Every Woman for Herself (22 page)

‘You didn’t put the handbrake on properly,’ I said, hoisting myself up without being careful about kneeling on her ribs.

‘Oof!’ gasped Angie.

I climbed out of the ditch for the second time. Angie was still spread-eagled down there. She started to lever herself slowly up.

‘The car!’

‘I think you’ve cracked your headlight. If you walk to the farm, Madge’s dad will get the tractor and tow you out – for a price. And by the way, I think I just saved your miserable life,’ I said, and left her.

I washed and tidied myself up, then went belatedly up to dinner.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said, taking my place. ‘Angie just tried to run me over.’

‘Women drivers,’ Father said absently.

Em stared at me. ‘Something will have to be done about that woman,’ she said severely.

‘Better do it bloody quick, before Gloria hears, or she’ll be doing something herself – permanently,’ Anne advised.

‘I’ll phone Freya, Xanthe and Lilith after dinner,’ Em promised. ‘Bran, lift your book up. It’s in the soup.’

Food For Thought

Men are from Mars … so, if some of them make chocolate, they can’t all be bad
.

I tossed and turned all night, then dropped off with the dawn and was the last for breakfast; Jessica was just leaving for school with the girls as I arrived.

Father had finished – he and Em are early risers, no matter how late they go to bed – but he must have received a parcel in the post, for he was carefully examining the contents of a small box.

As I sat down with a plateful of calories, he got up and approached Bran with a cotton bud held out before him like a scalpel.

‘Open your mouth,’ he said.

Bran looked at him with amicable blankness, but on having the tip of the cotton bud pressed to his lips obligingly opened his mouth and then closed it again firmly as though he’d been offered a thermometer.

‘Open again,’ Ran ordered. ‘And keep it open!’

Obediently Bran did so, and Father gave the stick a quick twirl and withdrew it. We watched in some surprise as he placed the bud into a little stoppered tube and wrote on the label.

‘Father, what are you doing?’ I asked.

‘Never you mind – it’s just an experiment,’ he said slightly furtively, then snapped impatiently: ‘You can close your mouth now, Bran!’

Picking up another cotton bud he advanced on me. ‘Right, Charlie. Your turn.’

‘No way!’ I began, pushing my chair back, but I’d have done better to keep my mouth shut instead, for he dexterously popped in the stick.

‘Really, Father!’ I said, when I was able. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? You might
ask
before you do that sort of thing!’

‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about,’ he said, adding my stick to a tube in his strange collection box. ‘It’s just a little experiment.’ Then he advanced again with yet another fresh cotton bud.

‘Emily.’

Em and Anne shared a glance and said in unison, ‘Absolutely not.’

Then Em rose, one finger marking the page in the book she’d been reading at breakfast (
Pagan Origins of Christianity in Britain
by Florisande Cote-Gibbon), and stalked out in silent disgust.

‘Don’t even effing think about it,’ Anne warned, helping herself from a dish of kidneys at the sideboard.

Father sighed: ‘Well, you girls aren’t as important as Branwell.’

‘Already bloody know that, don’t we?’ Anne said coldly.

He went out bearing his little box, and didn’t mention the experiment again, so I don’t know what all that was about. He did do odd things from time to time. I didn’t let it put me off my breakfast.

Later, Em gave me a set of five power bracelets, each one made of a different semi-precious stone. There was clear quartz for peace and wisdom, amethyst for intuition and intelligence, rose quartz for love and the healing of past hurts, garnet for creativity, and hematite for stability and peace.

She said that should cover all the angles, whatever Gloria thought she saw looming in the tea leaves, and it was a nice idea. Had she given me one as a wedding present, my life would probably have taken an entirely different turn.

‘I’m absolutely shattered!’ Xanthe Skye exclaimed, sinking into the nearest comfortable chair. ‘Freya, Lilith and I spent pretty nearly the whole night helping that poor, tortured soul, Angie.’

‘Tea?’ asked Em. ‘Or one of Gloria’s restorative herbal brews?’

‘One of Gloria’s, but not the nettle. The nettle is too robust for my delicate nature.’

Em put the kettle on, and I said gratefully, ‘It was very kind of you all to go and sort out Angie.’

‘Actually, we quite enjoyed it – there’s such an odd assortment of people up at Hoo House that the vibes can be quite wild! You wouldn’t believe the results with the Ouija board sometimes – but
gloomy
, always gloomy.’

‘I’m not surprised. Did you use the board last night?’

‘Yes – we formed a circle, just us three and Angie. Her husband came through; he told her clearly to let go of her anger and move on.’

‘Did he? Where to?’

‘Freya tried the crystal, later, and she thinks a cruise is indicated – a long, long cruise. But first she must be purged of all dark thoughts, in order to reap good fortune. And Lilith said she thought her heart line showed a new love interest entering her life before too long.’

‘I believe cruise ships are hotbeds for that sort of thing – and to afford a cruise, Greg’s insurance money must be coming at last, don’t you think? That would be the good fortune.’

‘It seems likely,’ agreed Xanthe placidly, taking a teaglass of disgusting straw-coloured liquid from Em. ‘But, as we told her, only if she closes one door behind her will the next door open into a bright new future.’

She sipped from her glass with apparent relish, then crunched up a peanut butter biscuit with her strong white teeth. ‘She was wavering … then Lilith read her leaves. She’s not as good as Gloria, but she saw the Two Ways clearly and it’s up to Angie now.’

‘Oh, she’ll take the money and the man every time,’ I predicted confidently.

She drank the last of her evil brew and sat back. ‘That’s better. And so is your aura, dear – not quite golden, but
better
. Would you like me to see what your future holds for you? I have my Tarot with me.’

I shuddered. ‘No, thanks. I’ll just take it as it comes, one disaster at a time.’

Widows: Unexpectedly Single

While a widow has much in common with being divorced (see page 9: ‘Divorced Skint Old Northern Woman – Some Common Questions Answered’) this is singleness without blame or stigma.

In fact, being a widow is so terribly respectable it can be played as a sympathy card in tricky situations. For example, while your friends’ husbands will still perceive you as ‘available’, they will not persist once you make it clear your heart was buried with your husband.

Of course, your heart
may
have been buried with your husband, in which case you have my very deepest sympathy.

However, many widows go on eventually to make an enjoyable life for themselves (some even start it from day one) and it is surprising how many perfectly happy and liberated widows there are who take on a new lease of life once the shackles are off.

Provided the life insurance and mortgage angle are fully covered, Skint Old Widow may also be a contradiction in terms.

For the down side, many of the answers to the Divorce article apply here too. But always remember: while there is gin and chocolate, there is life.

Later, a truculent Angie walked into my veranda as I was painting, without so much as a knock on the door – or even a quick graffiti scrawl.

She planted herself in front of me and said aggrievedly, ‘I’ve got to say I’m sorry, and I’m going to forgive you. I’ll be leaving Upvale soon and going on a cruise.’

‘Good for you,’ I said, relaxing my defensive grip on the palette knife. ‘I hope you have fun – a lot more fun than trying to run me over, anyway.’

‘Sorry I called you a whore. Sorry I called you a murderess. Sorry I tried to kill you,’ she reeled off, as if reading down an internal list of Twenty Apologies for the Obsessed.

‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’m desperately sorry I killed Greg, and I always will be. Is that it?’

She examined her conscience – nicotine yellow, ragged edges – and found it reasonably clear. ‘Yes, I think so. Well, that’s that done!’

She shifted tack, looking over my shoulder at the small canvas. This is something I am not terribly keen on, even with people who haven’t recently tried to kill me.

Something about the painting seemed to strike a chord. ‘You having it off with that gorgeous actor, then?’

‘No, I’ve just been looking after his little girl in the mornings,’ I said coldly.

‘Only he seemed so protective of you, down at the cottage – play your cards right and you might get a consolation prize for losing Matt.’

‘Could any compensation possibly be enough?’ I said sarcastically, but it just passed her by.

‘Sort of getting your own back, though, after him ditching you for that nurse in Saudi,’ she suggested.

I turned and stared at her. ‘Which nurse? He said there
wasn’t
anyone else!’

‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? But I thought you knew. He asked you for the divorce because she got pregnant, and he’s going to marry her – if she can still fit in a wedding dress. God, is she huge! Perhaps it’s twins, she’s big enough for …’

I could sort of vaguely hear her voice going on and on, alarmed and rising, but it sounded far away, probably because I was on my knees on the cold stone flags, and some poor woman was howling, ‘No! No!’

It sounded like me.

‘Poor old Charlie,’ part of me said sadly. ‘She’s having a bad day, but I wish she’d shut up.’

‘Charlie?’

Someone scooped me up, rigid and resisting, and held me in strong, warm arms. ‘Charlie, what’s the matter?’

‘We were just talking, and then she went mad!’ Angie said.

‘What have you done to her?’ Mace’s voice demanded angrily.

‘I haven’t done anything! I only came to apologise.’

‘You must have said
something
!’

‘Only that her ex-husband was getting married again – his girlfriend’s pregnant. I suppose that upset her, because she never had any – kept miscarrying all the time. But I didn’t know she’d carry on like this!’

‘Didn’t you? Well, I think you’ve done enough. Get out before I throw you out!’

‘There’s no need to be like that when I came round here in all good faith to apologise. And after all, she
did
kill my husband!’

There was the tapping of high heels and a slammed door, but it seemed to be happening somewhere else, beyond all that awful sobbing.

I cried myself out, curled up on the bed in Mace’s arms, while he stroked my hair, and murmured soothing things … and eventually I stopped sobbing on a hiccup, and lay there, feeling exhausted, but much better.

After a while (and a lot of nose-blowing) he brought my flannel and washed my face with cold water, as though I were the same age as Caitlin. Then he fetched a bottle of champagne (which he must have brought with him) and two glasses, and we lay on the bed and drank that, as the afternoon light faded into dusk.

It was terribly cosy: the lion
shall
lie down with the lamb.

‘What are we drinking to?’ I asked after a bit. My voice was interestingly husky – quite sexy really – but I didn’t suppose it would last.

‘The test results – Caitlin’s definitely mine. I wanted you to be happy with me.’

‘Oh, Mace, I’m so glad! And I’m sorry about that scene. I think I must have been bottling lots of things up for too long, and they all sort of exploded at once. I didn’t mean to cry all over you.’

‘I’m just glad I was here for you.’ He tightened his arms around me. ‘Charlie, as well as the good news about Caitlin, I also came to swallow my pride and tell you I think I love you.’

‘What do you mean,
think
?’ I demanded before I could stop myself.

‘Well, I’ve never felt quite like this before,’ he said, sounding puzzled. ‘I don’t know what it is about you, but you’ve somehow managed to get right under my skin, so now whenever I think of the future, you’re there, too. But it’s also been slowly dawning on me that if I marry you, I’m going to have to take on board the whole Rhymer clan as well. It’s a big commitment.’

Marry me? Is the man mad?

‘That’s all right,’ I assured him soothingly. ‘I’m not going to marry you.’

He relaxed his hold a bit and gave me one of his smouldering stares. ‘You’re
not
?’

‘No, of course not! It wouldn’t work – I don’t want to live in London, and also I simply don’t think I could take all the effort involved in trying to look good all the time for the role of Mace North’s wife. Too boring and exhausting. There was a Regency dandy who killed himself simply because he couldn’t take any more of the buttoning and unbuttoning. I think I’d feel just like that.’

‘But you
do
look good all the time. You’re a beautiful water sprite, come to drive me mad. Besides, I’m going to spend most of my time in Upvale, though my house in London is very nice, with a big, private garden. You’ll like it.’

‘I’m not going to see it,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ve done the marriage bit, and now I’m going to stay here where I belong, and paint, and maybe run the magazine, if it takes off, and be happy.’

‘You could marry me and still do all that – and we can share Caitlin,’ he offered, persuasively.

‘But would I be happy as the third wife of the actor Mace North? I don’t think so!’

‘Better the last than the first, darling,’ he pointed out.

‘Really, Mace, you must be mad wanting to marry me! I wonder if you could be impervious to Gloria’s antidote because of your Tartar blood? But then, if it was that, I suppose the love philtre wouldn’t have affected you in the first place.’