A Winter Bride (16 page)

The notion pleased her. She was suddenly happy.
Happiness
. She grinned. She’d forgotten how it felt. She swept the baby up and ran upstairs to pack. It took a while. Decisions about what to take and what to leave were hard, but two hours later, she walked out of the house and set off along the street shoving Katy in her pushchair, over-stuffed suitcase banging against her leg, singing ‘There’s No Place Like Home’.

She took the bus to Princes Street and strolled the pavement gazing into shop windows. It was busy, the case was heavy and the child got hot, hungry and fractious, screaming and kicking to get out of her pushchair. Carol crossed the road and went into the gardens where she sat on the grass sharing an ice cream and a bar of chocolate with Katy, and then she held her close and willed her to sleep. She needed peace to daydream.

She imagined, with a sigh, how sweet her life would soon become. In the mornings, she and her mother would potter about the house before taking Katy to the park. In the afternoons, they’d sit by the fire and talk about womanly things. The family would gather round the kitchen table every night at six o’clock when Carol’s father got home from work, eating meals her mother prepared. At night she’d sleep in her pink bedroom. It was going to be perfect.

It was after two in the afternoon before Carol arrived at her old home. At the door, she’d doubted herself. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to suddenly announce she was home to stay. Perhaps she should test the waters. She was sure her mother would be overjoyed to have her daughter and granddaughter living with her, but to give herself time to break the news gently Carol left her suitcase outside on the doorstep.

She barged into the house shouting, ‘Hello. It’s me,’ and was surprised when her mother didn’t seem pleased to see her.

Margaret bustled from the living room and stood in the hall looking confused. ‘What are you doing here? You might have let me know you were coming. I was just settling down to listen to the afternoon play on the radio.’

‘I just thought I’d bring your grandchild for a surprise visit. I thought you’d like to see her.’

‘I’m always pleased to see her.’ She looked at the child and shrieked. ‘For God’s sake, Carol, your daughter’s filthy. She’s covered in chocolate.’ Taking Katy into her arms, she said, ‘And she’s boiling hot. Where’s her hat? All babies need a hat in this weather. It keeps their brains cool. She could get heatstroke.’ She took Katy into the kitchen. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’ She flapped Carol towards the cooker. ‘You put the kettle on for a cup of tea.’

Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea, breathing in the familiar scents of home – lavender polish, a whiff of bacon from a lunchtime sandwich, the air freshener that was kept in the hall – Carol relaxed. Everything was going to be fine. She was where she belonged.

At five o’clock, Margaret looked at her watch and asked Carol if she shouldn’t be getting back home. ‘Johnny will be expecting you to have his supper on.’

Carol said he wasn’t coming home tonight. ‘He’s away on business.’ She lied.

Margaret sighed. ‘Well, your father’s going to be late. He’s playing golf after work. I wasn’t planning to cook tonight.’ She saw Carol’s disappointment and said she’d rustle something up.

At six o’clock, after a plate of cold ham and salad, Margaret said she thought it time Carol took the baby home. ‘She’ll be needing a bath and her bed.’

Carol, still unable to find a way to tell her mother she’d come home to stay, went upstairs to look lovingly at her old pink walls and James Dean poster. They were gone. The room had been redecorated. The walls were blue; the poster gone. She clattered back to the living room, ‘What have you done to my room?’

‘Had it painted,’ said Margaret. ‘Hated all that pink. And it’s not your room any more. It’s my spare room. I can do what I like with it.’

‘Where’s my poster?’

‘Threw it in the bin. What do I want with a poster?’

‘I liked that poster. I liked to look at it before I went to sleep.’

‘Well, get another one and put it in your bedroom at home.’

‘This is my home,’ said Carol. ‘I want to stay here. I’ve left Johnny and I’ve come back to live with you.’

Margaret was silent for a long time. ‘What does he think of this?’

‘He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him yet. I just decided this morning.’

‘You walked out and didn’t even leave a note?’

Carol nodded. Leaving – the simple act of walking out of the door for ever – had been so joyous, a note hadn’t occurred to her.

‘So he’s sitting at home right now wondering where you and his daughter are?’

Carol supposed he was. ‘But me and Katy are here with you. You’ll get to see us every day. I thought you’d be happy about that.’

‘Actually,’ said Margaret, ‘I’m not.’ Only this morning she’d been thinking how pleasant life had become now that Carol was out of the house. At first she’d missed the girl. But in time she’d come to enjoy the tranquillity of not having her around. The girl seemed to walk from room to room leaving a trail of clothes, shoes and magazines. And wasn’t it lovely to have the phone and bathroom constantly available? Then, there had been the noise. The constant thump of the music she played. No, Margaret didn’t miss any of that.

‘I thought you loved me,’ Carol wept.

‘I do. But I never loved the mess you made.’

‘But I hate it at my house. I hate my life. It’s all cleaning and cooking. I hate cleaning. You clean something and it just gets dirty again. What’s the point?’

‘Things get dirty. You clean them and they get dirty again. That’s life, get used to it.’

‘And,’ said Carol, ‘I’m alone all day waiting for Johnny to come home. Then when he does, he hardly speaks.’

‘You talk to him. Tell him about your day.’

‘Talk about cleaning and wiping? I don’t think so. It’s bad enough doing it without talking about it.’

Margaret shrugged. ‘So you’ve discovered that life isn’t all about going out dancing and flirting with boys. There’s loneliness and drudgery. What a surprise. Every woman in the world knows that. You’re a married woman now and a mother. You’ve made your bed, now lie on it.’ She sighed, and slumped into a chair. ‘Tell me, what did you think marriage would be like?’

Carol didn’t want to answer this. She knew her thoughts on marriage came from magazine adverts for sofas and cookers, and from Doris Day films. She’d imagined herself curled on a huge white sofa in front of a roaring fire, or standing in a pristine kitchen sipping a glass of wine while her husband looked at her adoringly. The husband in this image wasn’t actually the man she married. He was gleaned from an advert for soap powder, or he was the man from the photo at the front of a knitting pattern. She had dreamed of living in a beautiful home, the maintenance of which never occurred to her.

Knowing that confessing all of this would be inviting mockery, she instead said, ‘So you don’t want me.’

‘Of course I want you. I just don’t want you here. I’m enjoying the peace.’

Carol flounced around the room picking up Katy’s toys and stuffing them into her bag. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. When a woman is in trouble. When she’s tired and lonely she should be able to turn to her mother.’

‘When a mother sees her daughter make a mess of her life because she can’t put up with a bit of everyday drudgery then that mother has a duty to tell her daughter to come to her senses and make a go of her marriage.’

‘Huh.’ Carol picked up Katy, plonked her in her pushchair, slung her bag over her shoulder and marched out the door. Then, after gathering up her suitcase, she stamped down the street, head high and battling tears. Her own mother didn’t want her.

She trudged towards the city centre, case banging against her left thigh, heaving her down to one side. Eventually, she put it down and picked it up in her right hand. After a while she switched back. The going was tough. She stopped battling tears and wept. In the end, she abandoned her furious march and waited at a bus stop.

On the bus people stared. Tears had taken their toll on Carol’s make-up. Rivers of damp mascara stained her cheeks. She was red of face, hot, exhausted and clutching a howling child. But she held her head high. How could any of her fellow passengers know she was a martyr? She was misunderstood and alone in the world. She had walked out on a husband who never showed any love or tenderness, and even her mother had cast her out into the world to make her own way. Well, she would show them all.

She got off the bus at Princes Street and sat on a bench watching the crowds and wondering what to do next. The evening was hotting up – people were on the move, looking for fun. She remembered there had been a time when she, too, had been here strutting her stuff, eyeing the boys. It took a lot of skill to appear aloof, available, desirable and haughty. But she was sure she’d managed it. Now look at her, homeless and unloved. What to do, she thought. And decided there was only one place to go. She hoisted her case onto the pushchair, balanced the child on her hip and set off.

At nine o’clock, she battered on Nell and Alistair’s door. When they answered, she sobbed that she’d left Johnny and her mother had thrown her out. ‘She doesn’t want me. You have to let me in. I’ve nowhere else to go.’

Nell watched silently as Alistair took the child in one arm, the case in the other, smiled and invited Carol in.

Chapter Sixteen

Make the Place Sparkle

On a rainy morning in early September, May parked outside her restaurant and stared through the splattered windscreen. There, in front of her, was her favourite building in the world. God, she loved it – red roof, green windows and a constant twinkling of fairy lights draped from one side to the other. She thought the lights gorgeous. Beckoning, she thought, inviting people to come in. They promised warmth and comfort.

She climbed out of her car and walked to the front door, opened it and sighed. There was no getting away from it, this place was beautiful. It was red – red walls, red carpets and a single red rose on every table. In the corner, near the fireplace, was the red piano. May thought the place sumptuous and was surprised it was not crowded every night. Takes time, she thought. Word will spread.

When it did, she’d be on her way. She had her future planned. When Rutherford’s started to make a profit – and surely that would happen soon – she’d finish the guest rooms upstairs. And in a couple of years, when the business was established, she’d start a second restaurant. She planned to call it Rutherford’s In The City. She was sure that by the time she retired –
if
she ever retired – she’d have a chain of restaurants. Of course, she’d keep it in the family. She was doing this for her grandchildren. At the moment there was only one, who May couldn’t believe was turning two this month, but she planned for Nell and Alistair to have at least three children. She hadn’t mentioned this to them yet. She thought Nell’s plan to wait for a couple of years was a good idea. If Johnny didn’t get back together with Carol – and she wasn’t keen on this – he was bound to find himself another wife. Another three grandchildren there, she thought. That would make seven people to carry on the Rutherford name. She had her heart set on a dynasty.

At eleven o’clock, Annie arrived to help prepare and serve lunch. There were only two customers, who spoke in whispers because the place was so empty. They left after their first course. May wasn’t bothered. Early days, she told herself. ‘Soon as word spreads this place will be buzzing.’ She and Annie ate the chocolate mousses her lunchers had ordered but in their haste to get away had left uneaten. ‘Charged them for puddings, anyway,’ said May.

Half an hour before May started serving the evening diners, Karen and Sylvie turned up. They were both seventeen, best friends and always arrived with a small group of admirers who were left shouting and jostling at the door. May chased them off, knowing that soon they’d drift back and sit on the car park wall, smoking and bantering, waiting for the objects of their desire to finish work.

Karen and Sylvie set the tables, vacuumed the floor, polished the bar and dusted the piano. ‘Make the place sparkle,’ May ordered. After that they had the inspection. The two stood side-by-side, hands held out in front of them as May examined their nails and scanned their crisp white blouses and black skirts for stains. ‘You’ll do,’ she said.

She always welcomed the first diners of the evening personally. Gleaming in her chef’s whites and hat, she’d show people to their table and hand them a large glossy red menu. Then she’d say, ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of your lovely waitresses for tonight, Karen and Sylvie,’ and she’d stride back to her kitchen, her domain.

Running a restaurant surprised May. It was not as easy as she’d imagined it to be. ‘It’d be all right if it wasn’t for the customers,’ she said. ‘They keep making demands.’ At home, she had always been the demanding one. She’d insisted that the people she fed be at the table as soon as they’d been informed their meal was ready, that people clear their plates and express joy at what they’d eaten. And she wasn’t keen on serving pudding to those who hadn’t finished their main course.

Here, in her restaurant, she took offence at every uneaten morsel. Not a woman to take insults lightly, she’d often take a plate still heavy with leftovers back into the dining room, put it down in front of the diner and ask what was wrong with the food. ‘You haven’t finished it.’

It caused emotional stirrings and spoke volumes about matriarchy. Very few people told May that since they were paying it was their business what they did or didn’t eat. Mostly they placed an apologetic hand on their stomachs and said they were full up. For an instant they were not addressing a chef, they were being confronted by their mothers.

Harry pointed out that loading peoples’ plates wasn’t really profitable. ‘You could get two meals out of the amount heap on to a single plate.’ But May insisted that nobody left her restaurant hungry. ‘They’ve come for a meal and a meal is what they’ll get. Food is important. It’s life. I can’t be doing with those places that serve up a sliver of this and a sliver of that along with a drip or two of sauce and give it a fancy name. Food has to be hearty.’ So huge helpings it was.