The Courtyard by Marcia Willett Page A

Elizabeth. Thanks. Honestly.’
    â€˜Last time, Gillian. Believe it. Now. Let’s have another drink to take the taste away and you can tell me how Lydia is. I haven’t seen her for months.’
    Â 
    NELL SAW JOHN’S BARCLAYCARD Statement quite by mistake. In a rare moment of zeal, she decided to turn out the spare bedroom which he used as a small study. She tidied the top of his desk, trying to leave things as undisturbed as possible and, as she carefully lifted the pile of papers to dust beneath them, the statement fell out from
between the pages. Nell, bending to pick it up, was arrested in the act, staring in disbelief at the amount owing. She straightened slowly, still staring at the sheet, noting that things for which she assumed they were paying cash were being put on the account. It seemed that very little had been paid for by cash for a long time. Nell’s heartbeat seemed to hurry a little. Only the minimum payment had been paid last time and John was over his credit limit. Nell put the paper back and went out, down the passage and into the kitchen. She filled a tumbler from the wine box that John had brought home from the supermarket – and paid for on his credit card, no doubt – and sipped thoughtfully.
    Knowing John’s sense of inadequacy, his readiness to believe himself a failure, Nell was always careful how she approached him with anything that might resemble a problem for which he could be held in any way responsible. His reactions tended to be defensive and she tried to avoid aggressive confrontations. She knew that things were not going so well now but Martin had assured her that, if they didn’t lose their heads, there shouldn’t be any difficulty. Nell guessed that John had asked Martin to talk to her, hoping to fend off any questions.
    Well, she’d believed him. She took another sip and set down her glass. Raising her arms, she deftly twisted up the long hair into a more secure knot and, dropping her head back, tried to relax her neck muscles. What was going on? A thought struck her and she went back to the study. It didn’t take her long to find the bank statement and when she looked at it she drew in her breath in horror. It simply couldn’t be that bad! Nothing had been paid into the account for weeks and it was well overdrawn. When they’d moved to Bristol, John had taken over the financial side of life and Nell, anxious to show that she trusted and supported him, had let him do it. Now she was really worried. Years of large mess bills and unrealistic budgeting had shown her that John was useless with money but she’d taken charge of it whilst he was at sea and kept their financial dealings more or less under control. With him at home full time there was no longer
any excuse for her to hold the reins and she’d passed them over and hoped for the best.
    Nell replaced the bank statement and went back to the kitchen. She realised the time had come to talk about things, but how should she approach it? She would have to tell him what she knew or he would palm her off with verbal placebos. As her imagination got to work and she began to feel the familiar sensations of anxiety, she tried to keep her fear under control. There was no point in getting worked up until she knew the exact situation. But would John tell her the exact situation? She knew very well that his hopes and desires often got mixed in with his perception of reality and, if she stripped away his illusions, he might not be able to confront the bare truth without a massive loss of confidence. Perhaps now was the time to try to find a job herself and make some contribution towards the household expenses. When this subject had been raised in the past John had protested loudly against it; he was perfectly able to support his wife, he told her. She suspected that if she were to suggest it now it would merely underline the fact that his ability to provide was in question. Nell rubbed