by Anne Doughty
‘So how could you imagine I’d think anything of you going off with old Thompson just because I said it might have been better if you hadn’t gone to the cottage after the party?’
He had been struggling with one of those miniature cartons of cream that are so hard to open. Now, having succeeded, he tipped the whole lot into his cup and leaned back comfortably in his armchair, his legs stretched out full length, the coffee cup perched on his stomach. He looked completely easy and relaxed.
‘And what about me and old Keith?’ I asked quietly. ‘Now that you’re a full director, would you rather I wasn’t seen in his company either? He could hardly manage to seduce me in his present condition, but perhaps his politics might.’
He said nothing, but the grin disappeared.
‘What do you think?’ I went on. ‘Would you rather I stroked him off my list too, just to be on the safe side? Like the way you and your parents did, this afternoon?’
Whether it was what I actually said or the icy tone that had crept into it, he moved his coffee to the arm of his chair, sat up sharply and began to pay real attention to what I was saying. Such a rare event was fascinating to observe but even more so was the way he really exerted himself to put me straight and show me what had actually happened. ‘Do you want Keith to serve a prison sentence?’ he asked. ‘Do you want him sent down in his third year?’ Surely I appreciated he’d done everything he could to help Keith.
‘Keith or McKinstry’s?’ I retorted, shortly.
‘Now, Jen,’ he said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice at last. ‘I know it’s been a difficult day but we’re not going to argue over Keith, are we? Keith and I do see things rather differently, but that’s not unreasonable, is it? Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, and if Keith and I don’t quite see eye to eye, then surely we can still be friends.’
‘So he and Siobhan will be welcome to supper one evening this week, if Keith is well enough?’
‘Well, yes . . . yes, of course, if you want them,’ he said hurriedly, ‘though I’ll have to be away most of the week.’
‘Oh, why so?’ I was genuinely surprised. I couldn’t imagine what would take the newest director of McKinstry’s away from the pleasure of setting up his new office, collecting his new car, and christening his new expense account.
‘Oh, I shall have to spend some time with our people in Derry before the branch opens,’ he said easily.
That was the third time, today, the Derry branch had been mentioned, and until today, I’d not heard a word about it. With a sudden, sickening sense of dread, I saw a possibility taking shape that would put an end once and for all to any further attempts at avoidance.
‘Derry? Why Derry?’ I asked, with an ease I certainly did not feel.
‘That’s where I’ll be in charge from next month. I’ll be running the show up there.’ He smiled cheerfully, as if he had just added a further perk to the list he’d announced earlier.
‘But you can’t commute to Derry,’ I protested mildly. ‘Not till the M1’s a lot further on anyway.’
‘Oh no, there’s a house with the job. A very nice house, I’m told,’ he grinned, reassuringly. ‘But if you don’t like it, we won’t have it,’ he went on quickly. ‘We’ll find our own, whatever it costs. Don’t worry, Jen, I know you’ve never liked this house, but there’s going to be no problem this time. It’ll be fine, this time, just fine,’ he ended confidently.
So that was it. The last piece in the puzzle. I heard again my mother’s voice telling me I’d not walk over the McKinstrys the way I walked over her, and how I might see things very differently if I wasn’t so near to my fine friends. Then I saw Maisie’s head bent to Colin’s ear, whispering when he’d arrived, and the looks they’d exchanged as we left. So this was the grand plan, ship me off to Derry, sans job, sans friends, sans everything, the one option left to me to get pregnant and fill up my empty hours with the fulltime job of company wife and mother. To my great surprise, the anger that welled up at the sheer enormity of it was a stone-cold anger that left me startlingly sure of my self-control. And what I said next was said so coolly that Colin misread it completely.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something, Colin?’
‘Have I?’ he asked, a little puzzled.
‘I’m afraid you have. You’ve forgotten that my new job will keep me in Belfast.’
‘New job?’ He looked at me in amazement.
‘Yes, the one you were hurrying home to discuss with me tonight because you were too busy on Friday and Saturday to spare me even a few minutes on the phone.’
‘But you only said there was some job you had to do for the Head of Department on Monday. You didn’t say anything about any new job.’
‘Yes, I did, Colin. I did indeed. On Friday night, at something after midnight, and on Saturday, at two minutes to six. After that call and your total lack of interest, I decided to make up my own mind, and I have. I’m accepting the job of Head of English I was offered on Friday.’
He opened his mouth and closed it again several times over. He reminded me of Susie’s goldfish at feeding time. I watched, fascinated.
‘But . . . but you can’t, Jen. I mean, how can you . . . What about us, about you and me?’
‘Us, Colin? You and me? The “lovely couple” of my dear mother’s fantasies? Well, I’ll tell you about us,’ I began, jumping up from my chair and pulling the lounge curtains together so fiercely that the wooden rings rattled like castanets.
‘Once upon a time, Colin,’ I began quietly as I faced him across the length of the room, ‘we set out on a life together. We were going to make it for us, our way. Then Daddy called, and Colin came running. Since the moment we came off the Liverpool boat, Colin’s done whatever Daddy and Mummy have wanted because that was the way to get what he really wanted. He’d get on the board. Not just to be one of the directors, oh no, that’s only a stepping stone. What he really wants is to be chairman and managing director. And the way William John smokes and drinks and eats his head off, he shouldn’t have to wait all that long before he gets that too,’ I said, raising my voice as he tried to interrupt.
‘Meantime, Mummy thinks it’s time Colin’s little wifey settles down and does the big thing. Should have done it sooner, Colin dear, shouldn’t we, to keep her sweet. But never mind, Mummy’ll fix it. All she has to do is feed William John the idea that you could do the Derry job and, bingo, two for the price of one: her golden boy is a director and his little wifey is carted off to where she’ll be safely away from her friends and that dreadful liberal old father of hers, who brought her up to have a mind of her own and actually encouraged her to think Catholics are human beings too. Then the McKinstrys can really live happily ever after. Or rather, Maisie can. Keith out of the way, William John playing his harp, her dear son with “such a lovely family” and now able to make a complete fool of himself over his children the way he did over Susie tonight.’ I paused and glared at him. He stared back at me, his expression a mixture of sheer incomprehension and growing hostility.
‘There’s one small problem with that cosy scenario, Colin, just one little problem,’ I went on, dropping my voice to a whisper. ‘I’m not going to Derry with you. In fact, I’m not going anywhere with you. It’s finished, Colin. The show’s over, over and done with. No more playing the lovely young couple, no more Edna and Maisie ganging up to decide my future for me, and no more of your endless self-regarding talk to endure. I’ve had enough of all of it.’
The last words came out as a croak, as my voice finally packed up on me.
‘Jen, for goodness sake, what on earth are you talking about? You’re tired . . .’
Suddenly the sight of him, visibly pulling himself back together and reaching out for his all-purpose verbal fire extinguisher made me so angry I could have hit him. Sitting there, his shirt buttons straining over his flabby midriff, I could see him lining up all the old well-worn, soggy phrases I knew so well I could have said them for him.
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sp; ‘Yes, I am,’ I shouted, ignoring the ache in my throat. ‘Yes, Colin, I’m tired of the whole shabby show. Tired. Tired. Tired. And most of all, I’m tired of seeing you manoeuvre and manipulate your way to wherever you want to go. And I’m sick of seeing you try to humour and sweeten me the way you humour and sweeten everyone else. Offering me goodies, houses and holidays, good dinners and my own little car, as if that was what it was all about. Can’t you see, all I ever wanted was you to be yourself. Well, I’ve got what I wanted, with a vengeance. You’re yourself all right, but it’s a self I can’t live with. I got it wrong, Colin. I got it wrong. And when you think about it, so did you. You should have asked Mummy what sort of a girl you needed for the part before you got mixed up with me. When she did get a good look at me, she only let you sign me on because she thought she could train me up to do the job properly, with a helping hand from my own dear mother. Like a bloody performing seal. Well, I won’t be trained, coaxed, brow-beaten, bullied. Not any more. So I’m no good to you. And I’m putting an end to it. Now. This minute.’
My throat was so dry it forced me to stop. And the dragon in my head had woken up and was tramping around, breathing daggers into my forehead, making it pound so furiously, all I wanted to do was close my eyes.
‘I need a drink of water,’ I croaked, and strode out of the lounge.
I ran the water hard until it was really cold, filled a glass and stood leaning against the sink, drinking it slowly. In the unlit kitchen, a faint light from the sky reflected back from the white surfaces. Beyond the window, the lough lay dark, the moon obscured by cloud. There was such comfort in the dark, and such comfort in the silence after the brightly-lit lounge and the sound of my own voice.
I heard Colin run upstairs. The bathroom door banged shut above my head. I heard him pee. It seemed to go on for ever. Then the loo flushed. I heard him on the stairs again, then in the hall, and then at the open kitchen door. I winced as he touched the switch. Batteries of lights in the ceiling, over the cooker and under the eye-level cupboards flashed into life. He stood there watching me as I ignored him and went on drinking.
‘Look, Jen, I do realise I should have told you about Derry first. I was going to tell you tomorrow evening, when we’d more time to discuss it. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. Really I am,’ he said earnestly.
I smiled weakly. Colin was very good at apologising. I supposed he got lots of practice. I could even believe he meant it. But he was wasting his breath.
‘Jen, I know you’re not feeling well. Why don’t I phone school tomorrow and tell them you’ve a bad head?’ he went on smoothly, as if I was open to being persuaded. ‘I’m not going into the office tomorrow, I’m meeting Robinson at the Crawfordsburn for lunch. You could come too. They do a very nice lunch. And we’d have lots of time to talk in the morning. I’m sure we can sort it all out. Come on, Jen.’
The glass was empty. I looked at it and thought of throwing it at him. Hard. Instead, I found myself speaking quite quietly, as if I were actually responding to the tired old routine.
‘All right. I’ll come.’ I paused and he brightened visibly. ‘But only if you’ll ring William John now, tonight, and tell him we’re not going to Derry.’
In another play, that could have been a genuine last appeal. But in this script, it was purely for effect. I had made my appeals long, long ago. Time after time, back in Birmingham and in the weeks after the call came that would take us back home to Ulster. And again and again once we’d returned. He had refused me then, and he had gone on refusing me ever since. And now the outcome I had feared so much, only last night, was already an accomplished fact.
The end of our life together had not come out there in the car with Alan on Windmill Hill, weeping as if my heart would break. Nor had it been here, tonight, in this brightly lit kitchen. The end had come and gone, quite unnoticed, before ever we got on the boat. All I was doing tonight was spelling out for us both what had been over and gone for a long time now.
‘Not go to Derry?’ he stuttered. He looked completely horrified and rather frightened. William John had never been a man to say no to, and never forgot or forgave anyone who did. ‘But Jen, I can’t do that. I mean . . .’
‘I know perfectly well what you mean, Colin, it’s only too obvious, but I don’t think you’ve yet grasped what I mean. I’ll say it once more and then I’m going to bed. It’s over, Colin, the charade we’ve been playing out these last two years. I’m leaving you. I’m going out of this house tomorrow and I’m not coming back.’
I rinsed the glass, left it to dry in the dishrack and slid past him into the hall.
‘Jen, be reasonable,’ he called after me.
I marched upstairs without looking back and went straight to the wardrobe in what had once been our bedroom. I heard him locking up. By the time he came upstairs, I’d draped tomorrow’s clothes on a hanger, collected underwear and make-up from my dressing table and taken them into my study. As I carried in my dressing gown and nightie, we met face to face on the landing.
‘Now look, Jen, there’s no need to be like this,’ he started, something like desperation creeping into his voice. ‘We’re both tired out. It’ll all look different in the morning. Come on, come to bed.’ He put out his arm, just like the way he’d offered me his free arm in the hallway of Myrtlefield House. I ducked under it and slipped into my room.
‘Goodnight,’ I said, furiously, as I shut the door.
I sat on the bed, rigid with tension, afraid he would knock or come in, as the door had no lock, or start talking through it. But as the minutes passed and no sound came, I began to relax. It was just possible he was ‘being sensible’. I could imagine him telling himself that I was best left alone. It would all be different in the morning. All we needed was a good night’s sleep and all would be fine, just fine.
After a little, I got up and put out the light which was hurting my head, took off my shoes and crept around making preparations for bed. As each minute passed, I felt easier. Eventually, I sat down at my desk and drew towards me the tiny vase of full-blown roses I had brought back from Drinsallagh. One of them had shed its petals and I collected up the scented leaves from the windowsill, held them in my hand, and breathed in their faint, distant perfume.
Only last evening, Alan had stood here with me, looking out at the moonlight on the lough. He had done his best to reassure me. He’d given me Thompson’s Law. I had seen such a long and bitter disengagement ahead of me, I had feared for my own stamina, my ability to cope with what I expected to have lined up against me. But there would be no battle. It was already past. Over. So soon, so incredibly soon. Words had been spoken that could not be recalled. However Colin might argue or try to persuade, there was no way back from the point I had reached. I was out. Out into a space where I could breathe again. And as if to underline my thoughts, the moon came out from behind a cloud and filled the whole room with its radiance. Then it was gone again, but the brief moment lingered like the faint fragrance from the fallen petals I still held in my hand.
Chapter 19
When I was quite sure that Colin was asleep I drew the curtains, put on a lamp and began to put my things together for school in the morning. I had just closed my briefcase, set my alarm for six thirty and got into my nightie when I realised I was thirsty again. I’d been thirsty all evening, after the packet sauce Maisie had poured so liberally over that wretched chicken. The more I thought about it, the more thirsty I became. A glass of water from the bathroom had no appeal at all, but the idea of a pot of tea, all to myself, began to beckon as invitingly as a mirage in a desert.
Don’t be silly, Jenny. It’s after eleven, I said to myself as I pushed my feet into my slippers, tiptoed to the door and listened. There was no sound at all in the house. Even the central heating had stopped clicking. Encouraged, I crept soundlessly downstairs. As I reached the foot, the telephone rang. My hand went out for it so quickly I hardly realised what I’d done as I lifted it to my ear.
‘Je
nny?’
The voice was quiet yet familiar. For a moment, I didn’t recognise it.
‘I’m sorry if I wakened you. Mavis and I have been talking and she insisted I phone you . . . and I think she’s quite right . . . and you won’t be upset with me . . .’
Harvey. A Harvey who’d been talking to Mavis. Surely he wasn’t going to apologise for his part at lunchtime or this morning. And yet his tone sounded distinctly chastened, as if he really did regret something he’d done.
‘No, of course I won’t, Harvey,’ I said, still confused.
‘I’m afraid, Jenny, Daddy’s had another heart attack. He’s in intensive care, but he’s quite stable. Mavis felt you would want to know tonight, though there’s nothing any of us can do till the morning. He’s heavily sedated.’
I sat down on the telephone bench and looked at the dappled shadows on the hall carpet. It’s the chestnut tree on the main road, fluttering across the light from the lamp standard, that makes the pattern, I thought. Then the words sunk in and I wondered whatever I was going to say next.
‘Are you all right, Jenny?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m all right,’ I said very quietly. ‘Is Mummy there with him?’
‘No, no,’ he said quickly. ‘She’s much too upset. She’s gone next door to Mrs Allen and taken a sleeping tablet. I’ve told her I’ll ring the Royal at seven thirty for a full report. Would you like me to ring you too, Jenny?’
‘Yes, Harvey, I would.’
He said something quite kindly about trying to get some sleep and I asked him to thank Mavis for persuading him to ring, that I’d rather know. I put the phone down and wondered quite how I’d come to be sitting here beside it when the call came.
It seemed a long time later when I opened the reminder pad at the card I’d sellotaped to its back cover the day after we’d moved in. ‘Helen’s Bay Taxis,’ it read. ‘Anytime. Anywhere. Distance no object.’ It sounded like the lyric for a popular song.
