For One Night Only Read online

  “My niece is going to be staying with me for a while. She’s got a nice job in Taunton.”

  “Ah, I see. You’ll have to come over and meet my wife, Marigold. Shame you weren’t here last summer. We had a bit of a bash for our anniversary.”

  “Well, she didn’t have her job, then, Wilbur,” said Rolf.

  “You can go and play darts, uncle,” Rhianna said. “I don’t mind.”

  “No, I’m not leaving you on your first night. Your mother would never forgive me.”

  “Won’t you be coming on the golf weekend, then?” Wilber asked.

  “No, I won’t leave my niece.”

  “Oh, Uncle Rolf,” Rhianna said. “You must. I’d feel terrible if you put off your plans for my sake.”

  “It’s tomorrow, dear. I would have to leave very early, so it wouldn’t be fair on you.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably sleep until midday.”

  “No, I don’t think so. It’s a trip.”

  “How long?” Rhianna asked

  “Just for one night,” interrupted Wilbur. He had a hopeful expression on his face.

  Poor man thought Rhianna. He really wanted uncle Rolf to go with him. She picked up the tray to take it out. She’d wash the cups. That would prove to her uncle that she was self-reliant.

  Before she left the room, she said “Go on, uncle. What harm will it do? It’s only for one night.”

  Chapter Two

  As Eddie drove along the A39 through the Valley of Rocks, Phil Collins was playing on the radio. In the Air Tonight. It was new, but already it was one of Eddie's favourite songs. He was a Genesis fan, but his biggest idol was Elvis. He had all his records.

  Gladys was in the back enjoying the ride. "You all right, mother?" he called, craning his neck to look in his rear view mirror. She was a small woman, nearly seventy-two now and she was deaf as a post. He could see her curled grey hair, even in the darkness of the night. She didn’t reply to his question, so he turned up the volume on the radio. Eddie reckoned she'd enjoy a bit of Mr C.

  He was smiling to himself as he drove along the road towards home, through the Valley of Rocks to Seaview.

  Friday night. No work for two whole days, he thought dreamily. That was a great feeling. And to be nearly home, well, life didn’t get any better than that.

  He and Constance had moved to the coast form Bristol, when the houses were newly built two years ago. He liked the idea of being safely tucked away behind a security gate, but the part that appealed to him most was the rear and side aspects, dropping away to the sea.

  The small private beach, on the right of the headland below the forty-five-metre cliff face, was his favourite place of all. Accessed via man-made stone steps cutting down through the rock, the beach was white sand mixed with pebbles, which became entirely covered when the tide was in. When it was out, he was able to enjoy the beach during the summer months to do a spot of jogging, but the best time of all was Winter when no one else braved the cold like he did. It was then, during the early mornings, he would pull on his wetsuit and go for a swim, alone, an invigorating, satisfying, peaceful morning swim.

  While he drove, he thought about his swim that morning when something strange had happened. Under normal circumstances, nothing strange ever happened at Seaview.

  He’d been on his final lap of the bay, between the two jutting cliffs that protected the beach from easterly and westerly winds. Despite his wetsuit, his body had tingled from the effect of the stabbing saltwater and he began to flag. He took a rest, stopping just for a moment to get his breath back. Then, while treading water, he looked up to the top of the cliff, where he thought he saw his wife, Constance, staring out to sea, dressed in nothing but a yellow floral nightie. After a small wave lapped over his face, he opened his eyes and looked again but Constance had gone. Odd.

  He dragged his tired body out of the waves, onto the beach and took the cliff steps at the side of the bay up to the estate. He went along the eight to his house at No.7 as he did each morning. He went around the back, washed his feet off under the outside tap, stripped off his wetsuit, put on his robe and went inside through the patio doors. He took the stairs two at a time and went straight into their bedroom. Constance was fast asleep. So sure, that it had been her watching him from the cliff, he pulled the blankets back to see what nightie she was wearing. It was the plain blue one. Not the yellow floral at all.

  She stirred and he covered her back up.

  In the shower and as he got dressed for work, he thought he must have been seeing things, or at the very least, saw someone else standing there in a nightdress similar to Sandra’s yellow floral.

  Suddenly, his thoughts were brought back to the present when a car came up behind him with its lights on full beam, shining in the mirror and right into his eyes. He cursed as the Cortina overtook him. The driver, a young girl, put up her hand in an apologetic wave, but Eddie wasn’t in the mood for stupid female drivers and so he responded with a very illustrative V sign. That told her.

  As she went on ahead, he could see her inside moving around as if she was attempting to read a map while she was driving.

  Stupid bitch, Eddie thought.

  Phil Collins was still belting out his new song, but Eddie had lost all desire to sing along. He turned down the volume and thought about the phone call he’d had with Constance just before he’d left Taunton, after he’d picked up mother from the care home. “I’ll be home in an hour,” he’d said. “Have tea ready. Gladys will be ready for something by then. They told me she never had her lunch.”

  “Of course, I’ll have it ready. I always do. Every weekend when you bring her home.”

  Attitude! Eddie thought, as he tried to breath calmly. “What?” He’d make her regret that outburst when he got home. She wouldn’t say anything against his old mum again. He’d make sure of it.

  “I didn’t mean to sound…”

  “We’ll talk about it when I get home.”

  “Eddie…”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t mean…How is mum? Is she well?”

  “You’ll see for yourself soon, won’t you?”

  “Yes. Of course. I’ll have her room ready.

  “Good.”

  Then he hung up.

  The call ended and Constance put the phone back on the hook. She stood trembling, wondering about his mood. Wondering if…

  “Are you okay, Connie’?”

  Marigold from No.3 was peering out of the front window of their living room and Constance was worried she’d still be there when Eddie got back. He wouldn’t like that at all. Still, she could hardly say anything to Marigold, it would be too rude.

  “What are you doing in there?” Constance asked as she sliced fresh tomatoes.

  “Looking out for Kiki at No.1.”

  “Why?”

  “She’ll be home from work soon and we’ll probably have a session, since its Friday night.” She turned about. “Why don’t you come over? We could have a girl’s night.”

  Constance closed and opened her eyes as she thought about what her husband would have to say about that. “Eddie wouldn’t like it.”

  “Who cares what men think? This is a new age dawning. We girls should be able to do what we like.” She dropped the curtain and came back into the kitchen. “Look at Kiki, single and working every day. She’s independent.”

  “Eddie says it’s not right. He says she should find herself a husband and stop trying to act like a man.” She wasn’t sure if she agreed with his opinion, but Constance didn’t have many opinions of her own. Not in that marriage. “He said she’d be wearing a suit to work next.”

  “Well, she does sometimes. She has to look the part. She’s management.”

  “Yes, but only in a factory.”

  “No, it’s a good job. She’s the first woman to have a position like that with Philips. I think it’s impressive. If I had my time again, I’d work. Life can be dull without the children at home. Imagine how ex
citing it would be to go to work each day. Still, my Clive provides very well for us.”

  Constance shrugged. She was feeling anxious about Eddie getting home and finding Marigold there.

  “Is Eddie going on the golfing trip tomorrow?”

  Constance nodded. Thank god, she thought. Get him out of her hair for the weekend.

  She grabbed a salad dish from the cupboard above the fridge. The kitchen was a modern open plan room, with a dining table and six chairs down one end just inside the patio doors. The garden looked out over the sea. Sandra loved that house, despite having to live in it with Eddie.

  She took a fresh round lettuce out of the fridge. She only had to finish the salad. The lasagne was already in the oven.

  Constance loved cooking. Ever since spaghetti arrived on English shores, she’d raved at the diversity of the Italian staple, especially since she’d been able to cut a lot of potatoes out of her diet. Of course, she couldn’t eliminate them completely since Eddie favoured a nice buttery mash, but she often made a cottage pie to satisfy that particular whim of his. His other favourite was garlic bread. She often joked about how continental they’d become, but when Eddie ate that garlic, his breath always reeked of it.

  Marigold was straining her neck to look through the lounge doors.

  Constance should tell her to leave, if she wanted to stalk the girl from No.1, but she didn’t have many friends, so the ones she did have, she tried to keep on their good side. She threw a comment across the room. “She not back yet, then?”

  Marigold looked at her watch. “No, she’s late tonight.”

  “You know Eddie and his mother will be home soon,” she hinted, as she sliced some cucumber to go in the salad.

  Marigold pulled out a stool from under the centre counter. The modern kitchen island was the height of elegance as far as Constance was concerned. Not many of the eight had one of those.

  “The mother again?”

  Constance tilted her head while staring at the knife in her hand. “Hmm, every weekend.”

  “Why don’t you tell him to leave her at the care home next weekend to give you a rest.”

  Constance almost spat. “Are you joking? He’d never do that.”

  “You’ve got to put your foot down, Connie. We can’t let these men walk all over us. Not in this modern age. The war’s over, remember,” she added, condescendingly.

  Constance didn’t respond, but she thought the comment was uncalled for. She was a war child, so what Marigold had just said was insensitive, especially since she still remembered the sound of the bombs during the Luftwaffe air raid.

  She went to the fridge and took out a bowl of sliced onions left from last night. The lime green glass bowl was covered in that new plastic wrap. Whenever she used it, she always thought of Katie Boyle holding a glass of milk over her head. Tight as a drum!

  “Shall we have another Cinzano?” Marigold asked.

  Constance’s nerves were on edge now. Her anxiety rising to blowing her top. “Eddie will want his dinner ready when he comes in.” There, she’d said it. Now, Marigold should get the hint.

  “Do you want me to give you a hand?”

  “What?” Constance splashed water over the lettuce, and it sprayed over her dress.

  Just behind her, Marigold startled her when she took hold of her arm. “What’s that bruise?”

  Constance knew what she was referring to. It was from two nights ago and it was actually two bruises, fused into one. “Nothing. I just banged it on the handle of the bathroom door.”

  “Opposed to you banging your head on the bathroom cabinet?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what you said last month when you had that mark at the side of your face.”

  Constance guffawed. “What?” Her laugh was forced, but Marigold didn't know that. No one knew that Constance used to be an actress. A well paid one too. She gave it up when she married Eddie since he'd claimed that no wife of his would ever have to work. He took pride in the statement, and Constance -fool that she was- thought he was being protective and manly. Now…Not so much.

  “You think I haven’t noticed how you are around him?” Marigold said.

  “What do you mean?”

  "You're always scuttering around him like you're scared of him."

  “No, I’m not.”

  Marigold walked away. “Whatever!” She went back to the window where car lights were shining into the room. “She’s back,” she said, announcing the arrival of the woman at No.1.

  Just as Marigold opened the front door, she bumped into Eddie coming inside with his mother.

  Constance thought, she’d just got rid of one nuisance and another two turn up. When would she ever get some peace?

  Constance put on her smiling face; her ‘welcome home’ face; her ‘so-glad-to-see-you’ face. Gladys didn’t even look up to acknowledge her. She often wondered why the old bat had hung on for so long. She was seventy-two and the woman had never suffered an illness in her life except for painful bunions on both feet and the odd swelling of the ankles when she retained water. Apart from that, much to the annoyance of Constance, everything worked well for someone so aged.

  "How was the journey, Gladys?" Constance raised her voice since the old bat was almost deaf as a post. Why couldn't she wear that hearing aid she'd been given by the NHS six months ago? It would make their life a lot easier. Instead, they had to raise their voices to communicate with a woman who didn't give two hoots about what they were saying to her. Constance wouldn't have minded so much if she was interesting, but as she'd got older, she had nothing to say for herself at all. She was just hard work.

  "She was all right," Eddie replied on her behalf, "Weren't you, mum?"

  Gladys nodded with a glum expression on her wrinkled face. For all Sandra knew, the old lady didn’t enjoy coming to their house, any more than Constance enjoyed having her there.

  “We nearly had a bad accident. Some stupid girl left her lights on full beam and practically blinded me. I gave her what for.”

  Constance’s heart jumped. “What did you do?”

  “Stuck my fingers up at her.” He looked at her strangely. “Why? What do you think I did?”

  “I’ve made lasagne for tea.” She smiled at him, hoping she’d get a smile in return. She didn’t.

  She went back to the kitchen and thought about that morning when she’d gone to the cliff. Last night had been particularly hard, so she must have been in some sort of trance when she left the house in her nightie and went along the eight to the path leading to the cliff. She'd stood there, watching him swimming in the cold sea, thinking about the night before when he'd given her a blow to the head. She'd passed out and woken up with dried blood inside her ear.

  She was surprised when he stopped swimming and looked up. At the time, she was wishing he'd get eaten by sharks, despite there being no predators in those waters. As soon as he spotted her, she gasped and stepped back, turning and running back to their house.

  Fifteen minutes later, she heard him walk into the bedroom. She held her breath when he pulled the covers from her curled up, motionless body. With her eyes closed and breathing normally, she thanked God she'd had the foresight to change her nightie. She just hoped he wouldn't see the yellow one inside the laundry basket in the bathroom.

  Now, as Constance grabbed a thick cloth, she turned off the oven and took out the lasagne, baked to perfection. He should be happy with it, she thought. Please let him be happy with it.

  “What was that woman doing here?” Eddie asked as she put three warm plates on the table. She went back for the food, taking each item one at a time. Once, she’d made the mistake of trying to carry two together and dropped one. Eddie had made her pay for that. She never did that again.

  She sat down and began serving up the pasta. She'd used the dried packet stuff, boiling it before layering it neatly with mince and cheese sauce. She had perfected the recipe two years ago after she'd discovered the strange foreign staple
at the local co-op. They'd gone to Italy once on a one of those new package holiday deals, and Eddie had always enjoyed it. ‘Can't you try making it?’ he’d said at the time. Constance had replied, ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ Now they had cooking programmes on the television, where she picked up a lot of new ideas.

  “Marigold was just waiting for the woman at No.1 to get back,” she said, spooning some salad on her plate and serving Gladys too. Eddie helped himself.

  “Why couldn’t she wait in her own house?”

  “She can get a better view from here.” Constance knew he wouldn’t approve. He was the most unsociable and unfriendly man she’d ever met.

  “Next time tell her to take a hike. We don’t live here for her benefit.”

  “She wasn’t in my way. I still made dinner…”

  He banged his knife on the table. It was a sign to tell Constance to stop arguing with him. “Are you trying to start something?”

  Constance looked at Gladys, whose eyes were lowered as her fork pronged the pasta.

  “No, I was just saying…”

  “Well don’t.”

  Constance remained quiet. How she hated him. How many times had she wished him dead, each night hoping he’d crash his car on the way home? She would pretend to be a grieving widow until she cashed the insurance policy. The papers sat in the top drawer, taunting her every day when he came home safe and sound. When the man from the Pru’ visited each fortnight, he always asked if they wanted to up the payments for bigger dividends. Eddie always said yes to her life insurance policy, but not to his own. It made Constance feel eternally suspicious of him. Still, he’d never get away with killing her. The insurance wouldn’t pay out when the coroner discovered the bruises on her body. She knew that much.

  “Did you pack my bag for the trip?” he asked before he shoved a big fork full of pasta into his ugly mouth.

  “Of course. And I put in that tie I got you for Christmas last year.”

  “Will I need a tie?”