The Unfinished Book
5th April
Right, Jenny, Im off! No need to see me out. Ill be back late! Lay out my blue shirt and trousers for tomorrow, dont forget! Remember to pick them up from the dry cleaners! called out Victor from the hallway. He quickly pulled on his mac, paused to check himself in the mirror, grabbed his hat, and clattered out, slamming the door so hard the window rattled in its frame.
Typical Vic, I thought, turning off the tap and drying my hands on my apron. Everything in our sunlit hallway looked as it always did: family photos on the walls, bright stripey wallpaper (two wide, two narrow, soft blue), my coat on its peg. And
I frowned. The bundle! Hed forgotten the bundle, the one with the freshly baked pasties inside! Id made them from scratch before dawn, filled just the way Vic likesegg and spring onion. All for today, as he had that job site visit and nowhere proper nearby to eat. And everyone prefers homemade anyway, dont they?
In a rush, I whipped off my apron, straightened my hair, grabbed the warm parcel, and dashed out, barely remembering my keys (God, imagine if Id locked myself out). Down the stairs I flew, the rails silky beneath my hand. Fourth floor, third, second
Sure, maybe other wives might have just called out to their husbands from the window, but I couldnt stand the idea. I wanted to give Vic his lunch in person, offer my cheek for his quick, dry kissan unspoken Off you go, then
I was breathless by the time I shot into the communal garden, nearly bowling the door into the wall behind me. Im not twenty anymore (at forty-nine, sprinting like this is asking for trouble).
Squinting, I scanned for that familiar figurea man in an ash-coloured mac with a pale hat on his head. Vic always loved a hat, and a long coat, the hem flapping behind him. I bought him new hats for every season, made sure they were spotless. He was adamant. Hats are style, hed say, even as Michael, our son (named after Vics father), ribbed him for it. You young lot just dont get itits all nylon and pleather for you lot!
Where had he got to? Ah, therealready at the far end, about to melt into the bustle of the sunny street. If I didnt hurry, hed catch the bus and Id miss him altogether.
I dashed over the tarmac, nodding at Mrs. Potter and the other neighbours soaking in the rare sun in their cardies and housecoats. They watched with amusement; I could almost hear their thoughts: She loves that husband of hers, doesnt she?
Everything alright, Jenny? called Mrs. Potter after me.
Lunch! Vic forgot his pasties! I called back over my shoulder.
Mrs. Potter grinned. Thats right, lovelook after him!
But then, as I reached the street, I stopped dead. My breath caught and the world suddenly felt dim, as if the sun had been flicked off. I clung to the downpipe for support, knees weak.
Vic was at the bus stop, side-on to me, but with his arm crooked for a much younger, curvy woman, all flush with laughter in a bright blue polka dot dress, her hair expertly styled, ribbon to matcha regular summer princess. He looked down at her, a little too amused. She batted his hand off, cut him a disgusted glance, and yet he tried againreaching for her hand, desperate She slipped out of his grasp, maybe even slapped him, and he drew up, stiff as a pokerthen instantly wilted, stroking her back, fumbling a sweet out of his pocket like a dog begging for attention. She just opened her mouth, expecting to be fed.
I felt sick. My God Vic, my grown, respectedalmost oldhusband, fawning over someone half his age with not a scrap of shame.
What was I meant to do now, with my bundle of daft pasties and my coffee-stained house dress? Bus arrived, doors creaked open, and Vics hand lingered at her back, guiding her up the step. The doors shuddered shut and for a moment as they pulled away, I could swear Vic was looking right at me. Shame burned my cheeksId never felt so foolish, standing there with my frayed slippers, lunch for a man whod already moved on.
I turned sharply, shoulders set, and began the slow march back through the garden. The old girls on the bench had shed their cardies, basking like cats, but I barely noticed. Had to swerve to avoid Mrs. Potter by the flower bed.
No luck, Jenny? Didnt catch him? she asked, cigarette in hand, nodding at my parcel.
Missed him, I mumbled.
Shame. Dont let those go to waste. Ill send round John. Youll be home?
I gave a half-hearted nod.
Good. He loves pasties, and I cant be bothered with fiddling about with pastry. Wait for him, will you?
Mrs. Potter then bustled off, flapping her hands at the workmen threatening her petunias with their ride-on mower. Oi! Watch where youre going with that monster! Youll ruin my borders, you will! But I left her rantingI could only hear my own footsteps echoing in the entrance as I slipped back inside.
Everything felt empty. My steps echoed on the cold stone, tears threatening with every breath. The life Id builtwarmth, safety, trustit was all gone at once, as if the foundations had been washed away. Familywasnt that meant to be forever? Yet here I was, all at sea, and wasnt it easier just to sink?
I slumped on the stool in the hallway; the pasties spilled across the linoleum. Felix the cat nuzzled against my ankle, purring for a morsel. I barely noticed. My mind was still outside, still staring after that blue spotted dress, that well-kept hair, and my own Victor. Hot, wretched tears streamed down my face, and something inside me enjoyed letting them fallno need to sit up straight, to force a happy smile or keep being the doting wife. For once, I could wallow in my own simple heartbreak.
I dont know how long I sat there until the door creaked and Felix scampered away. John, Mrs. Potters husband, poked his florid nose in, cheeks ruddy, curls glistening with sweat, his entire presence rather too boisterous for our staid old building. But he was considered one of us all the samea regular at gallery openings, a mad artist, Vic always said.
Jenny, loveMrs. P said youve got spares, what with her redecorating the kitchen and all. Havent had a hot meal in days, fed up with sandwiches from the shop, John bumbled into the flat without hesitation, filling up a square of sunlight with his broad frame. Hang on, muddy shoes! Better whip them off, and the socks toostood in a puddle on the way round, he explained, waggling his toes, big as cricket balls, with a neat hole by the big toe.
I picked up his shoes and set them on the balcony to dry, out of habit, but immediately he called, Oi now, thats not how we do things! Back where you found them!
But theyll never dry in hereyoull catch your death! I replied absently.
My feetmy business! he retorted with a wink.
I set his shoes in the sun anyway. John was already bustling about the kitchen. Jenny! Love! Make us a proper cuppa, will you? Fresh, dark and strong, with a slice of lemon. Been ages since I had a real one. He stretched his legs across the doorway so I almost tripped.
Alright, give me a second I babbled, filling the kettle, my thoughts running like cold sleet. Victor How could he? Hardly out the door before hes chasing after some young thing?
No! Dont use old tea, fresh pot, for a guest! John barked, peering in my best teapot, wrinkling his nose. Thats bin juice, that is. Proper fresh leaf, or nothing! He even offered his socks for mending while I was at itGals busy with her sideboard, he explained, and hes down to his last pair.
I barely suppressed a sigh, but started threading the needle as if by instinct. If I was honest, I didnt really mind fussing over details. But the past yearno, the past decadehad been spent making everything about Victors comfort. I gave up teaching to keep the house, then stopped my private tutoring when he was sick, because the noise and germs set his nerves on edge. Gave up painting because the smell of linseed oil made him ill, gave up radio because he needed rest Gave up new dresses, shoeswhen would I have worn them anyway? Hed just joke about my veins or ask why Id bother.
Friends drifted away. Michael called once a month. My world shrank to the shape of our home, his routine, his moods.
And now this. All my care, all my timewas it all for nothing? Had I lost myself?
John finished his tea and pasties, then suddenly turned serious. You let yourself disappear, Jenny. You used to float into a room and hold courtnow, look at you! Youre running after him like his mother, not his wife. Whyd you let it go that way?
Nono, thats just who I am, I mumbled. I like taking care of him
Women like you smother us blokes, you know. Were meant for the hunt! You stopped being his equal, Jenny. Give him a reason to chase you instead.
I didnt quite understand. Id dedicated my life to this house, his needs, our little routine was that wrong? Maybe thats why, the moment he found a sparky, difficult womansomeone who challenged himhe felt young again.
I just sat in silence, then smiled, oddly relieved hed said what Id been too afraid to. Maybe I was a bit of an old hen, as my mum used to say.
John grinned, Oh, youll bounce back, love! Dont let him keep you down. Youve still got your bloom, Jenny. You just need to remember how proud you were, before all this.
He left. I was still sitting there, thinking, when Victor came home latereeking of whisky and someone elses perfume.
Conference ran over. He tossed his briefcase at me, huffing with back pain. Stick the kettle on. And I want mash. With a drop of something. Why are you just standing there?
I didnt take his briefcase. I told him to move aside so I could get my overnight bag.
You going somewhere? Whats all this? His voice had gone small now, as he saw me, dressed to the nines for the first time in yearshair done in a neat roll, earrings, a smart sand-coloured frock, and those old kitten heels he made fun of.
Im off for a few days. You can handle dinner and shirts yourself. Or call your new frienddoesnt matter to me. Goodbye, Victor. Its time.
I swept outstruggling for a moment with the suitcase handle, though my heels clicked confidently on the stairs. I caught the waiting taxi, and that was that.
Victor staggered to the stairwell, leaning over to call out, but only groaned as pain shot up his spine and tears stung his eyes.
Jenny he choked out.
Where are you now, Jenny? Youd rub my back, fetch my tablets, wrap me in that ridiculous woolly scarf, snuggle up and smooth all the ache away
He tried calling the polka-dot woman, Faye, but she only scoffed down the phone, told him to ring a doctor if he needed one, and hung up. Faye wasnt Jennynot by a long chalk. She was too proud and independent, and would never fetch his things or iron his shirts.
He hardly managed back to the kitchen, saw the now-cold pasties on a plate, and moaned. This wasnt a nightmare. It was a disaster, and all his own doing.
I came home the next day with the doctor, arms full of roses Id bought myself. I smelled of a little perfume and, yes, a cigarettesometimes, I smoked when truly upset.
Hang on, doctor, dont give him the jab yet, I said, pausing as Victor whimpered.
What? Why? the doctor asked, eyebrow quirked.
Victorwhat did you promise her? Girls like her dont hang about for nothing, I asked, gazing down with the merest hint of coldness.
Im not old! Im in my prime!
She wants a position, said the doctor, flat. What did you promise?
A chair, a grant. But shell get nothing! Nothing! Jenny, forgive me. I was wrong. Only youonly you! Victor babbled.
Shell get it. You gave your word, youll keep it. Then youll resignthats the least. Oh, and Im going back to work next week. The irons on the shelf, shirts are in the wash. Dont like it? Well, theres always divorce. Understood?
Victor groaned, pressed a hand to his drenched brow and nodded. Pain flared in his back but he knew the argument was lost.
Do it, doctor. Or Ill pass out he whimpered.
The injection hissed and, feeling oddly satisfied, I went to arrange my own roses in the crystal vase.
* * *
Faye was over the moonthe job, the grant, the doctorate shed barely worked for. A warm seat lined up and the old fool, Victor, as only a footnote to her story. She no longer greeted him, barely lifted her head as they passed. Jenny had made it clearwhatever Faye had, Jenny could take away with a snap.
Victor really did resign, and nobody knew why. He threw a farewell party, danced a close tango with me, and for the first time, everyone saw him look at me in a way hed never looked at anyone else, certainly not Faye. What was it about me, then? Simple, really: I wasamthe very air hed taken for granted all this time. When lost, he realised it was all hed ever truly needed.
Faye, perhaps, will find her own reader one day. Life, as they say, will tell.
