Parallel Life

by Ruth Hamilton

  She left the car and sat in a dip where a drystone wall had lost its capping stones. There were just three houses between here and the horizon. The rest of the landscape was a coat of many colours: several yellows, greens that ran from moss right through to emerald, shades that verged on blue. All these scraps of fields were sewn together with grey-brown stitches made of walls like the one upon which she sat. Lancashire was beautiful. She hadn’t really noticed it before. Born in a backstreet of Bolton, father unknown, mother a distant memory, Lisa had no one of her own. Alec had been her own . . .

  Jimmy opened the door and stepped back a pace as she launched herself at him. Blood coursed down his left cheek, and he raised both hands in order to protect himself. She was mad; people must be right about the Compton-Milnes. Perhaps like married like – she was as insane as her legendary husband. Jesus, she packed a hard punch. But she had originated from the backstreets of the town, so perhaps she was reverting to type. ‘What the bloody hell . . .?’ he began as she hit him yet again.

  ‘Jimmy bloody Nuttall,’ she screamed. ‘That nasty little wife of yours pulled some of my hair out in Antoine’s this lunch time. Had your youngest brat with her, too. You lying, cheating, good-for-nothing toad.’ Each adjective arrived in the company of a slap to his face.

  He fled into the living room.

  She followed, paused to take in the view of champagne in a bucket, flowers on a side table, strawberries in a bowl. ‘You bastard,’ she cursed.

  ‘I’m leaving her,’ he protested. ‘I always meant to leave her for you, Lisa.’

  She picked up the nearest ornament and threw it in his direction. It missed, but shattered another on the mantelpiece. ‘So this is your friend’s bungalow, is it? We’re using it while he’s in the bloody Seychelles? It’s your mother’s house. If I’d had any sense, I’d have noticed the absence of a resident man’s clutter. Where’s my money?’

  He grabbed a large cushion and hugged it – any further missiles could be deflected, or so he hoped. ‘What money?’

  ‘My share. From the stuff in the floor safe. You said half of it was mine, but I haven’t seen a penny piece of it.’

  ‘It’s OK. You’ll get it when we leave – I promised you that, didn’t I?’

  ‘Just as you swore you were single after being heartbroken following the death of your fiancée. Get me my bloody money, or I’ll . . .’ She would what? What could she do? ‘You and I are going nowhere, Jimmy.’ She spat the name as if ridding her mouth of an unpleasant taste. ‘No more goods in my safe from now on. The partnership is dissolved.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. I want my cut. I’ll settle for a hundred grand and your final exit from my life.’

  ‘Lisa, I don’t deserve this.’

  ‘Neither do I. Neither does that furious little wife of yours. The child she had with her is called Daisy. I believe you have three in total.’

  His top lip curled. ‘I would have left everything behind for you.’

  ‘You left honesty long, long ago, Jimmy. According to your better half, I am just the latest of your conquests. She might have been angry, but there was truth in her eyes. You’re no good.’

  ‘And you’re a recycled virgin?’

  ‘I have never lied. I have never pleaded a dead lover, just a decayed marriage. When does your mother return?’

  He lowered his head. ‘Sunday.’

  ‘Then we meet here Saturday at two in the afternoon. Bring my cash. A hundred grand, and that is a mere fraction of the total accumulated these past few years. I mean it. Get me my money, or I’ll have you dealt with.’

  ‘Oh, yes? And whose army will you use?’

  She smirked. ‘If Hannibal could negotiate the Alps with a herd of elephants, I can certainly get past you. So bugger off back to the poor creature you’re fastened to.’ She turned, then looked over her shoulder. ‘Saturday. And be prompt. I have no patience with latecomers.’

  Outside, she found herself shaking with a mixture of fury and grief. Could she cope with this on her own? Beyond the odd grunt from behind The Times at breakfast, Gus hadn’t spoken to her in months. And why should he help an adulterous partner? A man of narrowed vision, he probably imagined that no one really needed communication within marriage once the children had been born.

  Lisa sat in her car and waited for the trembling to stop. When she finally managed to focus, she found herself staring into the dark eyes of Nuttall’s wife. She was across the road in a parked Escort. Slowly, Lisa opened her door, stepped out and crossed the road.

  The Escort’s window was wound down. ‘Well?’ asked the occupant.

  Lisa sighed. ‘All yours, though he may weigh a little less because I relieved him of some blood. Don’t worry – he’ll live. There is a bit of business to be concluded here on Saturday afternoon. Beyond that, it is finished.’

  A tiny hand touched Lisa’s arm. ‘Get in the car. Look, it’s all right – I won’t kidnap you, and I won’t hurt you. I just need to talk to you, that’s all.’

  After hesitating for a few seconds, the older woman walked round the Escort, opened the passenger door and climbed in. There were small toys and sweet wrappers all over the place. Lisa’s feet rested on a battered teddy bear in the footwell.

  ‘Do you smoke?’ asked the driver.

  ‘I’d kill for one.’

  They lit up, inhaled deeply, then both laughed nervously.

  ‘I’m Annie Nuttall.’

  ‘You know who I am.’

  ‘Aye, I do. Now, don’t say anything. If you don’t tell me anything, then I don’t know anything – OK?’

  Lisa nodded.

  ‘Saturday – is it about money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right, set your ears on red alert because I’ll say this only once.’

  ‘As in ’Allo, ’Allo?’

  ‘Exactly. First, sorry I showed you up in that café. I lost my rag, and I’m not proud of myself, only I can’t undo it. But I might be able to save you from more grief. Understand?’

  Lisa inclined her head again.

  ‘We have to work together on this. We need each other. He fits alarms – right? He knows the ins and outs of some pretty big houses and businesses. In plainer words, he knows how to be in and out like a bloody shadow. I think he leaves it a few months after fitting the alarms – he’s clever like that. So first, get another firm to do your shop – and your house, if he fitted that one.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Then –’ Annie took another drag of nicotine – ‘if he’s done stuff like storing bits and pieces with you, get rid. Because, as sure as eggs are pointed at one end, he’ll be in jail by the end of the year. I don’t want you going down. You’ve suffered enough.’

  Tears brimmed in Lisa’s eyes. This, from her supposed greatest enemy, was a huge act of kindness. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’

  ‘Best say nowt, love. The less I know about what you know, the better, if you get my drift. I’ll have to be off soon because my mother’s got the kids and my twin lads are a caution.’ The short neck stretched itself in a gesture of deliberately assumed pride. ‘I’ll be leaving him, going back to my mam. It won’t be easy on me or her, but it has to be done. I don’t want the boys turning out like him.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Annie smiled. ‘Look, give us your phone number. I’ll be careful – I’ll call you from phone boxes. Bear in mind that the cops are on to him. Well, that’s what the private dick says, any road. The less contact we have, the better. They’ll find out that you knew him, of course, but you can avoid being his partner in crime, eh? He fitted your alarms and, if the worst comes to the worst, you stored stuff for him. Family heirlooms and the like.’ She grinned impishly. ‘Mind, have you seen his mother’s ornaments? They don’t need a safe, eh? Anyway, you should be OK.’

  ‘Thanks to you, yes.’

  Annie squeezed Lisa’s hand after taking her card. ‘When it’s all over, maybe we can have a cuppa t
ogether, eh?’

  Lisa blinked hard. ‘He told me he was single, said his fiancée died. I suppose I needed to believe him, needed to be needed.’

  Annie tutted and shook her head. ‘Oh, and, by the way, you’re not an old bag. You’re the best-looking bird he’s had so far.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Annie’s eyes, too, were wet. ‘Go on. Bugger off and get sorted.’ She turned the key, and the engine came to life. ‘Er . . . it might be an idea if you spoke to the cops yourself. Just say you’re worried about a few things you’ve minded for him. Stay ahead of the game, and tell nobody else. Just me, you and the coppers. If you need help from your family, though, get it.’

  Back in her own car, Lisa sat and waved as the Ford sped away. Her mind was in a whirl, but why should she be surprised? She hadn’t questioned him about any of his ‘house clearances’ and ‘special offers’; hadn’t worried, because he and his ill-gotten gains were to have been her gateway out of a senseless life. She glanced to her left, saw him peering round his mother’s net curtains. So, she would have to change the shop alarm and the one at home. Those things could wait a day or two because he would certainly not trespass further on her anger just yet. Harriet’s shop would need to be dealt with, also. Lisa would have a word with Hermione, too, as soon as possible. It was time to come clean.

  Her stomach threatened to rise to the occasion, so she took a barley-sugar sweet from the glove compartment. There was no food in her, and that was the reason for digestive misbehaviour. Sugar for shock, she told herself as she pulled away from the bungalow. He had a few shocks coming, but he’d be needing more than sweets as a cure.

  Gus was home – oh, joy. From behind a newspaper, he asked if she’d had a pleasant day. She told him it had been wonderful and that the shop had been razed to the ground in an arson attack. ‘Good,’ he replied, ‘that’s the ticket.’

  Ticket to madness, she thought as she made herself a small meal of cheese and crackers. It was a warm evening, so she carried the food out to the garden and sat on the swing. She placed the glass of fresh orange on a small wooden table, picked at a cracker and a bit of Brie. Dusk was gathering, and the security lights blinked on and off each time she moved, but they were behind her, so they didn’t interfere. She was halfway through her second cream cracker when she noticed her daughter sitting in the gazebo. After swallowing a mouthful of juice and a great deal of nervousness, she picked up plate and glass before walking towards Harriet.

  ‘Hi,’ said the girl when her mother arrived. ‘Long day?’

  ‘The longest ever,’ Lisa replied. ‘Total disaster.’

  ‘Ah.’ Harrie knew not to enquire further; if her mother wanted to talk, she would.

  ‘Lunch with Sadie Fisher. She’s going in for liposuction soon. I hope they have a strong machine – she’s carrying more fat than a pork butcher.’

  Harrie sighed quietly. Conversations with her mother could be a bit repetitive.

  ‘And there was a scene in the restaurant, rather embarrassing. I need to think before I can talk about it, but I seem to be in a bit of a pickle.’

  Again, Harrie offered neither question nor comment.

  ‘I’ve been a terrible mother, haven’t I?’

  Harrie’s spine was suddenly rigid. This was definitely not one of Lisa’s usual topics. ‘I don’t know. You’re the only mother I’ve had.’

  ‘No. You had Hermione and Eileen. I wasn’t needed, and I got used to that. Oh, and I’m a bit selfish.’

  Harrie remained silent.

  ‘It seemed easier if I worked and your gran looked after you. She’d just been diagnosed and decided to conserve her energies for her grandchild. I was sort of surplus to requirements. That just went on through my second pregnancy and Benjamin’s birth. It became a habit.’ She bit her lip. ‘I have the feeling I owe you an apology.’

  Now was the time for speech. ‘Mum, I love you. I don’t always like you, but I love you. And I am sick to the molars of the blame and compensation culture – it’s mad. If a child is too thin, it’s the parents’ fault – if he’s fat, ditto. Doesn’t behave at school? Oh, that’ll be because his dad thumped him once, ten years ago. It’s a load of tripe and vinegar. Life’s hard. End of.’

  Tears threatened yet again. Lisa knew she was going to weep at some stage, but she needed the privacy of her own bedroom before indulging herself. ‘I just wish I’d done things differently.’

  ‘We can all say that.’

  ‘Thank you, Harriet. Thank you very much.’ Lisa took herself and her half-eaten supper back to the house. Leaving her dishes for Eileen to deal with in the morning, she dragged herself upstairs much earlier than usual, went through the exfoliation and oiling routine, held back her grief.

  She was almost ready for bed when her phone rang. Digging deep in today’s handbag, she responded to her over-loud ring tone – the sound track from Peter Kay’s mockery of ‘Amarillo’. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me. Annie Nuttall. Have to be quick, I’m in a call box and you’re on mobile. I’ve left him. Still need to pick up some things, but I’ve made the break.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be – he’s a criminal. Now, listen.’

  ‘You will say this only once?’

  A nervous giggle was followed by: ‘The woman you were eating with. Doesn’t she sell handbags and stuff at Jenkinson’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll leave it a day or two, then I’ll nip down to Jenky’s and have a look round. I’ll be very surprised to see her, and I’ll apologize for disturbing your meal. You were the wrong woman. I can do nothing about the rest of the folk who were eating there, but I’ll tell Antoine. Then, if it’s talked about, he can nip it in the bud. You know my husband, but it’s only through business, right?’

  ‘Right.’ She was going to sob very soon.

  ‘You never had sex with that man.’

  In spite of her deep unhappiness, Lisa grinned. ‘I never had sex with that man. I’ll tell Senate, Congress and the country, eh? Do a Clinton?’

  ‘I don’t care what you do, but be safe. I’ve got to go. The twins are thinking about having mumps.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I. Life’s hard enough without having them two buggers making it worse. Ta-ra, Lise.’

  ‘Bye, Annie. God bless you.’

  Lisa sat in her lonely room and sobbed her heart out. She grieved for what she had lost, though she had never had it because it had been a lie. Another lie in a long series of untruths from men, including her husband. She mourned two neglected children, knowing all the time that for Ben it was too late. She wept because she feared tomorrow, its emptiness and hopelessness, and she was not looking forward to talking to Hermione. The wise old bird had to know. Lisa wasn’t stupid, but her head was in a muddle just now. And she wept into a handkerchief because Annie Nuttall had been so kind. Annie Nuttall was in danger of becoming her first real friend.

  ‘Why should she care?’ she asked her tear-stained reflection. Why should anyone care for so neglectful a mother, so self-absorbed a woman? Why the bloody hell had her husband’s oddness been a part of his attraction, all those years ago? He was odd, all right. His son was even odder. At least Harriet talks to me sometimes, she thought. Ben won’t even sit and eat with me on Christmas Day.

  Benjamin had been too heavy a burden for his sister. Harriet was biting her nails again. I have to turn over a new leaf. It has to stop being about me, after I’ve protected myself from Alec/Jimmy. Bastard. He has to be dealt with. Hermione will know how to cope. She climbed into her narrow bed and, amazingly, fell asleep almost immediately. Lisa Compton-Milne was thoroughly exhausted.

  ‘Come in, Lisa – don’t hover. Or do you want me to stagger across on my Zimmer to help you in? Eileen’s gone shopping, so we are quite alone.’

  Lisa didn’t know where to start, and she said so.

  ‘Beginning, middle, end – doesn’t matter to me because I’ll have it all m
ixed up by tomorrow. But I can see the red eyes and white knuckles, so get it off your chest before that changes colour as well.’

  Lisa obeyed, perching nervously on the edge of a seat designed to be higher than most. It was an old lady’s chair, and Lisa suddenly felt as aged as the hills surrounding her hometown.

  Hermione studied her daughter-in-law. This was a tough businesswoman who fooled most people into perceiving her as a clown at worst – and at best as a woman who would not accept the passing years and age gracefully. ‘You don’t look pretty today, Lisa. Take your time, but hurry up.’

  Lisa laughed out loud. ‘You get worse.’

  ‘I know. It’s a gift. Come on – shoot.’

  Lisa shot. Without malice or bitterness, she traced in words the pattern of her marriage, its disappointments, her love affairs and lesser dalliances. Deducing from her companion’s expression that no offence had been taken, she outlined the business with the man she had known as Alec.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Hermione when Lisa had stopped speaking.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Open this window wide and get us both a cigarette. I can’t think without a smoke.’

  They smoked in silence for a few minutes. ‘How are you getting along with Harriet at the moment?’ the old lady asked.

  ‘There’s never been a difficulty there, except she always ran to you when she was little so we still tend to be ships that pass in the night.’

  ‘My fault.’

  Lisa shook her head vehemently. ‘No, no. Harriet is very clever, you know, and she says that it’s not about fault and blame. It’s a case of life being hard and having to cope with it. But I wish she could get away from Benjamin. God knows what he gets up to, but when I have caught sight of him recently, he’s looked grim.’

  Hermione stubbed out her cigarette, passing the evidence of her crime to Lisa. ‘Get rid of that before the boss finds it,’ she said, referring to her fierce Irish carer. ‘I should have encouraged you to stay at home with those children – no more lectures on blame, thanks. As for my own son – I am thoroughly ashamed of him. His father was aloof, and he died young. I used to tell myself that Gus had no pattern to follow, but he overplays his part as mad scientist, you see. He has neglected those children dreadfully. As for you, madam, I don’t blame you for having lovers, though you might have chosen more carefully.’