“Not a bad position,” mused Gabs, the expert. “Although I could suggest —”
“No. No, thanks. On top is fine. For the moment.”
“And the French knickers?” Alice asked.
“I bought another pair. A kind of peace offering.”
“And did they go down well?” Gabs smirked.
“Yes, they did.” Mavis saw that Gabs had made some kind of joke, but was not sure what it was.
The more she saw of Gabs, the more aware Mavis was of her own naivety, and she felt oddly ashamed. She was probably old enough to be Gabs’ mother, and yet where matters of sex were concerned, Gabs could make her feel like a mere child. Gabs discussed sex with the ease of someone who assumed a similarly relaxed attitude on the part of her listener, and Mavis simply couldn’t do it. Sex had always been private, personal, secret. Otherwise, she reasoned to herself, what was the point? For Mavis, one of the great attractions of sex had always been its rudeness. It was a childish expression, she knew, and redolent of the games of doctors and nurses that her friends had played as children (Mavis had not been invited to join in), but one that best expressed how she felt. Of course, that was only part of it; there was the closeness and the reciprocity that accompanied the sex she had with Clifford. But she still privately delighted in (and wondered at) the fact that grown people with respectable lives and jobs and positions in society could do this incredibly rude thing without it seeming remotely abnormal. It could be because sex had never been a part of her everyday life; appointments had to be made, venues found, and limits placed on the amount of time she and Clifford could allow themselves to do it in. They had only twice enjoyed the luxury of actually sleeping together — sharing a bed for a whole night, waking together, breakfasting together — things that most couples took for granted. Sex had always been, as it were, taken out of context. Couples who lived together could presumably make love whenever they felt like it. She and Clifford had to do it when they could, which wasn’t necessarily the same thing at all.
Alice appeared to understand Mavis’s unease, for she turned to Gabs.
“Come on, Gabs. Your turn now. Tell us what you’ve been up to.”
“Okay.” Gabs took a sip of her wine. “Well, I’ve had a bloody few weeks. My favourite patient died, my boss at the agency’s being an absolute cow, and I’ve fallen in love with a priest. My sister is being all disapproving and holier than thou, and the priest isn’t having any of it.”
“Oh, not a priest!” Mavis said. “That’s — that’s awful!”
“Awful for who?” Gabs demanded.
“Well, just awful, I suppose.”
“More awful than shagging someone else’s husband?”
“Well, no. Yes. I don’t know. It just seems so — so extreme.”
“Who is he, Gabs?” Alice asked quickly.
Gabs explained about Father Augustine.
“Gosh. I remember him,” Alice said. “Dark. Good-looking. He sat in a corner at Father Cuthbert’s looking embarrassed. I felt quite sorry for him.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Gabs sounded proprietorial.
“There must be other gorgeous men around who are more available.”
“Oh, not you as well! I’ve had enough of all that from my sister. I thought you two at least would understand.”
“But I’ve never — I’d never dream of going after a priest,” Mavis said.
“You went after someone’s husband. Isn’t that worse? Father Augustine doesn’t belong to anyone else. And don’t say he belongs to the church because I’ve heard all that, too. He wouldn’t be hurting another human being.”
“I never went after Clifford,” Mavis said.
“Well, what, then?”
“We just — met. We weren’t looking for one another.”
“Well, I wasn’t looking for a priest.” Gabs refilled her glass. “You could say that we just met, as well.”
“It just doesn’t seem right,” Mavis said.
“Bloody hell, Mavis! None of us are doing what’s right, as you put it! That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” said Alice, “this is different because it’s happened after the Father Cuthbert meetings. Mavis and I had our — our lovers long before we all met. You’re planning a relationship and expecting us to give you our backing. Isn’t that it?”
“I suppose,” Gabs said. “But whatever you think about what I’m doing, there’s no one else I can talk to about it.”
“You say you’re in love, but do you really know him?” Alice persisted.
“I feel that I do.”
“Couldn’t you stop now, before…?”
“Before anyone gets hurt?” Gabs sighed. “Yeah, I could. We could all stop now, couldn’t we? But this feels like a chance. An opportunity. I really think I could make him happy.”
“Oh, Gabs! For heaven’s sake! How do you know he’s not happy already being — married to the church?” Alice seemed to be losing patience.
“He doesn’t look happy. He looks — lost, I suppose.”
“So you’ve no intention of giving up on this?”
“Nope. I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” said Mavis.
“No, Mavis, I can’t. You can’t give up your Clifford, and I —”
“Of course I could give Clifford up! But what we have suits both of us, and since Dorothy doesn’t know, no one gets hurt and nothing changes. If you succeed in seducing a priest, think of what he’s got to lose!”
“Ah, but think of what he’s got to gain,” said Gabs, who was feeling angry and unrepentant. She had been looking forward to being able to discuss her feelings about Father Augustine, and Mavis and Alice were turning out to be almost as prudish as Steph. “Hang on a minute —” she glanced round the room — “Mavis, where’s your mum?”
Everyone looked towards Maudie’s corner, but apart from some fragments of crisps, there was no sign of Maudie herself.
“She can’t have gone far,” Alice said as Mavis rushed into the hallway.
They searched all over the house, but there was no sign of Maudie.
“The back door’s open!” Alice called out. “She must have gone out that way.”
“Can she get into the street?” Mavis asked.
“I’m afraid she can. And it looks as though she has. The garden gate’s open, too.”
Alice called up the stairs. “Finn! Can you and Kenny come and help us? We seem to have lost Mavis’s mother.”
The two boys clattered down the stairs. They didn’t appear to be taking the exercise particularly seriously, but they could move fast, which would be a help. They dashed down the street in one direction, and Mavis and Alice went in the other. Gabs was asked to search the garden.
As she poked about among the bushes and investigated a rickety garden shed, Gabs had pangs of guilt. This emergency could well be her fault. Unbeknown to Mavis, she had topped up Maudie’s wine glass when no one else was looking, reasoning that the poor old soul didn’t have much fun in her life, and a little drop more couldn’t possibly do her any harm. Maudie had looked very settled and had even dozed off a couple of times. It had all seemed perfectly safe. How on earth had she managed to get up and leave the room without anyone noticing?
Gabs abandoned the garden, which was small and bore no traces of Maudie, and joined the others in the street.
“She can’t have just vanished,” Alice said.
“Oh yes, she can,” said Mavis grimly. “She does this sometimes. The doctor says it’s because she’s confused, but I sometimes think she does it just to keep me on my toes.”
They searched down side roads and alleyways; they went into gardens and knocked on front doors. No one had seen or heard Maudie.
“This is ridiculous,” Alice said after a fruitless twenty minutes. “She doesn’t move fast; she’s very conspicuous, especially at this time of night. Where on earth can she have got to?” She lifted the lid of a wheelie bin and peered inside. Gabs gi
ggled. “Not funny, Gabs.”
“No. Sorry.” Gabs was cold and fed up, and her guilt was rising to a dangerous level. Should she confess about the wine or keep quiet? What if something awful had happened to Maudie, and it was all her fault? Gabs liked Maudie. She reckoned there was more going on under that neat grey perm than many people imagined, and guilt notwithstanding, she would be very sorry if the old lady were to meet with some kind of accident.
Just then, a police car drove slowly up the road and drew to a halt at the kerb. A policeman got out and put on his cap.
“Good evening. We’ve found a — a lady, wandering on her own. She doesn’t seem to know where’s she’s meant to be. I wonder whether you can help?”
“That’ll be Mother,” said Mavis. “Where is she?”
“She’s in the car. She appears to have been drinking.”
“Well, she’s not driving, is she? There’s no law against drinking in the privacy of your own home,” said Gabs.
“But she wasn’t at home, was she? And there is a law against being drunk and disorderly.”
“Drunk and disorderly?” Mavis repeated. “Surely not.”
“Yes, madam. She was sitting on the pavement singing a — singing an inappropriate song. She was causing offence to members of the public.”
“How many members of the public?” Gabs demanded, aware that members of the public at large in the streets on a Friday night were far more likely to be drunk than a harmless old woman.
“I don’t think that’s any of your concern. But a gentleman complained.”
“Where’s your sense of humour?” cried Gabs. “If I can get drunk and sing inappropriate songs at her age, I shall be very pleased.”
“We are not paid to have a sense of humour. We are paid to keep the streets free from crime.” The policeman looked Gabs up and down and sniffed. “Madam.”
“Oh, get a life, will you? You’re just —”
“Can I have my mother now, officer?” said Mavis quickly. “And I’m so sorry if she’s caused offence.”
“Mavis, you don’t have to creep to the police! This is ridiculous!”
“Gabs,” said Alice, “shut up, and help us get Maudie out of the car.”
Maudie appeared to be none the worse for her little expedition, although she was very cold and her clothes were streaked with dirt. She was still clutching an empty wine glass and appeared unaware of the trouble she’d caused.
“I’ve had such a lovely ride,” she said, holding on to Mavis’s arm. “And this young man has been so kind. But he didn’t like my song. Such a shame. It was one of your father’s favourites, dear.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Mavis said. “Could someone give me a hand?”
Alice took the other side of Maudie, and together they half pushed, half pulled her back towards the house.
“‘Roll me over, in the clover, roll me —’”
“Shh, Mother. People don’t want to hear that. I think we should be going. I’ll phone for a taxi. We’ll go home, shall we, Mother? And you can have a nice cup of tea.”
“Don’t want tea. I want another little drop of… little drop of…”
“No more little drops for you tonight, Mother. You’ve had quite enough.”
Finn and Kenny appeared from round the corner.
“Ah, you’ve found her,” Finn said. Both boys seemed very entertained by the situation. “She’s drunk, isn’t she?”
“Of course she’s not,” said Mavis, puffing with exertion (Maudie was not light).
“What’s this?” Finn asked, picking up the yellow bag that was trailing in Maudie’s wake.
“Pee,” said Alice firmly. “Thank you, boys, for your help. You can go and —go and get on with whatever it is you were doing.”
Mavis blushed and quickly took the bag from Finn.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Alice asked when the boys had gone back into the house.
“Doesn’t what hurt?” Mavis was busy securing the bag to Maudie’s person.
“The bag. When it drags along like that.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But she never seems to mind.”
“‘Roll me over, lay me down, and do it again!’” warbled Maudie, tripping on the kerb and nearly taking her two helpers down with her. The wine glass rolled into the gutter and shattered.
“Mother! Be quiet.”
“That’s what the young man said.”
“I don’t blame him.”
Gabs was feeling relieved on two counts. Maudie had been found and no harm done, so she could stop feeling guilty about the extra glass or two of wine. And the attention had shifted from her own doings, which weren’t being very well received. But she was also disappointed. She had hoped to have a sympathetic hearing from Alice, if not from Mavis, and instead they had both turned prim and disapproving, despite the fact that they were in no position to cast aspersions on Gabs’ doings. At least Steph was entitled to the moral high ground since that was more or less where she belonged. Mavis and Alice most certainly were not.
The little party broke up quickly since Mavis wanted to get Maudie home and it was getting late. Mavis and Gabs phoned for taxis, and a date was set for the next meeting.
But if Gabs had anything to do with it, there wouldn’t be a next meeting. Not for her, anyway. If she wanted to be lectured, it was cheaper and easier to stay at home and listen to Steph. Sitting glumly in the back of her taxi, ignoring the rather obvious chat-up lines of the driver (who, although he didn’t know it, almost certainly couldn’t afford her), Gabs dreamed of Father Augustine and planned her next move.
To hell with Alice and Mavis. Gabs had a life to lead.
Part Three
Alice
Alice found the plant behind Finn’s bed. It was quite large, but severely pot-bound and badly in need of water. The wilting green leaves were instantly recognisable, and Alice sighed. This was all she needed.
She tackled Finn when he got home from school.
“About your plant,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
“What plant?” Finn was foraging in the fridge. “Is there any cheese?”
“How many plants have you got? The one behind your bed, of course.”
“Oh, that plant.”
“Yes. That plant.”
“Quite pretty, isn’t it?” Finn looked shifty.
“No, Finn, it’s not especially pretty. And since when have you been interested in plants?”
“Biology project?” said Finn, but without much hope.
“I doubt very much that you’d be asked to grow cannabis as a biology project.”
“Oh! Is that what it is?”
“Stop playing games with me, Finn. I haven’t got the energy.”
“Okay.” Finn put down the knife he was holding and folded his arms. “I’m looking after it for someone.”
“Kenny?”
“No, not Kenny.”
“Who, then?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You have to tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Finn, please. I need to know. Like it or not, you’re my responsibility. And that includes knowing who gave you that plant.”
“If I tell you, do you promise not to get cross?”
“It depends.”
“In that case —”
“Okay. I won’t get cross. But you must tell me, Finn.”
“Right, then. It’s Trot’s.”
“Trot’s?”
“Yeah. He’s gone away for a few days and didn’t like to leave it.”
“It’s not a pet! What can he be thinking of?”
Finn shrugged. “He might be away a bit longer. He wasn’t sure.”
“How dare he! How dare he do something like this, which he knows full well could get you into trouble!”
“You said you wouldn’t get cross,” said Finn, picking up his knife again.
“Maybe. But this really is the last st
raw!”
“Well, don’t blame me.” Finn began cutting slices from a lump of cheese. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“You could have said no.”
But Alice knew that this was unfair. Of course Finn couldn’t have said no. Apart from anything else, she imagined that in the world occupied by her son, being asked to look after your father’s cannabis plant would be considered incredibly cool. Refusal would hardly be an option.
“He’s just experimenting,” Finn said. “He’s only got the one. You can’t do much with one, can you?”
“I’ve no idea. But I do know that if it’s found on our premises, you’ll be in trouble.”
“Who’s going to find it?” asked Finn through a mouthful of sandwich.
“That’s not the point.”
“Well, what is the point?”
“The point is that you’ve got a stupid, irresponsible father, who ought to know better.”
And to think, Alice thought later on when she’d cooled down a bit, that she had, if only for a few seconds, considered marrying this man. She must have been out of her mind.
That evening, when Finn had gone out (and despite vigorous protest on his part, the plant had been consigned to the dustbin), Alice rang Trot on his mobile.
“Where are you?” she demanded.
“In Ireland. Why? What’s up?”
“What are you doing in Ireland?”
“Fishing. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”
“It is my concern if you decide to leave your — your pet plant with our son!”
“Oops.”
“Yes. Oops.”
“Oh, come on, Alice. There’s no need to overreact. It’s just a plant.”
“It is not just a plant! You are growing an illegal substance, and bringing Finn into it is just not on.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Trot had obviously been drinking. “Oh, Alice, you take life so seriously. Where’s your sense of humour?”
“I’m trying to bring up a teenager. Your son. On my own. I can’t always afford to have a sense of humour.”
The Frances Garrood Collection Page 37
