Chapter 3

The next day gave no opportunity to talk further. Mary Freeman could not be roused in the morning and the two grandchildren panicked. Claire had to prevent them from phoning for an ambulance, for Mary had stated that under no circumstances was she to go to the hospital. She was going to die at home.

Claire patiently explained to her children that their grandmother’s time had come and they were to watch with her for the rest of the day, taking it in turns. Claire summoned the local GP, who confirmed that death was a matter of hours away.

After he left, she called her brother and sister, and her other two children, informing them that they could well be too late, but they all said they could come anyway. Then she called the priest, who anointed the old lady, and asked to be called on his mobile if her condition worsened further.

Thereafter, Claire sat with her mother all the time, while Peter and the children brought her coffee and tea and food from time to time. Her mother seemed to be sinking deeper into a coma.

At about five Mary opened her eyes saw Claire and whispered, “John.”

Her eyes closed again and Claire called the family. Claire and Elizabeth held her hands. Once more she opened her eyes and smiled at her family, then closed them for the last time.

Ellen and George arrived with their families. They all knelt or stood round the bed and said the rosary, and shortly after, Mary’s breathing became progressively fainter. It was difficult to know when her breathing stopped, but eventually Claire put the old lady’s hands together over her breast and it was over.

The next week was a whirl as the funeral was arranged and friends and remoter family were informed.

After the funeral, and after the visitors who had returned to the house afterwards had left, Claire told Elizabeth she was going for a walk and left the house. She needed to be alone. She needed to think.

She was still numb after her mother’s death but knew the pain would come soon. She had been closer to her mother than either her brother or sister were. She needed a shoulder to lean on when the reality hit her, and Peter was not the one she needed. Both his parents were still alive; indeed he had not suffered any kind of bereavement. She needed someone who knew how she felt and she realised of course who that person should be.

She would have to talk to Peter. He was a good man. She had been lucky with him. He was gentle and thoughtful, and had a sense of humour she appreciated. He would put himself out for her and would do anything for her. Even though he was a Company Director and worked long hours, he liked to help round the house; in fact there was no household chore he would not do if asked. They had often talked over the washing up. Even though they had a dishwasher, they would often wash up by hand to give them time to talk. That was the good bit.

The only regrets that she had was that he was such a fundamentalist when it came to religion. She had long since stopped arguing with him about religion. She regarded herself as a good Catholic, but she was a lot more broad-minded then he was. She could cope with that.

She had also been able to tolerate his possessiveness and jealousy; at least, she thought, it meant he loved her. She remembered his arm round her as she wept while her mother’s body was lowered into the ground.

But now? As she pondered over his insulting invasion of her privacy in opening, but worse reading the letter – her private letter; worse still, his effrontery in answering it, and worst of all his keeping the whole process from her, which in her book amounted to a heinous lie, she realised she couldn’t live with that or with his jealousy anymore.

She now felt demeaned by his lack of trust in her faithfulness. In fact he was implying that she was not trustworthy and was not strong enough to be faithful if an attractive man came along. His behaviour while she visited John and Ellen, and when she arrived back, accentuated her feelings. It was an insult of the worst kind.

Gradually over the week after the death she had become more resolute. Now she made the decision that he would have to be taught a lesson, he would have to change, and she had a good idea how to teach him. All their married life she had put up with his jealousy, but not any more. It was time to talk with Peter and tell him her decision; she was sure he wanted to talk to her. She was just as sure how much he would hate her decision.

She returned to the house. Peter was sitting in the living room, reading the paper. It seemed that the children had all gone out, she assumed, for a drink, so Claire sat herself down in an easy chair opposite the sofa on which Peter sat. He put down his paper.

“Well, my love,” she began with a smile. “I think it’s time we had another talk.”

Peter was no longer angry, and smiled back, nodding his head.

“Can I start?” Peter asked. His tone was gentle, and Claire was taken aback. She nodded mutely.

“I’ve thought a lot over the past few days. There’s been plenty of time. You were right; you are right. I should never have opened a letter addressed to you. You know I always slit open all the mail, but this was the first time I went beyond that. I saw his name on the return address and I read the letter. That was wrong, and I’m very sorry.

“You’re right about my jealousy, as well. It’s like a disease; I can’t seem to help it. When I read the letter it was my jealousy that made me read into it that he wasn’t really ill and that all he wanted was to take you away from me, and I responded angrily. I had even less right to answer the letter than if you’d showed it to me and asked me to answer it.”

“Peter,” interrupted Claire, though gently. “You know that I have always told you whatever people have written to me in their letters; I even give you my letters to read. Not because you own me, you don’t, but because I want to share with you. I always tell you what I write to other people, because I know you’re jealous.”

“I know; I know,” Peter sighed. “It was because it was him. He was your first serious boyfriend. I’ve always suspected you were deeply in love with him, more than you’ve ever been with me, and sometimes I wonder if you don’t still think of him fondly. I was frightened.”

“Peter, we’ve been together for thirty years, and you have never really trusted me in all that time. Have I ever given you the slightest sign that I wanted someone else?”

“No,” said Peter. “Anyway, I now realise that when I thought of what I’d done, I couldn’t tell you. I was even more afraid then of how you’d react. All I can do now is to apologise to you and ask your forgiveness.”

Claire sat still with her eyes downcast, as thoughts tumbled through her head. Yes, he was sorry now, but he’d apologised for his jealous outbursts so many times before. This was nothing new. But was he right about her feelings for John? Did she still hanker after him? Was Peter’s fear justified in this case?

It didn’t matter, she resolved. Peter had to learn that jealousy would never be tolerated again. This time it must stop for good: he really needed therapy. She could not go on any longer as they had been. She looked up at him.

“Peter, it’s not as easy as that. I could say I forgive you, and we’d return to where we were before. I’d still be tied down by this jealous streak of yours; I’d still be demeaned by your lack of trust in me. If we went to a party you’d still come up huffing and puffing if you saw me talking to another man, as if talking about our children was akin to adultery!

“No. It’s time you learned to trust me. It’s time at last to confront your possessiveness once and for all. Time to let me go and really trust me. Tell me Peter, you have five women working at your head office with you, right?”

“Yes.” Peter was hesitant. “But I don’t see what–”

“No you don’t. You spend all day every day with five women, three of whom are drop dead gorgeous. Two of those three are beautiful and available! You often work very late with one or another of them. I know that because they answer the phone when I ring to find out how late you’ll be, and find that you’ve switched off your mobile. By the way, you do know that switching off a mobile when ‘working late’ is often thought to be a strong clue that a person is having an affaire?”

Peter gaped. “But–”

“But nothing. You really don’t get it, do you?”

Peter looked confused. Claire continued.

“The point I’m making is that I – trust – you. I have trusted you for as long as I can remember. I’m getting older and they are young and pretty. I have every reason to be worried. Even when I got an anonymous phone call that you were having an affaire with Jayne, I told them to get lost and I trusted you.”

Peter looked astounded, but not guilty. “You got a–”

“Yes. I didn’t even bother to tell you. Why? You should be getting the message by now. The point is that you can’t trust me like that! Has it occurred to you that while I was at home with the kids I could have had any number of men in my bed?”

Peter looked startled. “But the children would get in the way, I always thought–”

“Exactly, Peter, darling, you thought the children would make it impossible,” she spoke as if addressing a young child. “Children have a sleep in the afternoon for about an hour!” She waited while the truth dawned.

“You see?” she said, for worry and suspicion were obvious on his face, “You’re now wondering if I did! You’ve just proved it again: You – don’t – trust – me.”

Peter was silent. He looked confused and worried.

Claire sighed deeply. “No Peter. I have never been unfaithful to you,” she said resignedly. Her shoulders slumped. “Never even thought of it. But your lack of trust is a deep ongoing insult to me. After over thirty years putting up with this, and now learning about the letter, I’ve come to a crossroads. I can’t live like this any more Peter. You will have to learn to trust me, and learn it the hard way, or I’m afraid our marriage will be over.

“I’m going to do something rather extreme, which will force you to trust me or I’ll look for a separation. It’s that serious Peter. I said I can’t live like this any more and I mean it, I can’t. I’m going to do something you’ll hate, and I want you to do something as well.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Soon, mother’s death is going to hit me, and I know it’ll hit me hard. You know how close we were. I need some time to grieve. I need someone who knows what bereavement is. So what I’m going to do is to ask John Pollard to let me stay with him. He knows how it feels, you don’t. And you’ll have to trust me to remain faithful to you. To help you to trust me, I want you on your part to consult a therapist or a psychiatrist to get help with your jealousy.”

“Claire, you can’t do this to me!” Peter’s voice was raised in panic.