The Optician's Wife (9 page)

At the weekends he was spending hours in the shed. His man-den, he called it. I never went in. There was no reason to. He kept his tools in there and tinkered away at this and that. He started to make a bit of extra incoming doing up bikes and selling them for a profit to students.

On that Saturday he appeared home with a cot.

‘I picked it up from the dump.’ He said proudly taking it off the roof of his burgundy car. ‘Bit of work and it will be good as new.’

I looked at the dilapidated base and pushed away my feeling of bitter disappointment. I wanted something better for our baby.

‘Look,’ he sensed my apprehension, ‘it’ll be good as new. I promise. We need to tighten our belts, Dee, especially if you are going to give up work.’

‘Give up work?’ It was the first time he’d mentioned it.

‘Yes. You need to look after the baby. You can’t manage a job as well.’

‘I suppose.’ I hadn’t really thought about it. ‘But how will we afford to live?’

‘I’ve spoken to Mr Rook. He’s going to give me a rise as soon as I become a fully qualified optician.’

I stood in the sunshine on the small concrete driveway that led up to the front of the house and stroked my belly.

‘I’ll take care of you both.’ Larry carted the cot towards the gate that led straight into the back garden. I knew he meant it. He was a natural protector. It was one of the things I adored most.

‘Put the kettle on, Dee.’ He fiddled in his pocket for his keys. ‘I’m parched.’

Doing as I was told, I turned and went back into the house while Larry wrestled with the rusty lock.

As I watched the teabag leak into the water I thought about leaving Woolworths and the idea made me feel sad. I’d never really liked it, but not working there meant I’d hardly ever see Trisha. She had become a good friend.

Larry appeared in the door way and wiped sweat from his brow with the palm of his hand.

‘Hot out there today.’ He took a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some water.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ I dropped the teabag into the bin, ‘I thought we could paint the baby’s room yellow. What do you think? I know your mum thinks pale green would be nice but I prefer yellow.’

‘Pay no attention to mum. She’s just excited, that’s all.’

‘Do you think she’ll ever work things out with your dad?’ I prayed they would.

‘Maybe.’ Larry shrugged as I handed him his tea.

‘She has been spending a lot of time here.’ I did my best to hide my frustration.

‘I know.’ He frowned. ‘I’ll have a word.’

‘Thanks.’ I leant heavily against the worktop. ‘I thought maybe we could go shopping for a pram.’

‘Not today, Dee. I want to make a start on the cot. Besides we’ve got a while yet and we don’t want it sitting in the hall, getting in the way for the next few months do we?’

‘No. I suppose you’re right.’ Larry was always right. I never doubted that.

‘Anyway, Eric says he has a friend he might be able to get one off. Probably be stolen but that won’t matter to the baby.’ Larry laughed spilling a little bit of tea. ‘Right, thanks for the tea. I’ll be in the shed for a while.’ I knew that meant stay away.

‘But I thought I’d make some sandwiches and we could have lunch together.’

‘Maybe later.’ He came over and ruffled my hair with his hand before leaving me alone again.

I watched her with her clients. Disgusting whore. In a dark alley, dropping her knickers and letting them fuck her against the rough brick wall. The whole time I kept my eyes on her face. She didn’t smile, didn’t moan, didn’t even react. As if she was standing in a line waiting to pay for her shopping or something. She looked bored. That made me angry. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her. She was going to feel pain and I was going to enjoy it.

When I got to work on Monday morning Trisha came bounding over, her face all lit up.

‘They’ve found another.’ She couldn’t contain her excitement.

‘Another what?’ I really wasn’t in the mood for any of her idle gossip.

‘Another body! What if it’s someone we know? What if we know the killer?’

‘Hmm.’ I hung my rucksack up on my peg and sat down in a chair to take the weight off my feet for a moment.

‘Is that all you can say? The police have admitted it’s a serial killer. Here in Cambridge.’

I’d heard of course. Everywhere you turned it was there in the papers, on the radio and in the news broadcasts. Murder fever had gripped the whole of the city. Sales of penknives doubled, with young women desperate to protect themselves. As if a penknife was the answer when facing a madman.

Even the pubs and bars had seen a dip in sales. Women in particular were less eager to stay out late and face the danger of walking home alone. In every shop you went into you would hear a conversation about it. ‘Who was next? Why weren’t the police doing their job?’ It was the usual nonsense that civilians always grumble about. Why blame the perpetrator when you can hold the police to account? Everyone had a theory. Some of them were laughable. I tried not to pay too much attention but it was hard to escape the topic people whispered about.

‘I’m sorry, Trisha, I’m just a bit tired.’ I rubbed my temples with my fingers.

‘Are you all right?’ She sat down next to me and cocked her head to one side. She’d recently got a new perm and the curls flopped across her face.

‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ I felt miserable.

‘Go on.’ She had quickly gone from being a giggly schoolgirl to an understanding woman.

‘I’m going to hand in my notice. Larry wants me to stay at home and look after the baby. He’s right of course. How could I keep working?’

‘Oh I see.’ She studied my face for a moment. ‘But you don’t want to?’

‘It’s not that.’ I wasn’t really sure what was bothering me. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘I’ll come and see you all the time. Try and keep me away. I love babies and besides, who else will listen to me babble on the way you do? You’re my best friend.’ Hearing those words made me want to cry.

‘Don’t get all emotional on me.’ She cackled and made a cross with her fingers. ‘Just because you’ve got baby brain, I can’t deal with anyone crying.’ She gave my shoulder a gentle shove and stood up. ‘Come on, before we have Stuart breathing down our necks.’

By lunchtime I felt better. Knowing that I would still see Trisha made all the difference. Her friendship had become so important to me, especially since Larry was spending less time in my company. I told myself that when the baby came things between us would go back to normal.

On that day the city was busy with tourists, stopping to take photographs of the university buildings and Market Square with their cameras. On the corner near Rook’s Opticians, a young man stood holding a billboard offering tours of The Backs on punts. I’d only been punting once and that was with Larry last autumn. He was good at poling the boat along the Cam. We’d stopped for a picnic on the riverbank and watched the world go by. It had been a good day.

Larry came out of Rook’s with his face buried in a newspaper.

‘Hi.’ He folded it quickly and kissed my cheek. ‘How are my two favourite people?’ he said resting his hand on my bump.

‘Fine thanks.’ I was so unused to his touch that I flinched. He took a step back, his dark brown eyes searching my face.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’ And I was. ‘I told Stuart I would be leaving at the end of October. He said he’d fill the position easily and didn’t seem very concerned.’

‘That’s good news.’ Larry ignored my disappointment.

We made our way to our usual spot by the river and I unwrapped my cheese sandwich. Ever since the pregnancy I couldn’t stand the smell of prawns or anything fishy.

Larry sank his teeth into his BLT and opened a can of coke.

‘Want some?’ He held the drink out.

‘No thanks.’ I didn’t want to put on any more weight than I already had. I suspected that was the reason he was no longer sleeping with me. I looked down at the folded newspaper that lay on the bench between us.

‘I was just reading about the latest murder. They’re pretty sure it’s a serial killer now. This is number three.’ He wiped some tomatoes seeds from his top lip with a napkin.

‘Yes I know. Trisha was talking about it at work.’ I watched as a pair of swans floated past. ‘You don’t think it can happen where you live.’

‘I know what you mean.’

I reached for the newspaper eager to learn more about the reported killer stalking the streets of Cambridge.

CAMBRIDGE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

Rowers discovered the body of woman, named by police as Rose Delaney, in the city centre in the early hours of Sunday morning. A section of the river, from Jesus Green to Magdalene Bridge, has been cordoned off. Emergency services and an inflatable dingy were on the scene.

Police said the woman, aged twenty-two, was a known prostitute. The
Cambridge Evening News
can reveal that the victim was sexually assaulted and had her eyes removed before being strangled in what is described as a frenzied attack.

The detective, DCI Frank Wilkinson who is in charge of the investigation, admitted that police were exploring a link between the case and the discovery of two female bodies in the river in previous months.

A police spokesman made a plea for information: ‘Anyone who was in the area and might have seen something is encouraged to come forward. No matter how small the detail may seem it might hold the key to catching the person responsible. We advise that the public remain cautious and call the police if they see anything suspicious.’

‘Makes for pretty depressing reading.’ I handed the paper back to Larry who’d finished his sandwich.

‘Doesn’t seem they have a clue who they are looking for,’ he pondered.

‘Bit of a change though, isn’t it, going from normal women to a prostitute.’

‘Maybe it was just easier.’

‘Probably. I didn’t even know there were prostitutes around Cambridge.’

‘Oh Dee, you’re so naïve. There are prostitutes everywhere.’

‘Well I’ve never seen one.’

‘They don’t all walk around holding signs you know. They just hang out in places where punters know they’ll be.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’ I immediately regretted the throw-away comment.

‘I don’t like your tone.’ Larry turned to me, rage burning in his eyes.

‘I didn’t mean anything,’ but it was too late. The damage had been done.

‘I’m going back to work.’ He stood up and dusted himself off.

‘But I haven’t finished my lunch.’

‘So?’ His eyes were cold. He turned and walked away. I felt the anger coming from him despite the distance between us.

After work I went food shopping for dinner. Even in the supermarket I couldn’t escape the chatter about the killer. The woman serving behind the till was happy to impart her so-called knowledge to a customer who stood there transfixed by the details about the latest death. The conversation was holding me up and it bored me. These people clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. They wasted their breath throwing clichés backwards and forwards as if that was going to change anything. I clung on to my basket of groceries and bit my tongue waiting for the idle gossip to come to an end.

I wanted to cook Larry his favourite. I had some making up to do. I’d never seen him so cross and I’d felt bad about it all afternoon.

When I got home, I went straight into the kitchen. The house was quiet. Larry hadn’t returned from work, even though he finished the same time as I did. I hoped he wouldn’t be late back as I set to work preparing a fish pie. Although the smell made me gag I was determined to push on. I pulled the skin off the smoked haddock fillets and felt the flesh for any bones. On the hob next to me a pan of potatoes boiled furiously.

I cut the cod and haddock into chunks, put them in the pie dish and sprinkled a few frozen prawns over them before adding a white sauce I’d made. By the time I’d made mash and spread it on top it was seven o’clock. The sun was descending in the sky and I looked out of our kitchen window at the peach, pink and lilac streaks in the sky. A birds flew by in silhouette, making their way home to roost.

As the smell of fish pie filled our small kitchen, I checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly half past. Larry should have been home by then. Wanting to escape the nauseating smell I stepped out into our garden to soak up the last minutes of warmth before the large sun sank below the horizon.

Sitting down on a rusty iron bench Larry and I had found in a junk shop, I wondered what had inspired me to speak to him like that. I deserved to be sat there alone. He was probably in the pub or wandering through the park, avoiding coming home to me. I was being punished.

I had stopped working at Woolworths three weeks before. My tummy was huge and I felt like a whale. I was suffering from swollen ankles and fatigue and was grateful to have the time to rest. The baby was due in a few short weeks and I was enjoying the calm before the storm.

It gave me the opportunity to put the finishing touches to the nursery. I did a lot of reading to pass the time. The anticipation was tinged with fear. Larry suggested we didn’t go to the ante-natal classes. Full of know-it-alls, he said. No doubt he was right but it would have been comforting to know what to expect from the labour. If my mum had been alive I would have asked her.

Women have been doing it for thousands of years, how hard could it be? At least that is what I told myself.

It was just after nine in the morning and I was mopping the kitchen floor when I felt the first twinge. I put the mop back into the bucket of dirty soapy water and rubbed the bottom of my back. Maybe mopping wasn’t such a good idea.

I emptied the bucket down the drain outside the back door and returned to the living room to pick up my book, Barbara Cartland’s novel,
Love on the Wind
, a historical romance set in Victorian India. A girl tormented by her cruel uncle meets a mysterious man on a voyage to Calcutta. It was very romantic and encouraged me to daydream about far off lands. Places like India. Places I would never get to visit.