Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (61 page)

‘Well, I’m telling you, people would pay top dollar for a look like that,’ Sylvie said.

Dottie smiled modestly.

‘All I do,’ Sylvie shrugged, ‘is play bridge, shop and go to the hairdresser’s. Quite frankly, darling, if it weren’t for a certain person, most of the time I’d go mad with boredom.’

Dottie couldn’t imagine a day with nothing to do – and what did Sylvie mean, ‘a certain person’?

‘I’m going to shock you now,’ Sylvie went on, as if she had read her thoughts, ‘I’m not unhappy … because I’m having an affair.

Dottie was dumbstruck.

‘He’s a wonderful man,’ said Sylvie, her eyes lighting up. ‘His name is Bruce and he owns a riding stables. I met him when I went for some riding lessons.’ She opened her bag and took out a small wallet. Inside was a picture of a rugged-looking man on a horse.

‘He’s very handsome,’ Dottie conceded. ‘Are you and Robin going to get a divorce?’

‘Heavens no!’ cried Sylvie. ‘I’m quite happy with things the way they are. Bruce already has a wife and I have Robin.’

Dottie looked away. How could Sylvie love someone else when she was already married?

‘Well,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’ve told you all my secrets. What about you and Reg? I’m making a pretty shrewd guess that you are not as happy as you like to make out either.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Dottie laughed.

‘No, seriously,’ said Sylvie. ‘What about you? What do you want out of life? What are your ambitions?’

Dottie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’

‘Come on,’ Sylvie cajoled. ‘There must be something you’d really like to do if you had the chance.’

Dottie stared deeply into her glass of wine. ‘It’s no good hankering after something you can’t have,’ she said dully.

‘You’re not going to wiggle out of it that quickly, darling,’ said Sylvie taking a long drag of her cigarette. ‘Just imagine, money no object, no ties, nothing impossible … what would you do?’

Her answer came quickly. ‘Interior design.’

Sylvie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Judging by the way you’ve transformed that cottage, you’d be really good at it.’

Dottie swirled the dark liquid in her glass. ‘Daft idea.’

‘No it’s not.’

Dottie laughed.

‘Seriously, darling. I think you should get some training,’ said Sylvie. ‘You’ll have plenty of opportunity when you finally get your hands on Aunt Bessie’s money …’

‘Reg has other plans,’ Dottie interrupted. ‘He wants us to sell up and get a guesthouse by the seafront.’

‘Blow Reg,’ Sylvie retorted. ‘What about you? What do you want?’

‘I want him to be happy.’

‘Oh, Dottie, you are absolutely impossible. You’re making yourself an absolute martyr to that man.’

Dottie felt her face colour. ‘I am not!’

‘Then for goodness’ sake, take the money,
your
money, and
do something for yourself. Look at it this way: if you succeed, you’ll make the both of you rich; and if not rich you’ll make a comfortable living doing something you really enjoy.’

‘Sylvie, can I ask you something?’

Sylvie laid down her knife and fork and took a sip from her wine glass. ‘Of course you can,’ she said draining the last of it.

‘This is very important but you’ve got to promise me you’ll never breathe a word to another living soul.’

‘Sounds intriguing.’

The waiter came back to the table. ‘Is everything all right with your meal, Madam?’

‘Fine,’ said Sylvie. Then, leaning forward, she said to Dottie, ‘Fire away.’

The waiter left.

Dottie explained about the letter and Patsy and then told her about the money.

After she’d filled Dottie’s wine glass again, Sylvie said, ‘So Reg wants me to pay the fare for this child of his to come over? The brass neck of the man! He doesn’t like me but he’d like some of my money. I suppose he didn’t dare ask me himself in case I refused.’

‘Don’t say that,’ said Dottie. ‘At least he’s let you come and stay.’

‘Probably to give himself a bargaining chip,’ said Sylvie, raising an eyebrow.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘He’s let your friend come and stay, so now you have no right to refuse his child and I should dip into my purse for the privilege.’

Dottie frowned. ‘Sylvie!’

There was an awkward silence.

‘I can pay you back when I get my inheritance,’ Dottie said desperately.

‘Oh, darling,’ cried Sylvie, reaching out to hold Dottie’s hand, ‘It’s not that …’

The pianist seemed to be playing a little louder. Dottie found herself humming, ‘when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes …’

‘If I do help …’ Sylvie said.

‘Oh Sylvie,’ said Dottie eagerly.

‘
If
I do help,’ Sylvie repeated. ‘It will be to help
you
, not Reg.’

The look on Sylvie’s face was so serious, Dottie felt un comfortable. Had she upset her? She wished she hadn’t asked her now.

Sylvie called the waiter over and as he cleared away their plates Sylvie asked tersely, ‘Coffee?’

Dottie shook her head. Oh Lord, she
had
upset her. Oh Reg, why do you always make me do these things?

‘Just the bill please, waiter,’ said Sylvie.

Once they were in the darkness of the car, Dottie said, ‘Sylvie, if you’d rather not help out, I quite understand.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ cried Sylvie. ‘Of course I’ll help you. I’d do anything for you, you know that. You can’t help it if Reg is being unfair.’

‘He just wants his child, that’s all.’

‘And what about you?’ said Sylvie. ‘Why don’t you have children of your own?’

‘Reg … he can’t.’

‘What do you mean, he can’t?’ Sylvie frowned and when Dottie refused to look at her, she gasped, ‘Good heavens! Do you mean you and Reg have never even made love? But, darling, how awful. You must leave him.’

Dottie shook her head. ‘Remember what Aunt Bessie used to say? You make your bed and you lie in it.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Sylvie. ‘We’re living in the fifties, for heaven’s sake. You can get an annulment straightaway if the marriage has never been consummated.’

‘We did it when we were first married, before he went to the Far East,’ Dottie explained.

Sylvie turned abruptly and crashed the gears as the car moved off. They motored back home in silence, Sylvie was struggling to keep her temper. Why was that wretched man so damned awkward? What sort of a life was he giving her friend? He was good-looking in a funny sort of way, which was why Dottie was attracted to him the first place, she supposed. She couldn’t bear the thought of Reg touching her, but if Dottie loved him, surely she deserved better than this. They didn’t do it …? Why not? Was he some sort of queer?

Dottie’s thoughts had drifted back to her honeymoon. Three days. That’s all they’d had, but Reg had been all right then. He was a bit rough but she hadn’t worried too much about that. She was Mrs Reginald Cox and it was wonderful just being with him. It didn’t matter if he was in a bit of a hurry. Everybody knew they might not have much time. So many had been here one day and gone the next. He kept saying how glad he was to have her.

‘I never understood why you married him in the first place,’ Sylvie said suddenly.

Dottie looked at her, horrified. ‘Because I loved him.’

‘Did you, darling? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I did,’ said Dottie defensively. ‘I do …’

Sylvie snorted and changed gear. The car sped on.

‘Come on, Sylvie.’ Dottie’s voice had an edge. ‘Say whatever you have to. We never keep secrets from each other, remember?’

Another car came towards them and its headlights flooded the car with light.

‘Let’s not quarrel,’ said Sylvie softly, as she glanced across at Dottie’s angry look. ‘I don’t want to upset you. You’re my dearest friend.’

Dottie looked down at her lap. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you but I feel so on edge all the time. I want things to be right between me and Reg. I want to make my marriage work but it makes things so difficult when he’s not happy. I know
he’s desperate to have Patsy and that’s why I’ve agreed to try and help him get her over here. Perhaps if she comes here things might … well, you know …’

‘It’s an awfully big risk,’ said Sylvie. ‘And what about your life? How will you fit everything in? Your sewing, your little jobs, looking after Reg, and then Patsy …’

‘Patsy will be at school,’ said Dottie. ‘I can still work during the day and I can do my sewing in the evenings when she’s in bed.’

‘But once she’s over here,’ Sylvie went on, ‘how do you know that he won’t shut you out altogether?’

‘He wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t,’ said Dottie weakly. ‘Oh Sylvie, I just keep thinking that if I do this for him, he may be able to … and then I … I just want a child of my own …’

‘This gets worse … sewing, Reg, your job, Patsy,
and
a child of your own?’

Dottie began to cry softly.

‘Don’t cry. I didn’t mean it,’ said Sylvie, reaching across to squeeze her hand. ‘Look, can’t you persuade him to go to the doctor … or maybe you could have a word with the doctor?’

At the mention of the doctor, Dottie shook her head. ‘He’d never go and I don’t think I could talk to Dr Fitzgerald about something like that,’ she said quickly.

‘Oh, darling,’ Sylvie chuckled, ‘you are a little prudish at times.’

When they got back to Myrtle Cottage they were both rather surprised to find it in darkness.

‘Does Reg usually go to bed this early?’ Sylvie asked.

‘He must be on an early shift tomorrow,’ said Dottie, hanging her coat on the nail behind the door and collecting the dirty dishes.

‘What, on the day of the wedding?’

Dottie shook her head. ‘Oh no, of course not. He’s got the day off. I forgot.’ A chill ran through her body. She shouldn’t have stayed out so late.

They said goodnight to each other and climbed the steep stairs, Sylvie in front clinging onto the rope banister for dear life, and Dottie right behind her to give her a sense of security. They parted with a hug on the landing.

Reg had the light off and his back to the door. Not wishing to disturb him, Dottie undressed quickly by the light of the moon filtering through the curtains and put her clothes on the chair. As she climbed into bed beside him, Reg pulled at the bedclothes and moved away.

She lay on her back staring up at the moonlight on the ceiling. Sylvie’s remarks had given her a lot of food for thought. Everyone in the village thought of Reg as a pretty good egg. He often gave some of the older folk something from his allotment and of course there were his flowers at the station. He might be a bit of a loner, but people around here liked and respected him.

Dottie saw something different. The Reg she was married to was more complex. He kept her on tenterhooks all the time. She never knew what mood he’d be in. If he wanted sex, it had to be here and now or he didn’t come near her for months on end. He would make remarks, small ones, but sometimes they’d hurt her very much. She always did her best for him, but somehow it was never enough. She’d always thought the way she’d been taught. Wives should be loyal to their husbands no matter what. Wives should spend their lives making their spouse’s life as comfortable as possible. They should be faithful. Love, honour and obey, so the promise went. Well she’d done all that and it still wasn’t enough. Just recently she’d started to think of herself as a person in her own right. Like Sylvie said, this was the fifties. Aunt Bessie may have been satisfied with that kind of life, but, for her, it was getting harder and harder to feel the same way. Surely there was more to life than this?

They’d been married since 1942, but in point of fact, they’d had very little time together. He’d gone almost as soon as the
honeymoon was over and because he was doing something so top secret, she hadn’t even been allowed to write to him. She hadn’t heard from him for years and then all of a sudden, just before Christmas 1948, he’d turned up out of the blue. He wouldn’t talk about his wartime experiences, or where he’d been since the war ended. Too upsetting, he’d said. Aunt Bessie didn’t like it but there it was. Reg was a changed man, who had changed even more since Aunt Bessie died.

She turned and stared at the back of his head. This wasn’t what she had thought marriage would be like. Was this to be the sum total of her life? In some ways she knew him like the back of her hand. He’d gone to bed early to show her how annoyed he was that she’d stayed out late. If Sylvie hadn’t been staying in the same house, there would have been a row. He’d have called her names, and perhaps even hit her. She’d have cried and then he’d have made her feel guilty, like it was all her fault. He’d have told her she wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t even a proper woman. She’d never be a mother because she was nothing more than a cold fish. Dottie swallowed hard as her throat tightened. If only he’d show her a little tenderness now and again. Yet even when he was nice to her, it was always for a reason. Sylvie was probably right. The only reason he’d let her stay for the weekend was because he wanted the money to get Patsy over here. She’d never know for sure, of course. Reg was deep. He never told her what he was really thinking.

All at once she remembered that other letter, the one that had come this morning. What did it say?

Her eyes were beginning to fill but she dared not cry. If he heard her, he’d be angry. He hated it when she cried. She closed her eyes. Was there anything about her he liked? How she wished Aunt Bessie was still here. Right now Dottie would have given her right arm for a crumb of affection or a cuddle.

Reg began to snore and Dottie slipped her hand under her nightie. She began to stroke herself until a warm glow washed
over her. She’d better stop. It was a nice feeling but not even that took away the ache she had in her heart. If anything, it only left her even more frustrated. She was only twenty-seven and the thought of all those long lonely years stretching out before her was quite frightening.

It was no good. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. Why get all maudlin and depressed? She had to make the best of it. She turned onto her side, away from him and, feeling under her pillow for her hankie, she blew her nose softly. Then she lay back down, willing herself not to think about it any more. There wasn’t much love but she could set her mind to honour and obey. That would have to do for now.