Part 3
Greg stops in a lane behind a pub and gets out to deposit one of the bin-bags in a half-full tip, looks around to make sure there is no one to see him, and pads back to the car in his socks. He drives on, stops at another tip, and leaves the second bag.
He is rolling along the gravel drive leading to Rosehill House when his mobile trills the signal for a text message. He picks it up and reads: "St. Vincent's Hosp." He nods with relief and satisfaction that things seem to be going as planned.
But as he rounds the last curve of the drive he sees unexpected lights on in the house. Linda's Volvo is parked at the front door.
Why is she back? And how the hell will he explain his missing shoes?
Greg tiptoes in through the back door, hoping to get to his slippers, but Linda greets him from the hallway and enters the kitchen.
Before she can speak he makes it clear that he is not pleased to see her.
"Did you forget something?"
"Well, no, I… Where are your shoes?"
"Stepped off the kerb into a pile of dog-shit. They were ruined; didn't want to tread it into the car."
He is finding it very easy to lie to her now.
"Greg, those shoes were nearly a hundred –."
She is stopped by the look he gives her. Linda puts on a bright smile.
"Well, no matter. Can't be helped. Would you like a drink?"
He ignores her offer.
"What can I do for you, Linda?"
"I realized that I hadn't – I came back to apologise."
"Well, thanks. That's fine."
"No, it's not fine. Stan's given me a good dressing down. He says I've been a bloody fool. I'm startin' to see that he's right. It's just– Martin painted such a rosy picture for us that I stopped seeing what it was doing to you. And I really thought the business was failing, Greg, that your plans for this house were nothin' but a pipe dream. But now I know that Martin deceived us both. He schemed to make you look like a fool, and I –."
"Definition of a cuckold, i'n't it?"
Linda is silenced and looks very uncomfortable.
"Look, I've accepted your apology. There's really nothing else to say, is there?"
"Isn't there? Twenty years, Greg…."
"Twenty? Well, this was really only our nineteenth, wasn't it? By my count we can knock off the last two years, at least. That's seventeen. If we add up all the nights you've stopped at Steph and Danny's - that brings it down to sixteen. The two months you took off to Scotland, plus the nights I've slept on the sofa in my office, we're down to fifteen. Oh, can't forget all the holidays with your girlfriends when I couldn't take time off work. We've really only had, say, fourteen-odd years. I got neckties older than that.
But I haven't kept my eye on your every move. I trusted you. More fool me."
"Greg, please–."
"Hey, what d'ya know, I can do maths. Best do the books myself from now on."
"You know not a penny of that money was spent, don't you? …Marcia thinks Martin was going to give it back."
"Yep, could be, after the house was sold, after you'd left me. Nice of him. Course, you'd've got half of it back in the divorce, anyway. Sixty grand's still a good take –."
Greg stops as Linda dissolves in tears. She stands weeping helplessly. He sighs and shuts his eyes for a moment, then steps across to put his arms around her, muttering more to himself than her,
"Bloody women."
But he relents and says gently to her,
"I'll stick the kettle on, shall I?"
An hour later he sees her off in her car, saying,
"Give my love to Steph."
Back in the house, Greg checks both his mobile and the kitchen phone for messages, but finds none. He puts the two phones into his jacket pockets, pours himself a whisky and carries it into the den, but finds he's too restless to sit. Leaving the scotch on the table, he walks out to the unfinished showroom, flicks on the lights and wanders around in the clutter. He clears off some of Linda and Steph's furniture refinishing tools to uncover a set of architect's blueprints and holds them up as he looks about the room.
At Marcia's flat, three days later:
Marcia spent her first day in hospital besieged by Social Workers and Crisis Counsellors. The second day she was eventually released from hospital into the care of a girlfriend. The police had asked her not to go to the flat until they'd finished up the investigation. After receiving permission, she returned home midday and has spent the afternoon cleaning up.
In the evening her mobile sits centrally on the coffee table. There are three anonymous text messages from Greg, asking simply, "You okay?"
As she moves about the flat she glances at it repeatedly, but she cannot bring herself to phone him. When the message comes through a fourth time, she texts back, "Okay. Home."
He immediately replies, "May I see you?"
Greg is in his usual place on the sofa in Marcia's sitting room, and he feels at home enough to have taken off his jacket. She sits beside him, but stares off into the flames flickering in the hearth.
"Have you spoken to your sister at all?"
"No. I left that to the police. Never been any love lost between us."
"And... your boy? Will she –."
"I expect she'll keep him. Dunno what she'll tell him. Not the truth – er, not the official truth."
Greg has been listening sympathetically, but when she is silent for a prolonged moment he looks up, sensing her eyes upon him. For once she has trouble finding the right words.
"What? What is it?"
"It's just – well, I dunno quite how to thank –."
"Don't. We're quits. I'd just as soon never mention it again."
Marcia is afraid he thinks less of her now that he knows she was an abused wife.
"Oh. Right. I'm sorry you had to see that; not in your class, eh?"
Greg looks at her intently.
"Don't say that, Marcey; don't even think it – it's nothing to do with class: it's universal. Always has been, always will be."
"Still, not what you're used to – a bit raw."
Greg shakes his head.
"I'm just glad I got here in time. Wish I'd been earlier."
He touches her cheek with the back of his fingers and gazes at her with a troubled expression.
"Marcey…I've something I want to say, about Linda and me, if you don't mind."
"Okay."
"It's ...something I've never talked to anyone about. I want you to know."
He takes in a deep breath, leans forward and laces his fingers together between his knees. Marcia turns her whole body towards him to listen, her knee up on the cushion.
"She used to drink. She'd nearly stopped this last year and I –."
Greg stops with sudden realization, shuts his eyes for a moment, and then continues.
"When we first met it was pretty steady. I mean, early days we had lots of friends; we'd throw parties, go to garden dos, out for meals with people – she'd have too much to drink. Not just now and again. Every time. No one seemed to mind; just Linda getting sloshed again."
He turns his head and gazes off in the opposite direction.
"But… afterwards, in the car, at home, she'd change, y'know? She'd start on about something I'd said or done and … just get really nasty. I'd always try to forget it, I mean, she was pissed; didn't mean anything, yeah?
"A few years on and she'd start onto me at the party, in front of others. Start with some remark that everyone would laugh at, at first. Then she'd get going; people got uncomfortable with what she'd say – business stuff, personal stuff…
"I stopped mentioning invitations out; tried to keep our socialising to a smaller circle. Danny and Steph and a few others. But that just seemed to make it worse: we'd get home and she'd really pitch into me. There was no point in answering; it was just…"
"Hurtful."
"Yeah…"
"I know."
His voice is very quiet and he seems on the verge of tears.
"And, uh …"
He runs his fingers across his forehead to screen his face.
"She started to hit me. She'd work herself up into a state, yelling, screaming, and she'd, y'know, start pushing me…on the chest, punch my arm, or slap me. I'd never respond, I mean, I'd never hit a woman. I'd never hit anybody–. Well, not…. I'd just walk away. Leave the house; go off in the car. Til she'd passed out."
He sniffs and straightens up in his seat, but avoids looking at Marcia.
"In the morning – next day – she'd beg me to forgive her but somehow it really was never her fault. We'd go on as if it never happened."
Marcia watches him with deep sadness and a tear spills down her cheek.
Greg stares at the floor for a long minute.
"She wanted to start a family."
He turns his head and looks up at Marcia.
"Well, it wasn't safe, was it? I couldn't see raising kids with her, knowing she had this … side of her. She was fine when she was sober. Kind, loving, responsible. Maybe she could've been a good mother, but – I wasn't willing to risk it. Not with children."
"Did she ever seem to want to get help?"
"Nope, not a problem; she was only a social drinker. I'd try talking to her, but she'd just shut me down. The most she ever did was, before a party she'd say, 'don't you let me drink too much.' Course if I said anything to her at the party, she'd tell me to piss off, what was I playin' at spoilin' her fun? – As if there was something wrong with me."
"Yeah. Been there. I'm sorry, Greg."
She puts her hand on his arm and he sits back on the sofa, looking relieved to have shared his secret.
"So, you see, Marcey, you an' me, we've more in common than you knew; more than I knew."
Marcia settles in under the embrace of his arm and rests her head on his shoulder. She lays her hand on his chest and they sit in thoughtful silence.
After some time Marcia lifts her head to kiss him tenderly under the ear. As she unfastens his top two buttons, he watches her fingers with growing alarm. She slips her hand inside his shirt, but Greg is nervous; he takes hold of her hand and brings her fingers up to his lips.
"Marcey, we d-don't have to rush into anything we're not ready –."
She silences him by looking directly into his eyes, and murmurs softly.
"Oh, do bugger off."
With a saucy, seductive half-grin, she takes his hand and cups his fingers over her breast. Greg gives a startled little cry of pleasure, smiles and moves in to kiss her enthusiastically.
End credits photo montage:
1. Greg and Marcia, Eugene and the shop lads, and Verna, their bookkeeper, under the new business sign: "Brentwood Burgess."
2. Greg and Marcia's Registry Office wedding, with Danny and Steph looking uncomfortable but smiling, and Marcia's friends looking gobsmacked but smiling.
3. Greg and Marcia on honeymoon trip, perhaps Greece.
4. Greg with his arms around a very pregnant Marcia beaming in front of a lovely house, with SOLD marked over the real estate agent's sign.
5. Standard hospital photo of Marcia in bed, Greg leaning in next to her, each holding one of their newborn twins – a boy and a girl.
6. Candid photo of a garden party: Steph and Danny with their kids, now teenagers; Greg and Marcia and their toddlers with older teen who can only be Marcia's son, Ben; other assorted friends and kids.
7. Final photo is a fancy-dress party. Greg and Marcia and their two kids all in prison stripes, with Steph and Danny dressed as Keystone cops.
The End.