Unfinished Book
Right, Jane, Im off! No need to see me out. Ill be back late! Lay out my blue shirt and trousers for tomorrow, dont forget! And make sure you pick them up from the dry cleaners! shouted Victor from the hallway. He pulled on his trench coat, checked himself in the mirror, grabbed his hat, and headed out, shutting the door with a bang.
He slammed it so hard that the panes in the open window rattled.
Draft thought Jane, flicking off the tap, wiping her hands on her apron, and peering out of the kitchen. Everything was as it always wasthe sunlit hallway ending at the front door, family photos on the walls, wallpaper with cheerful stripes, Janes coat hanging by the stairs. And then
Jane frowned.
A parcel! Her husband had left his parcel behind, and there were the pasties inside, the ones shed got up at the crack of dawn to make. Jane had made them herselfeggs and spring onions, just as Vic liked them. Shed baked them especially for today, as Victor was due out on a site visit. There wouldnt be a proper meal out there, and Jane always thought a bit of home cooking was best in any situation.
She tore off her apron, straightened her hair, and without changing out of her house dresssimple, with short puffed sleeves, and that annoying coffee stain at the hemshe scooped up the warm parcel like a baby, pressed it to her chest, and dashed out, at least remembering to grab the keys. She hurried down the stairs, clutching the banister, polished smooth from years of people just like her hurrying after those they loved. Fourth floor, third, second
Jane could have, like so many other wives, just leaned out the window to bellow at her husband when he came out the front door. But that didnt seem quite proper. Shed take the parcel to him herself and, while she was at it, say goodbye, offer him her cheek, let Vic give her a peck with those dry lips, nodding as if to say, Time to go, dear
She was breathless by the time she hit the courtyard, the door banging into the brickwork as she burst outnot easy at forty-nine, not as easy as it had been at twenty.
She scanned for his familiar figure: the man in the slate-grey mac and that light-coloured hat.
Vic was a fan of long coats, always left unbuttoned so the wind could whip at the hem, flapping like wings. As for hats, he had plentyone for any season. Jane kept them looking good, cleaned them as best she could, and bought new ones when the time came. She fussed over him.
Hats are dapper! Victor would argue when their son Mikenamed after his grandadrolled his eyes at his dads old-fashioned taste. You youngsters, you dont get it, all rubber trainers and polyester! No sense of style!
Where was Vic?
There he was, already at the gate, melting into the busy sunlit street. If Jane didnt hurry, hed hop on his bus and vanish, and then
She dashed across the tarmac, nodding as she went to the elderly neighbours who were basking in the sunlight. They watched Jane dash past, and their faces lit up as if warm family love was something to be celebrated.
Whats the rush then, dear? called old Mrs Green to Janes slender back.
Lunch! Victors forgotten his pasties! Jane shouted back with a wave.
Mrs Green grinned and noddedpasties were always good, and love even better. She seemed quite pleased about the whole thing.
Jane hurried through the gate, ready to call out, but suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. Her shoulders dropped, the sunlight seemed to snap off, leaving only a darkness that made it almost hard to breathe. Janes head swam and she grabbed at the drainpipe.
Victor was stood at the bus stop, side-on. He was holding hands with a busty, much younger woman. She was laughing, tilting her shoulders flirtatiously, and Victor was grinning down at her as if hed never laughed that way in years. Then abruptly, the girl shrugged him off, shot him a dismissive look, and Victoroh, Victorleaned in even closer, desperate, reaching for her hand to kiss it. The woman tugged her well-manicured arm free, scowled as if shed just swatted a fly. Victor stiffened, angry, Jane thought, but then he seemed to droop, patting the girls back and offering her a sweet from his pocket. The girl (Jane couldnt help but think of her as that woman) laughed openly, let him give her the treat.
Jane felt sick. God! Victor, a respected, grown mannearly old, in fact!groveling after a woman half his age. Shameful!
The woman wore a summery dress, navy blue with little white polka dots that made Janes eyes ache. A matching ribbon in her hair, updo carefully set, sandals on her feet, neat as you like.
Janes eyes darted between Victor and the woman, not sure what to do with the parcel, the daft pasties, and her whole life
The bus pulled up, people rushed forward; Victor gave his pretty-in-polka-dots companion a hand climbing aboard, and the doors snapped shut.
As the bus rumbled away, Jane thought for sure Victor was looking right at her. She suddenly felt horribly self-conscious about her house dress, worn slippers, and that parcel of pasties.
Jane spun on her heel and marched back, past the benches where the neighbours in their flowery sundresses were now coatless, basking, past Mrs Green by the flowerbeds.
Not quick enough, Jane? Didnt catch him? Mrs Green asked, pulling her fag from her mouth, nodding at the parcel.
Shed purposely called Janes lunch tupperwareshed never really approved of Janes all-consuming care for her husband, that warm, motherly fussing.
Didnt make it, Jane muttered absently.
Shame. Foodll go off, Mrs Green said with certainty. Ill send Jack round. Youll be in, yeah?
Jane shrugged, not really caring.
Thats settled, then. He likes your pasties, and I cant be bothered with baking. Just wait for him.
And with that Mrs Green huffed off to chase out the daft groundskeeper whod driven his tractor too near her precious petunias.
But Jane wasnt listening, she wandered back into the cool entrance, footsteps echoing up the marble stairs, sniffling in between the creaks of the old door, finally slumping back inside.
That was it. That was it. The end of her family, her warmth, the quiet certainty, trust, everything shed believed in. Never mind peoplethats too broadher husband. Husband meant something foundational, the one person her mother had trusted to cherish and protect her. So what now?
Jane plopped down on the hallway stool, the parcel slumping from her arms, pasties tumbling out. The cat, Tom, wandered up, winding through her legs, purring for attention. Jane didnt notice. She was still out there by the drainpipe, watching the blue spotted dress, and Victor, tears streaking down her cheeks, hot and bitter. Strangely, she found a kind of satisfaction in letting herself sit there and be miserable, for once not straightening her back, not wearing the eternal smile of a happy wife. It was almost sweet, wallowing in plain old misery.
No idea how long she sat there, but soon enough, the front door creaked again. Tom darted away, skittish.
The door crept open, and there was old Jack, Mrs Greens husband. With his bulbous nose, pockmarked cheeks, big lips, shiny curls, and red neck, he always seemed slightly out of place here, among the educated folk. But he was one of oursa bit eccentric, but clever, as Vic liked to say.
Hes an artist, Jane, and a gallery manager, too! Creative types are all a bit bonkersif not, theyd be ordinary, wouldnt they Victor always said.
Jane wiped her tears and looked up into Jacks big sky-blue eyes. She thought absently hed have made quite the vicar if he hadnt been an artist.
Mr. Jackson? Is that you? she asked, staring up at him.
Who did you think it was? Jack looked himself up and down. Its me, Jane. Mrs Green sent mesaid youve some extra pasties? Our kitchens a mess, shes changing all the cabinets, and Ive been left to starve. She says to eat at the caff, but Im fed up
He gave an exaggerated sigh, his curls bobbing as he squeezed his broad frame into the golden sunlight slanting over the hallway.
Hang onbetter take my shoes off, Jack fussed, sounding completely rustic, mangling every other word. Theyre wet, stepped in a puddle. Best take my socks off, toodont want to ruin your floors. He looked down at his feet. Just feetenormous, fair enough. Socks were the usual kind, striped at the top, good ones from the corner shop. Except just a little hole at the big toe.
Jane reached to take his wet shoes to the balcony to dry, acting on autopilot.
Oi, leave them there! Jack barked, so Jane froze, looking lost.
But youll catch your death if they dont dry out, she whispered.
My body, my business! Leave ’em! Jack insisted, but there was humour behind his eyes.
Still, Jane put his shoes in a sunny spot on the balcony, shooed Tom away, sighed, and heard Jack rummaging in the kitchen.
Jane! Jane, love! Any chance of a cuppa? Not had a proper brew in ages, you know the dark kind, with a slice of lemon? Make us one, would you! Im knackered He stretched out his long legs in the doorway, blocking her way.
I will, dont worry Jane said softly, flicking the hob on and thunking the kettle down, but her head was a blizzardcold and hurt and all muddled up.
Vic Victor, her husband. How could he just do that? Two steps from home and already flirting with someone else!
She blushed, wondering just how far Victors flirtations had gone.
No, no, surely, this is just nothing! Bit of coincidence, quick hello, happens! her mothers voice reassured her in her head. Hell be back, act normal, be warm, show you care! Hell forget the others, he will!
Meanwhile, Jack fumed at her.
Whats this, then? Pouring me old tea? Needs to be fresh, Jane, see? For a proper guest! Chuck that in the sink! He grabbed the little porcelain potstill warm from breakfastlifted the lid with blunt fingers, sniffed it, wrinkled his nose. No, Jane, thats for the drain, that is!
Oh, but its just made! Honestly, try itstill nice! Jane protested, but then sighed, giving in.
It was no bother to make a new pot. That was easy. But Vic How could she go on living with him now?
Soon the kettle whistled; hot water poured in a thin stream into the pot, and the kitchen filled with that strong, slightly sharp scent from the elephant brand Indian tea.
Now thats more like it! And Jane, bring out the fancy cups, will youthose blue ones with the gold trim. I love ’em. Yes, bring those, dont be stingy! Jack ordered, shooting her a mischievous look.
Weve got a new set, Vic brought it back from Portsmouth, nice cups, youll like them! Jane protested, but then jumped at his fist slamming the table.
I want the blue and gold! Always drank from those, your mum too! Just bring ’em. And the pasties. Lay ’em out, Ill have Vics if he doesnt want ’em. And while I eat, sew up me socks, would you? Gal wont do it, says the kitchen comes first, but my toes poking out, seehurts! He waved his socks at her.
Jane, once a respected teacherthough shed quit years ago for Victors sakea poised and clever woman, glared at the socks, barely able to hide her scorn. Yet her hand reached out anyway, ready to get the job done.
Jack, seeing her hesitation, banged the table again, this time with his fist, seeming to grow even larger, like a bear in the room.
Whats wrong with you, Jane?! Dont you have any self-respect? Youre the mistress of this house, and you let me order you about like a schoolgirl! For heavens sake! Didnt believe what Gal said about you, but nowlook at you! You used to be a proper queen, walking through the garden like even the sparrows paused just to watch! And now? Anyone could walk all over you!
He flailed his arms, worked himself into a Huff. The blue and gold cups rattled on the table, the pasties nearly rolled off their plate.
So why did you come, then? Why are you saying all this? I cant deal with it now! Viches out there, at the bus stop, with another woman I saw it all. I justI Jane started to cry again, tears streaking onto the tablecloth.
Then it all went deathly quiet, even the breeze at the window died, even the clocks ticked a little less. Janes grief landed like stones in a pond.
Jack exhaled, making a gruff noise.
Thats exactly why, Jane. Vics off chasing someone else because youve gone from queen to, well, doormat. You used to keep even your worst students in check. I rememberyou had a look that would make anyone behave. Even Iwell, never mind me, but you had something. Now look at you, dashing after him with packed lunches like his mum rather than his wife! Vic, your hat! Vic, your box! Vic, dont fetch the potatoes, Ill get them” Jack mimicked.
Jane was annoyed at first, then cracked a smile. He was right. She really did say those things.
Im a hen, is that it? Yes, I suppose I am, Jane admitted softly. But You see, I like caring for people, for Victor. I like looking after my family, thats all. Feels right.
Thats the trouble! Maybe youve smothered all the life out of him. We menwell, were hunters, Jane, wolves! We need a bit of challenge. Its all well and good to have the socks and the scarf, but not too much. Mike moved out, so all that mothering ended up aimed at poor Vic, and he got boredwent off after someone lively. He feels young with them, see?
Jane didnt want to understand, not really. Shed devoted her life to themher familyand now it all felt like it was for nothing. Like shed lost herself.
Shed left teaching a decade ago, to see Victor off each day, no more sleepless nights over marking or meetings, just a clean and comfortable home. She tutored a bit on the side, but when Victor got pneumonia and was home, he said it bothered himtoo noisy, too many germsso she stopped that, too.
Stopped singing while she cleaned, stopped listening to the radio, even gave up painting when Victor declared the smell of linseed oil unbearable. The canvases went on top of the wardrobe, brushes packed away, the oil binned.
And then what happened? Jane said to her reflection. You completely lost yourself.
Manicures? When, if there was soup to make and pies to bake?
New dresses? Why, when they never went anywhere?
Heels? Why are you tottering round on those, Jane? Can see your veins now! Victor once scoffed. So the heels went up on the shelf too.
Friends rarely rang; her son Mike showed up once a month, wolfed down meals, left with Tupperware, and never called.
And that was thatend of story.
Dont give up, Jane! Youre still young, you are! Our rose, our lily! Perk up, show some pride, or Vic will keep wheeling round town with someone else on the bus! Jack tapped the table for emphasis. And your pasties are brilliantGod, if I was eighteen again Id be after you, swear to it!
And with that, Jack left. Jane was alone
Victor got home late, a bit tipsy and looking rough, heavy with the scent of perfume and wine.
Conference ran on, he grunted, shoving his briefcase at Jane and rubbing his aching back, Make me a cuppa. And potatoes, with a dash of vodka. Jane, why are you just standing?
Jane didnt take the case, told him to step aside because she needed to put down her suitcase.
Where are you off to? Whats going on? Victor spluttered, startled by Jane in her shell updo, earrings sparkling, swanky tan dress, and sandals.
Im off on business. Youll managepotatoes or not, on your own, Jane said, shrugging.
And my shirt? Wholl iron my shirt for tomorrow? Victor protested.
Jane hesitated, thought about retreating to do the ironing, then waved it off.
You can do it yourself. Or let her come round, I wont mind. If she suits you better, then let her. Goodbye, Victor. Its time I went!
She swept out, fiddling with her suitcase handle on the stairsawkward, digging into her palmbut then her heels clicked down each step and her dress shimmered in the dusk. She flagged down a cab outside, and then stillness.
Victor lunged for the stairs, leaned over the railing ready to call out, but only managed to gasp as a jolt of pain shot up his spine and tears sprang to his eyes.
Jaaaaane he croaked.
Where are you, Jane? Youd be massaging my back, rubbing in ointment, wrapping me up in your scratchy scarf, sitting next to me, holding me warm
Fiona? That you? he muttered into the phone. Yes, yes, I know Im not supposed to call, but my back, Fiona! I need helpand a proper meal Cant even make it to the kitchen, Fiona! But were not strangers, are we? What?
The line snorted that he should call a doctor, not her, and then just rang out. Fiona wouldnt come, not massage him, fix his shirt, nothing. She was too proud, too independent. She wasnt Jane, not at all. Nightmare
Victor finally shuffled to the kitchen. The pasties sat cold on the plate. He groaned. Not just a nightmare, a disaster. And all by his own hand.
Jane came home the next day, flowers and a doctor in tow. Shed bought herself a bunch of roses and was arranging them in the crystal vase. She smelled of perfumeand a hint of cigarettes. Yes, Jane smoked, sometimes, when she was really rattled.
Wait, doctor, dont jab him just yet! Jane stopped the doctors hand with the syringe.
Victor groaned, not feeling remotely better.
What is it now? the doctor asked.
One moment. Victor, what did you promise her? Fiona, or whatever her name isyoure too old for her, what did you dangle? Jane asked, peering at his sweaty face.
Im not old! Im in my primeI”
State pension, the doctor finished for him. What did you promise her? Out with it, or Im off!
A job. A qualification. Nothing more! I made a mistake, Jane, realised I was completely wrong about her! Only you, Jane, I swearplease forgive me! Please, she wont get a thing!
Shell get what she was promised. Youre a man; you keep your word. She gets the job, the degree, so she doesnt walk away feeling cheated. And youyoull leave your office. Go find something else. Just know, next week Im back to work. Irons on the shelf, shirts are in the wash. Dont like it? File for divorce. Got it?
Victor nodded miserably, rolling sweat from his brow. His back was agony, Jane was running the show, the doctor and Jack were both there, even Mrs. Green might stick her head inno end to the humiliation.
Got it. Just get on with it, you monsters, or Ill pass out he whined.
Jane finally nodded with approval. The doctor did his job.
And Fiona? She was over the moon. The slapdash thesis passed, she got her shiny job and her letters after her name, all thanks to silly old Vic. But now Fiona barely even greeted him, avoided his eye. His wife had made it clearshe could lose the degree as quickly as shed got it! Time to move on.
Victor quit his job. Everyone wondered whysuch a cushy post. He never said, except once, only I gave my word to someone, not who or what.
At his leaving do, he brought Jane, dazzling in her diamonds, danced a tango with her, and looked at her straight onmore deeply than hed ever looked at Fiona. What was it about Jane?
It was everythingJane was the very air Victor breathed, unnoticed until he found himself in a vacuum. Turns out, after all these years, Jane was still an unread book, mysterious and rich, sweet and sharp, like the sun-ripened strawberries he used to feed her by the seaside when they were young. You never get to the last page. Maybe thats as it should be.
As for Fiona? She just wasnt ready for that kind of story, or maybe she never would be. Life goes on, eh?
