Every Woman for Herself (11 page)

‘The discussion group. It was a reading group, but now we just meet and discuss – stuff. And anyway, Freya’s husband’s coming back tonight to collect his things, and he has a violent temper.’

‘I didn’t know she had a husband.’

‘Had’s the operative word. She’s thrown him out and got an injunction against him, but a fat lot of use that is. Still, she’s being fair – she’s letting him come round tonight to remove his half of their belongings.’

‘But I thought she had magic powers. Can’t she just do something nasty to him?’

‘You’ve never seen so many boils on one man’s neck,’ Em said. ‘But that was Xanthe Skye – Freya’s powers lie in other directions.’

I didn’t ask what. Already it sounded like a fun evening.

‘Who else will be there? I’m not feeling very sociable.’

‘Madge comes, and she isn’t terribly sociable either – and Susie from the nursery, and Xanthe Skye and Lilith, of course. Madge’s old father is driving her mad – and ours is driving
me
mad. And
you
can have a good moan about Matt. We could get Freya to do something nasty to Matt, if you still have any of his belongings.’

‘I think I already did, killing his best friend, and I’ve cleared out everything to do with him.’

‘Purged,’ she agreed.

‘In every way.’

We trudged up the hill in icy darkness, lit at irregular intervals by the small yellow circles grudgingly cast by three old streetlamps. The Black Dog looked terribly warm and inviting; Father and Jess were probably in there already. The last bus up from town stopped just ahead of us and decanted Inga and Godzilla before chugging slowly onwards.

Inga gave me a sad, pitying smile as she passed us, but Godzilla lingered, pulling faces at me and capering, until she looked at Em instead, and suddenly ran off crying: ‘Mama! Wait!’

Freya lived at the end of a terrace of old stone weavers’ cottages right at the top of Upvale. The bus passed us again on its way down, a brightly lit and empty
Marie Celeste
.

The tiny sitting room, already full, became crammed to bursting point with our arrival.

Freya pushed past us, gasping: ‘Ice, ice – I must have ice!’ in a parched voice, but she came back fairly soon with coffee, gin, and crackers smeared with something that probably only
looked
like road-kill hedgehog.

All the time we were drinking and chatting heavy footsteps thumped about overhead, with muffled cursing. From time to time something bumped down the stairs and was dragged out.

Then the footsteps and creakings from above were replaced by the sound of frenzied sawing, and flakes of plaster drifted down into my cup.

‘What’s he doing?’ enquired Madge.

‘Sawing the wardrobe in two,’ replied Freya calmly.

‘Isn’t that taking the “his half” business a little too seriously?’ I said.

‘He’s taking it to the letter, but I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do with half a wardrobe. I’ll use mine for firewood. Mind you, if he’d asked I’d have given him the whole thing. I don’t want it. I was never big on white melamine.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I agreed. ‘My ex-husband liked angular modern furniture, all cream and white, with no colour or pattern.’

‘No wonder your aura is still faintly blue,’ Xanthe said, edging a little further away.

‘Sorry. Is there some way I can clean it off? Sort of Magic Flash?’

‘Are you joking?’ Xanthe asked, looking at me severely.

‘No, she’s serious,’ Em explained. ‘She just doesn’t know much about that sort of thing. I’m the only one who ever listened to Gloria Mundi.’

‘You have a natural talent for the Ancient Arts,’ agreed Lilith. ‘Far beyond Gloria, who is a mere wisewoman.’

‘Oh, nothing’s beyond Gloria,’ I assured her. ‘Em’s just gone in a different direction.’

There was more frenzied sawing from upstairs.

‘The dressing table?’ suggested Lilith, and Freya nodded.

‘Yes – he’s taken it very hard; but then, so did I when he tried to slap me around.’

‘Your having already found a much younger lover seems to rankle particularly,’ said Xanthe.

‘Have you?’ I said with respect. ‘Who is it?’

‘He’s new – a teacher from the valley – but I’m teaching
him
one or two things. He lives on that new Mango Homes estate – Raspberry Road, just off Strawberry Street. You’ve just bought a house there too, haven’t you, Susie?’

‘Yes, but mine’s Galia Gardens, up Honeydew Hill.’

‘Fruity,’ I commented.

‘Well, I drew the line at Passionfruit Place, but otherwise I don’t mind,’ Susie said. ‘They renamed my old road Mandela Street, and every time someone forgot to put the town on my mail it went on a round-Britain tour. There’s a Mandela something in every town in the country.’

The halved furniture descended the stairs in a series of crashes, and a few minutes of dragging and swearing later the van drove away.

‘I’ll just pop out and perform a protection spell for you,’ Lilith said. ‘In case he tries to come back.’

‘And I’ll go round with the Bowls of Cleansing,’ offered Xanthe. ‘Mix us a large G&T, dear, for afterwards.’

Rituals accomplished, things got quite merry, and after some urging from Em I told them all about
Skint Old Northern Woman
magazine.

Everyone came up with suggestions for more articles, some so rude I’d probably be prosecuted if they came to anything.

‘You should publish it,’ suggested Madge. ‘Everyone would love it. It would go down a treat at the WI.’

‘Publish it? I couldn’t possibly do that – it would take a fortune to start up a magazine.’

‘Yes, but you could try it as a one-off issue, and see how it went.’

‘It would be great!’ Susie said. ‘My sister Jen works for a small publishing company. I’ll ask her how much it would cost.’

I shook my head regretfully: ‘I can’t afford anything at all.’

‘It should be published!’ Em said, as if she’d just received Divine Revelation. ‘Anne thought so too, when I told her about it. Perhaps we could pay for the first print run?’

I shook my head. ‘No, you’d just lose your money – but it’s fun writing the articles. Anyone got any more ideas?’

‘How about an ‘Are You a Victim’ quiz?’ suggested Freya.

Are You a Natural Victim? Try our quiz and find out!

Your partner slaps you around, and then goes out. Would you:

A) Put up with it, because it was your fault after all, and he won’t ever do it again, will he?

B) Balance a large heavy item on top of the half-open kitchen door and await events

C) Leave (May be combined with answer B)

D) Fell the bastard with a large heavy object as he turns to go, thus giving you plenty of time to pack.

On the way home Em and I stopped in at the Black Dog, where we found the new vicar playing darts with Walter, Bran and Father, with Jessica sitting in the corner looking bored over a Martini.

Bran, surprisingly, can throw a mean dart. You just have to remember not to stand between him and the board when he’s got the darts in his hand, because he throws them fast.

I was introduced to the vicar, whose name was, entirely suitably, Christian, although he likes to be called Chris. He was a different species from our last one, being very tall, rangy, fortyish, and with a long, iron-grey ponytail and drooping moustaches, like a handsome but slightly melancholy Wyatt Earp. He wore small gold rings in his ears with dangling crosses, and a T-shirt with a dog collar and waistcoat printed on it.

The moment he set eyes on Em he dropped his darts and assumed the unmistakably sheepish expression of the seriously smitten male, but I don’t think she noticed.

She looked especially nice that evening, I thought. The red T-shirt under her dungarees had washed out to a flattering faded rose, and her light blue eyes with their blacker-than-black pupils looked like a very intelligent goat’s.

Em joined in the game while I took my drink and sat with Jessica, who seemed pitifully grateful for any company, even mine.

‘God, this is boring!’ she confided. ‘I thought Mace North might come in – he does sometimes when Madge babysits for him – but not tonight.’

‘Madge was at Freya’s house for the discussion group.’

She yawned. ‘Then Mace won’t be coming. The vicar’s quite dishy, but he won’t flirt – that’s the trouble with vicars. I think I’ll go home.’

‘I’ll walk back with you,’ I said, draining my pint of bitter and blackcurrant. ‘I’m pretty tired – it’s been a long day.’

‘I’m going home, Ran,’ she called, and pouted when Father just smiled and waved a hand at her before taking careful aim with his next dart.

I thought lust’s first bloom had rubbed off already. But it would be a bit worrying if Jessica left, because the next mistress would probably need the Summer Cottage, which was just starting to feel like home.

‘Chris – the vicar – gave me a message for you, Emily,’ Jessica said a couple of days later. ‘Did you ask him to find you a plumber, or something? God knows, the bathrooms are still in the last century, and none of the locks work. I walked in on Bran the other day while he was showering. He’s a big boy,’ she added thoughtfully, a faint smile crossing her face.

Oh, well, I don’t suppose she really registered on him. If he’s got a sex drive he hasn’t found the on switch yet.

‘What was the message?’ Em demanded curtly.

‘The message?’ she echoed blankly. ‘Oh, yes, the message – silly me! Chris said to tell you that Barkis is willing. Willing to do what?’

‘Barkis is willing?’ I repeated, staring at Em in astonishment, and she went a faint but becoming shade of pink.

‘Chris is quite dishy,’ Jessica said, ‘for a vicar. He’s invited me round tonight.’

‘He can’t have done,’ Em said shortly. ‘It’s the jumble sale.’

‘Yes, he invited me to that.’

‘You don’t invite people to a jumble sale, you just tell them about it,’ I informed her. ‘Are you going?’

‘Oh, no – I get all the girls’ stuff from Gap, and
I’m
so petite …’

‘Skinny,’ interpreted Em, but Jessica was impervious.

‘… that I have to buy most of
my
clothes from children’s departments too!’

So
that’s
why the shops are so strangely full of sexy clothes for little girls – they’re really meant for all the tiny stick-women like Jessica. I’m glad to have that explained to me.

‘I wouldn’t say it like it was an asset, being a bag of bones – “bag” being the operative word,’ Em said disagreeably, but Jessica just laughed.

Her bones must be rubber, because she always bounced back. Or maybe she didn’t take in everything Em said. She certainly seemed immune to her little whitish spells – I hoped Em didn’t call in the Black Dogs of War in the shape of Freya, Lilith and Xanthe.

I was getting to sort of like her a bit, but trying not to, because of loyalty to Em.

‘I’ll go to the jumble sale,’ I said. ‘I’m tired of black, and nothing fitting. I might find a pair of jeans or something.’

‘If you lost another stone, you’d probably fit into my clothes,’ Jessica offered.

‘If she lost another stone she’d be even more skeletal than you,’ Em said. ‘We’re trying to build her back up again. Anyway, she doesn’t wear tart clothes.’

‘Thanks, though, Jessica,’ I said hastily. ‘Fashion’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Remember all those transparent dresses women wore with just knickers under? I mean, people went
out
wearing those and no one much said anything. It was just like the Emperor’s new clothes.’

‘Which emperor?’ Jessica said, puzzled.

‘In the fairy tale,’ Em said. ‘You’re right, Charlie – no one dared to tell the Emperor he was totally nude and the family jewels were on public display, because he’d been brainwashed into thinking he was wearing a magic suit.’

‘Except for a little boy, who didn’t understand, and shouted out that the Emperor was in his birthday suit – and then the crowd all got the sniggers,’ I finished.

Anne came in, looking exhausted. Even the multi-pockets on her battle fatigues were limp, although her light hair still stood out round her face like a dandelion clock.

‘Clear off,’ she said to Jessica, although not with her usual energy.

‘You Rhymers!’ Jessica said, laughing, but getting up all the same. ‘I told Ran he’d made a bad job of bringing you up. All that isolation has warped your social skills.’

‘Go to bed, Anne,’ Em said tersely. ‘Charlie will bring your tea up in five minutes.’

‘It’s no wonder you’re tired, if you keep going out when you’re supposed to be convalescing after an operation,’ Jessica babbled. ‘I suppose it was a hysterectomy or something, and that’s why you’re not telling us what it was?’

‘Telling
you
what it was,’ Anne said pointedly, and Jessica gave up probing and went off to pick up the girls from school.

‘Was it OK?’ I asked when I took Em’s lovingly prepared tray upstairs to Anne. It was odd seeing her in bed during daylight hours, but she did look exhausted.

‘Quite bearable. Only for a few weeks.’

‘Your hair’s not going to fall out, is it?’

‘No, different sort of treatment.’

‘Will you have to have anything else done?’ I ventured, since this was talkative for Anne.

‘No. This is a back-up – they got the bugger. Gave up before the battle began. Like Red – one mention, and he cleared off. No guts.’

Even cancer’s got more sense than to tangle with Anne twice.

‘Doctors wanted me to take some drug for ten years “just in case”. Told them to stuff it up their jacksies.’

‘Should you do that?’

‘What, stuff it up their jacksies?’ she sniggered.

It was all that hanging around with soldiers. Anne’s language sometimes had to be heard to be believed. I was always afraid she was going to slip up when she was broadcasting live, but she hadn’t yet.

There was a familiar wheezing noise as Flossie appeared in the doorway, wagging her tail in a mildly pleased way. Then she scrabbled up onto the bed next to Anne.

I stared at her in surprise. She didn’t usually take a liking to people; I wasn’t even sure she could distinguish
me
from everyone else half the time.