An Unfinished Book
Right, Alice, Im off! No need to see me out. Ill be back late! Dont forget to get my blue shirt and trousers ready for tomorrow, will you? Must pick them up from the dry cleaners! John shouted from the hallway. He quickly threw on his raincoat, inspected himself in the mirror, grabbed his hat, and left, slamming the door so hard the stained glass in the window rattled.
Bit of a draught Alice muttered, switching off the tap and drying her hands on her apron before poking her head out of the kitchen. Everything looked the same as usualsun streaming down the corridor ending in the hall, family photos adorning the walls, wallpaper in cheerful stripestwo wide, two narrow, all pastel blue; Alices light mac hanging on the stand. And then
Alice frowned.
A parcel! John had forgotten the parcel, and inside were his pasties! Shed woken up at the crack of dawn to make and bake those herselfegg and leek, just how John liked them. Made especially because he had to go out to a work site today, and there was nowhere good to eat, and homemade is always best!
Whipping off her apron and hastily fixing her hair, Alice, still in her simple house dress with short puffed sleeves and a smudge of coffee down the front, seized the warm bundle and hugged it to her chest like a newborn, dashing out of the flatthank goodness she remembered her keys or shed be stuck outside all morning! She hurried down the stairs, gripping the banister, which was sleek and varnished, winding gracefully downfourth floor, third, second
Like any sensible housewife, Alice could have just leaned out the window and called to her husband as he left the building, but that never seemed quite proper. Shed rather take the parcel down herself, and say goodbye to John in person, let him kiss her on the cheek, nod to say its time to go
Alice was breathless from running as she burst out into the courtyard, the door banging loudly behind her, despite the fact she was well past forty-nine now, and running wasnt as easy as it used to be.
She scanned the square quickly, looking for the familiar figure in a charcoal trench and bright hat.
John always liked long coats, left unbuttoned so the wind could flap the skirts about like wings. As for hatshe had a collection, one for every season. Alice took pride in keeping them clean or buying new ones when needed. All part of looking after her man.
A hat is style! John would declare stubbornly whenever their son, Michaelnamed after Johns own fatherteased him. You lot, you young ones, dont get it. Youre all flat, synthetic, and pleather folk!
Where was he?
Therealready at the end of the courtyard, melting into the sunny, bustling street. If Alice didnt hurry up, hed be on the bus and away, and then
She hurried across the tarmac, nodding at the elderly neighbours airing themselves in the sunshine. They sat bundled in cardigans, following Alices sprint with bright, knowing grins, as if delighted by her love and the familys warm happiness.
Everything alright, dear? called Mrs. Harris to Alices slim back.
Lunch! John forgot his pasties! Alice answered over her shoulder.
Mrs. Harris nodded approvingly and grinned. Pasties were good; lovealso good. Splendid, really.
Meanwhile, Alice dashed clear of the courtyard, intending to call out, but thenshe stopped dead, dropped her shoulders, and wilted as though someone had switched off the sun and left everything dark and airless. Her vision spun, and she had to grab the drainpipe for support.
John was at the bus stop, an arm tucked round the elbow of some curvy young woman. She was laughing, fluttering her shoulders, while John looked down at her and joined in. Suddenly, the woman pushed him away and scowled, but John leaned in, frightened and unusually devoted, grabbing for her hand as though to kiss it. But the woman whipped her well-manicured arm free and might as well have slapped him. John straightened, angry for a split secondAlice could tellbut almost immediately caved, sheepish and apologetic, offering the lady a sweet from his pocket. The woman (yes, Alice referred to her as that woman in her head) snickered and opened her mouth for the treat.
Alice felt queasy. For the love of God! John was a respected, grown man, nearly elderly, and here he was, groveling to some floozy half his age. Had he lost all dignity?
The girls dress was a lovely blue with tiny polka dots that almost made Alices eyes hurt, a ribbon in her hair to match, everything neat and crisp, strappy sandals on her feet.
Alices eyes flicked over her, unsure now what to do with the parcel, with these silly pasties, or with her whole life
A crowd surged aboard as the bus pulled up, John supporting his polka-dot companion as she climbed in, the doors clapping shut behind them.
Just as the bus rolled away, Alice could have sworn her husband looked straight at her. Suddenly, she felt ashamed of her old house dress, worn slippers, and the silly parcel of pasties.
Turning sharply, Alice strode back, threading her way through the sun-drenched benches, neighbours now in sundresses, looking quite at home in the heat. Just by the flowerbed she nearly bumped into Mrs. Harris.
No luck with the lunch, then, Alice? Mrs. Harris asked, motioning at Alices parcel. Shed called it a lunch box on purposenot really approving of Alices fussing over John, that endless, syrupy sort of care.
No, too late, Alice said, distracted.
Shame. Dont let good food go to wastesend it round with Oliver later. Youll be in? Mrs. Harris pressed.
Alice shrugged vaguely.
Lovely. He likes your pasties; I cant be bothered faffing about with pastry. Right then, expect us. And Mrs. Harris bustled away, arms flapping, barking at a tractor that had started rumbling through the entrance.
Oi there! Watch it! Youll flatten my petunias again! she was shouting as Alice drifted off.
Alice trudged back inside, relief from the sun in the cool stairwell, her soft footsteps echoing on the marble steps, a sob mixing with the creak of the door and then fading within the flat.
That was that. The end of it all. The end of family, comfort, securityshe couldnt trust anymore, couldnt even believe in people. No, husband was a much more personal word. The one you were entrusted to, promised to, the one supposed to cherish and protect. And now what? What now?
Alice collapsed onto the little stool in the hall, the parcel spilling pasties everywhere. The cat, Felix, strolled over, winding himself round her legs and purring for food, but Alice didnt notice. She still saw herself standing by the drainpipe, watching the blue polka dot dress and its wearer, and John. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and for a brief, sad moment, Alice truly liked not sitting upright or pretending to be the ever-cheerful wife, just slumping there, wallowing in her plain old heartbreak, letting herself feel every bit of it
How long she sat there, she didnt know. Eventually, someone rattled the front door, Felix scarpered.
The door creaked open, and in poked the head of Uncle Oliver, Mrs. Harriss husbanda big nose, pockmarked cheeks, full lips, unruly curls, and a red neckhe looked out of place in their classy block but was essentially one of thema gallery director, as John would say, a bit eccentric.
Hes an artist, Alice, and a good one! Always a bit mad, you know how it is for creative types
Alice wiped her tears and looked up into Olivers big, pale blue kindly eyes. The sort of face, she thought absently, that wouldnt have been out of place in a church.
Mr. Oliver? You? she asked, confused.
Who else could I be? he replied innocently, glancing down at himself. Mrs. H says youve spare pasties. Our kitchens in bitsshes replaced all the cupboards Havent had a hot meal for days, just the work canteen. Miserable, I tell you! He sighed, and something about him seemed almost comical, his broad-shouldered frame blocking all the golden sunlight from the hallway.
Hold on, let me get my shoes offstood in a puddle, not wearing wet socks in your place! Oliver fussed, already fiddling with his shoes as Alice, out of habit, took them to dry on the balcony.
Put them back, will you? he grumbled. My feet, my business! he teased, but Alice ignored him, putting his shoes in a sunny corner anyway. Cant have the guest catch his death.
Back in the kitchen, Oliver clattered about, snuffling and smacking his lips. Alice! Tea, please, love. I havent had proper Indian in ages. Make it strong, with a slice of lemon. Be a dear, Im worn to the bone He stretched his big feet across the doorway so shed nearly trip.
Yes, all right, just a tick Alice murmured, lighting the hob, putting the kettle on, mind in a whirl and an ache in her heart.
John! Her husband Could he really? Two steps from home and already on the prowl, the scoundrel!
Alice blushed, wondering just how far these prowls of Johns had gone.
No, no, surely its just a misunderstanding! A chance meeting, thats all. Colleagues! she tried to reason with herself, in her mothers steady voice. Hell come back and youll show you care, keep him warm, and hell forget these other women, he will!
Oliver, meanwhile, was frowning. Dont pour that old stuff for me! Fresh as you can, please. Were not peasants. And thisthats for the bin, love! He sniffed at her teapot, made a face, and insisted on a new batch. Alice, barely listening, agreed.
It was nothing to brew more tea. That wasnt hard. What to do with John, however
The kettle whistled, she poured it over the leaves, the kitchen filling with the brisk, tangy smell.
Much better! And I want it in the posh china, the cobalt with the gold rim. Dont be stingy! Oliver demanded, winking mischievously.
Weve got a new set from York, youll like thosemuch more practical, Alice replied, but Oliver banged on the table.
I want the old ones! Always have, since your mother used them, remember? Anyway, serve up the pasties. Not on that old thing, mindits chipped. Use something fancy. Fix my socks as you go, will you? Mrs H wont do it, says shes too busy changing cabinets and dodging the mangle. Just a little hole on the big toe He handed her the socks, cocking his head like a schoolboy.
Alice, once a highly respected teacher (though shed given all that up years ago to keep home perfect, dedicate everything to her family), felt slightly embarrassed but automatically took the socks to mend.
After a moments pause, Oliver thumped the table harder. For heavens sake, Alice! Show some self-respect! Youre the mistress here, not my wet-nosed scullery maid! Blimey Mrs H told me youd lost your spark, but I didnt believe her. I remember you, Aliceelegant, like a swanwalked across the courtyard and boysd stop dead. And now? Youre acting like a doormat!
He was all big arms and wild eyes, so much so that the cups rattled and the pasties slid across the fancy plate.
Why are you here telling me this? Why now? I dont want to hear it! Johnmy Johnwas at the bus stop with another womanI saw them together I only wanted to give him his lunch and there they were Tears poured down Alices cheeks, falling onto the tablecloth.
Silence. Not even the curtains moved. For a second, the world stopped.
Oliver sighed. Thats exactly why, Alice. John found himself a bitbecause youve smothered him. You used to command the room, wouldnt back down for anyonenot even for your students, remember? Now, youre so busy mothering him its like youre his mum, not his wife. Johnny, dont forget your hat! Dont go for the veg, Ill do it! You know?
Alice was offended, but slowly, a reluctant smile played round her lips at how well Oliver mimicked heryes, she really did talk that way.
Im a fuss pot, yes. Dont answer. I know I am, Alice admitted. But whats wrong with wanting to look after someone? Its who I am
Trouble is, all that coddlings squeezed every bit of manhood right out of John. Were hunters, Aliceeven now, we want adventure, not endless cups of tea and knitted hats! Socks are fine in moderation, but not all the time! Michaels moved out and you just plonked all your mothering on John. No wonder he straysother, naughtier women made him feel young again!
Alice didnt like it, didnt get it, didnt want to get it. Shed given up her job at the school a decade ago so she could see John off in the mornings, no more long nights over marking, just home and warmth and order. Even took on private studentsuntil John was poorly with pneumonia, wanted quiet, and Alice showed them the door. Later, she even stopped singing round the house and put away the painting (John hated the smell of linseed), canvases packed into the attic, brushes stowed away.
Then what happened? Alice muttered at her glassy reflection in the dresser. You let yourself go completely.
Manicure? Not with all that soup to make.
Dresses? Nowhere to wear them, John never wanted to go out.
Heels? Why are you tottering round on those, love? Your veins are sticking out! John once laughed. And into the attic the shoes went.
Friends called rarely, never chatted long. Michael came once a month, stuffed himself, dodged questions, left with lunch boxesand never rang after.
That was it. The end.
Dont you dare look so defeated! Oliver said, rapping on the table. Bounce back, Alice! Youre not done yet, youre bloomingour very own English rose! Stand tall, or Johnll keep chasing sleazy blondes on buses! And your pasties, Aliceheaven! Oh, to be eighteen again Id have chased you myself, no lie!
Then he was gone and Alice, alone once more
John rolled in late, slightly tipsy and more than a little crumpled, reeking of perfume and wine.
Conference dragged on, he said, shoving his briefcase into Alices hands from the doorway and wincing. Put the kettle on, would you? And I want some potatoeswith a drop of gin. Alice? Did you hear me?
But Alice didnt take the briefcase, instead nudging him aside as she placed her own bag down.
Where dyou think youre going? Whats all this? John stared at his wifeher pearl earrings gleaming, hair swept up, wearing a lovely sand-coloured dress and strappy heels. He practically wilted.
Im off for a course, Johna little business trip. Youll have to manage here. With gin or without, but on your own, Alice shrugged.
What about tea? My shirt for tomorrow? he demanded sternly.
Alice looked like she might give in and go iron his shirt, but then she stopped herself.
Sort it yourself. Or askher. I dont mind, John. If she makes you happy, so be it. Goodbye, John. Its time.
And she slipped out of the flat, hesitated on the stairs (her case handle a bit awkward, cutting into her hand), but soon her heels were tapping down the steps and the gold of her dress flickered into the evening, a taxi started up in the courtyard, and the noise faded away.
John dashed to the stairwell, leaned over, ready to yell something but groaned as a hot poker of pain shot into his back and tears sprang to his eyes.
Aaalice was all he managed to croak.
Where was Alice now? Shed have massaged his back, rubbed it with ointment, wrapped him in a scratchy wool scarf and cuddled him close, soothing him to sleep
Fiona, is that you? he gasped into the phone. Yes, its John. I know I shouldnt call, but my back, Fee! Can you rub something in? I cant even make it to the kitchen. Were not strangershello? Fiona? The line crackledsomething about call the doctor for that, then the tone buzzed. Fiona wouldnt comewouldnt rub, wouldnt soothe, wouldnt iron his shirt, wouldnt sit close and warm. Too proud for all that. She was no Alice, not remotely. Nightmare
He shuffled to the kitchen, found cold pasties on the plate, and groaned. Not a nightmarea catastrophe. And it was all his own doing.
Alice returned late the next day, trailed by a doctor and carrying her own roses. She set the bouquet in a vase, the mingled scents of perfume and, faintly, cigarettes (yes, Alice sometimes smokedwhen deeply upsetthough shed never admit it) drifting across the room.
One second, Doctorwait before you jab him! Alice said, stopping the doctors hand with the needle.
John groaned, still in pain, unable to get comfortable.
Whats wrong now? the doctor frowned.
One moment. John, what did you promise her? Women like her dont show up for nothing; youre too old for that. Alice leaned over her sweating husband.
Im not old! Im in my prime
The pension, the doctor interrupted dryly. So? What else did you promise? Spit it out; I havent got all day.
A job. And, um, a degree. But she wont get anything! I was wrong, Alice, dreadfully wrong. Only you! Forgive me! Shell get nothing
Shell get it. You made a promiseyoure a man, stick to your word. She gets the job and the degree, so she neednt feel ruined by you. And you, John, youll resign. Dont care where you gofind something. Know this: Im back at work next week. The irons on the shelf, the washings in the basket. Dont like it? File for divorce. Got it?
John huffed and puffed, wiped his brow, and nodded. His back was agony, Alice was unrelenting, the doctor on her side, Oliver lurking in the doorway with that maddening grinif Mrs. Harris popped in, the humiliation would be complete.
I get it. Give me the jab already, you monsters, or Ill breathe my last he whimpered miserably.
Alice nodded, satisfied, and the doctor finally gave the injection.
Fiona was delighted. Ecstatic, in facther half-baked thesis breezed through, she received her degree and a lovely warm job, all thanks to that silly old John. She wouldnt give him the time of day now, avoided his gaze, ignored his greetings. Why bother? His wife had made it plain she could snatch that degree away and sack her in a heartbeat. So, Fiona would find someone else.
John resigned, to much surprisewho leaves a cushy, well-paid position? He only once hinted that a promise is a promise, and left it at that.
At his leaving party, he arrived with Alice on his arm, her diamonds glinting, and danced the tango with her, looking at her in a way hed never once looked at Fiona. Why? What did Alice have?
Everything. She was, in truth, the very air he breathed all those years, taken for granted until it was gone. It wasnt about warm backs or hot dinners. Alice was still an unread bookenigmatic, sweet and sharp as ripe English strawberries, like the ones hed fed her beside the sea all those years ago. You could never finish this book or skip to the last page. And that was perfect.
And as for Fionashe was simply not ready yet. Life has a way of revealing such things
Thanks for sticking with me, dear friends. Until next time, on Southborough Stories.
