The Unfinished Book
Right then, Jenny, Im off! Dont see me to the door. Ill be back late! Lay out my white shirt and those blue trousers for tomorrow, dont forget! Mustnt forget to pick them up from the dry-cleaner! Victor called from the hallway as he hastily threw on his raincoat. He paused, eyed himself up and down in the mirror with a critical air, grabbed his hat, and left, the door clattering shut behind him.
The slam set the windowpanes in the kitchen rattling.
Through-draught thought Jennifer Mary, switching off the tap and drying her hands on her apron. She peered from the kitchen: everything looked as it always dida corridor bathed in morning sunlight, lined with family photos, wallpaper done in cheerful stripestwo broad, two narrow, soft powder blue. Her own little coat hung by the door. And
Jennifer frowned.
A parcel! Her husband had forgotten his parcel, and insidepasties! Jennifer had been up before dawn this very morning, folding and baking them, with spring onion and eggjust how Victor liked. Shed made them specially for today, since Victor was off to the site, miles from any decent food. Theres nothing like homemade, after all.
She whipped off her apron, shook her hair back in place, seized the warm bundle and, cradling it to her chest like it was a baby, scurried out of the flat in her homely dress, plain, short-sleeved, with a tell-tale coffee stain at the hem. Thank goodness shed thought to bring her keysnothing worse than finding yourself locked out! She dashed down the staircase, gripping the banistera smooth, polished rail that curled round and round: fourth floor, third, second
Jennifer could have simply opened the window and bellowed at her husband once hed emerged from the main door like any other wife, but that simply wouldnt do. Not dignified. No, shed deliver the parcel herself, say a proper goodbye, offer Victor her cheek for a peck, watch him nod gravelytime to be off.
Out of breath from her haste, she burst into the square, the door banging behind her for all she was nearly fifty and hardly built for running these days.
She scanned quickly for Victorhis raincoat the shade of wet tarmac, smart light-coloured hat perched at an angle.
Victor loved a good raincoat: long and flaring, never buttoned, so the breeze could whip its tails about. And always a hat. He had a wardrobe full, one for every season. Jennifer took pride in looking after themcleaning, replacing, fussing.
A hat is stylish! Victor would declare whenever their son Michaelnamed for his grandfathersniggered at the habit. You young things just dont get itdressed head-to-toe in synthetics and imitation leather!
Where on earth was Victor?
Ah, therealready emerging beyond the garden gate, melting into a patch of sunshine and noise. If Jennifer wasnt quick, hed catch his bus and be gone, and then
She hurried out onto the pavement, nodding at the older neighbours sitting outside their doors in the morning sun. The women in their knitted cardigans tracked Jennifers dash with fond amusement, glad, it seemed, of her loving heart and happy home.
Whats the flurry? called old Mrs Green to Jennifers slight figure.
His lunch! Victor forgot itpasties! Jennifer called back with a wave.
Mrs Green nodded, beaming wider; pasties are good, and love is even better. Marvellous!
Jennifer barreled out onto the main road, meant to call out, butfroze, staring. Her shoulders buckled as if the sunlight had abruptly switched off, plunging her in gloom so heavy it was hard to breathe. Her head spun and she gripped the drainpipe for support.
Victor stood at the bus stop, side-on, escorting a young, rather well-endowed woman by the elbow. The woman laughed, clicking her tongue, and Victor looked down at her, laughing too. Suddenly, she pushed him off sharply, threw him a cutting look, and Victor, of all peopleher respectable, grown, nearly old husbandcrumpled, pleading, and tried to catch her hand and kiss it. The woman wrenched her hand free, thrust out her well-manicured, pink elbow, and, Jennifer swore, gave him a slap. Victor straightened, indignant, but then wilted again, patting her back, offering a sweet from his pocket. The woman laughed, opened her mouth invitingly, and he obliged with the sweet.
Nausea swept over Jennifer. Good Lord! Victorher Victorreduced to puppyish grovelling before a young floozy!
The womans dress was a striking summer blue, with little white spots so many it made Jennifers eyes water. Her hair was done up with a matching blue ribbon, neat and elegant, and her shoes were dainty sandals.
Jennifers gaze darted all over the scenethe blue spotty dress, the woman, her Victorand in her hands was the stupid bundle of pasties. What on earth was she to do now, with them, with her life
The bus pulled up in a clatter. The crowd surged aboard; Victor steadied his new friend and helped her up. The doors shut.
As the bus pulled away, Jennifer thought Victor glanced straight at her, catching her in her bedraggled dress and worn slippers, clutching her parcel.
With a stiff turn, Jennifer marched back through the courtyardpast the neighbours in their summer frocks, newly stripped of their woollies for the heatalmost colliding with Mrs Green by the flower beds.
Didnt make it, did you, Jen? Mrs Green called, cocking a brow at the crumpled brown paper bag in Jennifers grip. She called it a lunch pail with deliberate irony, never approving of Jennifers overzealous wifely attentions, that all-encompassing, milk-warm, stifling care.
No, didnt make it, replied Jennifer vaguely, shoulders slumping.
Shame. Those pasties will go off. Ill send Ron round later. Youll be home?
Jennifers head wobbled uncertainly.
Good. He loves pastiesI cant abide fiddling with the pastry myself. Ta-ta!
Mrs Green scurried off, flapping at a tractor trundling into the square. Go on! Clear off, you clot! Youll flatten my petunias again with your great wheels! she shrieked at the driver, but Jennifer didnt hear.
Slowly, she trudged into the gloom of the stairwell, her little footsteps echoing on the stone stairs. Her sniffle mingled with the wheeze of the closing door, then faded in the hush of her flat.
That was it. The end of everythinghome, warmth, certainty, trust, her faith in people. Well, perhaps people was too wide a term. Her husband. Husband meant something foundational, the one person in the world to whom Jennifer, sweet foolish Jenny, had been entrusted, to cherish and protect. And now now what?
Jennifer Mary flopped inelegantly onto the hall stool, pasties spilling from the bag. Tibbles, their tabby, came slinking in, winding himself round her ankles, purring plaintively. But Jennifer didnt notice, didnt see a thing. She was still frozen by that drainpipe, staring at the blue spotted dress and its wearer, and at Victor. Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and wretched, and, oddly, it felt goodnot to sit up straight, not to beam with the constant rictus of the happy wife, but to curl up and wallow, deliciously drowning in her own simple, womanly misery.
How long she sat there, she couldnt say, but soon the front door shuddered as someone shouldered it openTibbles shot off, skittish as ever.
Through the crack appeared the broad, battered face of Mr Ronthe veritable Ron Green, Mrs Greens husband. Big nose, ruddy cheeks, round lips, thatch of shiny curly hair, red neckeverything about Ron looked a bit rough for this house, this class. Still, as Victor would put it, Rons one of usa true gent, just a little, well off.
An artist, Jen, thats what he is, Victor would explain, spreading his hands. And a talented one! All creative types are half-mad anyway, otherwise theyd be ordinary, and lose their magic
Jennifer glanced up into Rons big pale blue eyes. If he werent an artist, she thought absently, hed have made a vicarthere was something about his face.
Mr Ronald? she stammered.
Who else would it be? Ron grinned and cast about awkwardly. Green by name, me. Marg said youve spare pasties? Kitchens out of bounds at oursshes replacing all the cupboards. Not a thing to eat in the house. Its doing me in, it is
He gave a little sniff, his mop of hair bouncing, his broad frame filling the hallway, catching the golden patch of sun.
Hold onlet me slip off my shoes, he fussed in a curious country brogue, booting his damp socks off as wellhed stepped in a puddle, apparently. Jennifer, with automatic hospitality, ducked to take the soggy shoes out to dry on the balcony, shooing off Tibbles; Ron barked at her, Oi! Put those back where you found them!
But Ron, youll catch your deathlet me dry them at least! she replied.
My feet, my business! Put em back! grumbled Ron, winking slyly all the while.
Jennifer didnt, of course. Her guest would not leave in wet shoes, not in her house. She placed them in the sunlight, sighed, and heard Ron clattering about in the kitchen.
Jen! Jenny! Hostess! he shouted. A cup of tea, eh? Not had a proper brew in an ageblack as treacle, slice of lemon in it! Go on, love, make us a drop, would you! Tired to the bone He stuck his great feet into the kitchen so she had to step over them.
Yes, yes, Ill just get the kettle on Jennifer replied, flicking on the hob, filling the kettle. But her mind was a storm, cold and biting.
Victor Victor, her husband How could he? Just two steps from his own door and hes already off with another woman
She blushed, horrified at how far things might have gone.
No! Its just a misunderstanding! A chance meetingnothing! she lectured herself with her mothers sensible voice. Hell come home, youll act as if nothing happened. Be kind, be warm, hell forget her and come back to you!
Meanwhile, Ron was glaring.
You werent about to serve me tired old leaves, were you? Fresh pot, for a guest, please, none of that watery slop! He seized her fine china teapot, peeped inside and made a face. Honestly, thats for the bin! Pour it away!
But I only made it this morningfresh, honestly. Just try it! Jennifer began, but soon relented.
She wasnt above making fresh tea. That was nothing. But how was she to go on living with Victor now?
The kettle shrieked. Jennifer poured the boiling water over the leavesEnglish Breakfast, with an elephant on the boxand the kitchen filled with that tangy, malty smell.
Thats more like it! Now, Jenny, fetch out the special cups, you know, the blue and gold setI adore those. Dont be stingy! And the pasties, mindon a decent plate, if you please. No, not that onethe nice platter! And while I eat, you can darn my socks. Yes, Ill fetch them in. Marg wont, all she cares about is new cupboards. Look at this holegives me blisters, he moaned theatrically.
Jennifer Marytruely a respectable lady, a retired teacher whod even given up her pupils to devote herself to keeping house and caring for Victorlooked down at the battered socks with thinly disguised contempt. Yet her hand already reached for them as if on instinct.
After a moments silence, Ron smashed his fist on the table, suddenly huge and wild and fearsome. Jennifer flinched.
Jennifer Mary! Do you hear yourself? You let folk boss you about like a scullery maid! My word, Marg said youd changed, but I didnt believe it! I remember you striding through the squareall straight-backed, the boys gaping in awequeenly, truly! Now I see you running about after Victor like his mother, not his wife. Victor, your hat! Victor, dont forget your lunchbox! Victor, let me do that!
At first, Jennifer took offense, then found herself smiling. Ron was spot on.
Yes, Im a mother-hen, arent I? she nodded. But but I like caring for people, Ron. It makes me feelneeded.
And look whats happenedyour Victors tired of you fussing! We men want a chase, we want to hunt, to be wolves not lapdogs! Some comfort is fine, but dont stifle the flame, Jennifer Mary! Since Michael moved out, youve put all your motherly love into Victorand now, more spirited women are snapping him up. He feels alive with them, you see
But Jennifer didnt see. Or wouldnt. How could it have come to this? Shed poured her life into her family, and for what? Only to lose herself
Shed left teaching a decade agomore time to see Victor off in the mornings, no more marking or staff meetings, only peace and home. For a while, some students came for tutoring, but Victor, ill once with pneumonia, found their coming and going noisyso she saw them off, preferring his rest.
Shed stopped singing while cleaning, stopped listening to the radio, gave up painting because Victor disliked the smell of linseed oil. Her canvases went to the attic, her brushes to a drawer, oil down the drain.
And after that, Jennifer Mary, you turned into a muddle! she muttered at her reflection in the glass.
Manicure? When, with cooking to do?
New frocks? For what, they never went anywhere.
Heels? Why the heels, youll ruin your veins! Victor scoffed once, so away they went, too.
Friends stopped calling, parted quickly on the phone. Michael, her son, dropped by once a month, ate, left with Tupperware, seldom called.
That was all. The end.
Buck up, Jenny! Youve still life left in you! Youre the pride of the roses, our own lily! Pull yourself togetherelse Victor will keep riding the bus with other women! Ron tapped the table with a warning finger. And those pasties, Jennydivine! Ah, if I were eighteen againId be after you, make no mistake!
And off he went. Leaving Jennifer alone.
Victor returned home late, tipsy, dishevelled, wafting perfume and wine.
Conference dragged on, he muttered, handing over his briefcase, wincing as he threw out his back. Pour us a cup, will you. And some potatoes, with a drop of gin. Jenny, why are you just standing?
Jennifer left the briefcase where it was; she told him to move aside, she needed to make room for her suitcase.
Where are you off to? Whats going on? Victor gawped, taken aback by the sight of his wife in a chic dress, hair swept up, earrings glinting, new sandals on her feet.
Im going away for work. Youre on your own, now. With gin, with tearsup to you. Jennifer shrugged.
And the potatoes? My shirt for tomorrow? Victor demanded.
For a moment, Jennifer waveredalmost headed to the bedroom to iron his shirtthen stopped.
Do it yourself. Or ask her to come. I dont mind, Victor. If youre happy, so be it. Goodbye, Victor. Its time for me.
She fluttered from the flat, fumbling only slightly on the stairs because the suitcase handle pinched her hand. Soon heels echoed down the staircase, her summery dress twirled away in the dusk, a cab revved in the drivethen all was still.
Victor staggered to the banister, leaned out, wanting to call after her, but only let out a moan as pain stabbed his back and his eyes blurred with tears.
Jeeeeennny he croaked.
Where was Jenny now? Shed rub liniment into his aching back, wrap him in a scratchy wool blanket, cuddle up warm and quiet beside him
…Fiona? Is that you? he wheezed into the phone, still groaning. Yes, its Victor… I know I shouldnt call, butmy back, Fiona! Some ointment, perhaps and something to eat I cant make it to the kitchen, Fi! Were not strangersare we?
The receiver grunted something about dialling 999 for the doctor, then gave a busy tone. Fiona wouldnt be comingwouldnt rub his back, iron his shirts, never warm his side. She was too proud, too self-sufficient. She was not Jenny, not in the slightest. Nightmare
He crawled to the kitchen, saw the cold pasties on the plate, and groaned. Not a nightmarea disaster. And hed done it all himself! Oh
…Jennifer returned midday, trailing a doctor and a bouquet of roses. Shed bought them herself and was fussing to arrange them in a crystal vase. She smelled of perfume and a little cigarette smoke. Yes, Jennifer smokeda little, at times of great trouble.
Just a moment, Doctor, dont inject yet! Jennifer called, pausing the doctors hand with the needle.
Her husband groaned, writhing in pain.
What is it? asked the doctor.
One moment. Victor, what did you promise her? Lets not pretendwomen like that dont dally for nothing, and youre too old for her, Jennifer leaned over her pale, sweating husband.
Im not old! Im in my prime!
His pension, finished the doctor. So what did you promise? Speak up, or Ill have to leave, Im very busy!
The job. The promotion. But shell get nothing! Nothing! I was wrongJenny, Im sorry, I was so wrong! Only you! Only you matter! Victor babbled. Forgive me! Forgive me, do you hear? She gets nothing!
Oh, shell get both. Youre a man, Victor, and a mans word counts. Give her the job and the promotion, or shell think less of youand so shall I. And you, youll resign. I dont care where to, youll muddle through. And for your information, Im going back to work next week. The iron is on the shelf, shirts are in the wash: do as you will. Unhappy? Divorce me. Understand?
Victor gasped, rolled his eyes, wiped sweat from his brow, and nodded. His back throbbed, Jennifer was torturing him, the doctor was on her side, and now here was Mr Green leering at him in the doorway. Any minute now, Mrs Green would arrive, and hed never live it down.
I understand. I understand. Pleasejust give me the shot already, you monsters, or Ill perish! he sighed.
Jennifer nodded approvingly, and the doctor administered his aid.
Fiona was delighted, if not thrilledher thrown-together thesis passed with top marks, she had her doctorate, a fine new job. And all thanks to that silly old man, Victor.
She now paid him no mind, looked away pointedly in the corridor, ignored his greetings. Why shouldnt she? His wife had made clear enough that that promotion was not to be meddled with, nor her job, unless she wanted trouble. Fiona would find someone else, no doubt.
Victor resigned; people gossiped about itwhy quit such a solid, lucrative post? He just shrugged, mentioning once hed given his word. To whom and for what, no one knew.
At his leaving do, he hosted a lavish party, brought his wife, Jennifer, resplendent in her pearls, danced a tango with her, and looked at her oh, how he lookedway hed never looked at Fiona. Why? What is it about Jennifer Mary?
Quite simply, she was everything. The very air Victor had breathed all those yearstaken for granted until it was gone. Now he realised what hed lost. Not just a warm back or a clever hand. Jennifer remained to him an unfinished book: mysterious, bittersweet, and as luscious as the July strawberries hed once fed her by the seaside. A book never to be finished or closed. Bless the day it stayed that way.
As for Fionaperhaps shed grow into her own story, or find her own reader, someday. Life would tellAnd Jennifer? She returned to teaching, to music, to laughter in her kitchen and canvases bright with wild colours. The world, she discovered, was neither waiting nor watchingshe was free. Sometimes, over tea with Mrs Green, shed retell the day she ran off in a summer dress, both women cackling until tears ran down their cheeks.
She baked for herself now: tiny pies, sweet and savoury, arranged artfully on blue china, savoured by the window in the amber light. Occasionally, Michael would visit and stay longer than before, curious about the shift in her step, the twinkle in her eye.
On quiet evenings, Jenny would pass Victors flathe kept it tidy enough, learned to starch his shirts. At first, she pitied him, but soon found she didnt need to. Some books ended, others began.
With Tibbles curled at her feet and music drifting through her rooms, Jennifer Mary opened to the middle of her own story, pen poised, heart alive. For she knewat lastshe didnt need an ending, but the courage for a thousand bright beginnings.
