Penny

Chapter 13

Mary, now 51 years old, slowly and methodically washed a plate in the warm water of the sink. Mike, her husband, was asleep on his chair in front of the football game on television. Since Mike's redundancy that year she had been hoping for more opportunities for them to do things together, go holidays, days away, but his payout didn't stretch far and now they were limited to spending a lot of their time living modestly.

Mary stared into their backyard, a plain lawn with weeds coming through. James would have turned that garden into a little paradise, she thought. She remembered looking out at her old garden that day, at James soaking little Wendy in her new dress. How angry she had felt, and how her anger was immediately wiped away when he had then tried to soak her through the kitchen window. Why did I let Wendy go to school the next day? Mary thought. She had nearly drowned in the pond, I could have kept her off school. Why could Wendy not have just caught a cold that night? But if James had been at the school on time the accident would never have happened! Then allowing the hospital to cut her up for her organs like that! My precious little girl!

Mary plunged her hands into the soapy water. She yelped in pain, pulling out her hand now bleeding from its impact with the submerged cheese knife. Mike stirred from his nap, got up and walked into the kitchen in concern. Seeing his wife's bleeding hand, he ran the cold tap and put her hand under it.

"There, there, you big baby. No need to cry," he said, hugging Mary. "It's only a little cut."

Mary wasn't the only one crying in the room at that moment. Milene gently led Wendy away.

The walk around the Serpentine Lake in Hyde Park with Milene had soothed Wendy somewhat. Now, Wendy and Milene stood alone in a plush private office in the City of London, London's financial centre.

"This is very fancy!" said Wendy.

"He's achieving everything he wants for himself," said Milene, "He's only twenty four and showing a lot of promise of going further."

Approaching footsteps and a man's voice at the other side of the door caused the women to spin around.

"Lisa, if Bill Fenerman calls put him straight through," said the man's voice.

The office door swung open. A young man, blonde haired and blue eyes, barged into the room. Wendy instinctively took a quick step back as if to let him pass.

He sat down behind his desk and started busily typing a letter on a typewriter.

"Is that him?" said Wendy. "I don't recognise him."

Wendy walked up to the desk, leaning over it to look in the man's eyes. "Yes, it is Philip! I see now!"

Wendy drew back, looking around again. "He must be very successful, look at this place!" she said, smiling for the first time that day.

"He's a junior executive I believe it's called," said Milene.

Just then the telephone rang, making Wendy jump.

"Bill, hi- I'm doing well thanks, and you?" said Philip.

"Oh wow!" exclaimed Wendy, "He really is all grown up now! Has he and, eh, Theresa got any children?"

"That's Theresa there," said Milene, pointing to a picture on the side of the desk. "No, they don't have children."

Wendy leaned over her brother's shoulder to peer at the framed photo of Theresa sitting on a beach mat under a sun parasol. "She looks lovely, has Dad met her?"

There was a pause. Wendy looked up. "Milene?"

"No, your father hasn't met her," said Milene, regret in her voice.

"Oh, of course. You explained already," said Wendy despondently.

Philip's tone rose, "Bill, Bill, I understand your concerns. But we're a good pair of hands for your account. You won't regret- No, no- OK- OK Bill. Bye for now."

Philip slammed the phone down, swore, and placed his head in his hands.

Milene and Wendy disappeared together and were soon on the boat bound for home.