The Haunting of Harriet (25 page)

When Mel had finished her onslaught Liz was cross and hurt. She felt betrayed. This was not the first time Mel had hurt her. She had been expecting a sympathetic, girly chat, not an unwarranted full-on attack. For some reason Mel was taking Edward’s side. As Mel left there was a tangible hostility between the two women. The hugs and kisses were absent from their parting and no future meeting was planned. Liz was desolate. Why could no one see her point of view? She had been more than generous, ignoring those blasted receipts. Letting Edward off the hook had not been easy. She spent the rest of the day banging doors shut and stomping up and down the stairs cursing. The feeling of betrayal filled her brain with vacuous thoughts, which, in turn, were creating voids for more invidious thoughts to seep in. Was Mel having an affair with Edward? Was she the other woman trying to cover her tracks by throwing Liz off the scent? Of course the thought was ludicrous. Or was it? Once sown, the seed began to germinate. There had always been an attraction between the two of them. Liz knew that Edward found Mel exotic and fascinating. What red-bloodied male wouldn’t? It would explain a lot of things.

Liz’s head swam with absurd, hateful, imagined horrors, then her stomach began to contract. A rush of hot liquid filled her mouth. She swallowed hard and felt the acid burn her throat as the liquid rose up again. Reaching the sink, she threw up. When the spasms finished she stood upright and breathed in. Her head began to clear and she left the cold tap running as she splashed her face with handfuls of the icy water, willing each fresh shock to wash her mind clean of the obscene thoughts that had possessed her. How could she have entertained such ridiculous ideas? Maybe Mel was right and she had grown into a spoilt bitch who expected life to be handed her on a plate, and only after all the rotten bits had been consumed by someone else.

After a long, hot bath with plenty of time to reflect, Liz had reached some conclusions. She agreed with Mel that she was a shallow creature who took without giving. Her life was full of blessings if only she could stop moaning long enough to count them. Edward was a fantastic husband; a good man who had made one silly forgivable mistake. He just needed a bit of pampering. Becoming forty was hard for him. She had to make him feel loved and special, not expect him always to be the giver. After all, one of her main talents was as a home-maker. That was one of the reasons Edward had fallen in love with her. It was nothing to be ashamed of. She should take pride in her ability to create a beautiful home. She was lucky enough to have been born with a wealth of talents and it was up to her to use them to the full. If she did not like what life was offering then it was her job to turn it around. Her just desserts could be very palatable, delicious even. But it was up to her to change. Even a spoilt, selfish bitch could change. By the time Liz went to bed she was washed clean of all bodily impurities and her soul felt cleansed and chaste. Apart from a distinct air of smugness, she was perfect.

The next day, in her manufactured state of bliss, Liz began taking things into her own hands. She had her hair restyled and her nails French polished. Silky underwear and nightwear by the car load took her platinum card to melting point. A pair of four inch Calvin Klein’s and shiny stockings completed the new look. Having made sure that Edward would be home for the weekend and having secured a babysitting service she made a reservation for dinner and booked the Bridal Suite at the Hotel du Vin. Dressed in a new black velvet figure-hugging mini-dress with long pearl earrings and a discreet row of pearls at her neck, she surveyed herself in the mirror. She approved. Not too virginal, but not too tarty. She was ready to do battle and was determined to enjoy it. When her man arrived home, their bags were packed, ready and in the car. She was not taking no for an answer.

The strategy worked. They were young and falling in love all over again. Edward was attentive and charming. He flattered and flirted with her and the more attractive he found her, the more attractive she became. This was what she had missed, the feeling that she was the only woman in his world. The next morning as their eyes met over their breakfast orange juice she had a desperate urge to go home. By eleven they were back. Liz felt the house welcome them, as if it knew the separation was over. The house exuded warmth and love, as it always did if you let it. This was more than returning from a short break. This was significant. It was a homecoming. Harriet watched, sighed with relief, but she had by no means finished with Edward. Not yet.

Of course Mel had gone straight home and told Bob of her row with Liz, having already told him about the incident at the boathouse. She suggested that he should talk to Edward “man to man”, and to keep her sweet he arranged to meet Edward for a pint the next Saturday. Assuming that Bob had a problem with cash-flow or something business-related, Edward was keen to prove that in spite of the general consensus he was a good listener. He knew it would get back to Liz via Mel, it always did and a few more Brownie points would not go amiss. Bob got the beers and carried them to a table in the corner rather than their preferred stools at the bar.

“OK, mate.” Bob’s voice did not sound like that of a man seeking advice. “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

Edward’s jaw dropped. Bob rarely swore. His attitude meant business of a different kind from what Edward was expecting.

“I’m not with you, mate,” he said.

“This bimbo, you know who I mean - is she worth it?” He waited for an answer.

“Are you accusing me of something? If so, spit it out, Bob.” Edward’s gaze met Bob’s full-on without flinching.

“OK. Sophie. Does the name ring a bell? Wednesdays, Strand Palace Hotel; Mondays, Inn on the Park; cosy dinners for two in Magdalene’s… Shall I go on?”

Edward pushed his beer away from him. He put his hand under the collar of his polo-neck sweater and eased it around his neck. He coughed a couple of times, clearing his throat. All the time his kept his eyes fixed on Bob. Neither man averted their gaze. Suddenly Edward’s face twisted into a smirk, he looked away, took a long draught of beer and returned his gaze to Bob. But he knew he had lost the battle.

“OK, so I’ve been having some fun. Christ almighty, man, I’m forty. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a bit on the side? I’ll bet…”

“No, I bloody haven’t,” Bob butted in, “and I’m not interested in the sordid details. This is the only time I’ll mention it - her… whatever… but I’d be failing you and Liz if I didn’t speak my mind. I’ve always considered you a decent guy. Don’t throw it all away for a quick shag!”

Analysing emotions was unfamiliar territory for Edward. He felt abused by Bob, who he thought was behaving like an over-pious prick. However, beneath that thought lurked an unpleasant sickness in the pit of his stomach. His groin ached and he recognized the sensation from his childhood. It was the feeling of being caught out. He could see the reproving eyes of his headmaster and that snivelling, little sneak Brown; Brown’s look of outright triumph when he, Jessop, the school captain, had been exposed as a thief. All he had done was borrow a pair of crummy rugby shorts from Brown’s locker to cover for forgetting his own. It was having lied that got him the cane and lost him his captaincy. Edward swallowed hard.

“OK, maybe it was stupid. But that’s just what it was: a quick shag. It meant nothing.” Edward’s lies were unconvincing even to himself.

“I’m not that interested. You’re obviously going through some kind of mid-life crisis, I don’t particularly care. I do, however, care about Liz and the kids. I won’t judge you, but I will say my piece. Stop it now while it still means nothing. Recognize what you’ve got and count your blessings.” He took a swig of beer, then clinked his glass against Edward’s in a gesture of continuing friendship.

They drank together in silence until Bob added, almost as a postscript: “Oh, Mel says if Liz gets wind of this she’ll cut your fucking balls off. OK?”

L
iz’s feelings of elation did not last long. She was not depressed, yet she was definitely not happy. She considered herself to be a good wife and mother, but where was her own life going? Was the dissatisfaction she was now experiencing the price to pay for taking an easy ride as a passenger through life? When she married she became Mrs Jessop; she had laughed at the fact it was also her mother-in-law’s name. What had happened to Elizabeth Prior? Where had her dreams gone? That young woman had aspired to so many things in life, but they had all been subsumed by stronger forces. She was not in control of her own life and began to think she never had been. Someone else always held the wheel or trimmed the sails. It was not so much a case of drifting aimlessly, more a feeling of being a companion traveller on someone else’s voyage.

Her husband held the purse strings when it came to the mega decisions. Or did he? She had chosen Beckmans, and he never denied her anything, in the end. She played the major role in building their home. She had put some of her inheritance in the pot as well, but was well aware that did not count for much in the overall scheme of things. But then Edward earned phenomenal money. There was no way any career path she might have pursued would have come anywhere near that sort of financial reward. Just one of his many bonuses eclipsed her entire life’s earnings, so giving up her job when the twins were born made sense.

But it was not a lack of monetary independence that niggled. It went deeper than that. It was more a question of identity. Was this a woman thing or just her? Sue had her teaching, Brenda had her nursing, neither of which paid particularly well but gave them a title. Mel had her “mystic Meg business”, which was actually quite lucrative. Did she envy them? Sue had spent a large part of their friendship moaning about the difficulty of juggling motherhood with a demanding job. David was hardly a male chauvinist and they had always seemed to share out the routine tasks involved in parenting. She could not remember him ever getting involved in nest-building; he was no great DIY merchant or interior designer, but then neither was Sue. Their house was always regimentally tidy, but sterile and contrived, which while irritating Liz’s sensibilities seemed to be what they wanted. As for Brenda and Donald, their lives were totally opposite to hers. They were content to be slipping into middle age; they willingly embraced the comfort of letting go. Brenda never coloured or restyled her hair, or went on a mad shopping spree or even splashed out on a new ironing board and Donald was so careful with money, he could have been the prototype for the stereotypically cautious Scot. They seemed content to lead rather boring, empty lives. But they did seem content. Mel and Bob led such different lives it was hard to compare them. Mel was always so out of control, in a controlled way. It was she that led Bob, not the other way around. She always claimed to be going with the flow but Liz watched her control the sluice gates with a frightening dexterity. Was that what she wanted for herself? Control? Yes, that was the itch that needed scratching.

The twins were at school and Edward was off making more money. Liz picked up her coffee, smiled at the slogan on the mug and made her way across the hall towards the Fourth Room. As she passed the staircase she noted one of the pictures was askew. Putting her mug on the curved bottom stair she reached up to straighten it. She chuckled as she thought of Sue’s house, where everything stood to attention, far too terrified to step or slip out of place. Mel always called her anally retentive when she got so aerated about trivial details. In Brenda’s house no painting had a line to step out of, though she could not remember seeing any paintings at Brenda’s, apart from the one she had done for them last Christmas. She had presented them with a small watercolour of their house and had found it hard to paint such an unkempt garden without doing a little virtual pruning and mowing. She remembered feeling naughty when she had lopped off a branch or two, taking artistic licence to enhance the scene. As she adjusted her own picture back into alignment it began to dawn on her what it was that was bothering her.

The children had grown up to the point where they no longer needed her fussing around them twenty-four seven, a fact that they were not shy in repeatedly telling her. Edward had to be allowed his own space in order to manage his demanding work and hopefully keep him on the straight and narrow. That meant time out to pursue his sports and the odd visit to the pub with his mates. The house which had demanded so much of her time pretty well looked after itself, with the help of a cleaner. The garden was in Terry’s capable hands and he now worked three days a week, which kept it looking well groomed. So what was her role?
Housekeeper, housewife, lady of leisure?
Surely she had not become one of those awful
“ladies that lunch”
or, worse,
a kept woman?
That was what Mel had called her. The title hurt but that was a simple case of wounded pride. It did not touch the real problem. The fact was, she was bored.