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‘Like washing your hair?’ he asked drily.
‘And some cleaning and a spot of ironing and so on.’
‘I’ve always believed that domestic chores shouldn’t rule one, so sorry, not a good enough excuse. Dinner’s still on.’
He’d always believed domestic chores shouldn’t rule one? Well, that was a mite easy for a man who employed a daily. Her voice studiously polite, Miriam said, ‘And how is Mrs Rowan, by the way?’
‘Still asking when you’re coming home.’
She perhaps should have expected that one. Knowing she would never win in a war of words, Miriam turned to look out of the window at the grey streets and folk scurrying about under umbrellas. It didn’t matter what he said or did in the long run, all she had to do was to remain resolute. There were only a few weeks until Christmas and she didn’t doubt Jay would keep his word and make the divorce as smooth as possible when she still wanted one when the time was up. She just had to be strong. Her soft mouth set in a determined line. And she would be. Just as walking about with a gormless smile plastered on her face wasn’t her style, neither was emotional suicide.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OVER the following weeks Miriam found her resolution to stay emotionally detached was severely tried. A cold, wet autumn had given way to bright, crisp days with thick white frosts at night, and winter had definitely arrived. As the gusts of a chill November wind saw the month out, December came in with a glinting sparkle on spider webs and the crunch of frosty ground. She had been dreading this month all year, knowing echoes of the Christmas the year before would feature even more vividly in her dreams. As it was, with seeing Jay every evening and at the weekends and coping with a demanding job, the changing of the month was merely a date on letterheads.
She made concentrated efforts to take each day as it came and to keep some mental space between her and Jay, but it was hard. Especially when they were together. A strange feeling was taking hold of her but she repressed it, refusing to acknowledge the weakness that told her she couldn’t do without him. She could. She had. And she’d have to in the future. It was as simple as that. Anything else was impossible.
She knew Jay was playing the waiting game, thinking she would change her mind about the divorce the more they became inseparable. And they were. Every minute they weren’t working they were together, but Jay always went home at night.
Several times in the last weeks, when he had kissed her with single-minded intensity and she was limp with raging desire, she had expected he would take their lovemaking to the next level. But he had never so much as undone one button on her clothes, let alone undressed her.
She knew he wanted to. He never missed an opportunity to touch her or take her hand and his compliments were seductive and sexy. And he certainly wasn’t seeing anyone else, he was always with her. But even though he kissed her until she was senseless that iron control held.
Which was good. Miriam nodded to herself as she finished getting ready for work on the first Monday in December. She and Jay had had a lazy Sunday the day before. He’d arrived at her bedsit with the Sunday papers just after ten o’clock and they’d read them while the Sunday roast cooked in her tiny kitchen area. She had still resolutely refused to visit the apartment again and so inevitably Jay was spending more and more time in her little home. After lunch they’d gone to Hyde Park and walked some calories off before undoing all the good work and having a cream tea at the Brass Kettle, a smart little teashop tucked away in a side-road near Knightsbridge where the waitresses wore black dresses and white aprons and all the food was home-made.
When he’d seen her home just as the winter sun was setting and casting fleeting wisps of silver into the pearly pink sky he had kissed her long and hard with a fierce possessiveness that had made her want more. Much more. And that was bad. Miriam surveyed herself in the mirror before leaving the bedsit. Very bad. She couldn’t afford to start sleeping with him. That would take their relationship somewhere it couldn’t go, somewhere where she became vulnerable again.
As she came down the stairs Clara emerged from her bedsit on her way to work, her hair all the colours of the rainbow and her lips as black as coal. In the last three weeks she’d had as many new piercings and her clothes were even more outrageous than normal.
‘Hi.’ Clara’s smile was bright but strained. ‘Good weekend with slimeball?’
Miriam nodded. ‘And you? How are things with Brian?’ she asked quietly. She was worried about Clara. When they’d had breakfast together on Saturday her friend had been too sparky, too upbeat, almost brittle.
‘Great.’ And then Clara stopped with her hand on the front door. ‘No, not great. Awful. And it’s all my fault. I—I keep pushing him away, saying and doing things to make him go off me.’
Hence the new piercings and psychedelic hair. Miriam stared at her. ‘Why?’ she asked simply.
‘Because I’m not in control any more.’ Clara’s blue eyes were desperate. ‘I don’t feel like myself. I’m terrified he’ll leave and yet I can’t stop doing things to make him do just that. Last night I said some terrible things; I even brought his mother into it and she’s such a sweet old biddy.’
Miriam was stunned. Suddenly she realised she was seeing the real Clara, that the easy-going, happy-go-lucky front was just that. A front. ‘But you care for him?’
‘That’s the trouble. I don’t want to love anyone. As soon as you do that you leave yourself wide open for a fall.’
‘But Brian’s crazy about you, Clara. Anyone can see that. He loves you.’
‘My parents were supposed to love me but that didn’t stop my dad leaving when I was six and then my mum putting me into care. Said she couldn’t cope. Ha! With a six-year-old? And the next minute she’d taken up with some fella who had three kids and was looking after them.’
‘Oh, Clara.’ After all their girly chats and meals together Miriam couldn’t believe this was happening on a Monday morning in the hall when they were both on their way to work.
‘She had me back for a while when I was eight. The new guy said he wanted us to be a family, that I was to look on him as my dad. I was so grateful to him and so scared I might do or say something to spoil things. And then he came to my room one night when Mum was out…’
Again Miriam said, ‘Oh, Clara.’ She just didn’t know what to do except hug Clara close. When the hug ended both their faces were wet. ‘What happened after that? Did you tell your mum?’ Miriam asked softly.
‘I tried to but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want anything to spoil her new perfect life, I suppose,’ Clara said bitterly. ‘And he threatened me all the time, saying they’d lock me away if I said anything, that no one would listen to a child. I believed him. If my own mother didn’t believe me, why would anyone else? Then when I was ten there was a teacher at school who saw through the rebellious brat I’d become. One day I told her everything. The police were involved and a police doctor confirmed I was speaking the truth. He went to prison but my mother still insisted I was lying and said she wanted nothing more to do with me. I didn’t mind being back in care—anything was better than what I’d lived with.’
‘I’m so terribly sorry, Clara.’
Clara shrugged,
