for me, are you?’ His roving hands reached inside her slip.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ She pushed him away. ‘You should have been here ten minutes ago.’
Surprised at the vehemence of her tone, he gathered her to him. ‘Hey! It couldn’t be helped,’ he explained softly. ‘I had a last-minute complication with the electrics. It won’t happen again, I promise.’
‘It had better not, because if you ever keep me waiting again, I’ll bolt the door so you can’t get in.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Huh! Don’t bet on it!’ Squirming from his grasp, Paula fled up the stairs, laughing and teasing as he chased her into the bedroom.
Anxious to speak with her younger sister, Lucy hurried down the street, her heels beating against the pavement as she neared the house. She thought of how Mary Taylor had described Paula as looking sad. Paula had best come and stay with me for a while, Lucy decided as she hurried along. It’s a pity she’s not full time at the petrol station because now it will give her more time to fret. I can’t leave her alone in that house, wittering and worrying, and making herself ill. But who can blame her for feeling miserable? What with the endless rows between her and Ray, then the difficult marriage break-up, and then getting sacked and having to find a new job.
When Lucy took a moment to compare her own life against her sister’s, she truly believed that Paula was worse off. While she, Lucy, had a husband and children, and a full-time job, even if it was hanging by a thread, Paula had none of these blessings.
She’s been through the mill, Lucy acknowledged, but she must know that I will always be here for her.
On arriving at the back door of Paula’s house, she stood on the step a moment, wondering what she might say. She reminded herself not to say that Mary had been talking to her. It would only cause trouble.
Bunching her knuckles to knock on the door, she was surprised to find it slightly open. Honestly! she thought. What have I told her about leaving the back door open? Anyone could walk in!
She gently pushed the door open, and was about to shout for Paula, when she heard the sound of voices from upstairs. One of them sounded like that of a man.
A smile crept over her homely face. Maybe Ray had decided to come home after all.
Though nervous about intruding, she made her way to the foot of the stairs, where she was shocked to her roots to recognise the man’s voice as belonging to her own husband.
She wondered if Paula had arranged for him to call round because of a problem in the house, but he had not said anything about that at breakfast; she would have remembered.
Think, Lucy! she told herself. Martin doesn’t always discuss the details of his work schedule. But if he was working at Paula’s house, surely he would have mentioned that?
Confused and a little apprehensive, she sensed that something was not right. Yet still she chided herself for allowing her imagination to run away with her. She told herself that it could not be Martin upstairs – she would have seen his van outside – and the voices were softly intimate, with the occasional childish titter of suggestive laughter. And yet …
Ashamed, Lucy tried to blank out the bad thoughts. She told herself that it could not be Martin up in the bedroom; and more shame on her for allowing herself even to think it.
It must be Ray, come home to talk things through, with the hope of repairing the marriage. Lucy’s heart lifted at the thought of a reunion between Paula and her estranged husband.
And yet that small, nagging voice in her head was warning her that something was not right here.
Having allowed suspicion to creep into her mind, she wondered whether she ought to make herself known. She was about to call up to them when there came a burst of familiar manly laughter. Lucy’s heart stood still.
There was no doubt in her mind now. The voice, the laughter … it was Martin, her husband.
For what seemed an age, Lucy stood transfixed, her ears assailed with a burst of intimate groans and excited cries, the kind only lovers might make.
As the stark realisation took hold, she could barely breathe. Although she promised herself that she was wrong, and this was not happening, she knew it was. As the lovers continued to laugh and whisper together, the truth was undeniable. It really was Martin and her sister, upstairs in each other’s arms.
Devastated, she turned to leave, wiping away her tears, but then a swell of rage flooded through her and shock turned to anger. No! She had to see them together. She needed each of them to look up and see her standing there. Only then would she be completely certain.
Lucy knew that if she ran away from the truth now, she would live to regret it.
Her mind was set. Whatever shocking images she might discover, and however painful it might prove, she would rather know the truth than be forever wondering.
And so, on nervous legs she continued on up the stairs, and along the landing. The bawdy laughter drowned out the sound of her approach.
In that first, hesitant moment when she entered the bedroom, Lucy was sickened by what she saw.
They lay in the bed, exhausted … coupled together. The sheet was crumpled part-way down, their naked bodies entwined. Paula had her hand on the back of Martin’s head, her fingers caressing his hair, and Martin was lying over her, his face nuzzling her breasts.
For the longest moment, they remained blissfully unaware that she was in the room, watching them, unable to move forward, or flee from the room. Lucy saw her husband and her sister, as close and together as any man and woman could be, and she realised that as long as she lived, the image would stay with her.
A wave of coldness folded over her, and she began to sob, silently at first; then, as the pain intensified, the sobs became uncontrollable.
Martin looked up, his eyes wide with shock. ‘Oh my God … Lucy!’ Tearing at the sheet, he covered his nakedness and ran across the room towards her. ‘Lucy … I’m sorry … I’m so sorry!’ he screamed after her as she ran down the stairs. ‘Lucy … please … wait!’
Behind him, Paula was nervously giggling; though tears were not far behind.
As Lucy ran out of the front door and down the street, Martin ran back into the bedroom. ‘I need to go after her!’ he gasped, snatching up his clothes and quickly dressing. A moment later, he was fleeing down the street after Lucy.
Even now, he was arrogant enough to expect her forgiveness.
Lucy, though, was long gone. Bitter tears clouded her vision as she fled, half running, half stumbling, her mind filled with what she had seen. ‘How could they?’ she kept asking herself. Even though she had seen them together with her own eyes, Lucy found it difficult to believe they could both betray her so cruelly.
Having taken a short cut home, Mary Taylor arrived just as Lucy was walking up the alley
