Duplicity (33 page)

Tracy and Aimee were intrigued to see the weekend bag that Dilly brought to work on Friday morning, but she refused to tell them where she was going. Curiosity almost choked them all day, but it was not to be satisfied until they were making ready to go home and the manager came into their office, a most unusual procedure.

‘All set, Dyllis?’ he asked.

The surprise on the other girls’ faces made him add, with a wide smile. ‘To save you having to speculate any longer, Dyllis and I are to be spending the weekend together.’

Jaws dropped, eyes widened dangerously. ‘You … and Dilly?’ Tracy asked, incredulously. ‘The whole weekend?’

He nodded. ‘If she can put up with me for that length of time.’

Dilly had been left as speechless as Aimee. She had never expected him to come out with it openly like that, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it. It had been the secrecy of the whole thing that made it all the more exciting. Now that it was common knowledge, the edge had been taken off the gingerbread - if that was the right expression. It just sounded like any other sordid, sleazy, dirty weekend, which was not how she had seen it before. Definitely not! She wasn’t going to be given the label ‘boss’s totty’, as they spoke about, or ‘Richardson’s bit on the side’. No way!

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she burst out. ‘I’m sorry, Neville, but sleeping with the boss was never my idea. Sleeping with a man who loved me, a man I loved, that would have been different, but this …’ She shrugged as she walked to the door. ‘I’d better hurry or my Dad’ll have gone home without me.’

There was dead silence until they heard her leaving the cloakroom, with, presumably, her weekend bag, and then Mr Richardson, chalk-white, said, ‘I’m sorry, girls, that you had to witness that. I should have been more sensitive, and I certainly had not planned to seduce Dyllis, but there you go.’ He whipped round and left.

‘Jesus!’ Tracy exclaimed, immediately covering her mouth at the swearing.

Aimee nodded. ‘I hadn’t a clue. Had you?’

‘Not a sausage. I wonder how long they’ve been seeing each other?’

‘You think they’ve been seeing each other for a while, then?’

‘He wouldn’t ask her to spend a weekend with him on a first date, surely?’ Tracy was suddenly struck by another thought. ‘She’ll get the sack.’ ‘You think so?’

‘Or she’ll leave. She can’t work here now.’

While they discussed her, Dilly had run to where her father usually picked her up, and to her relief, he spotted her and stopped. ‘Change of plans?’ ‘Don’t ask,’ she told him.

From the set of her chin, he could tell that she was extremely upset, and wisely made no further awkward remarks.

Dilly ran straight upstairs as soon as she went into the house, and Brian was able to warn Roselle not to say anything to upset the girl. ‘There must have been a row, or something, and we’ll just have to wait till she gets over it before she tells us anything’

The weekend passed as if they were in mourning, the only conversations being centred on events on the television news broadcasts, and even then, Dilly only appeared for one meal a day, although her mother took her up a cup of tea in the afternoons.

Monday morning brought another surprise, when the young woman said she wasn’t going to go to work. ‘I think you were right, Dad,’ she said, making a face. ‘Neville was only after a dirty weekend, and he even came into our office to boast about it.’

‘But why —’ Roselle began, but stopped when Brian’s foot gently tapped her shins under the table.

Well aware that both she and Neville would find it impossible to work with the same firm, in the same building, Dilly spent most of the forenoon typing a letter of resignation on her computer, glad that she didn’t have to waste paper even if she changed her mind a dozen times about the wording, but at last she was more or less satisfied and printed it. She asked that the three weeks she was due as holidays should be taken as her notice, so that she would not have to go back and face the man.

On her walk to the tiny sub-Post Office, she wondered if she had over-reacted to Neville’s announcement. Maybe he hadn’t been boasting that he was going to seduce her. Maybe he had just meant to be open about their relationship. Maybe she had shit in her own backyard, as she had heard Frank Milne saying once, long ago. She had only been five, but it was such a weird expression that it must have implanted itself in her mind.

Fancy remembering Frank Milne, though. She wondered what had become of him and his wife after fifteen years. Helen had been such a kind woman, like a grandmother to her and Roddy, really. She stopped walking abruptly as something occurred to her. At the moment, she was in dire need of someone to advise her on what to do with her life, and who better than Helen? Her spirits lifting, she posted the letter and almost skipped home.

Roselle had seen for herself how upset her daughter was, and had decided not to ask where she had been, but she looked brighter now. ‘OK?’ she said, hoping this would encourage her to open up.

Dilly took the bait. ‘I’ve just posted a letter of resignation. But I was thinking, I know I’ll have to find another job, but I need to talk to somebody about - things.’

‘You can talk to me. I’m always willing to listen.’

‘Thanks Mum, but it has to be an outsider. I was thinking of going down to see Helen Milne. You used to say she was always giving people advice. What d’you think?’

Roselle took no time to think. ‘It’s a marvellous idea. I’ll come with you.’

‘But I know Dad didn’t want you to have anything to do with her, so what’ll he say?’

‘We won’t tell him. I’ll say I’m taking you away to help you to get over …’

‘Are you sure, Mum? I don’t want to come between you and Dad.’

‘I’ll be very diplomatic, Dilly. I’ve been thinking about Helen a lot lately, and I’d love to see her and Frank again.’

When the concocted story was put to him, Brian was quite supportive. ‘It’ll do you both good to get away for a couple of days. If I wasn’t so busy at work, I’d come with you. Have you decided where you’re going?’

It was Roselle who came up with the impromptu untruth. ‘To Glasgow, to do some shopping. We’ve never been there, either of us.’ Her brain added silently, ‘I don’t think I have, anyway.’ She had given up all hope, some years ago, of regaining her memory.

Her husband almost scuppered their plan by saying that he’d take them right to the station to make sure that they got on to the right train, but realising their true destination would be revealed if he did, Roselle succeeded in talking him out of it. ‘Don’t make yourself late for work, Bri. We’ll easily manage.’

Within half an hour, both women were on their way to Grangemouth, looking forward excitedly to seeing their old friends again.

Andrew Milne had, to his father’s great relief, flown over from Belfast as soon as he received the letter about his mother’s death. ‘You should have let me know as soon as Mum took ill,’ he scolded Frank. ‘How long was it?’

‘Apart from the effects of the stroke, she wasn’t ill at all. I rose to make her a cup of tea, and when I went back with it, she was dead.’

A great surge of guilt swamped the younger man. He had never seen his father so upset, and he wished with all his heart that he had come to see his parents at least once a year, instead of letting Peggy talk him into going to Spain, Greece, Germany, Italy or wherever her fancy took them. She was a selfish woman, but he had been stupid to let her rule the roost like that. He had a duty to the old folk, they brought him up, they gave him a good education, and they’d had not a penny of benefit from it. Not that he supposed they had wanted that, but it would have been the proper thing to do.

Now, his mother was dead and his father was a frail old man, having looked after her for years. He wouldn’t have minded that, of course. He’d have been happy to do it for his beloved wife, for there was never any doubt about how much they loved each other.

The funeral was taking place the following day, and his father did not feel like going out at all, so they were sitting silently, one on each side of the fire, when someone rang the doorbell. He jumped up. ‘I’ll go, Dad.’

There had been a steady stream of people coming to tender their condolences - his mother had been well liked - so he was not at all surprised to see two smartly dressed ladies, one perhaps forty-something and the other looked to be her daughter, early twenties, probably. Both seemed very surprised to see him, but he said, graciously, ‘You’d better come in.’

To his amazement, his father jumped up and embraced the older lady as if she had been a long-lost daughter. ‘Oh, Roselle, if only you’d come a week ago.’ Tears coursed down his wrinkled face Seeing her puzzlement, Andrew stepped in. ‘My mother died a few days ago. Her funeral’s tomorrow, if you’d like to come.’

His father turned outraged eyes on him. ‘Of course they’ll come. As long as Roselle has turned up, Helen wouldn’t care a docken who else was there.’

Over the next hour or so, Andrew learned what had happened, why the Lewises had moved away, why Roselle had only sent Christmas cards without giving her address. It was so similar to his own behaviour that he could empathise with her guilty sorrow, share her regret for neglecting a woman she loved. Frank, of course, was getting to know the girl, the grown-up Dilly who had also flung her arms around him and wept tears for the missing years.

When evening came - after they had consumed the fish and chips that Andrew had insisted on going out for although they had all said they weren’t hungry - they sat quietly by the fire, Andrew and Dyllis mostly listening to Frank and Roselle reliving many happy memories, not forgetting the harrowing time they had shared when Dilly had contracted meningitis.

At last, Roselle glanced at the Westminster clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Frank, it’s nearly midnight. You must be absolutely shattered.’

He shook his silver head. ‘I’m OK, lass. It’s well past my usual bedtime, but I’m still as bright as a button.’

His grey, lined face, however, told a different story, so she turned to her daughter. ‘We’d better go, Dilly. We’ll find a bed and breakfast somewhere for the night.’

‘Indeed, you will not!’ the old man declared, indignantly. ‘Helen would give me a right tongueing if I turned you out.’

‘I’ll sleep on the settee so you can have my bed,’ Andrew offered, thinking that it would be no hardship to him. He slept on the settee often enough at home when Peggy locked him out of their room.

Only Frank’s insistence that they stay made Roselle agree to this arrangement, but the hands of the Westminster clock on the mantelpiece had gone round a full hour before they were all housed up and, too tired to do anything else, each one fell asleep within minutes.

The next morning was bright and clear, but because this was the day of the funeral, spirits were much lower than they had been the night before. Andrew had breakfast ready when the two women came downstairs, but he felt somewhat awkward with them. ‘You must think I’ve been a terrible son. Never looking near the old folk for years.’

‘You’re no worse than I was,’ Roselle said, sadly. ‘Frank and Helen were like parents to me, yet I dropped them when Brian was promoted and we moved away.’

‘That was Dad’s fault,’ Dilly reminded her, but the remark was really intended for Andrew’s benefit. ‘He wouldn’t let Mum give Helen our new address.’

He frowned in puzzlement. ‘Why was that?’

Roselle shook her head impatiently. ‘He had the idea that Helen was nosey.’

‘Mum always wanted to know everything about everybody,’ he grinned.

‘That’s just because she was interested,’ Frank said, coming in at that moment. ‘She never meant to be nosey, but that’s how some people looked at it.’

‘That kind of people weren’t worth bothering about,’ Roselle said, angrily defending the woman who had been like a mother to her. ‘Brian included,’ she added.

They sorted out an order for using the bathroom, and eventually they were all washed and dressed - Frank and Andrew in smart parson-grey suits, and Roselle wishing that she had something darker than a beige coat to wear over her pink dress, but she hadn’t known she would need any mourning clothes. Dilly’s tailored grey trouser suit didn’t look so out of place, but, really, what did clothes matter in the long run? She was so glad that she was having the opportunity to say a proper farewell to this fine woman, whom she had treated so badly, and she could only hope that Helen would be aware that she was there.

Roselle flatly refused to go back to the house after the funeral. ‘We have to go home, Frank, but I’m so glad I got here in time. I only wish …’

He slid his arm round her back. ‘No, lass, let bygones be bygones. We can’t change the past, however much we’d like to. But now you’ve got back in touch, you’ll not forget me, will you?’

She turned to hug him fondly. ‘I never did forget you, either of you, it was …’

‘Aye. Well.’

Andrew, waiting to drive them to the railway station, had settled Dilly into one of the rear seats and was holding the front passenger door open for her. They waved to Frank until the car turned the corner, and then Andrew said, ‘He’s bearing up quite well.’

‘It must have been a terrible shock for him, though, and he’ll feel even worse when you go home.’

‘Yes, that’s why I’ve made up my mind - maybe you’ll think I’m silly—’ He stopped, as if still undecided, and then continued, ‘I’m going to take him home with me.’

‘What a good idea!’ Dilly exclaimed.

It was a moment or so before Roselle said, ‘I don’t know. He’s been in that house since he and Helen were married. He won’t want to leave it - all the memories.’

‘But he’s always getting older,’ Andrew pointed out. ‘There’ll come a time when he won’t be able to look after himself.’

‘Yes, I see what you’re getting at, but how would you like to be yanked out of the only home you’ve known for fifty years?’

His eyes never leaving the road in front of them, he gave her hand a light pat. ‘You’re a very caring woman, Roselle. Do you know that?’

‘I care very much what happens to your father, I know that.’

‘I know that too, and I can’t thank you enough for it, but I have to look to the future. What does that hold for him? It’s a bugger, really.’