Good Husband Material (45 page)

‘I got him!’ she announced triumphantly, subjecting me to the same scrutiny I was giving her, since up till then we had been ships that pass in the night. Or telephones that say nothing in the night.

She made James sound like an infectious disease.

‘So you did, Wendy. Nice to see endeavour receive the reward it deserves.’

There was suspicion and a hint of anger in her piggy little blue eyes. ‘I suppose you think you can keep a man like Fergal Rocco?’ she said spitefully.

‘You can’t keep anyone if they want to go, Wendy, even if you butter their feet like a straying cat’s. But you ought to bear in mind that James’s record for faithfulness is pretty dodgy.’

I shifted my bulk from foot to foot and added thoughtfully, ‘As Shakespeare said about Desdemona, “She has deceived her father, and may thee.” Only of course she didn’t, but Iago saw the weakness there. Like all those politicians who drop their trousers at the least temptation – if their wives can’t trust them, their constituents certainly can’t.’

I warmed to the theme, having never really thought it through before. ‘Reminds me of that thing where a man asks a girl if she’ll sleep with him for a million pounds, and she can’t resist that and agrees. Then he says: “Madam, we’ve established
what
you are, now let’s negotiate a
price
.”’

Wendy seemed to have gone into a trance, for her pink rosebud mouth hung open and her eggshell-blue eyes were glazed and vacant. Then without another word she turned and wobbled off on high heels that had worn down to the metal spikes and which tilted her at a drunken angle.

I must point out to Mother that this is how she will end up if she doesn’t halt her sartorial decline.

For some reason this encounter put me in a good mood, and I came out of the Test Centre later feeling quietly confident that I’d passed.

Wish I felt the same about the actual driving test.

Fergal: January 2000

    
‘ROCKER BROKE MY HEART

    
says heiress Nerissa Bright, after finding singer boyfriend,

    
Fergal Rocco, with another woman on eve of announcing

    
their engagement …’

Exposé
magazine

Which engagement? I haven’t had any kind of engagement (not even a sexual one) with Nerissa for
months
!

I suppose this is all part of her little fantasy … and to make her look good with her friends, but at least she didn’t take vindictiveness to the point of naming Tish as the Other Woman. Perhaps she knew I’d wring her stupid neck if she did.

The phone’s been ringing off the hook, but I’ve told Maria not to answer it, just let the machine pick up: there’s no point in my trying to defend myself in the press at this stage in my life. A dignified silence is the best I can do.

Tish looked like a ripe Renaissance beauty in that green dress, and I so want to paint her like that …

Mother’s birthday coming round again made me think about her last one, to which I can date the rot setting into my marriage. (Of course, the termites were already nibbling at the foundations, but I didn’t realise that at the time.) How unbearably smug I was in my little safe world, with my perfect marriage, dream cottage and reliable, trustworthy, dependable husband!

If James can be so devious, yet Fergal, who looks about as reliable and domesticated as a tiger, turns out to be a staunch and caring friend, how am I ever to judge anyone? But even Fergal’s capable of dropping a girlfriend without a qualm, it seems, after giving her the idea he was serious about her. (She couldn’t possibly have meant
me
in that article, could she? But if not, did she really find Fergal with another girl?)

I’m much better off building a life alone, and I’ve written down my Four-Part Plan for Happiness. (Or if happiness is too much to hope for, I’ll settle for peace.)

When I phoned Mother to ask how she wanted to celebrate her birthday, she said rather stiffly that Dr Reevey was taking her out to dinner and a show, but she expected she would see me before too long, and thank you for the Interflora basket.

Considering I’d braced myself to endure a large chunk of her undiluted company I was strangely disconcerted by this rebuff.

I wish something would come of her beau. Perhaps I should ask him if his intentions are honourable.

She said there were some people interested in buying the house, too, so if he doesn’t propose soon Granny will have to come clean and set Mother up in a little flat after all.

The key to Mother’s huffiness came at the end of our conversation, when she suddenly burst out with, ‘I simply couldn’t believe it of you, Leticia!’

‘Believe what?’

‘James told me – he didn’t mean to, but he was so upset, the poor boy! I assured him he’d misinterpreted an innocent situation, but I’m afraid you’re falling under the influence of that Evil Man again.’

‘Evil Man? Do you mean Fergal? Oh, I see! You’ve had the St James version of finding me all alone – except for the presence of Fergal’s Aunt Maria, I suppose, but let’s not quibble – in his house at tea time!’

‘With his arm around you,’ Mother quavered.

‘Yes!’ I giggled insanely. (Or perhaps I’m the only sane one left?) ‘Decadent, isn’t it!’

‘How can you be so shameless? Could what James said about you and That Man be true?’

‘It comes to something when even your own mother would rather believe your philandering husband is innocent, while you are a tart!’ (But not the Tart of the First Part.) ‘You ought to know me better, and so ought James, if he wasn’t so blinded by misplaced jealousy. I suppose he did mention that he was with a girl when he turned up at Fergal’s – and not Little Snookums Wendy, either.’

‘I don’t know what to believe!’ she quavered. ‘But I can tell you now that James won’t have you back. You’ve burned your boats!’

‘Oh, whoopi-doo!’

‘There’s no need to take that attitude. Worry over this has completely ruined my birthday. And have you seen what That Man has been up to now? Shameless!’

‘Mother, stop worrying and imagining things. Go out with your boyfriend and enjoy yourself.’

‘Boyfriend! At my age you don’t have boyfriends!’

‘You aren’t fifty yet, and you don’t look a day over forty,’ I lied valiantly, to perk her up.

‘Don’t I really? I’m sure you are flattering me, darling! Though Duncan says I’m a giddy little thing.’

‘Does he?’ I managed to say politely. ‘Well, have a lovely time, and don’t stay out too late.’

She’s easily distracted: from high tragedy to farce in a ten-minute conversation. I only hope her play tonight is half as good.

Another spin in the Mini with Fergal, but this time I drove round the countryside and we had tea in a pretty little village about fifteen miles away.

I told him I was sure he didn’t want to be seen in public with a grossly pregnant woman, but he said I was beautiful and he was proud to be seen with me.

He can’t mean it, but it’s very thoughtful and kind of him to say it, all the same.

Two customers asked for his autograph just as we were leaving, but no one bothered him until then, which I thought very civilised.

I know I ought to try to distance myself from him, but it’s very hard to say no when he just turns up, usually now with food packages from Maria, who seems to make enough of everything for ten people and send me half.

I’m not complaining: my freezer is now full of delicious food, which comes with lightly translated cooking instructions. And he says that if I don’t take it she’ll make him eat it all, and he’ll quickly become twice the man Meat Loaf is.

Later I went down to ask Mrs Deakin if she knew anyone who’d like a puppy, and she said to let her think about it for a day or two, and she wished she could see them.

‘Why don’t you come tonight when the shop shuts?’ I suggested.

‘I can’t tonight – it’s the WI. I’ll come tomorrow, though, if you don’t mind. I do love a nice puppy!’

I didn’t tell her they weren’t nice. She’ll find that out soon enough.

‘Dulcie Blacklock says your driving’s coming on a treat,’ she remarked with a sly look. ‘Must be all that practice in Mr Rocco’s funny little car with the checked roof.’

‘It does help. It’s very kind of him to spare the time when he’s so busy up at the Hall.’

‘That Italian woman come in, and near made me scrub the carrots before she bought them – said she wasn’t paying for mud!’ she said admiringly.

I wish
I
had Maria’s gall.

‘She’s coming to the WI with me tonight. The lady she used to Do for told her it was a traditional English ladies’ club.’

‘I hope she enjoys it.’

‘She seems a respectable body,’ conceded Mrs D. regretfully: clearly there would be no goings-on up at the Hall with Maria in residence. ‘There’s your ex going past.’

‘James? This is early for him to be back.’

‘How’s the divorce, dear?’

‘Coming along nicely. Isn’t it amazing how quickly you can get an uncontested one through?’

The sooner the better now. Can James – or Nerissa – really believe Fergal Rocco is interested in having a fling with me in this condition – or any condition? He could have anybody (and probably has).

I lumbered home with my bit of shopping and had just made a cup of cocoa for Bob, who was lurking in his shed doing God knows what, when the Shack door slammed and James came stamping across to the house.

There are more men lurking in sheds in my garden than in any D.H. Lawrence novel.

I thought he’d carry on round the corner of the house, so he nearly received the contents of Bob’s mug in his face when I turned and bumped into him in the doorway. (OK, my stomach bumped into him, but I was right behind it.)

He recoiled, and I could see he was in a vile temper because of his scarlet face and the giveaway twitching vein in his temple.

‘Bob!’ I called, before he could speak. ‘Bob!’

Bob shambled out, accompanied by the two Jack Russells and a strong smell of damp sacking. I handed him the cocoa and half a packet of ginger nuts.

‘Everything all right, Bob?’

He paused in blowing the top of his cocoa and stared incuriously at James, who was seething with repressed impatience and temper like a minor volcano.

‘Snoddrops,’ he said after a minute.

I fended a puppy back from the open door with my foot. ‘Snoddrops – I mean, snowdrops – in the garden? Are they out?’

‘No,’ Bob said.

‘You mean, I’ve got snowdrops, but they haven’t got flowers on yet?’

‘Snoddrops,’ he agreed, and demonstrated the size of his mouth by inserting a whole ginger nut into it and revolving it slowly like some strange lip-plate. Then he poured cocoa on top and chomped it down.

You could hangar an aeroplane in a mouth like that.

Then he smiled with amiable vacuity and wandered back off towards the shed with his cocoa and little dogs.

‘Are you mad employing someone like that? He could be a dangerous lunatic!’

‘I only know one of those,’ I told him coldly. ‘You sound just like Mother. Bob’s totally harmless and a good gardener. He must have just picked it up from watching his father and grandfather.’

‘I don’t know why we’re talking about Bob. And I don’t know how you can look me in the face after the other night! By God, I’m beginning to believe what everyone’s been telling me about you!’

‘Everyone being Nerissa and Wendy?’ I sighed. ‘Do you want the whole village to share this, or would you care to come in and harangue me privately? Only I need to sit down.’

He followed me just over the threshold, then halted dramatically and pointed an accusing finger. ‘Wendy’s pregnant, her father and Uncle Lionel are trying to force me to marry her, and it’s all your fault!’

Isn’t everything? Why didn’t Mother just have me christened Eve and have done with it?

This time I was determined not to burden Fergal with my boring problems. As it was, he drove me to the solicitor’s despite my protests. He’s so sweet to me already that I keep telling him I feel I’m presuming on his good nature, but he says he hasn’t got one.

Just because we once went out with each other doesn’t mean he has to feel obliged to look after me now.

We set off, but he could somehow tell that I was seething over something, for after a bit we pulled into a quiet lay-by where, I’m ashamed to say, with minimal persuasion, I described James’s visit – and his ultimatum.

‘Wendy’s pregnant. You know, it must be due about the same time as Margaret Wrekin’s. Oh – you don’t know the Wrekins, do you?’

‘No. Go on, though. So the baby’s real?’

‘So it seems, and James blames me, because she took the advice I gave her sister seriously! And Alice and Wendy’s father is Something Big in the City, and knows James’s uncle, who’s the head of the firm. So now he knows about the baby they’ve got together to pressure James into getting the divorce sorted out and marrying Wendy quickly.’

‘Shot-gun weddings have always been popular,’ Fergal pointed out.

‘Yes, but not with the bridegroom! James says this is my fault – first for wanting to divorce him, secondly for telling Wendy to get pregnant, and thirdly and worst, for carrying on with you – sorry, Fergal! – thus making it impossible for him to avoid marriage with Wendy by nobly insisting on not divorcing me, in case I came to my senses and wanted him back.’

‘
Your
fault? None of this is your fault!’

‘The best is yet to come: he then said he’d contest the divorce unless, on top of the division of property we’ve already agreed on, I give him ten thousand pounds.’

‘The bastard! He’s no right to make demands like that.’ It was as well James wasn’t within reach just then, or he might have had his face rearranged in an unfamiliar pattern.