Chapter 2

She should have died hereafter.

Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5

After I got off the phone to Phoebe, I walked through to the lounge to retrieve my cup of coffee. My mobile phone was still chirping away on the occasional table. One of the consequences of being married to an engineer is that he takes command of technology in my life. In the departure lounge at Palma Airport, I discovered that I did not know how to switch to flight mode, so I simply turned my phone off. This morning, I turned it back on to call Mary. Since then, it had been making noises to let me know that there are messages that I have missed.

Not knowing whether or not I will lose information if I interrupt this process, I used the land line in the kitchen to call Mark. By habit I had made enough for two cups of coffee, and I now poured Geoff’s share and took it upstairs to pack my suitcases. I got out the largest cases that have not been used since the kids were young, putting in all my business clothing and my lounging wear. I still had my holiday outfits and my toiletries in the bag I had taken on the cruise; it was lying unopened inside the front door.

It was only when I stopped to think what else I might need that I was struck by the immensity of what was happening in my life. I sat on the bed and looked around the bedroom I shared with my husband. It was in this room that our daughter was conceived, although not in this bed. We changed the mattress when Geoff began worrying about his health. I actually preferred the old bed which had a sag in the middle. Wherever we began the night, Geoff and I would wake in the morning wrapped together at the bottom of the valley.

Strangely, I did not feel tearful. In fact, I had been hinting to Geoff that we move to a smaller house now that the kids have gone. The memories are not in the bricks and mortar but in my heart – they are recorded in the wrinkles on my face. I have something of the same attitude to my husband: nothing can change the recollections of our years together, but I wonder if I will miss his actual presence in the future.

He was never intended to be my husband in the first place. I was looking for a student doctor or lawyer and it was pure chance that Geoff was available at that dance at that particular time. It began with a careers convention in school when I was thirteen. I was reasonably clever but a long way from the top of the class. The advisers at the convention suggested I find work in a lawyer’s office. They implied that I would not qualify as an actual solicitor but that I would be paid more than a shop girl or secretary.

I discovered that boys found me attractive, so over the next few months I looked at all my assets and liabilities. Rightly or wrongly, I concluded that my best shot at wealth would come from marrying well. Secretaries work in offices alongside men in well-paid jobs, so I opted for secretarial college. Doctors and solicitors seemed to be top of the earning pile and I made them my target. I qualified top of my class in college and found a job in a big law firm in Glasgow. My other option I covered by attending dances targeting medical students. I was having a dry spell when I met Geoff.

The lawyers in my office treated the typing pool as a sort of mobile harem. They expected sexual favours in return for what we dubbed ‘Meet-you-inside’ dates. They were reluctant to splash out on dinners and tickets for social events but expected us to be willing to put out for them. The best of the medical students had withdrawn from social life in November to prepare for term exams at the beginning of December. I only went to the dance the night I met Geoff to keep Cynthia company.

She had been dumped from her first serious relationship and was anxious to prove that she was still attractive. To be truthful, she was not looking her best that night and I had doubts until I spotted Neil determinedly crossing the floor. I knew he was aiming at me, but it was easy to divert his attention to Cyn. She was desperate enough to endure, if not actually enjoy, his mauling. Once he was removed, I was left looking at Neil’s friend, who appeared to be astonished at the turn of events.

Geoff turned out to be a rather good dancer and I quickly decided that he was worth partnering for the evening. Why I offered to type his thesis I will never know; I think his complete integrity appealed to me especially after my recent experiences with the sub-human men in my office. I was not promiscuous although I had been around, but Geoff treated me like a lady from the start. The next day I spent beside him on his bed behind closed doors and he did not make any attempt to seduce me.

I was wondering if he preferred boys until I stumbled as I got off the bed and he stopped me falling. He took the opportunity to kiss me briefly and chastely but passionately. I had a date with another guy on the Sunday, but he compared most unfavourably with Geoff so from that time onwards I only went out with the man who is now my husband. I have never regretted my choice although he has had a few doubts, particularly in the early years.

We never had a huge number of interests in common, so it was hardly surprising that we ran out of things to say to each other after the children left home. I should have detected his unhappiness earlier, but I became too involved in my job. If I had been more aware, I am sure that we could have adjusted our lives to meet the new demands. I can make excuses for my failure, but I cannot deny that the fault is mine. Phoebe’s illness and Mark’s descent into forgetfulness forced me to neglect my marriage.

There is no other man that I would prefer over my own husband although I seem to have reached a point in my life when I have little use for a man except socially. It was flattering to be so obviously lusted after by Bill, but I found myself more amused than aroused. I found the captain’s suave approach much more tempting. The thing that has really hurt me is the accusation that I am already involved romantically with Mark.

I suppose I am to blame for this misunderstanding. I never made a secret of my intention to catch a husband when I was a single girl. A job as a typist was no more than a means to an end. I always claimed that I forgot all about the job as soon as I put the cover on my typewriter. Mark was a different kind of boss, and I was drawn into greater involvement when I began to work for him. At first, I had to check his diary to find the files he needed for his next appointment. I placed them on his desk or in his briefcase as required.

After a meeting with a client, he would ask me in to sit with pencil and paper poised while he dictated a summary of the meeting. To clarify his thoughts, he paced up and down behind his desk talking to himself but loud enough for me to hear him. After a few minutes he would sit at his desk and dictate clearly and concisely; I took a shorthand record and typed a draft for his approval.

With nothing to do while he paced up and down, I got into the habit of writing down significant words or phrases that I overheard. I had been doing this for some weeks when he dictated a piece that made no mention of one of the key words I had noted. When I asked him about it, he looked startled and then dictated a sentence to cover the omission. I expected to be told off but instead he began asking me to comment on what he had dictated to check that he had dealt with all the salient points.

Up until then I had only opened the files to ensure that they were the right ones but now I started to read the contents, so I was more familiar with the important concepts. In previous jobs I had not even bothered to read what I was typing although I was aware of errors in spelling and grammar. Geoff’s thesis was the first document I actually read while I was typing it – and that was for love.

Before I knew it, I was discussing the possible course of meetings with Mark before they occurred. I was drawn in without at first being aware of what I was doing. It became routine for Mark and me to chat about meetings both before and after the client visited. I produced written briefings for meetings when he travelled, and these came to be included in the client file. For the first time in my life, I became thoroughly immersed in the content of the work I was doing.

Until Phoebe became ill, I was no more than the supporting cast to Mark’s mastery of his job, but I found myself taking on more and more responsibility as she endured the misery of her treatment. Mark was often distracted, worrying about his wife and he began to leave more of the preparation for meetings in my hands. They had no children nor any close family, which made the possibility of losing her harder for him to bear. I had played tennis with and against Phoebe for years, so I knew how tough she was, but we both worried about Mark’s ability to cope.

It was Phoebe who told me of the vacancy and, I am certain, made sure that I was offered the job. It seemed natural to talk to her about what we should do to help Mark survive. The company Chairman, a long-time friend of Mark’s, was aware of the situation, taking me out to lunch while Phoebe was still having radiotherapy.

“Mark is very important to this company,” the Chairman told me. “Both on a business and a personal level. I know that you are covering for him, and I wanted you to be aware of how much I value your services. I don’t want the word to get out that Mark has lost control so I will do nothing to publicly recognise your contribution until Phoebe has recovered. That means no credit and no more pay – the news would go through the office like a forest fire!”

I was happy enough to accept his private recognition. What I failed to do was to tell Geoff how involved I had allowed myself to become in my work. I let him assume that the extra hours I worked were simply to help Mark while Phoebe was so ill. I suppose I thought that the fewer people who knew that I was basically doing my boss’s job the better. I can see clearly enough now that I should have confided in my husband.

When she was told that the disease was in remission, Phoebe took me out to dinner and, in her usual forthright style, spelled out the future. The cancer would return, she insisted, and when it did, she would die. Mark would need a great deal of help now and until she was gone. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief because I admired Mark’s business acumen. What she told me then shattered my illusions.

“You must have noticed that my poor dear boy is having memory lapses. He is, I’m pretty sure, suffering from the early stages of dementia. I’ve discussed it at length with the Chairman and he has agreed to keep Mark on as long as possible. With your help and a large slice of luck we can keep him busy until I have to leave.”

I was in floods of tears as I promised to do everything I could. Phoebe, as ever, was calm and spent some time comforting me.

“Not having children upset the balance in our marriage,” she whispered as I clung to her. “I can’t help treating him as if he was my child instead of a grown man. Perhaps, if the dementia accelerates, he will never be fully aware that I am soon going to desert him.”

I resolved to do everything in my power to help. Both Mark and I talked of Phoebe being cured but she would give a wry smile when we did so. It was a shock to hear her calmly tell me this morning that the cancer had returned, but in my heart, I was not surprised. That thought got me off my backside to complete my packing. She needs me now and there will be time after she has gone to philosophise about illness and marriage.

I had put the cases into my car and was standing wondering what I had forgotten when Sinead bustled across worried at these obvious signs that I was leaving. Despite our spending the previous evening together, I think it was only then that she understood that there was a chasm between me and my husband. Moving out of the family home had not seemed such a major step to me since I considered I was running towards not running away.

“Phoebe needs my help, Sinead, and it will do both Geoff and me good to live apart for some time. His accusation about an affair really got under my skin so I need time to process things.”

“It’s just not like you to be so decisive.” She gave me a huge hug. “What does Geoff say about it? Has he phoned you?”

That reminded me that I had left my mobile phone lying on the coffee table in the lounge. I went back to collect it, quickly checking that it was loaded with voice mail and texts. Sinead was still going on about my behaviour being totally out of character when I drove away.

Mark was beside me opening the car door almost before I came to a halt in his driveway.

“She wants a long talk with you, Beth. I’m to show you to your room and get lost for a couple of hours.”

“You can carry the big case,” I called to him as he turned towards the door without checking that I was following him.

He was apologetic, giving his concern about Phoebe’s health as his reason. I had only been gone a week but in that brief interval I could see some deterioration in him. Over the eight years since I first noticed his memory lapses this was the first time they had affected his social functions. He had learned his manners at his mother’s knee, and it was worrying that he had this discourteous reaction to my arrival.

After he had shown me the room and adjacent bathroom, he took me downstairs to the suite that they had prepared for Phoebe. The dining table had been removed making way for a settee and an armchair that can be moved by controls embedded in one arm. In a corner there was a desk with a laptop computer and a printer. Phoebe was sitting in the chair when Mark ushered me in, trying very hard to smile but with strain showing even through her rather heavy make-up. Mark kissed her cheek and muttered something before shutting the door carefully behind him as he exited the room. Phoebe stopped trying to smile as soon as he had gone.

“The tedious disease is back but we mustn’t let it spoil things, darling Beth.” Her tone was bright but there was a shiver of fear lying just below the surface. “You must tell me all the good things that happened on your cruise as well as this wretched business with Geoff. What was the stupid man thinking of to walk away from you?”

Taking the cue she offered, I made an amusing tale out of my renaissance after Geoff fired his broadside. Mary had put photographs on my phone of the dresses I modelled which had Phoebe gasping in admiration. She giggled when I described the scraps of fabric that had replaced my sensible knickers and she was deliciously shocked when I told her I slept in the nude, screwing up her face in mock sympathy when I admitted that I was alone in the cabin at the time.

At the end of half an hour of lively discussion, Phoebe suddenly wilted. Her colour had been good but now her face became grey making her blusher and lipstick as obvious and artificial as a clown’s. When I offered to make tea, she nodded with a little smile, whispering that she just needed a minute. I took my time in the kitchen laying a tray with milk and sugar while I waited for the kettle to boil.

When the cancer went into remission, the specialist had been quite clear that it would return and that, when it did, it would rapidly invade every organ of my friend’s body. It was one thing to know the prognosis, but it is rather different to face the reality. Phoebe is dying and it is clear that the process will not take long. I found myself standing by the open door of the fridge with a carton of milk in my hand, utterly without the resources I would need to ease her passage.

It took almost quarter of an hour to make a pot of tea although I did not need to be concerned about the delay since Phoebe was asleep in her chair when I returned to her sitting room. She woke when I put the tray down on the coffee table, giving me another small smile. Her colour had improved and she appeared less tense. As I poured the tea, I was still unsure what to do next, finally deciding to take the coward’s way by leaving Phoebe to set the agenda. I imagined that she would want to talk about her illness, and I tried to steel myself while we sipped our tea.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Mark is worse.” I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders when she broached the subject of her husband. Between us we had been dealing with his memory loss since before she was diagnosed with cancer. It was hardly a safe subject but at least it was familiar. I admitted that I had noticed a deterioration.

“Phillip is prepared to go on with the arrangement if you are. Does your break-up with Geoff change things?”

Phillip is the Chairman of the company where Mark is managing director. He is the son of the founder and was supposed to take over the company when his father retired. He and Mark were recruited at the same time and became firm friends. It soon became clear that Mark was a much more astute businessman, and an amicable agreement was reached where Mark ran the business and Phillip was ‘kicked upstairs,’ as he put it, to run the board of directors.

I am almost certain that others in the company suspect, but only Phoebe, Phillip and I know that without my input, Mark would have been forced to resign five years ago.

I read somewhere that the air disturbed by the beating of the wings of a butterfly in the Andes could result in a hurricane half a world away. I have no idea of the mechanism involved or whether the location of the butterfly matters but the concept of a tiny disturbance leading to a major catastrophe struck a chord. What has happened to Mark is not, of course, earth shattering but it is personally destructive and began equally innocuously.

“What about the delayed delivery?” I blurted out without thinking. I had been taking notes as usual after a meeting. Mark gave me a bewildered look. “I noted that down,” I hastened to explain, turning my pad to show the unreadable squiggles of my shorthand notes.

He recovered his poise, asking me about my habit of taking notes as he ruminated. He could not believe that he had omitted any mention of delayed delivery, making me read back the note he had dictated. He corrected the omission and thanked me profusely for being sufficiently alert to spot his error. I remember he excused himself for the lapse by saying he had a lot on his mind at that time. That seemed to be a sensible conclusion, especially as it was only a few weeks later that Phoebe was first diagnosed.

From then on, Mark would invite me to comment after he had dictated the summary of a meeting with clients. To ensure that the key words I noted were relevant, I began to study the contents of the files I was preparing for him. The memory lapses became more common during the three years when Phoebe was undergoing treatment, and I kept learning more about the purpose of his meetings. At some point, I started to prepare briefing notes before his meetings.

It was Phoebe who addressed the elephant in the room. She was at a very low point when they celebrated their Golden Wedding. She was in the final stages of chemotherapy where her doctor was attempting to poison the last remnants of her cancer without killing her in the process.

“Mark’s losing his memory,” she bluntly told me one day when I had to visit their home to deliver some papers he had forgotten for a meeting the following day. “Without your briefing notes and the corrections you make to his famous precis, he would have made a complete balls up before now.”

I tried to make light of the problem, but she was too ill and too tired to waste time on social niceties: “I’ve discussed it with Phillip. He wants to have lunch with you tomorrow.”

At that time, I had no idea that Phillip was the company Chairman nor that he was a very old friend of Mark and Phoebe. The next day, while Mark was at his meeting armed with my comprehensive briefing, Phillip and I had a long and frank discussion that lasted through lunch and on into the afternoon. I was outraged that Geoff accused me of having an affair with Mark in whom I had no interest, but I might well have been tempted into a dalliance with Phillip.

The two friends were distinguished men accustomed to wielding authority. Mark is a little taller and rather more suave, but there is something about Phillip that I found almost irresistibly attractive. When I first met him, he was negotiating the terms of his fourth or fifth divorce.

“I would have been making a dead set for you Beth,” he told me as he drained the second bottle of wine into my glass. “But since they took out my damned prostrate, I can’t get it up.”

Both men are considerate and courteous, but Phillip drops a bombshell like that every so often. I think he appealed to that part of me that was released during the cruise; the adventurous person I have hidden under the guise of a boring, conventional mother. Even though he has lost his power to seduce, I would choose a thong over cotton knickers for a date with Phillip.

“He may just be worrying about you,” I finally came out of my memories to answer Phoebe’s question about whether or not Mark was worse. “Now I’m back from holiday we can get back to business as usual. It will actually be easier with me staying in the house.”

We were interrupted by a loud cry from the hall: “Have you had lunch Mrs. A?”

Phoebe and I smiled at each other. Peggy Pearson has been their ‘daily’ for years. When Phoebe became ill, Peggy took lessons in caring for invalids and had accumulated a couple of qualifications. She has made herself indispensable while retaining a formal separation. Mark and Phoebe are always addressed as Mr. and Mrs. A, a formality observed even when Peggy was holding a shivering, vomiting husk of a woman during the worst of the chemotherapy ordeal.

Peggy breezed in on us now, demanding details of my cruise, scolding Phoebe for looking exhausted and nagging both of us for failing to make and eat lunch.

“You need to keep your strength up Mrs. A. And you’ll need feeding up after all that foreign muck you’ve been swallowing.” Peggy managed to make haute cuisine sound like feeding the pigs at a trough.

Mark returned while we were discussing food, and I used the excuse of helping to prepare lunch to accompany Peggy to the kitchen. The truth is that I had been in the house about an hour, and I was feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland. Phoebe had talked about practically everything but her illness, and Mark appeared to be blissfully unaware of the change that was going to happen in his life. Peggy was direct.

“She doesn’t want to even think about the cancer, and he hardly knows what day of the week it is.”

We clung to each other, weeping, two old women helpless in the face of the awful fate hanging over our friends. Phoebe was soon to cross that bourne from which no traveller returns, and Mark was diving down a rabbit hole into some part of his mind out of reach of the rest of us. We agreed that all we could do was to remain on hand to help hold things together. When we returned to the living room with soup and sandwiches, Mark and Phoebe were planning a cruise they would take later in the year. I could not look at a Peggy, since I knew we would both break down at this wishful thinking.

After lunch, Phoebe sent Mark off to drive Peggy to visit her daughter.

“Mark loves to play with the grandchildren,” she told me. “He teaches them all the old games he learned as a child. He still remembers all the words of the skipping songs we used to play. He loves kids; I wasn’t too bothered when we found we couldn’t have any of our own, but Mark was always a bit sad.”

The food and company had perked Phoebe up. She looked at me carefully, sighed and then very obviously decided to press on with something she thought I would not want to hear. I had played doubles with her often enough in the past to recognise that I was going to be conned or bullied into doing something I would not enjoy.

“Mark and Phillip are going to spend the next three days interviewing possible candidates to succeed him. I was dreading it, but Mark is surprisingly bullish about retirement. He was the one who pointed out that we had lost so much time when I was ill; he wants us to grow old together.”

“My invitation to be interviewed must have got lost in the post.”

Phoebe laughed so much that it finished as a cough: “There was no chance that they would even consider you for the job. I mean you’re only a PA when all is said and done.”

“I’m the PA who has been doing almost all the work of the managing director for the past year. You would have thought they would at least discuss the future with me before going off and appointing someone else. Do they really expect me to go back to being a PA?”

“You’re making too much of this, Beth. They can’t give you Mark’s job – be reasonable. I’m sure Phillip will want to sweeten the pot. Now that you’re on your own, you’ll need a well-paid job so don’t be too hasty if you’re thinking about resigning.”

Phoebe was becoming increasingly distressed by the conversation and she now asked me to let her have a little rest. As I was leaving the room she added: “When you’ve cooled down a little Beth dear, I have another proposition for you that might be more to your taste.”

When I stormed up to my room, I was in half a mind to haul my cases downstairs and move to a hotel. Then I recalled that whatever she said had to be tempered by the knowledge that she is very ill with perhaps no more than a few weeks left to live. I gave her my word that I would stay with her, so I sighed and set to work finding drawers and hangers for my clothes. I was in the guest wing of the house with a comfortable double bed and exclusive use of a well-appointed bathroom.

I learned the job of providing cover for my boss because of my respect for him and my friendship with his wife. I had no expectations or ulterior motives when I began. My reaction to the news that Phillip was interviewing for a replacement for Mark surprised me. I think it was the fact that I was being dumped on by my employer so soon after my husband had discarded me that made me so angry.

For thirty years I had been a loyal and loving wife, raising two fine children and supporting my husband in all the ups and downs of his working life. I certainly did not deserve to be arbitrarily dismissed, especially not on the specious grounds that I was having a non-existent affair. In the past eight years I have trained myself to match Mark in the job he is paid to do. I even accepted Phillip’s suggestion that I keep the same pay scale so that no one else in the office would suspect the greater role I was playing. Just like Geoff, they have manufactured a feeble excuse for excluding me from the credit for my achievement. Bugger the lot of them, I thought, as I savagely thrust my bras into the top drawer of the dressing table.

When I had finished unpacking, I pondered going downstairs to ask if Phoebe was ready to continue. Then I remembered that she had her phone with her and could call me when she wanted me. That reminded me of the messages unread on my own mobile phone, so I lay comfortably on the bed and began to catch up on what had been happening since I left Palma. There was one message from my daughter Alice asking how we enjoyed the cruise and if we got home safely and on time. I marked it ‘unread’ since I really did not want to explain the state of my marriage at this moment.

There were several voice mails and texts from Mary, either saying how glad she was we had met or reminding me that I owed her a call after I arrived home. I had already covered the ground with her in my call earlier in the day, so I erased all the messages. There were two messages from Iain, one written in the departure lounge in Palma judging by the time stamp. He went on at some length about the pleasure of spending time with me on the cruise and assuring me of his unhesitating support in the future. The second message was sent earlier today and was in much the same tone but adding a plea that we should continue to dine and dance as friends now we have returned home. I marked both messages ‘unread’ since I could foresee a time when I will need the sort of reassurance they offer.

That left ten messages to be faced, eight from my ex-husband and two from his paramour. I could think of nothing that Jen would say that I would want to hear so I eliminated her texts without opening them. I could feel the rage rising in me as I lay steeling myself to hear and read what Geoff had to say. It would be an exaggeration to say that I had my finger hovering over the replay button in trepidation when the phone rang in my hand, but I felt a surge of gratitude when I saw that it was Sinead calling. It was the perfect excuse to delay what felt like a confrontation with the man I had loved and supported for so many years.

“Geoff’s just been round demanding to know where you are.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him.”

“Oh Beth, he was so forceful that I might have if Q hadn’t come out and told him a big tale about him being your solicitor. It sounded really good: lots of ‘privileged information’ and ‘parties of the first part’. I have to say though, that I’ve never seen Geoff look so macho - I quite fancied him myself!”