CHAPTER 6
Peter was right. The proceedings did take time, but at last the day of the wedding arrived. It was to be a quiet one, a simple affair with only a few friends to give support. John and his family were present, of course, as were Peter’s parents, looking slightly uncomfortable in the ornate church, doing their not very good best to follow an unfamiliar service. After the ceremony, the entire party drove to a nearby restaurant, where a meal had been ordered for the few guests attending. The usual set speeches consisting of the usual clichés having been given, the newly married couple set off on their honeymoon.
Midnight. The new bride lay awake, pondering on the meaning of life and about what it all meant. Nice girls didn’t. Well, she hadn’t before, even though Simon had tried. Now she had done so. Did that make her a bad girl? Naturally not. In marriage, it was permitted to do the things society said you mustn’t when still single, but which many people did anyway, even if they pretended otherwise.
It had been with a growing excitement that she had ordered Peter to wait in the hotel lobby for a while, until she readied herself for bed. Quite why this had to be done, she wasn’t certain, but fed on a diet of Hollywood films, it appeared to be the thing to do. During his absence, she undressed, took a bath, put on her new nightgown and climbed into bed. As the door opened, she hurriedly tweaked the top of her nightgown into a position that revealed a little more of her body. Not having so much to display, she felt the need to make the most of what she had. Well, he had undressed and climbed into bed with her. Shortly afterwards, very shortly afterwards, he had fallen asleep.
She sighed, looking at the sleeping figure beside her. She hadn’t known quite what to expect the first time, but somehow she had imagined something with a little more passion. Not that she was dissatisfied exactly. Just frustrated. Not a lot, but enough to make her feel unfulfilled. Well, perhaps it wasn’t fair to expect too much at first. Perhaps things would improve later, as they got to know each other better. She was glad she had hung on to her virginity, glad to have given it away to Peter, somewhat dubious at what seemed to be experience on his part. For a moment she wondered about that, but thrust the thought resolutely out of her mind. She was in no position to judge, after all. Just the same, although she hadn’t exactly expected fireworks, she felt she was owed a good deal more than a damp squib. Still pondering, she fell asleep, curled up beside her husband’s warm body.
The weeks and months rolled by. Catriona became steadily more and more frustrated, as Peter’s demands left her unsatisfied. It wasn’t that he was rough or in any way unreasonable, not even coming to her all that often. It was more that she felt used for his own benefit, without ever thinking of hers, coldly, like someone who lived and worked in a world of numbers. Even that, she thought, she could live with, if it wasn’t for his all too frequent absences from home. Pressures of work, he called it, and in the beginning it might even have been true. Later, Catriona wasn’t so sure.
Of course, building up his own future took time and energy, but it was a future that seemed to have no real place for his wife. A year after their marriage, Catriona gave birth to baby Jeanette, a quiet, placid little girl for the most part, but a girl that, like most babies, took all her mother’s spare energy, as well as a good deal she couldn’t really spare. To her disappointment, Peter took scarcely any interest in his diminutive daughter, apparently preferring to spend more and more time elsewhere. On the rare times he was at home in the evening, his conversation was only a series of grumbles and complaints about the noise and the dirt, the smells and mess, the eternal washing hung up to dry.
‘She’s only a baby, Peter. She can’t help making a mess. You wait until she grows up a bit. Things will get better.’
‘And what am I supposed to do until then?’ he demanded. ‘I need peace and quiet in order to work. I don’t get that in this house.’
‘She is your daughter, Peter. You might try to take a bit of interest.’
‘No thank you. I prefer mine older.’
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Catriona demanded.
‘Whatever you like. I’m going back to the office. It’s impossible to concentrate here.’
‘Peter!’ But it was too late. He had gone, with a slam of the door that awoke the baby. Catriona hurried to her, picked her up and tried to pacify her. She felt angry and ready to fight, but Peter wouldn’t even do that. Eighteen months of marriage and already she felt deserted. Listlessly, after putting the child back to sleep, she wandered upstairs and started sorting out the week’s washing. Emptying Peter’s pockets, she discovered a piece of paper with what was clearly a telephone number on it. That was common enough, and she put it to one side where Peter could see it. As she placed it on the dressing table top, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before - a woman’s name. Janet. She stopped breathing for a long moment. Janet. There was a typist by that name in Peter’s office. Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps it did, after all, mean something. Another woman? Possibly. Just one of the workers, but why carry her telephone number in his pocket? Feverishly she searched the telephone catalogue, although she knew the answer before looking. The number on the paper was none of the office numbers. She went cold, then hot with fury. Hurriedly, she dialled a number.
‘Hello, Eileen. Look, I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I really do have to go out for a while. Peter’s left some important papers at home and needs them in a hurry. Could I ask you to come in for half an hour while I pop out to the office? You will. Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.’
Eileen, a next door neighbour, arrived a few minutes later.
‘It’s very good of you,’ said Catriona. ‘She’s been fed and changed, so shouldn’t need anything. I won’t be long.’
She drove her car out of the garage and set off, driving carefully to Peter’s workplace, parking on the opposite side of the road, and looking at the closed door and darkened windows. Clearly there was nobody there. With renewed irritation, she drove back home, where she sat up until the early hours of the morning with dark thoughts buzzing around her mind. She was asleep by the time Peter came in. The time, she noticed as she surfaced briefly into consciousness, was after three o’ clock.
Catriona tackled Peter over the breakfast table, sitting with the baby in her lap, and trying to feed her at the same time. He was never so wide awake first thing in the morning, but as Catriona couldn’t say with any accuracy just what time he might be home in the evening, she thought it better to tackle the problem immediately.
‘You were late back last night,’ she said.
‘Yes.’ So, not exactly grumpy. Just not quite awake, as usual.
‘Did you have a lot of work to do?’
‘Quite a lot, yes.’
‘Poor Peter. You work far too long hours, don’t you.’ The sound of the voice was anything but sympathetic.
Peter glanced at his wife in irritation. ‘What is this? Are you trying to tell me something, because I haven’t got time to listen to nonsense? Especially this time of the morning.’
‘You mean that if I have something to say, I should get to the point?’
‘Precisely.’
‘All right. I will. I don’t know where you were last night, but you were not at the office.’
‘Wasn’t I?’ His face gave nothing away, although it was hard to tell when he lifted his mug of coffee to his lips, hiding part of his features.
‘No, you weren’t. I checked. I drove to the office, and it was closed. Everything was dark. There wasn’t a light on in the place.’
‘There are other places to work than the office. What are you getting at? And above all, why did you find it necessary to guard my movements?’
‘Janet.’
‘Janet?’
‘Yes, Janet’, said Catriona in a slightly dead tone of voice. ‘Is it the one you employ, or is this some other Janet? I ask in a spirit of curiosity, that’s all. I happened to find her name and telephone number on a piece of paper in your pocket. I know it’s not one of the office numbers, so I assume it’s her own, private number.’
‘It could be a client.’
‘Yes, I suppose it could be,’ she said.
‘But you wouldn’t believe it, I suppose,’ he said, looking at her steadily.
‘I would like to, but no, I don’t think I can.’
‘It’s the one I employ.’
‘You admit it?’
‘Admit what? It all depends on the question. The real question, that is. You haven’t asked it yet.’
‘You spent the night with her. And that’s not even a question.’ Although internally seething, Catriona was surprised to be able to keep her voice and face calm.
‘That’s right.’ The admission shook Catriona.
‘Which hotel did you use. I wish to know so as to cross it off my list of places to visit.’
‘No hotel,’ said Peter. ‘She has a house of her own. And very comfortable too. No screaming kids for a start.’ He rose from his chair and started to gather his things together.
‘You have the bare faced effrontery to stand there and tell me you spent the night with another woman? Do I mean nothing at all to you? Does Jeanette mean nothing to you?’
Peter’s eyes rolled upwards in exasperation. ‘You wanted to know. I told you. And to answer your other questions, not a lot, and nothing at all. I never cared much for children, and now I’ve been inflicted with one I suppose is my own, I find I actively dislike them. As for you... Well, I doubt if you want to hear.’
‘Say it, Peter. While you are at it, we might as well have it all.’
‘All right, I will. Just remember you asked for it. I married you because I thought you might be useful, because you seemed to have certain social and business connections. I was wrong. For once in my life I made a bad bargain. Your connections proved to be practically non existent, you have very little idea of how to conduct yourself in civilised society, and since that wretched child came along, you don’t even make an effort to be pleasant towards prospective clients. To be quite frank about it, you are a typical small tradesman’s daughter - a dead loss. All debit and no credit.’
‘Did I never mean anything to you then?’
Peter shook his head. ‘Not in the way you mean. Romance? That’s strictly for the magazines. Marriage is a business transaction, just like anything else.’
‘But you led me to believe...’
He cut her off sharply. ‘I’m not responsible for what you chose to believe. Not that I’m surprised, mind you. You were always a bit unsophisticated. Frankly, Catriona, you’ve been of little use to me in my career.’
‘But you married me. You shared my bed.’
Peter gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘To be honest, you haven’t been much use to me there, either. I know the brat is mine, of course. You haven’t enough life in you to beget one by anybody else.’
There was more, bitter words, acrimonious statements that could not be withdrawn, statements that neither wished to withdraw. The fight rose to a fever pitch while baby Jeanette added to the noise by crying and yelling for attention. It ended in a predictable way, with Peter storming out of the house, doors slamming behind him, car wheels spinning furiously on the tarmac, leaving a bewildered Catriona behind him, a Catriona who desperately tried to gather her thoughts together and make sense of what she had just been through. She busied herself in the house, sorting and arranging furniture and furnishings until she was satisfied that she had done all that was necessary.
By the time her husband came home again in the late evening, she was prepared for him.
‘I have something to say to you,’ she said. ‘I think you had better listen.’
‘Oh no, not again,’ he said.
‘No. At least not like this morning. I’m quite calm and rational. I want you to listen, because I think it’s important. I’ve even parked Jeanette with Eileen for a while so I can tell you what is in my mind without disturbance. It won’t take long.’
Peter looked at his watch. ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll give you ten minutes. But be warned. At the first sign of shouting, I’ll stop listening.’
‘It won’t take that long,’ Catriona said. ‘I lost my temper this morning, although I consider I had ample justification, but that won’t happen again. I think you are despicable, but we are still married. However, that will be only a convenient label for the future. I’ve moved your things into the spare room. You can sleep there on any occasion you happen to be at home. I’ll continue cooking and cleaning, because I need food and decent living conditions, and so does the baby. As for the rest, we just happen to share the same house. That’s all. Goodnight.’
She turned and left the house, returning minutes later with a sleeping Jeanette. She spoke not another word to a surprised and open mouthed Peter, but went upstairs, locking the bedroom door as soon as she got into the room. Peter made his way to the cocktail cabinet, poured himself a stiff whisky and sat for a while, staring into the dead embers of the living room fire, before going to the spare room to investigate.
Catriona had moved everything of his she could find into the room. That was obvious. He gave a wry grin as he acknowledged the probable justice of it. He would preferred not to have been found out, but there it was. Caught, and he supposed he had to make the best of it. He started by clearing the bed of his belongings. Although the bedding was there, she hadn’t bothered to make the bed, leaving that for him to do after shifting the mountainous pile of clothing, books, papers and a wide variety of items which simply had to be classified as miscellaneous. It took him the best part of an hour before he had his belongings in reasonable order, clothes in the wardrobe, shoes on the rack, books and papers in neat piles on the dressing table awaiting a more suitable time for sorting out. Wearily, he threw the sheets and blankets on the bed in mild disarray, undressed and fell asleep while reflecting on the certain fact that she would come around. Women, in his experience, always did. They kicked up a fuss for a while, but they always knew which side their bread was buttered on.
There was a frosty silence over breakfast the following morning. That was to be expected. However, Catriona had made the breakfast. Bacon and eggs, with the bacon a little crispier than he preferred, and the eggs runnier than he liked. No mushrooms this morning. No fried tomato. There was toast as usual, a fair bit blacker than he was accustomed to getting, margarine instead of butter, no jam, and coffee made almost, but not quite to his taste. Practically cold, too.
‘I’ll be back at six tonight,’ he said, receiving nothing more than a blank stare as a response.
Catriona picked up Jeanette and took her away to the bedroom to bath and change. Peter gave a mental shrug, found his briefcase, checked that he had the necessary documents and left the house. He returned as he had indicated, finishing work at six o’ clock precisely and arriving home a few minutes later. Something was cooking. A smell of fresh food assailed his nostrils. After washing, he went into the kitchen and found a note on the table.
Casserole in the oven. Put everything in the sink to soak when finished. Gone shopping. Back later.
He grinned. At least it was communication of a sort, as was the fact that she hadn’t set a place for him at the table. He searched the kitchen drawers, found cutlery and a plate, took the casserole out of the oven, and helped himself to rapidly drying food. It was food with plenty of taste though. Garlic. Lots of it. He had nothing against eating garlic, but had to restrict his intake because of client sensibilities. He sighed. She was being really rather silly. If she kept this up for too long, he would simply start eating out. Still, he supposed he had to let her make her point. He’d give it a week, he thought. That should be long enough for anyone.
It was towards the end of the week he had allowed that Peter realised he had left something out of his calculations. Catriona didn’t have to concern herself about which side her bread was buttered on at all. She was actually financially independent, and didn’t need to rely on his income at all. They had three bank accounts, his, hers and joint. The joint account was intended to pay for household expenses, and was topped up each month from his salary. Well, that could stop. He went to the bank, and effectively emptied the joint account, leaving just enough in to keep it open. Not one penny more should she get from him until she woke up to the realities of the situation and began to see sense. Catriona must have noticed the drying up of income, but passed no comment, having no need to concern herself with money, as she had made fairly heavy inroads into the joint account herself before it was emptied. Another week went by with no improvement in domestic temperature, then another. After almost a month of not quite satisfactory meals, Peter decided to tackle his wife.
‘Just how long do you intend to keep this up?’ he asked one morning over breakfast.
‘Keep what up?’ she snapped.
‘The meals. I mean, you are a good cook. I have reason to know that, but the recent offerings are rather well below your best.’
‘You don’t have to eat them.’
‘No. No I don’t. But I do think you are taking my punishment a bit too far. At least, it’s going on a bit longer than necessary.’
‘I rather think I’m the best judge of that,’ said Catriona.
‘And how long would it be in your judgement until I’m back in your good books again? I mean, I would like to have some indication so I know whether or not to take my meals elsewhere in future before I ruin my digestion.’
‘I’m a Catholic, Peter. You know that. I have some notion of the idea of eternity. However you look at it, and whatever your beliefs, it’s a very long time.’
He raised his eyebrows as he considered the implications of Catriona’s statement.
‘Like that, is it?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘I’m not seeing Janet any more. She doesn’t even work for me now. I don’t know where she’s gone.’
‘I’m not interested in Janet. I never really was. I’m not, in fact, in the slightest bit interested in any of your girl friends. As long as I don’t know about them, I’m not concerned. Do as you please. I don’t wish to know. I might have forgiven you a lot of things, Peter, but I can’t forgive that.’
‘There aren’t any girl friends. Not any more. Anyway, Janet was the only one. That should mean something.’
Catriona stared at him. ‘That’s no defence. You might have committed murder only once, but it’s still wrong.’
‘So you are going on with this stupidity?’
‘I don’t call it stupid, but yes, I’m going on with it. I promised you I would, and I, unlike some, do not break promises. Remember the wedding service? “forsaking all others.” That really means something to me. It’s a pity you hadn’t listened a bit more carefully at the time.’
Life became more difficult after that. Catriona became more and more wrapped up in Jeanette, finding in the child ample excuse to neglect Peter. Peter, for his part, took the whole thing with ill humour, but accepted the facts as they were. He began eating out, having only breakfast at home, a breakfast in which he actually learned to like burnt toast and far too runny eggs. Even margarine, the cheapest brand, naturally, seemed to take on a satisfying taste. It wasn’t difficult to put on a normal face to the outside world, pretending that Catriona was too busy at home with a growing child to be able to take part in social activities. Nobody was fooled, and he knew it, but the pretence had to be made. It was part of the social norms he abided by.
Things might have gone on in the same way for years but for one incident. Catriona had been at home when the doorbell rang one evening just before seven. Putting down her sewing, she went to answer it. A slightly grimy young woman in a far too short skirt stood on the step, and staring around her in frank curiosity, large hoops of metal clinking around her ears. Catriona looked with distaste at the lank hair and heavily made up face, the powder line ending visibly just under the spotty chin.
‘Yes?’ she said coldly.
‘Hi. Is Peter in?’
‘No, he isn’t. Why? What do you want?’
The woman gave what could only be described as a smirk. ‘I was looking for him. If he’s not here though, I can wait if he won’t be too long.’
‘I have no idea what time he will be in tonight,’ said Catriona.
‘Well, that’s all right. You can give him a message. Tell him Ethel called, will you, and that he’s not to pick me at home up tonight. I’m Ethel, you see. He’ll know who you mean. We’re all going to the club at seven thirty, and he can see me there. He knows which club. There’s only one worth going to.’
Catriona’s temper, never totally subdued, rose like a volcano erupting. ‘And just who do you think you are, coming here like this and making demands?’
‘As it happens, I’m his girl friend’, the woman flared back. ‘Who the hell are you? Another one? ‘Cos if so, you can damn well leave him alone. Go and find a feller of your own.’
‘I don’t need to. I happen to be his wife,’ said Catriona in a tight voice.
‘Wife? He’s not married. He said so.’
‘Did he?’ said Catriona. ‘Well if he said that and you actually believed him, you’re a bigger fool than you look, and that takes some doing.’
‘Who are you calling a fool, you stupid old bat?’
‘How dare you. Go away. Go away now or I’ll call the police.’
‘Ah, stuff the police. And stuff you and all. If he is married to you, I can see why he prefers somebody like me with a bit of life in them.’
‘That’s enough,’ shouted Catriona. ‘I’m calling the police right now.’
A car drew up to the house. Peter alighted, taking in the situation at a glance. Hurriedly, and unwisely as he realised afterwards, he moved between the two battling and screaming women, getting scratched with sharp fingernails along his cheeks, and being heavily kicked in the shin. At last he managed to stuff a few pounds in the visitor’s hand and pushed her away, watching as she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Well rid of that one, the little spitfire, he mused. Now for the big battle.
Catriona had gone inside. He locked his car and followed her, finding her in his bedroom, pulling his belongings out of the cupboards and drawers and cramming them into bags without any attempt to be tidy. She threw one bag at him.
‘Finish the job yourself,’ she demanded. ‘Then get out. Leave this house. Take everything you own with you. If I ever see you again, it’ll be far too soon.’
‘Catriona...’ he began.
‘Don’t Catriona me,’ she said. ‘Just leave. Bringing your girl friends here.’
‘I didn’t bring her here. She came on her own. I didn’t even know she knew where I lived.’
‘You admit she is your girl friend then?’
‘Obviously, although I’ve certainly lost that one.’
‘Never mind. I’m sure you have plenty of others. In fact I know you have. So-called friends have been very ready to carry tales. Regrettably, I find I have to believe them. Not that I was ever in any doubt.’
‘And if I have?’
‘If you have, you might have had a bit better taste than that creature. I thought you might have had higher standards.’
‘Well, maybe,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Just maybe if you hadn’t been up on your high horse for so long, pushing me out of the bedroom into one of my own, I may not have found the need to go looking elsewhere.’
Catriona gritted her teeth so hard it hurt. ‘I might remind you that you looked elsewhere when we did share a bedroom. If you even suggest that the blame for the whole thing can be laid at my door, I’ll hit you with something heavy. Get out. Take your things with you.’
Peter face relaxed in a half sneer. ‘As to that,’ he said. ‘As to that, allow me to remind you that the house is in my name only. As is just about everything. The car you drive was bought by me. The furniture was bought by me. I have receipts to prove it. Me move out? I think not. If there is to be anyone moving from this house, it will be you.’
‘You can’t throw me out,’ snapped Catriona.
‘No? Well, I’m not even trying to do so. You can please yourself, but one thing I can assure you of. I am staying.’
‘Well then,’ said Catriona. ‘If you are staying, I’m leaving.’
‘Good,’ returned Peter. ‘That will give me more room for the people I prefer to have around me.’
‘What about Jeanette?’
‘Take the brat with you. I don’t want it. Oh, there’ll be maintenance. I’ll pay something. For the girl, not for you. You have money of your own. You can use that.’
Some years later, Catriona caved in to Peter’s demands for a divorce on the grounds of desertion. Feeling lost and abandoned, not even being able to make use of the solace of her religion, she took refuge in an increasingly sharp and bitter tongue. She had tried, oh how she had tried to come to terms with her life as it had turned out. She had nobody to talk to about it. The priest at Catriona’s church had proved to be one of the unsympathetic school, offering what she felt was undue pressure to forgive her errant husband and go back to him. In trepidation, and with a strong feeling of guilt, Catriona carried her problems to another church, another confessional. This time she received more sympathy, but no greater real help. Three Our Father’s and two Hail Mary’s, she felt, went nowhere near addressing the practical problems of the near future. She felt truly on her own, and picked up the pieces of her life as best as she could.