Duplicity Read online

  It was a cheesy thing to say, but she giggled like a young thing. She’d have been eighteen when they’d seen each other last, of course. But she wasn’t fooled.

  ‘You were always good at paying compliments, Martin, but don’t overdo it. Today is my forty-third birthday, and I feel every year of them.’

  ‘I meant every word I said. May I join you? I’ve just ordered my coffee.’

  ‘So have we. Please sit down. This is my daughter, Paula. Martin’s an old friend, dear.’

  He shook my hand but his eyes scarcely left Mum’s face. ‘I can’t believe you have a daughter as old as this.’

  How old did I look, for heaven’s sake? ‘I’ve a married son, too, Martin. He’s twenty-three. Have you any children?’

  ‘Two daughters, both married.’ ‘Is your wife not with you tonight?’ ‘She died five ears ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ Mum looked confused. ‘I’d never have said anything if I’d …’

  ‘It’s all right, Sylvia. I’ve got over the shock, now, but I suppose a person never really gets over the loss.’

  ‘No, it’s a dreadful wrench when you’re left on your own. I know all about that.’

  ‘Oh, is your husband … ?’

  ‘We were divorced three years ago.’

  Were my ears deceiving me? Was this my mother speaking so matter-of-factly about something she was usually so uptight about?

  It was Martin’s turn to be confused. ‘I’m sorry. Trust me to say the wrong thing. I’m well known for always putting my foot in it.’

  Mum laid her hand over his where it rested on the table. ‘Don’t worry about it, Martin. I’m just beginning to see things in perspective - it’s past history now.’

  My very words. Sitting there listening to their conversation I felt like the proverbial gooseberry, but my spirits were soaring. Could this Martin be the answer to all my problems? Or would Mum retreat further into her shell if I tried matchmaking again? I’d have to watch my step.

  The coffees arrived and I closed one ear when they began to talk about their respective homes and families, and allowed my thoughts to wander in the direction of Tim Reynolds. He couldn’t be serious about Angie Davis, she was such a creep. He must have taken her to the disco because … he thought I was unavailable? And he might have been off-hand with me because he felt embarrassed at being there with her?

  I could make myself believe anything, as long as it was in my favour, that’s the effect Tim had on me, and if Mum started going out with Martin, I’d be free to start again with Tim where I’d left off. If. A small word to have such an important meaning. I’d have to give my full attention to the talk across the table to find out whether there could be any likelihood of my dreams coming true. Stranger things have happened.

  Mum was looking quite animated, as if she’d found a new lease of life. ‘What brought you back to Aberfithie? Are you on holiday?’

  Martin smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m being transferred back to Aberdeen, after all these years in Newcastle, so I thought it over and decided I’d rather commute again than live in a city any longer. I’m staying in my sister’s house for a couple of weeks, but she was called away to look after her mother-in-law, and Bill, her husband, had to go to some meeting in London. That’s why I came out for dinner tonight, and I’m very glad I did, otherwise I’d never have met you again.’

  ‘What a coincidence that we were eating here, too.’

  A potential miracle, that’s what it was. And it wasn’t over yet. Martin was still talking.

  ‘My nephew has been looking after me so far, but his cooking’s a bit unimaginative and that’s being euphemistic. His mind’s not on it, of course. He’s mooning over some girl he met at a disco on Friday night. It seems they used to go out together, but she broke it off because her neurotic mother didn’t like being left on her own. Poor Tim.’

  Once my heart stopped roller-coasting and settled back into its own position, I found my tongue. ‘Is your nephew Tim Reynolds, by any chance?’

  Martin looked as if he’d forgotten I was there. He probably had. ‘That’s right. Do you know him? No! Don’t tell me you’re the girl?’ He turned to Mum with a stricken face. ‘And you’re the neurotic … Oh, oh, I’ve done it again.’

  Mum’s face was pale. ‘He was quite right, though, Martin. I have been neurotic, but not any more. I’ve seen sense at last.’

  He looked at me. ‘Your mother and I were very much in love once, but we had a senseless quarrel and I asked for a transfer. That’s when I was sent to Newcastle.’

  ‘It was all my fault,’ Mum said sadly. ‘I fell for David’s charm and it took me nearly twenty years to see through him, though I’d been suspecting for a while that his nights away weren’t really on business.’

  ‘Well, that’s all behind you, Sylvie, and we’re both older and wiser now. Do you think we could make a fresh start?’

  The way she looked at him was enough. I knew she was out of my hair at long last. Mind you, I was rather upset at learning the truth about Dad. But it made me understand the strain Mum had been under and why she’d been acting like she had. Anyway, I’d succeeded in bringing her to her senses. Well, it was me who’d made her go to the Carvery in the first place, wasn’t it?

  She’s downstairs with Martin right now, and things seem to be very quiet, but I don’t intend being a spoilsport. Let them recapture their old romance. I’m very happy for both of them.

  This has been some week. I wonder that the next seven days will bring? Me and Tim back together as well, I hope.

  ***

  Word count 3468

  Sent to Just 1729.5.86 - rejected 5.6.86

  Sent to Woman’s Realm 10.8.86 - rejected 17.11.86

  Sent to Woman’s Story - not returned, but never printed

  Beginnings

  It wasn’t fair! Janey Martin pouted at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. Why should she always be the one to take the dog out? After all, she’d only been fourteen, a mere child, when she asked for a puppy for Christmas two years ago.

  Her mother hadn’t been keen on the idea. ‘I know who’ll be left to look after it. The same as I was left to clean out the gerbils and the guinea pig, when you were tired of them. It won’t always be a cute little puppy, remember.’

  Janey had appealed to her father then. ‘Please Dad?’ He never refused her anything, within reason, and, of course, he had given in again. ‘Only on condition that you promise to look after it,’ he had added.

  She had looked after it - most of the time anyway -but she’d promised to go up to the Record Market today with her two best friends. Now Jacquie and Tish would be there without her, and this would likely be the day one of the boys would speak to her.

  She sighed, skimmed her comb lightly through her long, fair ponytail, then slid the wardrobe door open with more force than was necessary to take out her new yellow leather-look coat. She may as well look her best in case she ran into somebody exciting, though there was little hope of that.

  She stamped noisily down the stairs and lifted the dog’s lead from the hallstand, making Dactyl, her Yorkie, go into such a frenzy of anticipation that she had to hold him between her knees before she could hook it on to his collar. She tried one last desperate protest when her mother came out of the kitchen. ‘Why can’t Mike take him out?’

  ‘He’s gone out to play football; and it’s your dog.’

  Janey knew the real reason for her own bad temper -no one had asked her to the school disco that night - so she closed the door quietly instead of slamming it - and switched her mind to deciding a possible career she might take up when she left school.

  She walked down the path slowly and gracefully, and by the time she reached the gate, she was already a top model drifting across a raised walkway, showing off gorge
ous outfits to an admiring group of wealthy buyers. There may even be a film producer among them, who would take one look at her slinky movements and then offer her a contract to star in his next musical opposite … ?

  Before she could decide who would be her leading man, she was jolted back to reality by her dog. Dactyl was in great form, sniffing at a gatepost then bounding on to the next one, and Janey found it impossible to keep up her measured glide. She even began to enjoy his antics and let him pull her along towards the park. She didn’t often go there, it was a bit far, but Dactyl seemed to be enjoying himself, too.

  The sun was shining though there was a nip in the air, and Janey’s spirits lifted, her feet almost dancing as she kept pace with the dog. It might be fun to be a ballet dancer instead of a model or a film star. She pirouetted daintily on her toes and could hear the thunderous applause from her phantom audience.

  When Dactyl stopped to inspect a stone, she picked up a stick and let him off the lead. He ran off, not even waiting for her to throw the stick for him to fetch, and she laughed as he chased a cheeky little sparrow and then stood looking puzzled when it flew off. Leaving him to entertain himself, she sat down on a bench and drew pictures in the sandy soil of the path with the stick. The dog was racing about on the grass now with a Jack Russell, so she kept a wary eye on them until it was clear that they were quite friendly.

  ‘They’re having a whale of a time.’

  The voice behind her made her jump; she hadn’t heard anyone coming. Turning, her eyes widened when she saw that it was Neil Wallace, the head boy from school. ‘Yes … yes they are,’ she stammered, aware that he didn’t recognise her. Why should he, when all the girls at Mountford ran after him?

  He sat down beside her, rather belatedly asking, ‘OK?’ She nodded and swallowed nervously. ‘D’you live round here?’ he was obviously just making conversation.

  Wishing that she could be as self-confident in real life as she was in her daydreams, she murmured, ‘Yes, well … er … not really all that near. Mayfield Terrace, actually.’

  ‘I’m quite near you, then - Mayfield Avenue. I haven’t seen you in the park before, though. What’s your name?’

  ‘Janey Martin.’ ‘I’m Neil Wallace.’

  As if she needed to be told! She could see his eyes taking in every detail about her, and was glad she had worn her yellow coat. She felt absolutely tongue-tied. Why couldn’t she laugh and joke with him like the other girls did?

  ‘D’you go to Mountford, Janey?’

  She nodded again. ‘Fifth year.’

  ‘Only fifth?’ he sounded genuinely surprised. ‘I’d have said you were older than that.’

  Pleased about this, she relaxed a little. ‘It’s the coat, I expect. It’s more flattering than the school blazer.’

  ‘It sure is! I get out of mine whenever I can, as well.’

  She glanced at him quickly. She hadn’t noticed that he wore a black leather jerkin, and found that it made him more handsome than ever, with his blond curly hair showing up well against the dark collar.

  ‘I’ll likely be seeing you at the disco tonight.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘Well … no … not really.’ She felt shy again.

  ‘Why not? It’s for fifth as well as sixth years.’

  ‘Nobody asked me,’ she admitted, trying to look as if she hadn’t wanted to go, anyway.

  ‘What? No boyfriend just now?’

  ‘No, not at the moment.’ She was grateful to him for handing her the face-saver.

  ‘That’s my good luck, then,’ he laughed. ‘You can be my partner. I was supposed to be taking Pat Connon, the head girl, but she broke her leg last night playing badminton.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but surely there’s another sixth-year girl you could take?’ Janey was thrilled at being asked to her first disco by Neil Wallace, of all people, even if it was just a matter of convenience, but she didn’t want to appear too eager.

  ‘I don’t fancy any of them,’ he smiled. ‘Great puddings, always flirting and giggling. You’re different, more sensible.’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘I’d really like you to be my partner, Janey, if you’ve nothing else on?’

  The open admiration in his brown eyes, surprisingly dark for his blond colouring, went to her head, but she said, cautiously, ‘I’ll think about it.’ She brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead and turned away from him. She could see that her apparent lack of intrest was making him more determined, but, just then, the two dogs came running up, jumping boisterously on their owners.

  ‘That’s enough, Dactyl,’ she told him, pushing him down. ‘It’s time we were going home.’ She took the lead from her pocket and Neil held the dog until she fixed it on.

  ‘What did you call him?’ he asked, bending to attend to his own dog.

  ‘Dactyl. It’s short for pterodactyl - the flying dinosaur, you know. My young brother was mad about them at the time I got him as puppy, so I called him Dactyl. It seemed to suit him, somehow.’

  As she stood up, Neil rose and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Say you’ll come tonight, Janey. Please?’

  Laughing, she twisted from his grasp and ran back along the path. She was almost certain that he would follow, but was beginning to doubt it by the time she reached the park gates. She stopped, waiting for Dactyl to come away from the lamp post, and stole a quick glance behind. Neil was running towards her.

  ‘Janey,’ he puffed, when he caught up with her, ‘Terry wouldn’t let me fix on his lead and I thought you weren’t going to wait. I don’t know the number of your house.’

  ‘Terry? That’s a nice name for a dog.’

  ‘Short for pterodactyl, would you believe? I was mad about dinosaurs, too, a few years back.’

  ‘No! Not really?’ She was astonished at the coincidence.

  ‘So you see, we’ve a lot in common, great minds thinking alike and all that. Now, will you say you’ll come tonight?’

  ‘I haven’t anything to wear.’

  ‘You’d look smashing in anything.’

  Janey learned then the age-old truth that boys don’t have the least understanding of the importance the right clothes have for a girl.

  ‘Please, Janey?’ he pleaded again.

  Frantically, she went over her wardrobe in her mind, and decided that the pink leggings and matching baggy top might just do. ‘OK,’ she smiled.

  ‘Great! I’ll come round for you at quarter past seven.’

  When they reached her house, he took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Boy! Am I looking forward to tonight! Wait till the other boys see you!’

  Janey watched the tall, slim figure striding away from her, every now and then taking a hop-skip-and-jump, with the small terrier running joyously round his heels. For once, she wasn’t imagining something impossible. This date was for real. She had a vague feeling that his dog was called Terry because he was a terrier, but it was sweet of Neil to say it was short for pterodactyl, like hers.

  She sighed contentedly and burst into the house to tell her mother.

  ***

  Word count 1641

  Sent to Just 177.9.86 - rejected 5.10.86

  Sent to Patches: 9.10.86 - rejected 30.10.86

  The Tomato Plant

  Elizabeth Miller had never wanted the plant to begin with.

  ‘Tomatoes aren’t meant to be grown inside houses,’ she said when Henry had first mentioned it, ‘and we certainly can’t afford a greenhouse. I’ve enough to do in the garden, anyway, since you’ve had angina.’

  ‘The man at the Garden Centre assured me that’ - here he laughingly imitated the man’s sales talk - ‘”Tomatoes are very successful in the house.”’

  He’d tell you anything,’ she said, scathingly. ‘There’s no room on any of the window sills for anything else.
I’ve eleven plants already.’

  She had seen by his set mouth and steely eyes that he had made his mind up, and sure enough, he came home next day with a small green shoot in a huge pot and upset her tasteful arrangement of cacti in the lounge to make room for it.

  As the days passed, however, she had found herself taking an interest in the tomato plant’s progress. She even marked its height on the supporting stick each day, and was amazed to see the marks rising more than an inch at a time. The plant kept growing rapidly, and by the time the small yellow flowers appeared, it was filling the window.

  She’d had to remove all her cacti because she couldn’t get near enough to water them, also to give the huge mass of foliage space to expand.

  ‘That thing makes the room too dark,’ she complained to her husband. ‘You’ll have to shift it from the window.’

  ‘I can’t shift it now. Not while it’s in flower.’ He tickled one blossom with a piece of wool and transferred the clinging pollen to another yellow trumpet. He performed this sacred rite every evening, another reason for his wife’s annoyance.

  Elizabeth’s dislike for the plant changed to outright resentment. She wasn’t allowed to draw the curtains or close the window, in case she damaged it, and while she was sitting knitting one afternoon, she had the strange sensation that she was not alone in the house. Laying down her needles, she walked all through the downstairs area to make sure that no one had broken in, but saw nothing. She had the same unsettling feeling the following day, and came to the conclusion that it had something to do with the hated tomato plant.

  When her husband arrived home that night, she ran to him in great relief. ‘Oh. Henry, I’m glad you’re back! There’s something really fishy about that thing.’

  ‘Fishy? What thing?’

  ‘That blasted tomato plant. It gives me the creeps.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Liz, you must be joking.’

  He laughed her to shame and carried out his pollination routine reverently, but next day, she was sure that the plant was watching her. Everywhere she went in that room she could sense eyes following her. She couldn’t tell Henry, not after the way he’d laughed at her before, he’d only make a fool of her again. She began to dread going into the lounge where the enormous leafy excrescence overshadowed everything, and started going out by the back door, walking round the house and in by the front door to reach the bathroom and bedrooms.