The Secret Wife by Mark Lamprell

Author:Mark Lamprell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2022-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

1966

15Mrs Gandhi

HAVING ATTAINED HER licence, Edith felt obliged to use her new apple-green Mini to drive to and from the shops and thus she and Frankie engaged in hunting and gathering the space-age way, commuting in separate vehicles. Edith missed their joint excursions but their lives were so intertwined that often they would bump into each other and push their trolleys down the aisle together anyway. Edith was fascinated by the change in Frankie’s shopping habits. Where once she had selected items because they were discounted, Frankie now tossed luxury goods into her trolley with abandon.

‘What?’ demanded Frankie when Edith looked askance at her cashew nuts and mint slice chocolate biscuits.

‘Sometimes I think you want to get caught,’ said Edith.

‘I just tell him they’re on special.’

‘Every week?’

Frankie shrugged.

Sipping a cappuccino after shopping, Frankie unveiled the sexual equation of her housekeeping arrangements with Ralph. His Nibs, she revealed to a saucer-eyed Edith, gave her grocery money every Sunday evening at 9.29 pm, tucking the cash into her underwear drawer with a knowing look, as if it were a special little gift, just for her. Frankie would smile gratefully and at 9.30 pm, they would make love. The routine had not altered since Stevie was born although the amount rose annually, indexed to the cost of living—but hovering just short of quite enough. In her pre-modelling days, Frankie had found it difficult to make ends meet and was forced into ingenious little economies—watering down the milk and brushing melted butter onto the boys’ sandwiches. But now that she was able to supplement the allowance with her own bountiful income, there were rivers of milk and lashings of butter. Ralph appeared to be none the wiser, even boasting to his workmates about Frankie’s way with a budget.

Edith felt suddenly deeply grateful that Charlie would never expect her to perform favours for housekeeping money. Not wishing to highlight her good fortune over Frankie’s misfortune, however, she didn’t mention her own simple arrangement—she took money out of a shared account, whenever she liked, as often as she liked—and remained focused on Ralph.

‘He’s very good at not seeing things,’ said Edith.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Ralph. If he stopped for two seconds to think about it, he’d have to realise you’re getting extra money from somewhere.’

‘I don’t think he does stop to think,’ said Frankie. ‘Not about us—he pops us in a box in his head and that’s that.’

‘Funny, for a detective,’ said Edith. ‘His whole job is about looking for evidence, uncovering things.’

‘But that’s at work. Home is different.’

‘I reckon on some level he must know. There’s so much stuff going on behind his back. You know what I think?’ said Edith. ‘I think he doesn’t want to know.’

Frankie hurried off to a gig but was back home frying chicken and boiling vegetables prepared by Edith when Ralph came home from work at his regular time with a funny look on his face. She knew something was up and briefly contemplated asking him what was wrong, but lost courage.

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