sUnwanted Truthst (29 page)

*

The next morning as she was getting ready for work, the telephone rang. ‘Hello,' she answered.

‘Oh, it's you.' Jenny froze, as she recognised her mother-in-law's voice.

‘Do you want to speak to Robert?' Her heart raced.

‘Well, I certainly don't want to speak to you. Robert told me what you said. How could you do that to him? Those poor little children.'

‘He's no angel himself, you know.'

‘It's different for men.'

‘Oh, is it? At least I made him happy once; which is more than he can say about you.'

‘How dare you speak to me like that, you little slut; blood will out in the end, that's what…'

Jenny slammed the phone down; her hands trembling. She sat in the chair by the window and felt a pricking at the back of her eyes. A tear teetered on the edge of her eyelid and trickled down her cheek. Another formed and dripped onto her lip, she removed it with her tongue thinking how salty it tasted. Outside a young mother was pushing her child in a buggy. Jenny watched until she was a dark speck at the end of the road, and then stood up, walked over to the corner table and flicked through the telephone directory. She picked up the receiver and dialled the number. She felt strangely calm. ‘Martin, it's me. Can I come over?'

Toby sat expectantly at the door of the cottage, his tail sweeping the floor.

‘Alright, I'm coming,' Jenny bent down and attached the lead to his collar. She pulled down the door latch and stepped out onto the brick path that led to the lane. Once past the old school she removed his lead. Toby rushed to the edge of the pond and barked at the ducks waddling on the baked mud. Startled, they retreated and paddled furiously towards their island refuge. Jenny stared at the water level. It was low, but not as low as she remembered it had been in the drought of 1976. Wandering past the disused village pump, she turned right alongside the church; the morning sun warming her bare arms and legs.

She had been living with Martin for over a year, and they were renting a small flint knapped cottage in Falmer. It was cramped, but in a strategic position; Martin said that his journey took only five minutes longer than it had from Ringmer, and Jenny could drop Lorna at school on her way into work. She bent down and threw a stick for Toby. It had been her idea to buy a dog; to help distract Lorna and Nicky from the inevitable fall-out from her separation from Robert. Last December, she had taken Lorna to the R.S.P.C.A. kennels, where a wire-haired fox terrier cross had immediately decided they were going to adopt him. The cross part of Toby had been the subject of much discussion since, but with no determinate conclusion. Toby had been a great success. No one could fail to raise a smile in his presence. Both Lorna and Nicky – when he came to stay for the weekend – vied to be the one to take him for a walk. At the southern edge of the churchyard, harvested fields, prickly with stubble, stretched into the distance. Jenny turned right alongside a line of alders, and picking up another stick threw it onto the grass. Toby hurtled towards it, skidding to a halt and returned to her triumphantly. ‘Only a short walk today, Toby.' Usually, she would take the narrow path that led to the footbridge over the A27. They would walk past the village stores and almshouses, and along the lanes of the northern half of the village. The walk would take at least half an hour, and Toby would return exhausted. Today, he was still lively as she walked up to their cottage door and stepped into the sitting room. A wood burning stove sat in a tiled recess. By the side was a wicker basket filled to the brim with logs that Martin had collected ready for autumn. Picking up a writing pad and pen from a side table, Jenny walked through the kitchen and out onto a small brick patio. Sitting at the small wooden table she began to write.

Jenny put her pen down and stared along the narrow garden which faced due west. The sun was prevented from reaching her by the walls of the kitchen extension. The hum from the dual carriageway formed a background to her thoughts about the children. The phone rang in the sitting room.

‘This is a nice surprise,' Jenny said, recognising Martin's voice.

‘Daniel phoned today.'

‘Oh, good, I'm so pleased.'

‘Apparently, he had a bad cold at the weekend, and Marilyn didn't want him to go out and make it worse. He said he wasn't that bad, and still wanted to see me, but didn't want to upset her.' Martin had planned to meet Daniel on Saturday, but after waiting one hour, he had given up and returned home with disappointment written over his face.

‘Is he better now?'

‘He's still a bit croaky, but he said he's better. What are you doing this morning?'

‘I've just walked Toby round the pond, and I'm in the middle of writing to Dido, you remember, I often mention her?'

‘Well, enjoy the peace while it lasts. I'm just off to that meeting I told you about, so I might be a bit late.'

‘Take care – love you.'

Jenny replaced the handset, went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. She smiled as she imagined Martin in his office, his elbow on the desk as he told her the good news.
At least Daniel's phoned him at work
, she thought,
even if he doesn't want to phone here
. She knew he felt guilty about Daniel; she felt the same about Lorna and Nicky. They only had to be unusually quiet; say they felt ill, or have trouble with their friends, and she would immediately blame herself.
At least we can sympathise with each other
.

She sat and stared at the trees on the skyline beyond the university, and again recalled last Saturday afternoon. Robert had met her as usual at the petrol station on the A23. With a nod of his head and a curt hello, he had opened the car door to let Nicky out. She had been surprised to see Nicky dressed in school uniform.

‘Why are you wearing your uniform?' she had asked.

‘I have school now on Saturday mornings. Dad's just collected me.'

‘Oh.'

‘It's O.K. Dad's brought a change of clothes for me.'

‘That's not the same uniform you had last term, is it?'

‘No,' he had quickly looked away, watching Robert's car as it disappeared down the slip road. ‘Mum, can I have a Cornetto?'

‘Alright,' she opened the glove compartment and gave him some coins. ‘Don't be long. Lorna's looking forward to seeing you, and so's Toby.' As he disappeared into the garage, she had realised that whatever they had agreed about their son, now counted for little. She recalled their conversation from the day before, Martin was standing at the end of the kitchen table carving slices off a leg of lamb, when Nicky had said, ‘We had lamb chops on Friday.'

‘Did you? That's good,' she had replied, pleased that at last Robert was cooking decent meals. ‘Does Dad often do those for you?'

‘No, I think he did it because Louise came round.'

‘Louise – is she your new friend?' Lorna had asked.

‘No, Dad said she was a friend from work. She cooked me sausage and bacon before school yesterday.'

‘You better watch out, or you'll be getting too fat to play in the football team,' Martin added quickly with a nervous laugh.

‘I prefer rugby now.'

She had felt an unexpected pang of jealousy, and wondered what Louise looked like. Looking across the table she saw Lorna had stopped eating and was staring at her plate. Later that evening she came into the kitchen.

‘I don't want to go to Dad's on Saturday. I'd rather stay here.'

‘Why's that?' she had spoken without thinking.

‘I just don't.'

‘You'll feel differently at the weekend. Could you get an apple from the fruit bowl for me please?'

‘Get it yourself,' Lorna had yelled, slamming the door behind her. She hadn't spoken to her since.

*

Ancient elm trees lined the right side of the road that led up to West Blatchington windmill.
It looks strange without its sails, an armless torso
, Jenny thought.
They must be down for renovation
. She flicked the indicator switch, and turned left into the crescent.

‘It's on the right, in the middle,' Martin said, ‘the one with the red roof tiles.'

Jenny swallowed several times as she followed Martin up the shared drive to the semi-detached bungalow. Dandelions sprouted from cracks in the concrete and marigolds multiplied haphazardly in the flower beds. It was the first time she had accompanied Martin to visit his father. She decided that she couldn't put it off for ever. They had spoken several times on the telephone, he had been polite, but she always passed the receiver to his son.

Martin pressed the doorbell. He was about to press it again when the door opened, and a grey-haired man of medium height stood before them. Replicas of Martin's eyes stared at Jenny.

‘You look as if you've seen a ghost, Dad. We told you we were coming today,' Martin said.

‘Yes, I was expecting you. It's just that… Oh, it doesn't matter. Come in, come in.'

The aroma of freshly made coffee wafted around the hallway. Jenny held out her right hand which he immediately lifted to his lips. ‘So you're Jenny?' His eyes glinted. ‘Ricco, call me Ricco.'

Martin embraced his father, kissing him on both cheeks. ‘How are you now Dad?'

‘Could be better, could be better, but it's good to see you both. Go through to the lounge and I'll bring the drinks through. No one makes coffee like us Italians.' He ushered them into a small room that looked out onto the road.

‘Dad – for God's sake,' Martin raised his eyebrows at Jenny. ‘Don't take any notice of him. He plays on the fact that he's half Italian; thinks it makes him more attractive.'

Jenny bit her lower lip and looked around the room. A gas fire was set into a tiled 1930's fireplace. Beside the sofa in an alcove was a sideboard covered with framed photographs. Martin and his sister in junior school uniforms smiled at her. Martin's tie was skewed to the left. Another photo showed them at about fourteen. Behind stood a black and white photo of Martin's parents arm in arm outside a church on their wedding day, beside that, a coloured picture of them seated together at a restaurant table several years later. Jenny was reminded of her own memory of Martin's mother. A young man in uniform, who Jenny assumed was Ricco, looked proudly from another frame. At the back were two sepia photographs of groups of people.

Martin removed a newspaper from the coffee table as his father entered the room. ‘We can't stay long Dad. We've got to pick up Lorna from her school at five.'

‘She's been camping for the weekend; Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme,' Jenny added.

‘Martin told me that you have two children, Jenny.' He placed the coffee cups on the table and sank with a sigh, into a chair under the window. ‘This old body of mine is not what it was – everything's an effort since my Ellen died. Anna and Martin are good to me, but it's not the same.'

Jenny nodded and sipped her coffee.

‘Family are very important. I can't say I was pleased when Martin told me he was leaving Marilyn. I liked the girl. But now I see you with my own eyes, perhaps I understand a little. You make my son happy, so perhaps I should be happy too.'

Jenny detected a slight accent as he spoke.

‘Dad, that's enough. We're going to get married as soon as we can, so we can be a proper family.'

‘Is that you in the uniform?' Jenny asked, nodding towards the photograph.

‘Yes, that's me. I was good looking then. My father and Paolo, my brother, were interned on the Isle of Man. They were born in Italy, you see – enemy aliens – that's what they were told when Mussolini declared war; even though the only weapons they had were ice creams,' he laughed. ‘But I was born here, so I joined the air-force.'

‘My father was in the army,' Jenny said. ‘He served for over twenty years as a regular soldier. He lost an eye in India, so he spent the war as an instructor.' She gave a little smile as she remembered his yarns.

‘I was part of the Italian campaign – I suppose they thought I would be useful because I spoke the language. I even saw my papa's village near Roma. You see those two photos at the back, they were taken in Palestrina – they're my aunts, uncles and cousins – nearly all of them moved away after the war; to England or America. The older ones and some of the younger ones are dead now. Roots you know – they're important – always a part of you, they keep you strong, grounded as they say these days. My papa used to say “A man with shallow roots is like a tree, he doesn't grow strong. He falls over when a strong wind blows”. Have you any brothers and sisters Jenny?'

‘No, I'm an only child.'

Ricco gave her a pitying look. She looked over at the photos of his relatives. ‘Do you mind if I have a closer look?'

‘Of course not, bring them over to the light.'

Jenny lifted the two photographs and took them over to the window. She scrutinised each one. There were about twenty people in each photograph. The older ones stood at the back – men with thick black moustaches, and old women with covered heads. Mothers nursing babies sat on chairs in the front row, while the children sat cross-legged on the ground. She could see a family resemblance in the shape of their faces. The photo looked as if it had been taken in a village square. A church stood in the background.

‘We're thinking of going to Italy at the end of October, aren't we Jenny?'

‘Yes, we're planning to go to Rome. I've got this thing about capital cities. We hope to visit Palestrina, so Martin can see where his grandparents came from.'

‘Good, good, I'm pleased. It makes me sad that I never took my Ellen back to visit my relatives. But there was no money for that back then. We were going to go when I retired, but then, it was too late.' He brushed a hand across his eyes, ‘But at least we moved up here, she always loved it, especially the view, better than where we used to live. You going to visit your mama while you're here?' Ricco pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.