Sixty - Five

After a hastily eaten breakfast, Donald dashed off to open up the antique shop, leaving Ted alone in the house. Now Ted felt lost; unsettled. After having sent Marjorie the text message about leaving her, he had no option but to spend the night at Donald’s. But, as Donald had insisted, Marjorie had to be faced at some point. Besides, Ted needed to make arrangements about collecting his things and moving out. And then he needed to come to some sort of agreement with Marjorie about taking joint responsibility over Miranda (he refused to call her Tracey).

It took Ted a teeth-gnashing hour to pluck up the courage to telephone Marjorie. She picked up the receiver as soon as it had rung, almost as if she had been waiting for the call.

‘Is that you, Ted?’

He cleared his throat noisily before replying. ‘Yes. Did you get my text message?’

‘No! What text message?’

‘On the new mobile phone I bought you.’

Marjorie’s voice snapped impatiently. ‘Oh, I can’t be doing with those contraptions. I don’t know how to switch it on.’

Ted’s mind raced furiously. Last night it had seemed so easy, sending her the text saying he was leaving her. The fact that she hadn’t received it was a major problem.

‘And why didn’t you come home last night?’ she demanded.

‘Um,’ said Ted, as he tried to think. ‘Leaves on the line.’

‘What?’

‘Last train couldn’t leave Charing Cross because of leaves on the line. Remember it happened about five years ago, and they had to put us up at the Charing Cross Hotel...’

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Marjorie said, impatiently. ‘So when are you coming home?’

Ted’s voice sank into a bottomless well. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

‘As soon as you possibly can.’

Hugely depressed now, Ted was unable to construct a reply.

‘Because I need to have a very long talk with you, Ted,’ Marjorie added, ominously.

***

Nigel was on his way to a meeting in Croydon and had offered Vanessa and Nicky a lift to Tunbridge Wells Station, which was on his way. Nicky sat in the front passenger seat and Vanessa sat in the back, next to Nigel’s laptop and bundle of telecommunications brochures and leaflets. As they drove towards Eridge, Nigel whistled tunelessly, which irritated Vanessa.

‘Do you have to?’ she said.

Nigel chortled. ‘Someone got out on the wrong side of bed.’

‘Not at all. I’m fine. It’s just that your tuneless whistling is getting on my nerves.’

‘I might drop you off at the bus stop,’ Nigel teased. ‘And you can make your own way there .’

‘Anything would be better than your whistling.’

‘I can’t help it if I’m happy. Life is good at the moment. Full of problems. But then problems create challenges, hopefully leading to solutions.’

Nicky, who wasn’t interested in joining in the conversation, nevertheless felt as if she ought to say something. ‘So if life is good,’ she said, ‘what problems d’you have?’

Nigel glanced round at her and grinned. ‘Who said anything about my having problems? It’s secondary schools that are having problems. And your mother and I intend doing something about it?’

Intrigued and puzzled, Vanessa stretched forward. ‘But we’ve long ago left school, and so has your son. So why are you getting involved with schools?’

‘We want to persuade them to offer pupils the option of being taught Intelligent Design as well as all that Darwin poppycock.’

Vanessa laughed harshly. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

‘No, I’m perfectly serious.’

Vanessa made an impatient clicking noise with her tongue. ‘There is not a single shred of evidence that something intelligent created the universe. Not a thing. You creationists are a bunch of morons and no one’s going to take you seriously.’

As Nigel neared the bottom of the hill near Eridge Station, he spotted the number 29 Brighton bus. He put his foot down and overtook it going up the hill on the other side of the valley. As soon as he reached the next bus stop, he screeched to a halt.

‘What are you doing?’ Nicky asked, nervously.

‘Letting you catch the bus,’ said Nigel. ‘There’s one just a few seconds behind. I’ve decided to cut through High Rocks and Rusthall and miss the Tunbridge Wells traffic.’ He turned and stared at Nicky. ‘Sorry about that. But you know how it is?’

They both scrambled hurriedly out of his car, and watched as he zoomed off, seconds before the bus pulled up. As they boarded the bus, Vanessa said:

‘What a bastard that man is. I’m so glad I’m moving out.’

‘You and me both,’ said Nicky. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to start looking for a flat in Tunbridge Wells. I don’t care if I never see him again. I hate him.’

***

While Maggie was still in bed, still in a deep inebriated sleep, Mike caught a bus to Crowborough and visited her parents. As soon as they opened the door, they saw the concerned expression on his face and were immediately alarmed.

‘It’s OK,’ he assured them. ‘Maggie’s asleep. She’s hungover - again - but she’ll be all right.’

Gordon, Maggie’s father, nodded gravely and invited Mike into the kitchen. Once they had all settled round the kitchen table with a cup of tea, Gordon glanced at his wife and said:

‘We’ve known all along that Maggs had a problem. Haven’t we, Gloria?’

Gloria nodded sombrely and sighed. ‘We want to help. But we don’t know what we can do?’

‘It’s got really serious,’ Mike said. ‘She can’t even remember where she parked the car yesterday. But I’ve got an idea what you can do to help. It means involving the children. But it’s the only thing I can think of.’

Gordon looked at Mike with a sad, dog-like expression. ‘We’ll try anything to help our daughter. Won’t we, Gloria?’

Again, he looked towards his wife for encouragement, and she gave him a nod of approval. Mike began to outline his plan and they listened carefully.

***

As soon as Ted arrived home, he called out, ‘I’m back.’

Silence, as if the house was empty. He went into the kitchen where he expected to find Marjorie. He found piles of crockery on the draining board, and the kitchen table was strewn with mail that had been torn open and abandoned. Ted frowned. This was uncharacteristic. Marjorie was usually so fastidious.

‘Marjorie!’ he called out, nervously.

He crept out into the hall and pushed open the living room door. He started as he caught sight of his wife, sitting in an easy chair, half facing the door, as if she was waiting for him. Her face was hard, like a block of ice, and her eyes were red from crying.

‘Sit down!’ she commanded him.

Nervously, he swished across the carpet and sank onto the sofa. Her wrathful voice came at him like a battering ram.

‘So you thought you’d send me a text, you cowardly little worm. You couldn’t even tell me to my face.’

Ted gasped and tried to find his voice. ‘I - I didn’t think you’d got my text.’

‘Oh, I got it all right,’ she yelled. Suddenly she was on her feet and hurtling towards him. ‘Fuckin’ little worm. You shitty little bastard.’

Fists clenched, she hit him hard in the face. He felt his nose crack as her fist came into contact and the blood spurted. A knuckle caught him in the eye. He tried to shield his face with his hands but she seemed to have the strength of an ox as she beat him about the head. He sank onto the floor, trying to protect himself with his arms about his head, but now she began kicking him in the stomach and ribs. The pain was unbelievable and he begged for her to stop as he choked on the blood from his nose. But still she went on unrelentingly.

Eventually, after what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, Ted heard crying from the nursery upstairs. Marjorie stopped beating him and hurried away to attend to Miranda. As injured as he was, Ted still couldn’t think of her as Tracey.