by Maureen Lee
‘Extremely. It’s very quiet, no distractions. I read a lot, watch TV, think. I’ve started writing a book on photography.’ He seemed very content, clearly enjoying life on his own. ‘That’s a pretty frock,’ he said approvingly, ‘it suits you.’
Judy had discarded her skirt and top for a flowery chiffon dress with a cape collar and fluted hem. ‘It makes me feel young,’ she declared. In the past, during the bad years, he’d sometimes criticized her choice of clothes.
He glanced at the table. ‘Are you expecting company?’
‘Just Joe and Donna and the kids. They’re bringing a take away.’
‘I’d better not keep you.’
‘Why don’t you stay?’ she offered impulsively, hoping Joe and Donna wouldn’t mind. ‘There’s bound to be too much food. Would you like some wine while we wait?’
‘Yes, please.’ He smiled, and it was the smile of old, his Alan Ladd smile. Perhaps they should have separated a long time ago.
She showed him around the house. Inevitably, he remarked on the furniture and she told him Josh had painted it. He was silent for a while, then said, ‘How is Sam taking things?’ It was the first time he’d spoken Sam’s name in a normal tone since his son had left home.
‘Pretty well. He’s gone abroad.’
‘I’ll never accept it you know, Jude.’ He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Sam really let me down. I won’t forgive him for that.’
It was his attitude to Sam that had driven them apart. There’d been a time when his words would have driven her cold with rage, but now they meant nothing. She said, ‘Let’s not talk about it. You have your views and I have mine. Now that we’re not living together, it doesn’t matter what the other thinks.’
‘True, but we can still be friends, can’t we? See each other occasionally, have dinner?’ He looked at her keenly. ‘You’ve been the most important person in my life for over forty years, Judy. I’d hate it if we never saw each other again.’
She didn’t remind him that Sam had also been part of his life, but he’d managed to shut him out completely. There’d be no more scoring points.
They sat on the back step in the late afternoon sun, sipping wine and discussing what best to do with the garden, completely at ease. Judy felt as if she’d climbed a mountain and come safely down the other side.
Rachel lay flat on her back in the garden listening to the muted voices on the other side of the fence. She could just about make sense of what was being said. Judy Moon and her visitor sounded as if they were good friends. Were they lovers? she wondered.
A bee buzzed angrily close to her ear and the parched grass prickled her arms and the back of her neck and wasn’t terribly comfortable, but she couldn’t be bothered going all the way to the garage for a garden chair – they’d have to find somewhere more convenient to keep them. Frank had started complaining about the lack of space to store things. ‘We shouldn’t have bought this bloody place,’ he’d grumbled that morning.
‘I love it here,’ Kirsty had argued. ‘Could we have a conservatory built, Mum? We could keep stuff there.’
Frank had thrown his daughter a thunderous look. He hated being reminded that it was his wife who had the money for things like conservatories.
‘I’ll look into it,’ Rachel had promised, although she hadn’t. It meant searching through the Yellow Pages for a builder, picking up the phone, tapping in the number, speaking to a stranger, and she no longer had the confidence, or the willpower, even the strength, to carry out such a daunting task. Instead, after going next door to introduce herself to Judy Moon, seeing the wary look in the woman’s eyes – she quite obviously considered her mad and hadn’t invited her in, muttering something about having to meet someone in town in a short while – Rachel had returned home to lie on the grass where she’d been all day thinking about Alice: her first steps, her first words, her first day at playgroup, at school, the clothes she had been bought, the presents, the pictures she had drawn, the stories she had loved, her attempt to knit a scarf for her favourite doll. She remembered every single little thing that Alice had done before her life had been so cruelly cut short.
Kathleen had come round a few times, banging on the door, calling her name, but hadn’t thought to look in the garden. Rachel had ignored her, not because she didn’t want to see Kathleen, but couldn’t be bothered shouting back or rising from her bed of prickly grass.
It was well past the time she should have started on the tea, but felt too scared to go into the kitchen. ‘I don’t know how you can live with yourself,’ Frank had said again that morning. Was he going to say that to her every day for the rest of her life until she decided she couldn’t live with herself and ended it? Was it just her imagination that he’d looked from her to the cooker, than back again, as if suggesting a way out? By then, James had left for work and Kirsty had gone over to the Jordans to call for Patrick. Shortly afterwards, Frank had gone himself without saying goodbye. The dream he’d had about Alice seemed to have brought back the horror of their loss and his grief was as raw as it had ever been. As usual, he was taking it out on his wife.
Rachel’s mother had had an electric cooker when they’d lived in the countryside and had never ceased to complain about it. Rachel had preferred gas ever since. They’d been asked for their preference before moving into the square. ‘Gas,’ Rachel had said emphatically.
She’d read somewhere that gas was the least unpleasant way of killing yourself. All you had to do was turn it on, put your head in the oven, and fall peacefully asleep. It was quite painless and much more efficient than lying on a railway line, swallowing tablets, or hanging – she’d only make a mess of the knot.
Tiffany had come to play outside. ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush,’ she sang in a clear, childish voice, ‘the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush. Here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning.’ She was probably dancing around the willow tree with Oliver.
Alice had used to sing the same song as she’d danced around the little apple tree in the garden in Lydiate holding James and Kirsty’s hands. Rachel had used to watch from the kitchen window, smiling, thinking what a beautiful sight it made. Sometimes, she’d join in.
‘Here we go round the mulberry bush …’
Rachel got to her feet with enormous difficulty. Her arms and legs felt as if they’d turned to concrete during her hours on the grass. The house was calling to her, inviting her inside, telling her it would be painless and afterwards her mind would be at peace. She walked stiffly, like a robot into the kitchen, turned the gas full on and opened the oven door. She removed the two top shelves, forced her concrete legs to bend so she was sitting on the floor and, with a deep sigh, rested her head on the remaining shelf. It was the only way out, the only thing left to do.
Ernest was watering the clematis in the pots by the front door. ‘I think they’ve grown at least an inch,’ he called to Anna.
‘Are there any signs of flowers?’
He examined the plants carefully and was forced to admit there wasn’t the faintest sign. ‘We’ve only had them a fortnight, luv.’ She got too impatient with plants, expecting them to become full-grown overnight. One of these days, he’d fix a strip of lattice each side of the front door for the flowers to climb up and wondered if he’d still be alive by the time they met at the top.
The little girl from across the square, Tiffany, was dancing around the willow tree with the teddy bear she was so fond of and singing a nursery rhyme. All of a sudden, she made for Three Farthings and danced through the back door. A few minutes later, she danced back. ‘Excuse me,’ she said politely to Ernest, ‘but can you spare a glass of milk? Jack emptied ours into the paddling pool and Mummy’s gone to buy more. She’s very cross. Rachel wouldn’t answer when I asked her.’
‘Why, is Rachel cross too?’ Ernest had had no experience of talking to children and always felt very awkward with them.
‘No. She’s baking her head or something. She
left the back door wide open.’
‘That’s a funny thing to do,’ he said in an attempt at joviality.
‘It smells really horrid.’ Tiffany pretended to be sick.
‘What did you just say?’ A white-faced Anna had come into the hall, holding on to the walls for support. ‘What was it you just said, darling?’
‘Rachel’s kitchen smells really horrid.’
‘Before that. Did Rachel have her head in the oven?’
Faced with Anna’s breathless urgency and stricken expression, the little girl had lost some of her composure. She stammered, ‘Yes,’ turned on her heel and ran away, clearly frightened. Ernest had cottoned on and was already hurrying towards Three Farthings. For the second time that day, Anna made her laborious way to Kathleen’s.
Ernest had turned off the oven and dragged Rachel into the fresh air by the time Kathleen arrived, closely followed by Steve. Kathleen dropped to her knees beside Rachel’s prone body.
‘Shall I phone for an ambulance?’ Ernest made to return to the house, but Steve told him curtly not to. ‘Don’t touch anything in there, it’s dangerous.’ He turned to Kathleen. ‘Do we need an ambulance, luv?’
‘No, she’s breathing quite steadily. I think she might have fainted. She’ll come to in a minute and, hopefully, vomit.’
At that very moment, Rachel groaned, raised herself to a sitting position, and was sick. Steve supported her with his arm. She opened her eyes and a dark flush spread over her already red face when she remembered what had happened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hoarsely. ‘So sorry. I didn’t want to inconvenience anybody.’
‘Shush, love,’ Kathleen said gently. ‘Can you walk? Let’s go to our house and I’ll make some tea. You need to rest awhile.’
‘Don’t tell Frank, will you? Please don’t tell Frank.’ She looked at them pleadingly, her eyes resting first on Ernest, Steve, then Kathleen. ‘Don’t tell anyone.’
Ernest opened his mouth as if to argue, but Kathleen frowned at him and shook her head. He closed his mouth without a word and Steve hoisted Rachel to her feet.
‘Ernie,’ Kathleen said briskly, ‘will you please keep an eye open in case Frank or the children arrive home shortly? Tell them there’s been a gas leak but it’s already been seen to. In a little while, you can go inside and open the windows. The smell might have gone by the time anyone comes and they won’t know a thing about it. Just say Rachel’s feeling a little bit off colour and she’s with me.’
‘You saved her life, Ernie,’ Anna said when Ernest came home. She’d been watching the proceedings from the front door.
‘No, luv, it was you. Me, I’m as thick as two short planks. When Tiffany said Rachel was baking her head, it never crossed me mind what she really meant. You’re the clever one.’
‘I suppose it’s Tiffany who should be taking the honours. I bet she doesn’t tell her mother. She probably thinks she’s done something wrong. Can I have a glass of wine, darling? I don’t know about you, but I’m shaking like a leaf.’
Ernest’s own hands weren’t exactly steady. He fetched the wine and a whisky for himself, after telling Anna not to move from the window in case Rachel’s husband or children appeared. But it was almost seven by the time they arrived: first Frank, then James, followed shortly afterwards by Kirsty. By then, the smell of gas had completely gone and Rachel had insisted on going home.
‘But do you feel well enough?’ Kathleen asked anxiously.
‘Yes,’ Rachel said steadily. ‘I want to be there when Frank and the children come. I’d sooner they think it’s been a perfectly normal day. I’m sorry for causing such a fuss, Kathleen.’
‘Stop being sorry. You apologize far too much.’ Kathleen put her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Rachel, love, I don’t know what goes on inside your head, but please, please, don’t do anything like that again. Imagine if your son or daughter had come in and found you!’
‘I think I reached my lowest point and now I’m about to climb up again.’
‘That’s good, really good. Look, I can’t possibly let you go back by yourself. I’ll wait downstairs while you have a shower and get changed – your clothes smell a bit of gas.’
Rachel gave a slight smile. ‘I’d sooner you didn’t, Kathleen. You’ve been kindness itself, but I can manage on my own. I promise I won’t drown myself in the shower.’
Kathleen had no alternative but to let her go. Tomorrow was the barbecue and she hoped Rachel would be able to cope.
‘It’s all over, Gran,’ Victoria whispered. ‘All over,’ she sighed. ‘He’s the love of me life, but after Sunday I’ll never see him again. I don’t suppose you’d have approved, him being married like, but people can’t stop themselves from falling in love.’ She caught her breath when a light came on upstairs in Hamilton Lodge. ‘I wonder if that’s him! Have he and Debbie talked about the baby? Will he make love to her tonight?’ It would be best if she didn’t think about it because it hurt too much. Tomorrow, at the barbecue, they’d have to pretend they hardly knew each other.
‘I’m glad, now, that I’m leaving on Sunday, Gran. Until now, I was in two minds about it, what with everyone coming to live in the square and being so friendly. But now I can’t wait. Oh, Gran!’ Victoria wept. ‘Do something: make me strong, because I don’t think I can live without Gareth.’
Outside, in Victoria Square, the leaves on the tiny willow tree trembled in the slight breeze. In number one, everyone was asleep except for baby Alastair who was thinking about food and wondering if he should send a signal that he was hungry to the person who fed him. But the person had stopped offering the nice, squashy things that tasted so good. These days, food came on something hard and cold and wasn’t nearly so nice. If he couldn’t have the nice squashy things, he’d sooner not bother. Alastair uttered a little regretful sigh and fell asleep.
In the house next door, Marie Jordan lay in bed, rosary beads threaded through her fingers, unable to sleep. That afternoon, she’d gone shopping in Allerton Road and had peeked in the window of O’Connor’s shop, but the card advertising the computer hadn’t been in. So, who was it who had rung and asked for their address?
Judy Moon was dreaming about her new garden that, because this was a dream, was at least ten times as big as the real one. The grass was emerald green and spotted with pink and white blossom that had fallen from trees that were at least a hundred feet high and the fence was covered with vines bearing bunches of luscious purple grapes. She plucked one and wasn’t at all surprised when it tasted of chocolate.
In Three Farthings, Rachel was poised on the edge of sleep, relaxed, her mind at peace. Things couldn’t go on as they were or she’d go completely insane. Tomorrow, the next day, as soon as she had the opportunity, she’d tell Frank the truth.
Gareth Moran pounded madly on the keyboard. He didn’t bother to look at the screen, knowing he was making no sense at all, that he’d have to do the work again. It helped get rid of his frustration, his … his … he clicked on to the computer’s Thesaurus … aggravation, irritation, annoyance, disappointment, dissatisfaction … every single one of those damn bloody things. He looked at his watch and groaned: almost two o’clock and he’d never felt less like sleep in his life. Tonight, he and Debbie had had the mother of all rows and he’d kept thinking, ‘I could be with Victoria. I don’t have to listen to this,’ except he did, because Debbie was his wife and she was expecting their baby and somehow, in some way, he had to make things work.
In Clematis Cottage, Anna and Ernest were watching a video: Top Hat with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They’d seen it so many times that every scene was indelibly printed in their minds. Anna’s eyes sparkled with anticipation just before Fred and Ginger burst into a favourite song followed by a brilliant display of dancing. ‘Here it comes,’ she murmured, when the fabulous couple were sheltering from the rain in a bandstand in Hyde Park. ‘Isn’t it a lovely day to be caught in the rain,’ Ginger began to sing …
Kathleen and Steve were fast asleep in each other’s arms when the telephone rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Kathleen murmured, but Steve stumbled out of bed and into the front room, saying, ‘It’s all right, I’ll do it,’ and Kathleen woke up properly. Was he expecting someone to ring? Or did he think that a phone call in the middle of the night could only be for him?
He was back within a few minutes, his face grim. ‘That was Brenda. I have to go to Huddersfield first thing in the morning. Jean’s been taken to hospital. She’s had a heart attack.’
‘What sort of heart attack?’ Kathleen’s voice was cold.
‘I dunno,’ he replied irritably. ‘I didn’t know you could have different sorts.’
‘You can have a mild heart attack, a severe one, and all shades in between.’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘It might be nothing.’
‘Or it might be something.’ His mouth set in a hard line. ‘I’m going to see her, Kath, so there’s no point in trying to talk me out of it.’
‘Take the car, go now,’ she said shortly.
He looked at her uncertainly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Steve, go and see Jean. I’m sure she’s far more important to you than I am.’
‘You know that’s not true.’
She ignored him, went to look for her bag, found the keys and threw them at him.
He caught them and left without another word.
‘Anyroad, I suppose I should try and get some sleep. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow night, tell you how the barbecue went. Goodnight, Gran.’
And goodnight, Gareth.
Victoria closed her eyes.
Saturday
14 JULY 2001
The Barbecue
