The Wrong Door by Bunty Avieson Read Free Book Online Page B

but she decided Mr Sanjay was pretty smart.
    It didn’t last, of course. Life with Marla soon returned to its rollercoaster pace. Clare loved her, hated her, pitied her, worshipped and despised her, depending on the day and her own mood.
    The kettle whistle brought her sharply back tothe present. She made tea and took it upstairs. Peg was just closing Marla’s door behind her. She motioned Clare to follow her into her room and they sat side by side on the bed. The older woman looked exhausted.
    Clare handed her a mug of tea.
    ‘What was that all about?’
    Peg shook her head.
    ‘Why is she so angry with you?’
    ‘Leave it.’ Peg sounded tired but firm and Clare knew better than to argue.
    The next morning when Clare got up Marla was gone.
    *
    Gwennie slept till late the following morning and realised she was still wearing her jeans, faded T-shirt with egg stains and Pete’s dressing gown. She must have been wearing it throughout the visit from the researcher, Ms What’s-her-name. She waited to feel embarrassment but it didn’t come. Who cares? Gwennie realised that she was free to behave exactly as she pleased and people would excuse her. She could run naked down the street and the neighbours would nod sympathetically. Yes, poor Mrs Darvill. Her husband just died you know. Very sad. So young. And from pneumonia can you believe? What are the odds of that? They would make clicking noises with their tongues. Sort of sympathetic and yet at the same time relieved that such a tragedy hadn’t happened to them. Death hadn’t come knocking on their door in the middleof the night and they could go back to deluding themselves that it wouldn’t. Death was something that happened to ‘other people’.
    Gwennie thought how she could dye her hair purple. Put it in crimping irons and wear it with a knife and fork sticking out the side. Why not? Or she could shoot a bullet through every window of the house. All that floor-to-ceiling glass that Pete had so painstakingly designed so they could see out and yet no-one could see in. The perfect symbol of their life together. Open and bright and full of light. She could shatter it all. Gwennie felt a ripple of excitement. It would be one way to deal with the fireball of rage that was growing inside her. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to wreak havoc on everything about her. To slash and destroy and burn and maim and kick and hit.
    How terribly liberating grief was, she thought. She could actually do whatever she wanted to. The moment passed and she sagged again. Unfortunately she didn’t have the energy to do anything. Right now she just wanted to wear Pete’s dressing gown and stay here at home where she could still smell him and feel him all about her. So she would. Actually she might wear a few of Pete’s clothes. She looked through his shirts and pulled out all the ones she liked, the ones that he wore most often. She remembered him in them. What about trousers? She tried on a pair. Even with a belt they were uncomfortably large. She folded them and put them carefully into an empty cardboard box. His tracksuit. He loved it. She always knew he feltrelaxed when he wore it. That went onto the bed on top of the shirts. The pile of clothes to keep. His cashmere cardigan. She used to tease him that he looked like a grandfather in it. But he had said it made him feel cosy. So she put that on the pile too. A blue cashmere blazer. She could wear that with jeans. A couple of T-shirts. All his socks. They would be wonderfully warm on the cold polished floorboards in winter. She pulled on a pair over her bare feet. They were soft and snug. The pile of clothes she wanted to keep was growing and the cardboard box seemed hardly to fill. No matter. Finally she finished.
    She looked at the box of clothes on the floor. What was she supposed to do with that? Give it to the local welfare agency? She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing someone walk past in Pete’s clothes. Nor could she