Chapter Forty-Three
Daphne was doing the late shift due to the staff shortage.
‘Such a pain,’ she’d said. ‘I’d have been happy to have gone home together. Will you be alright?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Rita cheerfully. ‘I’m just being silly.’
‘You should report him, you know, if he’s being a nuisance.’
‘Oh no, I’m sure he isn’t. I’m just being stupid.’
‘All the same, we just don’t need customers from the store chatting us up in the street.’
Rita couldn’t very well tell Daphne that she rather liked Henry; liked him quite a lot if she was honest, although the episode today had unnerved her a bit.
She felt tired. She was working Saturday too. Rita hated it when the store was short-staffed. Still, the money would come in handy. Perhaps she’d treat herself to a takeaway on Saturday, unless there were some samples left over. She’d planned to visit her mother on Sunday. It had been three weeks since her last visit, but she really needed to have a restful day on Sunday. Besides, it was always difficult visiting. Some days she would just sit next to her mother, watching as her head moved in constant motion as if agreeing with sentiments no one else could hear, or perhaps, Rita thought, it was the ruminations of her own mind, mulling over a lifetime that was drawing to a close. If only they could speak to each other. There was so much unsaid. If only they could speak of it.
She left the supermarket and looked around cautiously. There were too many people in the car park for her to spot Henry. Customers were dashing in on their way home. It was the busiest time. She didn’t hurry to the bus stop. There were so many people around, that even if Henry did approach her, she felt certain she would be safe. Although, people don’t rush to your aid these days, instead they turn a blind eye, she thought worriedly and increased her pace. Occasionally, she glanced behind her and then felt stupid for doing so. Finally, she reached the bus stop. There was a long queue and Rita sighed. She’d most likely have to stand when the bus arrived. It felt like all she ever did was stand. Rita had to push and shove to get on the bus. She felt trapped in an endless sea of people and noise. Someone's mobile phone was ringing, a child was screaming in her ear and people shoved each other to get a space. Everyone wanted to get home. Henry wouldn’t get the bus. She imagined he had a very smart car. She’d never asked him what he did for a living. It seemed rather rude. She thought Henry must be a solicitor or something equally as clever. He was always nicely dressed. You wouldn’t dress like that if you were a plumber, thought Rita. She glanced around to see if Henry was on the bus, but it was impossible to see past the sea of people in front of her. He wouldn’t be at her house. Henry didn’t know where she lived.
‘Do you want to sit down?’ a man asked, rising from his seat.
Rita glanced about her just to check there was no one elderly standing up. It wouldn’t do for her to take the seat if an old person could have it. Thankfully, there weren’t any and Rita took the seat gratefully. The bus moved slowly, snaking its way down the congested road. If Henry comes in tomorrow I’ll chat with him, she decided. Ask him if he’s well. She didn’t want him to think she was being stand-offish. The bus came to a standstill and the woman sitting beside her sighed heavily. Rita decided to get chips on the way home. She fancied them and she was too tired to prepare anything else. Then she’d read her book with her legs up on the couch. Maybe she’d get a buttered roll too and have a chip butty. It had been years since she’d had a chip butty. That would make up for losing her lunch today. She wondered what happened to her turkey roll and blueberry muffin. Maybe Henry ate it and the thought made her smile.
Chapter Forty-Four
There was no stopping time. It was like a runaway train. There was absolutely nothing Henry could do to halt its progress. When he awoke on Saturday morning a feeling of dread enveloped him. The anticipation of what lay ahead was too much to bear. The knot in his stomach twisted every time he thought of the premonition.
The smell of freshly made coffee reached his nostrils and he stretched his legs across Imogen’s side of the bed. It was going to be alright, he told himself. Forewarned is forearmed. He was in control. The last two days had been tense. Imogen had been quiet, and Henry had felt resentment consuming their once happy lives. They tried to pretend everything was going to be okay, taking it one day at a time like Imogen had suggested. But each day bore its own new resentment until Henry thought he couldn’t bear it.
It was a clear day. Far enough from summer to have lost the heat and not close enough to winter to have that bite of cold. The sun shone weakly down on Mayberry Terrace. There was a threat of rain but the weatherman had said it was nothing to worry about. It was a good day to go to the park. Calm enough to take a boat out onto the river, Henry thought with a shiver.
He tried to idle away the day. He spent longer than usual in the bathroom, washing his hair twice with the special shampoo and checking his mole closely. Henry wasn’t pleased to see there had been a change. The left side of the mole looked darker. It certainly hadn’t looked that dark the last time Henry had seen it. If you asked Henry it was now looking a bit sinister. He’d go straight to the doctor on Monday morning.
There was a clatter outside, and Henry looked out of the window to see Ray making his rounds. He was chatting to the woman across the road. Henry remembered her milky white breasts and felt a tingle run through him. What was her name now? Margo, yes, that was it, like fromThe Good Life. It had been decent of her to attend his funeral. Ray turned, saw Henry at the window and gave a wave before clambering back into his milk cart. Henry lifted his hand and then turned from the window and reluctantly made his way downstairs.
A whole day together, thought Henry. The tension would be so thick it would suffocate them,
He stopped at the kitchen doorway. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and burnt toast. Imogen turned from where she was standing at the fridge. She was a vision in blue, clashing with their lemon walls. Blue woollen dress, blue dangling earrings and a blue hairslide holding back her hair. The lady in blue, thought Henry. Too much blue that it made his eyes hurt. On the table in front of him was an array of finger food. The kind of food Henry usually tried to avoid unless they were at a party. Pork pies, sausage rolls, crisps, little triangle sandwiches that Henry knew would be curled at the edges by lunchtime.
‘Our picnic,’ Imogen explained. ‘Had you forgotten? It will do us good.’
Henry wanted to laugh. Good for you, he thought. Not so good for me. He needed to find something else for them to do. There must be lots going on. Sam, at the office, was always recounting the great things he’d done on the weekends.
‘There must be loads on today,’ said Henry. ‘Sam is always saying there’s not enough time to do everything.’
‘Sam?’ questioned Imogen.
‘At the office.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, confused.
‘I’ll look on Google,’ said Henry.
‘But Henry,’ she began.
Henry didn’t want to hear her buts and shot up to his little office in the back bedroom, with its well-ordered mahogany desk and neatly stacked papers. No messy child’s bedroom for them. Imogen had been right. He had boasted. He’d been proud of their neat, child-free, Pledge-smelling, home, where even a microscopic piece of dust was unwelcome. Had they missed out? What good was a dust-free house anyway? You couldn’t hang a photo of it on your living room wall like you could your son’s graduation photo.
He opened the laptop with a sigh. UnderThings to do today,he discovered there was a craft market in the next town, an art exhibition at the town hall and the opening of a new pie shop in town, welcoming everyone to a free tasting. We could do all three, thought Henry. That would take up the afternoon. He barrelled into the kitchen, waving the printout.
