The Photographer's Wife Page 27

  “That’s great news.”

  “It is,” Tony says, proudly. “It must mean they trust me, if they’re taking my pictures without even seeing them.”

  “Yes. I think that’s exactly what it means.”

  Tony stares into her eyes for a moment. His regard seems to hold a question.

  “What?” Barbara laughs.

  “I know it’s late and you’re half asleep and everything,” Tony says. “But you don’t fancy a bit, do you?”

  Barbara laughs nervously, both because it’s been months since they made love (such things virtually ceased when Jonathan was born and never really picked up again) and because the answer, surprisingly, is yes. She does “fancy a bit.”

  By way of an answer, because she could never say ‘yes’ to sex, Barbara leans across the pillow and pecks her husband on the lips.

  “Hum,” Tony murmurs, shuffling across the bed and sliding one knee over her legs. “Thank God for that then. ‘Cos I’m feeling horny as hell.”

  ***

  Barbara is slowly, methodically buttering bread. Sophie and Tony are sleeping and Jonathan is eating his breakfast in the dining room whilst reading a picture book. He’s hardly a rowdy child but all the same, these moments when the house is quiet are rare and precious, tiny oases in the midst of the screaming and banging that is a home with children. In the middle of the emotional turmoil that is Barbara’s life right now, she needs these moments of silence every bit as much as she needs food or drink.

  “What you making?” It’s Tony’s voice and Barbara looks up to see him in the doorway looking sleepy. Her moment is over.

  “Sandwiches!” she says. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” She adds the sweetheart in order to soften the sentence. Her tone, she fears, was harsh.

  Tony shakes his head. “No, not really,” he replies. “Not yet. So what are the sandwiches for?”

  Barbara pauses her buttering operation, puts down the knife and turns to face her husband. She has detected something dishonest in his voice and wants to take the time and space to think about what it means. “You know what they’re for,” she says. “They’re for Hyde Park. For the festival thing.”

  “Yes,” Tony says, still sounding fake. “Yeah, about that... I thought I might go on my own.”

  “What?” Barbara asks, then, “Why?”

  Tony wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure it will be a good place for kids,” he says.

  Barbara laughs lightly. “Tony, it’s Mary Whitehouse and Cliff Richard! How bad can it be?”

  Jonathan has just appeared from the dining room, peering around his father’s legs. “Hi Dad,” he says, and Tony reaches down and rests a big hand on his blond mop of hair. “What time are we leaving?”

  “I... We’re just discussing that,” Barbara tells him. “Go and get your breakfast finished and–”

  “I finished.”

  “Then go and play for a bit. I’ll come and get you once we’ve decided.”

  Jonathan looks dubious but leaves the room without a word.

  “As I was saying,” Barbara says, “It’s Mary Whit–”

  “I know they’re supposed to be the moral majority and everything,” Tony interrupts. “But they’re not actually that nice. There’s lots of people they don’t like and lots of people who don’t like them. There might be protests. It might get nasty.”

  Barbara sighs and lets her shoulders droop. She’s been living on her nerves ever since Sophie was born, doubly so since her mother fell ill. She doesn’t have any energy reserves available to deal with Tony’s (frequent) changes of plan. “Then can we all do something else, please?” she asks. “Can we all just go somewhere as a family? I’ve made a picnic and everything.”

  “Look,” Tony says. “Why don’t you take the kids to a park? Not to Hyde park, obviously but somewhere else. And I’ll go take some snaps and then come and join you?”

  “One day a week, Tony,” Barbara says. “We get to see you one day a week.”

  “I know. That’s why I’ll get this out of the way and I’ll come join you.”

  Barbara sighs deeply – a sigh of submission. She simply doesn’t have the energy to argue. “Where?” she asks. “When?”

  “What about Hackney Marshes? By that kiosk cafe thing.”

  “Fine. At twelve?”

  “Three maybe?”

  Barbara glances at the kitchen clock. It’s just before nine.

  “I’ve got to get into town and back,” Tony pleads. “I need time to take photos too. It’s a big event.”

  “And I have to be at the hospital at five. You know that.”

  “Two, then. How about two?”

  Barbara shakes her head gently, as if to shake away the grain of a bad mood, as if to dislodge this seed of a bad day, already taking root just a few minutes before nine. “Fine,” she says. “Just don’t be late, OK?”

  Tony eats a slice of toast and downs a cup of tea, then, (Barbara suspects, more to escape her anger than for any other reason) precipitates himself out of the flat in record time. The second the front door closes behind him, Jonathan reappears. “Dad’s gone!” he says.

  “I know.”

  “I thought we was going with him,” he complains. “I thought we was going to the park.” Jonathan too has learned about Tony’s changes of plans and he doesn’t like them any more than Barbara does.

  “We were going to the park,” Barbara corrects. “But he’s got to do a bit of work first. We’re going to meet him on Hackney Marshes instead.”

  Jonathan pulls a face. “I hate Hackney Marshes,” he says.

  “You do not! You like it there. We can watch all the people playing football.”

  “I want to go to Hyde Park,” he says, sounding stubborn.

  “I know. But today, we’re going to Hackney Marshes.”

  “We always go to Hackney Marshes. We never go to Hyde Park.”

  “I know, but–”

  “I want to go to Hyde Park,” Jonathan whinges, his bottom lip now jutting visibly.

  “And so would I!” Barbara snaps, her voice trembling as she loses control. “But we’re not going to Hyde Park, we’re going to bloody Hackney Marshes. So go and bloody well get dressed! Jesus!”

  Jonathan glares at her for a second, a look of utter hatred in his eyes, then turns and runs away. Barbara, already regretting losing her temper, sinks into a chair at the yellow formica table and covers her eyes with the palms of her hands. “I’m just so tired,” she mumbles.

  She stares into the middle distance for a moment, then thinks, Tony isn’t going to come to Hackney Marshes. Of course he isn’t. He isn’t going to come at all.

  She shakes her head again, then muttering, “Bugger him,” she stands. She turns to the doorway and calls out, “Jonathan? Jonathan?!” No reply. The boy will be sulking. He’s an expert sulker. He’s very much her child. “Jonathan,” she calls again. “How about Finsbury Park?”

  Jonathan’s face, still glum looking but now ready to be wooed, appears around the bedroom door. “Finsbury Park?” he says. “Why not Hyde Park?”

  “It’s called a compromise,” Barbara says.

  “If we do,” Jonathan says, getting into the spirit of the negotiation, “Can I take my boat?”

  “Yes. As long as you carry it all the way there and all the way back, you can take your boat.”

  “OK, then,” Jonathan says, then, “Mum?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sophie’s really smelly. I think she’s done a poo.”

  ***

  Finsbury Park is, today, a postcard cliché of English summertime. Sunlight dapples the lawns, children run around tree-trunks and young couples lie side-by-side staring at the sky. Barbara is surprised to find herself feeling happy and wonders why she even wanted Tony to come with them in the first place. Why be so obstinate? she wonders. Isn’t life that much easier when you decide to want what is rather than trying to bend life to fit what you want instead?

  She lifts Jonath
an, whose mood has also transformed, over the railings of the duck pond – she pretends not to notice the dirty looks from the old-lady on the bench. She watches as he launches his sailing boat. “Make sure you don’t lose it, son,” she calls out, and that word, son, feels like a blessing today. She feels like a Ladybird book mother with her Ladybird book son, sailing his boat on the lake. “If it goes out to the middle, we’ll never get it back,” she warns.

  “It won’t,” Jonathan says. “The wind’s going the wrong way.” And sure enough, because today is, despite inauspicious beginnings, a good day, the boat cuts a graceful arc and returns towards the shore.

  Barbara lifts Sophie from the pushchair and crouches around her so that they can throw bread to the ducks together. She hears the woman on the bench tutting, even as Sophie gurgles gorgeously.

  Eventually, unable to bear such anarchy any longer, the woman speaks. “Your boy shouldn’t be on the other side of the railings. And it says quite clearly not to feed the ducks.” She obviously has no idea how unexpected Barbara’s happiness is in this moment, nor how precious, but then how could she?

  Barbara decides that she will not let this woman spoil her day. “Hello,” she replies. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “The park attendant won’t be happy if he sees you,” the woman says. “He won’t be happy at all.”

  “No,” Barbara says, then, “Come on Jonathan. Let’s head around that way. It’s nicer around there.”

  Once boats have been sailed and ducks have been fed, and crotchety old women have been ignored and left to their own devices, they head to a spot of semi-shade beneath a poplar tree. Barbara spreads a blanket so that Sophie can crawl around and unpacks the sandwiches.

  “Is that one for Dad?” Jonathan asks, pointing at the third parcel.

  “It was,” Barbara admits, “But he won’t be needing it now. We can share it if you’re hungry.”

  “He’s not coming?”

  “No, he isn’t,” she says, wondering guiltily if Tony is heading to Hackney Marshes right now.

  ***

  At five, they arrive at the hospital. Minnie is sleeping; Glenda is at her bedside.

  “How is she?” Barbara whispers, gently squeezing her sister’s shoulder.

  Glenda glances at Jonathan who is watching them attentively and, by way of reply, almost imperceptibly shakes her head.

  “Gran?” Jonathan asks. “Do you want to see my b—”

  “Shh!” Barbara admonishes. “She’s asleep. You can see that she’s asleep.”

  “It’s a funny time to sleep,” Jonathan replies, lowering his voice. “Is she ill?”

  “You know full-well she’s ill. She’s very ill indeed which is why she’s sleeping.”

  “Is she going to die?” he asks.

  Barbara is momentarily lost for words.

  “Is she?” he asks again.

  “Everyone is going to die eventually,” Glenda replies quietly, stepping in to save her sister. “No one lives forever. Now, why don’t we go down to that little garden? We can talk there without disturbing Gran.”

  “I did come to see Mum, really,” Barbara says. She doesn’t really want to talk to Glenda today. She doesn’t want to hear about Glenda’s new, wonderful boyfriend and she doesn’t want to have explain why Tony isn’t with her either.

  “OK,” Glenda says understandingly. “You sit with Mum for a bit and I’ll take the kids for a stroll. How’s that?”

  Barbara glances at her sister and blinks slowly. “Thanks Glen,” she says.

  Once aunty Glenda has vanished with the children, Barbara takes her seat and reaches for her mother’s hand. “Mum?” she says, patting it gently. “Mum?”

  Glenda believes that Minnie should be left to sleep whenever she wants, which is pretty much all the time these days, but Barbara wants to make the most of her time with her – needs this time with her. The idea that time is suddenly a limited quantity and that it may soon run out is unbearable to her. “Mum?” she says, more loudly and Minnie opens her eyes and turns her head towards her. The whites of her eyes are yellow and her regard is pale and watery. “Barbara?” she croaks.

  “How are you feeling today, Mum?”

  Minnie works her mouth a little before she manages to speak. “Tired,” she finally says.

  “Are you in any pain?”

  Minnie laughs. It’s only a weak laugh but she does actually laugh – her eyes smile – and Barbara can breathe again, because momentarily her mother is back. “You have no idea,” Minnie says through the smile.

  “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

  Minnie shakes her head. “I’m saving that for later,” she says. “I’m saving it for the end.”

  “Saving what?”

  “The morphine,” Minnie replies. “They say it’s bloody lovely.”

  “Oh Mum!”

  Minnie is still smiling but there’s a sadness in her eyes that’s unmistakable. "Where’s that ‘usband of yours?” she asks.

  “Tony? He, um, had to go to work.”

  Minnie nods and looks enquiringly into her daughter’s eyes. “But you’re still together?”

  “Of course we’re still together.”

  Minnie nods. “Then it all worked out, after all?”

  Barbara knows what she means. And yes, by her mother’s standards, it’s true. It’s just that... “Yes,” she replies. “Yes, Mum. It all worked out just fine.”

  Tony does not return that evening and he’s still not there the next morning when Barbara leaves to walk Jonathan to school. When she gets back home, the recently installed telephone is ringing, and she fumbles with her keys as she struggles to open the door in time. It’s the Mirror on the line.

  “I’m ever so sorry,” Barbara tells Tony’s manager. “He’s been vomiting all night. A stomach bug, I think. I was just about to phone you.”

  She has just finished the phone call when he appears in the hallway looking as crumpled as a tramp and reeking of beer.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Barbara asks, more distraught than angry.

  “Just... don’t...” Tony says, half raising one hand in a stop sign.

  Barbara steps aside as he heads to the lavatory and then again as he returns. He pauses before her. His pupils are dilated, his eyelids droopy. He looks half-dead. Barbara frowns at him.

  “I…” he says.

  “Yes?”

  “Look, I...”

  “Yes?” Barbara asks, struggling to keep the anger from her voice. “You what?”

  “I dunno. I suppose I just want to say…”

  “Yes?”

  Tony closes his eyes, then wobbles and has to reach out to steady himself on the wall. He hiccups. “Thanks,” he finally says. “That’s all.”

  “Thanks? For what?”

  “For being so understanding,” he slurs. “I don’t deserve you.”

  Barbara glares at him. “But I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.”

  Tony stands swaying for a moment and then, with a dismissive wave of one hand, he turns and staggers in the direction of the bedroom. “Forget it then,” he says, casting the words over his shoulder.

  Once the door to the bedroom has closed behind him, Barbara continues to stand and stare at the empty hallway. “Yes, Mum,” she says quietly. “Yes, it all worked out just fine.”

  ***

  It is the week before Christmas and the forecast is for snow. Barbara can’t decide if she hopes for, or does not hope for snow. She loves snow and yet in almost equal measure she loathes the damned stuff. If it snows, she’ll be able to play with Jonathan and Sophie in the tiny shared garden. If it snows enough, they could even build a snowman, their first ever. If it snows, Tony might not be able to get in to work.

  He has been doing lots of overtime these past few weeks and Barbara is (finally) starting to miss him. Christmas is nearly here and she feels an urgent need for her husband to be here with her in front of the fire.

  T
he trouble is, of course, that they also need the money that all this overtime brings, so perhaps it’s better overall if it doesn’t snow. Children cost a fortune to clothe and feed and though Barbara has recently started doing alterations for a local menswear store, it brings in little more than pin money. With inflation running at almost ten percent, the cost of everything is going through the roof, especially since they introduced decimal currency and all the shopkeepers rounded up their prices.

  It’s nine pm, the children are in bed, and Tony is late home again. As she finishes ironing the turn-ups she has just sewn onto the trousers of a very expensive checkered suit, she tries to imagine who would wear such as suit, who could afford such a dandy outfit in these hard times. The suit is pretty much Tony’s size and she wonders, briefly, if he’d be game enough to try it on. She would love to see him dressed up like that.

  The job finished, she says out loud, “At least that’s another ten bob.” She forces herself to mentally convert this, then says, “Well, at least that’s another fifty pence.” She talks to herself more and more these days and feels vaguely concerned about the fact. She folds the ironing board, then, this stowed away, she crosses to the window, looks out at the darkened street and tries not to think about Minnie. Her first Christmas without her mother. Yes, she needs her husband home for Christmas. She has never felt so alone.

  A spluttering sound comes from the end of the street and she turns to look, hopeful that it’s the noise of Tony’s motorbike but it’s just an Allegro with a failing exhaust pipe. She’s surprised at her mistake. She has come to believe that she can sense Tony’s bike from miles away, often before she can even hear it.

  The Allegro passes by and right behind it is Tony. He turns toward the house, waves at her and wobbles and, though she’s unsure if he can see her through his misty visor or not, she waves back. She crosses to the fireplace and opens the damper and watches as the coals begin to redden. He’ll be frozen.

  The front door opens, then slams, and Tony appears in the doorway, icy air emanating from his clothes, cooling the room. “I am so effing cold,” he says, then, “Hello.”