Free The Old House on the Corner by Maureen Lee

having it off with another woman. Don’t deny it, Dad,’ she said brutally when Steve opened his mouth to speak, although he had no idea what he was about to say. ‘Angie Curtis saw you in Huddersfield last Sunday, coming out of some cheap hotel, holding hands with a girl young enough to be your daughter.’
    ‘And Angie came and told your mother?’ He kicked the back of a chair. It was a nervous gesture rather than angry. ‘I was going to tell her meself one day soon. Why couldn’t the bitch keep her bloody gob shut?’
    ‘Why should she? Mam has a right to know. And it weren’t Mam she told, anyroad, it were me,’ hisdaughter sneered. ‘And it were
me
who told our Mam. And you might like to know that, yesterday, I rang the hospital and nobody knew anything about you working overtime, so I borrowed Graham’s car and followed you home. It didn’t surprise me when you turned into some dead posh house and didn’t come out again for almost two hours.’
    ‘You should get a job with MI5, girl. You’d make a good spy.’ He was blustering, trying to cover his confusion. This was totally unexpected and he had no idea how to deal with it.
    ‘That’s not all I did.’ Brenda’s eyes were bright with spite. ‘I went to the town hall this morning and looked up who lived in the house: Kathleen and Michael Quinn. Our Maggie said there’s a Dr Kathleen Quinn at her surgery, so it seems you’ve picked a dead posh tart to screw, Dad.’
    Steve’s heart sank to his boots. ‘Do your sisters know?’
    ‘Of course. Why, would you have liked it kept a secret?’
    ‘For now, yes. I told you, I was going to tell your mam soon.’
    ‘When?’ she demanded.
    ‘When I left for good.’
    ‘For good!’ Her eyes bulged. ‘You’re leaving Mam – for
good
?’
    ‘I would’ve thought she’d be pleased at the idea. I’ve been feeling a bit surplus to requirements over the last ten years.’
    ‘Don’t be daft, Dad. Mam’s gutted. And don’t you think it’s about time you went upstairs to see her?’ She jerked her head towards the stairs.
    Jean was lying, fully dressed, on top of the bedclothes, her shoes on the floor, neatly side by side. She raised herhead when he went in and he saw her eyes were puffy with tears. ‘Steve. Oh, Steve! How could you do this to me?’
    All he could feel was impatience. He had no intention of saying he was sorry, because he didn’t regret a single thing. ‘What did you expect, Jean? We’ve not been man and wife in a long while. I’m not exactly made of steel. All I can say is, it’s a wonder it didn’t happen sooner.’
    ‘You should’ve said summat, luv,’ she cried. ‘We could have worked things out between us.’ Her nose was running, badly. He gave her his hanky and she wiped it with a trembling hand.
    ‘I remember saying quite a lot when you turned away from me, refused to let me touch you, but you’ve forgotten.’
    She turned, buried her face in the pillow, and said in a muffled voice, ‘I’m nearly through the change, so there’s no chance of me falling pregnant. We could do it now, Steve. We could do it tonight. I wouldn’t mind.’
    He stared at the crumpled figure on the bed. It was years since Jean had given any thought to her appearance. Her thick tights were wrinkled around her ankles, her swollen hips encased in a shapeless skirt, her blouse torn under the arms. The hair that had once gleamed a pretty blonde had turned to dull grey and was cut sensibly short. There was no style to it and she only wore make-up when she left the house. He’d grown so used to it that he no longer gave it any thought. She was his wife. She was Jean, and this was the way she was.
    ‘It’s a bit late for that,’ he said gruffly. ‘I can’t turn meself on and off like a bloody tap.’
    ‘Brenda said Angie told her the girl you were with only looked half your age,’ she whispered into the pillow. ‘I can’t compete with someone like that.’
    ‘She’s forty-two, only