“Sweetheart, I’ve told you. It’s you I love; you I’ll always love. We can still be together. Still see each other. This doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything! Can’t you see that? You’ll be a family man, with new responsibilities. You’ll love the baby, of course you will, and you’ll want to spend time with it. Which will leave even less time for us. How will you possibly fit me in when you’re a new father?”
“I just will.” Jay sighed. “Because you’re too important to lose. We’ll find a way. We’ve always found ways up until now.”
“We’ve never had anything like this before.” Alice reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “How — how is she? How is Angela?”
“A bit stunned, very surprised, but pleased of course.”
“And — and you? How do you feel about it?”
“Oh, Alice, I just wish the baby was yours. Ours. For years I wanted children with Angela. I would have done anything to have them. But things changed between us, and now I don’t know how I feel. Trapped, I suppose. Before, I had the choice. I chose to stay with Angela because of everything we’d been through, but there was always the other option, like a door I could go through if I really needed to. Now that door’s closed. Now I don’t have any choice, do I?”
When Jay had left, Alice sat at the kitchen table and wept. Of all the things she had feared might happen to her and Jay — and she must have considered most eventualities — she had never in her wildest dreams envisaged this. Angela, who was unaware that she was involved in any kind of power struggle, had unwittingly made the best move she could possibly have made. With marriage and a baby on her side, how could she fail?
Alice struggled through the next couple of weeks, worn out with worry and lack of sleep. On the surface, nothing had changed between her and Jay. They managed to meet once, and spoke almost daily on the phone. The subject of babies was not mentioned. A couple of times, Finn asked her whether she was all right, but seemed satisfied — even sympathetic — when she said she was just a bit under the weather. Yet again, she wished there was someone she could talk to, but of course there was no one. It occurred to her that she could have phoned Gabs or Mavis, but she didn’t feel she knew them well enough yet to burden them with this, so she kept her grief to herself.
In the end, rather surprisingly, it was Trot who came to her rescue.
Trot had recently moved house and now lived only a few miles away. He’d said at the time that he was downsizing, but Alice suspected that it was so that he could be nearer Finn. Whatever the reason, he’d taken to popping in from time to time, usually when Finn might be expected to be at home, and almost invariably unannounced.
“I’ve come for my sock,” he told Alice, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the doormat.
For possibly the first time in days, Alice actually laughed. “Your what?”
“My sock. I left it here. It’s one of a lucky pair.”
After a brief search, Alice produced the sock.
“I can’t believe you want this back,” she said. “It’s full of holes.”
“Ah, but I do.” Trot regarded it fondly. “It — they — were given to me by a girlfriend after I’d taken her to this fabulous hotel. We had a four-poster bed and lovely fluffy bathrobes, and —”
“Too much information, Trot,” Alice said, thinking that socks were an odd way of saying thank you and wondering how Trot could afford to stay in fabulous hotels.
“You’re right. Too much information.” Trot stuffed the sock in his pocket. “So, what’s wrong with you?”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong with me?”
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I probably do.”
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
Alice hesitated. For the first time that she could remember, she was tempted to confide in Trot. He was often childish, frequently irritating, and always irresponsible, but there was something basically nice about Trot, and she was pretty sure that he could keep a secret.
“It’s a man. It’s got to be a man,” Trot said.
“What do you mean, it’s got to be a man?” Alice bridled. “I do have other things in my life, you know.”
“Yes. But you’re the strong type. I guess not much gets you down. But man trouble would. You’ve got a soft heart, Alice, even though you like to pretend you haven’t.” He settled himself comfortably on the sofa. “Now, are you going to tell me or not?”
Alice sat down opposite him and thought about it. “I suppose it would be nice to talk. But, Trot, this is confidential. It has to be confidential.”
“A married man, then,” said Trot with satisfaction. “I thought as much.”
“Trot, if you’re going to be like this, I shan’t tell you anything.”
“Okay. Sorry. But you so rarely let me in on your life that I can’t help feeling… well, not pleased exactly, but — I don’t know — privileged perhaps. And of course, your secret’s safe with me. Apart from anything else, who could I possibly tell? You and I don’t exactly move in the same circles.”
So Alice told him. She told him about meeting Jay, about their affair, and finally she told him about the baby.
“Goodness. That’s a bit of a bugger, isn’t it?” Trot said when she’d finished.
“You could say that. Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve thought about it and thought about it, and all I know is that I can’t live with the idea of Jay’s wife having a child, but I can’t live without him, either.”
“You could marry me,” Trot said after a pause.
Alice looked up, expecting to find that he was teasing her, but his expression was serious.
“Oh, come on, Trot! That’s a ridiculous idea!”
“Thanks very much.”
“I’m sorry, but you know what I mean. You and I? Married? It would never work.”
“It might. And we make nice babies. That’s a start.”
“We made one nice baby, and that was a very long time ago.”
“True.”
“Besides, we don’t love each other.”
“Don’t we?”
“Okay. Let me put this another way. Do you love me, Trot?”
“Well, not love exactly, but —”
“There you are, then.”
“You’re right,” Trot said. “It was a silly idea. But just for a moment, it seemed to make sense. And Finn would love it.”
“But it wouldn’t solve anything, would it?” Alice said. “I’d still love Jay, and you’d still want your freedom.”
“I guess so.”
After Trot had gone, Alice thought about his proposition (it could hardly have been called a proposal). She didn’t doubt that for a few moments, he had meant what he’d said, but she also suspected that in those few moments, the prospect of a bigger house, with a cook-housekeeper thrown in, must have had a certain appeal. As for Finn, she didn’t think he would be particularly pleased at the idea. He had never mentioned the possibility of his parents being married, and Alice suspected that things suited him very nicely the way they were. He liked having Trot to himself, and if she and Trot were married, he would have to share him.
Alice sighed. It wasn’t really marriage she wanted; it was Jay. And if she was to keep Jay, it would have to be on his terms (or the terms dictated by his situation).
But then, wasn’t that the way it had always been?
Mavis
The morning after the meeting with Gabs and Alice, Mavis was still wondering whether she’d imagined Maudie’s comments the previous evening. “Bad girls,” she had called them, and that could only mean one thing. Somehow Maudie had found out about Clifford.
“But how long have you known?” she asked Maudie. “However did you find out about — about my man friend?”
“Always known,” Maudie r
eplied. “Have you seen my teeth anywhere?”
“They’re behind the clock on the mantelpiece, where you left them yesterday. Mother, I really need you to tell me. How did you know about Clifford?” For if her mother had managed to find out about her affair, then maybe other people had, too. Perhaps she hadn’t been as careful as she had imagined.
“Told you. I’ve always known. Oh — there they are. That’s better.” Maudie gave Mavis a gleaming porcelain smile. “Am I going to confession?”
“Mother, you went last week. There’s no need to go again yet. Now, about Clifford.”
“Oh, him.” Maudie sniffed.
“Yes. Him. How do you know about him?”
“I hear things,” Maudie said enigmatically. “Got my hearing aid, haven’t I?”
“Then why didn’t you say anything before?”
“What’s to say?” Maudie shuffled over to her favourite armchair, dragging her catheter bag behind her. “Anything on the telly?”
“I shouldn’t think so. It’s only eight o’clock.”
“That problem woman. She’ll be on. I like her. She does DNA and all sorts.”
“It’s Saturday. I don’t think she’s on on Saturdays. It’ll probably be cartoons.”
“Those’ll do.” Maudie sat down. “Have I had breakfast?”
“You had porridge.”
“I don’t like porridge.”
“Well, you ate it.”
“Without my teeth?”
“You said you didn’t need teeth for porridge.”
“Did I? What did I have on it?”
“Brown sugar. Look, Mother, it’s really important to me, I need to know how you found out about Clifford, and I want to know how much you heard.”
“When?”
“Last night. When those — those friends of mine were here.”
“You had a party,” Maudie said. “Didn’t ask me, did you? Nice people, though. I liked that — that what’s her name? With all the rings and things.”
“Gabs?”
“That’s the one. The tart.”
“Mother!”
“Well, that’s what she is. She told me so herself. Turn the telly on, would you, dear?”
“I’ll turn the telly on when you answer my question,” Mavis said.
“What question?”
“About Clifford.”
“Who’s Clifford?”
Mavis sighed. Conversations with her mother frequently went like this. One minute Maudie would remember things quite clearly; the next, they’d be forgotten again. Mavis could never be entirely sure whether her mother was playing games; she was quite capable of feigning forgetfulness if it suited her. But now, she could tell from Maudie’s expression that the conversation of a few minutes ago had been forgotten and that to persevere would be a waste of time.
Mr. Strong’s Gentlemen’s Outfitters, being an old-fashioned shop, closed after lunch on Saturdays, so after Mavis had made Maudie a sandwich and settled her for her afternoon nap, Clifford picked her up in his car for one of their rare afternoons out together.
She could tell straight away that there was something bothering him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked as soon as they were out of sight of the house.
“Well, I don’t suppose it’s anything much really, but I’ve been getting this pain in my chest.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Not yet. I’ve made an appointment for next week. But chest pain’s always worrying, isn’t it?”
Yes, thought Mavis wearily. And so is a persistent cough, pain in the legs, lassitude, and headaches, all of which had afflicted Clifford in the last few months. Since his retirement, Clifford had become a hypochondriac. Whether it was because he no longer had enough to occupy his mind or because several of his friends had recently died, Mavis didn’t know. But while she tried to be sympathetic, Clifford’s preoccupation with his health was beginning to get just a tiny bit boring.
He spent a great deal of time on the internet looking up various diseases and had self-diagnosed, among other things, heart disease, cancer, brain tumours, and a rare condition with a long German name that even he couldn’t remember. All these fears had proved groundless, and Mavis was beginning to lose patience. They had little enough time together as it was, and now much of that was taken up with Clifford and his health concerns.
“Yes,” Clifford continued, warming to his subject. “My great-uncle died of a heart attack, so you see it runs in the family.”
Mavis doubted whether the illness of a single great-uncle (who probably smoked, because in those days, didn’t everyone?) could be said to constitute a risk to the rest of his family for all time, but decided not to say so.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said lamely.
“No one can be sure,” Clifford told her.
“Well, no one can be sure of anything. But your blood pressure’s okay, isn’t it? And your cholesterol?”
“That’s no guarantee.”
“Of course not. But you’re pretty fit —” Clifford had recently bought a rowing machine— “and you eat all the right things.”
“But,” said Clifford, who was not to be deterred from the matter in hand, “you read about people dropping dead when they’ve just run a marathon, don’t you? You just can’t tell.”
“Cliff, can we talk about something else now? After all, there’s nothing you can do about it at the moment, and this is our precious afternoon together.”
“Aren’t you concerned, then?”
“I’d be concerned if there really was something wrong with you, but we don’t know yet, do we?”
“I’d be concerned if it were you,” Clifford said rather plaintively.
“Yes, I’m sure you would.”
But Mavis wasn’t sure. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that Clifford was becoming increasingly self-centred. She realised that this was partly her fault. She had always given in to him, letting him have his own way and allowing him to make the decisions, simply because it was easier. But there were times when she too wanted attention, when she also would like her feelings to be considered. Such occasions were becoming increasingly rare.
She decided to change the subject.
“Are we going to Dennis’s?” she asked. Dennis was a friend of Clifford’s who worked abroad for much of the year. In his absences, Clifford kept an eye on his flat for him. While she had never met Dennis, Mavis suspected that Dennis knew exactly what purpose the flat was used for in his absence, but chose to turn a blind eye. Clifford, who could be very naïve, maintained that Dennis had no idea. They didn’t tend to use the flat except for the purposes of lovemaking because it was some distance away. It was also very cold.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Clifford said now. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Until we know my heart’s all right, I think we should lay off for a while.”
This had happened during both the cancer and the brain tumour scares, and Mavis was both annoyed and disappointed.
“You do understand, don’t you?” Clifford continued. “It would be awful if something went wrong, wouldn’t it?”
Mavis had a brief and horrifying image of herself and Clifford, locked together in that most embarrassing of clinches, being loaded onto a stretcher to be disentangled (and in Clifford’s case, treated) in the hospital. But it only lasted a few seconds.
“I think it’s worth the risk,” she said boldly.
“Mavis, I can’t believe you said that.” Clifford pulled into a side street and switched off the engine, turning a reproachful gaze upon her. “You must see that my health is important. To both of us.”
“A bit too important,” Mavis said, surprising even herself. “What about me? What about my health?”
“Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“Well, nothing at the moment, but —”
“There you are, then. There’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
“Maybe not. But I’d
like to feel you were just a bit interested.”
“Of course I’m interested!”
“Well, at times it certainly doesn’t feel like it.”
“Funny. That’s what Dorothy said.”
Mavis felt a brief moment of solidarity with Dorothy. If it was difficult having an affair with a hypochondriac, it must be even harder being married to one.
“So, what are we going to do?” Mavis asked.
“Well, I thought perhaps a walk? The fresh air might do me good.”
It was a cold, damp day, the billowing grey clouds pregnant with rain, and there was a bitter wind.
“Well, it wouldn’t do me good,” Mavis said. “And I haven’t got the right shoes.” Only the right knickers, she thought bleakly. New French knickers, bought specially for the occasion as a treat for Clifford, who had a fondness for such things (Mavis herself found them rather draughty). “If that’s all you can suggest, I think you’d better take me home.”
“What, already?”
“Yes. Already.”
Mavis knew she would probably regret her decision, for she was scotching the possibility of salvaging anything pleasurable from the wreckage of their afternoon, but she was seriously annoyed.
“Well, this is great, isn’t it?” Clifford said as they drove off again. “I make the time to come all this way over to pick you up, and you ask to be taken home again just because I won’t — because we can’t go to Dennis’s. What a waste of an afternoon!”
“I’d rather be at home than walking about in the cold listening to you going on about your health,” Mavis said.
“Oh, that’s how you feel, is it? Well, I wish you’d told me before!”
“So do I,” said Mavis with feeling.
“What are you trying to say exactly?”
“I’m trying to say that I’m sick and tired of hearing about your health problems. For years I’ve accepted that I have to come second to your wife and family, but I will not play second fiddle to an imaginary heart condition!”
“Oh, so it’s imaginary, is it?”
“Quite probably.”
“You’re an expert, then?”
Women Behaving Badly_An uplifting, feel-good holiday read Page 7
