Charles cared not for the trials and tribulations of his wife’s social circle. He was even less tolerant when potentially gravely ill.
‘Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t rather come home?’ It was an empty question but, bound by the code of wifely duties, one Elaine felt compelled to ask.
‘I can’t, I’ve too much work to do.’
‘Well, as Deputy Prime Minister you have more work to do than most!’ Elaine raised her voice ever so slightly as she spoke, no doubt to ensure that the decorator in the next room could hear that she was speaking with her ever-so-important husband.
‘If you can just call the doctor, please.’ Charles felt his temple begin to throb, either from the frustrations of speaking with his wife or a reaction to the fear he had placed within his mind of a tumour lurking there. He hung up without a formal goodbye, imaging how Elaine would still cling to the receiver and deliver a loving farewell to the dial tone, all in the name of maintaining the image she had so perfectly crafted over the years.
When Charles spoke with Lorna on the telephone she had always signed off the same way. He would say goodbye and Lorna, in her sweet, singsong voice would brightly reply, ‘Until next time’. He found it endearing and loved how it made him yearn for their next conversation, their next union. Charles imagined how, if their love had endured, they would have ended their conversations with undying declarations of love, each living for the moment when they next spoke again.
Lorna, and everything he felt for her, could not have just been the manifestation of a tumour slowing rotting his brain. He knew in his heart that it was real. But that meant that the vision he’d seen in the intern meeting was surely an apparition, and that Lorna must be haunting him. But she was so sweet and kind, how could her spirit be malicious enough to torment him? Unless he was the reason why she ended her life and now she despised him. Would she not cease to prowl around his sanity until he had scarified is own life also? The idea was preposterous and Charles quickly dismissed it.
In the quiet of his office, with his mind aching from attempting to make sense of what he had seen, Charles longed for a drink and the welcome release it would bring him from his tangle of thoughts. Elaine had ensured that there was no alcohol in his office, going to such lengths as having the fridge, which his predecessor had put in, removed. Charles resented how she behaved as though he were an alcoholic who couldn’t be near spirits. It was as though she only ever saw the very worst version of him, which antagonised him as he had only ever treated her well. He knew that Elaine’s father had struggled with a severe drinking problem which probably accounted for her often irrational behaviour towards drink. But Charles did not enjoy being treated like a child and having his toys of scotch and bourbon taken away from him.
Lorna enjoyed Malibu® and coke. She would always pour herself a small glass from the contents of the mini bar in the hotel rooms they stayed in. Charles detested the stuff, claiming that it smelt of suntan lotion. Lorna would smile and shake her head in disagreement.
‘It smells exotic,’ she would tell him, seductively inhaling from the glass, her eyes locked onto his.
‘When I drink it, I pretend I’m on some far flung beach, with white sand beneath my feet, the sun beating down from a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze whipping through my hair.’
‘You get all that from a drink? Heck, maybe I should try it sometime!’ Charles would tease her. But deep down he made a promise to himself that one day he would whisk her away to a white sand beach, and they would not have to hide away; they could be open in their love and affection for one another. That promise, and the countless others Charles had made towards Lorna in his mind, had been broken. Perhaps that was why she now pursued him relentlessly, refusing to rest in peace.
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