Thomas used for the divorce. Retired now, but she was the typist and she comes in here. Remembers every bloody thing she ever typed.’
‘Go on,’ Jones said.
‘Thomas really wanted custody of his girls, and because Christina was the deserting one, and not very stable, he might have got it, and that’s when she started saying he wasn’t natural towards them, touched them wrong, he was a pervert. Like his father was. Faintest hint of that and Thomas couldn’t win, and he didn’t.’
‘That simple?’
‘Look, think about it. If a man is put down as a monster by his own wife, you gotta believe it. Only later, when Thomas gets rich, she needs to change her tune. She wants to take it all back and parade her kids and then
their
kids to get back in favour and have at the money, ’cos by this time she’s alone and they’re all broke. Simple? Not quite.’
There was the
snip, snip, snip
of her sharp scissors, a sound Jones liked, although it reminded him of something sinister.
‘How come they’re broke?’
Monica did not like being asked a question she couldn’t answer, but she was happy to guess.
‘’Cos they ain’t bought up to work, like their mother wasn’t? Posh schools and no training? ’Cos they got through life maintained by Daddy and think it’s going to last for ever? ’Cos someone’s told them they’re going to be rich some day? ’Cos they were brought up lazy? Maybe ’cos they were brought up thinking of themselves as victims. I don’t know. Someone owes them. I haven’t got the end of the story, only the beginning. Porteous got another lawyer.’
So much Jones already knew.
Snip, snip, snip.
‘You’re all done,’ Monica said.
She brushed the stray hair from his neck with a soft brush and took off the black nylon gown that made him look almost judicial. He looked sad enough to kiss. No doubt about it, he missed the job.
‘So you reckon no one ever believed Thomas tried to touch up his own kids?’
‘I never said that,’ Monica said. ‘No smoke without fire, old Douglas said.’
‘No wonder Thomas fucking went to someone else, then,’ Jones said. ‘Hope it’s a good one he’s got now, because he’s going to need it. He’s only wanting to get married.’
Monica gasped. ‘Di?’
‘Who else? The fucking Queen of Sheba?’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Monica said. ‘She wouldn’t. Oh my word.’
She paused, scissors in the air, half smiling. Jones turned away, not liking that smile, not liking it at all, because he thought he knew what Monica might be thinking. It might just be crossing her mind that if Thomas P married Di Q, it might just bring her father back.
‘She wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t have the nerve. She wouldn’t do that to him. Look at the size of her. Makes everything they said about him look true.’
‘She isn’t a child,’ Jones said.
S he wouldn’t. Di wouldn’t. She told Thomas, again and again,
some things are best left unframed. You can’t marry the burglar. And don’t you see what it would do? It could bring in all the demons.
No it won’t; it’ll keep them at bay. Come on, Di; make an honest man of me.
You are an honest man.
No, not entirely.
And then, she did. It took another year.
----
Painting:
The woman at her toilette, with an old man in the background, coming through an open door.
English, late 19th Century. A woman in a white night gown, sitting before her dressing table, surveying herself in preparation for an event. She looks at herself. Her figure is upright and youthful: the copious hair is young and yet the reflection of her face in the mirror she holds is old.
Attributed to … Walter Sickert
.
----
T he figure of the man moved towards the young woman. She smiled him at him.
‘I like you in white,’ he said. ‘Can you wear that?’
She shook her head.
‘I think I’ll go as I am.’
She stood up and stripped off the white garment, to show a small, naked, body that had grown from that of a
‘Go on,’ Jones said.
‘Thomas really wanted custody of his girls, and because Christina was the deserting one, and not very stable, he might have got it, and that’s when she started saying he wasn’t natural towards them, touched them wrong, he was a pervert. Like his father was. Faintest hint of that and Thomas couldn’t win, and he didn’t.’
‘That simple?’
‘Look, think about it. If a man is put down as a monster by his own wife, you gotta believe it. Only later, when Thomas gets rich, she needs to change her tune. She wants to take it all back and parade her kids and then
their
kids to get back in favour and have at the money, ’cos by this time she’s alone and they’re all broke. Simple? Not quite.’
There was the
snip, snip, snip
of her sharp scissors, a sound Jones liked, although it reminded him of something sinister.
‘How come they’re broke?’
Monica did not like being asked a question she couldn’t answer, but she was happy to guess.
‘’Cos they ain’t bought up to work, like their mother wasn’t? Posh schools and no training? ’Cos they got through life maintained by Daddy and think it’s going to last for ever? ’Cos someone’s told them they’re going to be rich some day? ’Cos they were brought up lazy? Maybe ’cos they were brought up thinking of themselves as victims. I don’t know. Someone owes them. I haven’t got the end of the story, only the beginning. Porteous got another lawyer.’
So much Jones already knew.
Snip, snip, snip.
‘You’re all done,’ Monica said.
She brushed the stray hair from his neck with a soft brush and took off the black nylon gown that made him look almost judicial. He looked sad enough to kiss. No doubt about it, he missed the job.
‘So you reckon no one ever believed Thomas tried to touch up his own kids?’
‘I never said that,’ Monica said. ‘No smoke without fire, old Douglas said.’
‘No wonder Thomas fucking went to someone else, then,’ Jones said. ‘Hope it’s a good one he’s got now, because he’s going to need it. He’s only wanting to get married.’
Monica gasped. ‘Di?’
‘Who else? The fucking Queen of Sheba?’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Monica said. ‘She wouldn’t. Oh my word.’
She paused, scissors in the air, half smiling. Jones turned away, not liking that smile, not liking it at all, because he thought he knew what Monica might be thinking. It might just be crossing her mind that if Thomas P married Di Q, it might just bring her father back.
‘She wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t have the nerve. She wouldn’t do that to him. Look at the size of her. Makes everything they said about him look true.’
‘She isn’t a child,’ Jones said.
S he wouldn’t. Di wouldn’t. She told Thomas, again and again,
some things are best left unframed. You can’t marry the burglar. And don’t you see what it would do? It could bring in all the demons.
No it won’t; it’ll keep them at bay. Come on, Di; make an honest man of me.
You are an honest man.
No, not entirely.
And then, she did. It took another year.
----
Painting:
The woman at her toilette, with an old man in the background, coming through an open door.
English, late 19th Century. A woman in a white night gown, sitting before her dressing table, surveying herself in preparation for an event. She looks at herself. Her figure is upright and youthful: the copious hair is young and yet the reflection of her face in the mirror she holds is old.
Attributed to … Walter Sickert
.
----
T he figure of the man moved towards the young woman. She smiled him at him.
‘I like you in white,’ he said. ‘Can you wear that?’
She shook her head.
‘I think I’ll go as I am.’
She stood up and stripped off the white garment, to show a small, naked, body that had grown from that of a
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