Читать книгу The English Wife - Doreen Roberts - Страница 11

Val called the day before the Fourth of July holiday. “Come on over,” she said, her voice brittle with forced enthusiasm. “I’m having a barbecue. Just a few friends, you don’t have to bring anything. You need to get out of that house. Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

The thought that she might want me to meet one of her computer dates scared me. I tried to sound appreciative. “Thanks, Val, but I already have plans.”

I could tell she was miffed when she answered. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try. You’ll be missing a great party.”

“I know. Thanks for thinking of me.” I hung up, wondering how she could have known me for six years without realizing I wasn’t a party person.

A month after that I sat down one afternoon to pay the bills and realized there wasn’t enough left in the bank to pay the mortgage for longer than three months. It was wake-up time. I had to go back to work.

I paced around my spotless house, arguing with myself over my next move. I had to get on with my life, that much was obvious. Decisions had to be made. One thing was certain—I didn’t want to go back to the health club.

What I needed was to put the past firmly behind me and start over. I wanted a new place to live, a new job, a whole new life. I’d wasted enough of the former one. I had a lot of catching up to do.

I went back to the kitchen table and studied the bank accounts and the bills I owed. It dawned on me then that I couldn’t put the past behind me until I’d dealt with it. I had a house I couldn’t afford to live in for much longer, and property in England that wasn’t producing one cent of income, yet had to be accumulating debts, like taxes and maintenance. It was time to sell them both.

I wondered where Brandon had kept all the papers on the cottage. His company had sent home his personal belongings from his office, but I still hadn’t opened the box. I went to get it from the spare bedroom, where I’d dumped it on the bed.

There wasn’t much in it except a few books, a little stand with his name tag on it, a few CDs of jazz music and a slew of receipts for his expenses, which I assume had been paid with his last salary check. Nothing that had anything to do with property overseas. No photo of me to stand on his desk. Trust Brandon to prefer gazing at his own name rather than a picture of his wife.

Having drawn a blank on that issue, I called Val, and after some hedging around, told her I wanted to quit.

“You’re not serious!” she said, sounding more upset than I’d expected. “So are you going to England?”

“No, of course not.” I tried to think of a diplomatic way to say it. “I just think I need something a little more rewarding if I’m going to make a career of it. I thought I might do something with children, maybe office work in a school or something.”

“Well, you can’t quit. You’re the best bookkeeper I’ve ever had. You know just as much about the business as I do. Besides that, you’re the only woman I know who isn’t into competing with me.”

“That’s because I’d lose. I’m sorry, Val. I’ll really miss you.”

“Hey, just because you won’t be working for me doesn’t mean we can’t ever see each other, does it?” Doubt crept into her voice. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

I wasn’t sure of anything right then, but I didn’t want to admit that. “Quite sure.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with the cottage in England?”

I was expecting the question, but not the sudden stab of resentment. “No, I haven’t. I’m sorry, Val. There’s someone at the door. I have to go.” When did I get so adept at lying, I wondered.

“Let’s have lunch,” Val said urgently. “Today. You’ve got to get out of that house.”

I muttered something about next week and hung up.

Determined not to fall back into that awful inertia, I took a walk in the park. The August sun had dried out the grass, leaving brown patches despite the sprinklers that must have worked overtime to compensate for the lack of rain. We were in midsummer already, and I’d lost the past two months in a haze of laziness and procrastination.

I sat on a sun-warmed bench and tried to empty my mind, to let the surroundings soak into me. Joggers loped along the curving path between the trees, dodging around the two elderly women engaged in what appeared to be an intriguing and highly amusing conversation. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ever feel like laughing again.

In front of me, two little girls chased each other around the swings. Listening to their squeals, I envied their blissful ignorance of life’s brutal punches. How I wished I were a child again, with my whole life ahead of me and choices still to be made.

As I watched, one little girl fell on her knees and started to cry. Out of nowhere an elderly woman rushed toward her and gathered her up in her arms. The tug I felt then had nothing to do with being young and making choices.

If I hadn’t married Brandon I might have had grandchildren by now. I’d wasted so many years, and now it was too late. I’d never have a child of my own, never see grandchildren grow up, never know what it was to tuck up a child in bed and read bedtime stories, or watch a daughter walk down the aisle as a beautiful bride. So many wonderful moments I’d missed.

Brandon had told me shortly before we were married that thanks to a vicious bout of mumps in his teens, he was sterile. At the time it hadn’t seemed to matter that much. I was young, looking at a secure future, and vague thoughts of adoption had calmed the doubts. But then, as I matured, the mothering instinct had taken over.

Brandon absolutely refused to consider adoption, or any artificial means of having a child. Maybe if he’d given me the affection I’d needed, opened up to me, let me in to that private world he’d guarded so zealously, I could have found comfort in that. As it was I found other compensations—in my job, and eventually in music and in books, just as I had as a child.

Now, thinking about how he’d deceived me, I was boiling with anger and regret for all the things I’d given up for him.

I had to stop wallowing in resentment. It wasn’t Brandon’s fault he was sterile. He certainly didn’t ask to die suddenly and leave me alone. As for the business with the cottage, I had no real reason to suspect him of cheating on me. I had no proof, and I should know better.

I was forty-six years old, and I still had a life to live. I still had time for choices, good or bad. All I had to do was find the strength to make them.

Fueled by my determination to move on, the following morning I tackled Brandon’s closet. The faint remnants of his cologne still clung to his suits, and the robe he always wore at night hung above his neatly placed slippers.

I lifted it from its hook and immediately a voice in my head wondered if he’d worn a robe when he was with her. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to get rid of my ridiculous suspicions.

Irritated with myself, I pulled suits, shirts, jackets and pants from their hangers and threw them in an untidy heap on the bed. I piled shoes, ties and underwear on top of them, then found a box of black plastic yard bags. After stuffing them full I hauled them out to the garage. The next local charity drive would reap a bonanza.

Brandon’s face came back to haunt me as I walked back into the house. How he would have hated to see his clothes tossed out in such a cavalier way. I felt a stab of guilt, then got annoyed at the thought that he could still reach out from the grave to criticize me.

On impulse I called Val. “How about lunch?” I said, as soon as she answered. “Today?”

“What’s happened?” Her voice vibrated with curiosity. “You’ve decided to go to England?”

Once more I had the feeling of air being snatched out of my lungs. The reminder that I still had a huge problem to deal with threatened to undermine my resolve. “No, of course not. I’m tired of talking to myself, that’s all. I need some real conversation with another human being.”

“That I can do.” She hesitated, and her voice turned wary when she added, “Ah…did you change your mind about coming back to work?”

“I’m not asking you for my job back, if that’s what you mean.” I thought that sounded a bit abrupt and hurried to reassure her. “I’ve put in an application with the school district, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

She sounded relieved when she answered, and I figured she’d already replaced me. We arranged a time and place and I hung up, feeling more positive than I could have imagined two months ago. I was going to make it. I’d survived the worst and I had nowhere to go but up. At last life was beginning to look good again.

I met Val in a quiet little restaurant on the edge of town. With its paneled walls, white tablecloths and soft music playing in the background, it provided a welcome contrast to the health club’s noisy cafeteria.

She arrived late, falling onto her chair with a flurry of apologies. “Damn traffic, I swear it’s getting worse. I had two calls just as I was leaving. We really miss you at the club, Margie. Things haven’t been the same since you left.”

Thinking about those days of striving to please all those demanding women, I knew I’d made the right decision. After we both ordered chicken Caesar salads, I listened while Val told me about her latest adventure with a computer date.

“I was having a good time until he said he’d left his wallet at home. I ended up paying for the meal. Then he asks to borrow cab fare. Hello? I told him he could freaking walk home. Jerk.” She snorted in disgust and took a swallow of the chardonnay the waiter had just put down in front of her.

For the first time in weeks I felt like laughing. I bit my lip instead.

“What about you?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. “You look like you’ve lost some weight.”

Fifteen pounds to be exact, but I didn’t want to admit to that. “A little,” I said instead. “I’m doing fine. I’m getting used to being on my own. I’m sleeping better and getting things done around the house.”

“Way to go,” Val murmured. “But what about the cottage? Have you sold it yet? Are you going to England?”

I waited for the hollow feeling to pass before answering untruthfully, “I haven’t given it much thought lately. I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Like what?”

I reached for my own glass of wine. “Well, like getting a job. Selling my house.”

Val’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to sell your house? Why?”

“It’s too big for one person, too expensive.” Too many memories, I added mentally.

Her eyes lit up. “All right! Can I go house hunting with you?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The idea of buying another house was unnerving. “I was thinking more of renting.”

“Even better. We can go look for apartments.”

I didn’t want to go apartment hunting with Val. She’d force her ideas on me as usual, I’d insist on sticking with mine and she’d get miffed. I changed the subject. “So tell me all about the club. What’s been happening since I left?”

Fortunately she was happy to fill me in, and we’d eaten our salads by the time she’d finished. Having exhausted her topic, once more she scrutinized my face. “So what about you? You haven’t been moping around the house all this time, have you?”

“I’ve kept busy.” I fiddled with my glass, even though it was empty.

“Margie, don’t you have friends, relatives you can visit? You shouldn’t be spending all this time alone.”

“I don’t mind being alone, and I’ll be working again soon.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t make friends easily, do you? I’ve known you for six years, and I feel as if I don’t really know you at all. Except you weren’t happy, and didn’t want to talk about it.”

I stared at her. “What made you think I was unhappy?”

“Well, weren’t you unhappy?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Brandon and I had our differences but we rarely argued.”

“That’s because you were never together. You led separate lives from what I could tell.”

I hadn’t realized I’d given so much away. “Well, Brandon wasn’t much of a talker,” I said carefully.

“But what about friends? You must have had girlfriends you could talk to, have a laugh with and hang out together?”

“Not really. I’ve never been much on girl talk.”

Val crossed her arms and I knew I was in for one of her lectures. “Margie, you’re a nice person. A good person. But it’s time you started living. I mean really living.”

I knew what she meant by that. Computer dates, noisy, smoky bars, crowded dance floors. The very thought of it made me shudder. I managed to pull off a smile. “I’m too old to change now. Guess I’ll stick to my books and music.”

Val rolled her eyes. “Now you’re talking like an old woman. You need to get out in the world and start living. Go to England, have it out with the bitch and get it all out of your system. Meet new people, and stop hiding behind that damn wall.”

I was beginning to get a little annoyed with her. “Maybe I’m just not that kind of person.”

“So what kind of person are you, then?”

I could have told her about my lonely childhood. How I never really knew my father, who was always away in the military. How after his death my mother had ignored me until her own years later. How distant Brandon had been so much of the time.

How hard I found it to bare my soul to anyone.

Instead, I said lightly, “Guess I’m just too independent for my own good.”

“Yes, you are.” She pouted, managing to look like a petulant little girl. “I want to help you. You’re a friend and I always help my friends. Just tell me what you need me to do. You know you can come and live with me until you get things settled.”

I smiled at her. I liked her well enough, and I appreciated her generous offer, but I knew our tenuous friendship would not survive the two of us living under the same roof. We’d managed to get along at the club because we’d each had our own job to do, and spent most of the day apart. Thrown together any more than that, we’d drive each other crazy.

She’d tell me what to wear, what to eat and nag me into smothering my face in hideous makeup, the kind that would sink into my wrinkles and make me look ancient. I needed that like I needed a cup of cyanide. “That’s so sweet,” I murmured. “Thank you, but I should find my own place.”

Her face dropped, and I felt as if I’d just stepped on a wounded bird. Cringing inside, I added, “I’ll take that help looking for a place, though, if you meant it.”

She brightened at once. “Of course I meant it. You know where I am. All you have to do is ask.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get back to the club, but call me. Okay?”

I nodded and got to my feet, trying to reconcile all these new decisions with my natural inclination to avoid anything that required upheaval of any kind.

The following morning I awoke with a new sense of purpose. I showered, dressed, put on the coffee then, without giving myself any more time to think, I called the number of the first real estate agency listed in the Yellow Pages.

After talking to the agent, I felt as if I’d just climbed a mountain. It seemed a little unsteady up there, but I’d taken that final step.

A while later Linda Collins introduced herself and marched into my house as if she owned it. With her beauty-spa looks and expensive clothes, she made me feel old and hopelessly outdated. I tried to make up for that with my enthusiasm.

After wandering around the various rooms and giving a very good impression of ignoring my occasional comment, she sat down in the living room and balanced her clipboard on her knee. “So, how much were you thinking of asking for it?” she demanded.

Without giving myself time to think, I named what I immediately felt was an outrageous price.

I expected her to laugh at my ignorance, but instead, she raised her perfectly tweezed eyebrows and said calmly, “Well, you might have to come down a thousand or two, but we’ll see what happens. We’ll do a neighborhood comparison, that should give us a better idea.”

Apparently taking my dazed nod for acceptance, she went on, “Take all the stuff off the walls, put away everything you don’t need into drawers. The less clutter you have around the better. Fresh flowers would be nice, and make sure they have a fragrance. Cookies baking in the oven is a nice touch. Gives a house that nice homey feeling. I’ll try to give you fair warning when I’m stopping by.”

Cookies? I’d never baked in my life. Brandon didn’t care for anything that might have expanded his waistline.

Linda shot more questions at me, then I signed a bunch of papers. After promising she’d be back very soon with prospective buyers, she left.

I shut the door behind her and drew a deep breath. I’d done it. I was going to sell the house.