back—’ Pru’s eyes brimmed with tears.
‘Is this why you’re doing it? You’re leaving me because you’re ashamed of what’s happened?’
She felt a wild surge of hope. ‘Phil, gambling is an illness, you mustn’t blame yourself! Together we can get through this, we can get through anything—’
‘You’ve got it wrong.’ Phil shook his head. ‘This isn’t to protect you. I’m going because I don’t want to be married to you any more. I used to think you were my type. But you aren’t,’ he concluded coldly. ‘Blanche is.’
Dulcie knew she was really going to go ahead and do it when she arrived home and Patrick, looking supremely unconcerned, said, ‘Where have you been, stayed at Liza’s I suppose?’
So much for passion, possessiveness, an explosion of red-blooded jealousy, thought Dulcie.
She imagined his reaction if she told him she’d spent the night being happily ravished by the Bath first fifteen. That would capture Patrick’s attention all right. ‘Really? What, in the clubhouse? Did you happen to get a look at their computer system while you were there?’
Explosions of red-blooded jealousy weren’t Patrick’s scene. ‘Yes, at Liza’s.’ Dulcie couldn’t even be bothered to make up a more riveting story. What was the point?
‘Coffee?’ said Patrick, when she followed him into the kitchen. ‘Kettle’s just boiled.’
This was his contribution towards clearing the air. It was how they overcame arguments. A bit of stilted small talk executed in an I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong-but-I’ll-forgive-you kind of voice, followed by a hug and a kiss. Then everything would be back to normal.
Except this time it wasn’t going to happen.
‘No thanks, said Dulcie, ‘but I’d love a divorce.’
‘Sure you wouldn’t prefer a KitKat?’
Patrick had his back to her. She watched him pour boiling water into a mug. He was wearing a dark-green and white rugby shirt and his semi-respectable jeans, the ones patched together at the bum.
Oh, she was going to miss that bum.
Dulcie sat down, all of a sudden feeling terribly tired. It had been an eventful morning so far and it wasn’t over yet.
‘That wasn’t a joke,’ she said, when she finally had his attention. ‘Come on, Patrick. Look at the way things have been.
This marriage isn’t working, you know that as well as I do Time to call it a day.’
It was a no-win situation. If there was anything more futile than trying to knit fog, it was persuading Dulcie to change her mind. Patrick hadn’t been married to her for seven years without learning this much. Once Dulcie made decision, that was that. Nothing he could do or say would have any effect.
He did try, but not for long. Dulcie was immovable am Patrick couldn’t bring himself to beg.
Pride was one reason Another was the knowledge that — as far as Dulcie was concerned —
there was no bigger turn-off in the world than grovelling man.
So instead he had remained outwardly calm and heard her out. Oh yes, Dulcie’s mind was definitely made up.
‘Okay, if that’s what you want,’ said Patrick at last, his tone neutral. Anyway, how could he argue? She had a point, he hat neglected her. The knowledge that he was at least partly to blame for all this had knocked him for six.
Dulcie looked at him. ‘Fine, that’s settled then.’ She bit her lip, determined not to cry. ‘Good.’
‘Are you going to spend the rest of the day in there?’ she shouted, hours later, outside Patrick’s office.
All the computers were switched on but Patrick hadn’t don( a stroke of work. All he could think about was Dulcie, who wanted out of their marriage. Who, for God’s sake, wanted divorce .. .
He wiped his eyes, glad he’d remembered to lock the door The last thing he needed was for her to see him like this. ‘I’m busy.’
Dulcie could have kicked the door down with her bare feet How bloody dare Patrick be busy?
As she turned away she said bitterly, ‘What’s new?’
* * *
How can this be happening to me’?
Pru stood in the doorway and gazed at the bedsitting room being offered to her. It was hideous
— cramped and filthy and three floors up — but it was available. She could move in straight away.
‘I’ll take it,’ said Pru, and even the grimy-looking landlord had the grace to sound surprised.
‘You sure? When from?’
‘Today.’ Dry-mouthed, she opened her purse and counted out the deposit from her rapidly dwindling sheaf of notes.
‘And the first month in advance.’ The landlord cleared his throat, salivating at the sight of cash.
When he had pocketed the notes he handed Pru the key and gestured vaguely at the cracked pane of glass in the window. ‘I was ... um ... going to get that fixed. If I did it this afternoon, you could move in tomorrow.’
God, how can this be happening to me?
Pru shook her head.
‘I have to move in today.’
