by Lynda Renham
‘Come on babe,’ he had coaxed. ‘It’s about time huh?’
She blamed herself, of course. She shouldn’t have led him on. That’s what her mother would have said.
His lips had travelled down her neck. His wine fuelled breath mixed with the sweaty bed sheets had made her feel sick. She’d kept swallowing but she couldn’t stop the warm feeling rising in her chest. A sharp pain had cut across her stomach and she’d given Billy an almighty shove.
‘I’m going to throw up.’
Billy had leapt off her with such force that he’d tumbled backwards onto the floor. Rita had stumbled to the bathroom and buckled over Billy’s limescale-stained sink. With a heaving lurch she’d thrown up the contents of her stomach. Her ashen reflection in the water-splashed mirror had shocked her. She’d looked terrible, her eyes all bloodshot.
‘Christ babe,’ Billy had called. ‘Are you alright?’
Rita had wiped the sweat from her face and leaned heavily on the sink. Hot water washed away the Indian takeaway she had eaten earlier.
‘Do you have any paracetamol?’ she’d asked.
That’s all she’d wanted, something for the thumping headache.
‘Oh yeah, in the bathroom cabinet I think there’s some.’
Rita’s head had been throbbing and without thinking, she’d opened the cupboard door under the sink, mistaking it for the cabinet. Her hand had frozen on the door handle and she’d stared uncomprehendingly. On a shelf in Billy’s bathroom cupboard sat a gun. Her eyes had become glued to it. It’s not real, she’d thought. Billy wouldn’t have a real gun in his house. Her hands had itched to touch it. Her heart had fluttered like butterfly wings as she’d reached into the cupboard. The metal had felt cold in her hand and she’d stroked the barrel carefully.
‘Did you find …?’ began Billy coming up behind her.
Rita had jumped, turning frightened eyes onto him. He’d stared at the gun in her hands and Rita had seen his jaw twitch. She’d tried to avoid his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to see the frightening glint.
‘What are you doing?’ he’d asked gruffly.
Rita had dropped the gun back onto the shelf and Billy had quickly slammed the cupboard door shut. Rita had jerked backwards, realising what was about to come but hadn’t been quick enough. The back of Billy’s hand had hit her cheek with such force that her whole body reeled backwards. Rita had clutched her face fearfully.
‘I was looking for the paracetamol,’ she’d said shakily.
Her words had sounded strange, like they did when you’d just been to the dentist and you still couldn’t feel your face.
‘I told you, they’re in the bathroom cabinet,’ he’d snapped.
Billy’s features seemed to strangely contort into Rita’s father’s, and she’d had to blink several times to make him disappear.
‘I …’ she’d stammered, but the left side of her face was totally numb now and the words wouldn’t come out. He’d opened the door of a small cabinet above the sink and after fiddling around for a bit, handed her a packet of pills. Rita had taken them without meeting his eyes.
‘I’m sorry babe,’ he’d said. ‘It frightened me seeing you with your hand on it like that. It’s dangerous, you see.’
He’d hugged her and Rita had tried to understand. Perhaps it had scared him. He’d stroked her cheek and said softly.
‘I don’t know what came over me.’
Rita’s body had relaxed slightly.
‘Why have you got a gun?’ she’d asked quietly.
The slap across the face and the sight of the gun had sobered her up.
‘It stinks in here,’ he’d said, taking her by the arm. He filled a grubby glass with water and gave it to her.
‘You’d better take those pills,’ he’d said.
‘But the gun, why do you …?’
He had sat her on the edge of the bed and Rita had been too weak to object.
‘Look Babe,’ he’d said with false laughter. ‘It’s nothing, right? Just forget you ever saw it.’
‘But …’
‘Look Rita,’ he’d said patiently. ‘There’re some dodgy people out there.’
Rita had tried to think of any dodgy people that she knew but she couldn’t think of any.
‘I like to be able to protect myself, that’s all. I’ve never used it.’
Rita nodded, although she didn’t know why. Who would Billy need protection from and supposing they, whoever they were, came to the house? Was she in danger?
‘Is it loaded?’ she’d asked.
Billy, of course, did mix with dodgy characters, she told herself. Rita wondered if she would know a dodgy character if she met one. She supposed Billy was a dodgy character himself. If he carried a gun, she surmised that he must be. Only dodgy characters have guns in their bathroom cupboards. It excited her in a strange way. She could bet a week’s wages that her friends wouldn’t know a dodgy character who owned a gun.
‘Of course not,’ said Billy, avoiding her eyes. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about it, Rita. I’ll get into trouble if you do.’
Rita couldn’t help wondering if the gun was unloaded, why Billy had got so frightened. She couldn’t accidentally fire a gun that had no bullets.
‘Oh no, I wouldn’t tell anyone,’ she’d said.
‘I have to go,’ she’d said, standing up.
‘Already?’ He’d been taken aback. ‘Why so early? I said sorry, didn’t I?’
‘I’m still feeling sick,’ she’d said, aware of how much Billy hated sickness.
Billy had grimaced.
‘Yeah, better had then,’ he’d said but Rita had heard the disappointment in his voice, and it had made her feel guilty. But it hadn’t really been her fault. If Billy hadn’t thrown her on that smelly bed, she most likely wouldn’t have been sick. They’d have had fun on the couch like they always did. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, the gun had happened, and Rita had been all at sea.
‘How about another night?’ she’d said, while thinking there would never be another night if she had anything to do with it.
Billy’s eyes had lit up.
‘Yeah sure, what night do you reckon?’
‘I’ll let you know,’ she’d said.
‘Tell you what. I’ll take you to the dogs.’
‘Oh yes,’ Rita had said. She’d never been taken to the dogs.
‘Don’t forget now,’ Billy had wagged his finger in her face. ‘Don’t tell anyone about the gun.’
‘Oh no,’ she’d said.
*
Rita found herself scanning the faces of the customers as they came through the entrance doors that Monday. On several occasions, she felt sure she saw Henry, only to have her heart sink when she realised it hadn’t been him at all. It had been almost ten past six and Rita had given up on Henry ever coming into the store again. She would never know what had happened to him and that made her sad. Her legs had felt tired and her eyes sore from lack of sleep. So, when Henry had walked in, Rita had barely noticed him. She’d been daydreaming when he’d approached.
‘Hello,’ he’d said, looking curiously at the samples on offer. Her heart had soared, surprising her with its intensity.
‘Hello,’ she’d said with a shake in her voice. ‘Are you well?’
‘I am,’
He’d given her one of his rare smiles. He’s so good looking, Rita had thought. She liked the way his eyes twinkled behind his glasses. She’d wondered what would make him smile more. She’d thought of asking why he hadn’t been into the store but then he’d know that she had missed him and that wouldn’t do.
‘Sorry I haven’t been into the store for a few days,’ he’d said, as if reading her mind.
‘I thought I hadn’t seen you,’ she’d said and then blushed.
‘I had some holiday to take.’
‘Oh, did you go anywhere nice?’
She’d pictured Henry in his shorts. He was definitely the type to wear cool canvas ones. Most likely crease free t
oo. Rita often thought of taking a holiday. Somewhere where the sea stretched for miles and the sun scattered diamonds across its surface. But it wasn’t easy-going on holiday alone.
‘Isle of Wight,’ Henry had said with a smile. ‘It was scorching hot.’
Goodness, she’d thought, we’ve never talked so much.
‘Lovely,’ Rita had said and wondered why it was called the Isle of Wight. Was everything white there, perhaps?
‘My wife likes it there,’ Henry had said, smiling.
He’d finally mentioned her, and Rita had felt that she could have been standing right between them, so much was her presence felt.
‘I’ve never been to the Isle of Wight.’
‘I think you’d like it. It’s peaceful.’
‘Yes,’ she’d agreed.
He’d tried her sample then. Brussels sprout flavour crisps. They weren’t to everyone’s tastes, but Henry had liked them.
‘Interesting,’ he’d said, and Rita had smiled.
For once, she’d thought, Henry was quite right, they were indeed interesting. He’d stayed quite a while. They’d talked about the Isle of Wight, holidays and the best places to take them and finally he’d said,
‘I’m Henry by the way.’
‘I’m Rita.’
‘Lovely Rita Meter Maid,’ Henry had said.
Henry must have realised from her puzzled expression that she had no idea what he meant.
‘It’s a Beatles’ song,’ he’d explained. ‘It’s from Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.’
‘Oh, I’ve not heard that one.’
Why was it, Rita had wondered, that whenever she told people her name, they compared her to a film, a song, or an actor? When she’d first told Billy her name was Rita, he’d said.
‘Like in Educating?’
Rita had blushed. ‘Yes,’ she’d said.
It always made her feel irrelevant somehow, being compared like that. As though, every other Rita, was more important than her. Once, her teacher at school, had asked everyone in the class to find out where his or her name came from.
‘I bet you’re named after the actress Rita Hayworth,’ said her classmate.
The thought of being named after an actress delighted Rita and she'd looked up Rita Hayworth at the library and was thrilled to see she was a famous starlet. This had excited Rita tremendously. She’d hurried home to discover from her mother that she had, in fact, been named after a British actress named Rita Tushingham. Her mother had been a big fan. Rita had looked up Rita Tushingham at the library. She wasn’t a glamourous Hollywood starlet like Rita Hayworth and Rita wondered if anyone would know her. So, instead, she told the teacher that she was named after Rita Hayworth, just like everyone had thought. It was only a small lie, after all. The next Sunday at church, she asked for God’s forgiveness and promised she would never mention Rita Hayworth again.
She’d repeated the names Henry and Rita in her head, thinking how well they went together.
Henry and Rita. There was a definite ring when you said it. Rita and Henry. She’d visualised her friends saying their names.
‘Henry and Rita are here.’ ‘Henry and Rita make such a great couple don’t you think?’ Except, Henry had a wife and he’d actually mentioned her. Rita could have fooled herself that when he’d said there were just two of them at home, he could have meant him and a dog. Now, he had confirmed it. Still, she’d told herself, there was no harm in them being friends.
Henry had continued to come into the store and sample Rita’s offerings. Rita had looked forward to his trips and always made sure she looked her best when it got to six. Sometimes they would chat. Other times, Henry would have to rush home for one reason or another. Rita never asked why but she imagined that his wife was very demanding.
Rita pulled herself out of her reverie and hurried out onto the shop floor with Jenny. If only Henry would come in earlier. Rita always looked her best earlier in the day. By six she was usually quite weary, and her legs would be aching. It would be nice for once if Henry saw her when she looked her best. She placed a small amount of leek and potato pie onto her tongue and closed her eyes as she savoured the delectable flavour. She hoped there would be some left over for her dinner this evening. She’d have a tin of baked beans to go with it. When she opened her eyes again Henry was standing right in front of her as though Rita had magically conjured him up.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, stepping back in surprise.
Henry never came in during the day. His eyes widened and his mouth opened as though he were about to speak but then closed again. Rita wondered for one awful moment if Henry were ill. He looked quite pale, she noticed. His coat was wet, and Rita saw that a little puddle of water had formed by his feet.
‘Is it the dyspepsia?’ she asked anxiously.
‘You can see me?’ stated Henry, looking surprised.
‘See you?’ she repeated.
Rita looked at him curiously. What an odd question, she thought.
‘Yes, of course I can see you.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ said Henry.
Chapter Six
Rita was thrilled that Henry had come in earlier that day. Finally, he’d seen her with all her make-up on and her hair nicely waved. No doubt by six the waves would have fallen out altogether. Rita had that fine kind of hair that didn’t hold waves for five minutes. However, it was a bit disconcerting that he didn’t seem himself. In fact, he seemed so distracted that she wondered if he had even noticed the waves.
‘Can you see all of me?’ he asked.
Rita tried to smile but it was difficult with Henry asking her these odd questions. She studied his face and tried to guess his age. He couldn’t be more than forty-five, she thought, but then again, she wasn’t very good at guessing ages. Far too young though, she decided, to have dementia.
‘Yes, I can see all of you,’ she said.
He laid a hand on her arm. It was like an electric shock. Henry, feeling Rita’s warm skin beneath his fingers found himself shaking. He wanted to touch her again to be sure, but knew he dare not.
‘Can we go for a coffee?’ Henry asked eagerly.
Rita’s heart surged and then she remembered she was at work.
‘I can at lunchtime.’
Henry frowned and Rita felt her heart sink. He looked at his watch and sighed.
‘My watch has stopped.’
‘It’s just gone ten. I finish at one.’
‘Three hours,’ said Henry thoughtfully.
‘Will you come back?’ asked Rita hopefully.
She had never allowed herself to hope that Henry would ask her out for coffee. Even better, that it was during the day and he had finally seen her at her very best. She now desperately wished she had worn her new pleated skirt. Still, never mind. The blue knitted jumper she was wearing showed off her neat petite figure. Rita found herself wondering if Henry’s wife was petite. In her mind, she had always visualised her as frumpy and matronly.
‘Yes,’ said Henry absently.
He looked distracted, Rita thought, his face pale and anguished.
‘Shall I get something from the chemist, for your dyspepsia?’ she asked.
Henry laughed and Rita felt slighted. She had only been trying to help.
‘If only it were dyspepsia,’ said Henry.
Rita chewed her lip. Was there something seriously wrong with Henry? Was that the real reason he hadn’t come in to the store for those few days? Perhaps his demanding frumpy wife didn’t want to take care of him.
‘Would you like some pie?’ Rita asked. ‘It’s leek and potato.’
‘Well,’ hesitated Henry.
Henry sniffed at the delectable aroma of the leeks and spices.
‘I am hungry,’ he conceded.
Rita smiled with satisfaction. She was rudely brought down to earth by a customer grabbing from the sample tray.
‘I don’t mind if I do, thanks,’ said the man, gruffly, pushing in front of Henry. ‘What flavour are
they?’
‘Leek and potato,’ said Jenny.
‘I’m actually serving this gentleman,’ said Rita sharply and nodded to Henry.
The man totally ignored Henry and helped himself to another sample.
‘You’ll find them in the fridge over there,’ Jenny said, pointing.
She didn’t acknowledge Henry either. Rita stifled a gasp. How could they not see Henry? He was standing right at the man’s side and directly in front of Jenny. Henry looked sadly at Rita and nodded.
‘No one else can see me,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ she uttered.
The man grabbed another piece of pie and then sauntered off.
‘I think I must be dead,’ announced Henry.
Rita stared at him. How could he be dead? Dead people had wide staring eyes. Rita should know that better than anyone. Or they were ghostly pale with their lips turning blue. Dead people are lifeless. They don’t stand in front of trays laden with leek and potato pie and they certainly don’t look as healthy as Henry.
‘Dead?’ Rita repeated. ‘No, you’re not.’
She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it but stopped herself when she saw Henry’s stern expression.
Another customer approached and Rita sighed.
‘It will soon be lunchtime,’ she said.
‘I love pies,’ said the approaching woman. ‘What are these?’
‘Leek and potato,’ said Jenny.
‘They are very nice,’ said Rita, who felt she could gladly eat a whole one.
The woman seemed oblivious to Henry. He gave a small nod and began to walk to the entrance.
‘You’re coming back aren’t you?’ called Rita, a sudden fear that she may never see Henry again, gripped her.
‘I’ll come back at one,’ Henry called over his shoulder. ‘I’ll wait at the entrance.’
