Read Online Wicked Women by Fay Weldon - Free Book Online

in a car with you!”
    Defoe returned with his glasses.
    “I want to make it clear,” he said, “that Weena was merely using a tactic common to biographers today. Her train was late—check with the station if you like—we came straight here. Our relationship is, of course, perfectly proper. The rest is shock tactics, designed to sweep away our conventional habits of restraint and repression when it comes to our own lives. After this, we will all be as frank and open as she requires.”
    “And you’re old enough to be her father,” said Daphne.
    “It’s the last station at the end of the line,” said Elaine. “It’s unmanned, as you well know. I couldn’t check if I wanted to. Either way, Daphne will drive me back to London now. I will stay with her and Alison.”
    “Peter has a bigger apartment,” said Daphne. “Rick is smaller than Alison. There is no dog. You’ll be happier with Peter.”
    “I will stay with one of my children,” amended Elaine, “until you’ve come to your senses, Defoe.”
    “One dyke and one queer,” said Weena. “Even my mother didn’t do as badly as that!”
    “Shut up, Weena,” Defoe had the grace to say, but Weena made a dive for his crotch and he giggled. “That is so profoundly politically incorrect. God, I love you!”
    “What have you been taking, Dad?” demanded Daphne. “What has she been giving you? Shall we go upstairs, Mum, and put a few things in a suitcase?”
    But Defoe was smiling too hard to hear. Elaine seemed to be in shock: ashen. Daphne helped her from the table. For the first time, Daphne envisaged her mother as old: and what was more, quite possibly old without a husband. Defoe would quickly find a woman to nurse him, even one of the likes of Weena. But who would Elaine have? Daphne? Peter? The needs of an older generation would not spark sympathy in Rick’s mind, let alone Alison’s. Jumper would not mind. Daphne must get home to nurture Alison. She had been away too long.
    “No need to make such a scene, Elaine,” Defoe reproached his wife. “Weena’s just an Eloi. She’s easily upset. You’re turning this into a real embarrassment. It’s unforgivable.”
    “Is she really going?” asked Weena, watching Elaine and Daphne leave the room, leaning into one another for strength and comfort. “Just like that? She’s not exactly Boadicea. Do you know about Boadicea? I was reading up on her the other day.”
    “My wife has her dignity,” said Defoe. “Let her live by it. And constancy, endurance, honesty and all the rest. Me, I have you.”
    “And the house to ourselves,” rejoiced Weena. “What an innocent Elaine is. It never pays to leave the matrimonial home: doesn’t she know that? Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Once she’s out, it’ll take her a year and ten thousand pounds at a minimum to get back in. If she ever does. Not so much an innocent, more of a fool.”
    Defoe’s hand travelled up Weena’s thigh and under the edge of one of the frayed denim hems, but she pushed his hand away. “Not while Daphne’s in the house,” said Weena. “A daughter’s a daughter and they suffer. My mother and father never closed the door. They never cared what noise they made. That counts as abuse, doesn’t it?”
    “Poor little Weena,” said Defoe. “I’ll make it up to you.” And he took his hand away and gazed in admiration at the angel who had now taken Weena’s form, though she floated a little before his eyes. Down in the reeds by the river she’d given him a tablet or two to take, and he’d swallowed them because she’d said so, and took a step backwards away from him for every second he dithered, her naked body translucent, greeny-white and firm like some plump serpent, miraculous in its existence, threatening to disappear. Once he’d swallowed, she came nearer: her turn to swallow him up.
    Hattie tried to lull her niece Amy to sleep. She sang every lullaby she knew: that is to say “Rock-a-bye Baby” and