Mrs. Fry's Diary Page 3
21 Monday
Can’t be bothered to cook today so it’s frozen lasagne. I’m sure the kids won’t mind – they’ve got strong teeth.
22 Tuesday
Stephen finally admitted he was in the wrong today. He even gave me an apology gift – a jigsaw of two babies sitting in a big plant pot. I had to forgive him. What else could I do? I’m a sucker for jigsaws. And plant pots. Besides, there was a note inside. It simply said: ‘You complete me.’ Beautiful.
23 Wednesday
Made Stephen’s jigsaw. There was a piece missing.
24 Thursday
Decided I need something to occupy my mind so I’m finally going to clear out the attic this weekend. I haven’t been up there since I inherited this house from my dear great-grandmother, although Stephen used to be up there all the time before he got his shed. I’d start today but Stephen’s taken the ladder on his window-cleaning round – apparently he lost the other one. In a game of poker.
25 Friday
Stephen spent the evening in the Dog & Duck, crawling home around midnight. Unusually, I had a lovely, undisturbed night’s rest. Stephen was asleep as soon as the pillow hit his head.
26 Saturday
Spent a good five hours rummaging around in the attic. Once I’d finally negotiated the dust, cobwebs and back issues of Ladybitz Monthly, it was quite an eye-opener. My first find was a huge, ancient portrait of someone I assume was Stephen’s great-grandfather, although he’s never mentioned him. Whoever it was looked almost identical to Stephen, only 50 years older. Fifty years and five hours by the time I’d finished up there, oddly …
I also stumbled across a few hundred metres of toy train and Scalextric track, countless marbles, several fingerless Action Men and dozens of Panini sticker albums, but the most exciting find of all was a large wooden chest. It was sitting in the corner of the attic, beneath a pile of Bay City Rollers albums and a space hopper and clearly hadn’t been touched for decades. I wondered what on earth could be inside. Could it contain a hoard of valuable antiques, a body – or something more sinister? Sadly, I didn’t get the opportunity to find out as pandemonium erupted from downstairs. Strange, as Brangelina’s pandemonium lessons are normally on Wednesdays.
27 Sunday
Successfully managed to evade Stephen’s Sunday morning fumblings and shot straight up to the attic again to see what I might discover inside that old chest. The lock was rusted over but one swift blow from Stephen’s collector’s edition double O gauge Flying Scotsman was enough to open it.
I peered excitedly inside and saw an extraordinary collection within – bundles of letters, photographs, all kinds of official-looking documents. I spent the next few hours poring over the contents. Some were mundane – a gas bill, a gin receipt, a quarterly bill from the local brothel. Others, romantic – a selection of love letters took me back to Stephen’s and my own exchanges. (To this day, Stephen keeps my adolescent outpourings in a shoebox under the bed and I keep his on the cigarette packet he scrawled it on.) And yet others far sadder – I enclose a copy of the message my great-grandmother received in 1916 from the Ministry of Defence, composed by renowned wartime greeting card poet, Gettwell Sassoon.
It must have been a frightful wrench,
To hear your hubby’s in the trench.
Imagining such dreadful scenes
Like being blown to smithereens,
Or falling prey to sniper fire,
Entangled, screaming, in barbed wire,
Or flailing wildly in the mud,
While spattered in his comrades’ blood.
So, joyfully this card we send
To bring your worries to an end,
Let doubts depart your pretty head,
Your husband Reginald is dead.
I have to admit to the odd tear on reading that. Fortunately, Stephen’s cycling proficiency certificate was in a box nearby and proved surprisingly absorbent. All in all, it was an astonishing find. To think of so much of my family history just sitting up here undisturbed for almost a century. It was at the same time exhilarating and exhausting. So revealing and yet so many questions unanswered. Who was this mysterious ‘Victoria’ my great-grandmother referred to in her diary as ‘biological Mama’? What was the Gentlemen’s Hellfire and Dominoes Club, whose badge was embroidered on my great-grandfather’s cravat? How much would it all fetch on eBay? I resolved there and then to find out more, and so tomorrow I shall head straight to the municipal library to see what, if anything, I can discover.
28 Monday
Library closed. How frustrating! Will have to go tomorrow instead (between 2 and 2.30, apparently).
Fish and chips for dinner tonight. With a bottle of Tizer. Stephen and I may not have much, but we’ll always have Blackpool.
March
1 Tuesday
The library was unusually busy this afternoon. Local children’s author Brian de Sade was reading from his new book, Daddy’s From Mars, Mummy’s From Venus. It was a big surprise to see him there, particularly after last year’s reading of The Very Horny Caterpillar and his creative use of the hole on page 12.
It was a little difficult to concentrate with hordes of screaming children running up and down between the shelves, many of them mine, but Mrs Blessed, the librarian, was terribly helpful. She took me to a small archive viewing room where the library stores over a hundred years of the local paper, the Local Gazette.
It was fascinating, leafing through the dusty sheets. Evocative headlines shouted out tales throughout history – ‘Local Man Feared Drowned In Titanic Disaster’, ‘Local Man Loses Limb In Freak Soda Syphon Accident’, ‘Local Man Savaged By Ocelot’. I began to wonder just who this poor, unfortunate chap was. I spent a hugely enjoyable hour reading through all the stories of death and destruction, but sadly there was nothing to help me on my quest. However, Mrs Blessed did suggest that the local church records might be of some use, so I’ll take a trip there later in the week to see what I can discover.
2 Wednesday
Went round to see how Mrs Biggins is bearing up. Her cosmetic surgery may have gone dreadfully wrong but at least she’s smiling on the inside.
3 Thursday
Popped along to St Barnabas’ Church, or TGI Sunday as it’s been rebranded to attract new members. Reverend Timberlake kindly took time from choirboy practice to show me the church register. It was an enormous leatherbound tome, with entries stretching back to the Middle Ages. I scanned the heavy pages keenly but nothing jumped out at me, except Reverend Timberlake who had mistaken me for a choirboy. I trudged disconsolately home, none the wiser but slightly warier.
4 Friday
I have to admit, I’m at a loss. I wondered whether Stephen and I should apply to go on that television programme, Don’t You Know Who I Am?, but as Stephen pointed out, that’s only for celebrities to find out about their ancestry, not a simple window cleaner and his wife. In desperation, I thought I’d try the internet to see what that might yield. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, Stephen had changed the computer password again – no idea why. I believe a marriage should be based on trust above all things, even food. As it turned out, it was more difficult than I’d expected to figure out his password. I typed in all the obvious possibilities – lager, karaoke, kebabs – to no effect. I even tried the names of our children – at least, those I could remember – but nothing. I was on the verge of giving up when it suddenly came to me – Wagner! Of course! I pressed the keys and the screen flashed to life. Silly me. Fancy forgetting how much he loved Hart to Hart.
After several fruitless hours, I finally came across some kind of genealogy website. Digupyourgran.com was terribly helpful. For a single up-front fee they send you your very own, unique family tree printed on your choice of either a genuine reproduction Elizabethan parchment scroll or a tea towel. At last, I feel like I’m getting somewhere!
5 Saturday
Stephen’s so sweet – he’s always saying ‘I love you’. Not to me, to the woman
in the betting shop, but still …
6 Sunday
Spent the morning looking through the Sunday papers in bed. Stephen and I like to share out the different sections – I like the Travel, Culture, News and Women’s magazines and Stephen likes the Soap Stars Getting out of Cars in Short Skirts section.
7 Monday
We’re really hoping the baby will start walking today. If not, we’ll have to drive all the way back to Tesco to get it.
8 Tuesday
How exciting! The postman brought a parcel this morning. I tore it open to find my Family Tree-Towel! There it all was – my family’s entire history going back centuries printed on absorbent polyester/cotton mix. What a revelation! I gazed in wonder at the names. I had no idea I was related to so many prominent historical figures – just wait until Mrs Norton and Mrs Winton see that! Sadly, according to this, my only surviving relative is my Great Aunt Audacia. But at least she now resides in a care home only a few miles away. I must visit her as soon as possible! I can’t wait! I’ll go on Monday. It’s Half-Price-Bus-Travel-for-Women-of-a-Certain-Age Day.
9 Wednesday
Stephen’s fallen asleep to his Sounds of the Rainforest CD. He’s always found the buzz of chainsaws relaxing.
10 Thursday
Creative writing cancelled again. Apparently the lecturer got caught in the rain on the moors over the weekend and may have contracted either influenza or consumption.
11 Friday
I do wish the children wouldn’t keep knocking on the bedroom door when Stephen and I are in the throes of passion. I’ll let them out when I’m good and ready.
12 Saturday
We all went along to the Spring Fair in the town square today. There were all sorts of stalls and events put on by local groups. It was tremendous fun, although I can’t say we were impressed with the historical re-enactment society. They did last Tuesday.
13 Sunday
Mothers’ Day. The twins gave me a mug saying ‘Perfect Mum’. I was terribly touched – not for the first time that morning – although not entirely surprised. Even though I do say so myself, in many ways I am the perfect mother – my six gorgeous children are living proof of that. Or is it seven? No … six. Wait a minute, ‘Thirty days hath September …’
14 Monday
Today’s the big day! The day I meet my Great Aunt Audacia for the very first time. I’m so excited. I’ll fill you in, Dear Diary, as soon as I return. I’m sure I’ll have all sorts of fascinating things to write!
Just got home. What a day! Great Aunt Audacia’s care home, Cloud Cocoon Land, was lovely. The receptionist, a nice young man called Barney, was awfully sweet. He gave me a warm smile as he scanned me for dangerous objects, then he led me down the corridor, through a set of security doors, down another corridor, through another set of security doors, past a water feature, down some stairs and finally through an electrified fence and over a cattle grid.
The Doris Day lounge was terribly nice. Half a dozen elderly ladies and gentlemen in varying degrees of consciousness were sitting in high-backed floral armchairs around a small portable television. My eyes alighted immediately on a rather stern looking woman in the far corner of the room wearing a distinctive wide-brimmed hat and William Morris blouse. I knew instinctively this must be her. On a small ornate coffee table in front of her was a large tumbler of whisky. Barney kindly drew up a chair for me on the opposite side of the table. ‘Remember,’ he warned me, ‘don’t get near the glass.’
‘Audacia?’ I ventured.
‘Yes, dear,’ the old woman responded sharply. ‘What do you want?’
‘It’s me,’ I replied. ‘Your great-niece, Edna.’
She screwed up her ancient eyes and carefully looked me up and down.
‘No,’ she said, finally. ‘I don’t think so.’
After numerous protestations and rather more glasses of whisky, Great Aunt Audacia finally relented. Her mood lightened as I told her of my life with Stephen and our children and she positively glowed as she regaled me with tales of her life. And what a life! Kayaking down the Zambezi, bullfighting in Madrid, winning the Nobel Peace Prize …
Then suddenly, as she was telling me about her silver medal in the Olympic heptathlon, her face froze.
‘Edna,’ she said in a new, lower tone. ‘It is Edna, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I answered.
Her expression darkened as she leaned towards me. ‘There is something I must tell you,’ she whispered. ‘Something of …’ she paused to emit a small cough ‘… great importance.’
I brushed the flecks of spittle from my cheek. ‘Yes?’
The old lady fixed me with a beady stare.
‘It’s about … your husband.’
I gasped. ‘Stephen?’
‘Is that his name?’
‘Yes’
Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then back down. ‘Yes,’ she said, after some consideration. ‘Stephen.’
‘What about him?’ I asked. What could it be, I wondered? What on earth could this old lady know about my Stephen that I didn’t?
‘Well,’ said Great Aunt Audacia, slowly raising the tumbler to her lips. ‘Your Stephen.’
‘Yes?’
‘He’s …’
‘Yes?’
‘Excuse me, ladies.’
I looked up. A very tall, very handsome man in a white coat was leaning over the table, flashing a gleaming white smile at us both. His shoulders were broad and manly and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ said the doctor, tapping his watch, ‘but I’m afraid visiting time is over.’
We glowered at him together from beneath our brims, and he stood up briskly.
‘Well,’ he said, his soft American voice a little shaky. ‘Maybe five minutes more. Just five minutes, mind.’
I let out a deep breath and turned back to my great aunt. Thank goodness for that! I don’t know how I could have stood it if I’d had to wait until tomorrow to find out whatever it was she was about to tell me about my Stephen.
‘Well?’ I asked.
‘Well,’ she continued grimly. ‘The thing is, your Stephen isn’t exactly who you think he is.’
I frowned.
‘What do you mean, “isn’t exactly who I think he is”?’ I said, almost too afraid to hear her reply.
‘Your Stephen is …’
‘Yes?’
‘He’s …’
Frustratingly, my Great Aunt Audacia chose that moment to take another sip of whisky.
Even more frustratingly, she chose the next moment to choke on it and drop down dead.
15 Tuesday
Didn’t sleep at all last night. Too many thoughts spinning round my mind. What is this huge secret Great Aunt Audacia tried to tell me about before she suddenly and unexpectedly passed away? What terrible, dark deed has Stephen been hiding from me all these years? How did she know about it? And if she knew, who else knows? If only the dead could speak – but the paramedics said it was too late to save her, no matter how many times I pummelled her chest and slapped her about the face …
I’ve tried all day to occupy my mind with menial tasks like washing, ironing and bringing up the children, but nothing’s working. Oh well, there’s just one answer. The one constant in my life. The one thing I can rely on. Cooking.
I made Stephen’s favourite for dinner. Or did I? How do I know? Oh dear …
16 Wednesday
Received a phone call from the care home this morning asking me if I would be so kind as to take care of Great Aunt Audacia’s funeral arrangements. Apparently, one of the other residents wants her chair. I immediately went onto the computer and checked LastMoment.com. Fortunately they’d had a cancellation so I managed to book a slot next Friday. It was a very reasonable price, excluding coffin tax, font duty, choice of pew and a hearse. Luckily, Stephen’s mate Barry was able to help us out on that score as he owns a car hire company. He owes
Stephen a favour, so he’s letting us have a hearse at a knock-down price. I’m not entirely sure what kind of favour Stephen did for him. I’m not sure I want to know any more …
17 Thursday
Stephen’s dyed his hair green and knocked back three pints of Guinness before breakfast. Goodness knows what he’ll do when he finds out it’s St Patrick’s Day.
18 Friday
Stephen’s got the hangover from Hull this morning. Apparently it’s like the hangover from Hell, but you spend the night on a trawler. I’m feeling a little calmer after the last few days, although I still can’t help worrying about what Great Aunt Audacia meant. Oh Diary, I’m so confused.
19 Saturday
Viennetta’s just taken another young man up to her room. I don’t know why she can’t get a job at Boots like the other girls.
20 Sunday
Made one of my time-saving two-in-one specials for Sunday lunch – Spamoffee Pie with a choice of custard or gravy. Of course, Stephen had double helpings, even though he pretended he didn’t want any more. Even to the point of dashing to the bathroom and refusing to come out. He’s such a joker!
21 Monday
Received a letter this morning from the Out of Africa Adoption Agency. Very disappointing news. They’re refusing to take both of the twins – it’s one or the other. It looks like we’ll just have to keep them – I couldn’t bear to see them separated. Sometimes I think I’m just too sensitive for my own good.
22 Tuesday
Popped round to Mrs Winton’s for coffee. She thinks the maisonette might be haunted. She says she keeps hearing a high-pitched wailing sound in the middle of the night, almost like a baby crying. Funny, I have much the same thing. Never been able to work out what it is …
23 Wednesday
Honestly, I despair of Stephen sometimes. He’s just tried that old ‘put a couple of pillows on his side of the bed’ trick, so that he can go to the pub without me knowing. Might have worked better if he’d put them under the blanket.
24 Thursday
Discovered the cat’s worked out how to open the fridge. We’ll have to find somewhere else to keep him now.