The Old House on the Corner (18 page)

‘Oh, dear!’ Rachel said again. She knelt on the path and began to collect the soil with her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll see to this, don’t worry. You go back to bed. I wish I hadn’t disturbed you.’

‘You didn’t disturb me,’ Mrs Cartwright said. ‘And I wasn’t in bed. Steve, that’s my husband, has just left for a job interview and I was about to have a shower. Rachel,’ she said in a soft voice, ‘why are you crying?’

‘Am I crying?’

‘Well, it’s not raining, yet the step is getting very wet.’ Mrs Cartwright knelt and took hold of her dirty hands. ‘Come inside, Rachel, and tell me what’s wrong.’

Rachel didn’t know how to describe what was wrong. Mrs Cartwright took her into the kitchen, sat her at the table, and made tea. To say she badly wanted a friend sounded awfully childish.

‘I feel depressed,’ she said, which was true. And, ‘I want to cry all the time.’ Which was also true.

‘Is it the menopause?’ Mrs Cartwright asked.

‘I don’t know. I’ve been feeling like this for months and months, more than a year, ever since …’

‘Ever since what?’

‘Ever since something awful happened. I’d sooner not go into it, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course I don’t mind. How old are you? I hope
you
don’t mind my asking that, but I’m a doctor and back in Huddersfield I saw a lot of women of about your age with the same symptoms.’

‘You don’t look remotely like a doctor.’

Mrs Cartwright smiled. ‘Well, I am.’

‘I’m fifty-one,’ Rachel sighed.

‘You really should go and see your own doctor. It might possibly be the menopause and he or she will give you something for it.’

‘Thank you very much.’ Rachel knew darn well her ‘symptoms’ as Mrs Cartwright put it, were nothing to do with the menopause. She pushed back the chair and got to her feet. ‘I won’t disturb you any longer.’

Mrs Cartwright looked disappointed. ‘Oh, you’re not going already. I was hoping you’d stay and we could have a little chat. Apart from the Burrows next door, I don’t know anyone here. I’m Kathleen, by the way.’

A sensation of warmth spread through Rachel’s body, making it tingle. This lovely woman actually wanted to talk to
her
. ‘I’d love to stay,’ she gulped.

‘Good,’ Kathleen beamed. ‘Now you must excuse me for a minute while I get dressed. Perhaps you’d like to make another cup of tea while I’m gone, then we’ll go in the front room where it’s more comfortable. You can tell me about the other people who live in the square. I’m dying to know.’

*

Steve had gone for the interview wearing the suit he’d had on when he had first met Kathleen. The cheap material held no warmth in winter and clung clammily to his skin when it was hot. He returned home, perspiring mightily, and looking very glum. Kathleen assumed the interview hadn’t been successful, but he announced he’d got the job and would start on Monday.

‘Then why the miserable face?’ she asked.

‘It’s the minimum wage, the hours are disgraceful, and I’ve got to wear a poncy uniform,’ he grunted.

‘Poor Steve.’ She kissed him. ‘Still, it won’t be for long. I’m sure you’ll get a much better job soon.’

‘Huh!’ he snorted.

‘I had a visitor while you were out,’ she told him. ‘This poor woman from across the way, Rachel, came and burst into tears on our doorstep. I felt so sorry for her, I persuaded her to stay for the whole morning. She badly needed someone to talk to. Tomorrow, I’m taking her to lunch.’

His face took on a set expression and she knew he was thinking about Jean, who was an entirely different case to Rachel Williams. Jean had four daughters and hordes of neighbours to pour out her troubles to. Rachel appeared to have no one.

She remembered she’d meant to contact British Telecom and ask for a new, unlisted number. Meanwhile, the phone remained unplugged. It was hard luck on Brenda if she was trying to get through.

‘I think I’ll have a shower,’ he muttered.

She kissed him again and pulled him into the bedroom by the lapels of his horrible suit. ‘Why don’t we …’

Before she could finish the sentence, Steve whooped, lifted her up and threw her on to the bed.

*

Patrick Jordan was practising on his guitar, the bedroom window open, the music sounding faintly subdued, as if it was being smothered under the heat of the afternoon, and Sarah was hanging the last of the washing on the whirly thing in the garden that Marie said was called a rotating clothes line. Marie, who was sitting on the back step, watching, had loaned her the pegs.

‘You’ll never believe this,’ Sarah cried, ‘but I’ve never hung out washing until today.’ She could hardly believe it herself. It seemed an awfully satisfying thing to do, washing. There was a huge pile of clean stuff indoors and just looking at it made Sarah’s heart swell with pride.

‘I’ve never met a woman before who didn’t do her own washing,’ Marie said with a grin. ‘Apart from the Mother Superior of the convent I went to, and she probably did enough when she was a novice. Don’t hang that frock by the hem, Sarah, it’ll stretch and make it droop. Peg it under the arms. Same with them T-shirts.’

‘I’ve never dusted before, or used a vacuum cleaner either,’ Sarah confessed, adjusting the frock. ‘Daddy expected Julia and me to tidy our rooms when we were little, but not clean them. Julia’s my sister,’ she explained. ‘She lives in a place called Fazakerley. I’m not sure how to get there from here. I think it’s on the other side of Liverpool.’

‘We’ve got an A to Z,’ Marie said helpfully. ‘I’ll look it up for you.’

‘Julia doesn’t know I’ve moved. She’s gone to the Lake District on a camping holiday with her husband and children.’ Sarah shuddered at the idea of looking after three young children in a tent. ‘I’ll phone on Saturday and tell her. She’ll be back by then. Mummy doesn’t know either. She’s staying in Monte Carlo with friends. I’ll ring her on Saturday too. She’ll be terribly surprised.’
She wasn’t sure if Mummy would be all
that
surprised that she’d left Alex. She’d never liked him from the start.

‘I’ve got eight sisters and three brothers, me,’ Marie said proudly.

‘You mean there are
twelve
of you?’ Sarah was impressed.

‘And fifty-eight cousins.’

‘Fifty-eight!’ Sarah squeaked. ‘I have just one and she lives in New Zealand. We’ve never met.’ She sighed happily. ‘Shall we go and see how Danny, Tiffany, and Jack are getting on at Victoria’s?’ Victoria had seemed terribly sweet and she’d liked her straight away. ‘I’ll take Alastair. He’s actually awake and not crying. Oh, isn’t this nice?’ she cried. ‘Going from house to house and doing so much washing! It’s like a game.’ She had never enjoyed herself quite so much.

‘I’m awfully sorry,’ said Victoria, ‘but Tiffany’s been rooting through the stuff I’d put aside for charity and she’s found loads of things she fancies. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Mummy!’ Tiffany appeared clad in a straw picture hat, a long winceyette nightdress, a gold belt around her waist, fur slippers as big as cats, and carrying a crocheted handbag. ‘Don’t I look lovely?’

‘Adorable, darling.’

‘Victoria said I could have them, but only if you’ll let me.’

‘If you want them, Tiff, then you shall have them.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not all. She’s got a whole bag full of stuff,’ Victoria said apologetically. ‘And Jack’s taken a fancy to a harmonium that belonged to me granddad. It doesn’t work very well.’

‘What’s a harmonium?’ Sarah enquired. ‘Where is Jack, by the way?’

‘It’s like a concertina,’ explained Victoria, ‘And Jack’s upstairs watching Danny on the computer, quite enthralled.

‘I hope Danny’s not being a nuisance,’ Marie said.

‘No one’s being a nuisance. I’ve loved having them. I almost wish I wasn’t going to America now that you’ve all come to live here.’

If Gareth Moran hadn’t been married, she would have almost certainly stayed.

‘Ernie, will you help me up, darling?’

‘Coming, luv.’ Ernie abandoned the
Sporting Life
he was studying, lifted Anna’s feather-light frame out of the chair, and set her on her feet. She swayed and he caught her just in time.

‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to carry me to the bathroom, Ernie. I feel desperately tired.’

‘You’re doing too much, luv,’ he said accusingly. ‘We went out two days in a row and you entertained Victoria all morning. You’re wearing yourself out.’

‘Victoria entertained
me
. She told me her life story, and such an interesting one too. She’s such a sensible, admirable young woman. She reminded me of myself when I was young.’

‘You were admirable, Anna, but I can’t remember you being exactly sensible.’

‘Fiddlesticks!’ she replied. ‘Did you know there used to be a removal and storage company on this site? The horses used to live where our bungalow is now.’

‘I know, luv,’ I heard.’ He carried her into the bathroom. ‘Do you want me to stay, or can you manage on your own?’

‘I’d sooner try and manage myself.’ She didn’t like him doing intimate things for her.

He waited outside the door, counting down from a hundred just to pass the time. The chain flushed. ‘You can come in now, darling,’ she shouted.

She was sitting on the toilet seat, her clothes adjusted. ‘I was just thinking, can we have a computer? Victoria made them sound awfully interesting. She said we could play games on it together.’

‘I’ll look into it,’ Ernie promised. He carried her back and sat her tenderly in her chair. ‘You just sit there quietly,’ he commanded in a no-nonsense voice. ‘No more visitors today. If anyone comes, I’ll tell them you’re not well.’

‘You’ll do no such thing, Ernie Burrows. People will stop coming if they think they’re disturbing me. Just fetch me a glass of wine and I’ll be fine.’

‘You can’t have wine. It interferes with your medication.’

‘Bring me some wine, Ernie, or I’ll scream the house down. And put a video on. Something nice and cheerful, a musical –
Kiss me Kate
, it’s one of my favourites. And stop looking so downhearted, it makes me feel downhearted too.’ She paused for breath. Her voice was becoming fainter and slightly slurred, but she wasn’t giving up. ‘Have a glass of whisky. Let’s get drunk, Ernie. We haven’t got long to go, either of us. Let’s make the best of things before it’s too late.’

He bent and kissed her full on the lips. He felt young again and the face he kissed was smooth and unlined. ‘Jaysus, Anna Kosztolanyi, whatever would I have done without you!’

‘I didn’t realize I’d spent that much,’ Debbie said that
night when Gareth showed her the Goldfish statement. ‘Anyroad,’ she added indignantly, ‘what gave you the right to open my mail? It’s personal.’

‘If it’s personal, does that mean you’ll be paying this back out of your own pocket?’ He waved the statement at her.

‘I have been doing so far,’ she said haughtily.

‘Oh, yeah!’ he snorted. ‘Last month, you paid back twenty-five quid. It didn’t even cover the interest. Then you went and spent over seven hundred. At that rate, you’d never clear the debt in a million years.’

‘Then you can pay it for me.’ She pouted her lips in a way that Gareth normally found irresistible, but didn’t tonight.

‘In your dreams, Debbie,’ he said tightly. He flung the statement at her, slammed out of the house, and went to see Victoria Macara.

‘Hello,’ Victoria said brightly when she let him in. She looked very smart, in a navy blouse and white skirt. Her brown feet were bare, her toes short and stubby, the nails unpainted. The house was beginning to look rather empty without any ornaments or dishes on show. She said, ‘I’ve never had so many visitors in one day.’

Was that a hint? Did it mean she didn’t want any more? ‘I’ll go if you like,’ he offered. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Sit down immediately.’ She’d taken him into a living room that looked more like a museum and shoved him into an elderly, extremely comfortable armchair. ‘I’m dead pleased to see you,’ she said forcefully, and he realized she wasn’t capable of dropping hints and was genuinely glad he’d come. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You look a bit down. Would
you like some wine, by the way? I’ve just opened a bottle.’

‘I’d love a glass of wine and, yes, I do feel down – more than bit. Me wife’s become a shopaholic and I don’t know what to do.’ He’d told someone at last! He already felt better, having got it off his chest.

She curled up in an identical chair on the other side of the iron fireplace, tucking her feet underneath her. ‘Really?’

Gareth nodded. ‘She’s hooked, good and proper.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Victoria looked dismayed. ‘Can’t you stop her?’

‘Only if I lock her in a room and put bars on the windows so she can’t get out,’ he replied gloomily. ‘Nowadays, there’s nothing to stop people from having half a dozen credit cards and spending to the limit on every one. The entire country is in debt. It said so in the paper the other day.’

‘
I’m
not, but only because I got loads of money for the land. I had to use some of that to finish off the debts Granddad left years ago when he died. Gran and I had been trying to do it for years.’

‘I don’t know why,’ Gareth said with a sigh, ‘but that only makes me feel even more down. I’ve got nothing to sell. Apart from my wages, there’s no prospect of any money coming from anywhere.’ It could be ages before his footy site got off the ground.

‘Maybe your wife could get counselling. It seems to be all the rage these days,’ Victoria suggested helpfully.

‘Half an hour with Debbie and the counsellor would end up a shopaholic.’ He didn’t particularly like talking about Debbie in such a detrimental way to someone he hardly knew. But then Victoria didn’t feel like a stranger,
more as if he’d known her all his life. Nevertheless, he was glad when she changed the subject.

‘I’ve got those footy books for you,’ she said, ‘the ones that belonged to Granddad. Don’t forget to take them when you go.’

‘Ta.’ They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping wine, the only sounds the loud ticking of a clock with a pearly face on the sideboard – his mum had one just the same that had belonged to his grandmother – and the faint cries of children playing in the square. ‘Are you selling this place or letting it?’ he asked. She must be doing one or the other or she wouldn’t be getting rid of so much stuff.