Chapter Twenty-Two
The three women were very subdued on the drive back to Amber’s. Dee was the first to speak.
‘Girls, I don’t want to throw a bucket of cold water on our planned weekend of gossip and fun but…would either of you mind if…I dropped out?’
‘Of course not,’ said Amber quickly. She’d been trying to find the courage to say the very same thing.
‘I feel so rattled by Madam Rosa’s reading, right now I’d prefer to go home and try and get hold of Josh. I have no idea where he is. He’s had plenty of the flipping space he craved – I’ve not seen him all week! It’s high time we discussed things properly. I’m going to phone him,’ said Dee decisively, ‘and if he doesn’t answer, I’ll drop by his parents’ house and demand he speaks to me.’
Dee was pale apart from two pink stains to each cheek. Amber and Chrissie realised that, despite their friend being upset, there was also an angry tiger wanting to claw its way out and confront Josh.
‘I agree with you,’ said Chrissie. ‘In fact, if you don’t mind, Amber, I’d like to do the same. I want to buttonhole Andrew while Madam Rosa’s words are still clear in my head. He had a wallet full of money this morning. I’m fairly sure it didn’t get there from a few elec–’ She suddenly clammed up.
‘What’s that?’ asked Amber.
‘Oh, er, nothing. I want to make sure he’s being honest about finances with me. Madam Rosa indicated he wasn’t.’
‘If he’s flush,’ said Amber, ‘you make sure he gives you some dosh. The amount of times he’s left you to deal with rent and bills, he’s not been fair with you.’
‘Er, yes. You’re right,’ said Chrissie. Hell’s bells, she’d nearly spilt the “dodgy” beans then. The sooner she sat Andrew down and properly cleared the air, the better.
‘Well I won’t lie, girls,’ said Amber, ‘but I, too, need to clear my head and think about what to say to Matthew. With or without Madam Rosa setting the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons, I want answers. Proper ones. Let’s do a rain check.’
***
Dee’s Saturday
Dee was so anxious to get home and see if Josh and his suitcase were back, she practically took the front door off its hinges when she crashed into the flat.
‘Josh?’ she called. ‘Are you home?’
The silence let her know he wasn’t. The thermostat clicked on the boiler, making her jump. Honestly, she was a bag of nerves these days. This was ridiculous. Standing in the hallway, Dee trawled through her handbag looking for her mobile. She’d refrained from contacting Josh during his spacecation. Her boyfriend hadn’t been troubled by one pleading phone call, or one beseeching text. She doubted many women would have been so patient. She’d played Josh’s ridiculous waiting game and let him jack-boot around calling all the shots.
Touching the mobile’s screen, Dee found Josh’s number and pressed the call button. It went to voicemail. Damn. He must have it switched off. Well too bad, Josh. The time has come to invade your space. Dee nodded to herself. She was going to be a space invader. She gave a mad-sounding snort of laughter, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Dear Lord, she was starting to sound like a lunatic. She really was on edge. Dee hadn’t wanted to go around to Josh’s parents’ house, but if his phone was switched off it left her with no choice. Turning on her heel, she locked up again and went back to the car.
On the drive to Anne and Peter Coventry’s place, Dee thought about what she was going to say. Josh’s dad was okay, but his mum was something else. Those less polite than Dee would have referred to her as a self-opinionated battle-axe. From the very first moment of meeting Anne Coventry, Dee had sussed the woman was a drama queen and liked to be the centre of attention. Josh had taken Dee to his parents’ neat ex-council house under the impression everyone was going to hit it off. Peter Coventry had greeted them pleasantly enough. He’d been wearing a frilly apron over his trousers which had conveyed his position in the household’s pecking order – that of chief cook and bottle washer. He’d given Dee a vicar’s handshake, her palm sandwiched between both of his. Introduction over, he’d excused himself saying he needed to get back to the kitchen and rescue his bread sauce. The smell of a roasting turkey had reached Dee’s nostrils, and her stomach had rumbled appreciatively. Leading off the hallway was an open door. From within came a woman’s imperious voice.
‘We’re in here.’ It had sounded very much like the royal “we” to Dee.
Sure enough, when Josh had led the way into the lounge, Dee’s eyes had widened at the sight of an enormous woman filling the only armchair in the room. It was a wing chair, and looked a bit like a throne.
‘Hello, Mum,’ Josh had said, leaning down to peck his mother dutifully on one cheek. Dee had felt that might not be the thing to do on a first meeting, given that Peter Coventry had not proffered his own cheek.
‘How do you do?’ Dee had said politely, sticking out one hand. To her amazement, Anne Coventry had ignored it, instead looking her up and down. Dee had felt like a dog from the local animal shelter that Josh had brought home for consideration – and failed inspection.
‘Mum can’t get up,’ Josh had said, as if that somehow explained his mother’s rudeness.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Dee had said. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘What isn’t wrong?’ Anne Coventry had sighed.
‘I’ll see if Dad needs a hand,’ Josh had said, leaving Dee alone with this formidable woman who was issuing as much warmth as a cold radiator.
Once Josh was out of earshot, Anne Coventry’s rheumy eyes had fixed upon Dee.
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she’d asked.
‘Er–’
‘I know it’s six months away, but I like to plan in advance. You’ll join us, yes?’
Dee had been astonished that Josh’s mother liked to plan the festive season so early in the year. But she’d also been flattered that, in her own brash way, Anne had extended an invitation. She had no idea what her own parents would say at her not attending Christmas dinner for the first time since year dot. However, given that Josh was her new boyfriend and possibly “The One”, Dee had accepted Anne Coventry’s invite on the spot. She’d told herself that she and Josh would spend the following Christmas with her parents.
‘Thank you,’ Dee had said. ‘That would be most…charming,’ although she couldn’t imagine Anne Coventry pulling a cracker, plonking a paper crown on her head, or clutching her sides at corny jokes. And she’d been right. When Christmas had finally rolled around it had been the most monumentally boring and depressing day of Dee’s life. It was clear Anne Coventry was waited on hand, foot and finger by the loyal Peter. Nobody – including Josh – ever stood up to Anne’s sharp retorts or complaints. After Christmas dinner, Josh had announced he was taking his father to the pub, and he’d leave Dee to have a girlie chat with his mother. Dee had flashed him the sort of murderous look one might give a person inflicting harm on an animal. She’d then turned to Anne with a smile that would have rivalled Melania Trump’s. She hadn’t the faintest idea what to talk about with Anne Coventry. The two women had nothing in common. As soon as Peter and Josh had shut the front door, Anne had pounced.
‘What are your plans for Christmas?’
Dee had been momentarily nonplussed. ‘Um, well I’m spending it with you, obviously.’
‘Excellent,’ Anne Coventry had said. ‘I’m so pleased we have that sorted.’
And then Dee had realised Josh’s mother had been talking about next Christmas. ‘Ah, I’ve just grasped what you meant. Next time around we’ll be spending it with my parents.’
‘Your parents?’ Anne’s eyeballs had bulged, and her tone had been one of outrage. ‘But you just said you’d spend it here.’
‘Y-yes, but we were at cross purposes. My parents will be expecting to see me and Josh. It will be their turn to have us for dinner.’
‘Can’t you go to them the year after?’
Dee had looked baffled. ‘Why would–’
‘I probably won’t be here by then.’
Dee had remained perplexed. ‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘I’m going home, young lady,’ and Anne had jabbed a porky finger heavenwards, ‘that’s where I’m going. Up there.’ She’d spent the remainder of time, until Josh and Peter returned, telling Dee all about her many illnesses, the tablets she took, how the doctors had said she was a hopeless case and her days were numbered. Dee had been shell- shocked. Josh clearly had no idea his mother was ill, never mind terminally. ‘This is strictly between you and me. Understand?’
‘Y-yes,’ Dee had stuttered.
Thus Dee had been emotionally manipulated into spending each Christmas at Anne Coventry’s house because it was always meant to be her last. Dee’s parents had been disappointed not to see her on the biggest family day of the year but, like her, horrified when she’d confided that even Josh didn’t know how ill his mother was. Dee’s own mother had shuffled family celebrations to Boxing Day instead. Even so, the fact that Anne Coventry still remained on Planet Earth, larger than life and with an appetite to rival a baby elephant’s, irked Dee. She didn’t wish the woman dead, but it would be so nice to spend a special day with her own family. By unfortunate coincidence, Anne’s date of birth was the same day as Dee’s mother’s, so Anne doubly manipulated Dee to be under the Coventry roof because it was always going to be the last birthday. It was the same for Mother’s Day. And Easter. On every occasion Dee would be left bored stiff when father and son cleared off to the pub, leaving Dee to hear about Anne’s latest drug prescriptions and the state of her piles.
Dee would have been sympathetic to all of this if Anne Coventry had been a nice person. But she wasn’t. When she wasn’t privately talking about her maladies and medicines, publicly Anne would put Dee down. She’d take great delight in telling Dee she looked fat (ha! Dee had thought, coming from someone who makes the back of a bus look anorexic) or – when Dee promptly went on a diet – too thin. She told Dee her hair was awful, her fashion sense abysmal, her skin lustreless, and that she looked like a woman in her late thirties rather than one in her late twenties. Dee was too polite to ever answer back, and Josh never stood up to his mother on Dee’s behalf. It was fair to say that Anne Coventry, over the last few years, had contributed in reducing Dee’s self-esteem to zilch.
It was therefore with trepidation that Dee now found herself ringing the Coventry household’s doorbell. As the chimes sounded, Dee’s stomach twisted with a mix of fear, hope, anticipation and dread. What if Josh answered the door and told her to bog off? Or what if Anne answered the door and she told Dee to bog off?
Through the pane of frosted glass, Dee could see a shape approaching. Josh’s dad. Peter released the catch. Caught on the hop, he failed to disguise his horror at who was standing on the doorstep.
‘Ah,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Hello, Peter,’ said Dee cheerfully. Today, Peter’s apron was accessorised with a pair of yellow Marigolds. Evidently, he was washing the dishes after cooking lunch for Queen Anne – and possibly Prince Joshua.
‘Ah,’ said Peter again.
‘I was passing and…well…I thought I’d pop in and say hello.’
‘Ah.’
Dee stood awkwardly on the step. No invitation to cross the threshold was forthcoming. In fact, Peter was looking decidedly shifty. Dee held onto her bright smile. ‘Is it not a good moment?’
‘No.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘No.’
‘Ah.’
‘So...’
‘Yes?’
‘Ah.’
‘Ah’.
Dee was starting to feel like she’d dropped into some bizarre Monty Python sketch. Any moment now John Cleese would pop out of the garden’s shrubbery and say, ‘And now for something different.’ Fortunately, Peter was the first to snap out of the conversation rut.
‘I’ll get Anne.’ He jabbed a rubber finger in the direction of the lounge. ‘Just, um… w-wait here a moment.’
How bizarre, thought Dee. Why was Josh’s dad behaving so strangely? As he bustled off, Dee’s gaze fell upon the inner hallway’s small console table. Set out with precision neatness was a telephone, a picture of Anne and Peter on their wedding day, a fussy vase full of clashing silk flowers and, propped against it, a postcard. The writing was clear to see, and Dee instantly recognised its familiar looping style. Josh was the author. She screwed up her eyes and was able to make out his name squashed into the bottom right-hand corner. Why was her boyfriend sending his parents a postcard? And from where? Leaning in, she snatched it up, hiding it behind her back just as Anne appeared.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, as if Dee was something rather nasty that had been trodden into the doormat.
‘Hello, Anne,’ Dee smiled warmly. ‘I was saying to Peter, I was passing by and thought it would be nice to say hello.’
‘I see. Well you’ve said hello. Now you can clear off.’
Dee blinked. She couldn’t have heard Anne correctly. ‘W-what did you say?’
‘I said,’ Anne enunciated, ‘clear…off. We know all about you.’
‘Well of course you know all about me,’ Dee attempted to lighten whatever was going on here. ‘After all, you’ve known me a few years, ha ha!’
‘Evidently we didn’t know you at all.’
Dee could feel herself getting upset. ‘Anne, I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you but-’
‘Are you having a laugh?’
‘I’ve never been more serious. If you really must know, Josh packed his suitcase and left me. Temporarily,’ she added.
‘Permanently, if he has any sense.’
Dee gasped. ‘I have no idea why he left. He simply said he needed some space. I presumed he was here. I’m missing him, Anne. I want him to come home.’
Anne’s top lip peeled back like a snarling Rottweiler. ‘Well he’s not here.’
‘Plainly,’ said Dee, feeling some knee trembling coming on. Things weren’t going to plan at all. ‘So, where is he?’
‘Away. Having a good rest from you.’
‘What exactly is it that I’m meant to have done?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Would I be asking if I did?’ Dee was aware her voice was starting to quaver. She gave a peculiar chuggy gasp, and made a sterling effort to quell the emotion that threatened to uncork on Anne Coventry’s doorstep.
‘You’ve behaved like a harpy,’ Anne waggled a finger, ‘nagging my poor boy from the moment you’ve opened your eyes to the moment you’ve closed them. Josh hasn’t been able to do right for wrong. He said that last Sunday morning you lost your temper and flung food everywhere. He said you even had it all over you. And then you refused to clear the mess up and stormed off.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘Trust me, you are.’ Anne curved her mouth into a malicious smile and ramped up her enormous bosom, Les Dawson-style. ‘Josh is having a nice break without you. So go home, and stay away from my lad.’ And with that Anne slammed the door in Dee’s face.
Dee stood, momentarily paralysed, staring at the Coventry’s high gloss wooden panels. She was tempted to stoop down to the letterbox, pull back the flap and beg and plead through its narrow gap. An inner voice sternly told her to have some pride. Dee took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. She would not go into meltdown on Anne Coventry’s doorstep. She’d done nothing wrong. And what the hell was Josh playing at making up a load of claptrap about her?
Dee slid the concealed postcard into her back pocket. Holding her head high, she retraced her steps through the front garden gate and back to her car. It was only when she was finally in the inner sanctum of her flat that she gave in to despair, and howled. She went into the bathroom and pulled off a long ribbon of toilet paper. Drying her eyes, she then trumpeted several times into the tissue. She was so distracted by the callousness of Anne Coventry’s words playing on a loop in her head, that it was another ten minutes before she remembered the postcard in her back pocket. Pulling it out, she let her bloodshot eyes focus on Josh’s handwriting. As she read, her emotions ran the gauntlet – from upset and incredulity, to boiling anger.
Greetings from Tenerife! Having a wonderful much-needed break from the Undomestic Dog-ess. Not looking forward to sorting things out once back, but for now enjoying fab weather, top hotel and brilliant time with Emma. She can’t wait to meet you. See you soon! Love Josh x
Dee had to read the card three times to make sure she understood exactly what it so plainly said. Who the duckery-fuckery was Emma? With shaking hands, she sought out Josh’s Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t find them. They’d disappeared. The treacherous bastard had blocked her. Her hands were now fluttering faster than swallows on the wing. She found the “Secs in the City” WhatsApp chat group and jerkily stabbed out a message.
Girls. It’s true. Josh is having an affair.
And then Dee sank down on her bathroom floor, tucked her legs up to her chin so she was in the foetal position, and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.