Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

Jo felt a bubble of laughter rising and fought it down. 'There'll be some better scissors in the kitchen. I'll run down and get them.' They both heard the front door open. 'Too late. They're here now.’

Both women stood, Dora swaying slightly in an effort to keep her balance, listening. They heard the sounds of things being tossed on the hall table, keys jangling, the door shutting, and then, a moment later, a female voice.

‘Where is she, then?’

The voice was tense and a little on the shrill side.

‘She must be upstairs,' said Philip. 'Jo!' he called up the stairs. 'Are you there?’

After a quick glance at Dora, frantically struggling again, Jo went out on to the landing so she could talk to Philip. To her irrational relief, his companion had gone into another room. 'Yes. I thought you'd arranged to be out. Until twelve. I was going to have a whole day, then a morning, now it's only about an hour!'

‘Samantha forgot something. It is her home, she can come and go as she wants.' He sounded angrier than the pre-arranged presence of his ex-wife in his house really warranted.

‘Dora's here,' said Jo, staying calm. 'We need some scissors.’

A small scream was heard from the kitchen. 'She's cutting up my clothes! Philip! Do something!'

‘Jo! How dare you?' demanded Philip, one foot on the bottom step.

Jo looked down at him, unable to credit what she was hearing. 'I'm not cutting up anything – except a pair of Karen's old trousers. No, don't come up. I'll come and get some scissors out of the kitchen.’

She went downstairs and met her husband's new love drinking a glass of water. She was very young, moderately pretty, with long bare legs shown off to their best advantage by a miniskirt. Jo had to concede Samantha didlook a little like she had done when she was that age. Samantha undoubtedly drank many litres of water a day. Had she been a friend of Karen's, Jo probably would have liked her, but as her own replacement in Philip's bed, liking was impossible. Maturity was the only advantage she had in this situation and Jo did her best to sound grown up. 'Hello,' she said, holding out her hand. 'You must be Samantha. I'm Joanna.'

‘But everyone calls her Jo,' said Philip, coming up behind them.

Jo ignored him. 'Would you mind if I found a pair of scissors from the kitchen? My friend is upstairs. She tried on a pair of my – our – daughter's trousers and she can't get them off or on.' She smiled, still trying to keep up her role as a benign headmistress on speech day – terribly polite and terribly patronising.

Philip and the Floosie exchanged glances but didn't move as she went to the drawer where she had always kept the scissors. Thankfully, they were still there. She picked them up and they felt familiar in her hand. She'd made cardboard castles, Romeo and Juliet's balcony, model theatres, produced any amount of Christmas cards and cut enough wrapping paper to encircle the earth, all with those faithful scissors. Now she had to ask to borrow them.

She cleared her throat. 'Excuse me,' she said to Samantha, who was blocking her way.

Samantha wouldn't move. 'What are you going to do with those scissors?' she demanded.

‘I told you, rescue my friend from a very tenacious pair of linen trousers.'

‘You're not going up there!' said Samantha, highly agitated. 'I've read about people like you, taking revenge. I don't know what you might do! My clothes are all designer labels. I don't want you cutting them to pieces.’

It seemed to Jo that the younger woman was on the verge of hysteria. 'Why would I want to do a thing like that?'

‘Because you're jealous! I've taken your husband!’

Jo took a deep breath. There was no doubt that she was the injured party, but she was not going to spend time placating this young woman and as Philip would doubtless object if Jo threw water over her, she'd have to try and cool her off by other means. Thanking God for her part in a WI play many years ago, Jo got into her role.

‘Darling,' she drawled in the most patronising manner she could manage, 'one isn't jealous of the bin men when they take away your rubbish. One is grateful, and gives them a tip at Christmas.' Wondering if she'd overdone the 'ones' she smiled graciously, and, as Philip and Samantha instinctively made way for her, went back upstairs.

‘Mad woman!' she muttered to Dora who was hiding behind the bed. 'She accused me of wanting to cut up her clothes because I'm jealous!' She turned her attention to Dora's predicament. The waistband of the trousers were cutting deep into her thighs, just below the hip. 'I don't want to cut you by mistake.’

They heard footsteps outside. 'Oh God,' said Dora, 'they're coming in! Hurry up! Please!’

Jo eased the blades of the scissors between Dora's flesh and the fabric and cut. As Philip and Samantha entered the room she tugged hard at the nick. A ripping sound filled the silence for long seconds.

‘I knew it!' screamed Samantha. 'She's up to something. What's she hiding?’

Philip stood by looking anxious. Jo leapt to her feet, aware that Dora didn't want to appear half-naked in front of Philip. 'I'm not hiding anything – at least – not anything in the sense you mean.'

‘I don't believe you!' Samantha screeched. 'There was a tearing noise. You're tearing my clothes. Or my new curtains – something!'

‘My dear, while good taste suggests that cutting up the curtains and duvet cover in this room would be an excellent idea, I haven't done it. Now, if you could give us a moment or two of privacy we'll be able to set your mind at rest.’

Samantha was not to be pacified. 'I don't believe you! You're up to something ghastly! Of course you're jealous! It's only normal!'

‘Sweetie, don't upset yourself,' said Philip, trying to sound soothing but actually sounding a little hysterical himself. 'Your hormones are all over the place. Jo wouldn't do anything spiteful. We've just found out,' he added to Jo confidingly. 'Samantha's pregnant! It's why we came home so soon. Isn't that wonderful?’

Jo's head swam and for an awful moment she thought she was going to faint. She moved round so she could sit on the bed. Stars danced around her head and her blood was pounding so loudly it seemed to be running through her ears. She shut her eyes.

‘Jo! Are you all right?' Dora, setting aside her modesty, got up and perched on the bed next to her.

The blackness cleared and Jo pushed her hair back from her forehead. 'I'm fine. I just suddenly felt hot. Must be my hormones!' Her smile, though brave, was very brittle. 'Philip, could I trouble you for a glass of water?'

‘I'll get one immediately.' He nodded a hello in Dora's direction and turned to leave the room.

Jo was touched to see genuine concern in his eyes and felt a little better. 'No, it's all right, I'll come downstairs. Dora and I have more or less finished sorting clothes, haven't we?’

Samantha, apparently not convinced that her designer clothes were not in danger from the rather blunt kitchen scissors, didn't move. Philip waited, putting a hand under Jo's elbow as she got up.

Dora, obviously longing to be left alone to get her own trousers on, said, 'Why don't you go down? I'll get dressed and tidy up here.'

‘I'm sorry if it sounds neurotic,' said Samantha, 'but I'll stay upstairs, too.’

Dora really would have preferred to get her own trousers on in private. She didn't know Samantha, didn't like her, and didn't want her seeing her putting her less slim and less brown legs into her slightly grubby combats, but she smiled. 'Be my guest.’

Samantha opened the wardrobe doors and ran a hand over her clothes just to be sure. Seemingly satisfied, she turned to Dora. 'So, is Jo very bitter?' she asked. 'She's bound to be. I don't blame her, I suppose, but she'd got very boring, Philip says. She can't have been surprised that he found another woman.'