The Frances Garrood Collection

by Frances Garrood

“I didn’t ask you to do it, and I certainly never wanted you to. I like you the way you are. The way you were, I mean. I liked the old Mavis.”

  “Well, I like the new Mavis, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it.”

  Hitherto, Mavis had always given in to Clifford where her appearance was concerned. It had been Clifford who had always said that he liked her the way she was, and so for his sake (and because she herself wasn’t particularly bothered), she had never tried anything new. But she had had no idea that he would take such a violent dislike to what was, after all, just a bit of make-up. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that perhaps it was time she started pleasing herself.

  And the old, chivalrous Clifford — what had happened to him? There had been a time when Clifford wouldn’t have dreamt of speaking to her like this, but nowadays, he was becoming increasingly critical, and on one or two occasions, like today, he had been bordering on downright rude.

  “It’s those new friends of yours,” Clifford continued. “I knew they were a bad influence.”

  In fact, Clifford knew very little about Gabs and Alice, but had always seemed oddly jealous of them. Mavis had long known that in the compartment of his life that he kept for her, there was no room for competition, and since she had few friends and was largely tied to Maudie, there had never been anything for him to worry about. But Alice and Gabs were new territory, for Clifford as well as for Mavis, and she knew he didn’t like it.

  “Are we going to stand arguing on the doorstep all afternoon?” Mavis asked, thinking longingly of Dennis’s. Clifford’s unpleasantness would have merited a sulk, but there wasn’t time. He was going into the hospital next week. If they didn’t make the most of this afternoon, she knew she would regret it.

  “Well…”

  “I’m wearing some…” She whispered something in his ear.

  “Really?” Clifford looked pleased.

  “Yes. Really.”

  “Just for me?”

  “Of course just for you. Now, come on, let’s make the most of this afternoon.”

  But the afternoon was not a success. For a start, Dennis had apparently paid one of his rare visits to the flat, and the bed, which they always left with clean sheets, had obviously been put to use for Dennis’s own amorous couplings. Someone had drunk the bottle of champagne they’d left in the fridge, and Mavis’s special device, which she’d inadvertently left behind last time, had been moved, its open box lying accusingly on the bedside table.

  “Oh!” Mavis was quite overcome. “How awful!” She felt that she would never be able to look Dennis in the face again (she overlooked the fact that she’d only met him once and was unlikely to meet him again).

  “Dennis is a man of the world,” said Clifford, who had regained some of his good humour on the journey while he regaled Mavis with accounts of all the things that could go wrong after a bypass operation.

  “I don’t care what he is. That’s not the point!”

  “It is his flat.”

  “That’s not the point, either.”

  “We’ll book a hotel room, shall we?” Clifford said.

  Mavis glanced at her watch. The nearest hotel, she knew, was some distance away, and she mustn’t be late home.

  “The car, then?” Clifford said, seeing her expression.

  Mavis knew that this was generous of Clifford (perhaps he was trying to make amends?). They rarely made love in Clifford’s car, and it had always been the venue of last resort. While it was a large car and the seats reclined, Clifford too was large, his build unathletic, and the exercise had rarely been worth the considerable discomfort it engendered.

  And then there was the problem of finding a suitable parking place. Years ago, when they had been younger and more reckless, they had been discovered in a leafy lane by two young policemen, and Mavis had never quite recovered from the embarrassment of having to explain what she was doing (hadn’t it been obvious?) while trapped between Clifford and the steering wheel with her knickers round her ankles. (Clifford, half-suffocated by Mavis when she reached across to wind down the window, had been unable to speak at all.)

  “I know,” she said now. “We’ll go to my house.”

  “But what about your mother?”

  “Mother will be fast asleep. It was her morning at the day centre, and it always tires her out. I think it’s worth the risk.”

  But we all know what happens to the best-laid plans, and this one was no exception. Mavis and Clifford had barely settled themselves on Mavis’s bed and Clifford had just finished unwrapping Mavis and was preparing to get stuck in, so to speak, when Maudie came into the room.

  “Oh, there you are, Mavis,” she said. “Shall we have a cup of tea?”

  “Mother! Get out at once! This is my bedroom!” Mavis shot up in bed and pulled the covers round her.

  “Who’s that man?” Maudie asked, apparently unfazed by what she saw. “Would he like a cup of tea?”

  “Mother, go away!” Mavis shouted.

  “You’ll catch your death like that,” Maudie remarked, standing in the doorway. “So will your friend.”

  Mavis’s friend, who appeared to have run out of patience, had disappeared under the bedclothes and was trying to struggle into his trousers.

  “A fine to-do this is, Mavis.” Clifford’s voice was muffled by the duvet, but his anger was beyond doubt. “And me with my bad heart. You said she’d be asleep!”

  “Well, as you see, she’s not.” Mavis too was angry — angry with herself, angry with Clifford, but most of all, angry with Maudie. Would she ever be able to call her life, never mind her home, her own? “Mother! Go away now!”

  How long this situation would have lasted is anyone’s guess, but it was at this point that Pussolini decided to join in the proceedings. Glimpsing Maudie’s plastic bag trailing along the floor behind her, he went in for the kill, puncturing it with his claws. There followed an unseemly scramble, in the course of which Clifford made his escape, gathering up the rest of his clothes as he went; the cat, terrified by all the noise, fled through the open bedroom window, shattering one of Mavis’s favourite ornaments; and Mavis, naked and disappointed, was left to deal with the mess.

  “Oh, Mavis. You’re crying. What’s the matter?” said Maudie, bewildered by all the fuss.

  “Everything,” wept Mavis, scrubbing at the carpet with an old towel (the plastic bag had been half full). “Everything’s the matter. And it’s all my fault.”

  “Of course it’s not, dear,” said Maudie, stroking and patting Mavis’s shoulder. “It was the fucking cat.”

  “The what?”

  “The fucking cat, dear.”

  “Mother!”

  “It’s all right, dear. Everybody uses that word nowadays. I heard them on the telly.”

  “I think,” said Mavis, sitting back on her heels, “that perhaps it really is time you went to confession.”

  The Fourth Meeting: August

  It happened that the date that had been fixed for the next meeting was the day after Clifford’s operation. Alice wondered whether Mavis would be feeling up to it, and said so on the phone to Gabs.

  “Poor Mavis. She’s bound to be worried. Do you think we ought to leave it for a few days?”

  “Oh no. Let’s take her out and give her a good time,” said Gabs. “It’ll take her mind off things.”

  “Do you think?” Alice wasn’t sure.

  “Yes. Trust me, Alice. What Mavis needs is a bit of fun.”

  “What kind of fun exactly?”

  “How about a surprise?”

  “I’m not sure.” Mavis had never seemed to Alice to be the kind of person to enjoy surprises, particularly if the surprises were organised by someone like Gabs.

  “Okay. No surprise, then. But we could take her into town for a meal, and then do a bit of shopping,” Gabs said.

  “Won’t the shops be shut?”

  “They stay open late on Fridays.”

  “But she mightn’t want
to do any shopping!”

  “Alice, I’m disappointed in you. Of course she’ll want to go shopping. Everyone loves shopping.”

  Alice herself was not particularly fond of shopping. She had neither the time nor the spare cash to do the kind of recreational shopping people seemed to indulge in these days. She shopped for necessities. She suspected that Mavis might well feel the same way.

  “And then there’s her mother,” Alice said. “We can’t really take her.”

  “True.” Gabs considered for a moment. “I know. How about your Finn? Couldn’t he sit with her? He seems a capable sort of guy, and it wouldn’t involve much — just keeping an eye on Maudie and staying clear of that awful animal. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Alice tried to picture Finn supervising Maudie, plus plastic bag and feral cat. “I suppose it might work.”

  “Of course it’ll work! I’ll put it to him if you like.”

  “No, I’ll do it.” The less contact Finn had with Gabs, the better. “And then I’ll phone Mavis, shall I?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  When Alice phoned with their plan, Mavis sounded doubtful. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It rather depends on how the operation’s gone.”

  “But you won’t know, will you?”

  “I was trying to think of a way of finding out, but you’re probably right.”

  “So it might be better to spend an evening with us rather than at home worrying. After all, there’s nothing you can do, is there? And at least you can talk to us.”

  “Are you sure your son can manage?”

  “He’ll be fine.” In fact, Alice wasn’t at all sure, but provided the cat was locked out and Maudie was locked in, there wasn’t much that could go wrong — nothing of a life-threatening nature, anyway. “We’ll call for you at six, shall we?”

  On the appointed evening, Alice and Finn arrived promptly at Mavis’s house.

  “This is so kind of you, Finn,” Mavis said.

  “S’all right.” Finn had not been pleased with the arrangement and was in a thoroughly bad mood.

  “Now, Mother should be all right. Just let her watch the television, but make sure she doesn’t wander.”

  “Okay.”

  “And the cat. I’ve put him out. Make sure he stays outside.”

  “I quite like cats,” Finn said.

  “You won’t like this one. He — he catches people.”

  “Catches people?”

  “He pounces. And he scratches and bites. If he miaows to be let in, take no notice.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and don’t let Mother drink. She’ll probably ask for a glass of wine, but it’s not a good idea.”

  Finn looked disappointed.

  “I’ve put some cans of beer in the fridge. Do help yourself. But Mother had better stick to tea. I’ll show you where everything is.”

  The three women met up in a burger bar. This had been Mavis’s idea; she’d never been to one before and said she’d like to try it. Alice had always disliked this kind of establishment — the food (damp little buns stuffed with grease and calories); the industrial-size cartons of cola; the spoilt, noisy children (Finn, in his time, had been as spoilt and noisy as any of them); and the mountains of cardboard and paper that accumulated as the meal progressed. But the idea of introducing Mavis to this palace of childhood pleasure was a novel one, and so she went along with it.

  “Right. What’s the plan?” Alice asked, mesmerised by Gabs, who was consuming a towering mountain of food with apparent ease.

  “Up to Mavis,” said Gabs through a mouthful of chips. “It’s her shout.”

  “Mavis, what would you like to do next?”

  Mavis was toying with the lone and tiny fragment of salad that had emerged from her burger, and looked anxious and unhappy.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t really think of anything at the moment. Except Clifford.”

  “Of course you can’t,” said Gabs. “We need to phone the hospital.”

  “But you can’t do that,” said Mavis. “You’re not allowed to unless you’re —”

  “Next of kin?” Gabs grinned. “I know. I’ve had a next-of-kin-experience recently. But I have a plan. Do you know the number of the hospital?”

  Mavis produced a piece of paper from her bag and handed it to Gabs. “I don’t think you ought to,” she said. “Really. It’s not allowed.”

  Gabs looked at her pityingly. “Do you want to know how your Clifford is?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, then, leave it to me.”

  “But it’s so noisy in here!”

  “Never mind that. Hospitals are used to noise. What’s his surname, by the way?”

  “Watts.”

  After an inordinately long wait, in the course of which Gabs seemed to have had a virtual tour of the hospital, she apparently found someone to talk to.

  “Hallo? Oh, I wonder whether you can help me. My name is Charlene Watts, and I’m phoning from Australia. I believe you have my brother — Clifford Watts — with you, and I was wondering how he’s doing.” There was a pause. “Yes, I know I should ring his wife, but she’s not at home at the moment. And as you must understand, I’m awfully anxious about him. We’re not on the phone here in the outback, and I’ve had to walk miles in the dark to a phone box. Yes. Yes, thank you. I’ll hang on a minute.” Gabs grinned at the others, giving them a thumbs up. “Hallo? Is he? Oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you so much. No, I won’t phone again. I just wanted to make sure he was all right. And do excuse the noise. The wombats are mating. Goodbye.”

  “It’s not night-time in Australia,” said Alice, impressed not only at the string of lies, but also at the distinct Australian twang Gabs had conjured up for the occasion. “And I believe most Australians have telephones.”

  “Never mind that. I had to think of something.” Gabs turned to Mavis. “He’s comfortable, apparently. The op went well, and his progress is ‘satisfactory’. He’ll be transferred to a ward tomorrow.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you!” And Mavis burst into tears. “I didn’t think I was that worried about him,” she said as the other two escorted her out into the shopping mall. “I kept telling myself he’d be fine, and that anyway, there was nothing I could do, but that only made it worse.” She wiped her eyes. “But he’ll be awfully cross.”

  “Awfully cross with who?”

  “With me. He’ll guess that it was me, won’t he?”

  “But it wasn’t!” Gabs said. “That’s the whole point. You can say with your hand on your heart that you never phoned the hospital.”

  “And Clifford does have a sister,” said Mavis. “I think she lives in Barking.”

  “There you are then. Barking, Australia — does it really matter? He’ll be pleased that she phoned.”

  “But Charlene…”

  “Sorry. It was all I could think of. I always fancied being a Charlene.”

  “And what exactly is a wombat?” Alice asked.

  “I’ve no idea. Now —” Gabs took each of the others by an arm — “what we need is a spot of retail therapy. How about it, Mavis?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure…”

  “Alice?”

  “Why not?” said Alice, who could see the mood of the evening rapidly degenerating unless someone rescued it. “I for one need some new jeans.”

  “Jeans!” Gabs clapped her hands. “Mavis, have you ever worn jeans?”

  “Goodness, no.”

  “High time you did, then. And you’ve got the right figure.”

  “Have I?”

  “Sure.” Gabs hesitated for a moment. “I know. We’ll all buy new jeans. I could do with some as well.”

  “But —” Mavis looked appalled.

  “No buts. Just try some on, and you’ll see.”

  “But Clifford… whatever will he say?”

  “Never mind Clifford. Just for this evening, you’re going to please yourself.”

  Th
e jeans project turned out to be surprisingly successful. After several false starts, Mavis, reluctant and fearful and still fretting about what Clifford would say (by this stage, Gabs felt that if she ever had the misfortune to meet Clifford, she might well be tempted to strangle him, heart condition notwithstanding), had been persuaded into a traditional but unassuming dark denim pair, and had had to admit that they were very comfortable and she could wear them for “messing around”. Gabs couldn’t imagine Mavis messing around in anything, but getting her into the jeans at all had been a triumph, so she didn’t enquire further. She and Alice had both found what they wanted, and when they emerged from the gloomy and very noisy cavern where they had made their purchases, Gabs suggested that what they all needed was ice cream.

  “My mum always took me for ice cream after we’d been shopping for shoes,” Gabs said. “She said buying shoes was so boring that we needed a reward. I always wanted bright red shoes, or patent ones, but I wasn’t allowed them because of school.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly made up for it now,” Alice remarked as Gabs teetered along on her impossibly high heels.

  “Haven’t I just? Now, about this ice cream.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I could, after all that food,” Mavis said.

  “Then you can have a coffee. Come along, girls.”

  Over their ice creams (even Mavis succumbed to a small vanilla), Gabs told them about her abortive attempt to be Father Augustine’s next of kin.

  “Well, you managed pretty well tonight,” Alice said. “Couldn’t you have used similar tactics?”

  “Didn’t work,” Gabs said. “They weren’t having any of it. Anyway, he’s much better now, apparently, and out of the hospital. Someone told Steph at church. It was a burst appendix. Poor love,” she said dreamily, toying with a spoonful of crushed nuts. “I hate the idea of him going through all that on his own.”

  “But I’m sure he won’t have been on his own,” Alice said. “He must have family, and friends. And Father Whatsit.”

  “Father Pat? He’s not the kind of person you need when you’re ill,” Gabs said. “He’s always put me in mind of the Grim Reaper.”