The Yorkshire Pudding Club (24 page)

Terry Lennox bounced in from his early-morning meeting at Handi-Save, threw his jacket successfully onto one of the hooked arms of the old-fashioned coat-stand in the corner of his office with the ease of a Harlem Globetrotter and buzzed Elizabeth to get her enormous backside in there as quickly as she could with two hot chocolates and a packet of anything but Penguins.

‘Sit down, woman, you’re blocking all the light!’ he said, when she bumped open the door with her bottom because her hands were full. For once, Elizabeth did as she was told without a clever retort because a) he was obviously champing at the bit to release whatever news he had and b) she was carrying the packet of biscuits in by her teeth.

‘Guess what I’ve just heard.’

‘I can’t imagine.’

He was going to make her guess for a bit, but it was too good to dither over.

‘Your mate Julia Powell—’he began, before Elizabeth interrupted him.

‘She’s no mate of mine!’

‘Will you shush! As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,
your mate Julia Powell
was found naked in the middle of Barnsley on Saturday.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Elizabeth, pulling open the packet of mint Viscounts and offering them over.

‘No, honestly, and Laurence, by all accounts, is furious. Personally, I think she’s kept it quiet that she was seeing someone, wanted to keep Laurence dangling, and then she’s had to come crawling to him to sort all the mess out. He’s pulled a mighty lot of strings to keep it out of the newspapers for her, but he isn’t happy about it at all because everyone knows anyway and it doesn’t land him in a good light trying to manipulate the press, especially with his political aspirations!’

‘No!’ said Elizabeth, who was starting to believe him now. ‘Straight up?’

‘As straight up as a levitating poker,’ said Terry, and began at the beginning.

‘Apparently she’s been seeing some married bigwig advertising bloke. His wife comes home, finds them at it in the marital bed; she throws Julia, naked, in the car and drives her to the middle of town where she dumps the car, jams the key in the ignition and gets a taxi home. Anyway, someone eventually gives Miss Powell a blanket and drives her home, but there was a hell of a crowd by all accounts. Laurence is not a happy bloke, I can tell you. He could hardly look at her in the meeting. There’s been innuendo flying about all morning, then she eventually twigged that all the sniggering was directed at her and ran out crying. Silly
little girl. As if poor Laurence hasn’t got enough on his plate, with me breathing on his jugular. Anyway,’ he took a swig of chocolate and nodded with approval, ‘I thought you might like to know.’

‘Oh, you can’t imagine how glad I am you told me,’ said Elizabeth with a delighted smirk. ‘Though I wouldn’t have had you down as a gossip, Mr Lennox.’

‘I’m not,’ said Terry Lennox, ‘but I can’t abide marriage-wreckers. They deserve every bloody thing they get in my book. I’ll have another of those biscuits. Nice, aren’t they?’

Well, well, well, thought Elizabeth, passing him the packet of biscuits again. Helen said to wait for karma and here it is, making its arrival in its top hat and tails. Or in the buff, whichever way you look at it.

Helen…

Oh bloody hell–
Helen!

Elizabeth rang Helen on her mobile to find she was at work as usual. It obviously wasn’t Slimy found
in flagrante delicto
then because Helen would have been in pieces if it had, and would surely have told them, needing their support.

‘Oh, hi,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I was…er…just ringing…er…no reason, really. Just to see if you were okay.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Helen, who sounded finer than she had in a long time. ‘In fact, I’ve never felt better. I was going to ring you at lunchtime actually, with an invitation.’

‘Oh, were you? What’s up?’

‘Well, I’ve thrown Simon out and I’ve got myself a new man and I’d like you and Janey to come over. Let’s make it tonight, shall we? Come for tea, then you can meet him. Will you ring her or shall I?’

This wasn’t Helen, she was obviously in that mad stage that sounded like euphoria but was actually hysteria with a mask on. Any minute now and she would break down and start wailing like a banshee crossed with Celine Dion.

‘Er…I’ll ring her. Are you really all right?’

‘Elizabeth, really I am, apart from the heartburn–but I think I might have just got rid of the biggest pain in my pregnancy. We’ll talk later and I’ll tell you everything. I’ll see you at six.’

She left Elizabeth staring down at the receiver as if she expected to hear it cry, ‘April Fool!’

They looked down at the sofa where the new male in Helen’s life lay sleeping.

‘Gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she said, with an indulgent smile.

‘Never thought you’d go for a ginger fella,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Oy!’ said Janey, making a stand for redheads. ‘I think he’s very handsome, Hels, well done.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Brian,’ said Helen.

‘Well, he’s a good sleeper!’

‘He had a huge dinner, I expect that tired him out.’

‘He looks content, bless him.’

‘Big lad, isn’t he?’ commented Janey.

‘He’ll bugger up your leather sofa,’ said Elizabeth.

Helen stroked the big ginger cat’s fur and he responded to her touch in sleep with a long claw-showing stretch.

‘Yes,’ she said, sweetly but dangerously. ‘I hope he rips it to shreds.’

They ate prawn cocktails, scampi and chips, and a home-made Black Forest gâteau that stood about six inches tall, and Janey had two portions of it with cream and was in seventh heaven. Mind you, she was burning up so much raw energy at work and in bed with George that she needed the extra calories.

The centrepiece of the dining table was Elizabeth’s vase filled with pink flowers, like the ones Janey had bought for her birthday. The big abstract, boring pictures had gone and Helen’s cat paintings, which had been stored in the garage, now graced the walls. Little feminine knick-knacks had appeared everywhere and the house had a gentler, softer feel already.

Helen relayed the events of the past few days without tears, without emotion as if it was the story of someone else and not part of her recent past. The others had not dared to as much as smile because at the heart of it all was a friend who had got hurt and deceived, but when she got to the bit about the locksmith, despite everything, they couldn’t hold the laughter back and exploded like round giggling bombs until they were spent.

‘Will you cope all right on your own?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘Well,
you
do,’ said Helen.

‘Yes, but I’m
hard
,’ she replied, casting a look at Janey who flicked a middle finger up in her direction.

‘Mum’s been wonderful. I thought she’d try and make us get back together, but she didn’t. I told her everything and we talked like we never have done before,’ said Helen. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t go back if the whole world was trying to persuade me to.’

The others didn’t ask why she had not shared her unhappiness before. They knew there were some things they would always have to keep to themselves.

‘I hope he doesn’t give you a hard time,’ said Janey.

‘He wouldn’t dare,’ said Helen, thinking about her little insurance policy, dually lodged in her mother’s and Teddy Sanderson’s safes.

When her friends left and the hot lemon sun started to drop down on the fine summer evening, Helen started to feel jittery at the hour that Simon usually returned home. She realized, with some sadness, how conditioned she had become to that tense, nervous state. She had great joy in telling herself that he was not going to come through the door. There would be none of his moods to contend with ever again, no tip-toeing around him on eggshells in case his hair-trigger temper went off, no going to bed wondering what she had done to send him off in a sulk. Never again would he sleep in the cold little room at the end of the hallway to teach her a lesson or call her those names or push her around. She had so much wanted to share his life, but now, suddenly after all these years, she knew he would always have been
incapable of letting her do that. All he wanted of a wife was someone to sit decoratively in the background until needed–and she knew she deserved so much more.

Helen had thought that she and Simon were so happy, but with this newly found perspective, she could see now that she had lost sight of her own happiness long ago and had strived only for his. So long as she stayed slim and beautiful, he paid her attention; so long as she did not dare have opinions, she was assured of his kisses. Kisses that were not exclusive to her, it seemed. Once all these realizations had hit home, she felt different, as if she had been let out of a dark, cramped cage. She also knew that she would not stay in that house longer than was necessary. She wanted her baby brought up in a place as she had been, full of love and bright colours. Her mother had asked her to move back into the Old Rectory, and the next day the two of them would start to pack up her belongings and move them across to her old home.

It hurt her to think of his deception, because not only was he unfaithful, but he respected her so little that he brought another woman into their bed. To think of
them
, together there, brought an actual physical pain to her gut that she hoped the baby couldn’t feel. By coincidence, the baby booted it a direct hit.

‘That’s my girl,’ Helen said.

Just like her dad used to say to her. Just like he said to her that last night of his life.

She felt strongly that Alex Luxmore was there in
that room with her; but he would come back with her to the Old Rectory. He would always be with her; he was her father, a beloved part of her, as she would always be part of him. She had her child, her two dear friends, her mother and now Brian too. The tears made a short reappearance then left. She was not alone; in fact, Helen had never felt less alone than in all the time she was married.

There was no reason for Helen to jolt awake in the middle of that freezing April night, but she did and, not able to get back to sleep, she went downstairs with the intention of revisiting her bedtime routine, which she had heard helped a restless sleeper. She padded down the long hallway, past the library, her father’s study and the morning room, which he used now for a bedroom, and there became aware of a distinct draught coming from the direction of the kitchen. She opened the door to that room to find it icy, which was very unusual because the central heating was never switched off for her father felt the cold so very much these days. She checked the back door and it was unlocked, which was even stranger, because she had locked it herself before going up to bed. Tentatively she opened it and saw her father there on the terrace and realized it must have taken him a monumental effort to turn the key and wheel the chair out there by himself. There was a long glass on the small wrought-iron table and some straws and he was trying to unscrew the top off a bottle of brandy.

‘Daddy, what are you doing? How did you get out here?’

‘Oh, dear God, go back in,’ he said. ‘Please go away, leave me alone, Helen.’ He struggled with the words, for his speech had started to go by then.

‘Daddy, let me take you back ins—’

He stilled her arm on his chair with the little remaining strength in his bony hand.

‘Let me go, Helen. I’ve seen what this disease does to the body and I don’t want it any more. I don’t want to suffer and I don’t want your mother and you to suffer watching me. I don’t want you to remember me like that.’

‘Daddy…’

‘It has to be tonight. I’ve been watching the forecast and it would be cold enough. The weather will change soon. I want to go here, in my garden, Helen. I want to fall asleep and just let go…Oh dear God, why did you have to come out?’

‘Please, Daddy! I can’t just walk away and let you do this!’

‘The insurance won’t cover me for suicide, Helen; it has to be this way–accidental death. They’ll say I was an old soak and you will agree.’

‘But you aren’t–you hardly—’

‘YES, Helen, and you will tell them that if asked,’ said her father. ‘I have been drinking recently, building up to this night, just in case they perform a post-mortem.’

Helen started to sob.

‘You have to be strong, my love. I realize how much I’m asking of you. Now help me get the top off this bottle.’

‘I can’t!’ she cried.

‘Please, Helen, remember that Luxmore backbone! You have to, my darling, darling girl. I need you. Go and get some gloves–don’t leave your fingerprints.’

Alex Luxmore was trapped in the grip of the disease he feared more than any other; it was his own living nightmare. Almost blindly, Helen got some woolly gloves from the
kitchen drawer, took the bottle and, with shaking hands, poured him a brandy that filled and ran over the top of the glass. Then, as he asked, she put the straws in it for him, as if he were a child.

‘Goodnight, Helen. Say it, my love, as we always do and then go to bed. Leave me; you’ll need your strength for the morning.’

‘Daddy, please don’t do this.’

‘My darling girl, I love you so much and I know you love me enough to do this one thing for me. It’s what I want. Please, Helen, please…I can’t take any more.’

She did not want to see him cry. She did not want to see her tall, brilliant, strong, gentle dad reduced to begging. He had given her everything and never asked anything of her, but this. What cruel coins they were that would now repay the debt. She dropped to the ground and cried on his lap and he stroked her hair, his lovely girl’s beautiful, golden hair.

‘Yes, Daddy, I will do this for you.’

‘That’s my girl. I love you. May God forgive me for putting you through this.’

She wiped away the tears that were rolling from his bright, grey eyes. Then she put the large glass of brandy into his hands.

‘Try to forgive me, Helen. Now go. Say goodnight, my love.’

‘Goodnight, Daddy, sweet dreams, I love you so much, so very much, always…’ and she kissed his warm cheek for the last time. Then she walked into the house with a straight Luxmore backbone–and left him to die.