A Taste of Love (2 page)

She
heard Karen sigh heavily, ‘Right. But you can’t let him just walk away scot-free.’ she exploded. ‘I wish I could get my hands on him I could bloody kill him for hurting you like this…’

Helen
thought carefully before she replied, ‘Funnily enough, I don’t feel hurt. If anything, at the moment, I just feel relieved. And, of course, sad thinking of the years I’ve wasted trying to keep the family together. But that was for my Rachel who is more than worth it.’

Karen
tutted. ‘I know she is, honey. But, Christ, twenty-three years old? What’s got into him? Maybe he’s having one of those midlife crises?’ she asked.

‘Whatever
he is having I’m not interested any more. And although my mind is a little hazy with tiredness and wine at the moment, all I know is that I’m not going to waste another second of my energy on him,’ she said.

With
promises of calling to see her the next day Helen ended the call, turned off all the downstairs lights, double locked the doors and headed upstairs to soak in the bath before rolling into bed and falling into a deep sleep.

Chapter Two

The seven o’clock alarm the following morning was a rude awakening and she wished with all her heart that it was Saturday and she could take the day at a more leisurely pace. She felt exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the night before and pulling on her dressing gown she plodded downstairs to make strong coffee.

While
she stood at the kitchen sink waiting for the kettle to boil she stared down at her left hand, rolled her wedding ring around her finger and thought of their wedding ceremony. Then she remembered Rob’s angry words, how he couldn’t stand her any more, and then thought of him waking up next to young Stephanie this morning. Slowly but deliberately she slid the ring from her finger and dropped it into a plant pot on the kitchen window sill. The ring was like him now, she decided – it meant absolutely nothing to her.

*

As Helen pulled into the factory car park, she waved to a couple of staff from the production office and parked outside the new extension block situated across from the main factory area. Karen had already sent a text telling her she should spend the day at home and come to terms with what had happened. But Helen wanted to work. She knew it would focus her mind, but mainly it was because she was determined to make this the first day of her new life.

She
had worked for this company as a new product developer for two years and loved the job – they made Sushi products for the major retailers. Although a large part of her working day was spent in the kitchen preparing Sushi she did have her own desk and computer in an adjoining side office which she shared with the marketing manager, Annette, and a young man called Tom, who was the company’s packaging technologist. They all got along well together and chatted freely about their homes and family lives, but Helen always hung back from making close friends at work – she was a firm believer in the saying, never mix business with pleasure.

‘Morning,’
Annette called as Helen removed her grey, wool wrap and hung it carefully on the coat stand behind their desks.

‘I’m
making coffee,’ Helen replied when Annette popped her head around the kitchen door.

Annette
grinned. ‘Ah, lovely. I could do with a strong one this morning. I had the grand-kiddies staying over last night and I’m whacked.’

She
didn’t look it, Helen thought. In fact she appeared to be her usual carefully made-up professional self. She’d always admired Annette’s great flair and good taste in clothes and at the age of fifty-seven she looked at least ten years younger.

She
carried the coffee through to their desks and they chatted briefly about the weather and weekend plans while they booted up the computers. Then they sank into silence reading emails that had arrived the previous night. Helen had her daily work schedule planned with standard sample packs to make and send out via a courier later in the afternoon and a management meeting arranged for ten o’clock, which they’d all been requested to attend.

‘Hmm,’
Annette muttered. ‘I wonder what this meeting is about.’

Helen
shrugged her shoulders. ‘The request has been sent from the MD, so it must be something important…’

Deep
in thought Helen looked across at Annette’s neat black court shoes and grey fitted suit. Then she looked down at her own flat brogues, black trousers and baggy, polo-necked sweater and sighed. She’d never been interested in clothes or fashion, not even when she was younger, and had only ever bought clothes out of necessity rather than for pleasure. Rob’s cutting remark about the fantastic wives of his colleagues stung and she felt tears prick the back of her eyes.

‘You
okay?’ Annette probed.

Helen
nodded, and getting up from her desk she headed towards the kitchen. ‘Yeah, I’m fine thanks. Just a little tired but it’s self-inflicted after drinking too much wine last night.’

The
kitchen was a large square room and had been designed, along with the new factory extension, just before she started. It was bright and modern, with a cream tiled, non-slip floor and Helen found it easy to work in. The four walls were inset with benches and had plenty of cupboards underneath and long tall cupboards at the corners. A large, square island in the middle of the room had two hobs and ovens at opposite corners and was covered in grey granite which provided plenty of flat space to roll the Sushi.

Helen
laid her paperwork for the samples she intended to make on the bench and gripped the edge as she choked back tears. Just concentrate on the products, she thought resolutely, and try to keep last night out of your mind. She opened the fridge and checked all the produce required that she’d collected from the factory chill the day before. She found the bamboo mats and cling film she needed then cut squares of seaweed. She inspected the quality of all the fresh cucumber, spring onions and avocado, wanting it all to be top grade.

With
her preparations complete she joined Annette for the meeting and as they made their way back to the department, Annette said, ‘Ooh, that’s exciting. It’ll ease some of my work load to have this new business unit manager start next week. We could certainly do with someone to work with us and the retailers…’

‘Yeah,
another new boss to report into,’ she agreed warily. ‘I hope he’s a bit better at communicating than the last one we had who, if you remember, had upset everyone within three months of being here?’

Annette
laughed. ‘Yes, he was a bit of a strange chap. Let’s hope this Richard Scott has a better personality and a bit more get up and go,’ she said.

‘Mmm,
we’ll find out on Monday morning, no doubt…’

*

After lunch Helen went into the kitchen to prepare her samples. The individual pieces of Sushi that the factory made were packed into small, black plastic trays with clear fitting lids and each retailer had their own label or card sleeve which was applied at the end of the production run. Often when Helen was asked for samples she could go into the factory and hand pick the packs from the line to send to the retailer. But the samples requested today were not on the daily plan, therefore she was going to make them herself by hand. This was no hardship to her because she loved rolling and making Sushi. The pieces were all so dainty and intricate and she found it relaxing working with her hands to produce the tidy, precise, good quality samples.

She
turned the radio on while she found the trays she needed, brought all the bags of produce out of the fridge and set them in the order she would use them, then placed her thin bamboo mat, which the Japanese called a Makisu, in the centre of the island and covered it with cling film.

There
were two main shapes of Sushi pieces with different aspects that she needed to make. A California roll, where the filling is wrapped in a thin sheet of Nori seaweed and then coated on the outside with rice and sesame seeds, and a Maki roll which is the opposite, where the rice and filling are in the middle with the Nori layer on the outside.

Starting
with the Maki roll she placed a sheet of Nori onto her mat and weighed out her soft, sticky, vinegared rice to cover half of the mat, spreading it firmly across the area. She opened the bag of succulent, fresh prawns and inhaled the salty, seaside aroma. Immediately, she thought of the lovely family weekends they’d had at Southend-on-Sea when Rachel was small, in between the years when Rob had what he’d called last night, his small slips. She weighed out the prawns, thinly sliced fresh cucumber and avocado, and then placed the mixed ingredients lengthways along the centre of the rice. Holding the edge of the mat with her thumbs, she lifted the Nori and rolled the Sushi making sure she kept the ingredients in place and the rice was stuck together in a long thick roll. Then she squeezed the mat firmly around the roll. Last, she wrapped the log of Sushi in cling film and placed it in the fridge to cool. She made a further thinner maki roll using only half of the quantities and filled it with slithers of smoked salmon. Proudly she examined the clean pink and orange appearance of the fish against the black seaweed and white rice – perfect, she mused, singing along to an old Rod Stewart track on the radio.

She
repeated the same to make the California rolls but used the Nori in the centre with shredded roast duck and slithers of spring onion and coated the outside with rice. She emptied sesame seeds from a bag onto a rectangular tray, then rolled the log in the seeds to achieve an even coverage. As she placed the roll in the fridge, a radio phone-in conversation took place about a woman who, unhappy at her fifty-five-year-old frumpy image, had treated herself to a complete makeover altering her total image by changing her hair, make-up and clothes.

Suddenly,
Annette popped her head round the door. ‘How are the samples going?’ she asked. ‘I’m finishing early this afternoon because I’m going to the hairdressers. I thought I’d just say have a nice weekend.’

Helen
smiled. ‘They’re fine, I’m nearly finished. I’ve just been listening to the radio about makeovers and I’ve decided to make myself an appointment at the beauty salon and hairdressers for tomorrow. I might even squeeze in some retail therapy. I think it’s high time I had a little luxury in my life,’ she said.

‘So
do I,’ Annette agreed. ‘Those trousers are hanging on you since you’ve lost weight. It’ll do you the world of good – go spoil yourself.’

Grinning
to herself she bid Annette goodbye, and excitedly thought of new hair styles and colours, while she cut all the rolls with a sharp knife into exact pieces measuring the necessary two, three and four centimetres. She chose middle and end pieces and examined them to make sure the ingredients were all intact and evenly spread throughout, then packed the rolls strategically into place in the black trays, adding a small sachet of wasabi, soy sauce and pickled ginger before clipping the lids securely into place. Hurriedly she cleared away, tidied the kitchen and took her box of samples to the collection area with the courier’s paperwork. When she returned to the office she read a text from Karen, “I’m coming over tonight at 6.30 p.m. No arguments – I have pizza and wine. XX.ˮ

She
climbed, still grinning, into her car and set off home for the weekend.

Chapter Three

Karen was not only Helen’s older sister by four years but she was also her best friend and had been her stand-in mum since she was twelve years old. Their mum, suffering for years with depression and nervous breakdowns, had committed suicide one day when they were at school.

While
Helen opened a bottle of wine and placed the pizza in the oven, Karen flicked her long black hair over her shoulder, took two glasses from the cupboard then squeezed Helen’s arm. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened, love,’ she said, her big, brown eyes full of concern. ‘I also can’t believe how calm you seem to be about it all.’

Helen
poured wine into the glasses and smiled at her. ‘Look, let’s have this wine and supper and then we’ll talk it all through.’ She motioned for Karen to follow her into the lounge then took a large gulp of the red Merlot. ’What’s the nutty professor, or our up and coming writer, doing tonight?

Karen
plonked down on the settee, tucked her short slim legs under her skirt and giggled. ‘Oh, he’s still holed up in his office. After seven weeks he’s actually hit the dizzy heights of reaching chapter three in his manuscript. I think we’ll be waiting a while longer for the masterpiece to appear on the shelves in Smiths.’

They
both laughed with affection at her husband, Greg, who was, and always had been, utterly besotted with Karen from the first day they’d met. And who could blame him, Helen thought – she was a stunningly beautiful woman. In their early days Rob had often likened Karen to a dark-haired, Felicity Kendall, with her five foot three height, sweetheart lips, white teeth and petite size ten build. She was in fact, the double of their mum in appearance, but Helen often worried that she’d also inherited her mum’s insecure personality.

When
the oven timer bleeped Helen removed the pizza, cut it into portions and balancing it on the top of two plates returned to the lounge and set it down on the coffee table. While they ate, Karen told her about the new play at the dramatics’ theatre production where she was playing the lead. She told Helen how excited she was about the part, especially as her leading man was an old friend from the Barbara Speaks State School, where she’d trained after college.

‘Ooh,
yes,’ Helen said, narrowing her eyes.

Karen
delicately waved her hand in the air. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. He’s gay now. At least, I think he is. But he’s a fabulous actor and some of the scenes we do are absolutely brilliant,’ she said, her eyes sparkling.

Helen
grinned, imagining her on stage under the spotlight, where she knew her sister had always felt more at home than in her own house.

Karen
took a sip of wine. ‘That’s enough chitchat. Now tell me exactly what happened and how you’re feeling.’

Helen
ran through the events after Rob had picked her up from work, and the whole conversation until he left. Sadly, Karen shook her head in dismay at parts of the story and nodded her head in understanding in other places.

‘I
have been thinking about it a bit at work but not all the time – it’s a great place to be when you want to keep things off your mind,’ she said. ‘And I still don’t feel upset or even tearful at the moment…’

Karen
took her hand. ‘Maybe you’re in shock and it’s going to hit you later.’

‘Maybe,’
Helen mused thoughtfully. ‘But I don’t think so. You know I’ve spent seventeen years going through the after-effects of his affairs. The searing hurt after the first one and the years it took me to forgive him and get our marriage back on track. And of course, after the second one it took even longer to get over because I couldn’t believe him capable of doing it to us again. But by the time I’d suspected number three and four, well it had sadly just become matter of fact.’

Karen’s
eyes filled with tears and she put her arm along Helen’s shoulder. ‘Oh, honey, you’ve had such a rough ride. I really wish there’d been something I could have done…’

‘I
know you do, but there wasn’t. I was determined Rachel wasn’t going to lose one of her parents before she’d left home, like we did,’ she said. ‘And, as Dad often told me, it was the bed I’d made and I would simply have to lie in it.’

Karen
raised her eyebrows, bemused at the mention of their father. ‘Yeah, but in the early days you don’t know what Dad used to call Rob when I’d told him about his little dalliances and how sometimes I practically had to sit on him to prevent him coming round here and blacking his eye for treating you so badly. He’ll be over the moon that you’ve put him out.’

Helen
nodded. ‘I’ll call in to see the old devil on Sunday and tell him what’s happened,’ she said, vaguely twirling her wine glass between her fingers. ‘You know, Karen, when I was thinking about Rob this afternoon, I couldn’t help weigh him up against other women’s husbands. And I decided that apart from the infidelity, I couldn’t really accuse him of anything else. I mean he’s always worked hard and provided us with a good income, was and still is generous to a fault and took his turn with cleaning and cooking. And even during the arguments and fights that followed his affairs when I’d screamed and ranted, thumping his chest with my fists in anger, he never once retaliated. In fact, he never ever raised a hand in temper to either me or Rachel.’

‘Yeah,
he has always suited your Peter Pan nickname.’ Karen sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. ‘But surely everyone has to grow up at some stage in their lives and he can’t go on chasing young girls forever, can he?’

Helen
shrugged her shoulders. ‘You would think so but this Stephanie is only twenty-three and to be perfectly honest I couldn’t care less any more. The overriding emotion I’ve felt since he left last night is relief. Blessed and peaceful relief…’ She knew Karen as well as she knew herself and could tell she was mulling something over in her mind. ‘What?’ Helen asked. ‘Go on, just say it. I know you need to tell me something.’

Karen
took a deep breath. ‘OK. First, I want to say how proud of you I am for being strong enough to put him out, and not go through another affair hoping he’ll come to his senses. I’m actually delighted he’s gone because to add to your previous list of his few shortcomings I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never been able to tell you before.’ She licked her lips apprehensively. ‘But the day you gave birth to Rachel in hospital he came round to us for supper that night and made a pass at me in the kitchen.’

Helen’s
body tensed and she leaned towards her sister. ‘He did what?’ she raged.

‘H-he
was very drunk and he began to tell me how desperate he was because you hadn’t been interested in making love to him for months, and then he stroked a finger down my arm. I was so shocked I knocked his hand away angrily and called for Greg to come in and help wash up.’

Helen
could tell by Karen’s watery eyes how much it had taken to tell her something so painful. She swallowed her temper along with the thoughts of what she could do to Rob if he was standing in front of her now. ‘Hey, it’s not your fault,’ she said gently. ‘Don’t you get upset – the scumbag is not worth anyone’s tears.’

She
put her arms around Karen and they hugged each other, rocking together as they had done when they were girls. She could feel Karen’s tears on the side of her cheek. They were mingled with her own and her slight frame trembled in her arms – she squeezed her tighter until her shoulders stopped shaking. It had always been like this, Helen thought. Although Karen was older it was Helen who had to support her and give her an anchor to hold on to.

Eventually,
Helen pulled back from her sister and rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. ‘Oh dear, look at the pair of us. Let’s not make this into a huge thing, Karen; he’s simply not worth it…’

‘You’re right, honey,’ Karen said. She took a tissue from the sleeve of her T-shirt and dabbed delicately at her eyes. ‘Is my mascara smudged?’

Helen
laughed good humouredly – would anything ever be enough for her sister not to care about her appearance, she wondered? And then at the same time she wondered why she was the total opposite, as most of the time she didn’t give a hoot what she looked like. ‘It’s fine,’ she said.

Helen
lifted her chin and pushed the sleeves of the baggy sweater up to her elbows. ‘And I’ve finally decided, enough is enough. And you, my dear sister, are the best person I can think of to help me with this…’

She
jumped up from the settee and took Karen’s arm. ‘Come on. I need some help upstairs in the bedroom.’

Karen
followed Helen up the staircase and into the bedroom. ‘What?’ she cried looking around the room. ‘Are we going to get rid of everything belonging to him? It looks to me as though he’s done that himself.’

‘No,
Karen,’ she said firmly. ‘This is nothing to do with him. It’s about me.’

Considering
that it was the master bedroom in the large house it was a small room. Helen sidled around the edge of her dressing table to lift the free-standing full length mirror over the thick white carpet and into the centre of the room. She stood in front of the mirror, now staring at herself and her sister’s – who was sitting on the edge of the double sleigh bed – reflection.

‘What?’
Karen asked with her head tilted to one side.

Helen
held her hands out in an appeal for help. ‘I’m a mess, Karen. I always have been and although I have made small half-hearted attempts over the years I’ve always given up because nothing seems to make any difference. But I’m sick of looking like this…’

‘You’re
not a mess!’ Karen cried protectively. ‘And don’t you let that tosspot make you think like this. None, and I mean none, of this is your fault.’

Helen
continued to stare in the mirror and cringed at herself. ‘I know that. And I know if Rob had really loved me it wouldn’t have made any difference what I look like. But this isn’t really about what he thinks; it’s about what I think of myself.’

‘But
that’s just you, darling,’ Karen said kindly, getting up and standing next to her. They looked in the mirror together. ‘You are Helen Walker, who we all know and love.’

Helen
could feel her throat thicken with pity. ‘But I don’t want to look like her any more and soon I’ll be changing my name back to Helen Robinson. Oh, Karen, just for once in my life I want to look in the mirror and like what I see,’ she said. ‘Will you help me?’

Karen gently stroked her shoulder. ‘Oh love…’

Helen
knew Karen was going to dissolve into a sympathetic, emotional heap, so she put her hand up in front of the mirror. ‘No, Karen, stop! As much as I appreciate your love and kindness I don’t want your sympathy. I need you to help me make the changes.’

Karen
stepped back at the urgency of Helen’s abruptness. ‘OK…’

Helen
whipped her jumper over her head and threw it on the bed then pulled down the baggy trousers, stepped out of them and kicked them across the floor. She stood in front of the mirror in her well-worn cream bra and black knickers then put her hands on her hips. ‘Not a pretty sight, eh?’ she muttered.

Karen
slumped back down on the bed and smiled. ‘That’s just from your eyes. It’s not what I see.’

Helen
took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s start at the top and work our way down. I’m five foot eight, which I can’t alter – fact. But I’ve always worn flat shoes because Rob was the same height and he didn’t want me towering over him in high heels. But I do love looking at some of your heeled shoes and that is something that I can change – right?’

Karen
enthused. ‘Of course you can, and you don’t need six- inch heels. There are some lovely kitten-heeled shoes in the shops at the moment.’

‘Great.
I’m not sure exactly what kitten heels are but they sound good,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’ve lost around ten pounds since Christmas and I don’t think my legs look as thick and chunky as they used to, but they’re still pretty darn shapeless. My boobs are small, I’ve got shoulder-length boring, brown hair, my teeth have never been strong and white like yours, my hazel eyes are like narrow slats, but I do think the one good thing I have going for me is my big, full lips…’

Karen
threw herself back onto the bed and howled with laughter.

‘You’re
supposed to be helping me,’ Helen giggled as she picked up her shower cap from the dressing table and threw it at her.

Karen
sat up and wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, Helen,’ – she joined her in front of the mirror again. – ‘As you say, here we go from the top. The reason you look shapeless is because you walk round shouldered and slumped as if you’re embarrassed about your height. If you pulled your shoulders back when you walked and felt proud that you are as tall as some of the models on the catwalk you’d look totally different.’ She put her hands gently on Helen’s shoulders and eased them back. ‘And I can’t remember the last time I saw your legs and ankles because they’re always covered in trousers, or in the summer, long flowing skirts and dresses. There is nothing wrong with your ankles that a pair of heeled shoes can’t put right and you have the longest legs on a woman I’ve ever seen. Haven’t you heard the expression that men die for legs that go right up to a woman’s bum?’