Nest of Sorrows (20 page)

‘I can’t do that. I still love him. I want him back . . .’

‘Then talk to your mother or to his mother. Just talk to somebody. And for God’s sake, cheer up. There’s a lot worse off at sea.’

‘Is there? We’re standing in the bloody Atlantic. How will I cope? What shall I do? He’s mine. He’s my husband and I thought he loved me and I know I love him.’

‘Don’t start all that again. We can all love the unlovable till we view them from a distance. This is your chance for a bit of space. And believe me, Maureen Carter, he’ll sell this house over both our dead bodies. You’ve a twelve-year-old and another who’s only ten. He’ll not get custody, and the house stays with the kids.’

Kate left the little woman pouring her grief and hurt into the phone, then ran the downhill distance to her own house.

Three o’clock found her alighting from a taxi outside Woolworth’s on Deansgate. She crossed the road and walked slowly along Mealhouse Lane, a large plastic portfolio clutched to her right side. The offices of Willow and Carter, chartered accountants, were a few doors away from the
Bolton Evening News
, and she smiled grimly to herself as she passed the doorway that led to the
News
. This paper would be her biggest bluff, her heaviest weapon. Bolton was the largest town in England, the readership was vast.

‘Have you an appointment?’ asked the pretty young thing behind the Willows and Carter desk. Kate stared at her with a degree of enmity. Perhaps this was the one Phil was about to make off with. ‘No. It’s an emergency involving a lot of cash and property. I want to see Mr Carter, I believe he’s very good. There’s an urgent need for a sensible tax consultant and I understand that he’s the best in the north west.’

The girl preened herself on her employer’s behalf, and Kate’s hatred grew hotter. ‘What name shall I say?’ Red lips parted in a smile that displayed perfect teeth. Too perfect, thought Kate, praying hard that the teeth were a job for Steradent. ‘Mrs Hardcastle,’ she replied with all the sweetness she could dredge up.

He was seated at an immaculately tidy desk, no papers, no books, just a few pens and pencils lined up parallel to the top of a huge clean blotter. His face changed colour when ‘Mrs Hardcastle’ was ushered in, and it did not settle to a proper shade until the pretty receptionist had left.

‘Well, Kate,’ he finally managed.

‘Lovely office,’ she said slyly. ‘Not a bit damp, no water in here. And a good chair for you to sit on. Never mind
well
, Phil Carter! Your children are in a terrible state of hysteria. What sort of a nutcase makes off with a plumbed-in washing machine without turning it off at the hoses? And did you never learn to take down curtains by removing the hooks from the eyes? Then there’s the legal aspect. You must know some law, Phil, goodness knows you’ve helped in enough division of property cases.’

‘This is nothing to do with you.’

‘Isn’t it? It’ll be something to do with you, though. Especially when my husband tells all his Rotary friends to take their business elsewhere.’ She paused for effect, amazed at her own strength. That a woman with ‘bad nerves’ could stand here and tackle an important man . . . No. She mustn’t think of it. ‘Then there’s the publicity.’ Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, but she ignored it. ‘Publicity can damage a man.’

‘What publicity? I only took what I considered to be fair, and who’s going to be interested in a marriage break-up these days? Stop bluffing, Kate, and mind your own bloody business.’

‘What you considered to be fair? You?’ Her voice rose. ‘Let’s see what the people of Bolton think after they’ve seen the photos. Oh, there’ll be no mention of your name, Maureen can’t afford to defend a trumped-up libel action. But people will know it’s you.’

‘Which photos?’

She stood up and placed the portfolio on the desk, slowly unzipping it while her eyes remained riveted to his face. ‘Posters. I’ve done a lot more, so you can keep these as samples. The
Evening News
is interested in this kind of social issue. After all, leaving two kiddies in a half-furnished house with a flooded kitchen is bad news. Good for the paper, though. I’ve done one large poster for each of the rooms you . . . er . . . altered.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Two doors away, I’ve a photographer waiting. So call my bluff, eh?’

‘You always were a devious bitch, Kate.’

‘Yes. And loyal to my friends.’ She sighed with heavy drama. ‘Maureen’s angry. I had to sit on her so that she wouldn’t go straight for an injunction. The injunction would give you seven days to restore your children’s home to order. I’ll give you seven hours. If that furniture isn’t back, if that house isn’t spotless by half past ten tonight, you’ll get all the glory you need.’ She rose to leave. ‘Is that the tart, the one in the outer office?’

‘Get out!’

She snatched up her portfolio. ‘Ten thirty. That’s all the time you have. You’ve just lost a damned good wife, two lovely kids and all your goods and chattels. We’re going to take you for every penny, Phil. And you’d better play fair, or you’ll lose more than clients.’

‘Is that a threat? Are you daring to threaten me?’ He jumped up from his chair and she noticed as he moved how bald he had become lately. ‘They do some quite good toupées these days, Phil. And get a bit of that weight off; if you’re running with the fillies again, you’ll never keep up.’ She shuddered inwardly. Was this to be her forte then, her lot in life? Was she going to become one of those awful masculine women who went round ruining men, men who had neither sense nor guts to defend themselves? Surely not! She didn’t like what she was doing, but it had to be done; someone had to help poor Maureen.

As she closed the door, the word ‘bitch’ was thrown, together with some weightier object, against the frame. The girl sat round-eyed at the idle phone, her colour betraying that she had heard every word. And suddenly Kate knew that this was the one, that young madam here had hitched her carriage to a passing star, an older and obviously affluent bloke. Was it the men, then, who caused such problems? Or was it scheming females who left children homeless, wives suicidal, hearts bleeding and bank accounts dry?

‘Want your picture in the paper, sweetheart?’ asked Kate airily before marching out into fresher air.

On Deansgate, she paced up and down past the shops for a while until the shaking subsided. What she had just done was amazing, unbelievable. She would never be able to do that sort of thing for herself. Had she enjoyed it just a little bit? After all, she was the unloved child of a loveless marriage – no. Rachel did love her, she did! But was Kate paying back the world, particularly the men, for her own unhappy childhood? It suddenly struck her as she passed Marks and Spencers for the fourth time that she was incapable of loving. There was something missing, something deep inside her. It probably wasn’t Geoff’s fault, any of it. Even Dora might have been tolerated by someone kinder. Was it her dead father’s fault, then? And if it was, for how long could a person blame the dead for her own shortcomings?

She phoned Maureen from outside the Post Office. ‘Your furniture will be back tonight. Leave the children at your mother’s.’

‘What did he say? Is he all right? And if I leave the kids at Mum’s, I’ll be alone.’

‘He said several things, he’s fine, and no you won’t be alone. I would not leave you at a time like this.’

A muffled sob came over the line. ‘Thanks, Kate. But after that abortion thing, will Geoff believe you’re here with me?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’d scarcely be needing another operation just yet. We’ll go to the
Black Bull
, it’s quiz night. Then we can sit in the car and eat chips out of the
News Of The World
, see if there are any juicy bits of gossip in the paper. It’ll all be over by the time you get home.’

‘I want to see him.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘Kate, I’m getting angry. I think I want to scratch his eyes out.’

‘That’s why you don’t want to see him. Anyway, I’ve already altered the shape of his face for the foreseeable future.’

‘Eh? What have you done? Did you hit him? You haven’t hurt him . . . ?’

‘Don’t be daft, Mo. The size of him and the size of me, well, it would be like setting a tiddler to attack Moby Dick. No, I was speaking metaphorically.’

‘Come back, Kate. This is awful. I’ve always known where he was, always been sure. Now it’s like . . . like somebody’s cut off my right arm. I’m furious and sad and all churned up like butter. Will he come back, Kate? Will he?’

‘I don’t know, love. But I’m coming back, that will have to do for now.’

‘Hurry up!’

‘I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying . . .’

They sat outside Kate’s house eating fish and chips rich with brown malt vinegar. Beech Gardens had houses on one side only, so they enjoyed a dim view across the brook and into a vast barley field. ‘Daft quiz, that,’ mumbled Kate through a mouthful of cod. ‘They didn’t ask any good questions.’

‘Watch your carbohydrates,’ came the quiet answer. ‘And the quiz was daft because you didn’t know any of the answers. Will he be there now? In the house? What time will he be gone?’

‘Don’t think about it. Look at the stars.’ Kate licked her greasy fingers and screwed the remaining chips into a ball of newspaper. ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if I could eat without counting bloody diabetic points? I’d have creamcakes and trifles and . . .’

‘Let’s go and see him. If I talk to him, I might change his mind.’

‘Not tonight, Mo. If you’re going to change his mind, it won’t be tonight. He’ll be fixing the fridge and the washing machine, you know how ill-tempered he is around anything mechanical. Listen, I’ve got a good question.’

Maureen sighed loudly. ‘All right, go on.’

‘Ready?’

‘Hmm.’

‘Right. What’s the difference between a duck?’

‘Eh? Between a duck and what?’

‘And nothing. What’s the difference between a duck?’

‘That’s crazy.’ Maureen fingered the cooling food without interest. ‘OK. What is the difference between a duck?’

Kate giggled. ‘One of its legs is both the same.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You heard. I think it’s hilarious. It’s one of Mel’s.’

‘Huh. That’s not a question, it’s not even a joke! There is some of you in Mel after all, then.’

‘Yes.’ Kate fixed her eyes on the silent bank with its border of tall rushes. ‘Jemima’s a different duck. So am I. So’s Boothroyd, but he’s a drake and a figment of my imagination.’

‘Boothroyd?’

‘I draw cartoons of him sometimes.’ Lord, how was she going to keep Maureen occupied for the next fifteen minutes? She had to make sure that she and Phil did not come together tonight while all the wounds were still raw. Any coming together would have to take place some other time, after they had both had the chance to calm down. ‘Mo?’

‘What?’

‘I can’t stand any more. I have reached the end of my tolerance. As old Winston used to say in his heyday, up with more I cannot put.’

‘Neither can I. What will I do without him? Phil made all the decisions, paid all the bills. I never had to worry once during my whole married life . . .’

‘Let’s talk about me. I’m leaving Geoff.’

‘That’s old news.’

‘I’m leaving him now-ish. Within weeks, I’d say.’

‘Weeks? I’d give anything for weeks. This is happening to me now, tonight. At this very minute, Phil is in my house and you won’t let me go anywhere near him.’

‘I can’t stop you, not ultimately. You’re the driver.’

‘I know. But you’re very good at putting me off.’

‘A talent at last!’

‘Shut up! You’re the best teacher in Bolton.’

‘Let’s walk a bit.’

They linked arms after getting out of the car and strolled across the tiny bridge that spanned the brook between Beech Gardens and Harper’s Farm. The water rippled and gurgled over stones and through small channels, sending up the scents of a lovely spring night as it hurried along to find a larger river.

‘Water is so free,’ sighed Kate. ‘If I come back again as something elemental, I shall be water.’

‘You should have been born under Aquarius.’

‘Aquarius is an air sign, Mo.’

‘Daft.’

‘Yes.’ She leaned over the rusted iron rail. ‘I think I shall be water.’

Maureen shrugged listless shoulders. ‘Then you’ll get consumed one way or another. Some bugger will drink you, or flush you down the lav. Probably both. Or you might stagnate then evaporate.’

‘And come down again as rain. The eternal cycle.’

‘Whatever, you’d get consumed, Kate.’

‘We’re all consumed.’

‘Even the men?’

‘Especially the men. They are so infantile and devoid of instinct.’

They left the bridge and continued along the rough path. ‘What about Melanie?’ asked Maureen suddenly.

‘Melanie stays with Daddy and Dotty Dora.’

‘You what?’ The smaller woman stopped and gripped her companion’s arm. ‘Your child? You will leave your child?’

‘Of course. She’d never forgive me if I took her. God knows where I’ll finish up living, it certainly won’t be Edgeford. A separation between her and that pony would be worse than any divorce.’

‘I . . . I don’t understand you at all. My best friend and I don’t understand you. Nothing could ever take me away from my kids. If I had to choose between them and Phil . . . You don’t love her, do you?’

Kate thought about this. ‘I love her. I’d fight to the death on her behalf. But I can’t always seem to like who she is. There is no law that says we have to like our children all the time, is there? My mother has never particularly liked me. And my father hated me. In fact, he probably created the screwed-up mess I am today.’

‘Rubbish! You’re old enough to be what you want now. And your mother’s very fond of you, even a blind man could see that.’

‘OK, let’s just say I was a disappointment. After Judith and her string of degrees, I’m just an ordinary worker ant. And I suppose Melanie disappoints me. I didn’t even choose her name, Mo! Dora and Geoff made me call her Melanie, I was too weak to care at the time. Right from the start, she was theirs to cosset and spoil. I’ve been an intruder in their little lives. I can’t take her away with me, I simply can’t.’