: if I don’t get you from the front I’ll get you from behind.’

  She asked herself what she was saying. Oh, my God! She swung round and dashed up to her room. She had never felt such anger. While she was listening to Mrs Drayton telling her how she had been maligned all these years she had thought she could never feel worse, but this feeling exceeded all other emotions she had ever experienced because she had meant what she had said; she could see herself, see herself with an implement in her hand hitting him on the back of the head. What had he done to her?

  She was shaking as she rummaged in her wardrobe for a jacket. She must get to David’s. If he was out, there’d always be Peter to talk to or to listen to. Peter had a calming effect on one.

  When she returned downstairs he was standing in the hall. He still had his coat on, but he made no move towards her as he said, ‘You might find the door locked when you come back.’

  And to this she replied, in as flat a tone as she could render, ‘Lock it, by all means. It’ll be of some help when I file for a divorce.’

  She opened the door as she said this, and as she stepped outside she was aware that he was hurrying towards her, and so she quickly pulled the door closed and almost ran down the street.

  David was in and he immediately comforted her, but it was some time before he could calm her down, when she said, ‘Phew! I could have spat it all out, everything I know now. If only I hadn’t promised Mrs Drayton to keep quiet for the next few days; but it seemed most important to her that I should do so.’