A Crowded Marriage

by Catherine Alliott

  “But I was going to do ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ next,” Dad complained.

  “You’d have broken mine if you had,” Hannah said crisply as we marched him out.

  “We do that as a duet,” Dawn informed us, tottering after us in her high heels. “Goes down a storm.”

  “I think let the others have a chance, hmm?” I cajoled with a sweet smile, wondering exactly who the parent was here as Dad sulked all the way back to the table in the garden, slumping down on the bench with crossed arms.

  Mum and Rufus followed us, Mum sinking weakly into her chair, mascara streaked down her face where she’d cried with laughter, Rufus still giggling uncontrollably.

  “Did you enjoy that, lad?” Dad ruffled his hair, perking up a bit.

  “You were awesome, Grandpa,” Rufus assured him, hiccuping.

  Dad beamed. “It’s all in the timing, lad, you see. All in the timing. Now, another drink? Do the honours, Eddie, there’s a good chap.” He put an arm round Dawn’s waist and pulled her towards him on the bench crooning “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” into her ear whilst taking little pecks at her shoulder.

  “No, thanks, Dad,” said Hannah firmly as she and I gathered up coats and bags and put the glasses back on the tray. “I think we’ll get off home. I’ve got some cakes in the oven.” We glanced around, keen to go, but there was no sign of Dawn’s mother.

  “Perhaps she went back inside and we missed her? I’ll go in and take a look,” suggested Mum, and I blessed her for that. Whatever she might think of Dad’s domestic arrangements, she was too well-mannered just to slip away and tell Dad to say good-bye for us. When she reappeared two minutes later, her eyes were like dinner plates.

  “Come and look at this!” she urged from the pub doorway.

  We dutifully hastened back, and when she’d ushered us excitedly down the passage and back into the smoky saloon bar, our jaws dropped. There, on stage, in a red spangly dress that had clearly been under the coat the whole time, was Dawn’s mum, standing under a spotlight, singing Barbra Streisand’s “Evergreen.” Our jaws slackened even further as we listened, spellbound, to the tones of pure gold that rang out. The whole bar stood in awe-struck silence, and when she’d finished and the final wistful note drifted beautifully away over our heads, there was a moment’s silence—then everyone broke into spontaneous and enthusiastic applause. Dawn beamed and clapped the hardest.

  “She used to be an opera singer,” she shouted over the din, “but she gave it all up after she had me. Good, i’nt she?”

  We all agreed that she certainly was, and as I said to Rufus on the way home later that afternoon, it just went to show that you should never judge a book by its cover.

  “Or even,” he added sagely, “by its purple coat.”

  Chapter Ten

  When Rufus and I got back to the cottage there was a reception committee waiting for us. The chickens, seeing our car draw up, left whatever they’d been pecking in the yard, and rushed up in an enthusiastic gang. Rufus and I peered from the car windows in alarm.

  “Why do they do that?” Rufus whispered.

  “They’re just…terribly tame, darling. They’ve come to greet us.”

  “Oh. I don’t really like it when they chase me, though, Mum. Can I have a piggyback?”

  I swallowed, looking at the squawking, clucking squad that had surrounded the car with their fierce, beady eyes. I’d quite like a piggyback myself.

  “Right. Climb on my back then.” He clambered across the front seat and put his arms round my neck as I opened the driver’s door. Gingerly I put one foot out. “Off we…go!”

  With Rufus bouncing around on my back I sprinted across the yard and up the front path as fast as I could. Chickens can run jolly fast, though, and as I ferreted feverishly in my bag for my key, they swarmed around my legs, pushing and shoving. Hadn’t they got a coop to go to, I thought in panic as feathers and—ugh—beaks—brushed my legs. I was all for free range, but they’d be in the house soon if—“Oi!” One large mother-clucker put her head down and steamed through the gap before I could stop her.

  “No! Out!” I grabbed a cushion from a chair and shooed her out as Rufus hid behind the door. When she’d gone, we clutched each other.

  “I don’t like that, Mummy. I don’t like that they’re so tame they want to come in.”

  “No, I’m not wild about it either,” I admitted. “They’ll be sitting up in bed with us soon.” I dropped the cushion and gazed around. “Oh, but, Rufus, look at this!”

  “Cool,” he agreed.

  Vera and her team had worked wonders. The wooden floorboards shone like a ship’s deck, and bright, jewel-coloured rugs had been put down to cover the knotty bits. The windows gleamed, and through them, the fields, green and pleasant, shone back. The few sticks of furniture we’d originally been allocated had been replaced with basic, but much more comfortable sofas and chairs in a cheerful floral pattern. Pretty green checked curtains hung at the windows, and upstairs, all our linen had been unpacked, the beds made, and our clothes hung up in wardrobes. “Golly,” I spun around in wonder as I came back down. “Mary Poppins has been in.”

  Rufus’s eyes were huge. “Has she?”

  I laughed. “No, but you’d think so, wouldn’t you? And look at this.” A huge bunch of flowers sat in a blue and white striped jug on the kitchen table, and next to it, a bowl of fruit with a note. I picked it up.

  Dear Imogen,

  There’s milk and eggs in the fridge and a pile of logs outside should you need a fire. The chimney’s been swept so it should work! Hope everything is OK. So sorry you saw it in such a state yesterday.

  Love, Eleanor

  “How kind,” I murmured. “She must have brought the fruit and flowers down herself.”

  “It does look amazing, doesn’t it, Mummy?” said Rufus anxiously, jumping on a sofa and bouncing. I could tell he wanted me to be pleased, not the complaining, carping mother of yesterday. “It’s very kind of Eleanor and Piers, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” I smiled. “And it looks fantastic. And actually, Rufus, I think we’re going to have a lovely time here.”

  “But where will you paint?” His brow puckered up as he stopped bouncing. “You haven’t got a room like you had at home.”

  “Well, I can paint in here.” I sat down at the little table under the window. “Not oils—too smelly and messy—but I can do watercolours. You know, try some book illustrations, like I’ve always meant to do. I’ll get a sketch pad.”

  “Yes, and draw the lambs and stuff! Look, you can see them from the window.”

  I smiled. So I could. And I liked the sheep. They dotted the green hillside attractively, like bits of cotton wool; all sort of pastoral and calming. They kept their distance too. If only the cows could be encouraged to do the same, but the cows were lining up even now in a rather alarming manner at the gate, mooing horribly. Were they supposed to do that? All day? They’d been doing it when we’d left this morning—surely they’d need to do some grazing now and again, stop shouting at me? They didn’t seem to have grasped the concept of personal space.

  I moved around the cottage, familiarising myself with it, opening cupboards, marvelling at all our china stacked neatly on shelves, all the cutlery in drawers. They’d even put our crystal glasses in a hanging corner cupboard in the sitting room. I was touched. And all under Eleanor’s instruction, no doubt. I wondered, rather guiltily, if I’d got it all wrong. If she really did just want to help, and for us to be happy? I remembered her worried face and twisting hands this morning—“I would so love us to be friends”—and how I’d snubbed her. I went upstairs. From the landing window I could see that the grass around the cottage had been mown, and that the manure heap in the yard had miraculously relocated to a corner of a far field. In Rufus’s room, all his soldiers were lined up on shelves in his bedroom, his slippers under
his bed. Part of me wondered if I’d have liked to have done that, but most of me was jolly grateful. On an impulse, I went back down and picked up the phone. Eleanor had thoughtfully put a list of numbers by it—her own private line, the doctor, farmer, vet—and I dialled her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Eleanor, it’s Imogen. Listen, thank you so much. We’ve just got back here and I can’t tell you how pretty the cottage looks. Vera and her girls have done a brilliant job.”

  “You like it?” I could almost feel her flush with pleasure at the other end. “Oh, Imogen, I’m so pleased. I was a bit worried you’d think they’d gone too far, unpacking all your stuff, but otherwise you’d have come in to piles of suitcases and—”

  “It’s perfect,” I said, cutting her short. “Honestly, Eleanor, you’ve saved me a backbreaking day tomorrow. The whole place looks fab, and wonderful views now that you can see them!”

  She laughed. “Apparently they had to hose the windows down, they were so filthy. Oh, good, I’m so glad you’re pleased. I took the liberty of choosing the sofas for you from Piers’s mother’s barn—it was much the best stuff—and if you want to light a fire—”

  “The logs are out the back. I saw your note. And thank you for the fruit and flowers.”

  “My pleasure,” she said happily. “I was wondering if you’d like a kitchen supper with us tonight? Only yesterday was a bit like Piccadilly Circus here; we hardly got to speak to you.”

  I hesitated. I quite wanted a quiet supper down here on our first night, but didn’t want to appear rude. “That’s really kind. Tell you what, can I ask Alex when he comes in? I’m not sure how bushed he’ll be after the commute. I’ll give you a ring later, if I may?”

  “Oh, but he’s here now. I’ll ask him, shall I?”

  I paused. “Sorry?”

  “Yes, he’s around somewhere, hang on—ALEX!” she called.

  My heart began to pound. He’d gone straight to her house on returning from work? Hadn’t even bothered to come to the cottage first? Was this to be a pattern? He came on the line.

  “Hello, darling, had a good day?”

  “Alex, what are you doing there?”

  “What d’you mean, what am I doing here?”

  “Well, why didn’t you come back here from work?”

  “Oh, I haven’t been to work, darling.”

  “What?”

  “No, I didn’t go in the end, because by the time Piers and I got back from walking around the farm, it was nearly midday. Simply wasn’t worth it. Piers had a meeting to go to, but Eleanor and I went to a really nice bistro in town. Apparently you were invited.”

  I couldn’t speak I was so angry.

  “Why didn’t you come and have lunch with Hannah and Eddie?” I hissed eventually. “With us!”

  “I tried,” he said patiently, “but there was no answer from their house, and your phone was switched off.”

  “You could have tried the pub! You might have known we were in the pub!”

  “I did, actually. Eleanor and I stopped at that pretty whitewashed one with the hanging baskets, but there was no sign. I’m sorry, darling. I did my best.”

  I had to sit down I was so furious. I massaged my brow feverishly with my fingertips. Shut my eyes tight. “Right,” I said quietly. “Right. OK. Fine. You’re coming home now, I take it?”

  “Well, Eleanor’s asked us for kitchen supps. They’ve got a brace of pheasants from the freezer so—”

  “COME HOME NOW AND FUCK THE PHEASANT!”

  There was a long silence.

  “Right,” he said eventually. “I won’t do the latter, if it’s all the same to you, but I’ll be back shortly.”

  The line went dead. I sank back in the kitchen chair, arms hanging limply, the phone dangling in my hand. I’d behaved like a crazy woman. A mad, unhinged, deranged woman. And I imagined the scene unfolding now, in the Latimers’ kitchen: Eleanor, wide-eyed, whilst Alex, replacing the receiver carefully, explained that I was a bit…overwrought. A bit tired, perhaps, from the move. It had been a trying time, and—and maybe we’d have a quiet night in. Eleanor would be nodding, pretending to understand, making sympathetic noises about how she’d feel just the same, about how stressful moving was, or—or maybe, I thought suddenly, they’d just smile secretly at each other. Shrug, as in, oh, well, at least she’s getting the message, before falling into each other’s arms and kissing the life out of each other, his hand shooting up her skirt. My hands flew to my mouth. My lips felt very dry. Was I going mad? Were they deliberately sending me mad, were they having a steaming, torrid affair, or was it all in my mind? Was this an Othello-Desdemona-type thing, this jealousy of mine, all of my making? I tried to remember the play from school. There hadn’t been anything in it in the end, had there? And didn’t he end up killing her, or something? Oh God. I moaned and lowered my forehead slowly to the table. Had I overreacted, as usual? I eyeballed the pine. Yes, of course I had. I’d behaved appallingly. She was an old family friend, who was simply trying to help us through a financial hiccup, and here I was, behaving like a…like a…

  I was aware of a rustle behind me. I turned. A little white face was watching me through the banisters.

  “Are you all right, Mummy?”

  “Yes, love. I’m fine.”

  “Is…Daddy coming home?”

  “Yes. Yes, he is. Very soon.”

  Rufus nodded and crept back upstairs.

  I rubbed my forehead again, ferociously, with my fingertips. This was not good. Not good for Rufus. Not good at all. I got up and walked to the window, arms wrapped tightly around me.

  And anyway, I thought staring out, aware that I was trembling slightly, what if I did ask him if there was anything going on and he said—yes? Yes, there is. I am. What then? Would I leave him? Would I walk out? My breathing became shallower. In my darkest moments I’d asked myself that question before, and the awful truth was, I knew I wouldn’t. Knew that deep in the craven depths of my soul, the answer was no. I loved him too much. I’d never leave him. I stared into the empty fire grate.

  Ten minutes later the front door slammed. Alex strode in, his face suffused with barely controlled rage. A muscle was going in his cheek.

  “This is how you repay them.” He swept his hand around the room, his voice trembling. “For all this. This cottage, this hospitality, this—this kindness, which they don’t have to do, but have done, out of the goodness of their hearts—this, this rudeness! This jealousy! This is how you thank them!”

  I hung my head. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “I had to make something up. Tell them you were ill, that the move had been too traumatic for you, that you missed your friends—anything. They both heard you screaming on the other end of the phone—thought you were barking!”

  “Piers was there too?”

  “Yes, of course he was, jointing the bloody pheasants!”

  Right. So he hadn’t been exchanging secret smiles with Eleanor and gathering her into his arms when he’d put the phone down.

  “I’ll apologise,” I promised. “Tomorrow. I’ll go and see them, tell them I was overtired.”

  “Yes, well, don’t make a meal of it,” he snapped, raking his hands through his hair as he went to the window. “Forget it now. But just…get a grip, Imo, OK?” He swung round, looked at me pleadingly. Desperately, almost.

  “OK.” I nodded, knowing I was about to cry.

  I gazed dumbly at him, not trusting myself to speak, and after a moment, his face changed. His anger seemed to dissipate and he just looked tired. Defeated. His shoulders sagged. I took a step, uncertainly. He opened his arms and I walked into them. Clung on.

  “I love you, Imo, you know that, don’t you?” he whispered.

  I nodded, tears streaming down my face as I gazed into his blue jumper. “I love you too.”

/>   ***

  The following morning, when Alex had gone to work, I rang Kate.

  “Oh, hello, stranger!” I laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve only been gone a day. Anyway, I rang you yesterday and you weren’t there.”

  “Out at a rehearsal, probably. Busying myself, you see, trying not to notice my mate across the road has gone and that some strange people are moving into her house.”

  “Already? Golly, how weird.”

  I didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to imagine them in my house, moving round my blue and white kitchen, touching the slate work surfaces, admiring the pretty, Provençal tiles, realising the cutlery drawer stuck and the blind over the sink didn’t work. But actually, how much worse for Kate, who was watching it all. At least I couldn’t see them and had other distractions.

  “So how’s it going?” she asked.

  “Oh, Kate, it’s great,” I enthused, determined to be upbeat; to support Alex in this decision, as, lying in each other’s arms last night, we’d agreed was so important.

  “I know it’s difficult, Imo,” he’d said stroking my hair, “but we must put on a good show. God knows, no one wants to downscale, no one wants to be helped out by friends, but let’s at least put a brave face on it, eh?”

  I’d felt so ashamed. But I’d glowed inside too. For the second time in two days we’d made love. That was unheard of in London. Perhaps getting away from it all was making a difference. Well, if this was the result, I was all for it.