A Change of Seasons

A CHANGE OF SEASONS

         “You weren’t playing squash last night, were you, Mick?”

         He glanced over her shoulder, pretending to be absorbed in the carnage caused by a bomb blast in Israel. Stabbing a potato with unusual vigour, he put it into his mouth without meeting her gaze.

         He hunched over his food like a mouse trying not to betray its presence to a snake.

         “God, you’re pathetic,” she said.

         “What, dear?”

         She pushed herself away from the table and stood in front of the television, throwing her arms apart in a grand gesture.

         “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mick Tarrant, devoted husband and father and a man of unwavering principles.”

         “Iris,” he whined, “I’m trying to watch the news.”

         “Stuff the news! I want some answers,” she said, angrily jabbing the power button. The picture diminished as Mick’s uneasiness increased.

         Iris leaned back against the television. She kept her eyes downcast while she struggled to regain her composure. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “Where did you go last night?”

         “I was playing squash, like I do every Tuesday night.”

         “Try again. Convince me that Rhonda Walker didn’t see you wining and dining some redhead half your age. I’d like to believe this was a case of mistaken identity.”

         Mick’s expression changed to one of defiance. He got up and went into the living room. Iris heard the ice cubes chinking against the glass and the chugging of the scotch followed by the satisfied sip.

         Just one for him, she thought as she heard him recapping the bottle.

         She waited. She imagined his mind whirring like a fishing reel, trying desperately to land a plausible excuse. Was he buying time or trying to wear down her resistance? She refused to lose the upper hand by going to him.

         He returned to the dining room and sat down.

         “Our marriage is a case of mistaken identity,” he said, swirling his drink and smiling smugly.

         She grabbed the edge of the table and overturned it. He toppled backwards to the floor under a cascade of condiments, plates, food scraps and whisky.

         As he lay there in disbelief, she flailed at his face with fists and fingernails. He seized both her wrists and flung her away. She rolled across the lino and crashed against the wall. She lay face down, convulsed by tears of anger and humiliation.

         She was dimly aware of doors slamming and a car reversing down the driveway. Then she passed out.

         Small, cold hands were clawing back the hair from her face.

         “Mummy, Mummy, what’s wrong?”

         She rolled onto her side and groggily surveyed the two frightened faces hovering close to hers.

         “Matthew, Cindy, help me up.” Speaking was an effort.

         With difficulty, the children guided their mother to the sofa.

         Iris noticed that they were shivering. “Go and put your dressing gowns on.”

         She sat slumped on the sofa, feeling empty and leaden.

         The children hurried back. “Cindy, do you think you could make Mummy a drink?” Iris asked.

         “Yes, I’ve seen Daddy do it.” That word made Iris wince.

         “The scotch, dear. It’s the brown liquid in the square bottle. And ice, please.”

         Cindy felt like an adult as she handed the drink to her mother, but the feeling was short-lived when she saw how much Iris’ hands were shaking. Iris began sipping and finished gulping. She handed the empty glass to Cindy who stared into it as though she had just witnessed magic.

         Matthew crawled onto Iris’ lap, bunching himself up in the folds of her cardigan. Like a brooding bird, Iris offered the shelter of her vacant arm to Cindy.

         “Where’s Daddy?” Matthew asked.

         “Your father’s just left us, Matthew.”

         Matthew and Cindy spoke as one. “Why?”

         How do you explain adultery to a boy of four and a girl of eight?

         “I think Daddy has been sleeping with another woman. A friend told me she’d seen them together and when I asked him about it we had a fight.”

         Matthew looked puzzled. “Did Daddy hit you, Mummy?”

         “Not really. I hit him.” Iris laughed, but her laugh had an hysterical edge, which dismayed the children.

         “Why would Daddy sleep with another woman when he has a bed here?” Matthew asked.

         Cindy interjected. “No, silly, she means sex.”

         The night was full of surprises.

         “So you know about sex, Cindy?”

         “Yes, Mum, that’s what men and women do to make babies.”

         “But Daddy has us,” said Matthew, “why does he want other babies?”

         “Hang on,” Iris said, “let me explain and then you can ask questions. Okay?”

         The children conferred with glances. “Okay,” they said.

         Iris struggled to explain the situation in terms they would understand. She was torn between answering their questions truthfully and preserving their innocence. She concluded by saying, “I think Daddy has found someone else to love because he doesn’t love Mummy any more.”

         The night had seemed a long and fitful journey. She longed for another scotch, but she didn’t want to set a bad example.

         Cindy was drowning in a sea of uncertainty. Her words flowed out in a stream of tears. “If Daddy doesn’t love you then how could he love us?”

         “Cindy, sweetheart,” Iris hugged her, “Daddy will always love you and

Matthew. I promise.”

         The future seemed a forbidding place with no light escaping from its depths.

         “Come on, we’ll all sleep in Mummy’s bed tonight. I’ll tuck you in and I’ll join you as soon as I’ve had a bath. Okay?”

         They nodded like zombies.

         The bath was like a warm glove closing gently around Iris. Her body surrendered but her mind did not. Questions fought for her attention. Slowly, the answers came. She had no choice but to apply for the Domestic Purposes

Benefit. And, she thought with grim satisfaction, Mick would pay for his pleasure. She’d bleed him for everything she was legally entitled to.

         The phone rang. Cindy answered it. “Mum, it’s Aunty Janet.”    

         “Hi, Janet.”

         “Hi, Iris. How’d it go at Income Support?”

         “Oh, okay. I had to fill out forms and answer a lot of questions. I felt sort of stupid.”

         “Why?”

         “I don’t know. They’re polite enough, but somehow they made me feel like I’d done something wrong.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “Maybe it was because I dealt with a man. He made me feel like it was my fault that Mick left.”

         “What’d he ask you?”

         “How long since Mick left, why did he leave...stuff like that.”

         “When do you start getting the benefit?”

         “Not sure. Did you know I need written statements from three people to prove I’m officially separated?”

         “I guess they need it because lots of people try to rip off the system.”

         “Yeah, they said if Mick came back or I took up with someone else I’d have to let them know straight away. Kept going on about fraudulently receiving the benefit.”

         “D’you think Mick will come back?”

         “Nah, Mick never learns from his mistakes.”

         “Will he have to pay maintenance?”

         “They asked if he could be contacted, but I don’t know where he is. I’d love to have set them onto him.”

         “Don’t worry, they’ll flush him out.”

         “Yeah, they said they’d look into it.”

         “They’ll check up on you too.”

         “I know. They said that too. Probably think they’ll find a queue of cars in the drive and men behind every rose bush.”

         Janet laughed. “Well, you are single and available now.”

         “I think I’ve had enough of men for awhile.”

         “Do you need any money?”

         “Thanks, Jan, but you haven’t exactly got it to burn.”

         “Just a loan ‘til you get the benefit.”

         “No, truly, I’ve got some put aside. We’ll be all right.”

         “Okay, but it’s here if you need it. Gotta go, Ted’ll be home soon. Call you tomorrow. ‘Bye.”

         “Bye, Jan.”

         Iris was preparing dinner when the doorbell rang.

         “I’ll get it,” Cindy yelled from the living room.

         Iris dried her hands on a tea towel.

         “Daddy.” She heard surprise, hurt and joy in that one word Cindy spoke and her own heartbeat sped up.

         He was standing on the doorstep like a small boy sent home from school.

         “Hello, Iris.”

         “Cindy, go back to the living room and say nothing to Matthew.”

         “But. Mum...”

         “Do as I say. I want to speak to your father in private.”

         When Cindy was gone, Iris said, “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Mick?”

         Mick ignored her sarcasm and said, “I’d like us to give it another go.”

         “Why?”

         “I was stupid and hasty. I don’t want to throw away nine good years of marriage.”

         “Was it ever good, Mick? This last month has given me a lot of time to think. I think we got married because it was expected of us.”

         “You’re wrong, Iris. I married you because I love you. I love our children too. We owe it to them to stay together.”

         “I’m not sure you and I know what love is.”

         “Do you want to grow old alone?”

         “I don’t want to grow old feeling that I never fully explored my options.”

         “So you don’t want me back?”

         “What happened to Big Red? Did she get tired of you?”

         “She lied to me. She was married all along to a guy in the Navy. He was coming back from sea so I had to get out.”

         “So long, Mick.”

         He looked away. For the first time in her memory, Mick looked scared.

         “You’ve changed, Iris.”

         “Yes, I’ve changed, Mick.”

         Iris shut the door.

         She went out the back door into the garden. Mick’s gumboots were standing by the shed. Pinching them together between thumb and forefinger, she strode to the incinerator and dropped them in.

         As she surveyed the garden, she noticed the first pale pink blossoms on the apple tree.

         It’s going to be a lovely spring, she thought.

Copyright Andrew M. Bell