When the wedding party had disappeared from view and the church door had safely closed behind them, Mavis crossed the road, and taking her courage in her hands, she walked up the church path. The sun was struggling out from behind the clouds, bringing to life the warm stone of the church itself, and a fresh grave, still covered with bouquets of wilting flowers, was a stark reminder of another rite of passage marked within this ancient building. The churchyard seemed strangely quiet and empty after the bustle and noise of a few minutes ago, and Mavis could hear the sound of traffic from the distant motorway and the insistent call of a cuckoo.
She lingered under a window, listening to the strains of the organ, to the distant murmur of voices and the singing of hymns, imagining the solemn vows, the muted joy, the hats, the flowers. Did young couples making these promises realise how big a commitment it was to which they were pledging themselves? So often, she had heard the familiar words of the marriage service, had listened to people glibly (or so it seemed to her) promising to stay together till death should intervene, and had wondered whether the thought of death really occurred to them at all. No doubt Clifford had once made similar vows in a church such as this, almost certainly in all sincerity. Mavis hoped very much that Kate would prove more successful than her father at keeping her promises.
By the time the marriage ceremony was over and the church bells had started ringing, Mavis was safely back on the other side of the road in the shade of a plane tree (the sun was becoming quite hot). The church doors opened again, and the wedding party spilled out blinking into the sunlight, milling about, laughing and chatting, forming and re-forming in their various groups to be photographed. After a while, cars started to arrive, confetti was thrown, and guests began to move on (presumably to the reception). It was time for Mavis to go home.
That evening, making supper for herself and Maudie, Mavis tried to analyse her feelings about the day. It had certainly been painful, and she hadn’t enjoyed the experience. But on balance, she was glad that she had been there. So much of Clifford’s life was a closed book to her; now, at least she had had this small glimpse of that other Clifford, the husband (albeit a cheating one) and father, the Clifford whom she could never really know.
A few days later, Mavis and Clifford were speaking on the telephone.
“Well? How did it go?” Mavis asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.
“How did what go?” Clifford’s tone was surly.
“The wedding, of course.”
“Well, you tell me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mavis asked.
“What do you think I mean?”
“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” said Mavis, infuriated.
“Do what?”
“Answer a question with a question. Speak in riddles.”
“Well, let me put it this way. You are in a better position than I am to judge how the wedding went.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Clifford! How can I possibly —”
“You were there. You saw it. You tell me.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
“I wasn’t there. I wasn’t a guest. You can’t blame me for — for wanting to see it.”
“I would call it spying. It was sneaky, Mavis. It’s not what I expect from you.”
“Well, what do you expect from me? It was a very important day in your life, and I wanted to see you. Is that so awful?”
“Yes. I’d say it is. Lurking under the trees like that.”
“I wasn’t lurking like anything! I was trying to be inconspicuous, and I think I succeeded.”
“Not inconspicuous enough,” said Clifford.
“Oh. So what would you like me to have done? Worn a mask? Would that have been inconspicuous enough for you?”
“A mask might have been an improvement, certainly. But what I would really have liked was for you not to have been there at all. You had no place there, Mavis. No right.”
“I had every right! It’s a public place. I have as much right as anyone to stand on a pavement.”
“If you say so.”
“Cliff, please, let’s not have another row,” Mavis said. “It’s such a waste of time. Of our time.”
“Well, if you will pull silly stunts like this, what do you expect?”
Since she was the very last person who could ever have been accused of pulling ‘silly stunts’, Mavis actually laughed.
“It’s not funny, Mavis.”
“No, of course not.” Mavis hesitated. “Cliff, can I ask you something?”
“I suppose so.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Your shoes.”
“My shoes?”
“Those awful old flat shoes. I’d know them anywhere.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” said Mavis boldly, thinking that Clifford must have amazing eyesight to be able to recognise a pair of shoes at such a distance.
“You do that.”
“So, can we put this silly argument behind us now?”
“I suppose we’ll have to.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Mavis decided to change the subject. “How’s the heart?”
As she knew, Clifford couldn’t resist an invitation to discourse on what was currently his favourite subject, and he launched eagerly into an account of each little ache and pain, every little dose from his puffer, and the necessity of taking aspirin for the rest of his life. There followed a long (and unnecessary) account of the dangers of even the smallest amount of aspirin taken on an empty stomach, because of the risk of ulcers. Mavis knew that Clifford’s stomach was rarely empty, but forbore to point this out. However, she cursed the doctor for even suggesting the possibility of yet another medical condition, since this would only add further fuel to the already flourishing fire that was Clifford’s hypochondria. However, she appeared to have been forgiven (even if she considered that there had been nothing to forgive), and that at least was something.
“May I see the photographs?” she asked when they were about to ring off.
“What photographs?”
“The wedding photos, of course. I’d love to see them, Cliff. Just one or two.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” said Clifford graciously. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t see just one or two.”
“You looked — really handsome.”
“Thank you.” Clifford’s voice positively glowed.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you next week.” Mavis hesitated. “Perhaps with the photos?”
“I’m sure there’ll be some photos by next week. I’ll try to remember to bring them.”
Well, that was all right in the end, Mavis thought as she replaced the receiver, although Clifford was becoming very sensitive these days. It could just be that his conscience was bothering him. This happened from time to time, and on these occasions, Mavis always had to tread carefully.
She went in search of Maudie, who wasn’t where Mavis had left her, and found her stuffing a pile of underwear into the fridge.
“Mother, what are you doing?” she asked her.
“Just putting on a spot of washing, dear.” Maudie poked a vest in between two milk bottles. “But there doesn’t seem to be much room in this machine.”
Mavis sighed. Maudie was getting worse, and she wondered just how long she would be able to continue to look after her and whether, when the time came, she could bear to let her go into a home.
“Would you like to move sometime, Mother?” she asked casually, rescuing some stockings from behind a joint of pork. “To a nice place with lots of other people to talk to?”
Maudie eyed her beadily.
“I’m not going into a home,” she said. “I like living here, with you. You like it too, don’t you, Mavis?”
Mavis kissed her powdery cheek. “Of course I do, Mum. You know I do.”
“That’s all right, then,” said Maudie comfortably. “What are we having for our tea? Are we
having that nice piece of pork?”
“You mean the piece that was in the washing machine?”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” said Maudie. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Mavis. I really do.”
Gabs
Gabs was unhappy.
This was an unusual state of mind for Gabs, and she was at a loss as to how to handle it. Normally hers was a sanguine temperament, and she could usually cope with such vagaries as life threw at her with humour and competence. But her obsession with Father Augustine was beginning to take over her life, and it was making her miserable.
At first, if she was honest, the whole thing had been a bit of a lark. Okay, she had fancied him madly and had even imagined herself to be in love with him, but if he had disappeared from her life altogether, she would have got over it.
Now, however, it was different. She had contrived to see him on several more occasions, and while he was always friendly, he was also distant. Father Augustine had his boundaries, and Gabs had not yet managed to find a way past them. And yet there was an attraction; she knew there was. Gabs’ behaviour might be foolish, but her instincts were usually right, and she was sure that Father Augustine was attracted to her. On a couple of occasions, he had looked as though he were about to say something and then appeared to have thought better of it, and Gabs suspected that the words that Father Augustine had thought better of were the ones she wanted to hear. People tend to “think better” of the truth, and if the truth was that Father Augustine returned Gabs’ feelings, if only a tiny bit, then Gabs wanted to hear it.
Her other problem was that there really was no one she could talk to about it. Steph was being moody and rather distant, and in any case, she had made her feelings quite clear on the subject. Alice and Mavis hadn’t been exactly helpful, either. And there wasn’t anyone else. Gabs had friends, but they tended to be breezy good-timers — the kinds of friends who were fine for a night out and a few drinks and a gossip, but not much use in a crisis.
Was this a crisis? At times, it certainly felt like one, but then as her mother would have said, “no one’s died”. (Gabs’ mother had, in fact, done just that, leaving her ill-tempered and wayward husband to finish bringing up their two daughters. This he had done with minimal effort and no enthusiasm, and the girls, for once in complete agreement, had left home at the earliest opportunity.)
Up until now, Gabs had reckoned that she knew all about love and that, when it happened to her, she would know just how to handle it. What she had never realised was that it could be so unbearably painful. When she saw Father Augustine, there was an ache in her solar plexus that was physical and that (oddly) had nothing whatever to do with sex and everything to do with longing simply to be with him. She continued to attend Mass, but her attendance was irregular, since she didn’t want to appear too predictable. She had also managed to arrange a one-to-one meeting at the presbytery, but this had been less than satisfactory, since Father Augustine had kept the conversation strictly to the subject of God and Gabs’ soul, and since Gabs felt that she no longer had much interest in either, there had been very little to say.
“Don’t you ever have doubts, Father?” she had asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself.
“Everyone has doubts,” Father Augustine had replied. “It’s part of the cross we have to bear. But prayer, Gabs — that’s what helps. Prayer. I can lend you an excellent little book.”
He had got up from his chair and fetched down a well-worn volume from the bookcase.
“Here. Read this. I’m sure it will help you.”
Gabs had taken the book, managing to brush Father Augustine’s fingers with her own as she took it from him, but he had appeared not to notice.
“Shall I — do you think I ought to come back?” she had asked him as she was leaving.
Father Augustine had smiled at her. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he had said, and in that instant, she knew that he understood perfectly what her intentions had been, and Gabs, who was normally a stranger to embarrassment, had actually blushed.
But she wouldn’t give up. Gabs had never yet given up the pursuit of something she wanted, and she wasn’t going to start now. She would bide her time. Sooner or later, something would happen to facilitate a positive outcome to her plans, and she was prepared to wait.
Fortunately for Father Augustine (if not for anyone else), something happened to take Gabs’ mind off matters of the heart, for it transpired that she was not the only one with a problem.
“Gabs, can I talk to you?” Steph asked her one evening shortly after her meeting with Father Augustine.
“Course you can.” Gabs yanked off her unseasonal thigh-length boots and stretched out on the sofa. “Fire away.”
“Oh, Gabs! My period’s late.”
“Your period’s late,” Gabs repeated. For most girls, a late period was serious; a late period meant trouble. But for Steph — well, a late period was just that. A late period. “What’s the worry?” she asked now. She noticed a ladder in her tights and wondered whether Steph would lend her a pair. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it?”
“No. Never.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure: you can’t be pregnant.”
“Can’t I?”
Gabs sat up and looked at her sister. Steph looked very pale and very frightened.
“Well, you tell me.” Gabs laughed. “Come on, Steph. You of all people. No. You can’t be pregnant.”
“Gabs, can you get pregnant without — without — you know?”
“Well, ‘you know’ certainly helps if you want to get pregnant.”
“Please don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you. But, Steph, this is ridiculous. What exactly have you done?”
Steph fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. “I guess I went a bit too far.”
“Who with? When?” This was certainly news to Gabs.
“That time you did my make-up for me — remember? I got talking to this — this boy from church, and he asked me out. We’ve seen each other a few times since then. And then about a month ago, we went to a party. I had a couple of drinks. Well, more than a couple of drinks, actually.”
“And?” prompted Gabs.
“And afterwards, in his car, he — we did things.” Steph looked up. “We didn’t go the whole way, Gabs. You have to believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” said Gabs, thinking that her sister must be the last person on the planet to use such an old-fashioned expression. “And it’s no business of mine if you did.”
“But he — he did things to me. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have let him, and I did stop him before…” Her voice trailed away. “But now — now…”
“Your period’s late.”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t use a condom?”
“Of course not.” Steph looked shocked.
No. Of course not, Gabs thought furiously. Steph was a good little Catholic; she wouldn’t dream of using a contraceptive, would she? After all, it was a mortal sin. Gabs was overcome with sudden rage at the boy — man — whoever he was, who would take advantage of the poor innocent who was her sister.
“Look, Steph,” she said, “you have to tell me exactly what you — what he — did. We need to establish that before we can decide what to do next.”
So Steph told her. Her account of the events of the evening in question was so cloaked in euphemisms that only someone who knew her very well could have had any idea what she was talking about, but when she’d finished, Gabs reckoned that she might just possibly be pregnant. If she were, she had been incredibly unlucky, but where reproduction was concerned, Gabs knew that luck very rarely seemed to play much of a part. How typical of her sister it would be if she had actually contrived to achieve that rarest of phenomena: a virgin birth.
“Have you done a test?” Gabs asked her.
“What kind of test?”
“Oh, Steph! A pregnancy test, of course.”
“No. I thought I’d talk to you first.”
“Well, we’ll do one now.”
“Can’t we wait?” Steph pleaded. “Just for a day or two?”
“No. We can’t wait. This needs to be sorted as soon as possible.”
“But —”
“No buts. I’ll give you a kit.”
“You mean — you mean you’ve got one?”
“I’ve got one.” Gabs forbore to point out that in her calling, it would be a foolish woman who wasn’t prepared for all eventualities. “Come on. It’s quite simple. I give you a little stick, you pee on it, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“How can you be so cheerful?”
“No point in being anything else,” said Gabs, who was in fact feeling very far from cheerful. “Come on.”
As Gabs had feared, the test was positive.
“Oh no, oh no,” Steph sobbed, rocking back and forth in her chair. “It can’t be. It just can’t.”
“It can and it is.” Gabs sat down and put her arms around her sister. “But it’s very early, and we’ll sort it. Don’t worry.”
“What do you mean?” Steph raised a tear-stained face and gazed at Gabs. “How can we — sort it?”
“You’ll have an abortion, of course. And don’t worry about the money. I can help with that. And of course, I’ll come with you.”
“An abortion?”
“Yes. An abortion. Steph, it’s the only answer. You can’t afford a child — you aren’t ready for one — and it’s quite straightforward at this early stage. You leave everything to me.”
Women Behaving Badly_An uplifting, feel-good holiday read Page 13
