Bad Behaviour

  LESLEY COOKMAN

  BAD BEHAVIOUR

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2013

  ISBN9781909624184

  Copyright © Lesley Cookman 2013

  The right of Lesley Cookman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, The Old School, Upper High St, Bedlinog, Mid Glamorgan, CF46 6RY.

  Contents

  Push!

  Cordial Relations

  Hay Fever

  A Sponge Too Far

  Temptation

  Lunch at Brown’s

  Thanks from Mandy Bennett

  Wedding Day

  Going

  Social Climbing

  Where are you?

  No Hard Feelings

  Inspector Gripper

  A Sense of Place

  Introduction

  Ten years ago, Accent Press published its very first book, a short story charity anthology called Sexy Shorts for Christmas. It was the beginning of a successful collaboration between publisher Hazel Cushion and me, and to celebrate Accent Press’s tenth anniversary, we’re bringing out another short story collection.

  Before I was published as a novelist I used to write features for the Business and IT sectors - all very worthy and rather boring. Then at a writers’ conference I met Adèle Ramet, who was just about to publish ‘Creating a Twist in the Tale’. She sent me a copy and suddenly I, who hated the short story form, was inspired. The first story I sent to a magazine she recommended was accepted by return. (No email submissions in those days!)

  I carried on writing short fiction, mainly for women’s magazines, but in this collection there are some written with other destinations in mind. One was written live on air at BBC Radio Kent, and another was written for performance, as I also used to write for the stage.

  They are very different from my Libby Sarjeant books, but each one, in its own way, is all about Bad Behaviour. I hope you enjoy them.

  Lesley Cookman, 2013

  Push!

  This story was the first I had published in a woman’s magazine. It has appeared in two other anthologies since its debut.

  Push! She seemed to have been pushing for hours, although it was probably only a few minutes. Resting briefly before the next effort, the unrelenting fluorescent light above her burned bars of brightness on her closed eyelids.

  Push! She felt the veins standing out on her neck and heard the thud of her own heartbeat echoing behind her eardrums. Something will burst in a minute, she thought in an almost detached manner, and it will all be his fault.

  Another rest period. She moved wearily, trying to find a better position.

  Push! All this, for a few minutes of sweaty, illicit, passion. Or, to be truthful, several hours of it if you added it all up: all those encounters behind the long row of filing cabinets during the lunch hour and in the stationery cupboard at any time. Then there had been the underground car park, the back of his car, and even one spectacular occasion on the last train from Waterloo.

  Push! She had to keep going, despite the weariness in her thighs, her swimming head and this awful weakness that followed each monumental effort.

  Push! When was it she’d realised that something was wrong? She let out a panting breath and tried to remember. November, it must have been. When they’d been organising the Christmas party. That was it. She could see him now, his tie loose, his hair sticking out at the side of his head. Funny, she’d never noticed how thin it was getting.

  ‘You realise I’ll have to bring the wife?’ He was tucking his shirt in, not looking at her.

  ‘To the party?’ She struggled upright from her uncomfortable position against the metal shelving.

  ‘She’d be a bit surprised if I didn’t. Comes every year.’ He smoothed his hair down, licking his palm in a way that made her feel faintly sick.

  She bent down, so that he couldn’t see her face, and pulled up her tights. She would have to go into the ladies on her way back to Bought Ledger, get cleaned up. ‘You didn’t bring her on the summer outing,’ she said, her voice muffled.

  ‘I didn’t tell her.’ He pushed the knot of his tie back up to his Adam’s apple, stretching his neck like a turkey. ‘Come on. I’ll see if the coast’s clear.’

  She straightened up and watched him peer furtively round the door, amused at his futile precautions. The whole Accounts floor and half the Sales department knew about them. She didn’t know why he didn’t just bring in a mattress and hang a ‘do not disturb’ notice on the cupboard door.

  Push! He’d begun to avoid her after that, during the day, at least. She was furious with him, but more so with herself when one day after weeks of ignoring her, he’d followed her half way home and then dragged her into the alley next door to Mr. Singh’s All Nite Take-Away - and she’d let him. Pathetic. But she couldn’t refuse him. As soon as his hand had slid up under her skirt her knees had buckled and that was that. Up against a wall in an alleyway, like the silly teenager she had been only a few short years ago.

  Push! Perspiration was dripping down her forehead and off her nose now, and she really didn’t think she could go on much longer. Love, she supposed it was. What else would have her in this ridiculous position now? Had his wife felt like this? A sudden rush of fellow feeling for the vague, grey personage in the suburbs overwhelmed her and two hot salty tears dripped onto her dry lips.

  He had left the room some time ago; she had watched him go, hurriedly, not looking back. Had he left his wife the same way? Rushing off for a quick grope with her, or one of her predecessors, for of course, she now realised that she hadn’t been the first, not by a long chalk.

  Push! Something had changed, she could feel it. She must be nearly there. Panting, she stopped pushing. Nearly over.

  She had told him on Valentine’s Day. Told him she’d had to move out of the flat, couldn’t go back to Mum. He’d looked past her out of the window and said couldn’t she do something about it? He’d help, give her money. She’d thrown his coffee at him.

  The next time she’d seen him, he was having his trousers wiped down tenderly by that brunette from Sales. The expression on his face had said it all.

  There was a buzzing in her ears, now, and she felt distinctly light headed. She tried to concentrate on the reason for her being here; stop herself drifting away entirely on a sea of pain. She saw again the caressing hand slide over the smooth dark head bent before him in a parody of submission and knew again the sharp spike of jealousy that seemed to pierce her chest and leave her breathless. As she was breathless now, with this never-ending pushing.

  She’d got used to spying on them. He no longer used their stationery cupboard, but the cleaner’s cupboard in the basement. And his car, of course. In fact, he’d become almost blasé about the car, leaving it parked out in the open, right underneath the office window.

  And now, suddenly it was easy. One more little push and it was sliding - she could feel it, sliding out and away from her - release at last.

  The filing cabinet made a satisfying crash as it finally came to rest on the car parked below the open window, and if she squinted, it looked almost as if it could get up and walk away on the two legs protruding from the bottom.

  Cordial Relat
ions

  Hester paused with her hand on the door handle. Susie was on the other side and Hester had no idea how she was going to feel when they came face to face after all this time and in these circumstances. She removed her hand and went to stand by the window, staring out at the horse chestnut trees that waved their leaves gently in the afternoon sun. The silence was unnerving - all the more so because silence was not associated with Susie. Not in any way.

  Years ago, Susie had burnt her way through grammar school like a flame thrower, leaving destruction in her wake and quiet Hester to pick up the pieces. She had won a place at drama school and disappeared to London, coming home sometimes in the holidays, when she would suddenly need Hester to talk to, to confide in, even occasionally to ask for advice. Which she never took, Hester reflected, smiling slightly. They had been so different. Susie a blonde, brilliant butterfly with her outrageous clothes, Hester mousy, plump and conservative, a product of elderly, shopkeeping parents. Yet Hester had understood Susie, even when she herself was stuck at home with young children and Susie had flung herself around the small cottage denouncing marriage and motherhood.

  Peter had not understood Susie. She was something totally outside his experience or comprehension.

  ‘She's just different,’ Hester had said, pleading when he grumbled about her coming to stay yet again while 'resting'. ‘She can't help the way she is. She needs the stability of a family like ours. We're very lucky.’ She smiled across the cluttered table at her solid, tight-lipped husband. ‘I'm lucky.’

  Susie had not agreed.

  ‘Lucky? You? Deserted by the father of your child while you were still pregnant? What's lucky about that?’

  ‘I was lucky that Peter married me when I already had a child. That he provided me with a home - and more children.’

  ‘So that you could carry on being a drudge.’ Susie flung a booted leg over the arm of her chair and felt on the table for her cigarettes. ‘That'll never happen to me. Thank God things have changed.’

  ‘Changed how?’ Hester asked, pushing an ashtray within Susie's reach.

  ‘I don't need any man to provide me with a home. I can look after myself and nobody would expect me to do otherwise, even if I did have a child - which I don't intend anyway.’

  ‘Suppose you fall in love?’ Hester had asked this question many times, hoping that one day Susie would.

  ‘Like you did, you mean?’ Susie raised a thin, scornful eyebrow. ‘God, the oldest scenario in the book - travelling salesman seduces naive country girl. And don't kid me you were in love with Peter when you married him, because I know you weren't.’

  ‘Does that make any difference to hoping that you'll do what I didn't? That you'll succeed where I failed?’

  ‘Oh, I'll succeed all right. But not with a man. As me. Not living in the shadow of a man and his children, like you.’

  Hester had refused to be hurt, knowing that for all her sophistication Susie still liked to come and stay in the very environment she professed to despise. It gave her a sense of security, of returning to her roots when the rest of her life was so ephemeral.

  Mark, the baby, was at the grammar school when the tide began to turn. Peter was made redundant and Susie hit the jackpot - a regular part in a long-running soap, with all the associated spin-offs.

  ‘See?’ she crowed, assuming her usual position in the armchair, legs over the side. She had come to stay while she played Principal Boy in the local pantomime, to the delight of the children. ‘I've got the security, now. And no man in tow. Just me to please.’

  Hester tried to be happy for her, but for once found her tolerance stretched to the limit. ‘Well, just don't flaunt it in Peter's face, if you don't mind,’ she replied with more asperity than usual. ‘It's bad enough that I've got to look for a full-time job to help support us, without you being a success all over the place.’

  Susie was immediately contrite. ‘Shall I move out? Shall I go to a hotel? How much would you like, a week?’

  Hester sighed. ‘Don't be silly, Sue. I don't want you to go. Just don't show off, that's all.’

  ‘I could help with the kids, couldn't I? If you start working full time?’ Susie settled back in her chair and lit another cigarette.

  Hester was amused. ‘You'll only be here for a couple of months - 'til after Christmas. Anyway, you've got matinees, and Peter's here.’

  ‘Isn't he looking for a job?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but it's more difficult for him. He's a highly skilled man. How is he going to find a job at the same level when there are so many younger men out there?’

  ‘Perhaps he should take what he can get.’ Susie squinted through her cigarette smoke.

  ‘I expect he will.’ Hester sighed. ‘Meanwhile, if the shop won't take me on full time, I've got to go further afield.’

  Susie stayed until the end of the pantomime. Hester worked full-time in the village shop that her parents had once owned until after Christmas, when the rush died down and she reverted to her seventeen hours a week. Peter sent off application forms in the same amounts that Hester had sent Christmas cards weeks before, and Hester enrolled in evening classes to learn about spreadsheets.

  In May Susie turned up with a man.

  ‘I know he's older than me, but he's the only man I've ever met who makes me feel this way.’

  She flung her legs over the arm as usual and fiddled with a strand of hair. She'd given up smoking. Under protest, Peter had taken Tom to the pub.

  ‘He's nice.’ Hester smiled.

  ‘Nice!’ Susie laughed. ‘What a dreadful word!’ She sat up properly in the chair and looked at Hester seriously. ‘What would you say if I came back here to live?’

  ‘Here?’ Hester was surprised. ‘The village, you mean?’

  ‘The Hall.’ Susie paused for Hester's gasp of astonishment. ‘That's why we're here. Tom wants to buy it to turn into a conference centre.’

  ‘Oh, what a pity!’

  ‘A pity?’ It was Susie's turn to be astonished. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘It's such a beautiful old place. Why does he have to ruin it?’

  ‘He won't. He wants to restore it. He loves it.’ Susie looked dreamy.

  ‘And you? Does he love you?’

  ‘He hasn't said so.’ Susie grinned. ‘I think he thinks he's too old.’

  ‘Could he be right?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Susie raised surprised eyebrows. ‘He's gorgeous!’

  So Tom bought the Hall and moved in. Susie took to spending as much time as she could in the village, staying with Hester when she wasn't working, but she didn't move in with Tom. Hester finished her evening classes and Tom came to see her.

  ‘Would you consider working for me? I need someone to do all the organisation locally, hiring staff, overseeing the building contractors, while I set up the conference side of things. And I've still got the London office to cope with.’

  ‘Are you sure I'm capable?’ Hester was dubious. ‘I've only just finished my course.’

  ‘You've lived here all your life and I've seen for myself what a good organiser you are.’ Tom's dark eyes penetrated her self-doubt. He sat back and ran a hand through crisply waving grey hair. He was a very good looking man, thought Hester inconsequentially.

  ‘I've offered Peter a job, too, but he didn't seem keen.’

  Hester stood up and turned her back. ‘No.’

  ‘Don't be too hard on him, Hester.’ Tom came to stand behind her. ‘His pride's taken a severe knock. He's bound to be depressed, not getting a job after all this time.’

  ‘So why wouldn't he take yours?’ Hester wouldn't turn round.

  ‘He thinks it's charity.’

  She did turn round at this. ‘Is it? Is that why you're offering me a job?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He ran his hand through his hair again, turning away and hooking his thumbs in to well-worn blue jeans. He didn't look like a top businessman today. More like one of the labourers Peter drank with at the W
hite Horse.

  ‘All right. I'd like to. Thank you.’ She blinked as he turned a brilliant smile on her. ‘What about Susie?’

  His expression became wary. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Does she mind you offering me a job?’

  ‘What's it got to do with her?’ Tom looked bewildered.

  ‘Er...well...’ Hester was confused. Tom's attitude was not what she expected. ‘I thought you...well, she and you...’

  ‘Are not a couple, Hester. I've told her so. She's young enough to be my daughter.’ Tom was looking straight at her. ‘OK? I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.’

  Hester nodded. Oh, dear, she thought, poor Susie.

  Susie, however, was of a different opinion.

  ‘Oh, for goodness' sake! I told you he thought he was too old!’ She moved restlessly around Hester's kitchen, picking things up and putting things down. ‘Of course he loves me! I'm the ideal partner, aren't I? Successful, attractive…’ She threw Hester an uncertain look. ‘Well, aren't I?’

  ‘Of course you are.’ Hester pushed down an unworthy spurt of satisfaction. Successful Susie wasn't getting her own way for once.

  ‘Anyway, why is he offering you the job? I thought his PA from London would come down?’

  ‘He wanted someone local.’ Hester shrugged. ‘I don't know why he wants me. I'm not exactly the immaculate well-groomed businesswoman type, am I?’

  ‘No.’ Susie looked her up and down. ‘You have lost a bit of weight lately, though. If you got your hair done and bought some new clothes…you're going a bit grey, you know.’

  Hester bridled. ‘Tom's got grey hair!’

  ‘It's different for men.’ As usual, Susie's famous scorn shrivelled Hester's opinion.

  Hester started work for Tom at the beginning of the children's autumn term. Peter had refused to look after them during the holidays, saying that he had to be free to work if he found a job, so she had had no choice, although she had done what she could on the laptop Tom had delivered, while trying to keep it out of Peter's sight.