The Goodmans

by Clare Ashton

  There was silence. She could feel them all staring at her.

  “That’s why I pray Abby finds a normal life,” she murmured.

  At those words, Jude threw down her fork and stormed from the table.

  Abby shuffled beside her, but Maggie didn’t have the strength to look her in the eye.

  “I need the bathroom,” Abby said and Maggie didn’t try to stop her.

  The room fell quiet again.

  “Happy?” Maggie mouthed to Juliette.

  She raised an eyebrow. “It’s a start.”

  Well fine. There were one or two issues Maggie could raise. But before she could open her mouth Richard rose.

  “I think we could do with a break. Time for some coffees?”

  Maggie looked at him, and was silenced by the expression on his face. A terrible grief lay there for a moment which softened into fond sympathy. Had he realised who was here?

  Chapter 20.

  Jude stormed out the front door, down the steps and into the road and she was tempted to keep on going. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dull street lamp and collapsed onto the bottom step with a thump instead, the cold stone on her bottom no match for her fiery temper.

  What the hell was wrong with her mother? Maggie had never approved of lesbian relationships, but did she have to air her views so emphatically in front of Abby? That must have hurt and Jude needed to compose herself before comforting her friend. But right now, composure was evading her.

  And after Maggie had supported gay rights in her youth. Would she ever stop being contrary? And dear God, what did she have against Selene’s mother? Even for Maggie that was a special kind of animosity.

  Jude closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She held it in, counting the seconds, slower and slower, until she reached thirty and took the longest time to exhale.

  Well that didn’t fucking help. She was still livid. And all when Jude was contemplating dipping her toe into sweet Sapphic waters. She took hold of herself. Now, if she was being honest, was that why she’d flared up in such an incendiary way? Well it didn’t bloody help. She had the mental discipline to at least credit it but, Jesus Christ, Maggie should never have said that to Abby. Then Jude’s heart plunged.

  All those years of Abby without a girlfriend, disabled by her love for her best friend and shackled by the disapproval of her surrogate mother. What an unhealthy double act Jude and Maggie had been.

  Jude dropped her head into her hands. Perhaps Celia was right. The best thing they could do for Abby was let her go. Jude’s mind could entertain the thought, but her heart was heavy and unwilling.

  “Shit,” she whispered into her palms.

  She turned at the sound of the front door and leapt to her feet when Abby emerged. Her friend’s face was tense with repressed feeling. Abby’s eyes betrayed her though; hurt, even angry, so rare for her.

  “I’d better go home,” Abby said. “I don’t feel comfortable here tonight.”

  “Oh, Abby.” Jude squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing for you to apologise for.”

  But there was. Between Jude and her mother, there was much to regret.

  “Let me take you home.”

  Abby didn’t accept or refuse, her cheeks remaining knotted and tense, and they silently set off up the road, arm in arm.

  “You’re right.” Jude said, “Maggie’s the one who should be apologising for this evening. I doubt she ever will, but that was unpardonable.”

  “It was nothing I hadn’t heard before,” Abby said, and Jude could hear the injured undercurrents in her voice.

  “You mustn’t let Maggie stand in your way. Don’t let it affect you,” Jude begged, her own guilt amplifying her entreaty.

  “How can it not? She is as important to me as my own mother now. Of course her opinion affects me. And in her own way,” Abby peeped at Jude, “she’s right.”

  Jude didn’t know what to say.

  “You don’t know this, but she saw me attacked because I’m a lesbian.”

  “When?” Jude stopped and clasped Abby’s arm. “What happened?”

  “Do you remember a few years ago, I went on a couple of dates with a new teacher, Karen?”

  “Yes.” Jude did vaguely. A young blonde who’d started at the secondary school. A very pretty woman who turned heads in the street.

  “It put a few noses out of joint among the men in town,” Abby continued. “I was walking home from the square one evening, past the Benson Arms, when a group of blokes tumbled out of the pub. One started jeering at me, calling me lezzer. I recognised him. He’d chatted to Karen at the pub another evening. I tried to walk around them, but he barred my way and his two mates crowded behind me. Even though I’m not small, they could have done anything they wanted. They towered above me.”

  “Jesus. I had no idea.”

  Abby shrugged. “Rare in Ludbury, but that kind of behaviour’s everywhere.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I tried to avoid eye contact and not engage them. So he started pushing me, trying to get me to react. Then the pushing got rougher. People in the pub could see. I heard them shouting at the men to stop, but none of them did anything. He kept pushing harder, the other two pressing up behind me, and I knew it was going to get very nasty.

  “Then I heard an irate scream behind and pounding footsteps from up the street. I turned to see Maggie. She was raging down the road. I mean really raging. She was almost inhuman. The look in her eyes – I’ve never seen such animalistic fury. She’d come out of the hardware shop and grabbed a fire poker, and none of us doubted she’d use it. She held it high in the air and by the time it came crashing down in sparks on the pavement those blokes had scarpered.”

  Abby smiled with fearful delight at the memory, her hands trembling.

  “She took me under her arm and led me away. Her body was stiff and hot with anger. She kept saying ‘no-one does that to my Abby. No-one’. When I burst into tears, she assumed I was upset by the incident. And I was. I’d been in serious trouble. But it was her reaction that made my heart crumble.”

  Abby stared at Jude, the emotion brimming in her eyes.

  “After my mother died, I thought no-one would have that fierce maternal instinct towards me again. But Maggie showed it in spades. I will never forget it and I will never take it for granted.”

  Jude sighed, exasperated. She’d not known about the incident, but all of it rang true – Maggie’s fierce protection of Abby and her deep love.

  “Things are getting better though?” Jude said, hopefully. “You should never have had to face that but you can’t bury that side of you, surely?”

  Abby cradled Jude’s arm in hers as they walked on. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, “while I agree with Maggie it’s not always easy being gay, but I can’t change who I am.” She frowned at Jude. “I don’t doubt Eli is crazy about Selene, the same way it was ludicrously obvious he found hairy Steve irresistible. And I don’t doubt people are fluid depending on where they are in their life and who they meet. But this is me. I only like women.”

  They took a few steps before Abby could finish. “I know who I am,” she said. “So one day I will disappoint Maggie. And I dread that day.”

  They continued walking and Jude pulled Abby close. She could feel the turmoil inside her friend. They traversed the square, devoid of daytime market and empty excepting a few window shoppers. The small crooked alleyway which overhung with twisted medieval houses was silent, the window of the cheese shop dark except for the chilled counter light. Jude twitched her gaze away from the shop and felt Abby tense beneath her arm. She seemed to become roused again as they passed.

  “Please don’t tell me to ask Cheese Shop Lady out,” Abby said firmly.

  “Sorry?”

  “Don’t mock me about my reticence.”

  “Oh,” Jude replied, and she smiled. “No. I won’t.” She bumped Abby’s hip with her own. “I’ve decided she’s not your
type.”

  Indeed. Jude had vehemently changed her mind about the lady in that shop. Not Abby’s type. Not her type at all. In fact, the woman should stop staring at her friend every time she passed as if she were trying to undress her and concentrate on her whiffy produce thank you very much. Preferably move her smelly little shop to another town, far, far away. Maybe develop an unattractive rash too, just for good measure. And at this point Jude had to check herself. That was more than a smidgeon of jealousy rearing its head and she settled on, “No, definitely not your type.”

  They passed beneath the city wall gate and descended Abby’s street.

  “Good,” Abby said. “About time you realised that.” And she said it with such vigour it made Jude flinch.

  As they reached the cottage, Abby turned and faced Jude.

  “Because, no, she’s not my type.” Abby peered into Jude’s eyes, half in sorrow, half in defiance. “She’s perfectly nice and anyone would describe her as pretty. But it wouldn’t be fair to date her. I’m not interested, because I know what I love.”

  And Jude was silent under the intensity of Abby’s gaze.

  “I love the kind of woman who stands by her friends even when it’s difficult – a person who loves her family despite all its imperfection and crazy-making habits. I want intelligence and heart and a woman who is at ease with her body. There’s nothing more sexy for me than a woman who revels in her assets and doesn’t give a fuck about what people call her imperfections – in fact those are the sexiest bits about her, those differences.” And Abby’s eyes flashed with ardour. “Full lips and hips. Beautiful breasts. A body I could devour and lose myself in. I want to have unfettered hot sex for days and not surface until we ached from love-making.” She stared at Jude defiantly. “That’s my type. That’s my passion. And I would walk to the ends of the earth for a woman like that. So don’t tell me to date someone who would pale beside her. It wouldn’t help anyone.”

  Jude stared, dumbstruck by Abby’s fervour. Abby wasn’t talking nice glowing feelings by the piano here. Abby meant fiery desire. She meant clothes ripped from bodies and she’d said “unfettered hot sex”.

  “Oh,” Jude said, simultaneously aroused by Abby’s outburst and intimidated by what that actually meant with another woman.

  “Now, I need to get to sleep.” Abby said, drawing herself up. “I have an early start tomorrow and a fully booked surgery.”

  “OK,” Jude mumbled.

  “And I will see you in the evening for Eli and Selene’s engagement bash.”

  “Uhuh.”

  “So good night.” Abby leant forward, and pressed her soft lips to Jude’s cheek. Actually, hot swollen lips.

  “Good.” Jude gulped. “Night.”

  And Abby closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 21.

  As soon as Abby became conscious the next morning, she groaned. She rubbed her temples, screwed up her eyes and rolled squirming with embarrassment in her big white duvet.

  Her foot encountered something fluffy and warm. She gave the warm thing a stroke with her toes. The warm thing purred. Abby peeked over the mounds of duvet and saw two white triangles twitch and swivel towards her.

  “Morning, Maximillian.” She sighed and slumped back onto the bed. She sniffed a little but didn’t have the energy to turf him out. She was too consumed with humiliation to move.

  She’d been full of defiance last night and angry at Maggie. So much for keeping her inclinations towards Jude under control, and so much for being a supportive friend during Jude’s heartache. She’d almost combusted with passion the previous day, twice, then virtually declared her love for Jude with the explicit desire for unfettered hot sex.

  “Oh God,” Abby muttered into the pillow. “I hope she didn’t realise I was describing her.”

  All when Maggie had vividly reminded her of another reason to keep shtum. Everyday this was getting harder. Not helped by Eli in the slightest. She’d always wondered if he’d guessed at her fancy.

  “Mmmm.” She sighed, transported back to the Goodman’s living room and the sensation of Jude against her body as she’d played at the piano. Every cell from her head to her toes had thrummed with forbidden enjoyment. If Jude had been so inclined and seduced her right there on the piano bench, there wouldn’t have been a damned thing Abby could have done about it. She really needed to keep her distance today.

  No thigh-to-thigh and breast-to-breast piano playing. Absolutely no cuddling when Jude was naked except for a bathrobe. Mmm. Jude. Naked. Nothing but bathrobe.

  Crap. No making rules which inspired beautiful images that broke other rules, reference: no fantasising, especially accompanied by touching, and definitely no fantasising about Jude fantasising and touching.

  “Oh,” Abby moaned. She closed her eyes as a wave of heat inflamed her body. The list had brought to mind the image of Jude naked and in the last throes of self-induced ecstasy. Her long elegant fingers circled between her thighs and her head was thrown back with hair cascading as her body tensed with pleasure. Abby groaned again. If that wasn’t the most erotic sight imaginable Abby didn’t know what was.

  She sat up in bed, acutely aware of the slickness between her own thighs and the heat in her cheeks. Maximillian opened a glimmer of a green eye, a perfect amount to convey complete and utter disapproval.

  “Don’t start,” Abby said. “You’re not even meant to be here to witness that.”

  He turned his head and curled into a sphere. He may as well have hung a sign with “Do not disturb”.

  “Come on,” Abby said to herself. “Snap out of this.”

  At least appointments would distract her today, and she leapt out of bed, determined to concentrate on whatever in-growing toenail or other oddity she was presented with. Sometimes, as any vestige of passion drained away at the thought of such ailments, her job came in useful. She marched to the bathroom, almost looking forward to being presented with a case of bacterial vaginosis.

  The day passed in a blur of mercifully minor afflictions, finishing with an out-of-hours double appointment with Mrs Malady. She accompanied the old woman from the surgery and tottered up the street at an agonising crawl over the cobbled pavements. Ludbury and its hills of pastel cottages was beautiful but a bugger in terms of accessibility.

  Abby offered an arm and Mrs Malady gratefully accepted, her bony fingers entwined around Abby’s healthy bicep.

  “I’m so embarrassed you know,” the old lady said.

  “Don’t be,” Abby replied, her voice gentle. “You’re not the first I’ve referred to the food bank and you won’t be the last.”

  “It don’t make sense to me. I’ve worked all my life. How come I can’t afford to feed myself?”

  Mrs Malady was breathing hard and couldn’t finish her thoughts. They pressed on, the older woman limping with her worn knee and wheezing with COPD from a lifetime of bleach fumes and cleaning the facilities of Ludbury. She peeped up apologetically from time to time and Abby made sure she received a kind and patient smile in return.

  “Phew.” Mrs Malady exhaled when they reached the top of the hill, their destination of the small supermarket and bus stop ahead. Her expression suddenly brightened. “Look. There’s Mrs Goodman. Another good soul like you Dr Hart.”

  Abby flinched and struggled to lift her gaze. Any other day Abby would have been heartened by the compliment. Maggie had stepped out of the supermarket, two bags for life in her hands, warm recognition on her face for Mrs Malady conflicting with sorrowful alarm at Abby. She seemed to bury whatever she was feeling and came to greet them.

  “Mrs Malady, how are you?” she said with what Abby recognised as her genuine smile. Maggie dropped her bags and squeezed the old lady, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Not bad,” Mrs Malady replied. “Well, better because of the likes of Dr Hart here.”

  “Indeed.” Maggie turned her smile to Abby, and although it faltered with anxiety at the edges it still retained its authenticity.
/>   “Hello, Maggie,” Abby said and the awkwardness eased a little.

  “Although it is humiliating you know,” Mrs Malady continued. “Dr Hart has referred me to the food bank. Can’t afford anything except the rent these days.”

  Maggie crossed her arms and gave her a stern but supportive look. “You should feel no such thing, Doris. The people in government should be ashamed, not you.” She put her arm around the tiny woman. “I’ve known you for more than a quarter of a century and seen you raise a family and take care of your parents. You shouldn’t have to face this kind of difficulty.”

  As the two women chatted side by side, it was difficult not to notice the stark contrast between them. Maggie lacked Jude or Abby’s stature but she towered above Mrs Malady. Her arm was strong around the frail woman’s shoulders and her movements and convictions had the vitality of a well-nourished middle age. Abby realised, with shock, there were only two years separating the women. Anyone would have guessed twenty or more. Maggie was still beautiful and vital. She didn’t hide any of her fifty-odd years but none had diminished her, whereas Doris Malady seemed crushed by hers and Abby treated her as if she were in the latter years of her life.

  “And your son? Is he well?” Maggie asked Mrs Malady.

  “Getting by, he is. He’s a good lad. Still calls on his old mum even though he’s got kids of his own. Nothing like family is there.”

  Maggie pursed her lips at this and peeked at Abby. “You’re right Doris. Family is so important.”

  “Anyway. I won’t keep you two lovely ladies,” Mrs Malady said. “Thanks again, Dr Hart,” she said with a wave to Abby. “Please say hello to Jude and young Eli.”

  “Will do,” Maggie replied, and they watched Mrs Malady limp to the bus stop.

  Maggie tutted. “Surely she’s eligible for more support.”