The Faithless - Martina Cole [3]
The small night-light cast a rosy glow in the room. Kneeling down beside her daughter’s cot, she looked at her child.
‘What’s wrong, Gabriella?’
The little blue eyes held a plea, and she knew immediately that her daughter had wet the bed again.
‘Oh, Gabriella, why don’t you call me, and I’ll take you to the toilet.’ She lifted her daughter out of the cot with a heavy sigh, and set about cleaning her up, without another word.
Gabriella allowed herself to be stripped, washed and redressed in a clean nightie without saying a word either. As young as she was, she could feel the tension filling the room. The unspoken disapproval and the knowledge she had done something wrong was enough to quieten her. She knew her mummy was cross, and she knew better than to aggravate her.
Ten minutes later, Gabriella was once more alone in her cot and, closing her eyes, she tried hard to get herself back to sleep.
Chapter Three
Jimmy came in as his wife was putting their daughter’s pyjamas and bedding into the washing machine.
‘Dinner smells good, Cyn.’
She didn’t answer him. She could do that, just blank someone, make them feel an outsider in their own home. It unnerved Jimmy. He was from a family who were boisterous, noisy, happy – not that Cynthia allowed him to see them any more. He wasn’t used to long silences that had some kind of accusation in them, even though nothing was actually said. He wasn’t sure how to deal with them. Turning abruptly, he went into the hallway and removed his coat. Careful to hang it up properly to make sure it didn’t look untidy. Why this was a necessity when they were locked away in a cupboard under the stairs he wasn’t sure. But Cynthia wanted everything perfect, so he did it anyway; it was easier in the long run.
As he went into the sitting room, he smiled at Cynthia’s efforts. The room looked lovely, and he reminded himself how lucky he was to have a wife like her. She was not just pretty, she was like sex-on-legs. With her stunning blue eyes and thick sovereign-coloured hair, she turned heads everywhere she went. He knew that other men envied him his gorgeous wife. Everywhere she went men looked at her, and she noticed them looking, he knew that. It pleased her, because it showed her that she was still attractive, even after having a child. It was important to Cynthia that she was wanted. Not that sex was her top priority, unfortunately, but because she liked the power it gave her. She was a strange woman, cold – even towards their daughter. She only smiled when the child was doing what she wanted, acting as she felt a child should. Like him, poor Gabby had to behave just how Cynthia believed a daughter should, and not show her up. His wife had no room for reality, and that really worried him. Cynthia had two beliefs: that she was right, and that everyone else on the planet was wrong.
Now he had to give her some bad news and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Not at all. No matter how he dressed it up, she frightened him; her colossal temper could erupt at any moment, and when it did she was like a madwoman. Most of the time she acted like a lady, he had to give her that. She was perfection personified – until you crossed her and told her something she didn’t want to hear. Then she could swear like a docker and fight like the Irish. But then her family was Irish – not that she bragged about that.
He glanced at the TV set, but didn’t put it on. Cynthia didn’t think watching telly all the time was something nice people did. A good film or a documentary was fine, and News At Ten of course. But gameshows or comedy programmes were beneath her radar. She saw those as common, and common was what really sent her off her head.
It wasn’t easy being married to her and, even though he told himself that he was lucky a girl like her chose him, it was getting harder and harder to keep up that pretence. They were overstretched