Free Colouring In by Angela Huth Page A

house started. So he might even ring me. – Isabel?’
    I said I thought she was being oddly devious about a plan which was directed at simple friendship. Why didn’t she just ring him when she was ready to explain her decorating ideas? Besides, I heard myself saying – and it was a cruel thing to say – knowing Gilbert was not the sort of man who would ever be aware of the state of dangling, there wasn’t much point in putting it into practice.
    Carlotta gave a long sigh. ‘I might have known it wasn’t worth talking to someone who’s been happily married for fifteen years,’ she said. ‘You’ve obviously forgotten what it’s like, negotiating the single world. Nothing is simple, not even a quest for friendship.’ She sounded forlorn. Before I could apologise for my lack of sympathy, she put down the telephone. We do sometimes end conversations like that – out of sorts, ruffled. Luckily the chill quickly melts. I’ll ring her tomorrow, apologise.
    I was awake much of the night, thinking of her, of Gilbert, of Dan. In my confused reflections only one thing was clear to me: I did not want Carlotta to become too close to Gilbert. I wanted him for my friend: mine and Dan’s. Horribly selfish, that: Carlotta needs him far more than I do. For all her toughness in the business world, she’s extraordinarily insecure when it comes to men. Most of her disasters have been because, too eager to gain their love, she’s gone at them too fast – offered everything. She never believes me when I say men don’t want everything: they only want selected parts. I hope her foolish plan won’t lead to another disaster. Perhaps, devious woman that I am too, I had better warn Gilbert. Tell him, simply, if he doesn’t want to be engulfed, he should keep his distance.
GWEN
    This morning, I don’t know why, I went down much earlier than usual to the post box. Usually all I get is bills and junk mail. But there was a real letter among them in a grubby envelope. Not what I’d call ‘educated’ writing.
    I sat down at the kitchen table – the place where I’ve received so much bad news over the years, and very little good – and opened it. Just a couple of lines, it was. I know your sort it said. I know what you’re playing at Gwen. There are forces out there who know more than you think. You should take care. Yours, Gary.
    I read it over several times. Chilled, I was. If it had been from anyone else I would have thought that it was just some crank, and probably thrown it away without another thought. But from Gary… What was he on about? Was it a threat? Was he saying he knew something about me that he could use to hurt me? Was there any such thing? I tried to think. I’ve made a lot of bad mistakes in my life, but as far as I know there’s nothing wicked I’ve done, nothing I’m ashamed of. All the thinking put my head in a whirl. I saw my hands were shaking. I didn’t fancy my cup of tea though I took a sip or two to get down a couple of aspirin. Perhaps I should speak to Gary next time I see him lurking. Trouble is, he’s always just out of hearing: I can’t shout across the street, and if I approached him he’d be off quick as anything. It’s horrible of him. I’ve got my life up together, straightened it out, I’m as happy as anyone could be, given all the circumstances: I mean Ernie’s not a bad son and, though Jan’s a rotten daughter, I still love her, she’s still mine… And now this dreadful man comes and unsettles everything. Haunts me, threatens me, takes away the feeling of safety.
    At one point during the morning I found myself so upset I decided to ring Mrs. Grant. But then I quickly went against that idea. I’ve never talked to Mrs. G about anything much in my life, for all our closeness. Besides, it would be too long to explain, the background. She’d be horrified by my story of having taken up with Gary in the first place. No: I couldn’t bother her with all that, not on a Saturday