10 comments/ 8630 views/ 2 favorites It's an Ill Wind By: demure101 (Many thanks to Dawnj, whose editing made this story into a real one! All typos etc. are mine. If you only want the bedroom bits, please turn to page 5.) * August may be a wicked month, but there's no month as unpredictable as November, nor as unpleasant at times; and that day the weather had steadily deteriorated. When she tried to open the back door she had to put all her weight against it; and even then it was quite a job. She was met by a blast of rain that came straight from the northeast. It was cold and wet with a hint of sleet, and it howled through the branches of the old trees that surrounded the house. Damn. She had left the car halfway the drive - she was going to get wet. But it couldn't wipe out her rosy feeling of well-being; she was still basking in the glow of their being together. She looked back into the house over her shoulder. "Rotten weather!" she shouted. "See you!" "Take care!" he shouted back. She stepped outside. The door was almost blown out of her hands but she managed to close it with as little of a bang as the wind allowed. Shielding her head from the icy rain with one arm, and carrying her bag on the other, she hurried to the car. She got in, started the engine and switched on the windscreen wipers; it was getting dark and the wind blew a flurry of overdue leaves off the trees. She switched on the lights. She could see clearly for just about thirty yards; after that everything got blurred. Lovely, she thought. Just what I need. She slowly put the car into first gear and moved forward when a sudden squall made her adjust the speed of the windscreen wipers to its maximum. She crept down the narrow drive slowly and then the old chestnut, which had been ailing for years, was blown over. It crashed down on top of her car and she lost consciousness. An hour later he left the house to walk the dog, and high time, too, when in the light of his torch he saw the car, or what was left of it, still sitting in the drive. With his hair on end he ran over to investigate. The windscreen had gone, and he saw Jolene's bright red coat in the beam of his torch. He shouted at her but she didn't react, and forgetting about the dog he ran back into the house and called 112. The ambulance was rather long. The police were the first to arrive, and they immediately called the fire brigade, who had a hell of a job getting the tree out of the way and extracting her from the wreck. An officer and one of the paramedics came over to where he stood; he gave them all the information he had to give them. He stood looking on at the ghastly scene in the driving rain, lit by the powerful headlights of the other cars, without realising he was drenched, and when Jolene was finally freed from her confinement he got a brief glimpse of her face, and his stomach turned over. He retched and looked away. The paramedics shook their heads. One of them walked over and asked him to come along. He declined. "I'll be over as soon as possible," he said. "Have to put on dry clothes and lock up first... and have you seen my dog?" She was rushed to hospital. She was still breathing when she arrived but she did not come to any more; when he arrived by taxi at the hospital, thirty minutes later, she had already died. Dwayne Rushing had had a long and boring day. He had gone to a conference that he couldn't see his way out of, but he had not expected it to be worth his while, and it wasn't. It had been long and far too detailed and he really couldn't care less, and he had left at the earliest possible opportunity. He didn't feel like having dinner with that lot, so he had made an excuse - he had a long way to go and all that - and he was looking forward to having a nice bite at home; he'd pop something into the microwave alright. It really was a long way to go. The nearer his home he came, the worse the weather got, and he had to hold the steering wheel hard not to be blown out of his own lane involuntarily. With a sigh of relief he left the motorway behind; he felt even better when he drove on to his own drive. He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. Ten thirty. Oh my. Strange. Janet's car wasn't there. She was never out late at night. There wouldn't be something wrong with Rosie? He jumped out of his car and ran into the house. Rosie was sitting on the couch in the living room. She clutched her felt rabbit and looked at him with a tearstained face. He picked her up and held her close. "What is it, darling? Where's mummy?" "I don't know," Rosie blubbered. "She wasn't there when I got home." "How did you get in?" "Mummy always leaves the key on a hook in the shed." Dwayne looked at his daughter, flabbergasted. Rosie, at five years old, was much too young to have to let herself in. "Always? Isn't she there more often?" She nodded. "I'm hungry," she said. Dwayne pulled himself together. "Come," he said. "Let's go to the kitchen." He found some food in the freezer and stuck it in the microwave, and he found Rosie some biscuits and made her a glass of orange squash. Then he took his cell phone and called his wife's number. "Hello," a male voice said. "Valley Hospital." Dwayne's heart skipped a beat. He had to clear his throat twice before he could croak, "Is Janet there?" "Who is this speaking?" "Dwayne Rushing. My wife is missing, er -" "Mr Rushing, do you think you could come over?" "Yes, of course. What's wrong with her?" "You'd better come over first. Please." Dwayne said he would be there and rang off. "Rosie," he said, "mummy's in hospital. I have to go there." "Is she ill, then?" Rosie said. Dwayne shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm afraid things are not alright." He stroked her head, and shook his head again. Then he called the neighbours. He told them he had to go to hospital and asked them to take care of Rosie. Dick and Peggy, who were in their sixties and who he could always rely on, were there within minutes. "Oh, you poor things," she said. "It's usually bad when they won't tell you over the phone. Come on then, off you go. Do you want Dick to come along?" Dwayne gave her a bewildered look. "I er -" he said and then he looked at Dick. "You do not mind?" he said. They went to his car and Dick drove them to the hospital. He was received by an elderly doctor, who made him sit down before he told him the bad news. "You'd better not look at her," he said. "It's not a pretty sight. But perhaps you can identify her jewellery; the fact it's her cell phone isn't identification enough." He laid out a few items of jewellery. Dwayne could definitely identify her wedding ring; there were a bracelet and a necklace he had never seen before. There was also her red jacket - but she only wore that at festive occasions? "I do recognise her ring and her jacket," he said. "It can't miss. What happened?" The doctor raised his eyebrows. Then he told Dwayne her car had been struck by a falling tree, over on the drive of a Mr Tillotson. It had taken them a long time to find out who she was, as the information Mr Tillotson had given was patently wrong; he had said Janet's name was Jolene Molloy. He said that Janet could not have suffered at all; she must have lost consciousness straight away. Then he told Dwayne that Janet would have to stay there, and he took down his address so the police could contact him. Dwayne was given Janet's bag and her jewellery. Her jacket was bloodstained and he didn't want it. The doctor's tale didn't make sense, he thought. Mr Tillotson? Jolene Molloy? And then her red jacket and the key in the shed? Shaking his head he left the room, escorted out by the doctor who went in again when he saw there was someone there to take over. Dick, who had been waiting for him outside, looked at him questioningly. "She's dead," Dwayne said. "She was squashed by a falling tree." His face was white and the skin of his cheeks felt as if it had been stretched too taut across his face. He held Janet's possessions in one hand and he clenched his fists, without realising, and stared into nothing. Oh Janet... He saw her smiling face before his eyes, and he wanted her so badly it hurt. He felt a wave of nausea come over him, and he stood shaking. The hospital corridor got blurred as his eyes filled with tears. Dick put a hand on his arm. "Come on. Let's go home." Peggy had sat in the kitchen with Rosie until she had eaten some food; anxiety had ruined her appetite, and she kept asking Peggy what had happened. But Peggy didn't know. She took the little girl on her knee and cuddled her, and eventually Rosie fell asleep. She sat waiting with the sleeping child still in her arms when she heard the car return. "Wake up, Rosie," she said. "Let's hear what your dad has to tell us." Dwayne and Dick hurried in from the rain, and Dick dumped Janet's bag on the floor. Rosie got off Peggy's lap and ran to Dwayne. He stooped, and picked her up. "Oh, Rosie," he said. "Rosie..." He shook his head and rubbed his hands over his eyes. His voice didn't seem to work. "Rosie," he said. "You must be a big girl now. Mummy got hurt. She's not coming home. She'll never come home any more..." He realised with a start she was all he had now, and he hugged his daughter closely. "She's dead?" Peggy asked. "Yes," Dwayne said. He nodded and the tears ran down his face. Rosie started to cry, and Peggy came over to him. She stroked the girl's head and took her in her arms again. "What happened?" she asked. Dwayne explained, more or less. He was rather inaudible, and Peggy had to ask him to repeat things a few times. Dick made a pot of tea, and when Dwayne had finished they all sat at the kitchen table, having their tea in silence. Rosie was trembling with fatigue. Peggy lifted her up and left the kitchen to put her to bed. When she returned Dwayne had changed from tea to whisky; he looked a sight, she thought. "What was she doing at Joe Tillotson's place?" she asked. "I don't know. I've never even heard of him. Janet said she'd be home all day; it seems she was away more often. Rosie -" He didn't know if he should tell them, but then he did; he was afraid he would burst if he didn't. "Rosie said she left the key for her on a nail in the shed when she was not in before Rosie came home. Who is Tillotson?" "He's a photographer," Dick said. "One of these fancy photographers that ask a fortune to do your portrait. They say he's quite good." "He said that Janet was called Jolene Molloy. And Janet wore her red jacket and there was jewellery I have never seen before..." Peggy and Dick looked at each other. Peggy shook her head. "It sounds a bit fishy," Dick said. Dwayne nodded. He looked bewildered. Then he put his head in his hands and cried. Peggy put an arm round his shoulder. She just let him cry. There was nothing she could find to say. Eventually he dried his eyes and poured himself another drink. He looked at Dick and Peggy. "No, thank you," Dick said. Peggy shook her head. "Should I contact the undertaker's now?" he said. Dick shook his head. "Better leave that until daylight," he said. "It's well past twelve now. You'd better finish that drink and go to sleep. We'll come round in the morning to sort the two of you out, if that's ok with you." Dwayne nodded. "That would be great. I er, I don't know if I can handle this on my own. What can she have been doing there?" They finished their drinks and Dick and Peggy went home. Dwayne went to bed. He set his alarm for seven and switched off the lights. Sleep didn't come. The wind kept howling round the house, and the open questions raised by Janet's death kept churning in his mind, with all sorts of possible and less possible explanations. He wished she were there, and he wished he could hold her tight and kiss her, and when he'd lain staring at the ceiling for well over an hour he got up, put on his robe and went downstairs. He took Janet's bag and emptied the contents on to the kitchen table. There were her keys, her purse, a leather wallet for cards and stuff, an A5 envelope, a plastic bag and a cardboard box. He felt rather uncomfortable about it all; he'd never in all their marriage looked into her things, on a mutual understanding that one needed one's privacy. He'd implicitly trusted her. He took the plastic bag and emptied that one, too. It made him gasp for breath. The bag contained a set of black underwear and stockings, of a kind he would never even have dared to buy for her. The bra had hardly any cups and the panties no crotch. She never wore other than cotton underwear of a highly utilitarian kind, as far as he knew. The box was even worse. There were a couple of small sex toys in it, and two silver objects he didn't recognise for what they were, a kind of silver stars the size of a man's large watch with a hole in the middle. He put his hands over his eyes in the hope it would dispel the image, but it didn't work. Then he opened the envelope and took out a series of photographs. They came out upside down, and on the back it said, "for Jolene with love." There was Joe Tillotson's trade stamp as well. He turned them over. The top photograph showed his wife dressed in the underwear he'd just found. The objects from the box were around her nipples that stood quite stiff in their silver jewellery, and he could clearly see her mons pubis - completely hairless, too. The next one showed her face; she had a penis in her mouth and smiled around it into the lens. He let the pictures fall on to the table. He didn't want to see the rest; it hurt like hell, and the worst thing was that she'd never wanted to have oral sex with him. The last eighteen months or so their sex life had been less than satisfactory anyway. She'd usually pretended to have a headache, or to be tired, and she'd often been rather distant, almost as if he wasn't really there... It made him feel the more how much he'd always wanted and needed her. He'd always thought it was mutual... She could put her arms around his neck and smile at him in a way that made him go completely soft inside, and when she did his whole being would sing. He had never ever expected - When they'd just met she'd been all over him; nothing fancy but very passionate, and very often. To his regret it had all become rather pedestrian over the years, and lately... He picked up the photographs again. The rest of the series showed his wife making love with some man he'd never seen in a lot of poses and positions. The photos were well-made alright - he found them extremely hard to look at. When he'd seen them all he put them back into their envelope. He stuffed the underwear and the box into the bag as well, took them upstairs and put them into the wardrobe. Then he returned to bed. The image of Janet as he'd known and loved her became confused with the Janet he'd seen in the pictures. His love for her and his deep disappointment merged into one; they were painful in the extreme. He wasn't sure if it all hurt or rather rankled but the net result was the same, anyway. Janet's nightgown lay on the other pillow, and her smell was in it. Oh Janet, he thought, please, please - why did you - how could you - He sat up in the bed and searched his mind to find if there was something, anything, he might have done wrong, anything that could have driven her away from him, anything that could have driven her into someone else's arms? They had never quarrelled, and he had always tried to make life as good for her as he could. Had he been dull or inconsiderate? He sat shaking his head for a long time, and he suddenly felt terribly cold. He lay down again, put his face into the pillow and cried himself to sleep. He woke up at seven and got himself ready for the day. First he cancelled his appointments and then he took Rosie to school. He gave the necessary information to the head and Rosie's teacher, and returned home. Dick and Peggy came over when he'd just called the undertaker's, and together they went through their various address books. When they'd made a list of everyone that had to be informed, Dwayne first called Myra, his mother. Then he called his own father, and a few of their close friends. The others would get a written notification. Peggy made coffee and saw to the catering. They received the undertaker and made the necessary arrangements; then the police came by. The wreck of Janet's car had been towed away and the insurance company ought to be informed. It was early afternoon before they were on their own again. Peggy looked at Dwayne. "Did you get any wiser yet as to this Tillotson business?" "Yes. She had an affair. I er - there's photographs to show. I don't know for certain but I think it must have been going on for well over a year. That's how long we hardly ever touched..." Peggy was very quiet for a long three minutes. Then she sighed and said, "I feared as much; she often went out of an afternoon, and she obviously didn't go shopping. We discussed things, of course; but it wouldn't have made life any better for either of you if we'd meddled, we thought." Dwayne made a face. "You're probably right. I wouldn't have known what to do if I had been in your shoes. The knowledge is galling. It taints my thoughts about her, and it's worse because we can't talk about it any more. I can't think of a reason why. I must have done something wrong. I don't know... I don't know..." He had to stop talking because the tears were too close. When he'd pulled himself together he continued, "I will have to say something at her burial... Maybe I can write it down and show it to you to put it right. Rosie mustn't find out - she dotes on Janet." He coughed and quickly turned around to hide the fact he was crying again. Peggy noticed, but she decided to give him the little privacy he wanted. She waited for some time, and then she said, "What do you intend to do about Rosie? I can take care of her when you're not at home. You wouldn't want her to be a latch-key child." "Are you sure? It'll be such a lot of trouble..." "Don't you worry about that; I'm very fond of her, and she's absolutely no trouble at all." Dwayne looked at his neighbour and nodded. "It's the best thing I could think of for her now." He gave her a wan smile; he appreciated her help very much. "Alright then. You go ahead and see to your speech." With no worries about Rosie's spare time it was a little easier for Dwayne to write it, but all the ambivalent feelings and the sense of betrayal didn't facilitate his writing anything good. For Rosie's sake he couldn't vent any of his feelings. His hurt but painfully strong love for his late wife made for a hysterical piece of writing and he tore it up; the text he eventually came up with was very neutral, without touching upon any feelings whatsoever. It was nothing but a story of Janet's life that nobody could find fault with, but that wouldn't move anybody either. Peggy duly read it through. "It is alright," she said, "but only just. Oh well, it will be attributed to shock. You can go ahead with it." To everybody's surprise there was a caller after lunch. Peggy opened the door onto a younger man who introduced himself as Joe Tillotson. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked. "I would like to apologise for my being part in this," he said. "I honestly didn't know that Jolene -" he checked himself - "that Janet was married. I didn't even know she was Janet. I've always known her as Jolene Molloy." "Do come in, then," Peggy said. "You'll get wet through. But I'd better ask Dwayne first. Could you just wait here for a moment?" She went into the living-room and explained. Dwayne gave her a dazed look. "Do you believe him?" he said. It's an Ill Wind "I rather do. I don't think he'd have the nerve to come round and look at you to laugh behind your back. He must feel absolutely horrible, too." Dwayne nodded. Peggy went back to hall and showed Joe into the room. The two men looked at each other. They were not dissimilar, Peggy thought, their ages being the main clear difference. Then Dwayne got up and they introduced themselves. Joe apologised profusely, to be cut short after a little while by Dwayne, who told him that he understood he was not to blame. He showed him the bracelet and the necklace and Joe said that yes, he'd bought those for her. He'd hoped she would come and live with him; she was a good deal older but he hadn't minded; she'd been attractive, vivacious, sweet - then he again apologised when he realised this must be quite painful to hear for Dwayne. "But she always told me she wasn't up to that yet," he concluded. "I wish I had known; I would have kept far from her." Dwayne nodded. "I hope you'll take these thing with you," he said. "Er, I have found your photographs -" here Joe blushed fearfully - "and her underwear. I will not return those; I will destroy them, I think. Thank you for coming; it does answer another question. Er - she will be buried next Friday. You can come if you like; I have your address, so we will let you know." Joe inclined his head. He shook hands again and took his leave. Dwayne sat down at the table with his chin in his hands. He stared into the middle distance and tried to get some grip on his thoughts and emotions. "I wish I knew if this was something I did or didn't do," he said. "I did try to make our marriage work out for the two of us. I thought it did and I - do you think Janet felt neglected?" "She never talked about it - she never even hinted at that to me," Peggy said, "and I don't think she would have to Dick. Did she?" Dick shook his head. "You'd better not try and blame yourself. From what I've seen you've been attentive enough." Dick and Peggy had always thought Dwayne and Janet were a model couple, and they thought highly of Dwayne. But appearances had proved very deceitful. Myra and Dwayne's father came over the next morning. They arrived almost at the same time, and the three of them sat talking together for a long time, discussing the arrangements Dwayne had made. Then Janet's mother left again. "So what's troubling you?" his father asked as soon as they were alone. He knew his son too well not to notice, and he though it was rather strange that Dwayne was so tense and quiet. Dwayne smiled mirthlessly. He gave the main details and sighed. "You will keep this to yourself, won't you?" he said. "You do know me by now, don't you?" His father considered the situation. "Rosie mustn't hear of this, nor must Myra. This is some predicament, son." Dwayne nodded. "Peggy, my neighbour, has offered to take care of Rosie between school hours and my return in the evening. Rosie likes her a lot." "That's one thing, at least." He rubbed his temples. "I would never have expected it of her. You never really know anyone at all, do you?" When his father had left, Dwayne pulled himself together and went through his late wife's possessions. He found some more sexy underwear, some leather stuff and a spiked dog collar with a metal eye plus a latex dildo hidden at the back of a shelf of sweaters, together with a small bunch of letters Joe Tillotson had written to her, addressed to a mailbox. He read a couple of them and it became very clear from them that Joe had really had no idea of the role Janet had played. The sexual detail was very unpalatable to him, and after the third one he burnt the lot in the stove. Well, he thought, so that is that. He put her clothes into a couple of bin liners, with the exception of the sexy things. He put the articles she'd worn into the washing machine and when they were clean and dry he stuffed the lot into a fresh bag and put them into the wardrobe. He took her other clothes to the local charity, and then he drove back home, sat down and took stock of his situation. There was Rosie, to begin with. It was very important that she should get through this disaster unscathed, with as little trouble as possible, and that meant that he would have to put himself onto an even tighter schedule than before; he would have to make a lot of time to do things together, and be both father and mother for her... So much for his social life. Oh well, first things first. The burial was a very subdued affair, even more so than usual. Most people attributed his speech to shock, just as Peggy had thought; there were only one or two who had their doubts. All Janet's friends were there, as were his, and Joe was there, too. He tactfully stayed in the background but he had a difficult job keeping his tears in check. He had really loved Janet very much, notwithstanding their age difference, and her death had hit him very hard. After the burial Dwayne went out for dinner with Rosie, his father and his mother. They mainly talked about the burial and Janet. Myra looked at Dwayne a couple of times, but refrained from asking him what was on her mind; she, for one, had found his speech completely out of character, and she didn't understand his reticence over dinner either. A couple of weeks after the burial she came round of an evening, and confronted him with it. He didn't want to put her wise, but she was no fool. "Look here," she said. "I'm not too easily shocked, and I think you ought to tell me. I called your father and he wouldn't speak; I suppose you asked him not to. I am too old to have to be protected from unpleasantness, and I certainly don't believe her death was your fault, but there was clearly something wrong. You didn't say anything really nice about her at all; it was just facts." Rather reluctantly Dwayne let himself be drawn. "I'm very sorry," he said, "but I really couldn't have said anything else. Janet had a lover for well over a year, and she died in his drive. I had no idea until I called her cell phone and got the hospital on the line." "So that's what was wrong. Alright, at least now I understand. Are you still angry?" Dwayne considered her question. "No," he said. "But my good memories are tainted by this. I do try to be honest to her. I really do." He was silent for some time. Then he said, "We had decided Rosie and you should not be told." "Rosie certainly shouldn't," Myra said. "But I think in my case you erred on the side of prudence. I don't think Janet would ever have been happy with one man; she always struck me as somewhat flighty, and I think she managed to keep herself out of trouble for longer than I'd have given her credit for." Dwayne said he couldn't say. "I could. Well, I'll be off. Do you mind if I do come round again some day?" "Mind? Of course not," Dwayne said. "I'll be happy if you do. Rosie loves you, and she's only got two grandparents left, and I love to have you around, too. Losing Janet is bad enough." "Alright, then," Myra said. "Keep going; you'll get over it." She kissed Dwayne on the cheek and left. Dwayne found it hard to fall into his new routine. He did adhere to it with an effort, and he felt very lonely at times. He missed Janet. The longer ago the disaster was, the more he missed her. The sense of betrayal was still there, but it was a little below the surface of the old love he felt for her. He spent his evenings reading, and his weekends were for Rosie. He took her walking in the vicinity, and went camping; they visited adventure parks and they sometimes went to the seaside as Rosie loved pottering about with buckets and spades. She often talked about Janet; she remembered all the good things clearly. He'd wondered if he could ask her about the times Janet would come home late but decided against it. Rosie didn't know there had anything been amiss, and he was determined she'd never find out. Every now and then Rosie went to stay with her grandmother for the weekend. Dwayne would take her to Myra on Friday afternoon and collect her on Sunday night, and it gave him some time to do those thing he'd not got round to over the months. He loved Rosie, and she clung to him, but he missed a grown-up to talk to, apart from the neighbours who came round every now and then. They left the subject alone for almost a year unless Dwayne felt like talking about it; he could always find a listening ear with them. But he was rather reticent and his responsibilities came first. One evening Peggy did touch on the subject. Dwayne gave an evasive answer, but Peggy wasn't having any and berated him about his behaviour. "Why don't you find yourself something nice to do?" she said. "Join a choir, go and play bingo -" Dwayne made a face - "join a reading club or buy a set of golf clubs. But do stop being a recluse. There's lots of nice people to talk to and there's lots of nice women out there who'd love to have you. You're not bad-looking and you are well-spoken. Do something!" Dwayne gave a noncommittal answer. He realised that she was right; but he didn't quite feel up to the challenge, and he didn't know if he could ever trust a woman again. Perhaps he should try and play golf? But he felt that that was a sport for the elderly, rather than a forty-year-old, and he couldn't sing. He smiled when he imagined himself in a choir. They'd probably try and find out where the noise came from... "Anyway," Peggy interrupted his thoughts, "we're having a party next Saturday. You will come, won't you? Rosie will be alright as we're only next door." Dwayne accepted. Even though he didn't like that sort of event too much he felt he really owed it to them, and it would mean a change from staying at home all the time. The party was a very busy kind of affair, with hordes of people he didn't know. Peggy introduced him to a lot of people, most of them women, and he chatted quite pleasantly with some of them. One in particular struck him. Madge was in her early thirties, she had a good figure and was fun to talk to. She had big, sleepy eyes, and gave him a come-hither look that he found very sexy. He drifted from one person to the other, but found himself returning to Madge, and eventually he almost exclusively talked to her. To his own surprise he agreed to go and have dinner at her place the following Friday. He told Peggy, and asked her if she could keep an eye on Rosie that evening. "And in the morning, too," she said with a grin. "The evening will be enough," Dwayne said, turning red. Peggy nodded. "Only joking," she said. "I will take care; have fun." Madge had cooked a brilliant dinner; she was a good and enthusiastic cook. They had a nice meal, and Madge told him a lot of things about herself. Then she asked him his story. Dwayne told her a little. He was disinclined to tell her too much about his marriage, but to his discomfort she started prying. He kept giving noncommittal answers; but it didn't feel good. Eventually Madge gave up. When the conversation got back to neutral ground he recognised the young woman of the party again. Dwayne left at eleven. Madge was rather disappointed as she'd hoped to make him stay the night, but they did arrange for her to come and visit him the following week. He gave Madge a lot of thought that week. She had seemed very nice and desirable at the party, but he wasn't so sure now. If she really was as nice as he'd thought it would probably show, and if she wasn't... They had arranged for her to come at five, but she was there at four thirty while Dwayne was still cleaning the vegetables. She looked at him work. "That's the wrong way to do it," she said. "Let me have that knife." A little taken aback, Dwayne handed her the knife. "Look," she said. "This is the right way." He hardly noticed the difference and stood looking on with his hands in his trouser pockets. Janet had never found fault with him or told him he did things wrong. He expected she would hand back the knife to him but she didn't. Then Rosie came home, and Dwayne introduced Madge to his daughter. Rosie looked at her, but she didn't say anything. Madge didn't have a way with children. She thought they were something of a nuisance, and she'd not reckoned with Rosie's presence. But she didn't give it too much thought; instead she took over Dwayne's cooking entirely. It made Dwayne feel immensely uncomfortable. He tried to ignore the feeling by doing different things like laying the table and getting Rosie to participate. Madge didn't notice the hints he dropped for that participation so he had her help him instead. Dinner was a little strained. The meal Dwayne had intended to cook wasn't his any more, and Madge had used rather too many spices to Rosie's liking. Dwayne tried to make conversation with the three of them. Rosie sat looking at Madge, and she hardly said anything, and Madge talked almost exclusively to Dwayne. Now and again she stopped halfway her sentence whenever her ring-tone indicated that there was another text message, and she took her time to answer all of them. After dinner had been cleared away they went to the living room. "Isn't it time Rosie went to bed?" Madge said. Rosie looked at her with wide eyes. They always watched TV together, either a movie or some DVD, and she didn't want to go to bed yet. To her relief Dwayne explained their routine to the woman. She hoped he wouldn't ask her over too often; she didn't really like her. Madge felt very irritated by the procedure. She'd not come to watch some children's programme, and Dwayne seemed rather too much involved in the brat. She sighed and decided that she'd call it a day after that evening. Rosie went to bed at nine, and Madge left at ten. "We're not going to work out together, I think," she said. Dwayne nodded. "I'm afraid you're right," he said. "I hope you're not angry about it; but I'm really tied to Rosie, and Janet's death is still too much on my mind, I suppose. Thank you for trying, though. I really appreciated being with you." She smiled a little sadly. "Yes," she said. "Well, goodbye then. See you!" Dwayne felt rather unhappy about it. At the party he'd hoped this might be the beginning of something good. He felt lonely and he needed an arm around his shoulder, and more; but he was not going to plunge headlong into something wrong just because his hormones played havoc. He went upstairs and looked at his sleeping daughter for some minutes. She, he realised, was the real touchstone for him; if a possible new partner didn't like Rosie, or if Rosie didn't like her, it was bound to fail. When Rosie came downstairs the next morning she asked Dwayne if he liked Madge. "Yes, I do," Dwayne said, "but she isn't my type, I'm afraid. I don't think she really knows how to deal with children. So don't worry, I won't be seeing her again." "I didn't like her too much," Rosie said. Dwayne smiled at his daughter. "What shall we do today?" he said. Some days later, when he collected his daughter at the neighbours, Peggy asked him about the progress he'd made with Madge. He shook his head. "It's off," he said. He explained briefly what had happened. "She's not a bad girl," Peggy said. "But I think the age difference is far too big. Would you like a new girlfriend?" Dwayne made a face. "What do you think?" he said. He shook his head. "But Rosie comes first. I think it'll be hard to find someone who likes both me and her. And I don't want anyone who starts finding fault with me from scratch." Peggy looked at him and shook her head. She was rather worried about him. If only she could get him to divert his attention a little. Rosie should come first, of course, but not to the exclusion of all and everything. Dwayne was progressively looking more strained, and she was afraid he might have a massive breakdown if he didn't find another interest besides his daughter. "Remember what I said about some outside contacts?" "There's always people at work." "Yes, but that's not what I mean. That's just work, and you've got quite enough of that as it is. Far too much, I'd say. Frank, a friend of Dick's, told us about a reading circle he's in. It sounded interesting, I thought. Why don't you go and join them?" Dwayne considered her idea; he knew he was too narrowly focussed on Rosie and work alone. "I might give it a try, perhaps," he said. "I think I do read enough as it is, but perhaps I'll discover some new writers that way." He took Rosie home and thought about Peggy's proposition. Eventually he decided it really might be a good idea to try and see if he liked that sort of thing. When he had put Rosie to bed he went over to the neighbours and asked Peggy how he could contact Frank. She gave him his phone number, and asked him to stay a moment for a cup of coffee. Dick came down from his study and they chatted amicably for some time. When he was home again he dialled the number. "Hello?" "This is Dwayne Rushing. I'm trying to find Frank Colby." "Speaking. Peggy told me about you; would you like to come to an evening of our circle?" "Er, yes please. I'm not quite sure if it is what I'm trying to find..." "Well, there's no harm in trying, is there?" Frank told him they met every other Wednesday from eight thirty to ten in a pub some ten miles away, roughly in the centre of the various members' homes. "You'll be the one who lives farthest away," Frank said. "Is there anything I ought to prepare?" "We're discussing 'Snow Falling on Cedars' next week; you might read that if you can squeeze it in." "I've read it. I'll gladly do so again, though; it's very good." "Alright then. We'll be happy to have another male on the team. See you on Wednesday." Dwayne found his copy of Guterson's novel and sat down to reread the story of Hatsue and Ishmael. He found the book as wonderful as the first time, but now he could allow himself to read it more slowly and to pay more attention to the quality of the writing. When he looked at his watch he found it was eleven thirty; well past his bedtime. He grinned. The next evening he told Peggy he'd taken her advice. "Good for you, my boy," she said. "I hope you'll like it." "I'm reading 'Snow Falling on Cedars' again. That, at least, is a good idea." "Ok. Well, keep me informed." "I will," Dwayne said. "You're a real friend." That Wednesday he drove off at eight. Rosie was asleep, and she knew he would be out. Peggy had promised to look in on Rosie one or twice, and Rosie had Peggy's number just in case; but she was a fast sleeper and she never used it. At the pub he was received by Frank. He realised he had met him at his neighbours' once or twice. They shook hands and Frank took him to the room they met in. The circle consisted of nine people in all, six women and three men; Dwayne would be number ten. He shook hands all round, and when asked he told them briefly who and what he was. Then they embarked on a discussion of the book. Dwayne kept a little in the background at first. He looked at the faces round the table, and decided they seemed alright. He liked Frank and Bob, and two of the women looked really nice as well. He listened to the discussion and noticed that three of the participants didn't have much reading experience; the others' opinions seemed generally well-founded, even though he didn't agree with all he heard. He was asked his opinion one or twice and diffidently put forth his own ideas. He felt the others' eyes on him; they were obviously interested in what he had to say, and he slowly thawed a little. It was nice. Yes, it was really a good idea, and he enjoyed sitting there talking and listening; it was quite a diversion and he forgot his daily chores and worries for the duration of the evening. It's an Ill Wind If he would like to come again next time? Yes, he did indeed. Good; they would turn their attention to Jacobson's 'Kalooki Nights.' Did he know it? He didn't, but he had heard about it, and what he had heard about it had been very positive. They all got up to leave. "I'll have to run," Carol, one of the women he'd noticed before, said. "Or I'll miss my bus." "She lives in your direction," Frank said. "Can't you drop her off?" "Where do you live?" She explained; it was all but on his way. "I'll be happy to take you there," Dwayne said. "No need to rush." They left together and he drove her home. On the way she talked about reading and books, and he rather liked the things she said. He asked her about the circle and she told him they'd started three years ago. It had been Frank's initiative, and there had been twelve of them to start with. Four had given up because they found reading a novel every fortnight was too much pressure, and they'd found one new member; and now he might be another one. "Do you read a lot?" she asked. Dwayne told her he had most evenings to himself. He said he had almost forgotten to go to bed when he sat rereading Guterson. She smiled at him. "It is a gripping story, isn't it?" she said. "I sometimes felt envious of Hatsue, even though she lives through such a lot of misery." Dwayne scowled. "I know exactly what you mean," he said. "It's a painfully beautiful read at times." Carol lived just off the main road; he dropped her off at her gate and promised to pick her up for the next session. At home he first tiptoed to Rosie's room; she was fast asleep, as usual. He went to the kitchen for some cheese and crackers. He took them into the living room and poured himself a stiff drink. Then he sat down and revolved the evening in his thoughts. It had been really nice, and he was looking forward to going again. It gave him something else to think of, and he liked the atmosphere in the group. He started his laptop and ordered 'Kalooki Nights' on line. Peggy had been quite right. He had been on his way to becoming a recluse, he thought. The next evening he called an old friend and arranged to meet him that weekend; Geoff was married, and they had a daughter who was a couple of weeks older than Rosie. Before Janet died they had played together now and then, and it seemed a good idea to pick up part of his old life again. Rosie loved going there. "Yes," she shouted, "oh, dad, can't we do that more often?" He grinned at her. "One step at the time, please, young lady." But he knew she was right, and he found over the weeks that it did him a lot of good. The reading club was another stepping-stone back to a normal life. The people were nice indeed, and he enjoyed his talks with Carol, however short. He always picked her up and dropped her off, and they could talk about almost anything. She'd always gone by bus because of her husband's job. He needed the car and he worked rather late most of the time. At first she'd thought he was secretly seeing a lover but he'd shown her his schedules in his boss's emails, and it was all over and above board. She felt a bit sorry for him, and for herself, too, as he was usually too tired to be of much use. But he was happy in his job and she was happy for him. Dwayne thought she would be about thirty-five, but when he asked her she told him she was forty-four, almost four years older than he. "I'd never have guessed by your looks," he said. She smiled a little, and thanked him. Spring was warm and humid, and Dwayne did a lot of gardening. He felt somewhat pressed for time now and then, but Rosie happily played on the swing or with the other neighbours' girls. They had two daughters and Rosie was about as old as the elder one, so he didn't have to worry she'd feel left out. Joe Tillotson came by sometimes. Rather to his surprise Dwayne really liked the fellow, and they shared an interest in various things; Joe had just chanced upon jazz, and Dwayne played a lot of his favourites for him while they sat looking outside and enjoying the spring air through the open French windows. By tacit agreement Janet was not spoken about; they both felt it might impede their friendship and they shied away from the subject. Dwayne once returned the visit. He rather liked Joe's place, but he found the realisation that it was there Janet had gone when he was away fairly hard to stomach; and he didn't relish realising that it was that stretch of drive where she'd been lethally wounded. When he was there Joe introduced him to his sister, Meg. Dwayne immediately felt attracted to her; she was funny and somewhat unconventional, and he tentatively asked her out. She gave him a sphinx-like smile and accepted. They went out an a Friday night. Meg was wildly funny, and she turned out to be quite interested in a lot of things he liked. The evening was over before Dwayne realised, and it really felt like more. To his great regret, however, she turned down his invitation for another date. She said she was sorry but she hadn't got the time, and besides, she would soon be travelling for over a year. She hoped he didn't mind, but alas, she had too many goals to pursue. He did mind, but he didn't say so. Instead he thanked her for a nice evening and drove home contemplating the fact that life was complicated in the extreme. Oh well, there was always Rosie, and she at least was a constant factor - the constant factor - in his life. So back to normal again, old boy. One Wednesday in May, when Dwayne reversed on Carol's drive, she didn't come outside as usual. He waited for a moment, and then killed the engine. He got out and rang the bell. It took quite some time before he heard Carol shuffle down the hall to the front door. She opened and looked at Dwayne with a face that was tearstained and blotched with crying. "Carol!" Dwayne said. "What's the matter?" He went in and closed the door, and took Carol's hand. "What happened? Is there anything I can do?" She shook her head. "It's Bill. He's left me. When I came home from work yesterday there was a note on the table. He's gone to live with James, his boss..." She sucked both lips into her mouth and bit them hard to prevent herself from crying. "I had thought -" A few tears ran down her cheeks, and she brushed them away with her hand. "I had hoped we would grow old together..." She crumpled up and Dwayne had to grab her and hold her or she would have fallen over. He patted her back and stroked her hair and wondered what on earth he could do to help. His own disappointment came briefly back to his mind, but he drove it out with an effort. When Carol had calmed down a little, Dwayne said, "Look, shall I call the club and tell them we're not coming? Or do you want me to go?" Carol looked at him and shook her head. "I'd better come along," she sniffed. "But I don't want to tell them now. Just let me wash my face." Dwayne didn't think it was a good idea but he nodded and she went upstairs. After a little time she came back, dressed in a fresh blouse and with a scrubbed face, red and clean. "You do look a lot better," Dwayne said. "But I think they can still see you're none too happy." "Oh, fuck you," she said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. But if I don't go everyone will go and think things, and I don't want that to happen." Dwayne nodded. "I know about that," he said. They went to Dwayne's car and drove to the pub. Carol talked about everyday things and carefully avoided her troubles, and when they were there she had more or less regained her composure. Her fellow members did notice something was amiss but they were too polite to ask, and as the evening progressed Carol seemed more and more her old self. On the way back she immediately started to unburden herself. "I hope you don't mind," she said, "but I think I can trust you and I have to talk about it or I'll burst." "That's alright," Dwayne said. "I don't talk." They arrived at Carol's place. "I'll come with you," he said. "You'd better get all of it off your chest." They went in and Carol showed him into the living room. "I'll make us some coffee," she said. Dwayne got out his cell phone to call Peggy and tell her he'd be a little later, but to his annoyance he had no signal. He went across the hall into the kitchen and said, "Can I use you phone for a moment? I have no signal and I want to call Peggy." "Peggy? I thought your wife was called Rosie?" "Rosie's six. She's my daughter. My wife was called Janet, and she's been dead for over a year now. Peggy's my neighbour and she keeps an eye on Rosie." "Oh. Ok. Yes, of course you can." Dwayne called Peggy and explained. Then Carol came in with the coffee, and she sat down and talked, and talked, and talked. Dwayne was a good listener. He just let Carol talk, with the occasional question on his side, and it did her a lot of good. When she had finished she asked him what he thought she should do. He considered the question. "As far as practicalities are concerned, I would try and get rid of his things, and then you might rearrange your house to suit your own taste completely so you won't get confronted with Bill in everything you do. If it's too painful, I can come and sort thing out with you this Saturday. But emotionally? I don't know. I really don't know. It took me a very long time to resign myself to Janet having been unfaithful - she died in her lover's drive. I only found out afterwards." He looked at Carol and she nodded. "I never told anyone but my father, my mother and the neighbours. I don't want Rosie to know, so I've kept things to myself. Perhaps it's best just to tell the people you really care about, and let the others simply know Bill's gone without the details." He thought about it some more and said, "Perhaps you should have yourself tested for STDs, too. Some homosexuals are rather promiscuous." "Yes," she said. "I will. Er, I'd appreciate your help, so if you can come and sort things out with me... You can bring Rosie, I've got enough things to keep her busy. My sister's got a girl about her age and she sometimes comes to stay for the weekend." Dwayne nodded. "We'll be there," he said. Carol accompanied him to the front door. "Thank you for being there," she said and she kissed him on the cheek. Dwayne drove home deep in thought. People did make a mess of things. He expected Bill had married Carol in the same expectation of growing old together, before he found out his inclinations lay entirely different. He couldn't even blame him, but it was damned hard on Carol. He really liked Carol. He thought of her face, of how she'd looked when he'd rung her bell, and how she looked when she was at ease - she was one of the nicest women he knew. She had dark blonde hair with a natural wave, and green eyes, and a kind, lovely face. He shook his head. It was damned hard on her, it really was. He realised she was the first woman he'd held in his arms for well over a year. It had felt good, notwithstanding the unpleasant circumstances. Madge briefly came to his mind, but all the shine she'd held initially was truly lost. He couldn't really envisage her face too well any more. Carol's, now... When he came home Peggy came out of her house and asked him over for a drink. "You will have to tell us what's going on," she said. "I'll just look in on Rosie and then I'll come over," he said. Rosie was asleep, as usual, and he went over to Dick and Peggy. He was always happy to go there for a drink and a talk, and when they had poured him a G&T he told them briefly what had happened. Dick and Peggy never talked about others; they were simply involved with his welfare. Peggy listened carefully to what he had to say and how he phrased things; when Dwayne had finished his drink and left she said to Dick, "He obviously likes this Carol woman, don't you think?" Dick looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Is this your female intuition or do you just hope he'll run into someone nice?" "Oh, I don't know if it'll ever come to anything; he may not even realise he likes her. But he does, for all that." That Saturday Dwayne was up early. He breakfasted with Rosie and they drove to Carol's place. He parked his car in the drive and they got out. He looked at the house and the garden. He hadn't really given himself much time to do so before; but there was no hurry now. She lived in a well-kept cottage; it must be about two hundred years old, he thought. It was what they called desirable property. It seemed just the right size and it sat in a garden that was beautifully laid out. Yes, he thought, I can imagine she'd hoped to get old with Bill in here. He sighed. Then he took Rosie's hand in his and they went up to the front door. Carol looked a lot better than she had that Wednesday. She smiled at Dwayne and shook hands with Rosie. "Hello," she said. "I'm Carol. Come in." Rosie looked at Carol. "I'm Rosie," she said. Then she walked with her to the living room. Carol had a pot of coffee ready, and a jar of lemonade for Rosie; on the rug there was a big box with dolls and clothes, and Rosie gave Carol a questioning look. "You can play with them if you like," Carol said. Rosie nodded. "Yes, please," she said. She sat down on the rug and went through the contents of the box first. Then she took one of the dolls, undressed it and selected a new outfit. Carol and Dwayne looked at each other and grinned. Rosie happily played on the rug. She looked at Carol now and again, and Carol nodded at her when their eyes met, to be rewarded with a timid smile. "Alright then," Dwayne said. "What can I do for you?" They went upstairs. Rosie stayed in the living room; she came upstairs now and then to show them a particularly beautiful outfit on one of the dolls, and to tell them why she'd dressed the doll that way. Carol loved it. She discussed Rosie's work with her and asked a few questions or gave some advice once or twice. They took all of Bill's clothes from the wardrobe and put them into bags; at the back of one of the shelves they found a set of homoerotic DVDs. Then they went to the bathroom and removed his toiletries. "My," Dwayne said, "he really has a big collection of creams and gels - didn't that strike you as odd?" "I never gave it a thought. Maybe, in retrospect..." "That's the way it always goes, isn't it?" "Yes," she said with a sigh. "It is." They got Bill's tools from the shed, and then Carol went through the CD collection to get out all the music Bill had bought that she didn't like. "Some of these are boring," she said, "and there are a good many I really can't stand. Please be a dear and put them in that box." Dwayne did. There was a lot of house music and disco, the sort of music he'd turn off on the few occasions he listened to the radio, and there was some death metal, much too aggressive to his taste. "I'll keep the rest," she said. "We either bought them together or they were mine anyway." After they had gone through the books in a similar fashion Carol said, "So much for now. What do I do with it?" "You'd better call Bill and tell him he can come and collect his stuff," Dwayne said. "He may have to make the trip twice; but still." Carol did, and half an hour later Bill arrived together with his boyfriend in a small van. They carried the bags of clothes to the car, and then the discs, books and tools. "Do you mind if I take the clock and the armchair?" Bill said. "They were my grandfather's." "No," Carol said, "please do." The two men carried the clock and the chair into the van, too. Then they went into the living room together. Bill looked at Carol, and Dwayne saw he felt very uncomfortable. "Carol," he said, "I do apologise - er, I can't help it. I really was not happy with myself any more, and I did try to get over it, but it was too hard. Are you very, very angry?" "No," she said. "I'm not angry - but you might have told me before." Bill nodded. "Yes," he said. "But I didn't dare." Then he shook hands with her and wished her luck. She made a face and looked at him grimly, but she did thank him, and went with him to the door. "Here are my keys," he said. "I'll keep the car; I do need it. You can keep the house." He handed her an envelope. "These are the deeds; I arranged it at the lawyer's some weeks ago." He turned around and hurried to the car with tears in his eyes. James shook hands with Carol, too. Then they left. "Good heavens," Dwayne said. "He seems to be as shaken as you are." Carol nodded. "We both lose out on this, I suppose. Oh well. My, look at the time. I'm famished." She went into the kitchen to prepare tea. Rosie, who had seen and heard the conversation, came along. "I can help," she said. They had tea together in the garden, and after they'd washed up the Rushings went back home. Rosie sat in the rear seat, looking at the trees whizzing past. "Dad," she said, "Carol is nice. Can we go there again?" Dwayne briefly looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. "I don't know," he said. "You did enjoy yourself, didn't you?" Rosie nodded. "She is not like Madge," she said. "Goodness no. Fortunately not." "Madge doesn't like little girls, does she?" "No, I don't think so. She's too involved in herself." Rosie was silent again. They were almost home when she said, "Do you like Carol?" "Yes, she's nice." "But do you really like her?" Dwayne considered the question. "I think so," he said. "Why?" "Just because," his daughter said. Dwayne left it at that. Eleven days later Carol looked a good deal better again. As she got into the car she said, "I think I'd better tell everybody; I think I'm up to it now. And I will just tell the truth; it's not my fault anyway." "Good for you," Dwayne said with a smile. "Clearing the air." Carol nodded. "Oh, and my tests were all negative, thank God. I'm so glad you were there to help me. It really made the difference." "I enjoyed it, actually. You did make a hit with Rosie. She's been a little quiet since Janet died, but she learnt to judge people somehow. There was a woman I dated a couple of times; Rosie saw exactly what was wrong." "What was wrong?" "Oh, she was too young for one thing, and she was much too busy with her cell phone. But what really clinched it was that she didn't like children at all. She just couldn't accept Rosie being there." They drove onto the car park, and went in. Carol told the others about her situation, and she was listened to respectfully. Dwayne looked her with admiration; he knew how much it upset her, and wow, she brought it off fantastically. The other members nodded, and one of them voiced everyone's feelings when he told her they felt for her. Then they started on their next book, Richard Wright's 'Uncle Tom's Children.' By the middle of July they had their final meeting before the summer holidays. It was decided they'd start again on the first Wednesday in September, and as there was a long break in between they'd read 'The Pillars of the Earth.' Dwayne thanked the circle for having admitted him into their midst. His fellow members smiled at him; the enthusiasm was mutual. When he drove Carol home she invited him for dinner at their local pub that weekend, with Rosie - "Yes, they will have children -" as a thank-you gesture for all the times he'd taken her along. "I'll be very happy to come," Dwayne said, "and I'm sure Rosie will be very glad, too. But it was no trouble at all, and I always look forward to our talks on the way." She smiled at him warmly; she had come to prize those short drives as a short relief of the week's loneliness. "So do I," she said. "One reason the more."