Rosie Meadows Regrets...

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘That’s Ivo!’ I got up with a jump, knocking my chair back.

  I fled from that room and up the stairs two at a time, along the corridor, glad to get away, my heart pounding. Ivo was standing up in his cot, bright eyed and grinning from ear to ear. I picked him up and instantly smelled a filthy nappy. Damn. I’d have to go back down to the cottage to get some more. I hesitated with him in my arms. Should I put him back in the cot to scream while I was gone – I could hardly hand a smelly baby to Joss – or, yes, why didn’t we both go back together? He was wide awake now and it would be an excuse to get out of the house, otherwise what would I do? Bring the nappy back, change him, go back downstairs and sit opposite Joss again? Or just sneak back to the cottage like an informer who’s done her work? Done her damnedest? My yellow streak won. Yep. Sneak back. I wrapped a blanket round Ivo and went downstairs. Joss was still at the table. With one sentence, it seemed, I’d immobilized him. Turned him to stone.

  ‘Um, look, I didn’t bring any nappies, so I’m going to take him back to the cottage.’

  He didn’t look up. I moved towards the door. Put my hand up to the latch.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped suddenly. ‘Just go and get the lousy diaper, you don’t have to go back yet.’

  Oh, but I do, I thought, lifting the latch. ‘I may as well,’ I muttered. ‘He’s wide awake anyway now so …’ I bit my lip. Turned. ‘Look, I’m so sorry, Joss. I honestly didn’t mean to …’

  I stopped, almost overwhelmed by the depth of feeling on his face. It was taut, pale, and a muscle was going in his cheek. I had a sudden, ghastly realization that he was struggling with tears. I felt a huge lump of horror in my own throat and without another thought hastened out, shutting the door behind me. I stood for a moment in the darkness, shaken, then ran to the car. I slipped Ivo into his seat and jumped in. Down to the cottage we sped, my heart hammering. Once inside I hurried him up to his room, changed him, and popped him smartly down to sleep under a pile of blankets, for once deaf to the outraged cries that followed. I went to my own room, undressed and got into bed, pulling the duvet up over my head. I brought my knees up to my chin and hugged them hard, shivering as I lay there curled up in the darkness. Oh God, what a mess. What a God-awful mess I’d made of that! It must have looked as if I’d planned it all too, the supper, the chat, the subtle turn of the conversation around to his wife – and then the coup de grâce. The unshakable, irrefutable evidence of Annabel’s adultery. And with nowhere for him to run and hide. He’d just had to sit there and take it. I’d had him pinned like a fly under a rolled-up newspaper and I was perfectly poised to watch him squirm.

  I remembered the look on his face, startled at first, then pained. I shivered. A rogue thought came into my head that he could be shot of her now, now that he was enlightened, available to me, but I suppressed it with the memory of his ashen face. Don’t kid yourself, Rosie, in his eyes you couldn’t hold a match to her, let alone a candle. I imagined him still there, draining his decanter, drinking the dregs in front of a dying fire, imagining her miles and miles away. In someone else’s bed. Whose? I wondered. Torturing himself, longing for her, hating me. I began to cry silently, I longed for sleep to shut it all out. Next door, Ivo’s cries had abated and I shut my eyes, willing the same oblivion for myself. Finally Morpheus must have taken pity on me, I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I woke up with a start. A tremendous thumping was coming from below.

  I sat up, startled. What was that? For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was. Had I imagined a noise? Was it in a dream? Then, thump-thump-thump, there it was again, and shouting too. It was someone outside, someone was at the door! I leapt out of bed and ran to the window. It was pitch dark outside, but down below, just to the left of the porch, I could make out a shadowy figure, in a long dark coat, and hat. Definitely a man, but it was too dark to see who. Oh God, was it Joss? Had he come to accuse me of lying, of self-seeking treachery to promote myself at Annabel’s expense, or perhaps he’d come to – I didn’t know what, but I grabbed my dressing gown and ran downstairs.

  ‘Rosie! Let me in!’ called a voice. It was hoarse and I didn’t recognize it, but I knew in a flash it wasn’t Joss.

  I crept to the door, my heart pounding.

  ‘Who is it?’ I whispered.

  ‘For pity’s sake, let me in!’

  I hesitated for a moment, then reached up, and shot the bolt across. Without me even turning the handle, the door flew open. The next moment I was smothered, as someone fell on top of me, reeking of alcohol. Whoever it was was wrapped in an enormous overcoat, a hat over his eyes. At first I didn’t recognize him, but as I staggered back under his weight – ‘Michael!’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘Michael! What the hell are you doing here!’

  ‘Well, thank bloody Christ for that,’ he gasped, hanging on round my neck. ‘I thought I was going to have to die of hypothermia on your bloody doorstep! Shagging New Year’s Eve, and the bastard hotel locks me out. It was only three o’clock in the morning, for God’s sake – shagging New Year’s Eve!’

  He swayed alarmingly and I just about managed to stay upright. ‘Jesus, Michael, get off me, will you!’

  He was clearly catastrophically drunk. His face had that totally unbuttoned look, his eyes were pale and glassy, he stank of booze and stale scent and his bow-tie was up around his ear somewhere. The remains of a party popper hung from his hat and he had lipstick on his cheek. I dragged him in like a dead man, but before I kicked the door shut behind him, I spotted his car.

  ‘Christ, you didn’t drive here, did you?’

  ‘Had to. Some bastard took the last taxi, but I tell you what, Rosie, I shouldn’t have done,’ he shook his head gravely. ‘Really shouldn’t have done, and it’s not that I’m not shit hot when I’ve had a few pints, fucking Ayrton Senna I am, but those bastards in blue are out there in force tonight. The place is crawling with pigs, waiting in lay-bys, hiding in hedges, bastards – Christ, bloody New Year’s Eve and you can’t even have a shagging drink! Had to dodge ’em,’ he demonstrated with a drunken weave of his hand, ‘had to duck and weave, slip and slide – lost ’em though, lost them in the lanes.’ He winked broadly. ‘See, I know these lanes.’

  ‘I take it it was a good party then,’ I said drily, still staggering under his weight.

  He steadied himself and held me at arm’s length, hands on my shoulders. ‘Oh-oh,’ he said warily, ‘I know that look.’ He wagged a finger in my face. ‘Alice gets that look at parties, and I say, fellers! I can tell by the look on my wife’s face that I’m having a good time!’ He roared with laughter. ‘Always goes down well, that one, always gets a laugh, ’cept from Alice of course.’ He sighed, frowned with deep concentration. ‘What did you ask me?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Michael. Look –’

  ‘Ah yes, bloody good,’ he said nodding hard, as it all came back to him. ‘Bloody good party. Good company too, in fact I seem to remember forming a splinter group with one rather luscious little creature at some point in the evening. Off we crept,’ he demonstrated with crawling fingers, ‘up the stairs, just the two of us – or was it three? No, no, I’m boasting, don’t boast, Michael, it’s not nice, it was definitely the two of us, and it’s no good looking at me like that, Rosie, Alice wouldn’t come with me, so what’s a chap to do?’ he wailed.

  ‘I can’t imagine.’

  ‘YOU’RE JUST NOT TRYING!’ he roared happily.

  ‘Michael, d’you think you could just get off me for a moment?’ I gasped. ‘Only I think I’m going to collapse!’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ he said in injured surprise, ‘anything to oblige. Should have said so, Rosie, wouldn’t want to throw myself at you, delectable little morsel though you are.’ He tittered drunkenly and tried his legs. ‘Perfect balance,’ he muttered, ‘should have been in the circus. See?’

  They just about supported him, albeit unsteadily, and I slipped away and rubbed my sore shoulde
rs. As he swayed dangerously in the middle of the room, he suddenly looked sombre.

  ‘Anyway, Rosie, I’ve got an announcement to make. And since you’re the only one here, I may as well make it to you.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’m not drinking any more.’ He paused. ‘But then again, I’m not drinking any less!’ He roared at his laboured wit, nearly cried actually. ‘Ah, dear me,’ he sighed, wiping his eyes, ‘you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you? If you don’t laugh, I’ll tell you what, you’ll fucking well weep. D’you know what I always say about life at this time of night, Rosie? Do you?’

  I glanced at my watch. Four o’clock in the morning and I was about to get drunken philosophy. I folded my arms wearily. ‘What?’

  ‘I say a man’s got to have beliefs. And I believe I’ll have another drink.’

  This almost crippled him, he buckled up with a great whoop, slapped his knees, then tottered unsteadily towards the sideboard where I kept the whisky. ‘Ah, Michael, you old dog, you old devil you!’ he gasped, pouring himself a hefty one. ‘You’re a bad boy, you know that, don’t you? A really bad boy.’ He knocked it back in one and smacked his lips hard. ‘Ahhh … nectar. Pure, unadulterated nectar. Another one, Michael? Why not, my good man, just to the top please, garçon.’

  He went to pour another but I nipped across and intercepted him. ‘I think not actually, Michael.’ I took the glass from his hand, turned him round to face me, and gave him a little push in the chest. It didn’t take much. He toppled, like an obedient skittle, flat on his back on the sofa. He lay there for a moment, blinking up at me in astonishment. Dumb and inert. Then his blue eyes gleamed.

  ‘You saucy old she-devil, you! Seducing me now, eh? Come on then, get yer kit off, I can take it, I can handle another one, plenty more where that came from!’ He struggled with the button on his trousers.

  I threw the patchwork quilt over him. ‘Oh, just belt up, Michael, and get some sleep, would you? I’m bloody tired and I’m going to bed now, and I don’t want to see or hear from you for the next six hours, got it?’

  He squirmed with delight. ‘Oooh, strict! I always knew you’d be strict, you scrumptious little creature. Black mortar board and black stockings, eh? And I’ll call you Miss, shall I? I can’t wait,’ he groaned, shutting his eyes in ecstasy. ‘Come on, help me up and we’ll finish this off in your bed, much more comfortable.’

  ‘What an attractive proposition,’ I muttered, wrapping my dressing gown firmly round me and making for the stairs.

  ‘Aw, come on, Rosie,’ he wheedled, puckering his lips. ‘You know you’ve always fancied me, especially in black tie – look!’ He opened his overcoat to reveal a filthy dress shirt, stained with wine. A hairy stomach sprouted through a gaping button. ‘Sexy or what, eh? A sort of cross between Tom Jones and a certain thrusting young Cabinet minister, wouldn’t you say?’ He gave what I imagine he thought was a smouldering wink and a quick shunt of the hips.

  ‘Funnily enough, Michael, I’m finding the combination relatively easy to resist.’

  He dropped his jacket and blinked in genuine astonishment. ‘Well, stroll on down!’

  ‘No, straight up actually, and if you don’t mind I’d like to go to bed now. It’s ten past four and I’d like to get just a couple of hours of shut eye at SOME POINT TONIGHT!’

  ‘Oooh, lovely temper,’ he murmured as I went upstairs. He moaned low, shutting his eyes. ‘Lovely bendy rulers … lovely rubbers …’ He sniggered dirtily. ‘Lovely navy blue knick-knacks … lovely garters, lovely, lovely detentions …’ I slammed the door smartly on his Lolita fantasy and climbed back into bed.

  ‘Jesus!’ I muttered as I flopped back heavily on to my pillow. What a bloody night. And what a state he was in, for heaven’s sake! How often did he get like that? I wondered. And with how many women in how many flats or hotel rooms? Because there was no doubt about it, Michael Feelburn was not just an outrageous bottom-pinching flirt, oh no, he was a serious philanderer. An ageing Lothario with an unguided sex drive, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d always known. There were too many public displays of affection in that marriage. Too much kissing on the doorstep, patting Alice on the bottom, telephoning her at all hours of the day to assure her he loved her, and then too many late meetings and unavoidable delays. I wondered if Alice knew. I turned over, bunching my pillow up in half. No, she couldn’t possibly know. She was so strong, so brave, she’d never stand for it, not in a million years. I doubted if she even suspected, and that was probably what he feared most, because there were no two ways about it, at the merest sniff of a rat Alice would be up and out of that house with a daughter under each arm, her easel on her back and her moccasins on her feet. Alice was not a woman to take infidelity lying down, as it were.

  As I gazed at the dark wall, I suddenly wished to heaven I didn’t know about it either. Alice was such a forthright person, she made it hard for you to dissemble in her company. You automatically wanted to lay all your cards on her stripped pine table and give it to her straight down the banks. Not that I would, of course. No, that wouldn’t help anyone.

  I pulled the duvet miserably over my head and sighed. God, as if I didn’t have enough problems of my own without this one as well. I thumped the pillow and turned over, wondering if Joss was asleep yet. I hoped he was. Like time, it was one of the greatest healers. I shut my own eyes without much conviction, but strangely enough I drifted off again almost immediately, exhausted probably, slipping easily down the dark lanes of sleep.

  As I slept, I dreamed of Joss. I saw him standing by a fire, but not the fire in the hall, this was a huge fire, outside – yes, a bonfire, and on the other side of it someone was calling to him. Someone was yelling to him to come round the bonfire and – oh, it was me! I could see myself now on the other side, trying to run round to him, but the fire was spreading, catching the grass like a tinderbox, licking along it in streaks. I saw Joss running as I ran, trying to outstrip it. We ran together, the fire between us, but all the time the fire licked faster and faster and I couldn’t get across, couldn’t reach him, and I was being suffocated by the smoke, too. It was in my eyes, my mouth, I couldn’t open my mouth, I couldn’t breathe, I – Christ, I really couldn’t breathe now, there was a terrible weight on top of me and – I opened my eyes. Jesus Christ, Michael!

  Except I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t scream it either, because his mouth was pressed hard on to mine as he lay on top of me, suffocating the life out of me.

  ‘MMmmmmmm!’ I squealed in horror.

  I froze as a ghastly, sickly-sweet smell of stale alcohol and unwashed skin zoomed up my nostrils. I shot terrified eyes down – all I could move – and saw that but for some pants – Christ, he was naked! Panic welled within me. He had my wrists pinned back to the bed and I had an awful, cold realization that he was serious. Paralysed with incredulity that this was happening to me, I must have been inert for long enough for him to shove his tongue in my mouth. Suddenly I snapped to. I bit it hard. His head shot back.

  ‘Ouch! You little bitch!’

  ‘GET OFF ME!’ I shrieked, bucking my hips to shift him.

  ‘That’s it, fight me, fight me!’ he panted, bucking me back with his groin. ‘But you want me really, don’t you! You’ve always wanted me!’

  ‘I bloody don’t!’ I shrieked. ‘Michael, I’ll bloody kill you for this, I’ll –’ But down I went again, under another, hard, debilitating mouth crush, fighting for breath. Oh God, why the hell had I pushed him on to that sofa? It had clearly got his blood up and now he was determined to have his way. Suddenly I was frightened. Michael wasn’t a big man, not much taller than I was, but he was strong, nippy and extremely deft. Squash was his game and he took pride in thrashing bigger, burlier men than himself, and he also boasted hockey colours from his very minor public school. I began to realize that his ability to bully-off should not be underestimated. I couldn’t move. I struggled under him but he had me pinned and his hips were grindin
g into mine. Suddenly I found wisdom. I stopped fighting and went limp, flopping back on the bed. Sensing my lack of resistance, he relaxed his grip and I was able to wrench my head to one side.

  ‘Michael, wait!’ I gasped. ‘You’re right, you’re right but not like this!’

  His head shot back, his hands were still holding my wrists, but his eyes gleamed.

  ‘Oh Rosie, you little darling, it’s true, isn’t it? You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I have!’ I gasped.

  ‘I knew it! I’ve seen the way you look at me, undressing me with your eyes. You’ve fantasized about me, haven’t you? Panted for my manhood!’

  Bloody hell. ‘Yes! Yes, that’s it!’

  ‘Well, now you’re going to get it!’

  ‘Great!’ I gasped. ‘Excellent, couldn’t be more pleased – but listen, Michael, not like this, okay?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, like this, in my ghastly old winceyette.’

  He glanced down at my spriggy Laura Ashley nightie. ‘Get it off,’ he panted, ‘get the bloody thing off!’ He began tugging it up.

  ‘I’LL DO IT!’ I screeched, perhaps a little too forcefully. I gulped. ‘I mean, I’ll do it,’ I insisted, more gently. ‘Really, Michael, I’d like to, I – I’d like to undress for you, seductively. You see, it’s all part of my fantasy about you, that you watch me take my clothes off.’

  ‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘Oh God, I knew it, I just bloody well knew it! You’re all the bloody same, you’re all gagging for it! Oh Jesus, I can’t bear the suspense, take it off! Take it off, you little sexed-up weasel!’

  He didn’t entirely take his weight off me, but he loosened his grip and rose, press-up style, to accommodate my undressing beneath him. It was enough. With one superhuman effort, I jerked my knee up hard and – boomph!

  ‘AAARGH!’ He gave a shriek of pain, his eyes bulged, then he reeled sideways, clutching between his legs in agony. I rolled deftly the other way, off the side of the bed, and grabbed the first thing that came to hand. Happily it was a brass lamp base. I jumped up, brandishing it furiously.