A Winter Bride (24 page)

And Alistair had always instinctively known all the things Johnny had to be taught: not to cry when you lose a game; offer a plate of cakes to the guests first; don’t sulk; be brave when you’ve fallen and skinned your knee; always say please and thank you.

And now Alistair had phoned the Inland Revenue and told them about her secret cash. He’d decided it was the honest thing to do. How could he? How could he betray his own mother and see his family ruined? It was heartbreaking. My boy, May thought, my lovely, lovely boy hates me. Slow tears slid down her face, dropped into the pot, mixed with the browning meat and melting vegetables. This would be a sad and salty stew. She must remember to watch the seasoning.

It wasn’t a good evening for Rutherford’s. Only three tables were taken. May grouped them close to one another, hoping this would make the place look busier. It made the diners self-conscious. They spoke in whispers and left as soon as they could. Nobody lingered and nobody ordered May’s stew.

‘They don’t know what they’re missing,’ she complained. She shrugged on her mink coat over her chef’s whites. ‘I’m going home. I’m tired.’

She breezed through the empty dining room, noting that Nell was lounging behind the bar with nothing to do. Daydreaming as always. Oh, she couldn’t be bothered with her company tonight. Let the girl make her own way home. She patted the red piano in passing, saying goodbye to it. She’d miss it. She went to the cash register, opened it and sighed. The takings weren’t good: about twenty pounds in cash and a cheque. She took ten pounds and the cheque, shouted, ‘Goodnight all,’ and left.

Harry was in the kitchen when she arrived home. He had the contents of the dread drawer spread on the table in front of him. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first?’

‘The good news.’

‘The good news is things have got so bad, they can’t get any worse.’

‘Well, that’s something,’ said May. She looked round, ‘Where’s Johnny?’

‘Haven’t seen him since I got in. I thought he’d gone to bed and I let him sleep. Lying in bed in hospital is tiring.’

‘Let him sleep. Best thing.’

Harry waved his hand over the letters on the table. ‘Oh boy, are we in trouble. You were meant to go see the Inland Revenue, but because you didn’t open the letter, you didn’t know to go. I’ve been hit with a huge back payment, but because I didn’t open the letter, I didn’t pay it. No matter, I couldn’t have paid it anyway. Fact is, sweetheart, I don’t think I can talk my way out of this.’

May slumped on the chair opposite him.

‘The sheriff’s officers are coming to requisition our possessions and sell everything off,’ Harry told her.

‘I hate this. It’s all worry. I feel like I’m walking through black. Everything black. Can’t think. Can’t eat. My stomach’s a mass of nerves and all I feel is dread. I dread the phone ringing. I dread the sound of mail dropping through the letterbox. I dread the knocking on the front door. The shame of it. After all our hard work, we’ll be back to having nothing.’

Harry took her hand. ‘But wasn’t it grand? Didn’t we have fun? It was a rollercoaster. And we will rise again. You can’t keep a Rutherford down.’

‘But my things. My furniture, my handbags, my shoes.’

Harry leaned over and put his face close to hers. ‘We’ll get more. We’ll get better things.’

May was surprised. ‘You don’t seem bothered at all.’

Harry leaned back, hands behind his head, and told her it was a challenge. ‘Us against them. It’s an opportunity. We’re starting over and we can do anything. We’ve proved that.’

May pointed out that bankrupt people couldn’t start their own business. ‘We’ll be homeless. Penniless.’

‘We’ll be free. No furniture to dust. No bills to pay, because we can’t pay them. It’s a fresh start. Think about it. Daydream. Just let your mind go. We’ve got no ties. The boys are all grown up. We can do whatever we want. What’s your secret wish? A wee B&B in the Highlands? We could breed horses.’

‘No, we couldn’t. I don’t like horses. Besides, we’ve got no money!’

Harry flapped his hand at her. ‘Ach. You’ve got to learn not to take poverty so seriously. It’s temporary. C’mon, what’s your dream? Something exotic, I hope. Something with glitz and sparkle and exciting.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Whisper it.’

May took a deep breath. ‘Well, what I like best about having a restaurant is singing. I’m not so fond of the cooking as I thought I’d be, but standing at the piano and singing is a treat. What I’d like to do is have a bar with lots of booze and chat and no food except nibbles.’

Harry thought that sounded good. ‘Pity about the no money, though.’

Suddenly May smiled, ‘Well …’

Chapter Twenty-four

Left in the Lurch

It took some time for Nell to realise that May wasn’t going to drive her home. The woman had breezed past her with hardly a glance, stroked the piano, helped herself to some money and shouted goodnight. Thinking she’d come back, Nell stood staring at the door. Bloody hell, she thought, I’ll have to get the bus. Bummer. She’d been planning to tell May about Alistair and Carol. She’d been sure May would have given her good advice. May was a woman of the world. She’d know what to do.

A voice rose from the kitchen. Annie waltzed out, moving between the tables singing ‘Magic Moments’. She saw Nell watching her, and stopped, embarrassed. ‘I thought you’d left with May.’

Nell shook her head. ‘You sound happy.’

Annie said she’d just had a little burst of happiness. ‘Just came over me and I had to sing.’

Nell asked what had brought this burst of happiness on.

Annie shrugged and told Nell there was nothing wrong with feeling happy for happiness’ sake. ‘Mind you, I’d be happier if I got paid.’

‘You haven’t been paid?’ Nell was surprised.

‘No, not for a few weeks,’ said Annie. ‘May promised me a big bonus if I’d stay with her through this sticky patch. Have you been paid?’

‘Yes,’ Nell told her. ‘May told me she’d put it into my bank account.’

‘But you haven’t checked?’ said Annie.

Nell shook her head. It hadn’t occurred to her to check.

‘Well, I’d get myself to the bank as soon as possible and find out,’ Annie advised. Changing the subject, she asked why May hadn’t given her a lift back to town. ‘Left you in the lurch, has she?’

Nell said she did seem to have forgotten her.

‘She’s got a lot on her mind these days.’

‘Has she?’ This surprised Nell.

‘She has,’ said Annie. She looked at her watch. ‘You better go, the last bus leaves in ten minutes.’

On the bus to town, Nell reviewed her troubles. Trundling through the dark, all she could see in the window was her own reflection: a face contorted with worry. She had been trying not to think about her troubles. But here, alone on a bus, it was no longer possible to push them out of her mind.

Flashbacks of the moment she’d seen Alistair and Carol lying entwined on the sofa kept coming to her. She relived the moment, imagining what she ought to have done. Running away – sneaking off into the night terrified of confrontation – seemed foolish now. She should have challenged them. ‘And just how long has this been going on?’ she should have said. Or, ‘You are welcome to each other. You deserve one another, you cheats.’ Pointing at Alistair, ‘You no longer have a loving wife.’ And to Carol, ‘You don’t know the meaning of friendship.’ Then, she’d have left, head held high, dignity intact. In this imagining she was wearing a smart black suit with a high collar white blouse, though she did not possess any such clothes. As she left, without turning back, Alistair and Carol would watch her filled with guilt and humiliation. Then, they’d argue, each blaming the other for what had happened. Their relationship would flounder. They’d part. And they’d both come to her begging forgiveness, which she may or may not grant. She hadn’t yet conjured up this part of her daydream.

‘What are you going to do?’ her mother had asked this morning.

Nell had said she didn’t know. ‘Divorce, I suppose.’

‘You can’t do that. People in this family don’t get divorced. Once you’re married, that’s it, happy or not. You’ve made your vows and you stick to them – richer or poorer, in sickness and health. That’s the deal. You go to Alistair, you tell him you forgive him, you get Carol out of that flat and you and him start afresh. That’s what you do.’

‘Perhaps.’ She’d had a feeling her mother’s tactics wouldn’t work. She knew Alistair. He wouldn’t be tempted into a swift fling with his wife’s best friend. No, this was serious. He’d want a divorce.

The bus trundled on. In the seat in front of Nell, two young girls were discussing the Beatles. Paul was cute, Ringo funny, John deep and probably difficult. ‘You’d go out with him, but George is the one you’d marry. He’s reliable,’ said one.

Her friend agreed. ‘You couldn’t take John home to meet your mum, but Paul would be OK. My mum would like him.’

Nell remembered how she and Carol had similar conversations about Buddy Holly. She’d had a fantasy that he’d turn up walking along the street where she lived and as he passed her, he’d smile. She’d smile shyly back. He’d ask if she lived round here. She’d point to her house. He’d nod and say it was homely, and that she was just the kind of girl he was looking for: down-to-earth and not interested in his wealth or fame. She’d tell him it was the person inside who interested her.

She sometimes fantasised about famous actors coming to Rutherford’s and being attracted by her simple charms. She could get whisked off to live in Hollywood in a fabulous house with a swimming pool and a white phone by the bed. It could happen.

Divorce, she thought, wasn’t such a scandalous thing really. There had been a divorced woman lived across the road when she was young. Mrs Morton. She’d worn stiletto heels and pencil thin skirts. She’d worked at the make-up counter in a big store and drove a pink car. Eventually she’d married a rich man and had moved into a huge house in the country. It’s not
all
bad, Nell thought.

If she divorced, she’d rent a small flat with two rooms and a kitchen near the West End; not that she’d use the kitchen much as she’d be working. She’d be an experienced, sophisticated woman. She’d have affairs. Not that many, and just with worldly wise stylish men who’d lean against the bedroom wall drinking whisky, watching her dress as she got ready to go out to a fashionable restaurant for dinner. They’d have witty grown-up conversations about life and art. Perhaps, one day, she’d remarry, but she’d always retain an air of mystery and quiet drama. She’d be a woman who’d experienced tragedy. And survived.

It was after eleven o’clock when Nell got off the bus. She walked from the bus station to the stop where she could get a second bus to take her home. She waited for fifteen minutes and then decided to walk to the next stop to keep warm. The number forty-two passed her midway between stops. Not knowing if there would be another one at this time of night, she decided to walk home.

It was a route littered with memories. This was where she and Carol had jived in the middle of the pavement singing an Eddie Cochrane song. And here was the spot where she and Alistair had seen Carol and Johnny share their first kiss, with Carol doing her one-leg-behind-her stance. It was the walk she’d done with Alistair when he’d taken her home after they’d been introduced at the Locarno. She’d decided on that night that she’d marry him. How foolish it all seemed now. How young she’d been. All this was too painful, so she turned her thoughts to May, wondering why she hadn’t paid Annie. Certainly the restaurant hadn’t been making money recently but, still, people didn’t work for nothing. May knew that. Nell decided it was a glitch. May had been worried about Johnny and had let the business of making up the wages slip. Still, May had promised Annie a big bonus. Perhaps she’d get one too. It would all be sorted out soon.

By the time she reached her parents’ house, Nell was adding up the pros and cons of being back home. Well, there wouldn’t be the same privacy. Her mother would want to know where she was going when she went out and at what time she would be back. Then again, her laundry would be taken care of. And her mother had promised she’d leave a flask of cocoa on the kitchen table for her to drink when arrived home. Nell was looking forward to that.

Her father was waiting for her when she got in. ‘Where the hell have you been? You left work hours ago. I’ve been phoning.’

Nell told him she’d walked home.

‘Your mother’s died. She was making a cup of tea and I was watching television and heard this awful clatter. It was her dropping to the floor.’

Nell stared at him, paralysed.

‘I got the doctor, but it was too late. Heart attack, he said. Could’ve happened any time. She’s in the living room. Undertaker will pick her up tomorrow.’

Nell felt numb.

‘She’s gone,’ her father said. ‘Just like that. Gone.’

Chapter Twenty-five

Gone to Visit
Aunty Dot

May was in the kitchen making scrambled eggs for breakfast. She was wearing her fur coat over her nightdress. ‘It’s a comfort with all this misery going on.’

Harry, sitting at the table, told her everything would be fine. ‘Just hold on. Don’t pick up the phone and don’t answer the door.’

‘Wasn’t going to,’ said May. She buttered three slices of toast, poured the tea, piled the eggs onto the plates she’d laid out and brought them to the table.

‘Where’s Johnny? He’s usually at the table soon as he gets the first whiff of food.’

She got up, went to the foot of the stairs and shouted, ‘Johnny, breakfast’s on the table.’

Nothing.

‘God,’ she said, ‘that boy can sleep.’ She climbed the stairs, still shouting, ‘Johnny. Food’s up.’

She stood at his bedroom, knocking on the door. ‘Johnny?’

Nothing.

She went in. He wasn’t there. His bed was made up. Didn’t look as if it had been slept in. The plaster cast that had been encasing his leg was lying on the floor.

‘He’s not here,’ she shouted. ‘Is he down there?’

Harry left the table and looked in the living room, the dining room, the bathroom and then peered out into the garden. He shouted to May that there was no sign of him.