‘It isn’t actually mine, I needed to borrow it from Carolanne as I hadn’t brought a jumper with me, but yes I think it’s M&S.’
I was grateful for the blue cardigan even though it clashed with my red Burberry jeans as I snuggled under a wool blanket.
Just before the strawberries and cream were brought out as dessert I could hear a commotion from within the house. Ruffled voices made us all turn towards the kitchen window. These voices became clearer and I could distinguish the angry shouts from Janet and Colin, the diplomatic intermediary voices of Toby and his beer friends and the defiant monotone, ‘Get lost!’ sentences from my husband.
Mark pushed passed people in the kitchen doorway and marched towards me, surrounded by my new friends. I was instantly hot and anxious. My mouth was dry and my heart was beating against my chest trying to escape the captivity of my rib cage.
‘It has taken me ages to figure out where you’d be and look where I find you – in a mother’s meeting with pathetic, old women. Look at you – you sad old woman.’
Mark’s face was puce and an artery in his neck was swollen with blood and throbbing in time to his barrage of anger. I pushed the blanket off my legs but apart from my arms no other part of my body worked; my legs had sunk into the deckchair and my mouth refused to operate. I was unable to say anything to rebuke my husband to curb his language and lower his voice. I spied the look of horror from Tina who had been sitting next to me and I wanted to apologise but still my jaw refused to open.
Janet had finally freed herself from the clutches of her husband and came running down the garden towards Mark.
‘Get out, get out! Just get out you revolting man,’ she hollered, then lurched towards him. Mark instinctively ducked away from Janet’s fist. When she missed she pulled her fist back to take another attempt but she was blocked by Colin who pulled her away. Colin and three others turned to my husband and demanded he leave.
‘I’m going don’t worry. I have no intention of staying at your pathetic BBQ. It’s November if you haven’t noticed, freaks!’ He straightened his collar then turned once more to me, ‘I’ll be outside waiting, if you don’t come then don’t ever come home.’
Mark then turned and pushed his way through his shocked audience and I was left mortified at his behaviour. All the ladies around me asked if I was okay to which I nodded and I apologised to everyone just to ease their stunned faces and to indicate that it was alright to begin their babble of, ‘I can’t believe that!’ or ‘What a nasty man’, ‘Every other word was a swear word – how rude, he didn’t stop!!’. Once this was over then it gave way to each one recounting the series of events when a big mean man came to Carolanne and Toby’s barbecue. I knew these stories would replay over the years but I did not want to stay to hear them. I apologised once more and I went to find Janet and Carolanne. Janet knew instantly that I was going to find Mark. I looked at her sad eyes and I said, ‘Honestly, Janet, I’m fine. Really, it’s fine, you know I can’t stay.’
I hugged her and Carolanne and then I left the party for Mark who had come to claim me back.
Jason
I put down my aunt’s script, amazed that my mum would fight Uncle Mark yet she would happily watch Aunt Olive leave.
‘That’s because it didn’t happen that way!’ protested Mum.
Mum had popped round one Saturday afternoon in the hope of catching Jessica, who had gone to visit her brother.
‘Firstly, we had got your aunt to the point of actually leaving that man. Bearing in mind this was a few years back when she was still strong enough to go. Regardless of what she says to you, she was excited to be going. She was open to the idea of working in the National Trust shop and okay, it’s not glamorous, but she would have loved it.
I do remember the afternoon tea very well. It was organised to merely introduce her to the idea of starting fresh. I did not shout or bully her into accepting anything (which is what she has written in my letter) and Jason, Tatiana was not there; I promise you, she was not there. We knew that woman wouldn’t have supported the idea of us freeing Olivia from Mark so we did NOT invite her; it was just Carolanne and me, and that was all.
A little later (after Olivia had said she wanted to go to the cottage we had found), it was indeed the barbecue at Carolanne’s. Olivia was happy, excited and confident for the first time in a long time. Then, as she describes, Mark turns up. I confess I tried to block the front door to try and stop him getting in but that was all. I didn’t take a swing at him, honestly Jason, how could I have done? The man was twice my size.
Anyway, another thing your aunt has omitted from her description was just how rude Mark was. The air was blue, literally Jason, the air was blue. I’m not going to repeat what he said as you’re my son, but the F word was used after every word. The lovely ladies, who had spent the afternoon bolstering Olive’s spirits, weren’t just called pathetic as she recalls but (and please excuse my language), they were the ugly effing C word.
As for how he spoke to Olivia, well Jason, she was an ‘effing this, effing that, effing c word as well, and she took it all in as if he was gently admonishing her for not doing the washing-up. Looking back, I can still see her glazed expression as he was abusing her in front of everyone. She could, of course, have been as shocked as his audience who were all rooted to their seats in stunned silence. However, I doubt that excuse, as everyone around her had their mouths wide open, whereas Olivia was just casually taking it all in without hearing anything her husband was saying and even had a small childish smile to greet his vile words.
It was Colin who demanded he left and it was Toby and others who pulled him away from his rant and pushed him out of the house. I find it very telling that she remembers it to be me – the interfering, judgemental, big sister for trying to beat up Mark. But what she also doesn’t recall was how we all comforted her after Mark left and how we all tried to ease her nerves in the hope she would stay.
And she did not leave with Mark as he left in a toddler tantrum haze and drove off leaving his prize toy behind. It was the next morning that she got in her car, after texting Mark all night and without warning to Carolanne and Toby, she left for that man.’
‘She didn’t say you pushed her back to him, Mum,’ I said.
‘Well it does in my version: she said that at the time she was scared of me, that she felt I bullied her into taking the cottage and that when she left for Mark I, apparently, shouted out “typical weak, ungrateful sister!” Ah Jason, when I read that I burst into tears; how could she accuse me of that after everything we had done for her?’ Mum slung her head low. ‘She returned to him and even though we tried again to get her to leave him, we never succeeded and she stayed with him. She became mistrustful of everyone, even accusing me of destroying her marriage! I’m sure she blames me for all of this.’
‘She doesn’t mum, she’s probably just telling you it was the way she felt then – not now. Did you see much of Mark after the barbecue?’ I asked,
‘As little as possible, thankfully. I found it very difficult to speak to Olivia and almost impossible to be civil to Mark, so I drifted away from Olivia; but my fear for my little sister kept me holding on to her like a buoy rope and I worried every day how she was coping, living in that luxurious coffin of hers.’
Mum’s voice had begun to crackle so she shook herself.
‘Now darling, I must make a move. Remember, talk to Jessica about coming over on Sunday for a roast. I’m most likely going to do lamb followed by treacle pudding. Jessica does like treacle pudding doesn’t she?’
I nodded and shortly afterwards Mum left, feeling a little sadder than when she’d arrived.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Olivia
About twelve years ago to now
After I had returned to my house, I drifted back to being Mrs Mark Mathew Hopkins. My husband had found me and as punishment for my crime placed me
on a ducking stool over the edge of my luxury yacht, but, to others, I appeared to be bathing under the sun on the deck.
Mark continued to take me to lavish work parties but now he would drop snide remarks about how I was dressed or how I behaved. He performed these insults for the benefit of his audience and for the metaphorical whipping he felt I deserved. Away from his audience, Mark would bear down on me about how embarrassing it was to listen to me speak to his friends when I knew nothing about anything, so I quickly learnt to stay quiet and smile at appropriate pauses.
Away from him, meant I could get off my ducking stool and breath a triumphant breath that I had survived a possible social drowning. This sigh of relief only lasted for the day he drove away down my driveway as the subsequent days were spent waiting for his return. On these days I would listen for his sports car on my driveway and fear would invade my chest causing my heart to race, my breath to quicken, my mind to freeze and nausea to fill my stomach. There was nothing I could do to shift this choking phlegm except anxiously wait for the screech of his returning brakes.
I tried to continue to see Carolanne and Janet but I was so tired of trying to explain my choice and I didn’t want to justify my life to them, consequently, the visits trickled away until they were replaced with the odd text once a month to check if I was still alive.
James was different. I didn’t see very much of him as his life was fully ensconced in children (second girl came two years later), Jane, house and work. Nevertheless, I rang him when I needed him.
‘Always here for you, Ol, always here for you,’ he would say.
James didn’t judge me nor did he offer advice; he merely listened to my tales of suited old men getting drunk at Mark’s firm parties and he would hold my hand when he saw me.
‘Always here for you, Ol, always here for you. Jane tells us you need to come round more. You know she’s a good listener is my Jane.’
‘Oh James I’d bore her I know I would. You’re enough for me. I know you need to get back soon to your lovely family. Thanks again for the flowers. Please tell Jane she’s very sweet to pick them.’
‘Just to make you smile, Ol.’
Then he would hug me good-bye.
‘Don’t leave it so long next time. There was blossom on the trees the last I saw you. Now the trees are bare and I can’t believe your youngest is four and starting school already.’
‘They’re growing fast that’s for sure. I’ve got to go but just ring anytime. I’m always here for you, always here.’
As the years passed, little changed other than the seasons; the majority of my time was spent shopping and meeting lunch friends or with my beautician for facials and massages once a week. Occasionally I met my cosmetic consultant to discuss a procedure I was considering. Indeed, one friend I did make was Alison, the receptionist at the clinic in the Harley Street branch. She was a plump young girl who seemed genuinely interested in how I had been since the last time she had seen me. She was enthralled about my tales of parties and first-class flights to New York or Brazil (or anywhere) to accompany my loving husband on his business trips. I was able to feed her with my stories and like a good chef I got great pleasure from her enjoyment of listening to my tales.
There was one slight difference in my life and that was the time I spent with Tatiana who was single and bored. I would accompany her to Stoning Town close to where I lived. We drank in the local wine bars or fashionable bistro pubs that had emerged thanks to the stock brokers who flooded Stoning Town in the late eighties to take advantage of the cheaper house prices in comparison to central London. Their presence forced local residents further afield as they, in turn, had taken advantage of the rising prices of their quintessentially British thatched cottages. As they moved out they and their estate agents were heard muttering, ‘I can’t believe how much I got for that house!’
All farming land had been sold to developers and the cornfields were forfeited to make way for exclusive estates of five bedroom with en-suite, mock Georgian houses. Consequently, Stoning was now a vibrant fashionable town with house prices rivalling the most expensive areas in London.
The town centre was stuffed with fashionable cocktail bars, Michelin starred restaurants, designer clothes shops, beauticians and art galleries. So, each Friday, I stepped back to my twenties with Tatiana, but this time as a manicured mannequin modelling designer clothes. For one night a week I felt a glimmer of power over other women, whose eyes surveyed me with envy. I, once more, commanded a power over the men who were out in these bars; they were men in their fifties looking for an escape from their third divorce and lavishing champagne upon women who were looking to be wife number four. These were men I had met twenty years ago, but they now sported a pregnant belly over their red jeans or hidden by a navy blue sporting jacket. Their hair was now thin and grey and their face was lined, but their ability to woo a woman with their wallet had not changed since the first day they discovered any seedy chat up line was effective with champagne.
I wasn’t looking for another husband but I was searching for a forgotten kick. This search was often a jungle hunt when I was surrounded by young girls making me disappear in the eyes of my prey. But with the help of Tatiana we always found a group of men to take the bait and feed us with compliments and cocktails. However, by the end of the evening I needed my escape from Tatiana who, by then, was encouraging someone to come back to her newly built, luxury five-bedroom house with en-suites. It was not hard for her, as Tatiana was focused on her prey; so they got in one taxi and I slipped into another.
I confess, Jason, that my head was turned on a few occasions by particularly charming men who insisted on taking my mobile phone number. The subsequent week was always exciting when I would receive flirtatious texts from them. However, I only met two men outside of the Friday night ritual because I couldn’t bring myself to abandon my wedding ring, as I always felt I was being watched and, if discovered, I would be publicly denounced by society.
So, I was the only faithful member in my marriage. Mark was oblivious to society’s scorn and scoffed at any suggestion that he was immoral, crass and irreverent to any social etiquette. Women flowed through him like beer through an Englishman watching cricket on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but he escaped being reprimanded because he was envied by other men, flattered by many women and his wife was too irrelevant for him to take notice of her unhappiness.
It was early one autumn day when it changed. The house had been recently redecorated and, finally, I no longer had workman in my house from 7am until 5pm. I was able to enjoy the new look of my house, and this year it followed the trend of tartan accessories with dark walnut wood furniture accompanied with varying shades of cream silk walls throughout the house. My interior decorator had excelled herself, especially in the morning room. This room was a large orangery with a high ceiling and an elegant roof lantern. She had chosen a renaissance, sky blue wall paper with small, white, felt songbirds and butterflies upon it. The seven rolls needed to cover this room cost more than the long glass breakfast table that had been specially designed and made for me by a small French firm just outside Bordeaux.
It was worth the money and effort as this tranquil room had a calming effect on me, and I would start the day by running my hands across my silky walls or the polished glass of my table and look up to the bright sky peering in on me before I went to the kitchen and made myself a hot water with lemon.
Just after 11am I heard the wheels of Mark’s Porsche outside my house and my body creased at the waist in reaction to the sound of his door slamming shut. It creased further when I heard another set of wheels and a door slam. My chest tightened when I heard the collective laughter of Mark and his prodigy, Grant.
I scuttled to the garden then ran to the front of the house as I saw them come into the kitchen, then into the music room. I scurried around my house like a burglar avoiding the house tenants. Eventually I had to face them, but
only after I had changed from my pyjamas to a white, long Chanel spring/summer dress. I wore my smile and greeted these men who were already drunk or stoned.
I dutifully went to the kitchen to make a sandwich for Grant – a burly fat man with an odour problem. It was an excuse for me to be away from them, so I took my time and made a platter of bacon and egg sandwiches – being subservient gave me a purpose and a reason to be anywhere other than wherever they were.
When I returned for the second time, Grant and Mark’s demands mimicked a bored child wanting anything other than what they had. In particular, Grant had a penchant for watermelon and badgered me to slice the watermelon he had seen in the kitchen. I was reluctant to do this as I was saving it to eat throughout the day on my detox Tuesday.
I tried to distract Grant with the sandwiches on the table or the sliced kiwi on the fruit platter but he became more insistent and I could sense a defiant tantrum welling up ready to pop any moment.
‘Just get the melon you stupid, useless woman,’ shouted Mark.
I was not going to win with my pleas, so reluctantly I turned towards the kitchen but I was shoved aside by Grant who stumbled passed me to steal the prized watermelon. He staggered back and dumped the particularly huge, green fruit on my glass table. I rushed to protect my table and both Mark and Grant laughed at how I checked over for any possible damage. I looked on helplessly as they discussed how to open my detox watermelon.
‘Just thump it open Grant. Ha, you missed – you’re useless!’ laughed Mark.
The Society Game Page 25
