Faith In Love

by Liann Snow

It is a bit cold out here. I'm glad I didn't put my damp things on, would have got pneumonia. This is a nice little street, though, bit posh. Funny how different streets can be from one another, even when they're quite near.

  Absolutely no one around. Curtains still drawn, blinds too. Bit posh, blinds. I'd get some, if Don would fit them. Not much of a handyman, though. Maybe I could do it myself. Wouldn't know how, though.

  Daffodils are early this year. Wish I'd planted more last autumn. Didn't think of it. Don't know why. They make a lovely show if there's a lot of them. Still, I've got crocuses. And the forsythia is nice this time of year – not much of that in this street. Loads where I live. Trouble is though they need a trim every now and then and most people don't bother. Let them get too leggy. Don't look so good then, not at their best. Pity Joan doesn't have a front garden. I suppose they paved it over for a car. There probably is a car; away with the girlfriend, I expect. Wonder if she's due back or if Joan's on her own all weekend. Bit sad for her if she is.

  Still, maybe she doesn't mind. Some people wouldn't, independent types. Bit of a mystery woman, the girlfriend. Joan didn't mention her once! Of course, I'm assuming they live together. Not much sign that they do though. But then I didn't really look, did I? I swear there was only one toothbrush in the bathroom. But then she'd have hers with her, wouldn't she? Wherever she is. Doesn't prove anything either way. No photos either, but then I didn't see the whole house, did I? Could have done. Could have seen the front room if I'd used the phone. There wasn't anywhere else to see. No other bedrooms or she'd not have slept in the front room like she said she did. There might be a little room, though. There usually is, where people keep their spare stuff. Things they don't really want and can't throw away.

  We've certainly got enough of that type of stuff at home. All Carol's stuff, school reports, baby toys, Don's cricket bat from when he was a boy, books, his electric guitar he never plays. Some things of mine too, from when I was a kid. And loads of photos as well. I suppose they have that type of stuff here too, photos, things like that. Didn't see it, though.

  Oh here we are, home sweet home. Wonder if Carol's in still. Don won't be. He won't be back till this evening. Wonder what he'd think of my adventure? Probably won't tell him. Best not. Best get my clothes in the drier. Change out of Joan's things soon as I can. Damn! Should have bought milk from that shop on the corner of her road. Didn't think. Oh well, maybe Carol's already got some in. I could go out again later, though. It would clear my head. Tesco's is still open, I should think.

  "Carol, I'm home."

  ~ ~ ~

  I was sitting in the kitchen waiting for Don when he got home that evening. He was wearing the red and white striped scarf and a dark frown. He looked taken aback at sight of me.

  "My God, woman! What d'you call that? A haircut? You look like a shorn sheep! A dark-haired sheep! Ba ba bloody black sheep!"

  "Why are you angry?" (Angry and rude.)

  "What bloody possessed you? Your beautiful hair! Beautiful hair is a woman's crowning glory! Why did you cut it off?"

  I had to say I didn't know, because I didn't. I didn't say I was sorry, though, because I wasn't. I thought I looked quite nice, in fact, but I didn't say that either.

  "Carol's got short hair," I said tentatively.

  "Carol is a child."

  "Don't let her hear you say that. She wouldn't appreciate it. Carol is not a child. She is a young woman."

  "I won't argue with you, Faith. I'm off!"

  And he was. Quick as a flash he was off up the hall and back out the front door. Slam!

  He didn't come back again till chucking-out time, by which time he was drunk.

  I was already in bed when he got in. I could hear him crashing and cursing his way up the stairs. I pretended to be asleep as he swayed into the room, but I watched him from under my eyelids as he kicked off his shoes, rolled into bed (fully clothed) and fell into a noisy, reeking sleep.

  I felt quite sorry for him, though I couldn't think quite why.

  Monday, February 28

  Why did I say I might go to the club next weekend? I'm hardly likely to go when Don's at home, am I? Must have still been drunk when I said that. I'll have to wait till he goes away again in two weeks time. Damn!

  Thursday, March 3

  God! What a long week. It really seems to drag somehow and now it's my day off again and I haven't the faintest idea what to do with it. If I hadn't left that paper in the library, I could have had a look for something to do.

  My husband's still upset with me. We scarcely speak. I suppose he'll get over it eventually, but will I? That's the question. His bad behaviour, I mean. I've never seen him like that in our whole time together, but then I've never cut my hair before. Men are strange, there's no denying it.

  I suppose I could go up the library and see if that paper's still there. It was a week ago, there might even be a new issue. Quite honestly though, I just can't be bothered.

  It's cold and I'm just too miserable. I'll just stay here and toast my toes and watch TV again.

  What a life!

  = CHAPTER 5 =

  Monday, March 7

  "My God, what a weekend, Pearl. It was horrendous! He's still not talking to me because of my hair. It's been a week now. Yes, I know you like it. So do I, but he's in a colossal sulk about it that looks never-ending. No, I don't regret it. I feel loads better since I cut it. I even feel younger. You should cut yours Pearl, give yourself a new lease of life! No, I'm only joking of course. Wouldn't want you to go through what I'm going through.

  "Men are so weird, don't you think Pearl? How can hair be that important?

  "No, I don't know what Carol thinks. She hasn't said. Probably hasn't noticed. Do you really think I look like her? Oh, no. Are you sure? Lend me your mirror. Oh, you don't carry one? No, I don't either. That's funny, isn't it? I thought all women did except me. Thought it was the norm! Anyway, I'm sure you're wrong. I'll have a look when I get home."

  Tuesday, March 8

  She was right, of course. I stole a quick glance in a shop window on my way home. We could be sisters! How bizarre!

  Thursday, March 10

  Right, Thursday again. I'm going up the library. I'll get hold of a copy of that paper if there is one and I'll have a good look through for something to do on a weekday, that doesn't involve sitting in the house by myself, wasting my free time, while life passes me by. Possibilities – I'll search them out.

  ~ ~ ~

  Huh! So much for that! Gay people apparently don't have any more fun on a Thursday daytime than anybody else, unsocial hours are unsocial hours whatever. Still I got the paper, and very interesting it is, too. And I bought the new issue of my magazine too, so now at least I've got loads to read.

  Friday, March 11

  It is Friday evening. Don left an hour ago for his fortnightly trip up North. Faith is in the bath. She soaps her breasts. She thinks of Joan. She has nipples, too. I wonder what colour they are. Pink? Or brown? If I touched her nipples, she would feel something of course, automatically. But, what would I feel? Would I find it exciting? What would it mean if I did?

  = CHAPTER 6 =

  Saturday, March 12

  Dyke Night again. Joan comes up to where I'm sitting with Louise.

  "Oh, you're here again."

  "I said I probably would be."

  "There are other places."

  "I'm sorry. I thought you expected me."

  "I don't suppose you know anywhere else, do you?"

  "Well, it's not that. But well, you needn't talk to me, just because I'm here."

  "Of course I need to, Faith. And I think you need a drink."

  "Do you?"

  "Hold on," she smiled unexpectedly. "I'll get us both something."

  "What about me?"

  "You here too, Louise? Oh, what a reunion! All right, all right, I'll get you one, too. Half a lager, that do you?"

  "I don't think so, Joan."

  "Joking, joking Lou,
that's all. See you both in a jiff. Keep that chair warm for me Lou, okay?"

  "What d'you mean warm? I'm sitting here!"

  "Are you?"

  Joan shouldered her way through the crowd to the bar.

  "What did she mean?" I asked Louise. "Didn't she see you there?"

  "She wants me to leave you two alone. Can't think why."

  "Maybe she wants to talk to me."

  "She can talk with me here."

  "There's nowhere to sit."

  "She can stand then."

  "I thought she was your friend, Louise. You're not being very nice."

  "Mind your own, Faith. Me and Joan is our business, not yours. Don't see why she wants to talk to you. Just cause problems."

  "Thanks."

  "She's not for you, Faith. Would've thought even you would've sussed that by now."

  "You can be very rude, Louise, but I'm not going to take it to heart."

  "Keep on the way you're going – both of you! See where it gets you. You're in for a very bumpy ride – and a big surprise."

  "Shut up, Louise! You're jealous, anyway. It's obvious."

  "You flatter yourself! You don't know what you're getting into. No idea! Almost feel sorry for you. Serves you right though, probably. Yeah, I guess it does."

  "Now, now girls. Not quarrelling, I hope. Move the ashtray Louise, if you don't mind. Make some space for the glasses."

  "Going anyway, Joan. Can't stick this situation. Thanks for the beer. Give us a ring. We'll go out sometime."

  Louise disappeared into the crowd. Much like she'd done when I was at the club before. In a far worse mood this time, though. What had I done to upset her? She'd seemed all right till Joan turned up. It had been Joan who had been in a bad mood then, as far as I could see, anyway. Now she seemed calmer, though maybe not entirely sober. Oh dear, these people take some getting used to – so much going on under the surface. Will I ever understand?

  "Well, now, how's my Faith? How've you been since we last met?"

  "Fine – well, not entirely."

  "Drink up. We'll go to my place. Can't hear yourself think here."

  "Okay. I've brought your clothes back, by the way."

  Sunday, March 13. AM.

  (Faith is in a double bed. Two pillows are behind her head. The covers are pulled up to her chin.)

  What's this CD she's put on? Haven't listened to music since Carol was born. Oh, except Top of the Pops, sometimes. Carol watches that show religiously every week. Must be years old. Had its anniversary the other day. Twentieth? Thirtieth? Can't remember. Pan's People on TV. Still looked good, most of them. Older than me, though, and I'm no spring chicken. Top of the Pops, though it's changed. And not for the better. Still, I suppose it's for the youngsters. They must like it, or it wouldn't be on. Oh, here she comes now.

  (Joan comes in. She is drying her hands on a tea towel.) "Perfect."

  "Good. What is?"

  "You. You're very good, Faith."

  "Am I? Thank you."

  "You've got the knack."

  "Well, so have you."

  "That's years of experience, but you're a first-timer, and perfect."

  "They say practice makes perfect."

  "You don't need practice."

  "Ah, but I want it."

  ~ ~ ~

  Joan turned out to be pretty miserable under the brash exterior. I found that out later that night, when she broke down crying. She said it was her birthday that day, though why that should be so upsetting, I didn't dare ask. I imagined she might be scared of getting older. I even thought she might have a terminal disease. She was certainly very upset. To cheer her up I invited her, "as one Pisces to another" to celebrate with me this weekend (up till then, I hadn't planned anything for my birthday. This was just to please her). She forced a bit of a smile, and agreed, but still didn't seem at all cheered up.

  Sex cheered her up in the end. Apparently I made a good job of it. Perfect, she said. So that was all right.

  A bit later on though, she got really upset again, this time it was all my fault. And all because I decided I wanted to watch a bit of TV before I went home. She said I could, so while she stayed in the kitchen to make us a cup of tea, I went into the front room where I'd never been before. The first thing I saw in there nearly made me fall over – on top of the TV was a framed photo of my sister-in-law, Eva, who I hadn't seen in two years. I was so surprised, I had to sit down.

  Joan came in just then with a tray with mugs and chocolate digestives. I must have looked weird cause she asked me what was wrong.

  "How do you know Eva?" I said, by way of a reply.

  "How do you?" she said, looking grim.

  "She's my sister-in-law," I said.

  "She's my lover," she said.

  "My God!" I said, not meaning to be rude.

  "I'm sorry," she said, misunderstanding. "I should have said I had someone."

  "I know that," I said. "The cake, you remember. It's just –"

  "What?" I think she was losing patience with me by then.

  "Eva's my sister-in-law. I didn't know she was – well, I did but, I didn't expect to –"

  Joan attempted to take control of the situation. "Eva may be, strictly speaking, your sister-in-law, but she is separated from ... She's no longer involved with..."

  "Phil," I offered.

  She glared at me in reply.

  There was a bit of a silence in which we each sipped our tea like maiden aunts. If she was anything like me, her mind was working furiously to think of what to say next. In the end she said, conversationally, "How's Eva's mum getting along?"

  "She's dead!" I said in sheer surprise. "She died years ago. Why –?"

  I grabbed her arm as she fell forward, just managing to save the tea from spilling everywhere. Her face was chalk white.

  "She can't be!" She tried to shrug me off.

  Maybe I shouldn't have persisted, but it was as if I was compelled to tell her what she was clearly shocked to hear. "I was at the funeral. It rained. There were a lot of people there. She was well thought of. I'm very sorry, but it's a fact. Did you know her well?"

  "But – she lied to me!"

  What I had taken for grief was fury after all.

  "Who lied? What do you mean?"

  "Of course I didn't know her. She never introduced us. Well, she couldn't, could she, not if she was dead. How long ago did you say? Are you sure, Faith?"

  "Of course I'm sure. It was a family matter. She was my husband's brother's mother-in-law. We went up to support Phil, Don's brother. We went up specially for it."

  "She told me her mother was ill, dying –"

  "She was. She did die."

  "Not then! Now! She's ill now! She's dying now! She goes up to see her in the nursing home every couple of weeks."

  "She tells you that?"

  "Of course she does. It's part of our life. What I put up with."

  "Well, it's not true, Joan. I have to say it. You have to know it. I'm only sorry it has to be me that tells you."

  "Who else could tell me? It had to be you! I'd never have found out if you hadn't told me. I bet it's that redheaded bitch from her work!"

  "What?"

  "Well, she's doing something, going somewhere on a regular basis. Some fucking secret she's keeping from me."

  "Well– Ask her!"

  "Ask her what? If she can lie about her own mother, she can lie about anything. I'll never trust her again!"

  "I don't blame you."

  "I'll get it out of her though, don't you worry."

  "I hope so. Anyway, don't upset yourself. Look, Joan, I'll have to be going now. Don'll be home soon, he'll wonder where I am. I'm really sorry."

  "She'll be home soon, too."

  "Ring me if it gets too bad."

  "See you."

  "Don't worry. I'm sure it'll be all right."

  "I'll manage, Faith. You bet. No problem. Bye."

  So I left.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was
nice of her to say I'm perfect. No one's said that to me before – about anything. Don't suppose it was true, but nice anyway. All those other things happening took the shine off it a bit, but still she said it and she meant it and nothing can take that away from me, ever. Gave me a boost to my confidence that I may never lose.