Good Year For The Roses

I stood and waited, trying not to show that I'd noticed that everyone in the place was studying me intensely. It seemed an eternity until the door finally opened and I got the surprise of my life.

I'm not sure what I had expected Rachel's mother to look like, but certainly it was nothing like how she did look.

It wasn't like she was dressed to the nines or anything; actually she was just wearing a pair of - extremely close fitting - old denims and a matching blue blouse; equally figure hugging. But damn, she was one of those women who had presence; she'd have look good dressed in an old sack. Add to that, the immaculate make-up -- not overdone just enough to accentuate her facial features - and not having a hair out of place. God the woman looked like a model on a catwalk; she glided along with the same grace - style or whatever you call it - as they do as well as well.

I could definitely see and understand why, all those drivers had showed interest in my asking about her and possibly why they were all hanging around the taxi office.

"Andorra, there's this guy here, wants to see you." The man behind the counter said.

"Hi Pete, is there a problem?" She asked with a big smile on her face, but maybe a slightly concerned tone to her voice.

"Yes... no, well there could be." I replied, looking around nervously at all the guys who were by then pretending, not to be watching and listening to us. "But Rachel's fine and there's nothing really to worry about; I just think I should let you know what's going on, that's all. Can we talk somewhere private?"

Instantly all the guys began to rise from their seats, I assume to go outside and leave us alone in the office. But Andorra told them stay; that we'd go outside.

"What's up Peter, you don't look too clever?" Andorra said, as the door closed behind us. But then she spotted the girls with their noises squashed against the car window and waved to them.

"Well the problem is... Andorra... Margery has left me!" I stumbled out.

It felt very strange talking to her, and even calling her Andorra; it was the first time we'd met. I had also been confused that she'd instantly recognised me and knew who I was; I was sure we'd never met before.

"Oh my god, you poor man!" Was her first reaction; then her mind must have realised the possible implications. "Oh, does this mean we have a child care problem this evening?"

"Oh no... Andorra." I was still having trouble with that name. "It's just that we've never met and I thought... Well I don't know what I thought... That you should know that I'll be minding the children on my own this evening, I think. I just thought you should know, after all we're virtual strangers."

"Not all that much Peter. Rachel goes on about you all the time; you might not realise it but she treats you like a surrogate father. She's even got a picture of you along with the one of my husband beside her bed.

"Oh my, where did she get that?"

"Otterley gave it to her, I believe! Anyway, do you want me to get the night off and take the girls or anything...? I can, if you want to be alone."

"Oh my god, no. No, I just thought it would be prudent to let you know the score. Christ I'd be in a real state if they hadn't been there this afternoon. I'm fine looking after Rachel; I was just a little concerned that you should know."

"I'm sure Rachel couldn't be in better hands, Peter." She said reaching out and taking hold of my hand as if to emphasize the point. "I'll come by and collect Rachel in the morning."

"No you need your sleep; five o'clock as usual will be fine. But maybe you could drop by yourself, because we really need to discus what's going to happen in the future. If you like, I can bring Rachel home?"

"Oh yes... the future... I wasn't thinking." Andorra replied, a somewhat even more concerned expression coming over her face. The possible long-term implications of Margery leaving me must have suddenly come to her mind.

"Don't be concerned I think between us we can possibly work something out. The girls are full of ideas already." I smiled at her as best I could.

Andorra looked slightly relieved. "Oh right, but I'll collect Rachel, I'm sure you'll have lots of things you need to concentrate on!"

"Thanks, yeah I suppose I have, if I could just get my head around them. I'll see you tomorrow evening then, and please don't worry about Rachel; she's a remarkable young lady."

"Aren't they both!" Andorra commented, as we walked over to the car, where she had few words with the girls, kissing them both good night and telling them to behave themselves.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

There was a strange car parked in my drive when we arrived at the house. Margery got out of it and came over as I pulled to the curb.

"Where have you been, I've been waiting here for hours?" She demanded, before going on to tell us curtly that she was leaving now. Honestly even after that bomb she'd dropped on me earlier, I couldn't relate the way she was acting and speaking, to the woman I'd been married to for so long.

"If that's who I think it is, I suggest you tell the git to get his car out of my drive before I move it for him!" I replied just as curtly. Actually I was very near the mark, and I was extremely annoyed with Margery for having the guy there when we returned. Kind-a like rubbing my nose in it, I thought!

Looking back, I really think that I'd controlled my emotions impeccably that day; I'll admit mainly because the children were present. But to me it appeared that Margery had been trying to push me over the top. Possibly, she could use that as some kind of justification to herself for what she was doing, if to no one else.

Margery gestured with her arm and the Jag roared into life, then slid out of the drive and parked across the street. Ignoring the fact that Margery was standing close beside the car, I slipped it back into gear and swung across the road so that I could reverse into the space where the Jag had been standing. Margery was complaining that I'd almost run her down, as I climbed out of the car.

"Oh are you still here, I thought you'd gone." I lied and walked towards the front door. But then I stopped and turned to look at her. "Aren't you taking that?" I demanded, gesturing towards the little Nissan that Margery usually drove. It had suddenly registered in my mind that the Jag was apparently packed to the roof with Margery's belongings, but the Nissan was empty.

"Not much point, you might as well sell it. We're flying out of the country on Wednesday." She retorted.

"Where to? Where do I have my solicitor send the divorce papers?" I found myself demanding. But Marge had pre-empted me.

"The address of Ronnie's solicitor is on the kitchen table, he'll know where to contact us." She curtly replied, and then turned to speak to Otterley who along with Rachel had also got out of the car by then.

I'm afraid I didn't wait to hear what they said to each other, and my daughter and I have never discussed it since. But it couldn't have been very much because both girls followed me into the house seconds later and firmly closed the door.

What I didn't see, but I heard - somewhere in the back of my mind - was the pronounced "slap" of their hands as he little devils high-five'd each other yet again. I'm afraid to say, that I didn't read anything into the sound at the time.

The girls and I settled down on the sofa to watch TV for a while before I told them that I thought it was about time they hit the hay. Both gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, before disappearing up to bed without argument; a first on Otterley's part from my recollection.

I have no idea what time I eventually hit the hay, although I'll admit I had a couple of scotches to help me sleep that night.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

I awoke Sunday morning to the usual smell of frying bacon permeating the house. For a moment I forgot that Margery was gone, and looked at the clock in wonderment that she was up first on a Sunday. Then the memory of the day before came flooding back and I found myself looking around the room; something was not right, or different about it, but for a few seconds I couldn't put my finger on exactly what?

Then I realised, that when I'd gone to bed, there had been signs of Margery's departure all over the place; dresser draws left half open and her wardrobe doors ajar. Now they weren't just closed, all sign that Margery had ever existed had disappeared from sight. Even the damned pictures of her mother and father I remembered noticing she'd left, were not on top of the now completely bare dressing table.

I staggered out of bed and into the en suite for my usual ablutions and to my further surprise the personal detritus that I was sure Margery had abandoned in there was also missing.

I was forced to deduce that I'd had visitors whilst I'd been sleeping, who had done some tidying up, and there were only two possible culprits who I could think of.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

"Come on Daddy, breakfast is getting cold?" I heard Otterley call up the stairs as I exited my bedroom.

In the kitchen I found both eight-year-olds waiting for me, they insisted that I sat whilst they served. I had a fry-up with a glass of fresh orange juice and a cup of coffee, presented as if I was enjoying breakfast in a high-class hotel somewhere. The two girls had apparently both settled for Cornflakes, orange juice and tea.

I made the necessary enthusiastic comments about my lovely breakfast and the skill of the chiefs and was rewarded with big smiles on both girls' faces.

Carol, her husband Frank and their children arrived before we had completed the meal; their arrival breaking the spell -- and tranquillity - a little.

But it was apparent that their arrival had been anticipated -- either that or the girls had greatly overestimated my coffee consumption -- because Otterley and Rachel promptly supplied Carol and Frank with mugs of coffee. It took a little persuasion on my part to convince the two girls to leave the washing up to me and go out to play with Carol's children.

Actually Carol did the washing up, whilst Frank and I sat drinking more coffee and watched, at the same time as I described the previous day to them in detail.

My sister and her husband told me they'd do whatever they could to help. Frank coming up with the name and details of the solicitor who'd represented his sister in her divorce; she turned out to be a good choice.

Carol cooked dinner for everyone from what she dug up from the freezer and fridge. I think I spent most of the day messing around with my roses when I wasn't talking with Carol and Frank.

One thing I do recall from that day though, was that sometime during the afternoon Rachel and Otterley helped me mollycoddle my roses for a while, and what's more I can recall Rachel - whether by coincidence or design -- quoting the line from a the song, "It's Been A Good Year For The Roses."

I'm pretty sure that she was much too young to understand the parallels that could be drawn between the song and the events of the previous day; but I certainly did.

I will never know whether I reacted in some way when Rachel said those words. But I do know, that - whether consciously or not -- Rachel has oft repeated that line over the years. Both the girls seem to like the song itself and we hear them playing and/or singing it quite often. Even more oddly, especially if and when Margery, has been mentioned by someone.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

A taxi arrived outside the house around four thirty and Andorra climbed out of it. The girls let her in and we did the introductions. Then Carol, Andorra and I adjourned to the lounge, whilst Frank shooed all of the children out into the garden and kept them occupied.

Andorra commiserated with me over what had happened and then before I had a chance to say much, Carol informed Andorra about the girls plan concerning child minding.

Andorra confirmed that she had mentioned to Rachel - in passing - that she'd been asked to do the Sunday night controllers shift for the cab company. And told us she'd get more money doing that than she could from the four mornings she put in at the local shop she was working at.

Almost without any further discussion or much modification it was decided to follow the plan outlined to me the night before by the children; with some vague discussion about Carol helping with day care of both girls, a couple of days a week during the school holidays etc.

Andorra called the boss of the taxi company to clear it with him that she could do the extra shift. He apparently was over the moon with the news and asked her to start that night. For some reason she looked at me for conformation, I just smiled and nodded, so she agreed to do it.

It wasn't quite that simple because Rachel needed her school clothes for the following day. So Carol drove Andorra and Rachel home to collect them, Otterley insisting on going along for the ride.

It was as I was carrying Rachel's bag into the house from Carol and Frank's car, that the thought hit me.

"Andorra, do you drive?" I asked.

"Yes, but I haven't been able afford to run a car since Tony's been gone." She replied.

"How do you fancy a little Micra as a run-around?" I found myself asking.

Andorra stopped and looked at Margery's car, parked there on the drive.

"I couldn't." She replied.

"Why the hell not, she doesn't want it, she told me to get rid of the damned thing? You might as well have use of it, as you're going to be running Otterley to school and back everyday."

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"Come on," I found myself insisting, "let's call the insurance company and get you put on my policy as a named driver. Might as well take Margery off at the same time, Rowland the rat can sort out all of her insurance from now on."

"His name's Ronald, daddy." Otterley corrected me.

"Who gives a monkeys what his name is, he's Rowland the rat to me!" I replied, probably somewhat sharply.

"He can't be daddy, Rowland the rat's, funny and nice." I was corrected.

Well, I couldn't argue with my daughter's logic on that one, so I caved and altered things a little. "Okay, if you insist, it's Ronald the rat." I grinned at her.

Oh, for those not in the know, Rowland the rat was at the time, a puppet character on a morning TV news show.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

Over the next few weeks we all settled into the new routine. Although Carol -- often with Frank and the children in tow -- would turn up most Saturday mornings to inspect the contents of and advise me on replenishment of the larder. Normally she'd finish up cooking lunch as well, providing we didn't all go out somewhere to eat.

And yeah, all right. Carol never actually put the white gloves on; but she did tend to do Captains Rounds whilst she was at the house. Housework ain't exactly my forte, but I soon found I had sod all else to do in the evenings with Otterley not there. I tended to do little and often, I think the house came up to inspection most of the time; Carol never seemed to find much to criticise anyway.

I was to find the weeknight's lonely, but I got used to it, eventually. Fridays were great when I got home from work to find Andorra and the girls there. Very quickly Andorra took to preparing a meal for us all before she went off to start her Friday evening shift.

The bad times were during the week, especially when I arrived home from work to an empty house and awoke in the mornings. No matter what animosity I felt towards Margery for what she'd done; when - after all those years of marriage - you suddenly find yourself waking up alone in bed every morning... Well shit, it just takes some getting used to!

The divorce got a little complicated. Marge and her fancy man had left the country and were apparently travelling around quite a lot. I read into the trouble Marge's solicitor was having staying in contact with her, that it was possible that her fancy man was purposely trying to complicate things.

Eventually I discovered that he had a very distraught wife after him for maintenance payments for their children. I met her once when both her and my solicitors got together for a council of war. But to be honest, I had my own problems and didn't wish to get involved in hers. I know that she eventually managed to lock up all of his British bank accounts though, and I do believe that she got her hands on all of his UK assets in the end.

Without getting involved, I helped the best I could, by relaying to her solicitor Marge's whereabouts when she called home to speak to our daughter. Although the credit for getting that information should really go to Otterley, because she grew adept at wheedling Marge's exact location out of her when she called. Then, not very subtly, the little minx would relay the information on to me at the first opportunity. Whether Otterley knew the reason why I wanted the information or not, I don't know.

Strangely the difficulty Margery's solicitor kept having in communicating with her, worked to my advantage. After another court appearance where Margery's Solicitor asked the Judge for yet another adjournment, because he was awaiting a reply about some point from Margery, the old boy got shirty. He demanded to know where Margery was and when the poor sod of a solicitor had to admit that he had no idea.

The Judge turned to me to ask if I had any knowledge of her whereabouts?

"I'm sorry sir," I replied rising to my feet, "but I have not spoken to, or had any direct communication with my wife since the day she decided to walk out on my daughter and myself." I replied, rubbing the desertion of Otterley in as best I could, and technically - because not a word had passed between Margery and I in person since she had left -- speaking the truth.

I kind-a forgot to mention that Margery called Otterley every three weeks or so. But hey, that wasn't the question the Judge asked me, was it? And well, you know how the buggers go on about you to answering their questions without embellishment.

I'm really not sure, but I must assume that the old boy had had a bad day or something. Or maybe even the old bugger was presiding over Margery's fancy man's divorce as well and he had lost his patience. Suddenly I heard him saying,

"...Unreasonable behaviour" -- my grounds for seeking a divorce -- "could be interpreted in many ways." Briefly he went on to say that Margery not keeping in touch with her own solicitor, being one of them. He then suggested that I had grounds for seeking a divorce for desertion. But whatever, he was granting my decree immediately and giving me full custody of Otterley.

"I can't see that shared custody of the child could ever work in this case. If Mrs Thomas can't effectively liaise with her own legal representative on this mater; then what possible chance would Mr Thomas have of sharing important decisions concerning their daughter's welfare with her?" The beak lectured Margery's council. "Mr Thomas!" the old boy said turning to look directly at me again, "from today, I'm giving you full and exclusive custody of Otterley. And I'm removing all claims Mrs Thomas has to parental rights over the child completely, but with one proviso." The Judge looked back towards Margery's solicitor. "If Mrs Thomas wishes to present herself, in person, before me within twenty-one days, then I might be persuaded to reconsider my decision. Will you attempt to inform her of that?"

Margery's solicitor replied sheepishly that he would do his best to pass the information on to her. On hearing the poor buggers reply, the old boy raised his eyebrows and returned his attention to me.

"Well Mr Thomas, I don't hold out much hope of that occurring and I doubt that I could be persuaded to change my mind anyway. I find it surprising that you don't appear to have requested any maintenance for the child from your wife?"