Out Late with Friends and Regrets (24 page)

She sat on the floor, knees up to her chin, watching the fading light through her second glass of whisky, and trying to establish what she thought about him now. She considered for a few minutes, and looked at the photo again. Young, carefree, good-looking, and yet the seeds must have been there, even then. He had shocked her with outbursts of foul temper a couple of times, but she had given as good as she got, and he had always ended up laughing it off, and kissing her.
 
After the wedding his work had taken them away from their home town, and she realised that it was at that point that it had started to become increasingly difficult to keep in touch with her friends and family. Pregnant, feeling desperately sick from morning until bedtime, and very vulnerable, she had allowed the pattern to be set, and the gutsy girl of old paled and faded like a ghost through the walls.

She picked up another photograph she had taken of him, ten years later. He hadn’t wanted her to take it, but she had persuaded him to stand still in the garden for her to capture the disturbed eyes and drawn face, one hand pinching the last of his cigarette, a can of beer in the other. Even he had said, “Ouch!” when he saw the print, “Look what you’ve done to me, woman!”

Great picture, though, she thought. Honest, but still showing how beautiful and charismatic he was.

She tried to isolate and examine that feeling of dogged, obstinate loyalty to him which she had assumed was love. She had been too stubborn to admit defeat, unable to countenance the thought of giving up on “for better or for worse”. Now, at last, she could face the fact that it would have been the right thing, and better for everyone, if she had taken the children and left. Always assuming that he hadn’t tracked her down as he threatened he would, and done terrible things. When news items reported vengeful husbands or partners killing their children, such cases always resonated with her in a particularly chilling way. And as he was always telling her, he
needed
her. She had always believed it, recited it like a mantra in the face of his most violent excesses. Another con, another cliché, which a supposedly intelligent woman had not been able to see for what it was.

She smiled wanly at Paul’s image. Maybe he wasn’t culpable, just wrongly wired; predestined to be as he was. She didn’t feel angry with him, just ashamed to have been his accomplice.
 
Ignorance was no defence. She folded the photograph, sharply and precisely, down the middle, and tore it neatly in two, and then into four. The thickness of the four pieces did not allow them to be bent as well as before, so she folded and tore each one individually. Had the fire been lit, she would have put the eight pieces one at a time into it, but instead she held them above the open bin-bag beside her, and let them fall like petals into it.

She sighed, and wondered whether to have another drink. No, this wouldn’t do, wallowing in melancholy and self-reproach this way. You couldn’t change the past, what didn’t kill you made you strong, and living well was the best revenge. There! A right little thought-for–the-day calendar, wasn’t she?

Looking across the room at the pile of carefully-labelled boxes, she felt a stab of excitement at the prospect of new surroundings, and the real beginning of the rest of her life. Paul couldn’t affect her now. She was a new person, not the pathetic wimp of old.

She pulled out clothes from her wardrobe to give to charity. She hadn’t worn a skirt since Paul’s death; surely she wouldn’t ever need to wear a skirt again? Probably not. She wouldn’t feel comfortable in one now. Nothing to do with any perception of what a dyke might be supposed to wear; she had definitely seen more than one female couple at the party smooching to the last waltz, both halves sporting fashionable dresses or skirts. An incongruous scenario popped into her mind: Anna getting married and herself in pastel aqua or mauve as mother of the bride, complete with regulation big-brimmed hat. Gross! She smiled as she filled the bag.

Eleven o’clock, and a great weariness hit her.
 
Bed, oh bed...

There weren’t many more things she could do to prepare for the move; the last of the boxes would get done tomorrow night. There was, of course, simply the small matter of finding somewhere to lay her head. But tomorrow would be her last day in Harford as a visitor. No more fannying about; she had resolved to take the first clean and reasonably-priced rental she was offered, as long as it was a month’s notice. Rachel, bless her, had told her that if the worst came to the worst she could stay with her and Dave for a bit. Taking her up on it was the last thing Fin wanted to do, but it was a comforting thought, if all else failed.

She hadn’t checked the phone for messages, and was tempted to do it in the morning. No, she would do it now, in case she needed to plan anything else into the day. Yes, there were two messages, one confirming the completion date for the sale of her house, and one from Rosemary; would Fin like to meet her and Siobhan for lunch? There wasn’t really time, of course. But she would make time; they could at least have a coffee next time Fin was in town looking for accommodation.

Rosemary looked slightly strained, though her face was as open and smiling as always. She rose from the café table and hugged Fin warmly.

“I can’t believe it’s so long since we saw each other – God, Fee, you look wonderful!” she said.

“Ah, that would be the delicate purple of my eye sockets,” replied Fin, “it makes a good contrast with my pale complexion.”

“At least that’s a sign that you’re getting some action!” said Rosemary, “And I meant it, honestly, you’ve got an air of confidence about you which is different.”

“I’m certainly a different person from that never-to-be-forgotten day when you told me my fortune. So much seems to have happened in such a short time.”

“Hasn’t it just!” said Rosemary, “And I’m not up to speed with it all yet; the wild night with Ellie was sensational enough, but I’m dying to hear about the party. Mind you, I haven’t had all the juicy details about you and Ellie yet; you were quite cagey on the phone!”

“I don’t actually remember a whole lot about it, Rosie, and I think that’s probably for the best; I felt just awful in the morning. At least she and I are still friends and no harm done. She assures me I took to it like a duck to water, but it’s not going to happen again if I can help it – I don’t feel it’s that sort of relationship.”

“Well, it gave you a taste of what you’ve been missing. At least you’re no longer a lesbian virgin, unless of course you’ve been holding out on me about that blind date of yours!”

Fin shuddered.

“She was so odd. I gave Ellie a right ear-bending for dropping me in it like that, which was why she took me out for a meal.”

Rosemary shook her head and laughed.

“And then your night of delightful doings! I’d love to meet Ellie sometime. But I need to hear about the party, unless you want to wait till Siobhan arrives. She said she’d be here shortly. Coffee or tea? And would you like a cake?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d want to regale Siobhan with my torrid tales. Hey, she doesn’t know, does she?” asked Fin.

“Well, I did mention that you were moving to
Harford
and thought you were probably gay. That’s all right, isn’t it? I didn’t tell her anything about your adventures,” said Rosemary.

“Yes. Of course it’s all right.”

It was true, she didn’t really mind, but there was just this slightly exposed feeling niggling at her. She would have to get used to people knowing, if she intended living as an out, grown-up lesbian. Perhaps it was just a bit soon for comfort.

“Anyway, Siobhan would be the last to criticise, Fee. Did you say tea?”

“Yes, I’d love a cup of tea, but I’ll get them. Those scones look yummy, do you want one?”

“I’ve actually got a bit of a rotten headache, so no thanks, but tea would be good.”

“Oh Rosie, you never said. We could have made it another day.”

Rosemary smiled, but it did look as if it needed an effort.

“Take no notice of my whingeing. It’s probably pressure of work - I’ve had a few lately. But come on, get that tea, and tell all.”

It was great, making Rosemary laugh, describing the people at the party, the dancing and the fun. And then making her gasp as Fin related the conversation and subsequent incident with June. She was actually glad that Siobhan hadn’t turned up yet; frankness would have been that much more difficult.

There was a lull, as they sipped their tea.

“So how’s Anna getting on?” Rosemary asked, “Have you decided when to tell her?”

Despite the cold claw round her stomach, Fin hoped nothing showed on her face as she replied, “She’s getting on really well. I spoke to her and her Aunt Janet last night, and she’s loving life in London. From what she says she seems to be impressing her teachers. I’m so proud of her.”

In fact, she was echoing Janet, who had said, “I’m so proud of her,” last night when Fin spent a dutiful five minutes in conversation. Fin was initially taken aback, but told herself she shouldn’t feel bad; they could both feel proud of Anna.

She added, “As for telling her about my change of direction, I’m hoping she’ll manage a visit when I’m settled. I’ll need to tell her face to face, obviously.”

“Yes, of course.”

Just then Rosemary’s phone went. It was Siobhan; she couldn’t make it.

“That’s such a shame,” said Rosemary, “we’ll have to make another date sometime. But I must admit, I’m quite looking forward to a lie-down in a darkened room.”

“You could have called it off, Rosie,” said Fin.

Rosemary raised her eyebrows.

“No way! I wouldn’t have missed it for the world! I’m lapping up every little detail of your new life. Vicarious thrills, just like you said!”

“Just you take care of yourself, Rosie. And love to Donal.”

“Of course. You’ll probably be a
Harford
resident by next time. Good luck with the move – keep me posted. ‘Bye!”

“Bye, Rosie.”

 
Fin had to admit, the shop didn’t look bad. Not bad at all. Dek had downloaded some interior designs for retailers, and he and Fin had spent three hours one evening, arguing over the choices.
 
He was keen to make the place look edgier and more of a draw to younger customers, she anxious not to alienate her core clientele, the small companies and sports clubs which had always proved a steady and reliable source of income.
 
But even she had to admit, there was plenty of room for more high-end and impulse sales.

Dek had worked astonishingly hard.
 
On the morning of Sunday, designated redecoration day, any doubts she might have had as to his commitment were banished.
 
She arrived at the premises at eight o’clock, only to find he had been there since half past five, joined by his girlfriend at seven.
 
They had bagged and boxed all the stock and crammed it into the small store room, and taken up the carpet tiles.
 
These were now in the back of a borrowed van for taking to the Council skip later, and he was busy setting up trestles and planks prior to starting the painting.
 
The floor under the tiles was found to be varnished boards, and in reasonable condition.
 
It would need the deposits of latex from the carpet tiles rubbed off, and a good clean, and that would do for now.

At Fin’s insistence they locked up for half an hour and she took them for breakfast at a cafe round the corner, and then the three of them got cracking together.
 
She noticed with amusement the dynamic between Dek and Yvonne, his intended: she was sweet and smiley, with a quiet voice and and gentle manner. But it was clear that he heeded her occasional chidings, despite their mild delivery.

At ten Dek’s dad turned up to help install the DIY store spotlight tracks, and to paint the shop front, undercoated on Wednesday by Dek.
 
After much debate, Fin and Dek had agreed on a livery of navy blue, with a broad horizontal go-faster stripe of vermillion and white at waist-height.
 
Sporty and smart, said Fin.
 
Eyecatching, and it’ll appeal to the guys, said Dek.
  
A signwriter would be coming in during the week to rechristen the shop O-T-T, although the design service would still be called O-T-T-shirts.
 
One of the small windows would feature specials and established sellers, and Dek would have free rein in the other for his Roxoff Urban purchases. The range had been frighteningly expensive, and the rep a bit sniffy at first at the small size of the buy.
 
But Dek’s calm confidence had won him over, and he departed with a hopeful smile .