Читать книгу Five French Hens - Judy Leigh - Страница 6

Jen had offered to pay half the bill, but Eddie had insisted. He’d reached for his wallet and taken out cash, winking at her conspiratorially as he added an extra five pounds on the silver tray. He’d smiled towards the waiter. ‘That’s for the good service. The pie was particularly tasty. And I’m a great believer in coming back to somewhere if the service is of a good standard.’ He’d held up her coat as she slipped it on. ‘Shall we go, my dear?’

He presented his arm and Jen poked her wrist through the crook of his elbow as they strolled along the path. The rain had stopped but there was a strong breeze from the seafront and the streetlamps reflected light from neon signs in the puddles. Jen and Eddie turned the corner towards Barley Mow Avenue, where she lived. Jen raised her eyebrows. It was gone ten o’clock and Eddie lived half a mile’s walk from her house. She turned to face him. ‘Eddie, you don’t need to walk me all the way home. I’d hate you to be caught out in another rainstorm…’

He chuckled. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought I might get an invite to come in for a coffee.’

‘Oh.’ Jen frowned. He hadn’t been in her house, not yet. He usually walked her to the corner of her road, pecked her cheek and turned away, discreet and polite. But then, most of their dates had been lunchtime meetings or strolls on the seafront or an afternoon tea. She had met him for the first time on Boxing Day; they’d both been wandering on the beach and he’d started a conversation, invited her to join him for a warm drink in the Olive Grove before enquiring where she lived and walking her halfway back. They’d talked about how quiet it was, being by themselves over Christmas – he was a widower – and he’d invited her for a drink the next day, then they’d met twice a week for lunch, then recently more frequently: a cream tea, a brisk walk. He was charming, good looking, good company. But he’d never asked to come in for coffee before.

‘Oh,’ Jen repeated. ‘All right.’

She wondered what he meant by coffee. He was walking next to her, an impatient roll to his stride as if he was in a hurry. She could smell the tang of his aftershave. He’d clearly sprayed on a good deal more when he’d visited the Gents just before they’d left. And he’d combed his hair. Jen thought he was well groomed, smart, suave even, but she hadn’t considered the wider implications of coffee.

They rounded the corner to Barley Mow Avenue, walking at a pace towards her little semi-detached house with the green front door. Jen’s thoughts were racing. She had coffee in the kitchen: an instant ground mix in a jar, some decaff at the back of a cupboard. She even had a cafetière and some Machu Picchu beans. She wondered what sort of coffee Eddie would drink. Or if he’d prefer tea. There was an unopened packet of custard creams somewhere too.

She glanced up at him and he winked again. She wondered if coffee mightn’t mean something completely different, not coffee at all, but an innuendo, a euphemism for something else. Jen caught her breath. She had no idea what to say to him. She pulled the key from her handbag, opened the front door and muttered, ‘Well, what takes your fancy, Eddie?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I mean, do you want it hot and strong, sweet, milky or just as it comes out of the spout?’ She felt herself blushing and fluttered her hands in front of her face.

‘Shall we take our coats off and sit down?’ Eddie glanced around the hall, at the thick carpet and velvet door curtain that kept out the draughts. ‘You keep it nice here, Jen.’

He sat in the lounge on the sofa, his feet on the rug. His shoes were damp and Jen wanted to tell him not to get mud on the carpet. He was glancing around the room, taking in the furniture, the books, the photos on the sideboard, her wedding photo with Colin in 1970. Jen was holding a bouquet as if it was heavy, a smiling bride with her long chestnut hair and the flowing white dress; Colin with sideburns and a fringe over his eyes.

She retreated to the small kitchen, banging open the cupboard door and clutching a small jar of freeze dried Costa Rican. Her hands shook as she filled the kettle. It had been a long time since a man had been in her house – there had been no one through the door since Colin had died and that had been four years ago, apart from her brother-in-law, Pete, and the young lad who’d serviced the boiler, of course. Jen wondered what Eddie might want to service. The porcelain cup slipped from her grip. She caught it just in time and placed it carefully on the saucer, on top of the tray with the jug of milk and the sugar lumps. Her heart had started to thud. She was not sure whether she was feeling excitement, passion or just unbridled fear.

She’d been married at twenty-three and, before Colin, there had just been one boyfriend, Ricky, who she’d loved from the age of fifteen until they’d broken up five years later, when he’d taken off to a pop festival, met some new friends and left to ‘find himself’ on the Isle of Wight. Jen had lost him and herself too, for a while, then she’d met Colin, an assistant in the local fishmonger’s shop, and settled for a quiet life. Colin had been promoted to manager; he was a good businessman, buying their house then purchasing the shop for himself. They had been comfortable, although it would always be a regret that they weren’t blessed with children. Colin had been kind, thoughtful and she’d never wanted for much. Then he’d had a stroke four years ago. He’d lasted three months. The second stroke had finished him off. Jen admitted to herself that she’d felt lonely ever since.

She missed the warmth of him more than the passion. Colin had been moderate in his desire for her. Her first love, Ricky, had been young, a sloppy kisser and a fumbler of buttons, more interested in his guitar than lust. She’d missed out on it really – mad passion, frantic sex. Sex had never been on her mind much at all, until now. Eddie had kissed her before, on the cheek at first then, several weeks ago, on the lips, briefly, every time they parted. There was warmth in his hugs, but she’d never considered that there might be something else. And now she didn’t know what she was feeling. Afraid? Glad to be desired? Perhaps she simply felt happy in his company. She wasn’t sure. She carried the tray into the lounge, her breath a little ragged. Eddie had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. She put the tray down and he patted the seat next to him, grinning.

‘Jen. Come and sit here. The coffee can wait a minute, can’t it?’

She wondered why her legs were being so obedient as she moved to the sofa and plonked herself down next to him, her shoulder against the arm he had draped across the back of the seat. His grasp circled her and he pulled her next to him.

‘Jen…’ He pecked her cheek. ‘Jenny.’

She wondered whether to sit up straight, wriggle away, feign a sudden interest in conversation and start gabbling about the lounge carpet, the deep pile, and the difficulties of finding a good hoover, one that would pick up all sorts of dust and get into the tricky corners. He nuzzled her cheek, his lips against her ear. Jen closed her eyes; the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. She inhaled the heady cinnamon and musk scent of his aftershave and wondered if he would kiss her. He pecked her on the lips and she blinked. He was staring at her, his blue eyes huge, his tidy grey hair framing a handsome face, his lips pursed to speak. ‘Jen…’

She wondered what would come next. The excitement and trepidation had turned into puzzlement. ‘Eddie… your coffee will get cold.’

‘I haven’t come here for the coffee, Jen.’ He moved his face closer to hers. ‘I ought to tell the truth. It was a ploy to get you here alone, just us, by ourselves.’

Jen felt her heart bump. She was thrilled, intrigued. He was going to kiss her, perhaps tug at her clothes. Her mind raced; she had known him for two months – she liked him a lot. But what if it wasn’t passion on his mind? What if he intended to steal from her, or worse? She did trust him though. His face was serious and kind. He surely couldn’t be a serial killer, but she’d read about such people in the papers, making widowed ladies trust them and then… No, surely not Eddie. His eyes were full of kindness.

‘I wanted to say something, Jen. I mean, we get along well…’

She caught her breath. He was going to tell her that he wanted to end the relationship. They got along well but that was all there was to it – she was expecting too much of him, a widower, set in his ways. Jen shook her head – no, it wasn’t that. He’d taken her out on Valentine’s night. Perhaps he was going to confess that he’d fallen for her, that he was in love. Then perhaps he’d rip open his shirt, fall on top of her and sink his lips against her neck.

Jen exhaled. She’d been reading too many romance novels. She reached out, patted his hand in an encouraging way. ‘What is it, Eddie?’

‘When we met on Boxing Day, we talked about how difficult it was being alone. You lost your husband. My wife, Pat, passed away two years ago. I’ve never become used to being by myself, to tell you the truth.’

He must be miserable, Jen thought. His face was serious, his eyes those of a lost puppy. She patted his hand again.

‘How can I help, Eddie?’

‘We get on, don’t we?’ He had suddenly become breathless, his words rushed. ‘I mean, we like each other. Jen, we’re not young. There’s no time like the present. Not a second to waste.’ He fumbled in his pocket, his face flustered, his lips open, panting. Jen wondered what he was searching for. An inhaler? Her eyes widened; she was astonished. He pulled out a handkerchief, unwrapping the neat folds, and held something out towards her. It was a ring, three diamonds in a row on a gold band, an antique style.

‘Jenifer Hooper, would you do me the honour…?’

She frowned, unsure what he wanted. The thought flicked into her mind that he was trying to sell it to her. Perhaps he had money problems. ‘Eddie…?’

‘Will you marry me?’

She gasped, falling back into the sofa, against the soft cushions. She did not know what to say. Her mind was blank, waiting for the flood of emotions that would follow. ‘Me? You’re asking me…?’

He grasped her hand, holding the ring up, sliding it onto the wedding finger. It was a little loose. ‘It fits well. Real diamonds. The best money can buy. So – would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Jen was aware that she hadn’t said yes. Not yet. But he was right: it was a good idea. They were both in their seventies. Jen was seventy-three and Eddie a little older. They were both alone, widowed. Neither of them liked solitude. And Eddie was a nice man, dapper, suave, well dressed, and pleasant company. Thoughts were rushing, crashing against each other in her mind. It would be good to have someone there when she woke up, someone to share meals with, to talk to, to share the warmth of an embrace. And he was such a nice man, so caring, so considerate. She’d be mad to refuse.

But it had happened so quickly she couldn’t catch her breath. In some ways, Eddie was still a stranger: she’d only known him since Boxing Day. They’d been on pleasant dates and enjoyed each other’s company; he was courteous, kind, always complimenting her, offering her his arm as they strolled along the beach. It fluttered into her head that he was nothing like Colin, her Colin, whom she’d known so well, who had fitted her married life like a comfortable sock, who had become such an essential part of the fabric of her life that she knew every stitch. Eddie was unknown to her, a fit that wasn’t yet snug.

‘What do you say, Jen? Will you be Mrs Bruce? Will you accept…?’

An expression of confusion etched itself across her face. Her fingers shook; the ring was loose on her wedding finger. She stared at Eddie. ‘I’m not sure – I mean – I don’t know. It’s early days yet. Can I think about it?’

He slid the ring from her finger and held it in his open palm, meeting her eyes with his serious blue ones. ‘Of course. Take as long as you need. But neither of us is getting any younger…’

He pressed his lips against hers. They were cool. When he pulled away, he seemed composed.

‘Just let me know when you’re ready, Jen. You know I’ll wait for you to decide.’

Jen nodded energetically. ‘All right, Eddie.’

He glanced around the house. ‘You’ve made it so nice here. A feminine touch. But of course, I could tidy it up a bit, you know – I’m good with DIY.’

Jen nodded again. She wasn’t sure what to say. It was as if a whirlwind had lifted her up – she was buoyant and moving out of control. Her limbs had gone numb. Her lips too. She could only nod. Eddie eased himself upright.

‘Well, I’ll get off now, shall I? Perhaps we can meet tomorrow and we can talk about it again when you’ve had time to give it some thought? It’s a good offer, my dear. What do you say, Jen?’

She stood up, facing him. ‘Yes. Yes, all right, I’ll think about it.’

He kissed her lips lightly again. ‘Well, that’s it. Do take it seriously, though. You and I are very good together. We make a good couple and we’d make each other very happy.’ He reached for his coat, tugging it over broad shoulders.

Jen blinked, then fussed with his collar, fidgeting with the buttons. ‘Are you going home now, Eddie?’

‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ he said, smiling. ‘I need my beauty sleep. You too.’ He lifted her chin. ‘Well, you just need sleep.’ He shuffled towards the door. Jen wondered if she should invite him to stay. She wanted company. She wanted him to hold her tight, to kiss her properly. He hadn’t said he was in love with her yet.

‘You wouldn’t like to stay… a bit longer?’

He pecked her cheek again. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow and we can meet for afternoon tea.’ He put a finger to her face. ‘What a wonderful evening this has been. It’s so nice to spend time with you. I just thought it would be lovely if our arrangement was a bit more – permanent.’

Jen nodded. She wondered if she should have said yes, if her refusal had made Eddie’s feelings cooler towards her. He kissed her cheek and put an affectionate arm around her. She clung to him but he eased himself away.

‘It’ll be cold outside. I’ll see myself out. I don’t want you to catch a chill. Goodnight, my dear.’

And then he was gone. Jen squeezed her eyes closed, not sure if she was disappointed, in love or just confused. All three, perhaps. But she would have liked him to stay. She’d have enjoyed more conversation and a sense of closeness. Then perhaps she would be sure she loved him; she’d know if she should have accepted his proposal. But there was always tomorrow. She was suddenly filled with a thrill about the future, and what it might bring.

She picked up the tray. The coffee was untouched, but it had gone cold. Jen sighed. She’d wash up, tidy a little and then she’d go to bed, alone. She gazed at her finger where the diamond ring had stayed for almost a minute. She’d had the chance to become an engaged woman, a bride-to-be. It had felt strange, frightening and just a little bit exciting. She wasn’t sure what she’d tell her friends at aqua aerobics — that Eddie had proposed and she’d turned him down? The room was cold and Jen was alone. For a moment, she imagined that Eddie was her husband, that they’d finished cups of cocoa and they were on their way upstairs to bed. He’d take her small fingers in his large hand and they’d go up together. Jen suddenly felt a chill in the air and she realised how lonely she was.

Rose played Für Elise again, perfectly. Her fingers drifted easily over the piano keys and the sound of the music flowing, confident and loud, was somehow reassuring. She finished with a flourish, sat back and looked at her hands. Small, neat, well-shaped, a single gold band on her left hand. She still missed him, Bernard, especially at this time of night, although there had been times he’d annoyed her and they’d bickered. But it was too late for feelings of regret. She had no one to be annoyed with now, and that made her sad. When the last vibration of the piano had faded, it was replaced with empty silence and she felt cold and alone. Rose stood up from the piano stool. She’d throw away the half-eaten macaroni cheese, wash the plate and go up to bed.

Della lay on her back, listening to the nasal rattle of her husband, Sylvester, who was sleeping by her side, his glasses still perched on his nose. It was his usual nightly practice to snore, an adenoidal snort that lasted for fifteen seconds, stopped and then started up again. Like a chainsaw. Della smiled. She waited through the silence, the seven seconds’ respite, counting him down and then, bang on time, he started again, the persistent wheeze assaulting her ears again. She reached over, patting his shoulder lovingly. ‘Sylvester… Sylvester. Stop snoring and go to sleep now, will you, my love?’

He paused and then mumbled through soft lips. ‘Love you too.’

Della grinned. She breathed out, rolled over, tugging the duvet with her, and snuggled down into the cocoon of warmth. She closed her eyes, sighed, and started to drift. Seven seconds of blissful silence. The chainsaw rattle began again, stretching out into a fifteen second rumble, pausing for seven seconds, then starting up all over again.

It was past eleven now and Alan was still watching golf. He was still making comments aloud, analysing each whack of the ball, the angle of each curve on the air, the descent towards each hole. Tess clenched her teeth – as if she’d be interested. She’d recorded the documentary about Nefertiti. She’d watch it tomorrow, when Alan was out with his other golf buddies, after he’d left in his jacket and ridiculous cap, carrying his bag of clubs to the car. Tess groaned. The television screen illuminated his face and his eyes shone with happiness. She didn’t care. She had her friends, her own thoughts. She picked up his teacup, the plate she’d put the biscuits on, and took them through to the kitchen to wash up, avoiding his eyes. As she passed him, he gave a little grunt of thanks.

She washed the dishes, staring out of the kitchen window. The sky was dark blue, dotted with shining specks of stars. The moon slid behind a cloud and emerged again, a pale silver hook. Tess felt very small inside her quiet house, with no sound except for the dripping tap in the kitchen, and the rattle of the television from the next room. She shook her head sadly and told herself again that she didn’t care what Alan did. She’d carry on trying to make her own life fun, as she always did, just for herself.

It was one of those precious moments that could be held still, like a scoop of fresh water in cupped hands, and treasured. A second of pure peace, followed by another. Elvis was curled up at the bottom of the bed and soothing music from the smart speaker filled the room, the gentle melodic voice of Enya. Pam closed her eyes and thought of woodlands, leaves draping their tips in gurgling streams, the sunlight filtering through branches. She reached down to stroke Elvis’s soft fur and felt a damp nose, the wetness of a tongue. She breathed out, grateful for the warmth of a thick duvet and the intense burning of her toes against a hot-water bottle. The past was in the distance. The present was all that mattered. Life, she decided, was good. How could anything be simpler and better than this?

Jen woke early in the morning; her eyes immediately opened wide and she listened. She sat upright in bed, her heart pounding. She’d heard a noise downstairs. She held her breath. The digital alarm said it was almost seven o’clock. She listened harder, her ears straining against the silence. There it was again, a soft bump like a footfall. It had come from the living room. Jen breathed out imperceptibly. It hadn’t come from outside; it wasn’t the soft gliding of a milk float – there hadn’t been one in the street for years – or the heavy rumble of the bin men’s lorry. It had sounded like someone bumping against furniture. It was a burglar.

Jen called out, ‘Who’s there?’

The fear in her own voice made her tremble. She slid out of bed and reached for her dressing gown, pulling it over her nightie. Somehow a second layer made her feel safer. She edged to the top of the stairs, her feet barely touching the carpet. She held onto the banister, supporting each step she took. At the bottom of the stairs, the front door was locked; she’d locked it last night after Eddie had left. Jen listened; empty silence rang in her ears, and then the noise came again, a brief brushing sound, once.

‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was a little stronger but her legs were trembling. She edged towards the door, pushed it open slowly and turned the corner into the living room. Her heart leapt as she saw a hunched shape and a pair of green eyes narrowing in her direction.

‘Gus!’

Jen glanced from the black and white cat to the open curtains: she had left the top window open and the neighbour’s cat had clambered through. She blew air from her mouth in relief as Gus scuttled towards the front door to be let out. She turned the key and opened the door, watching him rush out into the quiet street.

Jen decided she needed to settle her nerves: she’d make herself a cup of strong tea; perhaps she’d have toast and marmalade. She sank onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.

She’d left a window open. It was a small gap, but a burglar could have easily crawled through into her home. She was by herself, vulnerable, prey to all sorts of dangerous people.

At once she wanted Eddie to hold her in his arms, to pull her to him and tell her she was safe. If he’d been there, she wouldn’t have been so afraid. He’d have stood up to a burglar; he’d have been strong.

It was suddenly crystal clear. She loved Eddie; she needed him. They should be together. Not only would she be safer, but she wouldn’t be alone. It made complete sense. Eddie was right, she knew it. He was sensible; he was just what she needed in her life: stability, comfort. Jen took a breath. She knew what she had to do, and at once. She reached for her mobile and dialled his number. Eddie answered almost immediately, his voice a crackle, concerned and reliable.

‘Jen? It’s half past seven. Are you all right, my dear?’

‘Yes.’ That was the word she wanted to say. Jen was breathing rapidly. ‘Yes, Eddie – I’ve never been better. And if you want to ask me again, that’s my answer – yes.’

He was quiet for a moment and then he chuckled softly. ‘Are you saying you’ll marry me, Jen? Really? Well, that’s wonderful news.’

She was smiling, her face stretched with happiness and relief. The warmth in his tone told her she had made the right decision.

‘Eddie… yes, I’m sure.’

‘Excellent. This calls for a celebration. Can you meet me in the café on the seafront – Coffeelicious? It opens at nine. I’ll buy you breakfast.’

Jen nodded, her heart pounding. She realised Eddie couldn’t hear her, so she added, ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ and beamed again at the sound of the word.

‘Oh, then I’ll see you soon, my dear,’ Eddie whispered. ‘And I’ll bring the ring along, shall I?’