Wives & Mothers

by Jeanne Whitmee

  Alison told Elaine all this as they walked across Parker’s Piece on their way to the party.

  ‘Aunt Zoe isn’t a real aunt,’ she explained. ‘She’s a second cousin of Mum’s. They’re a crazy family. You’ll love them. You’ll like the house too. It’s very big. There are six bedrooms. The family only uses three so Aunt Zoe lets the others to students. There’s Toby and Mike, they’re art students like Tom and Patrick, then there’s James. He’s at the university — he’s a bit of an old sobersides, reading English and history. You’ll probably meet them this evening. They usually come to all the parties.’

  ‘They seem to give a lot,’ Elaine said, a little awed at the prospect of meeting so many new people.

  Alison laughed. ‘There’s always a party going on in someone’s room. This one happens to be more formal, though. I think it’s Uncle Red’s birthday or something, though he’ll never admit it.’

  Mill House was tall and narrow with a basement and three floors above it. A flight of steps led up to a black-painted front door with a fanlight over it. There were iron railing at the front, behind which another flight of stone steps wound crookedly down to the basement. Alison led the way down these.

  ‘Watch yourself, it’s a bit steep. I said I’d give Aunt Zoe a hand with the food. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Zoe Carne was in the kitchen surrounded by pots and pans of every size. At forty-two she had turned from the slim nymph-like girl Red had married, into a comfortable, middle-aged dumpling of a woman. She still wore her thick fair hair in a long braid but in recent years she had taken to wearing flowing caftans to disguise her spreading waistline. She turned and smiled when Alison came in.

  ‘Oh, there you are, darling. You can take your overnight things up in a minute. I’ve told Patrick to take a sleeping bag and bunk in with Tom, so you can have his room. His bed is bigger. Just give me a hand to clear up this mess first, will you? You know, however hard I try I always finish up with the kitchen looking as though it’s been blitzed. That’s the trouble with letting everyone do their own bloody thing in the kitchen. None of the buggers ever bothers to wash up...’ She broke off, noticing Elaine who was standing behind Alison in the kitchen doorway. ‘Oh — this must be your friend.’ She wiped her hands on a tea towel and offered one to Elaine. ‘Hi there. It’s Elaine, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes — er — how do you do, Mrs Carne?’

  Zoe laughed. ‘Zoe, please. And I’m not doing very well at the moment, as you can see. Grab a cloth and help Alison, there’s a love.’

  Elaine was slightly taken aback. When her mother entertained, which wasn’t often, everything had to be just so and no one was ever allowed into the kitchen, let alone asked to wash up. Grace didn’t swear either. But on Zoe’s lips the words simply sounded comic, and the woman’s warm informality intrigued her. She took the cloth that was handed to her and began to dry the growing pile of dishes stacked on the draining board. Zoe picked up two of the plates of sandwiches on the kitchen table.

  ‘Better start taking some of the fodder upstairs, I suppose,’ she said. ‘You know, every time we give one of these bloody do’s, I vow it’ll be the last time.’ She laughed her throaty laugh. ‘But you know Red. Life without parties would be like being embalmed to him.’

  Somewhere above them a door slammed and a moment later feet clattered down the basement stairs.

  ‘Want any help, Ma?’ The head that came round the kitchen door was covered in a mass of red-gold curls. They framed a face that looked angelic until you noticed the wickedly mischievous glint in the blue eyes. This intensified as he looked at Elaine. ‘Hel/o — who’s this?’

  ‘It’s Elaine, my friend,’ Alison told him.

  ‘Well, well. And where have you been hiding this one?’ He stepped forward to peer disconcertingly into Elaine’s face. ‘She’s delicious.’ He smiled. ‘I’m Tom, by the way. Doesn’t look as though Alison’s remembered to bring her manners so I’ll have to introduce myself.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know a manner if it jumped up and bit you.’ Alison threw her wet dish cloth at him, but he fielded it neatly and threw it back at her.

  ‘Take no notice of my young cousin,’ he said with an apologetic expression. ‘She was dropped on something vital as a baby. It’s terribly sad really.’ He removed the teatowel from Elaine’s hand and draped it over Alison’s head. ‘Come upstairs with me and meet the others. You’re going to be a pleasant surprise for them, I can tell you. Alison’s friends usually look like her — spotty with rolls of fat.’ Alison good-naturedly flicked water at him, which he ignored. He drew Elaine’s hand through his arm. ‘But just remember, I saw you first.’

  ‘Oh — but — I said I’d help with the washing up,’ Elaine stammered, as she looked scarlet-faced at Zoe.

  ‘Guests don’t wash up in this house,’ Tom said. ‘Not while I’m around. At least, not the pretty ones.’

  Zoe’s bulk all but blocked the way and she shook with laughter as they squeezed past her through the kitchen door.

  ‘That’s right. Take the poor girl upstairs out of all this squalour and give her a drink,’ she said. ‘Just as well for her to meet the madding crowd now, while she still has the strength to run away.’

  Somewhat apprehensively, Elaine allowed Tom to lead her along the narrow basement passage.

  ‘That’s Ma’s studio.’ He waved an arm in the direction of a half open door. ‘And the room at the front is affectionately known as the piggery. It’s where we eat when we’re all in together for meals, which isn’t often.’ Elaine glimpsed a cluttered dining room, its table covered in party food, before Tom, holding tightly to her hand, began to lead her up the narrow stairway into the hall.

  Mill House was still furnished much as it had been in Zoe’s parents’ day. The same miscellaneous collection of antique furniture, ranging from Jacobean through Edwardian to Art Deco, filled the rooms. Even the heavily flocked wallpaper looked as though it might have been hung in Victorian days. The only real change the Carne’s had made had been to the floors. Red had discarded the old threadbare carpets and sanded the wide oak floorboards, which were now varnished a rich golden and scattered with bright oriental rugs. To the front of the house a large living room looked out on to the street. Elaine had never seen any room quite like it. A grey pink-veined marble fireplace faced the door, topped by an elaborate overmantel festooned with gilded laurel swags and fat cherubs. In the recesses on either side were shelves packed with books. Instead of the neat three-piece suite Elaine was used to at home there were three divans ranged against the walls. These were covered in striped material that looked like mattress ticking, and swathed with Indian shawls and brightly coloured cushions. A large Indian rug covered most of the floor and there were occasional tables with brass tops and intricately carved legs set with mother-of-pearl.

  There were several people in the room, all of whom looked so grown-up and exotic to Elaine that she began to wish she hadn’t come. To begin with she felt over dressed in her new mini dress with the matching shoes and tights. Everyone here seemed to be dressed casually, like Tom, in jeans and shirts. They all seemed to know one another too, talking and laughing together at seemingly private jokes, like old friends. She wanted to sink through the floor when Tom said in a loud voice: ‘Shut up a minute, you lot, and say hello to Elaine here.’

  Silence fell as all heads turned to look at her. She felt herself blushing crimson, which made her feel even worse. A tall slim young man with long fair hair stepped forward, smiling at her and holding out his hand.

  ‘Hello, I’m Patrick. Take no notice of the baby brother. He can’t help being an idiot. What can I get you to drink?’ He led her across the room to a drinks table on which stood a bewildering array of bottles.

  ‘Have you got any Coke?’ Elaine wondered if he would laugh, but he didn’t. Instead he nodded at his brother.

  ‘Tom — run down to the kitchen and get Elaine a Coke, will you?’

  Tom opened his mouth as thou
gh he was about to protest, then he changed his mind, turned and went out of the room. Patrick smiled and took her arm. ‘Do you know any of the others?’ She shook her head shyly and he said: ‘Right, well, when you’ve got your drink I’ll take you over and introduce you, though we don’t stand on much ceremony here.’ He pointed. ‘That’s Mike over there — the one with paint all over his tee-shirt, and that’s Moira, his girlfriend with him. The one next to them, with the dreamy expression, is Toby. His ambition is to be a theatrical designer. The girl trying to have a conversation with him is Michelle.’

  Elaine thought that Michelle was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. She had waist length blonde hair and a wand-slim figure. Her endless legs were encased in white jeans and the shirt she wore was semi-transparent and revealed that she wore nothing underneath.

  ‘Is she an art student too?’ Elaine whispered. Patrick shook his head.

  ‘She’s the life class model at college.’ He bent his head to add in a whisper: ‘And between you and me, she’s as thick as two planks, but don’t quote me.’

  ‘A model, I might have known,’ Elaine said. ‘She’s very pretty.’

  Patrick glanced casually across at the girl and laughed. ‘So she is. Do you know, this is the first time I’ve seen her with her clothes on.’

  At that moment Tom reappeared with the Coke and Elaine was grateful to be able to bury her burning face in the glass. Of course, she should have know. ‘Life class’ meant they painted a live model — usually in the nude. She cast another surreptitious, slightly awed glance in Michelle’s direction. Fancy having the nerve to sit there in front of all those students with nothing on. She wondered briefly what her mother would think of it.

  Tom pushed his way in between Elaine and his brother. ‘Ma says when you’ve had your drink, better take your things upstairs. Red will be wanting us over in the Barn soon. I’ve brought your bag. It’s in the hall. If you come with me...’

  Patrick put a hand under her elbow. ‘I think not. I’ll show Elaine the way. After all, it’s my room she’s having.’ He gave Elaine a wry grin. ‘Lesson one — don’t be fooled by my brother’s angelic looks.’ He elbowed his way past a glaring Tom and a moment later Elaine found herself in the hall.

  The staircases seemed endless but at last they reached the top floor with its sloping ceilings and odd shaped doorways.

  ‘We call this the perch,’ Patrick told her. ‘Tom, Toby and I live up here. You and Alison are having my room for tonight while I move in with the angel child — for my sins.’ He opened a door to reveal a room that was all odd angles. One wall was completely covered in an abstract painting of brightly coloured geometric shapes. In one corner under the sweep of sloping ceiling, a three quarter size bed was pushed against the wall. There was a record player in one corner and two shelves full of records and books. Stretched canvasses stood with their faces to the wall and under the large skylight let into the roof, an easel was set up. Beside it, a small table scattered with half-used tubes of colour, pieces of charcoal, palettes and other artists’ materials. On a shelf brushes and pencils stood upright in a blue pottery jug with A PRESENT FROM HUNSTANTON painted on the side. Elaine stared around her in delight. The house was a delight; so completely different from the tidy, ordered home she had always known. The layer of dust on the furniture would have shocked her mother, but Elaine thought it was wonderful. There was such a feeling of freedom here. It was so easy-going and relaxed.

  ‘What a lovely room.’

  Patrick’s eyebrows rose and he looked around. ‘Is it? We get to used to familiar surroundings that we don’t really see them in the end. It is rather nice though, I suppose. At least up here you can always rely on privacy and we don’t have the kind of mother who’s always nagging us to tidy up or chasing round with a Hoover. When we can’t stand the squalor any longer, we clean up ourselves.’

  Elaine laughed. ‘I’m surprised you can have privacy in a house as full of people as this.’

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s one of the nicest things,’ he told her. ‘There’s always plenty of company here if you want it, but there’s an unwritten law — any closed door has to be knocked on before entering. And if there’s no reply, it’s assumed that the occupant is either out or wants some solitude.’

  To Elaine, who liked solitude but was often lonely too, it sounded like bliss. She said so and Patrick laughed.

  ‘Well, it’s Liberty Hall. Any time you feel like it, why not drop by — as long as you remember the golden rule.’ He took her arm. ‘We’d better go down. Everyone should have arrived by now and Red’ll be wanting to start the show.’

  When Alison had told Elaine that there was to be a marionette show she had been slightly put off. It sounded like the kind of entertainment she would have expected to find at a children’s party, but twenty minutes later as she and Alison, along with the other guests, climbed the wooden staircase and entered the little theatre, she saw that it wasn’t like that at all. The converted loft was like Aladdin’s cave. Everywhere one looked there was something fascinating to see: there were stuffed birds and animals, brass dishes, jewelled swords and daggers and strangely shaped ceramics. The ceiling was draped with brightly coloured silks, the beams studded with horse brasses, Chinese lanterns and gargoyles, purloined from demolished churches. On a shelf Elaine spotted a Victorian musical toy — a glass dome inside which a galleon sat on a choppy blue sea. Carpets and faded fringed shawls decorated the walls, and there was the oddest assortment of seating that Elaine had ever seen: a chaise longue, it’s ruby red upholstery faded to a soft rose; an old leather Chesterfield with some of its buttons missing; one or two small gilded chairs; a sagging divan; numerous scattered floor cushions and, right at the back on a shallow dias, a splendid ‘box’ affair, with looped back curtains on either side. Alison made a beeline for this, taking Elaine’s hand and pulling her along.

  Zoe had welcomed them all in at the door. She was the only member of the family who had changed for the party. She now wore another kaftan in fine blue Indian cotton, splendidly embroidered in bright silks and tiny flashing mirrors. Large Indian silver earrings dangled from her ears and matching bracelets jangled at her wrists.

  When they were all seated Red appeared through the curtain at the side of the stage. He was splendidly attired in a burgundy cloak with a velvet lining and looked to Elaine like some sort of fairytale wizard with the lights burnishing his coppery hair. He welcomed his audience and told them a little about the play they were about to see. Then with a sweeping flourish of his cloak he disappeared again behind the curtain. The music swelled and the tiny curtains parted slowly to reveal a miniature set, perfect in every detail. The show had begun, the enchantment was about to take over, and — although she didn’t know it — Elaine was about to leave her childhood behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  When Margaret arrived at the flat on that Friday evening Grace saw at once that she was upset. She looked tired and drawn. For the first time since Grace had known her, she looked all of her forty-five years. Her make-up looked stale and smudged, her normally well-groomed hair looked dull and lifeless, and there were bags under her eyes. Grace made no comment, but poured her an extra large gin and tonic before serving the meal she had prepared.

  ‘Elaine won’t be back tonight,’ she said. ‘So you can have her room.’

  ‘That’ll be nice.’ Margaret sipped her drink. ‘Where is she, by the way?’

  ‘At a party.’

  Margaret’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really? You’ve let her off the chain at last then, have you?’

  Grace gave her employer a quick glance. ‘She’s never been on the chain, as you call it. She’s been a good girl these past months, working for her exams. I thought she deserved a treat.’

  ‘Well, yes, but an all-night party? A bit out of character for you, isn’t it?’

  Grace coloured. ‘It’s not an all night party. It’s a birthday party at Alison’s cousins’ home. Mrs Carne is putting both gi
rls up for the night, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Margaret laughed. ‘A likely story.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Grace demanded. ‘What are you saying?’

  Margaret shrugged. ‘Nothing. If you’re satisfied, who am I to put doubts in your mind? But we all pulled that one when we were young, didn’t we?’

  ‘Pulled...?’

  ‘Oh, come on. Didn’t you ever tell fibs to get out on the loose?’

  Grace was about to deny it, then she remembered the night Harry had given her the complimentary ticket for the theatre. ‘I only did it once,’ she said, going cold at the memory. ‘It wasn’t worth it.’

  Margaret laughed. ‘No. Many’s the telling off I had too. But there — things are different nowdays, aren’t they? The kids get far more freedom than we did. And all to the good, I say.’

  Her comments had Grace worried, but she wasn’t going to let Margaret see it. As they ate their meal she changed the subject, steering the conversation round to the shop and the success of the new lines they had been trying. But there was something about Margaret this evening — an acid sharpness about her speech and a pinched look about her eyes and mouth. Eventually Grace asked her if anything was wrong.