by Rosie Harris
Charles lips parted very slightly in a cold, aloof smile. He walked over to the door then stopped and looked back.
‘You will remember about the car though, won’t you? Our insurance doesn’t cover you to drive it.’
Margaret struggled to keep her voice steady. ‘Then you had better move it out of my garage.’
‘I’ll see to it. There’s no hurry though, is there? It’s not as if you were going to use the garage for anything.’
‘I need it for my own car.’
‘What are you talking about? You haven’t got a car?’ His voice rose on the last word, making his statement a half-question.
‘I probably will have tomorrow.’
‘I’ve already told you, you can’t use the BMW in part exchange.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll buy my own.’ She sensed his astonishment but she avoided his eyes. The Mercedes she longed to own might be out of her price range, but she was sure that her little nest egg would be enough to purchase something else.
‘You want to be careful about buying a second-hand car. Salesman are looking for—’
‘Mugs like me. Women who don’t know what’s under the bonnet?’
‘Well, you don’t have a lot of experience in that field, do you?’ He spoke in such a low, controlled voice that she had to strain to hear what he said.
‘And do you? I’ve never seen you get your hands dirty repairing your car.’
‘I have other talents.’ He smiled smugly. ‘All our cars are on a maintenance lease, anyway. If you leave it for a couple of weeks, I’ll consult with the rest of the Board and see if its feasible for some arrangement to be made for the company to loan you a car …’
‘No, thank you. I would hate to be under such an obligation. I’ll buy my own car the moment I have a garage to put it in.’
Charles shrugged. ‘As you wish. I’ll arrange for the BMW to be collected. Will tomorrow be soon enough?’
He didn’t kiss her goodbye. She didn’t go to the door to see him off. She stood rock still by Reginald’s desk holding her breath, waiting until she heard his car door slam and the engine throb into life.
She was still fuming over his high-handed manner and the injustice of things when she went upstairs to bed an hour later. She lay there in the darkness trying to reason out how she could shape the future to her own advantage. One thing was sure, she ruminated, she couldn’t count on Charles being supportive. He was obviously going to make things as difficult as possible for her.
She wondered how the other two would react when they heard about her plans for the future. Alison would probably look glum, point out the error of her ways and then try and talk her out of making any changes.
She sighed. Alison was as bad as Charles when it came to knowing how other people should organize their lives. She’d been bossy even as a child. Nursing had made her worse because she’d been in a position to make people do as she told them.
Running her own life the way she wanted to was going to be hard work, Margaret decided. She smiled to herself in the darkness. She was quite looking forward to the challenge.
Twelve
The doorbell rang before Margaret was out of bed next morning. Throwing back the bedclothes she grabbed her pink and white quilted dressing gown from its hook behind the bedroom door, and slid her arms into it. Hastily she combed her hair back from her face, and secured it behind her ears with two ornamental combs that she had been wearing the day before, and which were still lying on the dressing table.
For the first time since Reginald had died, she hadn’t slept well. The bed had seemed so vast that she had been unable to get comfortable. She couldn’t understand it. She and Reginald had always kept to their own sides of the bed yet, even though she’d tucked the bedclothes in tight around her back, she’d felt cold. She’d woken several times with a sense of loss. It was as if something was missing.
The doorbell rang again. She looked at the clock and frowned. It was only half past eight. Who on earth was it at this hour of the morning?
Perhaps it was the postman with something that was too large to go through the letterbox. It might even be Charles, full of remorse and wanting to make amends for being so unhelpful last night.
She didn’t think there was much possibility of that. It was much more likely to be the electricity meter reader, or even the gasman, she told herself as she slipped her bare feet into pink fluffy mules and padded down the stairs.
Tentatively she slipped on the safety chain before opening the door a mere couple of inches.
‘Good morning! Would you like to see my identity card, madam?’
‘Steven!’ Her heart thudded with happiness as the dark shape from the other side of the glass panel was revealed. ‘Hold on!’
Closing the door she slipped off the chain then opened it back wide and was immediately swept up in a bear hug that squeezed the breath out of her.
‘How are you, Mum? Having a lie in? Have I disturbed you? Do you want to go and get dressed while I make some coffee?’ The questions showered down on her like confetti.
‘Oh, Steven, do put me down,’ she gasped. ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll make us both a pot of tea.’
‘Only if I can have some chocolate biscuits!’
‘You are an idiot!’
She lifted her hand and stroked his newly-shaven cheek, breathing in the smell of his aftershave as her fingers outlined the oval profile. He was so very handsome, she thought admiringly. Such expressive grey eyes, such a beautifully shaped mouth and the most engaging smile she had ever known.
She stretched up and pushed back the springy dark hair that hung over his brow and kissed him. He responded by kissing her cheek.
‘It is good to see you, Steven. You must come more often now!’
Tears misted her eyes as she remembered the constant bickering between him and his father. He was so much more overt than Charles, exuding an openness that was both beguiling and disarming, with a boyish grin which could melt the hardest hearts.
It was probably why he was such a successful salesman, and had been made area manager before he was twenty-five. He invariably got his own way but it was done with so much wit and humour that no one, with the exception of Reginald and Charles, ever bore him a grudge.
Even Alison adored him. In her eyes he was still her baby brother. The empathy between the two of them excluded everyone else. She took his side no matter whether he was right or wrong. Margaret suspected it was one of the reasons why Alison, and Steven’s wife, Sandra, didn’t get on all that well.
Margaret had always tried not to show a preference for any of her children. To her they were equally dear, but in different ways. Yet, with Steven she was conscious of warmth that was beyond description. She felt so very much at ease with him. His confident approach to problems always calmed her fears. If she was feeling despondent, his sophisticated wit would lift her spirits. His visits always left her feeling calmer and happier.
He had always seemed to know instinctively how trying she sometimes found life with his father. Steven’s dark brows would lift imperceptibly whenever Reginald made some irritable or deprecating remark, and he would quickly start to talk about other things. Later, discreetly, he would follow her into the kitchen, or out into the garden, so that he could be alone with her.
‘Everything all right?’
He wouldn’t wait for her to reply but instead would enfold her in a bear hug that was far more reassuring than a thousand words could be.
From now on, she thought happily, there would be no need for them to hide their affection for each other. She felt his hand under her chin, tilting her face so that he could look directly into her eyes.
‘Cry if you want to,’ he murmured gently. ‘You should, you know. It helps to heal. You were very brave at the funeral, but there’s no shame in having a good weep.’
‘I don’t want to cry,’ she pulled back with a tremulous smile.
‘Are you sure? It looks to me as if th
ere’s tears in your eyes.’
‘If there are then they’re tears of happiness because you’re here.’
‘That’s alright then.’ He grinned, understandingly. ‘Now, what are you up to? I hear you’ve been out and about making plans for a holiday.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Ah, I have my spies.’ He tapped the side of his nose with one finger. ‘Well, is it true, or is it true?’
‘I did try to book a holiday yesterday,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to go to Cyprus.’
‘That sounds extremely enterprising. When are you off, then?’
Margaret shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Problems?’
‘You could say that. My passport was locked away in your father’s bureau and …’
‘Do you know where the key is?’
‘I thought it might be at the office …’
‘That’s easily solved. Phone Charles and tell him to bring it over.’
‘I’ve done that. Charles came over last night. He didn’t think that there were any keys at the office. I managed to persuade him to force the lock on the bureau. We found my passport, but it’s out of date.’
‘That’s no problem. It’s easy enough to get it renewed. They shouldn’t be too busy at this time of the year. You can get the necessary form from the post office. If you have any difficulty in filling it in give me a bell and I’ll pop over tonight, and sort it out for you.’
Her face lit up. ‘Right! I’ll do that. I suppose I’ll have to get a new photo taken.’ She giggled. ‘The one in it is twenty years old. I’d get arrested on suspicion of using a false passport.’
‘Mm.’ He frowned. ‘You’ll probably have to go to Maidenhead to do that. I’m not sure if there’s a booth at the railway station, but I am sure there are plenty of places where you can get one taken.’
‘I’ll be going by train so I’ll check if there is. If not, perhaps the travel agent can tell me where I can get a passport photograph done.’
‘Why go by train? Why not take the BMW?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘I daren’t. I’m in Charles’s bad books because I was driving it yesterday.’
‘Why on earth should he object?’
‘It belongs to the firm.’
Steven’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? I never knew that.’
‘No, nor did I,’ she admitted. ‘Not until I tried to swap it for a Mercedes coupe yesterday.’
‘You did what!’ His roar of laughter made her chuckle.
‘Charles was furious. I went to that garage by Maidenhead Bridge and just when I thought I’d done a deal they realized it wasn’t registered in my name. The manager phoned Charles, and that was the end of that.’
‘Mum, you really are the limit!’ He hugged her impulsively. ‘Come on, make that pot of tea. We’ll take it through into the sitting room.’
‘You see to it, darling. I had better slip up and put some clothes on, it is getting late …’
‘Go on then, but don’t take too long. I do have to go to work, you know.’
Margaret didn’t stop to shower, merely freshened her face, combed her hair, and slipped into the first thing she found in her wardrobe; brown slacks, and a beige sweater.
She was putting on some lipstick when she heard the doorbell ring.
She called out to Steven. ‘I’ll answer that, I’m just coming down.’
He was there before she reached the top of the stairs. As she heard his exclamation of pleasure, she guessed it was Alison.
‘How are you, Mum?’
‘Fine! Come on in, you’re just in time for a cup of tea …’
‘And chocolate biscuits,’ Steven called from the kitchen. ‘Go in and sit down and I’ll bring the tray through.’
‘Are you quite sure you’re alright, Mum?’ Alison looked at her mother searchingly. Margaret bristled. ‘I’ve already told you that I’m fine. Did you expect to find that I had disintegrated overnight?’ she snapped.
‘You’re certainly looking better than I’ve seen you for a long time. But are you alright … in yourself, I mean.’
‘Never better.’
‘I expected to find you in floods of tears, or at any rate depressed,’ persisted Alison.
‘Well, I’m not.’
‘I can see that. Aren’t you feeling lonely … lost … you know …?’
Margaret suppressed a smile. ‘I’m far too busy planning all the things I’ve dreamed of doing for years but have never been able to do!’
‘You’ve done your hair differently.’
‘Suits her, doesn’t it,’ chipped in Steven. ‘I never did like it pulled back into a pleat. Much too severe. You always used to wear it loose around your face like that.’
‘That was years ago, when we were children.’ Alison frowned. ‘And it was much shorter, in tight curls if I remember.’
‘Have you both finished? The reason my hair is like this is because I haven’t had time to do it properly as yet. Steven arrived before I was up, and—’
‘So you didn’t sleep well,’ Alison interrupted.
‘I slept like a top once I managed to get off. I couldn’t get warm,’ Margaret admitted reluctantly, caught out by her daughter’s probing gaze.
‘That’s only to be expected, Mum.’ Alison’s face softened with compassion. ‘It’s bound to feel different when you’re sleeping on your own after sharing a bed for all those years. Perhaps you should change your bed. Get a smaller one.’
‘Don’t worry, I will. I intend to change everything in the bedroom completely, so a new bed is on the cards.’
Alison looked anxious. ‘Now don’t go rushing into things, Mum. Don’t make changes you’ll regret when … when things get back to normal.’
‘Back to normal! Don’t talk rubbish, how can things ever get back to normal,’ argued Steven, heatedly.
‘Well, I know that. Mum understands what I mean. Once she’s stopped grieving …’
‘I’m not grieving! Do try and understand. All I feel is a sense of relief.’
‘Mother!’ Alison’s grey eyes were suddenly hostile. Her mouth tightened into a prim line that accentuated her high cheekbones and made her face look longer than it was.
‘You know what Mum means,’ intervened Steven. ‘She’s had a pretty hard time of it looking after Dad.’
‘He couldn’t help being ill.’
‘No, but he didn’t have to make her life a misery as well,’ interrupted Steven.
Margaret clamped her hands over her ears. ‘Stop it you two. I hate to hear you bickering. Anyway, you’re both right in what you say. Your father did give me a hard time. For the past few years, ever since his heart attack, he has been a sick man, but there was nothing he could do about that. The point is that I’ve had no life of my own at all since he retired. Now I intend to change all that.’
‘Mother, you are under stress. Give it time and this feeling will pass and you’ll settle down again and—’
‘Then I’d better act quickly before it does pass.’
‘Good for you, Mum.’ Steven rose to his feet and placed his empty cup and saucer down on the table. ‘I must be off, I’ve a living to earn,’ he told her, kissing her on the cheek.
‘Thank you for popping in.’
‘Give me a bell if you want any help with filling in that form for your passport, or if you see a car you like and want me to run an eye over it before you buy it.’
‘Thank you, darling. I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Make sure you don’t go shooting off to foreign parts without letting me know, either,’ he warned. ‘Bye then, I’ll see myself out.’
‘Car? Foreign holiday?’ Alison bridled. ‘What on earth is Steven on about?’
‘Apparently your father’s BMW was a company car and Charles tells me I am not insured to drive it so I’m getting a car of my own,’ explained Margaret tersely.
‘At your age?’
‘What does that mean? I’m fifty-nine. My
hair might be going grey but I’m sound in wind and limb and I can still see and hear, so I’m not ready for my grave just yet.’
‘Mum, I didn’t mean that.’ Alison’s voice was full of contrition, and her face blotched uncomfortably.
‘I’m also planning to take a holiday. Abroad. On my own,’ Margaret went on relentlessly.
‘You won’t enjoy it. You don’t speak any foreign language and the hassle of getting through customs, flying, sorting yourself out at the hotel at the other end and all the rest of it, will be too much for you.’
‘Alison!’
‘I’m right, Mum. You’d be much better off going to Bournemouth. What about that nice hotel that’s right on the sea front where you and Dad went each year. The staff there know you and they’d look after you and none of us would have to worry …’
‘So that’s what all this sudden concern is about? You don’t want to have to worry about me. Well, let me assure you there’s not the slightest reason why you should. I am quite able to fend for myself.’
‘Mum, you haven’t been outside the village unless Dad was with you for the past five years. You haven’t even been up to London, and that’s only twenty-five miles away. Things have changed, Mum. The pace of life has increased. It’s a jungle out there. You’ll be conned silly.’
‘Stop treating me as if I were a child.’
‘Stop behaving like one, then. Take a look at yourself; dressed in slacks and a sweater and your hair hanging down your back like a teenager. You haven’t even gone into mourning!’
They regarded each other like sparring partners. Alison’s grey eyes were dark with a mixture of concern and anger.
Margaret forced herself to remain calm. She had no intention of being browbeaten into sitting back and taking things easy for the rest of her days. Alison might think she was too old for change, but she intended to prove differently, not by arguing but with action.
‘Yes, Alison, I intend to change my entire lifestyle,’ she went on in a firm voice that brooked no argument. ‘If I have to wait for my new car and my holiday then I’ll get on with the other thing I have in mind.’
