Desperate Measures. Kitty Neale
stood up, deciding to go home in case one of her children rang, or even paid her a visit, which would be wonderful. As she walked towards the gate a young couple were coming towards her – hippies, the girl wearing a cotton, flowing maxi-dress, with strands of love beads around her neck. Her hair was long, fair and, with a flower tucked behind her ear, she looked carefree, happy. When Betty looked at her young man she saw that he was wearing a colourful kaftan, purple trousers and sandals, his hair almost as long as the girl’s. Betty thought he looked disgraceful – if her son dressed like that she would die of shame.
The couple were intent on each other as they passed, their faces wreathed in smiles, and now Betty felt a surge of envy. They were in love. She had felt like that once – just once in her life; but oh, what a fool she had been – a blind, stupid fool.
Betty saw the red Mini pull up in front of the flats as soon as she left the park, and was delighted when her daughter climbed out. It never ceased to amaze her that Anne had her own car, or even that she could drive – something Betty would never have dreamed of achieving as a young woman and something she still couldn’t master. Of course, when she was Anne’s age few women drove; in fact, unless one was very well-off, a car was a rarity. She’d married Richard when she was eighteen years old and felt fortunate to have a bicycle, one that she rode to the local village, the basket on the front crammed with local produce as she cycled home. Home. Her stomach lurched. No, she couldn’t think about it, not when Anne was standing there, a bright smile on her face.
‘Hi, Mum. I can’t stay long but I thought I’d pop round to see how you’re doing.’
‘I’d hardly call driving from Farnham popping round,’ Betty said as they walked into the flats where, after climbing two flights of stairs, she opened her front door.
Anne followed her in, her face dropping as she took in the small living room. ‘Oh, Mum, this is almost as bad as your last place.’
‘It has a nice outlook and after the pittance I got as a settlement, it’s all I can afford.’
‘Please, Mum, don’t start. We’ve had argument after argument about this, but you still refuse to see Dad’s point of view.’
She clamped her lips together. Her daughter had always been a daddy’s girl and, despite everything, she was quick to jump to Richard’s defence. He had spoiled Anne, indulged her love of horse riding, but Betty knew that if she said any more Anne would leave. She hadn’t seen her since moving into this flat, and the last thing she wanted was for her to leave after five minutes. Forcing a smile, she asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘A bottle of Coke if you’ve got one.’
‘Yes, of course I have,’ Betty assured her as she went through to her tiny kitchenette. Coca-Cola was something Anne always asked for on her rare visits, so she kept a couple of bottles in the fridge for just such an occasion. Betty found the bottle opener, snapped off the top, and asked as she returned to the living room, ‘Have you heard from your brother?’
‘No, John’s too busy with his latest conquest.’
‘At least he isn’t like his father.’
‘Mum,’ warned Anne.
Betty regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but it was hard to stay silent in the face of her daughter’s loyalty to Richard. She felt that, like her, Anne should hate her father for what he’d done – that she should be on her side, but instead Anne had refused to cut him out of her life. When it happened, Anne had been twenty-five, living away from home, though still in Surrey, in a flat-share with another young woman. Her son, John, had been twenty-eight, a surveyor, but with her help he was buying a mews cottage. Unlike Anne he’d been sympathetic to Betty, severing all ties with his father. For that she was thankful, but with his busy career she rarely saw her son these days.
‘How’s Anthony?’ Betty enquired, hoping that asking about Anne’s boyfriend would mollify her daughter.
‘He’s still pushing to get married, but I’m happy to stay as we are. I mean, what’s the point? It’s only a ring and a piece of paper.’
Betty managed to hold her tongue this time. When Anne had met her boyfriend eighteen months ago they’d soon moved in together and she’d been shocked to the core, glad that she no longer lived in Farnham for her neighbours to witness her shame. It had also surprised her that, according to Anne, her father didn’t object, but as he’d lived in sin until their divorce came through he was hardly a good example.
‘What about children? You’re twenty-nine now.’
‘I’m up for promotion and a baby would ruin that. I’m happy to stay as we are.’
‘You could still become pregnant. If that happens, surely you’ll marry?’
‘I’m on the pill so there’s no chance of unwanted babies. Anyway, I’m not a hundred per cent sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with Tony. Living together is ideal. It’s like a trial marriage and if things don’t work out we can both walk away without regrets.’
Despite herself, Betty found that she envied her daughter. There had been no trial marriage for her – no chance to find out that her husband was a womaniser before he’d put a ring on her finger. Divorce had been frowned on too, so when she married Richard she’d expected it to be for life. Instead, at forty-seven years old, she’d been cruelly discarded, as though Richard had thrown out an old, worn-out coat.
‘Mum, I’ve got to go.’
‘But you’ve only just got here.’
‘I work all week and only have weekends off, with little time to go riding. It was you who decided to move to London, so it’s difficult for me. I’d like to see more of you, but it’s a long drive and with so much to cram in each weekend, I’m pushed for time.’
Anne was part of the country scene and, with her, horses came first. ‘I know and I’m sorry. It’s just that I miss you.’
‘And I miss you, Mum, but I really have got to go. Tony and I have booked a holiday to Spain and I need a couple of outfits. I couldn’t find anything swish in Farnham so I’m off to Selfridges.’
‘Spain! You’re going abroad?’
‘Yes, next Saturday, but only for a week. We got a good price on a flight with Laker Airways.’
‘You’re … you’re flying?’
‘Don’t look so shocked. I know your idea of a holiday is a caravan in Margate, but things are changing nowadays, with more people going abroad. I doubt I’ll see you again until we get back, but I’ll send you a postcard.’
Anne then swallowed the last of her drink, picked up her bag, and left in a whirlwind before Betty got the chance to say a proper goodbye. With a small wave her daughter was gone, hurrying down the stairs while Betty managed to gather her wits in time to call, ‘Have a good time.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Betty closed the door. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to holiday abroad, but as Anne had a career as a personnel officer with a large company in Farnham, and Tony was an engineer, no doubt they could afford it. Once again Betty felt a frisson of envy, which was soon followed by a familiar bitterness. Unlike her daughter, she’d never had a career, her life spent intent on being the perfect wife and mother. She had married Richard in 1936, and John had followed a year later. They hadn’t been well-off and it was sometimes a struggle to make ends meet, but then war had been declared and Richard eventually called up. Anne was conceived when Richard had been on leave and when he returned to the fighting she’d been terrified of losing him.
When the war was over, she’d been overjoyed that Richard came home without a scratch, but he was different, more self-assured, and full of ideas to start up his own business. He’d been taught to drive, had been involved in vehicle maintenance, and had picked up the idea that cars were going to be the up-and-coming thing after the war, available