‘That would be nice,’ she said and wondered how she could tell Henry about Imogen and the man.
The park covered a wide area and was hilly in places. There were benches for people to sit in every corner and jogging tracks were all around the edges of the park. Henry had thought about running, in fact, he’d even looked up some apps on his phone. Bit late now, he thought cynically. The park swings were quiet. The children were back at school. It would have been so nice to relax here, thought Rita, if only this bad thing wasn’t happening to Henry.
‘I’ve been back to the house,’ he said.
Rita’s mother often said that.
‘Have you been back to the house?’ she’d say, not once but several times.
‘Did you see your father?’
‘Man of God,’ the papers had called him. ‘Caring father and loving husband who had been struck down in his prime leaving a grieving widow and young daughter.’ She never corrected them. What had been the point? Of course, the newspapers never reported her mother’s breakdown, or her psychotic episodes.
‘Father’s dead,’ she’d remind her.
That’s when the screaming usually started.
‘He’s here,’ she’d scream in the blackness of night. ‘He’s come to punish us.’
They’d had no choice but to put her in a clinic. Rita had tried to protect her, but it got too difficult.
‘For her safety and yours,’ the new minister had said with a solemn expression on his face.
Rita had her pick of the church community. Everyone wanted to take in the daughter of their beloved leader. She chose Grace and Phil. They’d had two other children so they wouldn’t dote on her too much. A year later she left and found her own place. The farm was handed over to the new minister and Rita never went back. Sometimes her mother remembered her and other times she didn’t. Rita preferred it when she didn’t. There would be horrific screams when she did remember, and Rita had awful visions that her mother might one day betray her.
‘You’re wicked, wicked,’ she’d yell, and Rita would cringe as the nurses came rushing in.
‘I think she’s delusional again,’ Rita would say softly. ‘It’s best I go.’
The nurses paid little attention. In that place, time was marked by the coming of meals and the medication. Rita would escape for a few minutes to fetch a drink, passing the inmates in the corridors, their expressions wiped clean by the medication and always there were the violent patients to avoid, or those that harboured grudges for obscure reasons.
‘I couldn’t have drowned,’ said Henry, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m as strong as an ox.’
They both looked towards the river.
‘I’m an excellent swimmer. I’m also very proficient at boating,’ he boasted.
Rita wondered what Henry could have died from if it wasn’t from drowning.
‘Imogen isn’t a strong swimmer,’ said Henry. ‘Not everyone is.’
Rita couldn’t swim at all, but she didn’t want to tell Henry that.
Rita was torn. At the mention of Imogen’s name, she remembered again what she had seen in the teashop. She really should tell Henry. Then again, she argued, what was the point? He was dead, after all. It would only upset him even more.
‘Something isn’t right,’ muttered Henry.
‘It just isn’t possible,’ he continued, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Someone has got it wrong.’
Chapter Thirty-One
‘There’s a bench,’ said Henry.
They sat side by side on the bench overlooking the play area. Rita felt quite depressed. Finally, she had a handsome companion. Not only handsome but also distinguished and no one else could see him. Rita thought that there couldn’t be anything more depressing than that.
Henry glanced sideways and found himself wondering what Rita would look like naked. Her breasts were small but firm, he noted.
‘Imogen is having an affair with our roofer,’ Henry said suddenly. ‘His name is Jim,’ he added scathingly.
