“Mightn’t it have been a good idea to mention you had a wife last night?” I said mildly. I wasn’t the least bit shocked because I didn’t care. We had no future together.
He paused while pulling on his trousers. “Would it have stopped you?”
“No, but it might have stopped some women.”
“Then those sort of women should ask before leaping into bed with a bloke they hardly know.”
I made one of Bel’s faces. “You sound as if you disapprove of women who sleep with strange men.”
“It so happens that I do.”
“But you don’t disapprove of men who do the same?” I laughed, pretending outrage.
“Blokes take what’s on offer.” He was buttoning his shirt.
I eased myself to a sitting position. “Do you know?” I said thoughtfully, “I truly can’t remember offering myself last night.”
“You didn’t, but it’s different with me and you, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
He sat on the bed. “You know it is.” He held my face in both hands and kissed me soundly on the lips. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him back, greedy for him, and determined to keep him if I could, even if it meant I’d be late for work.
“I said I’ve got to go.” His voice was steely. He removed my arms none too gently and went over to the door.
“Oh, well,” I sighed exaggeratedly, “see you around sometime, Mr O’Mara.” I was still teasing, though my heart was in my mouth, dreading he might take me at my word and say, “See you too, Millie.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” I was taken aback by the anger in his green eyes. The muscles were taut in his slender neck. “Is that all it was to you, a night’s shag?”
“You know it wasn’t.” I blushed, remembering the night, so different from any I’d ever known. I looked at him directly. “It was magic”
I could have sworn he breathed a sigh of relief. “In that case, I’ll be round tonight, about twelve.” He left abruptly. A few seconds later, the front door opened and he shouted, “It was magic for me, too.”
I got out of bed, removed the crucifix, the statues, and holy pictures off the wall, and put them in the drawer of Flo’s bedside cabinet.
“You’ve been raiding your aunt’s wardrobe again,”
George said, when I arrived at Stock Masterton. “I can tell.” “
“Is it so obvious?” I stared down at the long, straight black skirt and demure white blouse with a pointed collar.
“Only because you don’t usually wear those sort of clothes. You look very appealing. I could eat you for lunch.”
I tried to think of a put-down remark in reply, but couldn’t.
George went on, “That young man of yours must have had the same idea. You’ve got a love bite on your neck.”
He sighed dolefully. “It’s called a hicky in America. I can’t remember when I last gave a girl one. I must have been in my teens. Those were the days, eh?” He hooted.
Embarrassed, I went over to my desk and switched on the computer. Diana had just arrived. “How’s your father?” I asked.
“He seemed much better over the weekend,” Diana replied. Her face had lost the tense lines of the previous week. “In fact, we had a lovely time. He told me all about his experiences during the war. I knew he’d been in Egypt in military intelligence, but I never realised he’d been in so many dangerous scrapes. He was very much a James Bond in his day.” She took an envelope from her bag. “I managed to finish those notes I mentioned. Did George tell you his offer for the shop in Woolton has been accepted? We could be open by the new year.”
My own report was at home but didn’t seem all that important any more. Nevertheless, I had to go back to the flat to collect a few things if I was going to stay at Flo’s so I’d pick it up then.
“I’ll give this to George.” Diana winked conspiratorially and hurried into his office. She seemed rather pathetic, I thought, yet until recently I’d wanted the job in Woolton just as much, which meant I’d been just as pathetic myself Now, I didn’t care.
The realisation surprised me. I stared at my blurred reflection in the computer screen and wondered what had changed. Me, I decided, though I had no idea why. I felt confused but, then, I’d felt confused throughout my life. Perhaps it was Flo who’d made me see things differently. Perhaps. I wish I’d known her, I thought wistfully, remembering the warm, comfortable sensation I’d had in the flat last night, as if she had been there with me. I had a feeling I could have talked to her about stuff I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone else.
And there was Tom O’Mara. I cupped my chin in my hands and my reflection did the same. I’d been a married woman for four years, and there’d been other men before James, yet it was as if I’d made love for the very first time.
My body had never felt so alive, so used in the most gratifying way. I held my breath and felt my scalp prickle when I thought about the things that Tom O’Mara and I had done to each other.
“Millie! Millie!”
Darren thumped my desk, and I became aware that June was shouting, “Wake up, sleepyhead. There’s a call for you.”
It was the Naughtons again. They’d had details of another house, which sounded ideal, this time in Crosby. I arranged to meet them there at noon, though felt sure it would be another waste of time. Crosby was close to Blundellsands, which meant I could call at home afterwards.
It felt strange going into my flat, as if I’d been away for weeks not merely twenty-four hours. It smelt dusty and unused, long empty. I opened the windows of the balcony to air the place, and had a shower. There was a bruise beneath my breast and another on my thigh and I wondered if Tom O’Mara also bore scars of our night together. I covered the bite on my neck with makeup.
The red light was flickering on the answering-machine.
My mother’s tearful voice announced that Declan had lost his job. “He was sacked ages ago. Your dad only found out by accident off some chap in the pub. Of course he’s livid, called poor Declan all the names under the sun. And, Millicent, I’d like to talk to you about Alison . . . Oh, I’ll have to ring oft now, luv. Your dad’s on his way in.”
I “waited. There was no message from James. I was glad, but thought about calling him at work to make sure he was all right. In the end, I decided not to. It might encourage him to think I cared, which I did but not nearly enough to satisfy him. I reversed the tape, packed a few clothes and toiletries in a bag, along with the folder containing the report. As I’d gone to the trouble of writing it, it wouldn’t hurt to let George take a look.
He was working alone in his glass cubicle when I got back, so I took the folder in. “You’ll never guess what that bloody woman’s gone and done,” he barked immediately he saw me.
I pretended to back away, frightened. “What woman?”
I couldn’t recall seeing George so angry before.
“That Diana bitch. She’s only given me a list of reasons why I should open the new office! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read it. Does she seriously imagine I haven’t thought the whole thing through myself? Jesus Christ, Millie, I’ve been in the estate-agency business for over thirty years. I know it back to front, yet an idiot woman with a stupid degree thinks she knows better than I do.”
“She was only being helpful, George.”
“More likely after the boss’s job,” he sneered. “As if I’d give it her, the pushy little cow. The job’s Oliver’s. He never makes a decision without referring to me first, which is the way I like it.” He grinned. “I guess I must be a control freak.”
“Did you say anything to Diana?”
“I bawled her out and she left for lunch in tears.”
“Oh, George!” I shook my head. “You’ll feel sorry about that tomorrow.” A few weeks ago I would have been as pleased as punch at Diana’s fall from grace, but now, for some strange reason, I felt nothing but pity for the woman.
“I know.” He sighed. “I’m a disagreeable sod. I’ll apologise later, though it was still a stupid, tactless thing for her to do.” He nodded at the folder in my hand. “Is that for me?”
“No. I just came to tell you about the Naughtons.
Apparently, the draining board was on the wrong side.”
Later that afternoon, I fed my report into the shredder.
I’d never stood the remotest chance of getting the manager’s job, and it made me feel acutely embarrassed to have thought that I had.
Tom O’Mara didn’t arrive at midnight as he’d promised.
An hour later he still wasn’t there. I lay on the settee, half watching an old film, not sure what to think. Had I been stood up? Maybe he’d had second thoughts. Maybe he’d meant tomorrow night. I tried to work out how I’d feel if I never saw him again. Hurt, I decided, hurt, insulted and angry, but definitely not heartbroken, possibly a little bit relieved. However, right now relief wasn’t uppermost in my mind. I wasn’t in love with Tom and never would be, yet my body ached for him and I could have sworn he felt the same. It was easy to while away the time imagining his lips touching every part of me. My pulse began to race, and I felt hot at the thought. “Please come, Tom,” I prayed. “Please!”
At some time during the night I fell asleep, and was woken when it was barely daylight by a kiss and the touch of a hand stroking me beneath my dressing-gown.
“How did you get in?” I whispered.
“Took me key back off the mantelpiece, didn’t I?”
“You’re late,” I yawned. “Hours late.” It was delicious just lying there, feeling sleepy, yet conscious of his exploring hands.
“There was trouble at the club, and I couldn’t ring. Flo always flatly refused to have a phone. How do I undo this knot?”
“I’ll do it.” I unfastened the belt and he pulled the robe away.
“Anyroad, I’m here now,” he said, “and that’s all that matters.”
He was kneeling beside me, his face hard with desire.
He would never say soft, tender things as James did, yet this only made me want him more. I held out my arms.
“Yes, Tom, that’s all that matters.”
Time seemed to stand still; it had lost its meaning, all because of Tom O’Mara. I returned to my flat on Sunday morning to collect more clothes and take a shower—bathing at Flo’s was like bathing in the Arctic—and found an increasingly frantic series of messages from my mother on the answering-machine. It was the last Sunday in October and it had completely slipped my mind.
“Don’t forget, luv, we’re expecting you for dinner on Sunday.”
“Why don’t you ever ring back, Millicent? I hate these damn machines. It’s like talking to the wall.”
“Have you gone away, Millicent?” the voice wailed fretfully. “You might have told me. I’d ring your office if I didn’t think it would get you into trouble.”
As usual, I felt a mixture of guilt and annoyance. I phoned home immediately. “I’m sorry, Mum,” I said penitently. “You were right, I’ve been away.” I hated lying to my mother, but how could I possibly tell her the truth? “I know I should have called, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and I was so busy when I got there, I forgot about everything. I’m sorry,” I said again, assuming this would be enough to satisfy her, but apparently not.
“When you got where?” she demanded.
I said the first place I could think of. “Birmingham.”
“What on earth were you doing there?”
“George sent me.”
“Really!” Mum sounded so impressed that I hated myself even more. “He must think highly of you, sending you all the way to Birmingham.”
To please her, I took particular pains with my appearance. I wore a cherry red suit with a black Tshirt underneath. To assuage my guilt, and make amends for lying, I stopped on the way to Kirkby and bought a bunch of chrysanthemums and a box of Terry’s All Gold.
“You shouldn’t have, luv,” Mum protested, though she looked gratifyingly pleased.
When we sat down to lunch, Flo’s flat immediately became the main topic of conversation.
“I thought you’d have it well sorted by now,” Mum remarked, when I claimed there were still loads of things to do.
“I only have Sundays free, don’t I?” I said defensively.
“You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff Flo had. It’s taking ages.”
“Your gran keeps asking about it. I said you’d call in and see her on your way home.”
I groaned. “Oh, Mum, you didn’t!”
“She is your gran, luv. She’s desperate for a little keepsake, something to remind her of Flo. A piece of jewellery would be nice.”
Flo mightn’t be too pleased at the idea of anything of hers going to someone she’d specifically not wanted at her funeral. As for jewellery, I hadn’t come across any so far. Everything’s becoming incredibly complicated, I thought worriedly.
Things became even more complicated when Declan asked, “How’s James?”
“He’s fine,” I said automatically, only then realising it was a whole week since I’d seen him, and he hadn’t called once. Perhaps he’d decided being chucked out was the last straw. I dismissed him from my mind—there was already enough to think about—and said to Declan, “Have you done anything about college?”
My father choked on his steak and kidney pudding.
“College? Him? You must be joking.”
“I think it’s a very good idea,” Colin said quietly. “If he took an engineering course, he could come and work for me. I could do with another pair of hands.”
“He’d prefer something different, wouldn’t you, Declan?” I was determined to air the matter of Declan’s future because I had a feeling he would never have the courage to do it himself. “Something artistic” I thought it wise not to mention fashion design or my father might choke to death before our very eyes.
My mother regarded him warily. “It wouldn’t hurt, would it, Norman, for our Declan to go to college? After all, Millicent went to night school and look where it got her.”
While Trudy and Colin did the dishes, I wandered down to the bottom of the garden with Scotty. The little dog jumped up and down like a yo-yo in front of me. I eased myself through the gap in the hedge that separated the main garden from the compost heap, and sat down on an enormous hump of hard soil, cuddling Scotty. This was the only place we had been allowed to play when we were little: our father wouldn’t allow us on the lawn. I remembered the day when five-year-old Trudy had broken a window in the greenhouse with a tennis ball.