The Private Parts of Women (16 page)

After lunch it was time to return to the lounge and await our escorts home. Richard was the first to arrive. When he walked into the room, he did look dear to me, his curly hair wild around his head, his eyes anxiously seeking mine. I was proud that he belonged to me.

‘All right?' he asked.

‘Fine.' I stood up, my knees wobbly, and he helped me on with my coat.

‘Well, so long,' I said to the others.

‘Good luck,' they said.

Outside it was not quite dark. I was surprised. It was like coming out of a dark cinema in the afternoon and being dazzled by daylight.

Richard kissed me in the car and gave me a yellow pot chrysanthemum. ‘I love you,' he said. I squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.' I held the plant to my nose to inhale its cold florist's smell. ‘I love you too,' I said and at that moment, I did.

‘Do you?' He flicked me a look as he nosed the car out into the middle of the road. ‘Good. Now you just relax. Everything is going to be fine. You just see.'

It was three weeks later that I started crying, three weeks later that I left them all behind. The night before I'd had a dream. I had had a little baby, a boy, just like a baby Robin. I had put him down to sleep in a room, in a strange house. It was like I imagine an army barracks to be, breeze-blocks, khaki paint on the doors. I heard him crying and I tried to go back to him, but I could not find the room. There were long branching corridors full of identical doors. I ran up and down trying door after door but either they were locked, or the rooms empty, or full of brushes and brooms. All the time I could hear my baby crying for me. Then I ran to find the caretaker, I went out of the building and into a town, a seaside town. Bonny was sitting on a corner with a collecting tin round her neck, collecting for widows and orphans. ‘Go back,' she barked when she saw me. I ran back to the house – but it had gone. There was only the outline of where it had been on the grass and a big tree standing by. The crying had stopped. The baby had gone.

I'd woken sweating and shouting. Richard held me. ‘It's all right,' he said, ‘It's only a dream.' I let him hold me, my ear against his chest, listening to the thud, thud, thud of his sensible heart. But with an awful draining away of my spirits I recognised that it was not
only
a dream.

I cannot believe Richard has not found me. I know he promised, when I rang him up, well I gave him no choice, but still he knows I am at my wits' end. Who knows what I might not do? A woman who leaves her children could do anything. After that, anything is easy. Or perhaps I haven't properly left. I sent them another card on Saturday, a Mondrian – whom I can't stand but Richard likes. The cards I have sent will be postmarked Sheffield. He might have been to look for me, for all I know. I haven't even changed my name. What kind of bid for freedom is that? He could at this very moment be cruising the streets of Sheffield peering at all the women with long brown hair. Ha!

‘It's not a failure to accept that you need help,' he'd said to me a few days before, when I thought I was all right, maybe a bit quiet, things were going on in my head but not so that he'd know. I kept the freezer filled so full you could hardly shut the door but I couldn't use anything out of it. It had to be kept full. If a single fish-finger was used I would worry until I had bought a new sealed pack. I bought fresh food every day, better for you anyway. Richard was appreciative. He thought it was a sign of stability. But it was only that I could not bear the panicky gap in my mind that something missing from the freezer made. No doubt it's half empty now, half packets of things, loose peas rattling round, empty frozen air. But that is no longer my concern. Here I have no freezer. I eat in cafés, or content myself with biscuits and toast. It is such a relief to have no dealing with food, with the planning of meals, the lurking doubts about nutrition, of finicky children, of varied diets. A relief to be free of food.

And anyway I didn't want help. Only space. He knows that. ‘Mummy needs space,' he said to Robin once to explain my mood.

‘And I need a spaceship,' Robin retorted, making me laugh. The last time I remember laughing.

Richard's given me space and time. Generous to a fault. Or maybe not. Pauline will be well settled in by now, in her absolute element. One hand in my freezer, the other clasping my children's hearts. They will be well cared for, successfully lied to, no doubt.
Mummy's having a little holiday
. They will be fine. If they never saw me again I think they would be fine. I am not indispensable. That should be a relief.

I must go out. It is sunny today, like spring. The sun shines through the thick splashed dust of the kitchen window. I only have winter clothes with me, jeans, thick leggings, sweaters, boots. I can't contemplate buying anything else. I must go out for some air and to fetch Trixie's things. I feel terrible, a splitting headache and my nose all blocked. But I promised I'd go to the bank for her, and fetch some shopping. All I want to do is sleep. But I will go out first and get it done.

CROESUS

Does she think I was born yesterday? Face all pasty innocent. Bleach, bin-bags, tuna, cheese. How much can that come to? Of course, she'd conveniently lost the receipt,
of course
. I didn't want to make a scene, not unless I was sure. I didn't make a scene. But how much
could
that little lot come to? £2 top. And when I counted the money, there was £94.45. Which would make the shopping £5.55 which is simply not possible. She has robbed me. I have been robbed by my kindly smiling neighbour, robbed and swindled and taken for a fool.

I knew, I knew. Somehow deep down I knew her for a cheat.

I said nothing. I thanked her and counted the money out, slowly. Oh I saw the sliding of her eyes, panic that's what it was, panic at having been rumbled. I could have faced her with it, I should have. Instead I said nothing.
Turn the other cheek
was in my head. Her eyes kept straying to the kitchen but if she thought I was going to make her a cup of tea she had another think coming.

I counted out the money again, emphasising but not querying the total. And the cheek of the girl, oh it quite took my breath away.

‘Surprising how it adds up, isn't it?'

Ha! The brass-plated cheek.

She hung around, though I gave her no encouragement.

She blew her nose on a bit of lavatory paper. ‘I've got a stinking cold,' she whined. I put the purchases away very pointedly but left the money on the table, plain as day, an accusation. Was she expecting me to let her see where I put it? That's it. Now I've given her my bank book she'll know I'm loaded. Rich as Croesus. Lucky she doesn't know the half of it.

‘Can I help?' she sniffed.

Help yourself more like
. She wandered round the room, peering about, fiddling with my things. Looking at the photographs on the piano, as if to say, I know this is where you keep it. Though how can she know? Nobody knows, not even Blowski whom I would trust with my life.

‘Is this you?' she asked, indicating the picture of me as a child in my stretched dress.
Why? What's it to you
. I didn't reply.

‘Well, I'd better go,' she said. ‘Just put a note through when you want something next.' And she was off leaving a sort of smell in the air of avarice.

I made myself a cup of tea and tried to settle to the Good Morning programme. The couple on the sofa looked like puppets nodding and grimacing. Somehow I couldn't take it in, not like I usually do, couldn't get myself absorbed.

You see I was quite devastated by her treachery. I'd rather a thug brandishing a poker made off with every penny. At least that's honest, it's what it is – robbery – not the insincerity of a swindler masquerading as a good neighbour.
My ship's come in
, she will be thinking,
loaded old woman on tap, candy off a baby
, all that. Or maybe she thinks if she ingratiates herself successfully enough I'll leave it to her. ‘Have you any family?' she asked me, oh, early on, when I still took her at face value. Well I see the way the land lies now.

Oh she generates unease. I've never felt it before, not so clearly. Why does she live all alone and why is she so quiet? What I would not give for a bit of normal noise, even something to complain about, a radio loud at night, a row with her boyfriend though there's no such person on the scene, sometimes I wonder if she isn't of the other persuasion – well she's hardly feminine – but then I haven't seen any women there either.

It's revenge that's what it is. It came to me while I watched how to lengthen curtains by adding a strip of contrasting fabric above the hem. Rather attractive. I would have been good at being poor. Revenge. I would not let her take my photograph and now this! Oh I'll never be able to settle, not enjoy my television, never settle, never sleep tonight.

It's not the money it's the treachery. She is a viper, a vixen. It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle I know, and yet, and yet, there's Proverbs too … I cannot forget Proverbs …
riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly as an eagle towards heaven
. But it is not that, not that no. Personal gain is the last thing on my mind. I am not thinking of myself. I am thinking about the eventual destination of the money. I am thinking of the Salvation Army. She must have stolen a couple of pounds, at least. Not much, but it's not the amount so much as the principle. Someone who would
cheat
an old lady of two pounds would cheat her of two hundred or two thousand or two million.

Stop, stop, listen, sing:

Angry words, O let them never
,

From the tongue unbridled slip!

May the heart's best impulse ever
,

Check them ere they soil the lip
.

Always cheerful, always cheerful
.

All our words let love control;

Always cheerful, always cheerful
,

Constant sunshine in the soul

Yes, Jesus, yes. But it is so hard. Oh I will not rest today, will not.

BOY

If she does not let me out I will

If she does not let me out

I will

She will be sorry

If she makes me angry …

I am a danger if I come out and I am angry

How can I out?

If she does not let me out I will

FREE LUNCH

Something I started to do after I had Billie, was steal. At first it was accidental. There I was in Sainsbury's, with Billie in her sling and Robin in the trolley-seat kicking his legs and fidgeting. Exhausted, I unloaded the mass of groceries from the trolley and pushed it through the check-out – genuinely overlooking the bag of disposable nappies that hung from the hook on the front. I noticed the nappies, after I'd paid, while I loaded all the stuff back into the trolley to wheel out to the car. I opened my mouth to say … and then shut it again. After all, the check-out assistant had overlooked it too.

Driving home I felt a sudden rush of triumph, exhilaration, glee, I'd got away with something. I sang ‘My Old Man's a Dustman', which made Robin, strapped into his seat in the back, laugh, but also, I saw in the mirror, give me a very Richard-like what's-got-into-her sort of look.

I didn't tell Richard about the nappies.

And after that, I did it almost every time. There'd be the nappies which were a cinch and I'd always start off by taking an apple or a packet of crisps for Robin to eat while we went round.

It gave me such a sense of freedom. Such a
buzz
, my heart flittery-fluttering, all my senses heightened, the colours of the packages on the shelves glowing neon; the smell of baking bread bringing juices to my mouth making me hungry for the first time in ages.

Robin began to love shopping trips because they made me so light-hearted and generous. I wonder if it's affected him permanently? When he's grown-up will he love supermarkets, subconsciously remembering the jolly times we had? Maybe he'll be a pervert, haunting the aisles, turned on by wire trolleys and plastic carrier-bags.

Shopping was the highlight of the week and it rubbed off even on to Richard. I used to go on Friday afternoons so the check-outs would be busy, the workers worn out and flustered. Because I was in a good mood I'd buy generous treats for the children, and for Richard and me. Things that were easy to cook and great to eat, salmon steaks or Peking duck that only needed a minute in the microwave, ready-prepared salads that Richard disapproved of – if he found the packets – and expensive bottles of wine. So we all looked forward to Fridays.

The stealing was the focus for me; the shopping just a useful by-product. One technique was to put a bag in the trolley and conceal items under that, or slip small things into my handbag or pocket. I got a lot of make-up that way: lipsticks in all sorts of unsuitable colours, I wasn't fussy. I didn't want the things, I wanted only to get them for nothing.

You don't get owt for nowt this side of the grave
, my dad used to say, echoing his Yorkshire grandad. And Richard took the same line:
there's no such thing as a free lunch
. It cheered me up to prove them wrong. I never felt bad about the stealing. I didn't think of it as a problem, it was more a sort of hobby, a way of bringing excitement into my life, making Friday technicolor in a black-and-white week. Some people hang-glide or bungee jump for their kicks. I just stole.

But then I did something else. My neighbour, Jan, was a good friend. Probably my best ‘mummy' friend. Her Lily plays with Robin and I suppose Tamara will play with Billie when they're older. Jan is a knitwear designer and she makes me feel terrible. She can't help it. She makes me feel inadequate.

I could have confided in Jan instead of running away.

I bet she's hurt that I didn't. She would have helped but I didn't want help. I only wanted to know why she could cope when I couldn't.