Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,169
mind completely blank.
“Oh, Jesse, I finally managed to get here when you’re awake. It’s such a relief to see you, love.”
It was morning. Or at least I thought it was. The light from the window was bluish; I could hear the distant clatter of teacups, the busy slap of shoes on hard, tiled floors. Mabel came into view at the foot of my bed. Her sheeny hair and vivid makeup were dazzling against the colorlessness of the room. She hurried to the side of my bed, looming over me to wrap her arms around my shoulders.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mabel, you’ll stifle the lass,” Grandma said, her voice muffled by Mabel’s springy flesh. I hadn’t realized she was still there, at my bedside. I wondered if she’d been there all night.
Mabel eased her grip and let me drop onto the pillow. “I’m sorry, love. It’s just that you gave me the biggest scare of my entire life. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. Awake. Alive.” She punctuated these words by slapping at the bare V of her chest above her plunging neckline a couple of times. “You don’t look well, but at least you’re with us. Thank God.” She began rummaging about in her huge, shiny handbag.
“You can’t smoke here, Mabel,” Grandma said.
Mabel rolled her eyes, dropped her bag to the floor with a thud, and sank into the chair next to Grandma’s. “Probably just as well,” she said. “I’ve smoked four bleeming packets in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe it’s time I gave up smoking. What do you think, Jesse? Might as well give up my two bad habits at the same time—cigarettes and men.”
“But you’re getting married—”
“Married? Oh, no, I don’t think so, love. The wedding’s off. Permanently. I’m not marrying a liar and a thief. The coppers are still investigating, but turns out Frank wasn’t helping our Ted get a job at all. He was driving over to your house with that bleeming van filled up to the brim with Tuggles sausages. Apparently, they were delivering to butchers and grocers from Reatton-on-Sea all the way up to Flamborough. No wonder they were driving about until all hours.” She shook her head slowly and pursed her lips into a glossy knot.
“One thing I’ll say about Teddy is that he’s always been enterprising,” Grandma said, her scratchy voice coming out in a soft, roiling laugh.
“Enterprising and about as thick as two short planks,” Mabel huffed. “Not the best combination. But turns out that Frank was the bleeming criminal genius behind this one. He’d got one of the Tuggles managers to help him by cooking the books. You know, so they wouldn’t be able to keep track of all them missing sausages. He recruited Ted for his criminal contacts. That way, he was able to find all the shops and suppliers that’d take the sausages cheap, no questions asked. Unfortunately for them, Ted thought he’d got himself a good contact at the Midham Co-op. Some woman he’d become friendly with while he was staying at your house. Knowing our Ted, I’m sure he thought he had her charmed. But when he offered her some stolen sausages she went straight to the cops and turned him in.”
I wondered if the woman who turned Ted in had been Mrs. Franklin, the woman who’d banned me. If it was, I was sure my entire family would never be allowed to shop at the Midham Co-op again.
“Such a shame Teddy’s got to go back to prison,” Grandma said. “I was hoping I’d get to see him without having to pay a visit to Bradford jail.”
“Yes, well,” Mabel said, “despite Ted’s record, Frank’s likely to get the longer sentence. The coppers know that Frank’s the one that organized everything. So Ted will probably get just a few months. But if Frank’s found guilty he’ll be in for three or four years.” She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked over at me. “I should have listened to you all along, Jesse. I’ve had it with men. People can think what they like, but I’ve decided to call myself a Ms.”
MY FATHER ARRIVED just after Mabel left. When I saw him, I felt a little jolt of excitement, and then, remembering what I had done and everything that had happened, I felt the urge to press my face into my pillow, as if by doing so I could hide away.