“You didn’t think to ask me what I wanted to do?” He had no answer to the coolness in her voice. “You’ve been planning this move for months and you never bothered to talk to me about it?”
“I couldn’t risk you not coming.”
“That’s it is it? I’ve got no say in it? My life, my career, what I want to do means nothing? Everything I want is second to your career and what you want to do?” She was still speaking calmly. Geoff could find nothing to say. He had expected an argument, not this coldness.
She stood up and walked back to the table, her typewriter and the article that seemed even more important than ever. Nothing more was said as Geoff read the evening paper against the soundtrack of the clattering keys. After a while he made two mugs of tea, placing one carefully on the table next to Anya.
“Thanks.” Anya was hardly encouraging.
“Look Anya, I never meant things to go so long without talking to you.”
She looked up and stared at him over the top of her glasses, saying nothing.
“I know I should have talked it all over with you but the chance of the interview came up when we were down for the wedding, then the right moment never came. The further in I got and the more I had to talk to you the harder it became.” He knew he sounded very weak.
“I thought we were being honest with each other now.” He would rather have had her anger than this sadness.
“I’m sorry. Really. I’m sorry.”
“But you won’t turn the offer down will you? You may be sorry you didn’t tell me but it’s what you want to do isn’t it?”
“But not without you.”
“Is that why you married me?”
He couldn’t say ‘yes’ but he pursed his lips together and shrugged.
“You didn’t think I’d go with you unless I had to?”
Again he shrugged.
“When are you supposed to start?”
“Not until the new year. The first week in January.”
“So that gives us six weeks…”
“Seven weeks today.”
“OK seven weeks to find a house and move. At least we don’t have to bother about a mortgage.” He tried to ignore the bitterness in her voice.
“It’s OK then?”
“No it’s not OK, but I suppose I’ll have to make the best of it.” He had won but he couldn’t help thinking it was a Pyrrhic victory.
Margaret had never had high expectations of her marriage to Tim but a week into her honeymoon she had begun to think that Anya had been right and she should have tried harder to find another way.
She had been 13 when her mother had told her that she would inherit nothing of her father’s estate that she would have to marry to retain her standard of living and social status after her brother’s 21st birthday. She had grown up knowing that her mother and Esme expected that she and Tim would make a match of it. Those were the words Tim had used when he had suggested they might as well do as their mothers expected. She had never loved Tim but she had been in love with the idea of the wedding day itself, of the status of being married, of the freedom of setting up her own home.
She sat by the pool in their honeymoon hotel and looked down at the simple gold ring on her finger. She calculated quite cold-bloodedly, as she watched him flirt with a middle aged woman in a bikini that was too young for her, that she would have a baby as soon as possible. She knew he wanted to put off starting a family for as long as possible but once she had a child he could not leave her. She would let him do what he liked and she would not make a fuss as long as he was discreet and caused her no embarrassment. As long as she had her home and a baby he could do what he liked and she would be content.
Happiness, Margaret thought as she watched Tim walk into the hotel with his conquest, his arm draped casually over the older woman’s shoulder, his hand too close to her breast, was an impossible ambition and probably much over-rated.
On their return from honeymoon to the house that Kathleen had chosen, a large 1930s detached house in a desirable cul-de-sac on the edge of the town, they soon settled into a routine. Weekdays were always the same. After breakfast, when she had kissed her husband on the cheek and waved him off on his short walk to the station, Margaret would clean and tidy, dust and polish, vacuum and sweep. She seemed determined it would be the best kept house in the crescent even though very few people saw inside. Every day she changed something about the house, moving a piece of furniture, re-hanging a picture, re-arranging an ornament to make the house feel more hers. At lunchtime she would read through magazines, newspapers and cook-books to decide on what to cook for Tim that evening. In the afternoon she would walk to the shops, sometimes treating herself to tea and cakes before heading home. Dinner was always ready for Tim’s return from the city punctually at seven-thirty. Through that autumn of 1972 he was rarely late home and he always ate his dinner with suitable appreciation before kissing her briefly on the cheek and escaping to the rugby club. Tim spent his weekends playing golf or rugby and spending time in the bars afterwards. Every Sunday they would have lunch with Kathleen. It was never an easy afternoon as Tim rarely hid the fact that he wanted to be somewhere else.
Leaving Kathleen’s one Sunday in late November conversation between them was as strained as usual.
“How was the golf?”
“OK. I won 3 and 2 but I didn’t play particularly well, not as well as I’d expect.”
“Was there anyone there I’d know?”
“Not really.”
“Christmas is only a month away and Mummy’s worried what to do about, you know, Geoff.”
“Simple. Anya and Geoff are married, she’s part of the family, she comes to Christmas.”
“Not simple. Mother hates the very idea of Anya. She’s going to tell Geoff to come alone.”
“You are joking! She can’t be that stupid!”
“She isn’t stupid. She just doesn’t want her in her house at Christmas. It’s our first Christmas together and she wants it to be special for us.”
“Why would having Anya around make it not special for us?”
“Perhaps she thinks you still fancy Anya.”
“I never fancied Anya. I just fucked her.”
Perhaps it was Tim’s insensitivity, perhaps it was that she felt tired and drained with the strain of her secret. She hadn’t meant to tell him here, in the car, she had meant to break the news to him gently.
“You fucked me too and I’m pregnant.”
She spoke quietly and Tim wasn’t sure he’d heard her right, she never used bad language.
“You’re what?”
“Pregnant, having a baby.” She repeated, explaining unnecessarily.
The bus stop was convenient as Tim slammed on the brakes and the car swerved sharply to the left. As it came to a halt he turned and stared at her.
“I know we said we’d leave it a year or so. I know we agreed.”
“Yes. We did agree didn’t we? We agreed we’d leave it until my career is established. We agreed Margaret, you agreed with me. We would wait.”
They both stared out of the window, the view quickly being obliterated by the rain that was falling heavily.
“How long have you known?” He asked the question as dispassionately as he could.
“A few days.”
“And you told your mother already?”
“No! Of course I haven’t! I wouldn’t! I had to tell you first!”
“So this has got something to do with me after all.” Tim said angrily thinking his mood was as dark as the world outside the car as dusk descended and the rain fell more and more heavily. “Don’t you think you could have mentioned your plan just a little bit earlier?”
He rested his arms on the steering wheel and put his hands up to his forehead. He had married Margaret because she would make an excellent partner’s wife or lady to the captain of the golf club and that had been his mistake. In the months of their marriage he had longed for someone like Anya, someone exciti
ng, unconventional and attractive. He knew it wasn’t just ‘someone like Anya’ he wanted so desperately, it was Anya herself and on the day he heard she had married Geoff he decided he had to leave Margaret and he had to do that before they had children. He wouldn’t be able to leave a child, as his father had left him. Margaret had agreed to wait and he had thought he had a year or more. But she was pregnant now. She had trapped him. And he didn’t know what to do.
Margaret was crying, sobbing, getting into a state and he hated seeing her like that. She was so different when she cried, so unattractive. So like her mother.
“Calm down Moppet.” He used the endearment deliberately. “We’ll be OK. I’ll get used to it. It’s just a bit of a shock.”
They sat facing each other in the gloom of the car. Tim switched on the ignition and the lights, preparing to drive home, realising that nothing would ever be the same again.
They had only been in the house a few minutes, just time to close the curtains and switch on the lights, when the phone rang. Margaret answered it, it gave her something else to do other than face Tim.
“Hello Margaret? It’s Geoff. Have you thought about Christmas?”
Geoff was preoccupied as he drove south on the day before Christmas Eve. The hired van was filled with their belongings and Anya followed in their car. They had done this journey several times in the preceding weeks and this was to be the last time.
Once she realised that the move was inevitable Anya had travelled south with Geoff to do the rounds of the estate agents and had been partially won over by the fourth house they had seen. It was unprepossessing, built over a hundred years before but it was in the country, surrounded only by fields and its rooms were large and with high ceilings. She wondered, as she walked round it with the sycophantic estate agent, what her mother would have thought. The best thing about the house as far as Geoff was concerned was that it was empty and if they wanted to, they could move in before Christmas.
It was dark when the convoy of two pulled up outside their new home. Geoff jumped down from the van but Anya stayed in the car, as if reluctant to begin her new life, until he opened her door.
“Tired?”
She nodded and slowly swung her legs onto the tarmacked drive and allowed Geoff to put his arms around her.
“Here we are then.” He spoke gently.
“Yes. Here we are.” Geoff was sure she had been crying.
“Look Anya, it’s too late to do much now and we’re both pretty tired. Shall we just get some stuff inside and then go to The Oak for a meal? Maybe get a room if they’ve got one?”
“I know you Geoff Philips, you’ve already booked the table and the room.” She sounded resigned at the prospect.
“Of course I have. Hang on a minute, we’ve got to do this properly.” He stopped Anya as she was opening the front door and lifted her up and over the threshold. He was worried when she didn’t laugh, she just let herself be picked up and put down on the shiny parquet floor of the large hall. “Welcome to your new home Mrs Philips.”
Still she didn’t smile.
“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.” He said as she turned and walked towards the lounge, already furnished with the three piece suite and tables they had ordered on their last trip south.
“We’ll have to move some of this furniture, they haven’t put it in very good positions.”
“Do you want a bath first? Or shall we change at The Oak?”
“I’m not sure this dining table was the right choice.” Anya spoke in a detached tone, “I thought the black ash would be nice but it doesn’t really go with the house.”
“I’m sure they’ll take it back and you can choose something you like better. Now what do you want to do?”
Anya was already half way up the stairs. “This carpet is right though, it’s just the right colour, not too light and not too dark.” Geoff followed her.
“This is a nice room isn’t it?” He spoke, giving up on finding out what she wanted to do for the evening.
She didn’t answer him, she just went to the window, looked out over the garden, and closed the curtains.
He followed her as she went from room to room, finally sitting down on the bed next to her. He resisted his impulse to put his arms round her, push her down on the bed and make love to her, instead he put his hands on hers. “We will be happy here.”
She let his hands stay where they were but looked up at him. “I hope so Geoff but I wonder if I can ever be happy anywhere.”
An hour later they had checked into their room at The Oak and it seemed to Geoff that Anya was a little more relaxed. Perhaps she had only been tired, the last few weeks had been very stressful. There had been all the journeys south to find the house and even packing up the flat had been difficult, he had had so much more than Anya. Neither had said anything but they were both aware that what little Anya had was all that Anya had.
“I think Margaret and Tim are meeting us downstairs.” He had said as Anya lay in the bath full of bubbles, her long hair pinned loosely on top of her head.
“You don’t think Geoff, you know, because you organised it.”
“I thought it might be best, you know to break the ice before tomorrow.”
“Is it going to be so difficult?”
“Well Mother will be on her worst behaviour, moaning at everything being ‘different’ and she’ll complain at everyone else’s manners without realising how bad hers are.”
“When will you tell them you’re moving back?”
“When conversation flags I suppose, when Mother is being particularly awful.”
“Will Margaret cope?”
“She’ll be fine. Apparently she’s become quite a good cook since she got married. I’ve always meant to ask you.” He asked trying to be nonchalant. “Who gave you this?”
“What’s this? I can’t see.”
“This ring.”
She had left her sapphire ring on the dressing table so many times before. She wondered why he was asking about it now.
“I told you ages ago. My mother left it to me.”
“But where do you think she got it. I mean it’s really nice, really valuable.”
“Don’t be such a shit Geoff. Just because we were poor doesn’t mean she couldn’t have had something really beautiful.”
“Why? Who could have given her something so, so…”
“Expensive?”
“Well it’s obviously very valuable, it should be insured.”
“You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“Where did it come from?”
“I’ve told you. It was my mother’s. Her brother gave it to her.”
“OK don’t answer if you don’t want to.”
“Why won’t you believe me? I suppose you want to know whose photo is in my locket as well?”
“Well? Whose?”
“No one’s, it’s empty.”
“Not even me?”
“No. Not even you. You haven’t earned it yet.”
They finished dressing in uncomfortable silence and a few minutes later they walked down the stairs into the bar together to find Tim sitting alone at a table.
“No Margaret?” Geoff asked without any preliminary greeting.
“She makes her excuses, says she’ll see you tomorrow but she’s still got loads of stuff to do. She’s making so many lists. I keep telling her it’s only a meal but she gives me one of her stares and says if I really believe that then I must be completely stupid.”
Anya leant down and kissed Tim lightly on the cheek. “What relation are we now Tim?”
“Brother and sister-in-law?”
“Probably not.” Geoff had an idea where the conversation was going. He had braced himself for it and thought he was prepared as he watched Anya and Tim dance around each other.
“Would that be incest?”
“Probably not.”
Geoff had decided days before that the best way to appear not to mind was to arr
ange the liaison. Letting Anya and Tim spend time together, encouraging them to get any unresolved sexual tension out of the way before Christmas, had seemed like a good idea but it didn’t make it any easier as he watched them disappear up the stairs together. He sat alone in the strangely empty lounge, regretting the argument about the ring. He had no real reason not to believe her, he had just been uptight about what he knew was now going on in the room two floors above. It was over an hour before they joined him.
“What would have happened if Margaret had come with me?” Geoff thought Tim seemed very relaxed when he had just spent an hour screwing his wife.
“We’d have had a happy evening’s drinking and catching up.”
“Well I’m glad she didn’t, that was one of the best Christmas presents I’ve ever had.”
“How are things with Margaret?” Anya asked the question that no man would ever ask. No answer was necessary as Tim’s face explained everything.
“She’s fine. We’re fine.” He finally acknowledged the question.
“No you’re not.” Anya persevered.
“We’ve only been married five months. Of course we’re fine.” Tim was still unconvincing. “Margaret’s fine. She hasn’t said she isn’t.”
“I should think Mum’s making your life an absolute misery.” Geoff was beginning to agree with Anya.
“Well yes.”
“Is she sticking her oar in where it’s not wanted?”
“Of course she is.” Anya felt no need to be polite. “I bet she’s over every week, tweaking the cushions and criticising everything.”
“We go over to her for Sunday lunch every week but she still finds excuses to come over.”
“Tim. Why do you let her? You’re a big boy now, just say no.”
“There is no way, absolutely no way, of stopping her. I keep out of the way as much as I can. Golf you know, rugby, then there’ll be cricket next spring, at least that lasts all day. Sometimes I manage to miss her visits entirely.”
“Leaving Margaret to put up with her mother, that’s hardly fair is it? I mean shouldn’t you be sharing the burden that is our mother-in-law?”
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