He leans close. ‘Both nisi will be through our letterboxes in a few weeks. Of course, we have to appear in court because of the twins. After that, I think the final takes another couple of months, then we’re free. Oh and my mother says to tell you thanks for coming to tea, you’re a lovely woman, and she wants to see a lot more of you. You made her laugh, babe.’
He’s trying to cheer me up, but I feel so low. I keep telling myself it was all for Susan, then I remember the poker and how hard I hit him. My sisters are psychos? What about me? I saved the baby. I have to keep telling myself that I saved the baby, saved Susan and, possibly, Marie as well.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘We’ve a taxi ordered,’ I tell him.
‘Let Marie and Susan have the taxi – you’re coming with me.’
So I make my good-byes, hope that someone will keep an eye on Charlie, who is sitting with his family, at last. We leave by a side door, because Alec doesn’t want to take me through the bodies on the pavement. I love the way he holds me when we walk, arm round my back, hand firmly on my waist.
He follows a route I know well, along Stanley Road and through Bootle, on to Seaforth and Litherland. In Waterloo, he stops for petrol and buys me a small packet of Maltesers. He knows they’re my favourites. And I’m suddenly crying and trembling like a leaf in a spring breeze. Sometimes, a small kindness from a loved one breaks the dam.
He drives without speaking till we reach the erosion, and we watch a sunset that is less dramatic than the one we saw months ago. No, it’s weeks. I have known this man for weeks, and he has become my rock, my comfort, my love.
‘Are you all cried out yet?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know. There were moments when I thought Susan was going to explode and tell everyone, but Marie did a good job.’
‘Marie is a good person. Anna, you did what anyone in his or her right mind would have done. You saved the child – twice. Come here.’
We sit until the light dies. In his arms, I am safe from everyone and everything. The Maltesers are shared, and he makes a big deal of biting the last one in two so that we have exactly half each. Yes, it’s the little things. Like when he brushes my hair till it shines and acts more like hair, and when I get his scrambled eggs exactly right. He’s the better ironer, so he does my blouses (blice, of course) while I’m the expert at putting plugs on electrical things. We please and help each other. And usually, we laugh a lot, but not tonight.
‘Thank you for choosing me, Alec.’
He’s smiling when he replies. ‘I didn’t choose you. My body chose. That first day, in that terrible pub, my body chose. Fortunately, there was a table between us. And my mind and soul followed my body, which was why I refused to demean us in the sand dunes. By that time, my illness was beyond cure.’
It occurs to me that love like ours, which breaks all speed limits, should be arrested, but there’s never a policeman when you need one. And nothing can stop us now, because the man is not merely in the circle of my life; he has become its fulcrum.
The drive home is quiet, because there’s little to say. That’s another thing – it’s good to be with someone who can share a silence with no awkwardness.
Maureen is at the front door before we’ve parked. ‘Are you all right?’ she asks.
I nod, too weary for words.
‘Only he’s been.’
‘Who’s been?’
‘Your feller. Him what has departed, as you put it. Wanted to know who I was and what Jo was doing here. So we had to make it up. Jo said there’s work going on at home because of a flood and the electrics. She’s fast off the mark, that daughter of yours, Al. I said I’m the babysitter, which was true. But I think he’s suspicious.’
‘Too late,’ Alec pronounces. ‘Nisi stage. We’ve sworn before Commissioners of Oaths, and that’s that.’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask.
‘I think so.’ He turns to Maureen. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Staying at a friend’s. Says he’ll be back to see you tomorrow.’
Alec walks into the house. ‘Come on, Jo. Pack your stuff. When Den arrives tomorrow, we shan’t be here.’ He returns to me. ‘Just to make absolutely sure, I have to go back to the house. Sorry, sweetheart. Phone me at work when you can. Be brave. If he touches you, I’ll kill him.’
I’m alone now in this great big bed I bought for us. I feel lost. So I get up and look at my babies, so beautiful, so perfect. I’ve discovered of late that I can hang around here for hours just looking and listening to their breathing. No one in this world has babies as beautiful as mine. It’s two in the morning, and I’m still sitting here on a cushion that’s gone a bit flat for comfort. So I go back and try to sleep on Alec’s half. If I bury my head in the pillow, I can breathe him in.
The door opens. ‘You still awake, love? Only I heard you walking about.’ It’s Marie.
‘Come in. Has Maureen gone home?’
‘No. Snoring like a pig. Good job the bed’s a three-quarter, or I’d have been out the window – she’s like a bloody octopus, that daughter of mine.’ At last, she has managed to say it. Maureen’s her daughter, and to hell with the world. She perches on the end of the bed. ‘You know what Alec said about us renting his house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he mean it?’
‘Of course he did. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.’
‘Right,’ She’s agitated. I can feel her legs swinging against the bed. ‘What is it, Marie?’
She inhales as if preparing to read out a bill in Parliament. ‘Would he mind if Charlie came? Because it was all the booze, you know. If he’s on the wagon, he’ll be OK.’
Now that I’ve met Charlie, I realize he’s either going to make a success of it, or die trying. He sat in a pub full of people, and he stuck to orange juice. ‘We’ll ask him, eh?’ And if I know Alec, he’ll say yes. And I do know Alec very well.
‘Thanks, Anna.’
‘For what?’
‘Everything.’
‘Bugger off, Marie. If you start crying, I might just join you.’
I’ve always considered the dawn chorus to be a wonderful thing, but today, it’s unpleasant, because it’s delivered from the throat of Den Fairbanks, who is a fully-qualified twerp. It’s half past seven, Susan and I have catered for the babies, while Maureen and Marie are still in bed, lucky devils. And he’s standing here like some lovelorn loon with face-ache, and he’s saying he wants me and the twins to move to Lincolnshire, because he’s made a mistake. Great. My cup truly runneth over, and it’s spilling arsenic.
I’m never at my best in the mornings. Physically, I am not a pretty sight. I have the sort of hair that goes into a spin during the night – if a cuckoo were to pass, she’d stop and lay an egg in it. My face doesn’t settle back onto its skull before midday, and the veins in my hands show through like little blue ropes. The infamous MacRae temper is at its shortest until after the second cup of coffee, and I still haven’t had the first. Jesus. A funeral yesterday, now this. I don’t know which is worse.
‘You’d better come in.’ I widen the door to allow him to pass. ‘Where’s Dolores?’ I ask as casually as I can.
‘Gone back to her husband,’ is the answer.
I must say nothing. I don’t need to say anything, because Alec loves me and he won’t have her back. ‘The answer is no, Den. I am not moving to Lincolnshire. I’ve nothing against Lincolnshire, since it’s done me no harm, but you’re there, so I’m not,’ I tell my soon-to-be ex-husband. ‘The decrees nisi are completed and all we need now is to sort out the children on our day in court. We’ve accepted the terms, and I declare this marriage over. It’s finished, Den. It’s kaput.’
His jaw drops and I see the wet inner side of that inflated lower lip. ‘The nisi gives us all the chance to change our minds,’ he advises me.
The dog runs in, and Den backs off. He couldn’t possibly coexist with something that deposits hair on
his clothes. It’s all too much for me, and I go into the kitchen, pour out one cup of coffee and carry it to the living room, slamming it onto a side table. I make a mental note to mop up later. Then I pick up my girls from the playpen in the dining room, and take them to visit their father.
‘They’re bigger,’ he comments. ‘And there’s no sugar in my coffee.’
There’s a time and a place for bad language, and the company of two babies means I can’t shout, but I sure as hell can use the words. In a quiet voice, I tell him that it’s my bloody coffee, and he can . . . well . . . I give him advice on sex and travel. He looks surprised and hurt, because people don’t talk to him in such a fashion. I place the twins on the floor and they cuddle their puppy. It’s probably unhygienic, but it’s OK with me, because they love that little dog and she adores them. And let’s face it – the kids would probably pick up more germs in that baby clinic. Also, I’ve made sure she doesn’t have worms, because worms can—
‘Anna I—’
‘Bog off,’ I say. ‘My life’s sorted. I’ve registered a new business, I have excellent partners, a good accountant and a brilliant lawyer. If you don’t get out, I shall apply for an injunction, since this is harassment.’
The phone rings, and I dash into the hall to pick it up before someone else does.
‘Anna?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he there?’
‘Yes.’
Alec is speaking normally rather than quietly, so I gather that Dolores has left. ‘She was here when we got back last night, and Jo told the same lie – we’ve had water and electricity trouble. Anyway, I’ve thrown Dolly bloody Daydream out. She slept on the sofa. Sarah’s with her gran. Can you talk?’
It’s a big house, but I daren’t risk it. ‘Not really,’ I say.
‘Phone me as soon as you can,’ he pleads.
Marie and Maureen are hanging over the banisters like a pair of marionettes with limp strings. ‘Who the hell was that phoning at this time of day?’ asks the latter.
I put a finger to my lips, then point towards the living room. ‘Den’s in there,’ I mouth.
They disappear as fast as two seasoned sprinters. Wish I could do the same.
When I return, he isn’t even looking at his daughters. He doesn’t care about anyone, and I am fairly sure why. When a woman gives birth, she gets as much responsibility as the managing director of ICI. She’s in charge of a unit, whatever the size. His mother taught him that he was a god, that he could do no wrong, and he expects every other woman to step aside while he does exactly as he pleases. There comes a time when a mother puts her foot down, and that occasion teaches her son that he’s not quite the big deal. Men are our fault – I gathered that years ago.
‘Why is the house full of people?’ he asks.
I scarcely hear him, because I’m remembering stuff I’d rather forget. At least I have a new bed now. But I can still recall the laboured breathing, the hung-open mouth, the absence of expression in those dead eyes. I was just something he used, like a handkerchief, because I was a mere receiver of bodily fluid and something he played with. A toy, a handkerchief and a hot dinner – they were the items he needed. ‘Go,’ I say now.
‘Who are they?’ he asks again.
‘Business partners. And friends. Yes, I have friends now. I’m not stuck with Round Table and Ladies’ Circle and you. I don’t even hate you, Den. You don’t merit the energy required for strong emotion. I am divorcing you. As far as I know, Alec Halliwell is divorcing his wife. So, unless one of your other concubines is willing to step in at short notice, you’re stuck with her and that poor child.’
‘I want my life back,’ he says, eyebrows knitting in the middle.
‘So do I, mate. And you are not, not, not destroying me again. You are your mother’s creature. Get the pills from the psycho before you go off the rails.’ Yes, his mother created this shambles of a man. My sisters, on the other hand, were born odd. Is there a chance that Den might have been all right with a different mother?
The situation deteriorates further when a taxi screams round the corner. Dolores alights. She looks a perfect fright in one of those terrible coats with fur attached to every edge, and loops of cord stitched round buttons and button holes. When she blinks, I swear I can feel the draught from all those false lashes. I stand outside my front door. ‘Come in,’ I say sweetly as she pushes me out of the way. I like this woman’s style – apart from her choice of clothing and interior decoration, that is. She takes him by the hand and drags him outside – thank you, Dolores. Den pays the taxi driver before Dolly hurls my dear nearly-departed towards his car. Meek as a lamb, he opens the passenger door and she gets in. There is a God. And thank you, God.
Susan emerges from the dining room and tells me she’s been hiding under the table behind the long cloth I bought in Ireland. Fair enough. That’s pretty normal for these parts. Stephen is with his grandmother, so Susan minds my pair while I phone Alec.
‘Did he hurt you?’ is his first question.
‘No. But I think I ruffled his feathers. Your wife has dragged him off.’
‘You’re my wife,’ he tells me. Little shivers dance all over my body. When someone you love says that sort of thing, you feel marvellous, don’t you? ‘Jo’s livid,’ he continues. ‘Worried about her little sister – she’s gone round to my mother’s, so I’m guessing school won’t see her today.’
‘Alec?’
‘What?’
‘I love you so much, my toes curl.’
A round of applause from above puts an end to the nonsense. The puppeteer has tightened his marionettes’ strings and they are celebrating something or other. ‘You tell him, love,’ Marie yells. Maureen does a whistle not dissimilar to the one employed yesterday by my lover. Susan starts to sing, ‘She’s getting married in the morning.’ Her voice shows no sign of improvement.
‘Is that our audience?’ he asks now. ‘Throw them out, my darling. Not Susan, of course. Tonight, I want you all to myself. I’ll bring champagne and we’ll have an orgy.’
I replace the receiver and shake my head. Isn’t an orgy some kind of group therapy? And aren’t bunches of grapes required? Another mental note – buy grapes. And find those old linen sheets – they’ll do as togas.
It’s been such a whirl this morning, swinging from despair to hopefulness, but we still have to do our thing. So it’s Susan, me, Maureen and Marie acting the rubber pig (as Mrs Bee terms it) in an effort to educate our children. Halfway through If You’re Happy and You Know it Clap Your Hands, I stop and look at the other madwomen. They’re doing all the actions – as was I a moment ago, and they look as if they should be having treatment. And I’m not sure what we’re achieving here, because three babies and one retriever are fast asleep on the floor. Life’s a mystery. I’m going for the grapes.
Jo has stayed with her sister and her grandmother. According to Alec’s mum, Den and Dolores will pick up Sarah at the weekend. So only Susan and Stephen remain, and they’re at the other end of the house. It seems that Den has accepted his fate and, while Dolly may be thick, she’s certainly up to dealing with him a damned sight better than I ever managed.
The threatened orgy doesn’t happen, because we’re both exhausted, and we lie top-to-tail like sardines on the biggest of my sofas. We’ve eaten the grapes, at least, so that’s OK. We war babies don’t like to see anything wasted. I’m happy and frightened in roughly equal proportions. He’s here now, we’re together and safe, and the curtains are closed. But the world is still out there, isn’t it? I can’t lose him, daren’t lose him. Because his face is at the opposite end of the sofa, I get down on the floor and crawl nearer to him. When I am settled, his arm comes to life and squeezes me. It’s all right, Anna, I tell myself. It’s real. He’s real. I’m more than a toy, a handkerchief and a three course meal. I’m an electrician as well, and he’s a bloody good ironer.
He wakes. ‘Anna?’
‘Hello.’
‘I fo
rgot,’ he says sleepily.
‘Forgot what?’
‘Don’t know. Can’t remember.’
I kiss his hand and he opens it. There’s a small box. A ring box.
‘I remember now,’ he announces in triumph. ‘I was going to put it in the champagne, but I bet you would have swallowed it.’ He gets up, kneels next to me and proposes for the third or fourth time. The little white band where my wedding ring sat for years is almost covered when he and I become engaged. The ring’s white gold with seven diamonds in the shape of a flower. ‘The wedding ring matches,’ he says. ‘Fits round the stones. It’s in a safe at work, and there it will stay until we have our day. And I didn’t forget at all.’
Of course he didn’t. He drags the sofa against the door in case Susan wanders. More magic. And I’ve learned things, like I can travel, too. I am allowed to become an explorer, and there’s no wet-lipped face hanging over me while I fulfil a role dictated by a man with the imagination of a tranquillized snail. There is, however, a hand over my mouth. Was that noise really coming from me? He’s laughing at me. Even now, we laugh.
But there is a serious side to this. I am almost forty-one, and I am trying to give this man a son. We spoke about it briefly and only once, and if it’s a fifth girl, she’ll be loved. I just want the chance to be the one who hands over a healthy little boy to a man who deserves his wish to be granted.
Alec shudders, groans, his eyes still on me. He never does the shut-eyed thing at the end, when some men appear to blot out a partner’s face, perhaps imagining a different one. I stay where I am and look down at him. I’m no psychic, no foreteller of the future. But I know something. I have just become pregnant.
The first test comes back negative, but with a question mark attached. This is odd, I suppose, because a person is either pregnant or un-pregnant, and question marks should not happen. Two weeks later, I have a positive. I didn’t need it. I already knew that question mark was a dastardly impostor.
When I started with the twins, I was odd from the moment of conception. Not exactly ill, just different. And this is the same – it’s the same difference, I mean. There are no cravings for coal with thick cut marmalade, but I do have a passenger, and I can’t stand tea or cigarette smoke. I won’t tell Alec yet, because there’s many a slip during the first trimester, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. So I hug my secret and hope my belly stays flat-ish for a while.
Sugar and Spice Page 24
