by Angela Huth
‘About the sea?’
‘He used to say that standing on deck, out on the ocean, looking at the sunset on the waves – that it took him out of himself, he used to say.’
Muriel’s cup hesitated towards her mouth. She tried to remember.
‘So he did,’ she said.
‘Once, that time you were ill, you remember, gastric flu I think it was, you had gastric flu – Bob and I took a stroll along the cliffs, and he said just what you said he said about sunsets at sea.’
‘Did he? Asian flu, it was.’
‘Asian. That was it. Well, human nature couldn’t do without its uplifts, sunsets or whatever.’
‘I didn’t know you and Bob had gone along the cliffs.’
Janice helped herself to another biscuit.
‘Only for half an hour or so after we’d picked up your medicine. We didn’t leave you long, did we?’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Muriel. She stirred her tea, a small frown between her eyes. ‘Gerald, now,’ she said, ‘with him it’s the horses. He knows racing people up and down the country. He says watching a race is a shot in the arm, the excitement.’
‘You said he might drop by later?’
‘He might.’
‘I’d like to meet a racing man. Did you tell him anything about me?’
‘That you’re my friend.’
‘What else?’
‘You come over Thursdays.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘That you’re quite a glamour puss, I think I said.’
‘Go on! He’ll be expecting Marlene Dietrich. Wish I’d known, I’d have got myself up a bit more.’
‘You look all right, Jan. Don’t worry. Anyhow, he’s not the world’s greatest noticer.’
‘All the same, I like to create a good impression.’
‘You do create a good impression,’ said Muriel, warmly, and patted her friend’s knee.
Gerald arrived an hour later, slinking through the door again, so that he was halfway across the room before they noticed him.
‘Hello, hello,’ he said. ‘Looks as if I’ve barged into a regular hen-party. Excuse me.’
‘We were expecting you,’ said Muriel. ‘This is my friend, Janice Sullivan.’
Janice stood up. A blush curdled her matte foundation. She and Gerald shook hands.
‘Glad to know you,’ said Gerald, his earlier pertness a little subdued. ‘Never seen it so crowded down at the Bell. Fridays, you expect the crowds. But Thursdays, no.’
‘You don’t really, do you?’ said Janice.
Muriel stood up.
‘I’ll brighten the pot for Gerald,’ she said to Janice, and went out to the kitchen. Gerald cleared his throat.
‘Mind if I sit down?’
‘Make yourself at home.’
Gerald sat beside her on the sofa.
‘Mind if I light up?’
‘I like a man who smokes a pipe, actually, better than cigarettes.’ Janice smiled.
‘You must be a woman in a thousand! Muriel, now, she doesn’t care for my pipe. She never complains, mind. But I can tell.’
‘There’s no accounting for tastes, is there?’
Gerald looked at Janice carefully, and puffed at the stem of his pipe. Then he said:
‘Do you mind if I make so bold as to make a personal remark?’
‘Fire ahead.’
‘The colours of your dress. They remind me of something. Soon as I saw them something clicked in my mind . . . Archie Fellows. That’s it. Ever heard of Archie Fellows?’
‘Can’t say I have. A racing man?’
‘Archie Fellows from up Wetherby way. Born and bred there. String of horses from here to kingdom come. Maroon and pink – I’ve seen those colours flashing past more winning posts than I’d care to mention.’
Janice, taking this as a compliment, smiled again.
‘What a coincidence,’ she said.
‘Coincidence! I came through this door not five minutes ago. I looked at you, and something rang a bell.’
‘I must admit, I know little of the racing world myself.’
‘Ah! It’s a grand life. If I hadn’t gone into business I would have trained, myself.’
‘To be a jockey? You have the build.’
‘Trainer. That’s where the creation comes in. And here comes the light of my life with a new pot of tea! Your friend, Muriel, it turns out, is wearing old Archie Fellows’s colours.’
‘Is she, now?’ asked Muriel, pouring him a cup. Gerald took it from her, and turned back to Janice. ‘Must be a very meticulous business, beauty,’ he said.
‘It’s meticulous, all right. Skilful. Nothing amateur about it. As a matter of fact – has she told you? – Muriel’s going to come to me for a facial.’
‘What’s the matter with her face? What’s all this, Muriel?’
‘On the house, of course,’ said Janice.
Gerald wrinkled his nose towards Muriel.
‘You let me catch you coming back with the skin all hitched up over your ears, Chinese eyes, and there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘Nothing like that,’ said Janice quickly. ‘Not a lift. Just a little refreshment.’
‘Just to tone me up. I’ll be in safe hands with Jan,’ added Muriel.
‘Rainwater: that’s the best treatment I know,’ said Gerald. ‘Well, I expect you ladies know what you’re doing, but she looks all right to me as she is. Till Bob died she never looked a day over forty, did you, Muriel? Haven’t I said that before?’
‘Thirty-eight, you said.’
‘Well, thirty-eight, forty.’
‘Were you a friend of Bob’s, too?’ asked Janice.
‘Never met him. Never had the pleasure. But if I ran into him in the street, I’ve heard that much about him I’d feel I’d known him all my life.’
‘He was a wonderful man,’ said Janice.
‘So I understand from Muriel.’
‘Wonderful.’ Janice paused, glanced at Muriel in the silence. Then she went on: ‘Of course, there weren’t many who knew him well, were there, Muriel? I mean, there were those who thought him aloof. It was his quiet manner. You had to get under his skin to know him, didn’t you, Muriel? There weren’t many who managed that.’
‘Some men are darker horses than women, I’ve always thought,’ said Gerald.
Janice shifted her look from Muriel to Gerald. She spoke quietly.
‘Once, you know, he told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said, Janice, he said – he never called me Jan like everyone else – there are some things a man must never reveal. That makes you think, doesn’t it? There are some things a man must never reveal. I went cold all down my spine, I remember, when he said that. He said it so mysteriously.’
‘When did he say that?’ asked Muriel.
‘Oh, I don’t know. One day. In the Badger, if I remember rightly.’
‘We hardly ever went to the Badger.’
‘It must have been on one of the rare occasions, then, mustn’t it?’
‘But he never said anything to me like that. About not revealing things. Bob told me everything.’
Janice gave her a smile.
‘That’s what every wife likes to think, dear. That’s where men are so clever.’
Gerald, sensing it would be beneficial to divert the line of conversation, scratched his ear. He was not inspired, but did his best.
‘The three of you were, what, lifelong friends, were you?’ he asked.
‘Oh no, not at all,’ said Janice, quickly. ‘We only met in the war. Muriel and I worked side by side in a rubber factory.’
‘Bob and I had already been married years,’ Muriel added.
‘Muriel and I hit it off straight away, didn’t we?’
‘Jan came back to our house one evening for supper and from then on, somehow, she became part of the family.’
‘I remember that evening.’ Janice lit a cigarette. She smiled nostalgically through the smoke. ‘Bob came home so l
ate I was beginning to think Muriel had been kidding me, and hadn’t got a husband after all. He came in in his uniform, very smart. Always made a good impression. We had Spam fritters for supper and Bob opened a bottle of sherry.’
‘So he did! Your memory, Jan. You don’t forget a thing.’
Gerald turned to Janice and gave her a wink that Muriel was also meant to appreciate.
‘But how come such an attractive lady as yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so, didn’t get a husband for herself?’
Janice settled herself more comfortably, her bosom swelling with the truth she was about to reveal.
‘Well, to be honest, it wasn’t for the lack of offers, was it Muriel? I turned down more honest offers than I can remember. None of them suitable. None of them worth half of Bob, for instance. It’s all a question of standards, you see. If you can’t get what you want, rather do without than drop your standards. That’s always been my motto.’
‘They were round Jan like flies,’ Muriel said to Gerald after a small silence.
‘Well, a little exaggeration, but I have to admit they were.’ Janice lowered her eyelids, revealing immodest blue lids. ‘But I spent all my spare time with Bob and Muriel, didn’t I? Sometimes when I was working different shifts from Muriel, I’d come here and do Bob’s supper for him so he wouldn’t come home to an empty house. He was a fiend for stew and cabbage – very easy to feed, even on rations. Sometimes, he’d come to my place and have a black-market omelette. Well –’ (she gave Muriel a quick look) – ‘on a couple of occasions. Muriel and I always thought we should put the man first, give him the delicacies we managed to scrounge . . . didn’t we?’
‘That’s the right attitude,’ said Gerald.
‘He never told me about the omelettes. When did you give him omelettes?’ asked Muriel.
Janice shrugged.
‘Oh, I don’t remember exact dates, dear, do I? Even my memory doesn’t stretch that far. It may have been only once. In fact I think it probably was only once. But you know what an impression a real egg omelette made on anyone in those days.’
‘I gave him every egg I could lay my hands on,’ said Muriel. She brushed some crumbs from her knee, hand shaking very slightly.
‘Of course you did.’
‘But he never mentioned you gave him an omelette. Never once.’
‘Of course he didn’t.’ Janice sounded quite scornful. ‘Really, men had better things to talk about in the war than their stomachs. He didn’t tell me about the boiled egg you gave him for breakfast. He didn’t tell you about the omelette I gave him for his supper. To him, they were just eggs, served up by his two loyal women.’
‘But I was his wife!’ Muriel’s protest came out like a small moan. It was followed by a moment’s silence. Then Janice smiled. Calm. She turned to her friend.
‘So: you were his wife. I was his wife’s friend, remember? And therefore his friend. That was all.’ She paused. ‘Though I daresay if you’d been blown up by a bomb I would have considered looking after him for you. I daresay I would have done that.’
‘Come along, now, come along,’ said Gerald. ‘The conversation’s getting morbid. Why don’t we all go down to the Bell for a drink?’
‘I don’t feel like a drink, thank you,’ said Muriel. ‘But don’t let me stop you two.’
Gerald waved his fist in mock despair. He turned to Janice.
‘There you are! What do you do? I try to take her out of herself, try to give her a bit of the old romance – and what do I get? No: I don’t feel like a drink. No: don’t feel like going to the races. It’s enough to make a man give up, isn’t it?’ He turned from Janice to Muriel, feeling himself now to be in command of the situation. ‘You can’t live with a memory for ever, you know, love. Bob’s dead. Remembering him won’t bring him back to life. You must help yourself a bit. Let others help you . . . If you didn’t give me quite so much of the cold shoulder, I’d be quite willing to come to any terms . . .’
‘Well, she’s never been much of a social butterfly, have you, Muriel? Even when Bob was alive they never went out much. Often I’d come over and find the two of them crouched by the fire just listening to the wireless.’
‘Bob liked being at home,’ said Muriel.
‘Of course he did.’ Janice was patient. ‘What man doesn’t? But I can tell you this: he once told me he’d give his eye teeth for a night on the tiles –’
‘He never said that!’ Muriel was shouting.
‘I’m telling you, he did.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’m telling you the truth. He sat in that very chair and told me he liked a bit of a night out,’ Janice stood up and went to the fireplace, ran a finger round the oval frame of a picture of Bob.
‘Where was I?’ asked Muriel.
‘Late shift, I suppose.’ Janice held up a finger, slightly grey with dust.
‘I don’t believe you.’ Muriel snapped her knees together, indignant Angry. ‘Bob liked quiet evenings here. That’s what he liked.’
Gerald, his nose wrinkling with the strain, made an effort.
‘I like a night out myself, personally,’ he said. ‘But on the other hand I understand those who don’t.’ Neither woman seemed to hear him.
‘When did Bob say he’d like a night out?’ asked Muriel.
‘Oh, off and on. From time to time.’ Janice returned to the sofa and sat down.
‘When?’ Muriel was firm.
‘Well, if you really want me to be so precise, that time you were with your mother for the night – her ulcers. One of those nights was my birthday.’
Muriel frowned, trying to remember.
‘I sent you a card from my mother’s,’ she said.’
‘So you did.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Now, let me get this right or I’ll be up to my neck in hot water.’ Janice winked at Gerald then turned back to Muriel. ‘He said: Janice he said, seeing as it’s your birthday, perhaps we ought to have a little celebration. There’s a dance on tonight at the Town Hall and I got a couple of tickets –’
‘– a couple of tickets?’ Muriel’s voice was faint.
‘– like, as a birthday surprise for me. Well, what could I say? He’d thought it all out, hadn’t he, to surprise me? I couldn’t let him down. So, anyway, we went.’ Janice paused, eyes carefully on Muriel’s face. ‘He was a lovely dancer, actually. Waltz, tango, Gay Gordons, the lot . . .’
‘But he never danced with me in twenty years!’
‘Keep your hair on! He said you didn’t like it.’
‘No: he said he didn’t like it. I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, it’s true. We had a very nice night out. If you don’t believe me I can show you – he made mention of it in one of his letters –’
‘–one of his letters?’ Muriel had sprung to the edge of the sofa, appalled, cheeks quivering.
‘You weren’t the only one who got epistles from sea, you know,’ said Janice. ‘He sometimes managed to drop me the odd line.’
‘But, Jan, I read you out bits of his letters! The times I read you bits of news and you never let on you’d heard from him.’ There was a sob behind her voice, but she managed to contain it.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Janice was brusque. ‘A person likes to get her own letters.’
‘Now, you two, no quarrelling,’ ventured Gerald, but they paid him no attention.
‘And why didn’t you tell me you’d been out dancing?’ went on Muriel, kneading her hands. ‘If only you’d told me . . . Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘There are some things, as Bob said to me, that a man – or a woman, for that matter – should never reveal. That was the wisest thing he ever said. But don’t blame me. I said to him, I said, Bob, we must tell Muriel about this and perhaps she’ll come with us next time . . .’ Janice trailed off.
‘With you? I like that!’ Muriel was more deeply flushed with indignation.
‘But he said, bet
ter keep it quiet, not because we’ve got anything to hide, but because Muriel might feel a bit hard done by, sitting there looking after her tiresome old mother while we were out on the tiles.’
‘He loved my mother! He never said that. Don’t go on, Jan. I don’t want to hear any more. I don’t believe . . . it’s all lies. Lies, lies, lies you’re telling me. Anyone would think Bob was your husband, the way you’re talking. But he was married to me, remember? Twenty-six happy years. He loved me. He loved me more than anyone else in the whole world, didn’t he, Gerald?’
‘I, er – don’t bring me into this,’ said Gerald.
‘Well, he did,’ went on Muriel. ‘He told me. Every day he told me, or if he didn’t tell me, he showed it. He was kind to you because you were my friend. No other reason. He wouldn’t have laid a finger on you, or any other woman, for anything in the world.’
‘I’m not saying he did, am I? Glory be, the suspicion in some people’s minds. It’s an illness, you know that? Suspicion like yours is an illness. All I’m saying is that Bob became my friend – a man can have friends besides his wife, can’t he? Sometimes they say it even helps a marriage. It’s healthy to have a friend outside –’
‘– our marriage didn’t need any help, thanks very much.’
‘In that case, there was nothing to fear from me, then, was there?’ Janice stood up. ‘I was no threat. I was just a friend. A friend to you both, I thought.’
Gerald stood up. He picked up Janice’s coat and helped her on with it. He tried to be cheerful.
‘Now come along, you two. How about that drink?’
‘Thank you, Gerald. I’ll accept, for one,’ said Janice, fumbling down the long line of fancy buttons, little finger crooked as if for a refined tea party. ‘I mean, the atmosphere in here’s getting a bit over-heated, isn’t it?’
‘Lovely colour, your coat,’ said Gerald. ‘Froggie Moore’s racing colours . . . a similar green.’
‘There’s one more thing I’d like to know,’ said Muriel. She too was standing. She took Bob’s photograph from the mantelpiece, held it to her breast.
‘Oh yes? Oh, I see.’ Janice began to laugh. ‘I know what you’re getting at, love. I know how your mind’s working, don’t I? Well, blow me. What a scene after all these years. We’ve never had a cross word. Can you imagine?’ She linked her arm through Gerald’s. His mouth sagged unhappily. ‘Come on, Muriel – where’s your smile? Where’s your humour? What’s the matter? You’re put out because I’m off for a drink with your beau, now, are you? First your husband, then your boyfriend? That it? Really, Muriel. You ought to know me better than that. We’re old friends, aren’t we? Can’t you trust a friend?’ She paused. Silence. ‘So, you’ve nothing to say. Well then, Gerald and I might as well be on our way. Illicit drink. Come along, Gerald.’ She tugged at his sleeve.
