The Book Left Unfinished

The Unfinished Book

Well, thats me off, Jenny! No need to see me out. Ill be back late! Make sure you have the blue shirt and trousers ready for tomorrow. Dont forgetmust collect them from the cleaners! Victor called from the hallway, swiftly wrapped himself in his old Macintosh, gave himself a critical look in the mirror, grabbed his hat, and left, shutting the door behind him with such force that the window pane rattled.

A draught, no less thought Mrs. Jennifer Smith, as she turned off the tap, dried her hands on her apron, and peered out of the kitchen. Everything was as it always had been: the corridor awash with pale sunlight, ending at the hall; photographs along the wall; cheerful striped wallpapertwo wide lines, two narrow, all a gentle blue; Jennys coat hanging from the rack. And

Jennifers brow furrowed.

A parcel! Victor had forgotten the parcel, and insidepatties! Jenny herself had risen at dawn to fill them with egg and onion, just as her Victor liked. Shed baked them specially for today. Victor was off to a site visit, and thered be nowhere decent to eat. A little bit of home cookingit always does one good.

Wrenching off her apron and smoothing her hair, Jenny, still in her simple house dressshort puffed sleeves, a spot of coffee on the hemgrabbed the warm parcel, cradled it, and dashed out of the flat, remembering at least to bring her keys. Skipping down the stairs, she gripped the polished bannistera long, winding, ribbon of oakdown from the fourth floor: third, second

Jenny might have called to her husband from the window, as so many housewives did, waiting for him to step onto the street. But shouting felt so undignified. No, shed bring the parcel herselfand say goodbyeas hed brush her cheek with his dry lips, nod, and hurry along.

The dash left her breathless, but she burst into the yard, slamming the door behind. Never mind that she wasnt twenty, hadnt been in nearly thirty years, and running did not come easily.

She searched the street with her eyeslooking for that familiar figure in his slate-grey overcoat and pale hat.

Victor loved his long coatsalways left unbuttoned, so the wind could play with the flaps as if he had wings, and he must always have a hat. Victor owned many, one for every season. Jenny kept them immaculate, brushing them clean or purchasing new ones as needed. She was attentive in every respect.

A hats proper style! Victor would insist, whenever their son, Michaelnamed after Granddadteased him. You lot just dont understand; youre all plastic and imitation leather, flat and formless!

Where had Victor gone?

Ah, there he was, already making his way through the gate and into the sunlit, bustling road. If Jenny didnt hurry, her husband would be on the bus and gone and then

So on Jenny ran, nodding at the older neighbours basking in deckchairs, soaking up the rare English sun. They watched her scurry with their knitting across their laps, giving her kindly nods, as if her love and contentment pleased them.

Whats the rush, Jenny? called Mrs. Galloway from behind her puff of smoke.

Lunch! Victor forgot, Ive the patties! Jenny called, without stopping.

Mrs. Galloway nodded with approvalpatties, after all, were good; and so was love. Quite marvellous, really.

Jenny rushed out the gate, meaning to call out, but then she stopped, her shoulders dropping as if the sunlight had suddenly gone out, leaving everything cold and heavy. Her head spun and she grasped the drainpipe to steady herself.

Victor was at the bus stop, side-on to her, escorting an ample young woman in a blue summer dress sprigged with white polka dots. She threw her head back, her laughter grating, and Victor was gazing down at herand laughing, too. Then, without warning, the woman shoved Victor away, sneering as she looked him up and down. But he bent over, cringing almost, grabbing her hand to kiss iteven as she jerked it away with a huff, perhaps even slapping his face. Victor straightened, stiff as a board, clearly angryJenny could sense itbut bowed again, reaching into his pocket to fish out a toffee, which he offered with a shaky hand. The womanthe creature, Jenny thoughtlaughed, mouth gaping, accepting the sweet.

Jenny felt sick. Good Lord! Victor, a respected, middle-agednay, almost elderlyman, grovelling before some flighty girl, how shameful!

The woman wore a lovely blue dress with white dots, a ribbon in her perfectly coiffed hair to match, and dainty sandals.

Jennys eyes flickered over her, and she no longer knew what to do with the warm, ridiculous batch of pattiesor much else in her life.

A bus pulled up, the crowd surged forward, Victor helped his polka-dotted companion aboard, and the doors clanged shut.

As the bus drove away, Jenny was sure her husband glanced back, straight through her. She found herself ashamed of her worn slippers, her house dress with that silly bundle of patties in hand.

Jennifer turned abruptly and strode back, crossing the yard with its cheerful neighbours now sunning their bare arms, nearly walking straight into Mrs. Galloway by the rosebed.

Didnt catch him, Jenny? Missed him? the old woman asked, removing her cigarette and nodding at the parcel.

Missed him, Jenny answered absently.

Shame. A waste of good food, Galloway pronounced. Ill send my Ron round. Youre home today?

Jenny gave a vague shake of her head.

Well, good then. Let him have some. He loves patties, and I cant stand fussing with dough. Wait for him, Galloway added, squinting as she swung her arms and dashed over to remonstrate with the tractor man for his clumsy parking near her begonias.

Jenny barely heard, plodding towards the entrance. Insidecool, echoing, her footsteps lonely on marble stepsa gentle sobbing mingled with the doors creak as she slipped into the flat.

That was it. The end. The end of family, of warmth, of certaintyof trust, of belief, evennever mind people, that was too vast. But ones own husband? The man one had been entrusted to, for safekeepinghow now?

Jenny collapsed, ungraceful, onto a kitchen stool, the pastries tumbling from her arms. The catPhillipbrushed against her legs, purring hopefully, but she paid no mind. In her mind, she still stood gripping the drainpipe, watching the polka-dotted blue dress and its ownerand Victor. Tears ran hot down Jennys cheeks, bitter and womanly tears, and in a strange way she liked it, not having to keep her back straight or the smile of a perfect wifejust sitting and feeling sorry for herself, wallowing in her heartbreak.

She didnt know how long she sat like that, before someone rattled the door, sending Phillip scuttling away, his white fur bristling.

The door creaked open, and the head of old Mr. Ronald appearedMrs. Galloways husband. A bulbous nose, pitted cheeks, plump lips, wild hair, and a bright red neckeverything about Ronald felt somehow out of place, almost shabby for this block of flats. Yet Ronald was one of ours, a man of learning, though, as Victor liked to say, a bit eccentric.

Hes an artist, Jennybrilliant, runs the gallery! Creative people are all half-mad, or theyd be ordinary and lose their spark

Mrs. Jennifer Smith brushed away her tears, looking up into Ronalds kindly, pale blue eyes. He could have been a vicar, she suddenly thought.

Mr. Ronald? You? she asked, bewildered.

Who else could it be? Heard youve got spare patties. Kitchens out, you seemy dear wifes having the units changed Starving these days!

Ronald spread his broad shoulders in the sunlight, blocking the kitchen door entirely.

Let me just get my shoes offtheyre soaked. Stepped in a puddle. And my socks toomust take those off! he explained, nodding, Jenny glancing at his large feet clad in ordinary shop sockswith a hole at the toe.

Without thinking, she picked up the damp shoes to set on the balcony, but Ronald barked, Leave those! Ill handle them! He chuckled, winking slyly.

But Jenny didnt listenno decent guest leaves with wet shoes! She set them out in a sunny spot while Ronald banged about the kitchen.

Jenny! Tea, please! Havent had a proper pot brewed fresh in agesgood, strong tea with lemon! Be a dear, will you? Ronald called, sticking his feet out so clumsily Jenny could barely pass.

Yes, yes, right away she mumbled, putting on the kettle even as her mind whirled with ice and pain.

Victor her husband how could he? Barely left the house before And how far had it gone?

No! Its all a misunderstandingthey met by chance, these things happen! Hell come home, show him kindness, and hell forget all about her! Jenny argued with herself in her mothers cautioning voice.

Meanwhile, Ronald started up again.

Youre not using that old tea, are you? Fresh pot now, like for an honoured guest! Tip that out! He grabbed the dainty porcelain pot with its little blue flowers, sniffed inside, and declared with a wrinkle of his nose, No, dear, that goes straight down the drain. Only the drain!

But I just made it! Fresh as you please, try some! Jenny frowned, but sighed and obligedbrewing a new pot was nothing.

It was Victorhow was she to live with him now?

The kettle whistled, the fragrance of fresh English Breakfast tea, sharp and full-bodied, drifted into the room.

Thats more like it! But, Jenny, give me a proper cupblue and gold, you know the ones; I adore them. Not that onetheres a chip. I want the good china. And let me have those pattiesVictors loss is my gain! Pile them up properlyon the fancy plate. And while I eat, you can darn my socks. My wife wont touch them, too busy with the kitchen unitsmy toes sore! Ronald handed over the socks, cocking his head and feigning foolishness.

Jennifer Smith, a woman of learning, respected, had long since left her teaching career for home, for supporting her husband. She looked down at those socks with thinly veiled loathingyet her hands reached out for them, already searching for needle and thread.

But Ronald, sensing her struggle, slammed his fist on the table, grew even bigger, filling the room with a heat and urgency that startled her. The blue-and-gold cups rang, the patties toppled.

What on earth is wrong with you, Jennifer Smith?! Do you even value yourself? You let me boss you about like some silly servant! I remember you differentstately, proud! When you walked across the yard, even the birds hushed in awenow look at you! Sighing over a man whos more interested in other women! Fiddling endlessly after his every need! Victor, your cap! Victor, your lunch! Victor, let me fetch the potatoes! Ronald mimicked.

Jenny felt wounded, then surprised herself by laughinghe did it better than she ever could.

Im a mother-hen, arent I? Yes, dont deny itI am, she nodded. But I do like caring, fussing, making things nice. I I suppose

And I suppose youve worn all the life out of your poor Victor with all that smothering! Men want to chase, to conquer, to feel youngnot to be mothered to death! Oh, the odd woolly sock is all well and good, but dont overdo it! Michaels moved out, now you treat the man like a baby and settle your nervesand all the while, bolder women stir the blood in him, make him feel alive.”

Jenny couldnt understand. She didnt want to. She had devoted her whole life to family, and for what? Shed given up teaching years ago, to make Victors life more comfortableno more late nights over lesson plans, just a calm and orderly home. Then, even the private pupils were sent away when Victor fell illthey might disturb or spread germs, and so she let them go.

She stopped singing whilst she cleaned. Gave up listening to the radio, and her paintingsbecause the linseed oil in her brushes, Victor said, made him sick. The canvases went to the attic, the brushes in a drawer, the oil thrown away.

And after all thatwhat? Youve lost yourself, thats what! Jenny said to her own reflection, bitterly amused.

A manicure? When, with the soups to cook and the pies to bake?

New dresses? For what outings? Victor never went anywhere.

Heels? Why wear those? Your veins look like vines! Victor had snorted, and they too went to the attic.

Friends rarely called. Her son dropped by monthly, ate in silence, left with a parcel and rarely rang after.

It was over. The end.

Oh, dont droop so, Jenny! Revive! Bloom againyoure still young, youre in your prime! Youre our rose, Jenny. If you dont find yourself again, Victor will keep running off on buses with women in blue dresses! Ronald warned. And your patties are marvellousId have chased you in my youth, no question!

Then he left. And Jenny was alone.

Victor returned late, slightly tipsy and rumpled with the scent of perfume and wine clinging about him.

The meeting dragged on, he muttered, thrusting his briefcase at his wife, wincing at a pain in his back. Put the kettle on. And some potatoeswith a drink. What are you waiting for?

Jenny didnt take the briefcase. Could you shift? she said crisply, needing space to set her small suitcase.

Where are you going? Whats happening here? Seeing Jenny, her hair done beautifully, earrings in, elegant sandy-coloured dress and smart sandals, Victor faltered, suddenly unsure.

Im going away. For work. Youll have to manage, with or without the drinkon your own, Jenny said, her shoulders set.

And what about my potatoes? My shirt to iron? Victor demanded.

Jenny half-turned, as though to oblige, but with a start, waved him off.

Do it yourself. Or invite her inI dont mind, Victor. If shes that important, all right. Goodbye, love. Its my turn now!

She slipped from the flat, pausing as the suitcase handle pinched her hand, then her heels clicked down the stairs and a taxi hummed outside, then all fell silent.

Victor ran to the stairwell, peered down and almost called after, but a pain seared his back, his eyes watering.

Je-e-e-nny he croaked.

Where are you, Jenny? Youd be there now, rubbing his back, soothing it with ointment, wrapping him up warm, holding him safe

Fiona? Is that you? Victor wheezed into the phone. Yes, its me I know I oughtnt to ring, but its my back, Fiona! I need help And I cant even reach the kitchen. You arent a stranger, after all What? The phone snapped something about calling the NHS, then went dead. Fiona wouldnt come to rub his back, wouldnt iron his shirt, wouldnt warm him with her side. She was too proud, too independent. She wasnt Jenny. Not at all.

He shuffled to the kitchen and saw the cold patties, groaning. No, this wasnt a nightmareit was catastrophe. And all by his own hand!

Jenny returned the following day, accompanied by a doctor and with a large bouquetroses shed bought herself, arranging them in a crystal vase. She smelled of perfume and faint tobaccoshed taken up the odd cigarette under stress.

Hold on, doctor, not just yet! Jenny said, halting his syringe. Victor groaned, finding no relief.

Whats the matter? The doctor frowned.

One moment. Victor, what did you promise her? Women like that dont just show up for nothingyoure far too old for her, Jenny said, leaning over her husbands sweating face.

Im not old! Im in my prime

His pension, supplied the doctor. So, what did you promise her? Quickly now, or Ill leave.

A job. And a degree. But shell get nothing! Nothing, JennyI was wrong. Only youonly you matter! Victor whimpered. Forgive me! Shell get nothing!

Shell get what you promised. Be a mankeep your word. Shell have her job, her degree, so she wont feel disgraced. And you, Victor, will leave your company. I dont care wherefind something new. And by the way, I go back to work next week. Irons on the shelf, shirts in the wash. Dont like it? Divorce me. Understood?

Victor nodded feebly. The pain in his back was excruciating, Jenny was unyielding, the doctor unsympathetic, and Ronald stood in the doorway, inspecting the scene. Victor could only groan.

Understood. Just pleasejust give me the injection! he begged.

Jennifer nodded approvingly, and the doctor got to work.

Fiona was radiant. Shed passed her thesisrushed together at the last minuteand had her coveted position. And all thanks to dear, foolish old Victor.

She ignored him now, wouldnt even answer his greetings. Why bother? His wife had made it clearher new qualifications could be snatched away at a word, her job even quicker. So Fiona would find someone else.

Victor resigned as promised. His colleagues wonderedwhy give up such a cushy job? He never told. Only once letting slip that hed promised someone. Who, or what, he never said.

On his last day, he held a farewell party, brought Jenny dressed in sparkling jewellery, danced a tangy waltz, and gazed at her in a way hed never looked at Fiona. What was it about Mrs. Jennifer Smith?

It was simple. She was everythingthe very air Victor had breathed for all those years. Hed never noticed until he was left in a vacuumthen he realised what hed lost. And it wasnt just about a sore back, or warmth on a winters night. Jenny was still that unfinished bookmysterious, complicated, sweet, like ripe summer strawberries on the Kent coast, which hed once fed to her as a young bride. Hed never reach the last page. Perhaps that was for the best.

As for Fionaperhaps one day shed find her reader. Or perhaps she never would. Time would tell.