Chapter Eight

Barbara rang for a cab in the early afternoon of 21st February 1928. It had been a dreary, raw week, when the sky was grey and overcast and even the fields and gardens seemed colourless, a waiting time between winter and spring, not freezing as it had been a few weeks earlier, but full of cold dampness, the sort of week which made you feel as if summer would never come again. But earlier that day, the sun had broken briefly through the mist and it was during that short spell of sunshine she felt her first contraction and knew that she was about to bring a new life into the world.

Because Alison and Nick were getting old enough to ask awkward questions, they had decided the baby should be born in the cottage hospital. She called a cab and asked the driver to take her round by Victoria Terrace to alert Elizabeth who was going to look after the children for her. Then she went on to the hospital alone. She didn’t ring George’s office. She wanted to see the baby first, to hold it and look at it and have it all to herself for a brief time before he came claiming them both. She had counted back the weeks carefully and knew the day it had been conceived, almost knew the hour. It was bang on time; she had known that morning when she woke that today was the day. She told the nurses that her husband was out of town and could not be reached until the evening.

Jeremy John was born a few minutes after nine o’clock and two minutes later was put into her arms. He had very little hair but what there was of it was nearly white, and when he opened his eyes, they were as blue as cornflowers. There was a huge lump in her throat. She touched his hand, ran her fingers round his tiny fingers, felt his chubby thighs and perfect toes, gazed at his little pink face and smiled stupidly. ‘He’s lovely,’ she said, almost in surprise, as if she couldn’t believe she could be so blessed. ‘Perfect.’

She had almost managed to convince herself that George was her baby’s father, but looking at the infant lying contentedly in her arms, she knew he was not. There was not a single feature to remind her of her husband but any number to make her think of Simon: the fair hair, the clear blue eyes, the shape of his jaw. She wanted him beside her to share in the wonder of what they had brought into life, but that she could not do. Not ever.

The sister came into the room. ‘Your mother-in-law rang a few minutes ago,’ she told Barbara. ‘She’s going to try and get in touch with your husband.’

He arrived an hour later almost hidden behind a huge bouquet of hothouse flowers. He laid them on the bed and stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine. How are you? And the children?’

‘Fine. They were almost too excited to go to bed when I told them they had a baby brother.’

‘What do you think of Jeremy John? I’ve decided he’s going to be Jay-Jay. It suits him, don’t you think?’

He moved over to the cot at the foot of her bed to look down at the infant. ‘He’s a grand little chap.’ He reached out and stroked a finger round the baby’s face and she wanted to scream out, don’t touch him, he’s mine, not yours. ‘My goodness, what blue eyes he’s got. Like a summer sky.’

He reached into the cot and picked Jay-Jay up, bringing him to her bed, sitting on the side of it, cradling the infant in his arms, looking down at him with a delighted smile. She felt the tears coming again and could not stop them. They rained silently down on the coverlet, tears of regret, of guilt, of sorrow that something which had once been so good, so precious, had turned so sour.

‘Barbara, why are you crying? Is something wrong?’

‘I’m being silly,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He stood up and put the baby into her arms. ‘I’d better get back.’ He bent to kiss her. ‘Cheer up, old thing. You’ll be all right, once you get home.’

As soon as he had gone she began to breastfeed her baby, holding him almost too tightly, sobbing her heart out. She wanted Simon. She wanted him to share this moment, but she had shut him out too.

Breakfast was always a busy time in the Kennett household. George rose early to be in his office before eight; Alison and Nick had to be bullied out of bed, made to dress and eat some breakfast and Jay-Jay cried pitifully for his first feed of the day. George mislaid folders he had been studying the night before, the children lost socks and spelling lists; milk was spilt, toast burnt, and dirty nappies had to be changed and the baby bathed. It was a miracle when it all sorted itself out: George left for work, Alison and Nick were dressed in their outdoor clothes and Jay-Jay, fed and wrapped up, was put in his pram for the short walk to the school. And then, blessed, blessed peace, she was alone with only the baby for company and he was good as gold, sleeping or kicking his feet in his pram while she got on with the household chores.

She loved her children, loved hearing stories of school and their special friends, listening to their grievances, monstrous in their eyes, watching them eat, indulging them more often than she ought; but her own personality was being overwhelmed, her own needs ignored. It wasn’t as if she and George had a life together in the evenings when they could talk to each other of the day’s happenings, have a little grumble, commiserate with each other, laugh together. He didn’t belong to her, he belonged to his workers, to the voters, to the council, to Virginia; Barbara came way down on the list.

She didn’t think he had given Virginia up, though she conceded he had tried in the beginning. She had tried too, been especially loving, but something had happened to make him backslide and she had no idea whose fault it was. She took trouble with her appearance, didn’t slop around in a dressing gown, made him appetising meals, though half the time they were ruined when they had to be kept hot for hours, and she tried to make interesting conversation when he came home. That was the hardest of all because there was nothing she could say which didn’t sound like a complaint or an accusation. And how could she complain when her own guilt hung over her like a cloud? This was what their marriage had come to: it was as if they were standing on either side of a chasm so wide that even when they stretched out their arms towards each other, their fingers didn’t touch.

George came home unexpectedly one day during the Easter holidays and found her trying to cope with three fractious children with colds, a mountain of washing and ironing and nothing done towards a meal. Alison had been sick on the sofa, Nick was at his naughtiest because he didn’t feel well and Jay-Jay was crying to be picked up. She had cleaned up the sofa but it was damp and the smell still clung to it. She half expected him to rail at her for her incompetence, to tell her that other mothers coped with a house and three children. Instead he said, ‘We’ll get you some help.’

And so Kate Watkins arrived. She was in her fifties and a widow who had brought up four children, all of whom were off her hands. Her presence gave Barbara a new lease of life. She renewed her charitable work because it was needed as much as ever, and finished painting Children on a Beach, adding a tubby Jay-Jay to the scene, propped in a pushchair, his blue eyes intent on the Punch and Judy show.

George decided it did his image as a self-made man, the entrepreneur who provided Melsham with several hundred jobs, no harm at all to be seen to have a luxurious lifestyle. Employing a housekeeper, which was the title he used when referring to Mrs Watkins, was just the beginning. His affair with Virginia, though still a compelling force in his life, had been muted and kept very much under wraps. Virginia didn’t like it, but she acquiesced, knowing she would lose him if she complained. He was like a juggler with half a dozen balls in the air at once and that gave him a great buzz; he couldn’t imagine a time when he might drop one of them.

He bought the premises next door to the yard. ‘I’m going into retailing,’ he told Barbara. ‘If people can’t afford to have work done by the professionals, then we’ll sell them the materials to do it themselves and when they botch it, we’ll be there to put the mistakes right. Everyone knows it costs more to undo someone else’s bad workmanship than start from scratch. Profit margins will be tight, but if I keep a firm hold on expenses, it’ll work. After all, there’s only Doughty’s tin-pot hardware store in Melsham, so we’ll be filling a gap in the market and providing a service.’

Barbara’s reaction was to think ‘Poor Mr Doughty’, but she knew better than to voice it. The work went ahead and Kennett’s became one of the largest employers in Melsham, a fact which was not lost on his fellow councillors or the workers themselves. He was swimming against the economic tide and seemed to be making headway. He was popular with the man in the street, who saw only his carefully nurtured public image. ‘My door is always open,’ he was very fond of saying, but in trying to live up to that and keep his business flourishing, he had little time for his wife and family.

The problems of the nation, characterised by high unemployment and workers’ discontent, were discussed in the pubs and clubs and on football fields. The need for something to be done was the chief subject of conversation when a general election was called early in 1929. George was in the thick of campaigning on behalf of the Conservatives and Barbara found herself pushing leaflets through letter boxes while Jay-Jay laughed at her from his pram.

‘You may laugh,’ she said to him one day when she was busy working the Newtown Estate. ‘It’s not your feet dropping off. I don’t know why I do it. I don’t even believe what’s in them.’ She bent over to tickle him, smiling when he chuckled. ‘Don’t you tell a soul I said that.’

‘Dear, dear, talking to yourself, that’s a bad sign.’

She whipped round to find Rita grinning at her. She was wearing a three-quarter-length red coat and a black skirt which was only a little longer and revealed quite a lot of black-stockinged calf. A deep cloche hat with a turned-down brim was pulled down over her red hair but it was only partially successful in hiding a black eye and a bruised cheek. ‘Rita, what happened to you?’

‘I walked into a door. Trust me not to look where I’m going. What are you doing out this way?’

‘Delivering these leaflets for George. The trouble is I wonder how many of them are actually read and whether I’m wasting my time.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I shouldn’t be saying that, should I?’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Why don’t you dump the rest and come and have a coffee?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that, dump them I mean.’

‘Who’s to know? ’Ere, give ’em to me. I’ll deliver them, then you can come with a clear conscience.’

They transferred the box of envelopes from the pram to Rita’s bag and set off for the café on the marketplace. Barbara had no idea where the leaflets would end up; she felt sure they would not be posted through letter boxes. She pushed the pram into the café and found a table in a corner where it would not be in the way, while Rita beckoned to the waitress.

‘You’ve got a bruise there too,’ Barbara said, nodding towards a purple mark on Rita’s arm just above the wrist. ‘Was it the same door?’

If it had been anyone else making that remark, Rita would have told her to mind her own business, but she couldn’t say that to Barbara, who hadn’t a spiteful bone in her body and had troubles enough of her own. In spite of their different backgrounds, they had become friends, not in any close sort of way, but they met now and again when they were out shopping. They always chatted easily, drawn together by some hidden empathy neither had tried to put into words. Nor had they told their respective husbands, knowing it would cause friction. ‘Yeah, well, this door had hands.’ She laughed and put her hand to her lip when she found it hurt.

‘Oh, Rita, I’m so sorry. Why do you stay with this door with hands?’

‘I don’t know. It’s like a habit you can’t break.’ She shrugged. ‘What else would I do? Where would I go? And you know how it is, a sort of habit you can’t break out of.’

Barbara knew exactly what she meant. ‘There must be something you could do.’

‘There isn’t, you know. I’ve thought of going to the police, but that’d mean going to court and that’s not what I want. I just want ’im to stop using me for a punch bag, but that’s askin’ for the moon because he doesn’t know any better. He had a rough life as a kid. Lost his parents and was brought up by foster parents. They turned ’im out when he began to grow up and cause a bit of trouble.’

‘But that’s no excuse…’

‘No, but I weren’t no angel, I tricked him into marrying me…’

‘How?’

‘I seduced him and got myself pregnant, so he had to marry me…’

‘Is that what you wanted? Marriage, I mean.’

‘Yes. I wanted to get out of the life I was in. My mother, well…’ People like Barbara had no idea how the other half lived. ‘Don’t get me wrong, she was, and is, a good mother in her way, but she never had a penny from the bastard who fathered me. I never knew him and she’d never tell me his name. But you don’t want to know all this.’

‘If it helps to tell me, then I’m interested. It won’t go any further, I promise.’

‘It’s ancient history anyway. Ma got pregnant but the feller was married and he didn’t want to know, so she was stuck. With a kid hanging onto her apron strings, she had no chance of finding work or a husband, not one of her own anyway, so is it any wonder she did what she did? She had to keep me fed and clothed. I never went hungry but I had a helluva lot of uncles.’ She smiled crookedly, almost defiantly. ‘It didn’t bother me. It wasn’t until one of the uncles started touching me up when I was alone, I realised what was what…’

‘How old were you?’

‘Twelve or thirteen, don’t remember exactly. I kicked him in the balls and he let go. Ma came in then and threw him out and then she came down on me, said I’d tempted him, that if I weren’t careful I’d end up like her. I didn’t understand. It was then she told me the truth. I’d often heard people say “like mother like daughter”, but I’d taken it as a compliment. Mum was pretty, you see, with lovely dark hair, not ginger like mine, and she was nearly always laughin’. But you had to – laugh, I mean – if you were going to give someone a good time. That’s what she called it. When I look back, I don’t know how I managed to stay so ignorant, but once I did know, I made up my mind I wasn’t going to end up like her and the only way I could think of preventin’ it was to get married. I met Colin when I was seventeen. I was pretty in those days and sexy with it and…’ She gave another grin. ‘I deliberately set out to get pregnant.’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, he married me, but the baby died. Colin couldn’t cope. We were both too young. He lost his job and the one after that and then he began drinking and taking his frustration out on me. He’d get disgusted with hi’self and leave me to go looking for jobs in other places, but he always came home when he lost ’em and, daft bugger that I am, I always took him back. That’s when I fell for Zita. Born in 1914, she was. I don’t know where he went after that, then seven years later he turned up again. Seven years, I ask you! When he first got a job at Kennett’s, he promised to turn over a new leaf and for more’n a year he didn’t lay a finger on me, then off ’e went again. There was some sort of trouble…’ She stopped, realising that Barbara probably didn’t know the truth and it was not her place to let the cat out of the bag. ‘He’s not been too bad since he came back. Your husband gave him another job, so he’s stuck around.’

‘So, what happened this time?’

‘Oh, it was something and nothing. He said he needed a drink and started groping in my bag for the money. There was only a pound and a bit of loose change and I needed it, so I grabbed it back. That did it. He gave me a good going over and took the money anyway, I might just as well have given it to him in the first place.’

‘Have you tried talking to him about it, explaining how you feel?’

‘Course I ’ave. It’s like talking to a brick wall.’ She laughed and drained her cup. ‘Or a door.’

‘I’m sorry. I wish I could help.’

‘Oh, don’t mind me, love, I’ll get the better of the bugger yet.’ She spoke so cheerfully it was difficult to take her seriously, which was, Barbara supposed, Rita’s way of coping. ‘Now, tell me what you’ve been up to. Apart from shoving bits of paper through letter boxes, I mean.’

Barbara found a few amusing anecdotes about the children and by the time she arrived at the school gates at a quarter to four, having drunk two cups of coffee and gorged herself on cream cake, she was feeling more cheerful.

Her truancy, which is what it felt like, or her vote, couldn’t have made any difference to the outcome of the election. Although for the first time Labour, under Ramsay MacDonald, had the greatest number of MPs, they could not govern without the support of the Liberals and Melsham remained staunchly Conservative. George and Barbara were invited to the reception to thank those who had helped the successful candidate.

Barbara didn’t want to go. She had done nothing to help, had in fact sabotaged the effort by handing her leaflets over to Rita. And she certainly hadn’t voted for the man. He was too much like George, full of bluster and his insincere smile sickened her. But as she could not give these reasons to George, she dressed in a gown of blue chiffon with a hemline of handkerchief points and accompanied her husband to the Conservative Club, where an orchestra played background music and everyone talked too loudly, mostly about the idiocy of the electorate and the impossibility of getting anywhere with a Labour government.

‘What can a woman know about Labour relations?’ George said derisively referring to the appointment of the first woman to sit in the cabinet with the job of Minister of Labour.

‘I should think as much as a man,’ Barbara said.

‘Women should stay at home and mind the house,’ he said, reminding her of her own abortive attempt to go out to work, out of the question now. What with her children, her charitable work and the social demands of her husband, she had no time for anything else, no time to go to the theatre or see a film, no time to wander round art galleries and museums, once a favourite pastime. She had even missed Penny’s last film. Most films were talkies nowadays and she could hear as well as see her friend.

It was strange that they had remained such good friends when their lifestyles were so different. They did not see each other often but they wrote and talked on the telephone. Of all the people she knew, Barbara felt she could confide most to Penny, though she wondered if it would have made any difference if Penny had known what happened in her flat the last time she had seen Simon.

‘Mrs Kennett, is no one taking care of you?’

George had gone and it was Donald Browning who stood beside her. He was no taller than she was in her heels, and his face was homely rather than handsome, especially with that straggly moustache. George’s hints that he was interested in Virginia seemed not to have any basis in truth, unless, of course, he had realised where his competition was coming from and had dropped out of the running. He indicated the empty glass in her hand. ‘Can I get you another drink? Something to eat perhaps?’

She handed him the glass. ‘Thank you.’

He disappeared through the noisy throng but was soon back, carrying two full glasses. ‘There, not a drop spilt.’

‘Thank you, Donald. Now, tell me all your news. I don’t see much of you these days.’

‘We’ve been very busy, Mrs Kennett, what with the building work and the new shop, and of course, George is often on council business, so I’m more or less in charge.’

‘But you must have a private life, a little time to call your own.’ She was blatantly prying and wondered if he knew it.

‘Not a lot.’ He smiled. She was one of those really nice people, who made you feel as if whatever you had to say was important. She was interested and interesting. The dress she was wearing tonight emphasised a figure just on the full side of perfect and though she wore a little make-up it was not obvious. George Kennett might be the bee’s knees when it came to running a business, but he was a bastard where women were concerned. How did he get away with it? ‘But that’s how I’ve wanted it, ever since my wife died,’ he told her. ‘George was good to me over that. I owe him a lot.’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t think of it like that.’

He knew that was exactly how George did think of it. ‘It’s all right for me, I have no one waiting at home for me, but it must be hard for you, seeing so little of your husband.’

‘But if my husband is a public figure, then that’s one of the things I must accept, isn’t it?’

‘You are very tolerant, if I may say so, Mrs Kennett. George is a very lucky man.’

‘Oh, enough of the flattery. How did we get on to talking about me anyway? I asked you about yourself.’

‘There’s nothing to tell. I did start seeing someone, a year or two ago, but nothing came of it. She turned to me when the man she was seeing packed her in. I said I could live with that, but she never really gave him up and it all started up again.’

She had asked and she shouldn’t complain when the answer was not the one she wanted to hear. But every fibre of her was crying out in despair. Had he mentioned it on purpose to warn her? He was standing beside her, chewing on his moustache, and though his face was carefully expressionless, the knuckles on the hand that clutched his glass were white. She couldn’t continue to stand there, on the edge of a mass of rejoicing, half-drunk people; she had to get away before the smile she had fixed on her face slipped. She put her glass down on a table behind her. ‘I had better go and look for George. His mother is looking after the children and I don’t like to keep her up after midnight.’

She could not see her husband in the room and went out into the corridor. There was a gleam of light under a door further along. She walked towards it and opened it. She wasn’t being deliberately stealthy, but that was how it must have seemed. They sprang apart, but not quickly enough. She had seen the tousled hair, the flushed faces, the unbuttoned clothing. Virginia was backed against a desk, her breasts were half exposed and her skirt was up round her thighs.

‘Barbara!’ George hurriedly began buttoning his flies but it was too late. She turned and left them. There were no words for what she wanted to say, nothing she wanted to hear.

He went to follow her, but Virginia pulled on his arm. ‘Let her go.’

‘I can’t.’ He pulled himself from her grasp and went after his wife.

‘If you go after her, George, don’t think of coming back,’ she called after him. ‘I’ve had enough of this cloak and dagger stuff.’ But he was already striding down the corridor away from her.

Barbara went home in a taxi, asking the driver to wait and take Elizabeth home. By the time George arrived, she was alone and sitting on the sofa in the drawing room with a large tot of whisky in her hand. She couldn’t seem to gather her thoughts at all. It was as if someone had punched her in the stomach and followed it up with a blow to the head. While nothing had been said aloud, she had managed to live with her suspicions, to pretend the affair was long over, but to have the confirmation of her own eyes was tearing her apart.

He stood in the doorway, watching her, expecting a tirade, preparing himself to deal with it, though the explanations which had fallen so convincingly from his tongue before would not come to his rescue this time. He stepped into the room and stood in front of her. ‘What can I say? I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ She looked up at him. ‘You mean sorry that you were caught?’

‘No. That I’ve hurt you.’

‘Hurt me?’ There was venom in her voice. ‘You’ve destroyed me.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be so melodramatic. You’re hurt I know, but to say I’ve destroyed you is rubbish.’

‘You have. You’ve made me into a boring, uninteresting housewife, a mindless mother, with nothing to say for herself, no words but what you put into her mouth. In order to please you, I’ve become the woman you wanted me to be, but instead of being satisfied with your creation, you’ve turned away, looked elsewhere for your pleasure. It’s not fair, George. I hate you for it.’ And suddenly she meant it.

‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean it to happen.’

‘Then you had better tell me what it was like. Why on earth did you marry me?’

Why had he married her? He tried to bring it back, the first time he had seen her in Cambridge, the frisson of excitement when he had learnt she came from Melsham and that her father was a somebody, respected in the community and wealthy to boot. She represented a challenge. And he could never resist a challenge, it was part of his nature. And she had loved him; the glow of pride that had given him seemed small in comparison with the soaring ecstasy he had experienced with Virginia. The trouble was he only knew that in hindsight. At the time… Oh, what was the use, he’d messed it all up. ‘I loved you,’ he said. ‘I still love you.’

‘What?’ She looked up into his face for the first time and wished she hadn’t. ‘You’re surely not going to tell me Virginia means nothing to you? It’s been going on too long for that to be true.’

‘No, I’d be lying if I said that. But it’s different.’

‘Yes, she’s not your wife. She’s your mistress. Do you lie in bed and laugh at the way you pulled the wool over my eyes?’

‘No, of course not.’ He went to the cabinet, poured himself a drink and refilled her glass when she held it up to him.

‘I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a word you say anymore.’

‘I hated deceiving you. I tried to end it several times, but she kept on at me, writing, ringing me up, waylaying me. I just gave in. I was weak.’

‘Weak?’ She laughed harshly. ‘You’re the strongest man in Melsham. You can manipulate anyone and everyone, including Virginia, including me. Well, not anymore.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t think straight tonight. I’ve had too much to drink. Tomorrow I’ll decide. But I tell you this, I’m not going to stand by and do nothing like I did before.’

‘No, I suppose not. I’ve been a fool. Will it help if I say it’s over between Virginia and me and it won’t happen again?’

‘You mean you’ll be more careful. God, George, how could you? Anyone might have come into that room, not just me.’

He knew that, had known it at the time, but Virginia had been all over him, even in the crowd at the party, hissing at him that she didn’t care who saw them. He’d taken her into the office to calm her down. She wanted their affair made public, believing it was the only way she would get him to leave his wife. It made him so furious he had grabbed her by both arms, wanting to shake some sense into her. Instead he had kissed her, brutally, without tenderness. But that only served to rouse him, giving him a monumental erection. He forgot where he was, forgot everything outside their two entwined bodies and his need to get inside her. If Barbara hadn’t come in, would he have gone the whole hog, made love on that dusty desk, or even the floor? He felt weak at the knees over the risk he’d taken.

Everything he had worked and schemed for – his business, his work on the council, his ambition, his family – had all been put at risk. And for what? It was a question he couldn’t answer. Animal magnetism? Chemistry? Lust? Or was it true love? But he loved his wife too. And he adored his children. He sat down beside her, but refrained from touching her. ‘Barbara, I am utterly ashamed. It will not happen again. I’ll never go near her again. You have my word on it.’

‘Your word?’ She gave a cracked laugh. ‘That means nothing to me.’

‘Then how can I prove I mean it?’

‘You can’t.’ She put her glass down and got unsteadily to her feet. She was drunker than she realised: her knees were wobbly and she felt sick. ‘I’m going to bed.’

She clung onto the banister rail as she stumbled up the stairs, then wove an erratic course to her bedroom, leaning on walls and grabbing hold of furniture on the way. She slammed the bedroom door behind her and collapsed, fully dressed, across the bed.

She woke in the early hours of the morning with a monumental headache and her evening dress all rucked up round her. She took it off and flopped back onto the bed, lying sleepless for hours. But she couldn’t stay there, much as she wanted to. Another day was dawning and the children needed her. She washed, dressed and went downstairs, her limbs obeying her mechanically but she felt numb.

George had gone. The remains of his breakfast were still on the table, an empty coffee mug, a plate with toast crumbs on it. There was also a note for her propped against the marmalade pot. ‘We’ll talk tonight. Don’t go away. I love you.’

She smiled grimly. Don’t go away. Where the hell did he think she could go?

Penny’s telephone call later that morning seemed like an answer to a prayer. She had taken the children to school, chatted with the other mums, listened to them gossiping and then come home with Jay-Jay to find Kate busily at work in the kitchen. Kate wanted to talk, to ask if she had had a nice time at the party, wondered aloud if she ought to try and press the evening frock she had found thrown on a chair or whether it would be better sent to the cleaners. The sound of the telephone came to Barbara’s rescue and she hurried into the hall to answer it.

‘Oh, Penny, thank heaven it’s you.’

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘Everything. Nothing. Oh, I’m just fed up, don’t take any notice. How are you?’

‘I’m fine. There is something wrong, isn’t there?’

‘I can’t talk about it. Not now. Not yet.’

‘Then come up and see me. That’s why I rang. I thought you might like to come to the premiere of Dragon Castle on Saturday and stay for the party afterwards. I can give you a bed for the night.’

Barbara hadn’t realised the film was near completion, let alone ready for release; it only seemed five minutes since Penny had told her she had landed the part. ‘I don’t think I’ll be very good company.’

‘Course you will. If you need to get away a bit, what better opportunity?’

‘What makes you think I need to get away?’

‘Sixth sense. So how about it?’

‘There’s the children…’

‘Let George look after them for once. I won’t take no for an answer. Come early, give yourself time to relax and get yourself up in your glad rags. I want you on top form.’

‘Oh, Penny, you’re a tonic.’

‘Good. See you Saturday. Bye for now.’

Barbara put the phone down and returned to the kitchen. ‘Kate, if George is busy on Saturday can you look after the children and stay overnight? I’ve been invited to Penny Barcliffe’s new film premiere.’ She managed a smile. ‘I’d really like to go but I’m not sure what my husband has booked.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Kennett, I’ll look after the children. They’re no trouble at all.’

‘Thank you. Can you keep an eye on Jay-Jay now? I want to take that dress to the cleaners and book a hair appointment.’

She gathered up the dress, stuffed it into a shopping bag and left Kate happily washing the kitchen floor, watched by Jay-Jay from his playpen where he stood rattling the bars. George may not like her plans but to hell with George! Why should she go on putting him first, when he so obviously didn’t care a toss about her? If she was going to be more assertive, now was a good time to start. She might even stay longer than one night. It would serve him right if she stayed away altogether. But she couldn’t do that; she couldn’t leave her children. And George would never let her take them. She was trapped.

‘Going to Penny’s?’ He couldn’t believe it. ‘I thought we were going to sort this thing out, talk it over.’

‘What is there to talk about?’

‘Us.’

‘Oh, us.’ It was very difficult putting on an air of indifference when every nerve and sinew wanted to howl and beat his chest with her fists. ‘There is no us.’

‘Barbara, for God’s sake, don’t be like that. It’s not like you.’

‘How do you know what I’m like? You’ve never bothered to find out.’

‘I know it’s not like you to be bitter and vengeful. And it won’t help. I need a little understanding, forgiveness…’

‘And what about my needs, have you ever considered those?’

‘I’ve tried. But part of that has been working hard, to give you a comfortable life, to make a home for us all…’

‘Then why destroy it?’

‘I don’t want to destroy it. It needn’t happen. I want us to stay together. Don’t you want it too?’

‘Not at any price.’

‘Then help me change. Stay with me, we’ll spend the weekend together.’

‘What about all the other weekends. The days and weeks, the rest of our lives?’

‘Those too.’

‘Then this weekend is mine, for me to get away and make up my mind. If you mean what you say, you won’t go anywhere near your mistress while I’m gone.’

He winced at the word mistress. It had been spoken with such venom. He didn’t know she could hate; for once in his life he knew the meaning of fear. How could he face his work force, his council colleagues, his constituents, if she left him? Who would look after the children? Would she take them with her? He might not see them again. ‘But you will come back?’ There was a measure of pleading in his voice.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back. My children are here.’