Sitting there in a sharp new suit – most definitely not the one he had left the house in that morning – and a crisp new open-necked shirt, Graham looked ten years younger. Or maybe it was his hair – or what was left of it. Where was the lock of hair that always fell across his forehead? His hair was short and spikey all over and looked shiny. The flecks of grey coming through at the temples looked distinguished, rather than ageing, as they had done as part of his old, shaggy hairdo. There was also something different about his face, it was brighter and younger-looking.
Oliver broke the silence. ‘Uncle Graham, you’ve been in for a refit! Now you don’t even look forty-three. He looks great, doesn’t he, Myra?’
‘He’s like a new man,’ said Piers. ‘A new uncle. I can’t believe it.’
It was the first time in years that Graham had been out and bought clothes that she hadn’t first approved or insisted he needed. Had he taken leave of his senses?
‘Well, what do you think, Myra?’ Graham asked.
Myra dropped to her chair unable to comment. Oliver was right, he had been in for a refit. She swallowed hard and said in a soft voice, ‘I’m amazed. Now Piers, will you put our plates on the table for me?’
Graham, secretly amused by Myra’s reaction said, ‘Seeing as it’s casserole let’s have wine with it. That favourite red you like, Myra. You boys can have a drop too, watered down like they do for children in France.’
The wine went straight to Myra’s head so she had to concentrate on her food otherwise she would miss her mouth and make a good stab at her cheek. He’d been out and modernised himself! What did it mean? In particular what did it mean for her? What made him do it? It wasn’t because of her daring purchase, he didn’t know about that. She determined to ask him tonight when the boys were in bed. Then a thought struck her – what if all this effort wasn’t for her and the boys? What if her own secret attempt at a change of image had come too late. She shook her head – Graham would never dream of looking at another woman. Would he?
‘Where did you go for your refit?’ said Oliver.
‘Not telling, Oliver.’ Graham tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger.
‘It wasn’t that new place that’s opened in Trinity Street was it?’
Graham kind of half acknowledged it was.
Oliver pretended to wipe the sweat from his forehead. ‘Whew! That place is the place to go. All the kids in school are talking about it. But it’s seventy-five pounds for a haircut!’
Piers whistled loudly.
‘All the girls at the office will be after you. Watch out, Myra!’ Oliver said, not realising he was tapping into Myra’s fears.
Myra gave Graham a speculative look from under her eyelashes and decided that perhaps the boys had a point. This was a new Graham, a Graham she hadn’t seen in years, if ever. It looked like he’d even had a manicure too at this fancy barbers. She’d never had one in her life. Divorcees from all over town would be finding him attractive. It wouldn’t do. Good old reliable Graham had taken a step out of his comfort zone and it was hard for her to stomach. The new nightie was a step in the right direction but nowhere near far enough. She had some catching up to do.
She ate the casserole which she’d been so looking forward to without even tasting it, her mind was in such a whirl. The same with the fruits-of-the-forest sponge she’d made, even smothered in cream she couldn’t take pleasure in it. Finally she asked Graham for more wine and he filled her glass nearly to the top. Her biggest mistake was drinking the whole lot inside five minutes. Accustomed as she was to being virtually teetotal the wine hit her square between the eyes.
Piers began to giggle when she tried to stand up and didn’t.
Graham winked at Piers and went to put a firm grip on Myra’s elbow and hoisted her to her feet. ‘I’ll be back to clear the kitchen, could the two of you make a start?’
Oliver sensed there was something going on he and Piers knew nothing about but he really rather approved of whatever it was. The two of them were becoming almost human.
Graham laid Myra on the sofa, with two cushions under her head, facing the TV despite the fact that she dozing. She wouldn’t be for long, she’d soon wake up. He looked down at her and considered the situation she’d found herself in. Her fuddy-duddy husband of fifteen years coming home transformed must have been quite a shock. He thought about the old pyjamas he’d dragged out from under the pillow the last time she drank too much and wondered if he should go out and buy something glamorous to set the ball rolling for her. For now, when the boys were safely in bed he’d give her the perfume he’d bought that afternoon, the one she used to wear that he knew and loved. That might well be the start of something bigger.
Oliver had just disappeared upstairs when Myra awoke. She’d a bad head but decided not to say a word about it. She swung her legs off the sofa, sat up, straightened her skirt, ran her fingers through her hair as if nothing had happened, and said, ‘Tell me then.’
‘Tell you? What?’
‘The reason for the new clothes and the new hairstyle and the manicure and so on. All of a sudden, not a word to me about it.’
‘If I’d told you, it wouldn’t have been a surprise would it?’
‘But why?’
‘If you really want to know, it was because Oliver was amazed when I told him how old I was, he thought I was at least in my fifties. When I took a proper look at myself in the mirror that night I knew I looked a lot older than I needed to and so I did something about it.’
Myra didn’t answer him for a few minutes. ‘I know I’m old-fashioned, too. I’ve known for a while.’
‘There’s plenty of money in the bank, like I’ve always said. If you want to treat yourself, you know it’s our money, not my money,’ Graham said. ‘Not that you have to change anything for my sake, I just think you might find you like it. And if you’re anything like me, once you get started, you might do more than you planned. After all, what’s the use in me working hard if we never spend anything. The latest bank statement came today, this is the balance in our savings account.’
He unfolded a sheet of paper and gave it to her. She almost trembled with shock.
‘That much? I’d no idea. £167,500.’
‘That doesn’t include shares and bonds that we have. You can go mad if you like. It’s not just because of my work that we’ve got that saved up – it’s just as much down to you working so hard to look after our home all these years without ever spending a penny more than needed. You’ve always said no to holidays, moving house, new cars. You’ve been scrupulously careful with money so if you want to let loose occasionally, you should. You’ve earned it.’
She looked at him and liked what she saw. So where had he been all these years, this smart up-to-the-minute man she was married to? Maybe she would do what he said, not tomorrow necessarily but in her own time. No good being impulsive – her trip to Secrets today had shown she should probably think a bit more about what she really wanted before venturing out on a spending spree. Otherwise she’d end up repeating old habits – another bottle-green polo neck jumper or another grey striped suit she could have bought twenty years ago. What did women like her wear nowadays? But that wasn’t right to say ‘women like her’ – she wanted to be new like Graham had become.
‘Was all this really because of what Oliver said?’
Graham nodded. It wasn’t quite the absolute truth because partly it was his desire to regain his respect for himself. Too long he’d allowed Myra to dominate him and he’d realised that for her sake as much as anything he had to take hold of his life and exist.
‘And while we’re talking about breaking our old habits, I’ve been thinking, this Christmas I thought we’d invite Mum to come here for the day. Not overnight, just the day itself. I can’t stand another of those ghastly Christmas dinners at hers – half-cooked or burnt, take your choice, tiny portions more fit for a sparrow and that terrible Christmas pudding she makes which we have to pretend is wonderful. I bet they had nicer ones in the war.’
Myra was on red alert. ‘Here? We never host Christmas.’
‘But it will be different this year – this is the boys’ home now. They’ll want Christmas here and we can make it a special one for them. We could invite Mr and Mrs Stewart, too, because they’ll have no one to invite with John not being around. Then they can all spend Christmas with their grandsons.’
Myra’s heart began pounding. Sweat broke out on her forehead and in that moment she felt that death would be an easier option than facing Christmas with the Butlers and the Stewarts. If this was what happened when Graham found his voice, well it could stop right now.
‘It’s only six weeks to Christmas, there isn’t time.’
‘Myra! Of course there is. You’ve proved yourself in the catering department with that wonderful spread you did for Piers’ birthday so . . .’
‘This is not the same.’
‘Christmas Day is a Sunday this year so I shall be home all day Saturday to give a hand with all the preparations, and the boys will love not having to go to their Grandma Butlers’ won’t they? They can stay at home and play with their toys seeing as she won’t let them take any toys with them to her house.’
She was about to put her foot down when she thought of Betty telling her how Roland controlled her life. Maybe she didn’t always have to have the last word.
‘The best I can say is I’ll think about it.’
‘Lovely! I know you’ll come round to it.’
‘I meant to tell you, Betty from next door came round with a train set that belonged to their son, Col. Said she wanted the boys to have it, I had a look at it and it was beautiful.’
‘Really? Where is it? I always wanted a train set when I was small.’
‘Believe it or believe it not, Roland came round and took it back home.’
‘Oh.’
‘I suggested we paid something for it but he said no, Col might want it for his children.’
‘And he took it back?’
‘Yes, very angry he was.’
‘We could buy one for the boys for Christmas couldn’t we?’
‘If we wait long enough, Graham, the train set might well come back again,’ Myra said. When Graham looked puzzled she filled him on what Betty had told her. Even if he had children one day, she said, Col certainly wasn’t in the market for a wife. She even did an impression of Roland struggling to carry the box.
The two of them burst out laughing and once started they couldn’t stop. All kinds of ridiculous suggestions surfaced which made them laugh more than ever including an idea that the track could go from their house to Roland’s through the back garden fence so they could all have a turn with it.
Eventually Myra dried her eyes saying, ‘I shall have to stop laughing, I’ve got the most terrible stitch in my side. But yes to what you said before: it would be a good idea to buy one for Christmas. I’m sure they’d love it.’
Graham stood up, bent over Myra and kissed her cheek and this time she didn’t shrink away from him. ‘Hot chocolate, before we go to bed? Biscuit?’
Myra nodded. It was lovely to be waited on for once. She might even take quite a liking to this new Graham. They hadn’t laughed like that for years and it felt good. But she wasn’t sure she could stretch to playing hostess at Christmas, there was a limit to what she could put up with.
The telephone rang the following morning. She’d only just got back from seeing Piers to school. It was the secretary from Piers’ school asking her to go to school fifteen minutes early this afternoon as the head teacher wished to see her.
‘Is there a particular reason she wants to see me?’
‘I’m afraid the matter is for the head teacher to discuss privately with you, Mrs Butler. We have a teacher ill today so the head is teaching all day so can’t see you any sooner.’
‘Oh, right. Should my husband come too?’
‘No, that won’t be necessary, unless he particularly wants to. Good morning, Mrs Butler, we’ll see you later.’
Myra rang Graham immediately but his PA told her he’d gone out on business and wouldn’t be back in the office until about four o’clock.
Myra returned the phone to its cradle and sat down to worry. What on earth had happened? What had he done? She couldn’t wait all day to find out. But there was no alternative. Maybe the school had decided they couldn’t cope any longer with him with his plaster on. That would be it! Well, if so she wouldn’t mind, to have him at home meant at least she had company. Still, it would be a long hard day worrying about what she would be told.
‘Come in, Mrs Butler. Thank you for being so prompt.’
Myra didn’t tell her she’d been lurking behind some trees close to the school gates because she’d got there far too early in her anxiety to find out what had gone wrong.
‘Now, do sit down. I do hope you haven’t been worrying all day about this.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good. First I need to ask you, did you know that Piers has not been doing his homework?’
‘No. He said he hadn’t been given any.’
‘Well, he has and he hasn’t done any of it since he started. Is there a reason for this that you can think of?’
Myra shook her head, appalled by her own lack of attention to Piers and his homework.
‘We thought that maybe it was a kind of settling-in problem but it’s not getting any better.’
‘It’s my fault, I thought he was speaking the truth. I never thought to question it.’
‘Well, children in his year get on average a solid half an hour of homework every night. But the other thing I wanted to discuss is his behaviour, or rather misbehaviour. He was a model pupil before his accident and while he’s been here with his arm in plaster he’s been defiant, difficult, truculent and cheeky. Has he been like that at home?’
‘No, he’s quite the jolliest of boys at home, easy to get on with you know. I’m appalled to hear he’s been misbehaving.’
‘Don’t be, it could just be a phase.’
‘Is he being bullied do you think?’
‘I don’t think so. If anything, any bullying is being done by Piers.’
‘Piers? Oh dear. We’d no idea.’
‘Perhaps when he gets his plaster off he’ll feel better.’ The head teacher fiddled with a pen for a moment as though searching for the right words. ‘I know he’s new to the school, but we run a well-disciplined happy school here and I like to think there are few children who won’t thrive in such circumstances. I know Piers came to us in the saddest of circumstances, but I would like to think school might be a place where he can get away from his grief. Do you mind if I ask how things are at home?’
Myra hadn’t an answer to that and panicked. She was going to have to tell her the truth. Tell her that they were all still learning how to be a family.
‘I don’t know what to say. This is all new to us. We have no children of our own and it’s been hard learning how to manage things. But we are doing our best. We’ve had rows, we’ve had mix-ups, we’ve had tears. But we’ve also had a lot of laughter, learnt a lot about each other and worked out that most things can be helped by tea and cake. I know Social Services will ask how things are going, and I don’t want you to make anything up – but I’d like them to know we are trying our best, and I think it might be getting easier – for all of us.
It was a big revealing speech for Myra and such a long outburst of the unvarnished truth played havoc with her nerves. What surprised her was how lucid she’d been about the whole thing. No hiding in long silent gaps, but straight out with it no messing. She’d surprised herself, and she pulled at the fingers of her gloves while she waited for the head to respond. ‘It’s been a big change for the two of them.’
‘And for you. Thank you for being so honest with me, it explains a lot. Can I recommend that you treat him with gentleness? We will make sure that happens here. He still has a lot of adjusting to do, and will need a great deal of understanding. I admire you for taking them on, it was a brave decision. It can’t have been an easy one.’
Myra’s head came up from the study of her gloves. ‘I didn’t know if I could cope. I really didn’t. Didn’t know how I could manage two boys. I still don’t, but I am trying. But what else can you do? Put them in a home? Piers is terrified that will happen to him, he just can’t believe he’s safe where he is.’
The head teacher got to her feet. ‘That’s the bell, you’d better go to where you usually pick him up, anytime you need help, please feel free to come and see me. And thank you for being open with me. We’ll solve it you and I between us.’
She followed Myra out in order to witness Piers greeting her. She watched as Myra pulled his scarf into order and checked he had his gloves on, then saw Piers show her a picture he’d done that day and watched the pleasure she showed when she looked at it. She was right, they were trying. Poor Piers though, he must have had some desolate moments.
Having been treated with such sympathy by the head, Myra’s nerves had vanished by the time they got near home, and with it any anger she might have felt towards Piers for hiding his homework. Gentleness was the word the head teacher used. She tried to remember that.
‘Now Piers, I had a word with one of your teachers today. She mentioned you were a bit behind on your homework. When we get home shall we sit down and get today’s out of the way. I know that Oliver gets help because he asks for it from Graham, but you don’t ask and perhaps you should. You can always ask me or Graham if you need help. What is it tonight?’
Piers hesitated momentarily – amazed Myra had found out his guilty secret and hadn’t blown her top. ‘A story,’ he said in a quiet voice.
‘About what? Anything in particular?’
‘No.’
‘Has it got a title?’
‘No, we have to think of one.’
‘Well, then perhaps I could help with that. I was hopeless at school and no one took any interest in my school work so I just gave up. Is that how you feel?’
‘No. I just don’t want to do it.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘Don’t know. Have you baked today?’
‘No, but I soon can. We could make fairy cakes for after supper.’
‘Right, in those paper case things?’
‘Yes. That’s what you could write about, if you’d like.’
‘I’d like that. Then everyone at school will know how yummy your cakes are.’
Myra didn’t really want to bake, but if it got him going then why not. Someone, somewhere had to make an effort and right now, it seemed it had to be her. Never in all her life had she put herself out so much for another human being. Any effort had always been for herself, but she had to admit she found the experience of not just caring about Piers and his problems, but actually doing something to help them made her feel lighter, somehow.
He set to with a will to start the baking and showed a real enthusiasm for doing his share, and when the fairy cakes went in the oven he even offered to help to wash up the mixing bowl. ‘I could scrape that before we wash it up, can I?’
‘Go on, it’s best when you lick it off your finger like this.’ Myra demonstrated and Piers followed suit.
As she watched him it occurred to her that perhaps he’d reached the age of ten years and never done it before, so she asked him and he said no he hadn’t, and she felt desolate at the thought. All this because a cruel trick of fate had robbed him of his mother before he even had time to know her.
Myra reached out and squeezed his shoulder and turned away before he saw her eyes full of tears. When eventually they’d cleared up and the fairy cakes were out of the oven, she said to Piers, ‘I must start the supper, why don’t you sit at the table in here and start that story homework, then if you get stuck I could help?’
Perhaps hers and Piers’ happiest half an hour since they’d come to live with them followed. While she did the vegetables and got the chops in the oven Piers laboured away at his homework, occasionally asking for help with a spelling, and he wrote a whole page before he put down his pen. Myra didn’t ask to read it, just hoped he’d offer, but he didn’t. At one time she’d have insisted he showed her but with time she was becoming wiser and left it to him. She’d once read about people needing ‘space’ sometimes and this was the first time she realised what that phrase truly meant. She’d always thought it meant her old way of having as little to do with other people as possible, but now she saw it could mean just letting people do what they want – giving people room to be themselves, letting them come to you when they were ready. Maybe at last she was getting the hang of this parent business.
Graham had office work to concentrate on straight after supper with being out of the office most of the day, so she didn’t trouble him with her interview with the head teacher. It could wait for another day – especially since for once, she felt she was handling it well. But he knocked on her bedroom door about half an hour after she went to bed.
‘Oh good, you’re still awake. Sorry I’ve not been much company for you this evening, has everything been all right today?’
Myra propped her pillows against the bedhead and sat up. ‘Fine. Piers and I made those fairy cakes we had and he’s written a story about it for his homework.’
‘I thought he didn’t get homework right now?’
‘Well, he has been given it but he’s not been doing it. The head teacher asked to see me today and told me. So . . . I had to tell her about . . . things not being plain sailing at home. She’s very sympathetic and admires me . . . well us . . . for taking them on.’
Graham sat down on the bed and rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m pleased you were open with her – most of the time people want to help rather than criticise, but I think we all forget that sometimes.’
‘Well, we’re still learning this parent business aren’t we? Both of us.’
Graham smiled at her and for a single moment their eyes met and neither of them dropped their glance. Graham bent forward to kiss her cheek.
‘Thank you for everything you do, you’ve been an absolute stalwart and I know it’s been hard for you, too,’ said Myra.
‘You’re right it has been hard and still is, but it’s getting quite rewarding isn’t it?’ Graham answered.
‘I’ve an idea we’re not out of the woods yet . . .’
‘But if we both try hard . . .?’
A long silence followed. Myra wasn’t sure what Graham was expecting her to say.
‘It’s late. I should get to bed,’ Graham eventually said.
Myra agreed, although as he got up, she realised what it was she felt – rather than her usual sense of relief at the end of another day, tonight she felt disappointed at the thought of being left alone.
Myra had the sense of a moment slipping away from her. She acknowledged deep inside herself it would be nice if he’d stayed and slept in the other half of her bed. Indeed, it wasn’t her bed, it used to be theirs – a fact she’d ignored for far too long. Just to touch him, properly, would be . . . an excited shudder went through her body at the prospect of such close contact. She’d thought the other day that she wasn’t ready to share a bed again, but now she realised she had to start somewhere. Knowing she was running the risk of being rejected, she held up the bedclothes so he could slide into bed with her. As he climbed in, Myra could feel herself tense up, making sure she kept her body away from touching his, but Graham seemed to know what a big step this was, and didn’t expect anything of her, just lay on his side letting his breathing settle into a sleepy rhythm. As she watched her husband drift off, Myra felt herself relax. She even wished she was wearing that new nightie. Soon, she thought, soon she would.