Breaking the Chain (2 page)

When she was about 7, her great-aunt had told her that if you learnt to play mixed doubles well, you would meet a nice young man. Phoebe, then more interested in climbing trees than in boys, vowed never to learn and was completely successful at school in failing to achieve any degree of competence in the sport. She never met many nice young men either, but got involved at 20 with a married teacher in his forties and stayed trapped in the affair, veering wildly between optimistic joy and black despair for the next ten years. Then in July 1986, she met Duncan Moon.

Their wedding took place eleven months later in a rather decrepit register office in the small town in Northumberland where Phoebe and her divorced mother both (separately) lived. They were due to go in at eleven o’clock but were held up for half an hour by the wedding before theirs, which was running late. Running was hardly the word; none of the participants looked able to do anything quite so active. The bride was heavily pregnant and dressed entirely in orange. She was attended by two small children – her own? – some dozy youths and four old women who swayed alarmingly and looked as though they had already been to a reception. Her groom eventually appeared looking sheepish, and they all trooped off to the room next door.

Phoebe, who had worried for weeks as to whether her family and the Moons would get on together, looked anxiously across the waiting room over the heads of friends and relations, to where Hope and Peter were sitting with Duncan. Hope’s thin mouth looked particularly unamused. Peter was writing something on the back of an envelope with a fountain pen. Phoebe hoped he hadn’t left it until now to compose his speech. He had accepted the job with alacrity, on learning that Duncan’s future
father-in-law would not be present. Duncan looked up and smiled at her. Phoebe blew him a kiss.

‘Is the famous one coming?’ Wynne, her mother, whispered beside her. ‘The actor, what’s his name again?’

‘Roderick. The family call him Rick. No, I don’t think so. He’s filming abroad somewhere. Conrad and his wife said they would be at the reception. Herry won’t come though, Duncan says. It’s a pity. You know, I still haven’t met any of his brothers.’

‘Who did you say last?’

‘Hereward, the third son.’

‘Snooty sort of names if you ask me,’ her mother said, pulling a face.

‘How can you say that? You called me Phoebe!’

‘That’s different. Your name’s been in our family for generations; my mother, her grandmother … way back. It’s traditional.’

Phoebe smiled at her affectionately. ‘Have you talked much to Hope?’ she asked.

‘Long enough. We met in the entrance hall. She said, “We’re very pleased about this marriage,” in a toffee-nosed sort of voice, which made me feel I ought to curtsey or something, and that was about it. She’s not the sort of woman you could confide in about your varicose veins, is she?’

‘Please,
Mum, for my sake. It’s only for a few hours. Couldn’t you just pretend to like her?’

‘Don’t worry, my pet. I won’t let you down. But who’d a thought your man would have her ladyship for a mother! He’s all right though, is Duncan’s dad; lovely manners. I should think he likes his own way, mind, and I’ll bet any money he can’t change a plug. I can’t bear a man who’s no good with his hands!’

‘Duncan’s very practical.’

‘I know, bless him. He’s a dear. The only thing I can’t understand is how a man like him can have got to 45 and never been married. He’s not one of
those,
I hope?’

‘Mum!
Of course he’s not.’

At that moment a man of about forty sauntered in. He was wearing khaki shorts, a pink flowery shirt and flip-flops on his
feet. All his exposed skin was darkly tanned and his hair and beard had been sun-bleached almost to white. He had three gold earrings in one ear and he carried in one hand, and upside-down, a bunch of roses in a paper funnel. Peter raised a hand in greeting and the man went over and sat beside them, holding the flowers between his knees.

‘Who’s
that?’
asked Phoebe’s mother, forgetting to whisper.

‘I don’t know … Oh yes I do. I think it must be Brendan, Peter’s son; Duncan’s half-brother. He delivers yachts and things all over the world. Duncan said he might be in Newcastle about now. Doesn’t he look brown?’

‘Brown be blowed! You’d think he’d put on proper clothes for an occasion like this, wouldn’t you? Who’s his mother then?’ But before Phoebe could reply, the Registrar appeared at the door and invited them all in to the wedding room.

As soon as they had been through the simple formalities in front of the Registrar, and she was officially Mrs Moon, Phoebe stopped worrying and gave herself up to the blissful realization that she was finally irrevocably a
wife.
She looked at Duncan with love as he gave her the customary kiss. He was so tall and handsome, and he looked so good in that lovely suit. Phoebe was, for the first time, completely and utterly content.

They drove to a nearby hotel for the reception. Peter consulted his envelope and made a witty speech which made even Hope laugh. Then Duncan did his. He stammered badly, and forgot to thank Phoebe’s mother for all she’d done. Everyone was rather relieved when he stopped early on and shrugged his shoulders shyly, spreading his large hands in a gesture of defeat. Public speaking was so tough for someone like him, Phoebe thought fondly, joining in the applause. At least he’d made the effort. She admired him for that. Duncan’s character is so amazingly different from his father’s, she thought with surprise. Judging by his clothes, so was Brendan’s. Conrad, though, looked to Phoebe to be just the sort of son she’d have expected Peter to have.

Conrad and his wife had turned up in time for the speeches, and both kissed Duncan before turning to be introduced.

‘Phoebe, this is my brother C-C-Conrad. Conrad; Phoebe.’

He had all the family features, the large forehead, the thick
fair hair, the blue eyes and the rather delicate straight nose, but he was much more thickset, almost with a beer gut; an indulger in over rich corporate lunches, Phoebe thought. His suit had clearly been specially tailored for him and had cost a lot. He had the careless air of one with wealth and authority. He was obviously a successful businessman.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Glad to see old Duncan has had the sense to find himself a good wife at long last.’

‘Phoebe, this is F-Fay,’ Duncan said, curling his lip at his brother.

‘Lovely to meet you, Phoebe! I hope you’ll be very happy.’ She was beautiful, Phoebe thought enviously, slim and blonde and confident. Duncan had told her that Fay was a businesswoman; the owner of an up-market catering firm which she had originally started single-handed, cooking cordon bleu dinner parties for the filthy rich. She bent forwards and brushed her scented cheek against Phoebe’s. ‘Isn’t this a lovely day?’ she said.

‘In fact it’s raining outside,’ Conrad said.

‘Phoebe knows what I mean.’ Fay gave her a sisterly smile.

‘Yes I do, and it is,’ Phoebe said happily.

‘How did you two meet?’ Fay asked.

‘Duncan rescued me from an Alsatian on Hadrian’s Wall!’ Phoebe said. ‘He was on a walking holiday, and we both happened to be going along it in opposite directions, when this horrible dog just appeared and jumped at me, and Duncan rushed up and dragged it off! ‘

‘How heroic!’ Conrad said mockingly. ‘You’ll have got quite the wrong impression of him from that, I fear.’

‘Do shut up, darling,’ Fay said. ‘I think it’s a lovely story. But how did you see each other afterwards? It’s such a long way from here to Somerset.’

‘We didn’t much,’ Phoebe admitted. ‘We talked every day on the phone. It cost Duncan a fortune!’

‘But it was worth it, wasn’t it?’ Fay asked, turning to him.

‘P-Probably,’ Duncan said.

‘Hey! That’s a bit grudging!’ Phoebe protested.

‘Can I get you another drink?’ Conrad asked them all and then, turning to his wife said, ‘I take it you’ll be on tonic water on the rocks today and for the next six months?’

‘Please,’ Fay said. ‘Would you believe it,’ she explained to Phoebe and Duncan, ‘pregnant again at 40! The girls are horrified; they thought people of our age had given up sex long ago!’

‘How old are your girls?’ Phoebe enquired politely, but her mind was elsewhere.

‘They’re 18 and 17,’ Fay said. ‘They’re sorry they couldn’t be here today, but they’re in the thick of exams. Oh, there’s Hope. I suppose I ought to go and say good-day to the old witch, just to show willing!’ She smiled brilliantly at Phoebe and moved off. Phoebe looked round. Duncan had gone to help Conrad with the drinks.

Sex, Phoebe was thinking, that’s really the only fly in the ointment … ‘M-M-More champagne?’ Duncan said, reappearing.

‘Cheers!’

‘Cheers!’ They clinked glasses.

Phoebe thought, It’s just a question of practice. It’ll be fine in no time at all. This is just the beginning of living happily ever after.

First impressions could be deeply misleading, Duncan was later to think, and her name hadn’t helped either. Would he ever have got involved with Phoebe if she’d been called something more appropriate, such as Sandra, or Maureen? He remembered the Phoebe he had first met; the ordinary youngish woman who was quite obviously apprehensive about the German shepherd dog which was approaching her at a run along the footpath. As it bounded nearer and leapt up at her in ebullient high spirits, she yelped from pure terror and put up her arms to defend herself. If anything, the dog seemed a bit put out, affronted even, but it went on jumping. It was clearly not savage in intent, but the woman looked so helpless and afraid that Duncan felt obliged to intervene.

‘Get DOWN!’ he shouted to the dog and ran over, grabbing it by the collar and forcing it to sit. The woman burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. ‘It’s all o-okay,’ Duncan said. ‘I’ve g-got it. It won’t h-h-h …’ He couldn’t say the word ‘hurt’, and gave up, stroking the dog’s head in silence and keeping it under control until its owner appeared rather huffily to claim it. Duncan watched it trotting away on a lead.

By now the woman had got herself together, had wiped her eyes and was blowing her nose. Duncan smiled at her and turned to resume his walk.

‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Don’t disappear. I want to thank … You’ve just saved my life!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go that f-far,’ Duncan said modestly.

‘But you did! Dogs always go for me; they know I’m scared. I got bitten once when I was a child, so I’m frightened of them, so they go for me. It’s a vicious circle.’ She smiled self-mockingly. ‘Vicious is right,’ she said. ‘Did you see those teeth?’

Duncan, who had indeed observed the teeth and could see nothing remarkable in them, was nevertheless flattered to be cast in such a macho mould. He knew that she was
overdramatizing the incident, but it didn’t displease him. Later, of course, when it had become known to all as The Big Rescue, it was far too late to disabuse anyone.

She seemed to him to be pleasant enough; an easy person to get on with. She asked if he minded if she walked back with him. She had lost her enthusiasm for walking alone, she said, and time was getting on anyway. He nodded, although really he preferred to be quiet and solitary.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘D-D-D …’ he stammered, trying too hard.

‘David?’ she supplied helpfully.

‘N-No.’

‘Donald?’

‘No.’

‘Dennis?’

‘NO! S-Stop it. Just wait a m-moment.’

‘Sorry.’ She really did look sorry.

‘It’s Duncan, Duncan M-Moon’.

‘Duncan Moon, that’s a good name. Mine’s Phoebe.’

‘How d’you do?’ he said, and held out his hand. She looked disconcerted, but gave him hers to shake. It was hot and damp. He let go of it rather quickly, and thrust his own back into his pocket. They started walking.

‘That’s a huge rucksack,’ Phoebe said. ‘Are you doing the whole wall?’

‘That’s the i-idea.’

‘I think this is the best bit. It’s certainly the most photographed. Don’t you think those crags are impressive?’

‘Mmmm.’ He did.

‘Last time I was here, in May, the curlews were calling. It’s my favourite sound. It’s so lovely and empty and wild up here, isn’t it? You can see for miles. I drive up and wander along the wall when I’m feeling gloomy, to pep myself up. Do you always walk alone?’

‘Yes. I find it’s e-easier.’ He glanced sideways at her. The wind was blowing her hair into her eyes. It was thick, dark chestnut in colour and not quite straight, rather attractive actually. Her skin was very fair and inclined to freckles; the sort that didn’t go brown in the sun.

‘Why easier?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. I suppose I mean that I c-can go at my own p-pace and stop when I want to.’

‘Where were you thinking of stopping tonight?’

‘H-H-H …’ He took a deep breath and tried again. ‘… Hexham.’ He was grateful to her for waiting politely until he was able to get the word out. She seemed quite happy to do so, and not at all impatient. He warmed to her.

‘But that’s where I live!’ She turned smiling to him. She had obviously just had an idea. ‘Do you stay in hotels,’ she asked, ‘booked in advance?’

He shook his head. ‘Bed and b-breakfast mostly, wherever I happen to end up.’

‘Well then, why don’t you stay tonight in my flat? Save money? I’ve got a spare sofa, and I could cook you supper.’

‘Well, it’s a very kind o-o-offer, but I …’ He felt awkward.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘I’d like you to.’ Her eyes were freckly too; hazel. They looked hopeful and trusting, rather like those of Hickory, his mother’s dog.

And so he had stayed for the evening and was pampered with convenience food, kept in the freezer for such emergencies, a bottle of supermarket wine, and music; mostly Billy Joel and Mozart. Duncan told her that his mother was a musician, played the viola and considered Wagner to be
bowel music.
She had laughed. She laughed easily. He began to relax, even to enjoy himself. She wasn’t really fanciable – a bit overweight perhaps? – so he didn’t feel that he had to prove anything. He found that he could be surprisingly comfortable in her company, but as the evening wore on, old anxieties began to surface in him. What did she want of him? Did she expect a performance in bed? Would he be able to get out of it without offending her? He found himself tensing up again.