I still remember those days in the little terraced block on the edge of Kent, when my husband Harold and I were both in our thirties, our son barely six, and the new tenants had just moved in. The newcomers were Nigel, his wife Lydia, and their fiveyearold daughter Violet. All of us were about twentyfive, so it didnt take long for the families to become entwined, especially since we lived on the same floor.
Lydia was a country girl through and through, with a knack for the kitchen that made the whole hall smell of freshly baked cakes, pies and scones. She would barrel into the kitchen, arms full of flour, and we began, halfjoking, to call her Plush because of her round, comforting figure. Her kitchen was a shrine of jam jars and tin cans, a sight I could never quite match.
I liked to think of myself as a tidy, presentable lady, while Lydia was forever in a wellworn housecoat, a tiny bun perched atop her head. Her husband Nigel was as skinny as a reed, and their plump little Violet was always well fed. Those were Lydias only virtues, but I counted her as a friend. Nigel spent most of his time on the road as a longdistance lorry driver, having met Lydia in a remote village shop where shed spotted the lanky stranger reaching for a packet of cigarettes. He never managed to slip away unnoticed.
Nine months later Lydia bore Nigel a daughter, and the two of them brought the child into town. When I introduced my sudden new family to my mother, she flatly refused to accept either the country lass or the newborn grandchild. Nigel had to take a new flat, and the tension grew.
Harold would often complain about Lydias looks. How can a woman not love herself? hed mutter, as if she were a lost cause.
Then Harolds mother fell ill, a lingering cough that left her weak. At first Lydia and I took turns looking after her, but soon we decided a helper was needed. Lydia volunteered. Ill keep you company a bit, and I need to buy a present for my husbanda rubber dinghy for fishing, she said, just dont tell Nigel; let it be a surprise. She was delighted at the prospect of earning a little extra.
I warned her, Lydia, dont drown my mothers plate with food; she has no appetite because of her sickness. Soon after, work sent me on a long assignment away from home. I left instructions for Harold, our son, and Lydia, and flew to another city.
A month passed before I returned. Harold averted his eyes, and Lydia kept her distance. Our son, as he entered the doorway, asked, Mum, can you make the same tasty potatoes Aunt Lydia makes? And I loved her meatloaf. I asked, wary, Did Aunt Lydia give you that? He answered, She brought Violet over and took Dad away. I began to piece together the puzzle: Nigel was on the road, I was away on business
That evening, after feeding Harold a hearty supper, I pressed him for answers. Harold, I know everything; the boy told me everything, I said, though a part of me hoped I was merely imagining things. He shrugged, Nothing happened. Plush just asked me to fix the tap. He didnt blush, didnt look away.
Relax, I said, its nothing. Shes only a harmless cook. Yet Harold started visiting his mothers flat more often, lingering there longer than before. I went to see the elderly lady, who sat peacefully but alone, and then I looked for Nigel and Lydia.
I knocked on Lydias door. The tired woman opened, and in the background Harold lay listlessly in his own bed. I, a proper lady, turned and went back home, my mind in a whirl. Harold, who had derided Lydia as a slovenly, lazy woman, was now secretly seeing her! I could not summon any jealousy towards the kitchen maid. When Harold rushed after me, I pointed, with a hint of disgust, to the bathroom. Take a shower, wash yourself thoroughly! Did you think it was a joke? Ill tell Nigel everything. Hell have a word for you! I threatened, though a grin tugged at my lips as I imagined the lanky Nigel flailing his fists at Harolds nose.
Lydia eventually confessed her affair to Nigel. I cannot say how the lorry driver reacted, but within a week the family packed up and left. As they departed, Nigel, spotting me, said with a strange pride, No wonder it ended; who could resist my Lydia?
Years slipped by. One day I ran into Lydia again. Hello, old friend! Still holding a grudge? she laughed. Never mind. Our village life is a constant bustle. I havent lost a penny, and your husbands glad. Youre always away on assignments you cant leave a hungry husband for long, she told me, passing on the countryfolk wisdom shed always shared. Lydia held a little girls handso uncannily like my own husbandsbefore she vanished down the lane.
