In the carpark, Gabs caught up with her.
“So he didn’t come,” she said, taking Mavis’s arm.
“No. No, he didn’t.” Mavis was grateful for Gabs’ understanding. “I knew he wouldn’t.”
“But you hoped.”
“Yes, I hoped. I seem to do a lot of hoping.”
“Poor Mavis. Let’s get you home.”
Mavis looked at the pink mini and hesitated for a moment.
“Oh, why not?” she said, waving to Alice to show her what she was doing. “I’d like to go with you. I’m fond of Finn, but he does ask a lot of questions.”
The mini attracted some strange glances, but Mavis decided she was beyond caring. She had just said her last farewell to the only person who truly loved her, and she would have been happy to travel in a tank had that been the only available means of transport.
“It went well, didn’t it?” Gabs said.
“I suppose so. But it wasn’t really Mother.”
“I know what you mean. But funerals rarely are, are they? They never seem to do justice to the person who’s died.”
“Mr. Strong didn’t come, either,” Mavis said.
“Did you expect him to?”
“Not really, but it would have been nice if he’d shown that he cared just a little. After all, I’ve worked for him all these years, and he met Mother several times. But I suppose he’s still annoyed with me.”
This was an understatement, for Mr. Strong, in a particularly unkind moment, had actually totted up the amount of time Mavis had taken off work during Maudie’s illness, and had been outraged at the result of his research. That the illness had proved terminal had done nothing to ameliorate his anger (“after all, you didn’t know she was going to die, Mavis, did you?”), and neither had the activities of Mrs. Strong. Mr. Strong had unwisely brought in his wife to help while he was away for the afternoon, and this good lady (and she was a good lady — just a very bad shopkeeper) had contrived to lose half a day’s takings and three pairs of socks.
“All that money, Mavis,” he had told her when relating this sorry tale. “And the socks. How did she manage to lose three pairs of socks?”
“Perhaps she gave them away,” Mavis had suggested. After all, stranger things had happened when Mrs. Strong was in charge.
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Is there any other explanation?” Mavis asked.
“Theft. Yes, theft, Mavis. Someone stole those socks from under my wife’s very nose.”
This conjured up such an extraordinary image (Mrs. Strong being particularly well-endowed in the nasal department) that Mavis, who was exhausted to the point of hysteria, had actually laughed. It was this, she suspected, that had proved the final straw in their relationship, and she was pretty sure that her days at the shop were numbered. For even if Mr. Strong wished to keep her on, Mavis wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to work for him anymore.
The wake back at the house was attended by a respectable number of people, many of them neighbours, and Gabs and Alice helped Mavis serve them with tea and sandwiches. When everyone had left, Mavis suggested they open the wine (nobody had wanted it after all), and the others gladly agreed. The next day being Saturday, Finn had been collected by Trot, who was taking him home for the night, so the three of them were on their own.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” Mavis said, battling with a champagne cork. “I’ve been dreading today.”
“Of course you have. Here — let me do that.” Gabs took the bottle from her. “You fetch some glasses.”
They toasted Maudie in champagne, and when that was finished, they toasted her in red wine.
“What will you do now, Mavis?” Alice asked. “Your life’s going to be very different, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure.” Mavis had been giving the matter some thought. “I shall stay here, of course. I’ve lived here all my life. But I might find another job.”
“What about travel? Had you thought of that?” Gabs asked.
“I’ve always been a bit nervous of going abroad,” Mavis said. “All that business with tickets and customs and weighing your luggage. I went to Paris once, and my suitcase went to Madrid.” She felt considerably more cheerful and ever so slightly drunk. “No, I’m not sure about travel.”
“What about Clifford?” Alice asked.
“What about Clifford?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t want to be away from him for too long?”
“Ah. I didn’t tell you, did I?”
“Tell us what?”
“I left Clifford a message saying that if he didn’t come to the funeral, that was it. That I wouldn’t be seeing him again.”
“You what?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure I meant it at the time, but now that he hasn’t turned up, I feel so angry that I may very well stick to my word.”
“Did he reply?”
“Yes. He left me a message saying the living were more important than the dead — the living presumably meaning him. But he seems to have forgotten that I’m not dead. I’m living, too. And I’m — well, I used to be important to him.”
“Wow. You have come a long way,” Alice said. “But shouldn’t you wait a bit? At least until you’re a bit more… well…”
“Sober?” Mavis suggested. “I was perfectly sober when I left that message.”
“He’ll be very surprised, won’t he?” Alice said.
“Yes. Very. I’ve made threats before — lots of them — but I’ve never carried them out.”
“And you’re really going to carry out this one?”
“Yes. I rather think I am.” Mavis topped up her glass.
“Well, good for you,” Gabs said. “I think he’s treated you shamefully. The fat, selfish brute.”
Mavis had forgotten that Gabs had met Clifford, and there had been a time when she would have taken exception to this description of her lover, but now she found herself agreeing.
“He is a fat, selfish brute,” she said. “Nowadays, I’m no more to him than a — a kind of plaything. He uses me to while away the time when he’s not on the golf course or — or googling his spleen.”
“So you could go travelling if you wanted to,” Gabs said. “There’s nothing to stop you, is there?”
“I suppose not. Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”
“I know!” Alice put her glass down. “I’ve had an idea. Let’s all go travelling!”
“What do you mean?” Gabs asked.
“Well, if Trot carries out his threat and takes Finn off on a jolly after his GCSEs, I’ll be free. Gabs — you could be free, couldn’t you, if you wanted to? And then, Mavis, you could come with us, and we’ll sort out all the tickets and things.”
“Brilliant!” Gabs said, spilling wine on the cashmere skirt. “I’m up for it if you both are. Steph doesn’t need me anymore, and as for Mrs. Grant, she can stuff her job.”
“We’ll all go on a gap year!” Alice said.
“A gap year?” Mavis looked puzzled.
“It’s really a young thing, but anyone can do it. You just — take off, and see what happens. It’ll probably be more of a gap six months, but it’ll be the same kind of thing.”
“You mean, work our way round the world?” Mavis asked.
“Who said anything about work? I could certainly work my way round the world. No problem.” Gabs smirked. “But with the greatest respect, I doubt whether you two could. No, we aren’t going to work. We’re going to have fun.”
The three of them spent the next couple of hours fantasising about riding on elephants and buying exotic souvenirs in souks until Gabs and Alice decided it was time to phone for taxis home.
“We’re far too drunk to drive,” Gabs explained, knocking over a chair as she made her way to the lavatory. “We can collect our cars tomorrow.”
“You could stay here,” Mavis said, but immediately regretted it. There wasn’t much room for visitors in her small house, and she wasn’t r
eady to contemplate the prospect of anyone sleeping in Maudie’s bed.
“No.” Alice picked up her handbag. “We’ll go now and leave you in peace. You’ve had quite a day, and I expect you’re ready for your bed. Will you be all right, Mavis?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine.”
But when they had gone, Mavis didn’t feel fine at all. All the euphoria induced by the wine and the company dwindled away, and a great wave of loneliness swept over her. Of course there wouldn’t be any travelling, any ‘gap year’. It was all a silly dream. In fact, now that this year was over, she doubted whether Alice and Gabs would want to keep in touch with her anymore. In the meantime, she would have to grovel to Mr. Strong to keep him sweet, and she would work among the socks and ties until it was time for her to retire.
What had she to look forward to? As she brushed her teeth and put on her sensible brushed cotton nightdress, Mavis contemplated a bleak future: a future without Maudie, without Clifford (and in a way, even now, Clifford might be better than nothing), and with few friends. She found that she even missed Pussolini. At least he had been there; he had been a living presence — albeit a malevolent one — in the house. But she wouldn’t get another cat. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to become that cliché: the lonely old woman with a cat. A dog, perhaps? Mavis knew nothing about dogs, but she didn’t fancy having to pick up their nasty little doings and take them home in a plastic bag. At least Pussolini had had the decency to bury his in the garden.
When Mavis checked her mobile, she found there was a message from Clifford. For a moment, she hesitated. It wasn’t too late to go back. Clifford hadn’t expected her to keep her threat, so she could back down without losing face. But then she was reminded once again of Clifford’s recent lack of consideration, his self-obsession, his unkindness; and she deleted the message without even reading it.
The next morning, Mavis awoke with a splitting headache. As she cleared away empty cups and glasses, the curled remains of ham sandwiches, and the empty wine bottles (had they really drunk all that?), she tried to push away the tide of gloom that kept threatening to envelop her. She must pull herself together. It was the day after her mother’s funeral; of course she was miserable. How did she expect to feel?
It was nearly lunchtime when Gabs and Alice arrived in a taxi. They seemed very excited and were carrying a pile of maps and brochures.
“We’ve come to cheer you up,” Gabs announced, dumping her burden on the table. “We’ve come to make plans.”
“What plans?” Mavis asked, wondering whether she should put the kettle on.
“Gap year plans.”
Hazy memories of the last night’s conversation began to surface in Mavis’s aching brain. “Oh,” she said.
“You’re going to love this, Mavis,” Gabs continued. “We’ve been working it all out. It’ll be expensive, but if you can manage it, so can we. Have a look here.” She opened out a map. “We can either fly direct to, say, Australia, and then make our way back. Or we can get the Eurostar and then travel by train across Europe.” Gabs’ finger (black nail polish) moved rapidly eastward across the map. “Then there’s this train we can take down through Yugoslavia, and if we cross to Turkey here, we can —”
“Hang on a minute, Gabs,” Alice said. “Let the poor woman get her head round the idea. Could we have some coffee, Mavis?”
An hour and several cups of strong coffee later, the plan was taking shape, and even Mavis was becoming excited. They would have to wait until after Finn’s exams, of course, but then they really could take off for six months.
“It sounds almost too good to be true,” Mavis said. “But it’s going to be awfully expensive.”
“We’ve thought of that,” Gabs said.
“Yes.” Alice put down her coffee cup. “I’ve been putting money aside for Finn if he goes to university, but as he seems determined not to, I thought I might spend some of it on myself. I might even persuade my newspaper to pay me to write about it, although I doubt whether they’ll pay my expenses. They could decide to get rid of me altogether, but I can always do some freelancing when I get back.”
“I’m okay for money,” Gabs said, “so there’s just you, Mavis. Do you think you could manage it?”
“Well…” Mavis thought for a few minutes. “Mother did have a few thousand in her building society account, and I have some savings. But it seems a bit — well, frivolous to spend it on a holiday.”
“It’s not a holiday. It’s an experience,” Gabs said. “And knowing Maudie, I’m sure she would have been delighted for you to do this. It’s an adventure, Mavis. It’ll be fun. When did you last have fun?”
Now that she came to think about it, Mavis realised that fun wasn’t something that had played much part in her life. Certainly she had had fun as a girl, but not as much as most of her friends, to whom fun tended to mean boys and parties. Mavis hadn’t been very successful with either boys or parties. When she had first got together with Clifford, they had certainly had fun; they had had secret picnics and small intimate celebrations, and they had laughed a lot. But since his retirement, Clifford had become increasingly serious and had shown little interest in anything that might be construed as fun, not least because, as he frequently explained, he was unwilling to do anything to compromise his health. Fun, it would seem, carried risks that he was not prepared to take (although Mavis was unsure as to what those risks might be).
Now, she looked at Gabs and Alice — at their anxious, expectant faces, at the maps and the leaflets and the sheets of notes in Gabs’ untidy handwriting — and she knew what her answer would be. How could it be anything else?
“All right. I’ll do it,” she said, feeling very brave and not a little reckless.
The other two breathed a sigh of relief.
“Oh, that’s great!” Gabs hugged her. “You won’t regret it.”
“In that case, we ought to drink a toast,” Alice said.
“Yes! A toast!” said Gabs.
“Haven’t we all had enough?” Mavis was still nursing her headache.
“Just a tiny one.” Alice found the dregs of a bottle of wine and divided it between three glasses.
“To our gap year!” she said.
The others clinked their glasses.
“To our gap year!”
Epilogue: A Year Later
On a bright August afternoon, the bishop had conducted a service to bless the new font in Father Cuthbert’s church, and the two men were enjoying tea and cake in the presbytery garden.
“What happened to that little group of yours, Father?” the bishop enquired. “The… er…”
“Basic Theology Class?” Father Cuthbert suggested.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Basic Theology.” The bishop chuckled. “There were one or two rather intransigent members, as I recall.”
“Well, it’s odd that you should mention it, Your Grace, because I received a postcard yesterday morning.”
“A postcard?”
“Yes. I have it with me.” Father Cuthbert fumbled in his pocket and brought out a crumpled picture postcard showing a foreign-looking shepherd herding three sheep through a gateway. The bishop turned the postcard over. The card bore an Israeli postmark, and the message simply said: “Three lost sheep returning to the fold,” followed by three scrawled signatures.
“I wonder what it means,” Father Cuthbert said.
“Oh, that’s quite clear, Father,” said the bishop with a smile. “Your three — lost sheep have seen the light, and it looks as though they are paying a visit to the Holy Land. A little pilgrimage, you might say. How satisfactory. Well done, Father. Well done!”
Father Cuthbert cast his mind back and recalled the faces of Gabs, Alice, and Mavis. Had these three women really repented? Could it be true? Being a realist, he had his doubts, but he decided that on this occasion it would be best if he kept them to himself.
“Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you very much,” he said. “Another cup of tea?”
> *****
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RUTH ROBINSON’S YEAR OF MIRACLES
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All Ruth Robinson ever wanted was the man of her dreams. But she lost the man, and got a baby instead…
Six months ago, Ruth Robinson had a regular job, a monthly salary and a comfortable flat to go home to.
After quitting her job ready to go travelling, a momentary lapse of judgement put a major spanner in the works…
Now Ruth has a baby on the way, and no place to call home…
With the father of her child AWOL and her parents less than impressed, Ruth decides to move in with her eccentric uncles.
And when the Virgin Mary appears in their hen house, it is clear Ruth’s unplanned pregnancy isn’t the only ‘miracle’ she’ll be encountering this year…
‘Frances Garrood is a magnificent writer’ - thebookbag.co.uk
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A NOTE TO THE READER
Dear Reader,
Thank you for taking the time to read Women Behaving Badly. Friends are important to everyone — dare I say, especially to women — and this novel was originally going to be about a friendship between three “ladies who lunch”. But ideas change, my own Catholic background (not to mention, Catholic guilt. No-one does guilt quite as well as the Catholics) intervened, and these three very different women emerged. They may well have lunch together, but their behaviour is very far removed from that of the ladies I’d originally had in mind. But we all find friends in unexpected places, don’t we?
Women Behaving Badly_An uplifting, feel-good holiday read Page 32
