She is quite shaken after Kit leaves. Such a shame that their reunion was spoilt. Even though she is long gone the barmaid still manages to ruin things. His obsession with that woman! Whenever her name comes up – and her name always comes up – they end up arguing, or he becomes frosty towards her.
Every single time Kit phoned home he’d ask if she’d remembered another snippet about the man in the balaclava, convinced he had something to do with the barmaid’s disappearance. And when Beatrice protested that she didn’t want to be quizzed about that awful holiday every single time I try to have a conversation with my son, he accused her of being insensitive. He even accused her of being a snob!
And it wasn’t as if she was prejudiced against her, not at all. She just knew she wasn’t right for her boy. She had learned that the hard way, from bitter experience.
She hadn’t intended to drink. She’d not even been to the pub, 357to avoid temptation, but the free sample of the Scilly Spirit gin is sitting there, just asking for it.
She feels rather guilty about throwing poor Charlotte under the bus, suggesting she might have had something to do with the saintly Hannah going AWOL. Kit didn’t believe it though, so she shouldn’t feel bad.
Her boy is grieving now but he will get over it. He will meet someone new, and he will fall in love again simply because he is young and foolish and sweet. Perhaps not Charlotte. Beatrice has rather given up on that front. She has come to agree with him that she is more than a tad annoying.
But he will find someone new. And in the future, she hopes he will eventually make her a grandmother. With a more suitable girl. Genes are important.
She will go and sit out in the garden in a moment. The Agapanthus looks rather magnificent. It is such a treat to see blooms in flower at this time of year. Her garden at home is rather bleak.
Kit’s annoyed with her now. But he will thank her one day. He will realise that his mother would do anything for him.
She should have listened to her own mother. She warned Beatrice about marrying down, as she put it. ‘Not people like us, darling,’ was her verdict on Henry. (His family lived in a terrace house.) Some might think that’s an old-fashioned concept, but it matters. It’s a question of education, cultural acclimatisation, world views. Her son and a barmaid! Different species. What did they talk about? Crisp flavours? Dry roasted?
People like her darling husband only want people like her as some sort of trophy. But she was so ridiculously, shamefully in 358love with him, she refused to believe that those wild differences that had so thrilled her at the start of the relationship would lead to trouble later. It was so heady, so passionate. But then, inevitably, just as her mother predicted, she started to want more than he could give, and the trouble started. Not money – Henry provided well enough on that front – but her social life was severely curtailed. He upset several of Beatrice’s friends. He insisted on paying for dinner with the ones he liked, ordering the most ostentatious bottles of wine that didn’t actually pair, and it was so … gauche.
Yes to Ascot, no to Henley; yes to Wimbledon – but you should have seen his face when she suggested Glyndebourne. ‘Why would I want to listen to fat birds sing?’ he mocked.
Obsessive about weight, Henry, although never his own. If Beatrice have developed a paunch like his, she would not have heard the end of it. ‘The balcony over the toy box,’ he’d laugh. Always crude.
They drag you down, these types; stop you from reaching your full potential. He wanted her to go to the dogs for God’s sake. Literally. And when she protested, he asked, What’s the difference between that and horse racing? If you had to explain it, they’d never understand.
So naturally she wanted rid of the barmaid from the first day she learned about the fling. Horrid thing. She only wanted a meal ticket.
The ice cubes in her drink ping one of the fillings at the back of her mouth. Damn. She’ll need to have that looked at when she returns to London.
She does feel for Kit, although he doesn’t believe it. She hates 359to see him so glum. She would never shed a tear for that awful woman, but he has sobbed over her on the phone. As a mother that is hard to hear.
He might have believed he was in love, but the barmaid was only using him. She didn’t truly care about him. The absolute show she made of herself, draped around the neck of that young chap from the heliport! They call him Vlad; she doesn’t know his actual name. And then kissing that beastly French man, letting him paw her in public! Like a cat in heat.
Kit couldn’t see it though; wouldn’t see it.
And worse than the entire … spectacle that night in the pub, was her belly. Beatrice is sure, absolutely, sickeningly sure, that it was bigger, rounder than it was before.
And …
She places Primrose on her lap.
Of course she knew Henry was cheating on her. And yet she did nothing! Worse, she bought some awful La Perla underwear, got herself trussed up in it, and cavorted around the bedroom. It did the trick. Simple creatures, men. But afterwards, he got up, got dressed, and went out – straight round to one or the other of his little side trollops, she’s guessing.
She should have bought Ann Summers.
All his lies. And she colluded. She wanted to believe him.
He swore it was work; he was always away for work. She was being paranoid, she needed her head looked at, she needed to keep her fucking nose out of his business!
And then, when she’d actually started to doubt herself – perhaps it was the nature of his job; perhaps he was working all 360hours – to keep you in the fucking manner you’re accustomed to – the ambulance people found him in flagrante …
The barmaid was like that – as bad as Henry. She couldn’t stand by and watch her ruin her son’s life like her husband had ruined her own.
She is convinced that the conniving little cow got pregnant to trap her boy. Kit wouldn’t have a clue, the silly sap. Pussy-whipped – Charlotte told her that expression.
Over her dead body would that woman join this family.
She could not bear to think of Kit going through the same crushing indignities she had suffered. And anyone could tell the barmaid was not the faithful type. She would have broken his heart, of that Beatrice is certain.
Perhaps she should have something to eat. She’s not been drinking so much since her stay at the health spa. Her tolerance levels must have changed …
The last time she and Kit were here together back in May she had pointed out that a barmaid’s salary wouldn’t get him very far. She’d said something like, I hope your love keeps you warm because you can’t live on fresh air, darling.
He’d countered with something along the lines of, You always wanted me to step up, to take responsibility for my life. Well, now I’m going to!
It was the first time Beatrice had heard him use the word responsibility. It made her feel sick.
He’d left without helping her load the dishwasher after that particular row. Stormed out.
Later that day she’d found his phone on the kitchen table …