Read Online A Week in Winter: A Novel by Marcia Willett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcia Willett
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worth a phone call. No, my latest idea was that we should sell up here and move to Cornwall.’ She smiled a little at the shock on his face, noting the fear in his eyes. ‘Yes, it’s quite a mind-bending thought, isn’t it? But why not? You’re always so tired lately, Patrick. Very edgy. I think your work is getting you down, darling, and I’m worried about you. It would be wonderful to live in the country for a change, wouldn’t it? Just there, between the sea and the moor. Wonderful fresh air and peace and quiet. You could get a teaching job locally and we could be together, just the two of us. The kids could come down for weekends. Think how they’d love it.’ She watched him, her eyes cool, considering, mouth still smiling. ‘I just feel that it’s
right,
if you see what I mean. We’re still young enough for the challenge of it but old enough to be realistic’
Silence stretched between them. She raised her eyebrows and he shook his head.
‘It’s … a bit of shock,’ he muttered, turning away, unable to meet her eyes any longer. ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that you’d want to leave London. We need to think about it very carefully.’
‘Do we?’ She still sounded amused. ‘I don’t think
I
do. Still, I can see that I’ve surprised you. But don’t think for
too
long, Patrick, or we might miss the boat.’
She went away, closing the door gently, and he continued to sit, head in hands, fear in his heart.
He thought: She’s guessed that something is going on. What shall I do? Call her bluff and take a chance?
An image of Mary—dressed in leggings and an oversized shirt, singingas she fed Stuart—came to his mind. A word from Selina to the school governors and Mary might well be out of a job—and her flat, too, if she were unable to pay the rent. She’d fought hard to get the three-roomed flat with the use of a small garden, so that Stuart could sit outside in summer; it hadn’t been easy to persuade the strict, old-fashioned landlord that Stuart would be no nuisance to the other tenants, that she could afford to pay her rent and was not dependent on benefit. Patrick clenched his fists and swore quietly; he could not put Mary at risk unless he could offer her as much or more than she had already achieved for herself. On what grounds could he divorce Selina? Would he be entitled to a share in the house and would he be obliged to continue to support her? Suppose he were to lose his job in the process?
Tired, frustrated, Patrick felt an overwhelming desire to weep. Mary had come into his life at a most vulnerable and dangerous time: missing his children, disillusioned with his career in which the word Vocation’ was now a dirty word; bound to a wife he almost disliked. He’d been attracted by Mary’s cheerful, realistic approach; her energy. He felt old and jaded as he watched her with the children, encouraging them, patient but lively. The little ones responded to her enthusiasm and she was clearly in her element. There was no shred of self-pity or resentment when she told him about Stuart’s accident, or described the desertion of her husband when he learned that Stuart would be an invalid for the rest of his life.
‘He simply couldn’t face it,’ she’d said, as if this were quite a reasonable reaction. ‘He was a macho kind of guy and he just couldn’t come to terms with the life ahead. He couldn’t bear it for Stuart as much as for himself. He found it simply horrific that he would never kick a ball or swim or be normal in that way. It killed him to see Stuart in his chair. He’d weep. He just didn’t come back one evening and then I got a letter. I’ve no idea where he is.’
‘Couldn’t he be traced?’ Patrick had asked, horrified. ‘How could he just abandon you both?’
‘I don’t want him back,’ she’d said, almost fiercely. ‘He weakened me. It was terrible, watching him suffer. It was like he was injured too, and I didn’t have enough strength for
right,
if you see what I mean. We’re still young enough for the challenge of it but old enough to be realistic’
Silence stretched between them. She raised her eyebrows and he shook his head.
‘It’s … a bit of shock,’ he muttered, turning away, unable to meet her eyes any longer. ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that you’d want to leave London. We need to think about it very carefully.’
‘Do we?’ She still sounded amused. ‘I don’t think
I
do. Still, I can see that I’ve surprised you. But don’t think for
too
long, Patrick, or we might miss the boat.’
She went away, closing the door gently, and he continued to sit, head in hands, fear in his heart.
He thought: She’s guessed that something is going on. What shall I do? Call her bluff and take a chance?
An image of Mary—dressed in leggings and an oversized shirt, singingas she fed Stuart—came to his mind. A word from Selina to the school governors and Mary might well be out of a job—and her flat, too, if she were unable to pay the rent. She’d fought hard to get the three-roomed flat with the use of a small garden, so that Stuart could sit outside in summer; it hadn’t been easy to persuade the strict, old-fashioned landlord that Stuart would be no nuisance to the other tenants, that she could afford to pay her rent and was not dependent on benefit. Patrick clenched his fists and swore quietly; he could not put Mary at risk unless he could offer her as much or more than she had already achieved for herself. On what grounds could he divorce Selina? Would he be entitled to a share in the house and would he be obliged to continue to support her? Suppose he were to lose his job in the process?
Tired, frustrated, Patrick felt an overwhelming desire to weep. Mary had come into his life at a most vulnerable and dangerous time: missing his children, disillusioned with his career in which the word Vocation’ was now a dirty word; bound to a wife he almost disliked. He’d been attracted by Mary’s cheerful, realistic approach; her energy. He felt old and jaded as he watched her with the children, encouraging them, patient but lively. The little ones responded to her enthusiasm and she was clearly in her element. There was no shred of self-pity or resentment when she told him about Stuart’s accident, or described the desertion of her husband when he learned that Stuart would be an invalid for the rest of his life.
‘He simply couldn’t face it,’ she’d said, as if this were quite a reasonable reaction. ‘He was a macho kind of guy and he just couldn’t come to terms with the life ahead. He couldn’t bear it for Stuart as much as for himself. He found it simply horrific that he would never kick a ball or swim or be normal in that way. It killed him to see Stuart in his chair. He’d weep. He just didn’t come back one evening and then I got a letter. I’ve no idea where he is.’
‘Couldn’t he be traced?’ Patrick had asked, horrified. ‘How could he just abandon you both?’
‘I don’t want him back,’ she’d said, almost fiercely. ‘He weakened me. It was terrible, watching him suffer. It was like he was injured too, and I didn’t have enough strength for
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