Kay
Kay Farrell was astonished at how much work one tiny infant generated. It wasn’t just feeding and changing her, it was everything in-between too. Sterilising all the bottles and teats, sluicing and soaking and washing and drying the nappies, washing and drying and ironing the clothes. The daily walk, the bath. Life had been full before – keeping the house and garden in order, shopping and cooking and cleaning – but now it was hard to fit everything in. The windows were overdue for a clean, the pile of mending was becoming overwhelming. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter but it bothered her. Other women managed, why couldn’t she? Was she doing something wrong?
She was tired too. Often numb by the end of the day when Adam came home expecting a decent two-course meal and home comforts. She had been going to bed earlier and earlier but Theresa needed a feed at eleven. Her friends with children raved about how easy Theresa was. Sleeping through the night, keeping her feeds down, easily placated when she cried. When they said that, Kay found it impossible to complain. After all she wasn’t being dragged out of bed three times a night or struggling with three-month colic. But one day she did confide in her neighbour, Joanna, who was more outspoken than some of the others and had a devilish sense of humour.
‘Bugger housework,’ Joanna said.
‘Joanna!’ Kay snorted with laughter.
‘Oh, come on. Does Adam notice?’
‘Well, no, but…’
‘But he notices you’re tired? Headaches at bedtime?’
It took Kay a moment to grasp the reference. ‘Joanna!’ she scolded her.
‘Look, Kay, you can have an ideal home and battle on exhausted with a neglected husband or you can give yourself a chance and make things a bit easier so you’re fit company and you can enjoy Theresa.’
‘I do enjoy Theresa,’ she said defensively. Remembering the previous afternoon when Theresa had woken early from her nap and Kay had almost cried with frustration. ‘You’ve no idea,’ she carried on. ‘It’s wonderful. For heaven’s sake, Joanna, I only said I was a bit tired.’
‘Don’t be so touchy.’
‘Everyone else manages.’
‘Like who? Here, have another biscuit.’
She took one, bit into it and considered. ‘Violet.’
‘She’s got a cleaning woman.’
‘OK, well, Muriel.’
‘Her mother’s practically living there, she does half the housework.’
‘Ann-Marie.’
‘Drinks.’
‘What?’
‘On the bottle.’
Kay’s mouth fell open. ‘Seriously?’
‘Oh, Kay, you’re so naive.’
‘How do you know?’
‘You can smell it. She’s always sucking mints.’
‘Maybe she likes mints.’
‘And she fell over at our cheese and wine. Jerry had to take her home.’
‘Oh, how awful. But in the day, she drinks?’
‘Yes, Kay.’ Joanna nodded her head slowly for emphasis. ‘Soon as Jerry’s left for work.’
‘Crikey! Do you think we should do something?’
Joanna laughed. ‘Such as? And Carol and Angela are both on pep pills. You could try those. Pep you up a bit. Doctor will sort you out.’
Kay pulled a face. ‘I don’t know. What about Bev? She looks great. Two children, house is always nice. She reminds me a bit of Sophia Loren, those sort of eyes. She’s managing all right. She never looks like it’s all too much.’
Kay finished her biscuit and waited for her friend to shoot her down. But Joanna had a funny expression on her face. One that Kay couldn’t decipher. Joanna looked away.
‘What?’ Kay said. ‘What’s wrong with Bev?’
‘She’s having an affair with Ken,’ Joanna said sharply and picked up her cigarettes.
‘Oh, my God! Joanna… oh!’ She didn’t know what to say. ‘Oh, Joanna. And here’s me moaning on…’ She drew out her own packet and lit a cigarette.
‘Don’t tell anyone.’
‘No, of course not. When did… do they know you…?’
Joanna screwed her eyes up against the smoke and shook her head.
‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t know. I’d like to sue the bugger for divorce but I need some advice. And there’s Damien to think about. It’d mean selling the house and I don’t know how I’d manage. My typing’s rusty and even if I went back to work who’d look after Damien? It’s a bloody awful mess.’
‘Wouldn’t you get maintenance?’
‘No idea. Oh, Kay, it’s so horrible. I don’t want to think about it.’
A rising cry from Theresa in her pram outside interrupted them. Kay went to fetch her in for a feed. Shortly after, the fish van arrived in the road – it was Friday – and both women went to buy fish for that evening’s meal.
Joanna’s revelation haunted Kay. It had been even worse because, having told her about it, Joanna hadn’t wanted to say more and Kay found herself imagining the countless ways Joanna might have found out. How would she face Bev or Ken again? How did Joanna do it? If Adam ever… the thought chilled her to the bone. Was she neglecting him? If she was, surely he could understand, she’d such a lot on her plate. Had Joanna told her as some sort of warning?
That night when they were going to bed she broached the topic of a cleaner with him. ‘A few hours a week.’
‘Do we need one?’ He sounded surprised.
‘It would be a real help and I don’t think it would set us back so very much. Violet has one. I could see what she pays, if she’s reliable.’
He shifted in bed. Ran his hand up her thigh, pushing back the nylon nightie. Kay was tired. Her period was due and she felt grouchy but she didn’t want to upset him. He murmured something.
‘Is that a yes?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he replied. He slid his hand between her legs. ‘Come here.’
Caroline
Dear Caroline,
I hope you don’t mind me writing but I am having to come back to the hospital for a check up on September seventh and I wonder if we might meet up? What shift will you be on?
Life here is very quiet, though I sometimes go into Keighley to the pictures.
Hope you are well.
Yours sincerely,
Paul
She reread the letter, a bubble of excitement rising inside her. Two weeks away. She could swap her day off. She’d get her hair done. Don’t, she admonished herself. He’s a friend, that’s all. I can’t lead him on. But I wouldn’t. Just company. It needn’t mean anything else. She replied by return of post, arranging to meet him after his appointment.
She had her hair cut to shoulder length and bought some setting lotion and jumbo rollers so she could make it flick out at the ends. It made her feel grown up.
He looked well when he arrived, face and arms brown from the weather, prompting her to ask if he’d been working outside.
‘Not working, studying. Balance isn’t good enough to work – fall over all the time like some old duffer. Scares the sheep.’ He gave a wry smile. He was more handsome than she remembered. Not film-star looks but nice. A lazy slant to his eyes like Dean Martin’s, his eyes were even bluer against his tan. His hair was longer, floppy at the front, a dark-blond colour. The sun had brought out the light parts of it.
‘I’ll tell you about it. But we’d better get going, it starts in quarter of an hour.’
They watched the new Alfred Hitchcock film, The Birds. It was very scary and Caroline hid her face and gripped Paul’s arm when it got really frightening. At least it wasn’t a weepy. She had bought herself a block of mascara and some lipstick. Putting the mascara on had been a nightmare. Spitting on the little block then working up a paste then trying to get the stuff on her lashes with the little rectangular brush. So there was no way she wanted to see it all dribble down her face.
There was a coffee bar opposite the Odeon and they went there after. She got the drinks, realising it would be hard for Paul to manage with his stick.