Skeletons In The Cupboard Collection

Chapter 7

On the south side of the village, next to the little Norman church, stood a whimsical thatched cottage with latticed windows and a solid oak door. Upon that door was a huge brass knocker, depicting two mermaids entwined in what could be interpreted as either an embrace or a struggle, depending on how you looked at it. The children of the village fantasized that a wicked witch lived beyond the threshold of that quaint little abode but, being almost the last property on the lane, they seldom ventured there to see. As it was, the resident there was neither wicked nor a witch but she did have an enormous black cat called Cecil.

Cecil was a born hunter and a creature of habit. He liked to spend his days lying in front of the warm kitchen stove in the winter or outside asleep under a rose bush in the summer. His evenings were filled with chasing anything that moved around the neat little graveyard next door and depositing his finds on the doorstep for his human companion to find in the morning. Little did the occupant of the cottage know but it was due to all the dead mice and bats lying on her doorstep each day that the local children had supposed something sinister was happening inside her cozy home. Every morning, as they rode the bus to school, the youngsters would press their faces up against the windows to see how many "ingredients" the witch had collected for her pot the night before. And sure enough, they were never disappointed as a little bundle of dead vermin was always sure to sit proudly on the bristly mat outside.

The "witch" carried on with her daily tasks, oblivious to the dark rumours about her, until the Easter after Olive and Geoff"s arrival in the village.

As was customary in many parishes, the schoolchildren were given two weeks holiday in between their spring and summer terms. This was delightful for the youngsters but a difficult time for their parents, as it was a nightmare trying to keep them occupied at a time of year when rainstorms were plentiful and money to spend on extra outings was in short supply. Therefore every fine morning over Easter, the village children were sent out to discover their own entertainment, whether it be riding bicycles, picking wild flowers or helping the elderly members of the community with odd jobs in exchange for a few shillings. Olive"s children were no exception but the two girls were as different as chalk and cheese. While Eileen would help her mother around the house, read books or take long bicycle rides with her friends, Barbara was a different matter entirely. Anything that could be discovered, deconstructed or totally demolished found its way into her path. Barbara liked to think of herself as naturally curious but unfortunately that wasn"t the opinion of the parents whose children she goaded in to helping her with her devilish plans, they thought her rude, selfish and a thorn in her mother"s side.

And so, with school over for a fortnight, her sister engrossed in cookery lessons with their mother, and the rest of the village children under strict instructions to behave themselves, Barbara had devised a plan to keep herself occupied for the duration of the break. She was going to visit the "witch".

Now Barbara was a fearless but very foolish girl and often acted on impulse without thinking through the possible consequences of her actions, and on that particular Monday morning she marched down the lane as fast as her legs would carry her but had no inkling as to what she would say or do once she had arrived at the "witch"s" door. It was a fairly breezy morning and Olive had insisted that her youngest daughter wear a red raincoat which was neither comfortable nor inconspicuous but served the intended purpose of keeping her warm and dry. Therefore as Barbara approached her destination, she couldn"t help but feel a likeness to Little Red Riding Hood about to meet her nemesis.

Standing on the doormat with her hand raised to the odd mermaid knocker, Barbara paused. She really should have thought this through, thought up an excuse to be standing here and at least created a dialogue in her mind of what she was going to say. Sadly it was too late. As Barbara deliberated, the door opened with an eerie creak and a woman dressed in black stood in the doorway in front of her.

"Arghhhhhh", screamed Barbara, "Arghhhhh".

"What on earth is the matter…?" the woman started to ask, but it was too late, all she could see now was a little red raincoat retreating in to the distance with a mass of ginger curls blowing around its hood.

"How strange", the woman shrugged, and closed the door.

Five minutes later a breathless and terrified Barbara stood panting in her mother"s kitchen, she was shaking from head to toe and her knee-high socks had slipped down to her ankles and now resembled scrunched up cotton balls. It took a few moments for Olive to calm her daughter down and find out the cause of her distress. Immediately the tale was told, Eileen creased up with laughter and called her sister a "Scaredy Cat" while Olive tried to hide her smirks with the corner of her apron.

"Sit down Barbara", she said "Don"t you know that there are no such things as witches, whatever you think you have seen only exists in storybooks".

Barbara shook her head defiantly "Mother, it was a witch. I know I saw a witch".

Olive sighed. The morning would now have to be spent apologising to yet another victim of Barbara"s vivid imagination. Leaving Eileen to watch over baby Godfrey, Olive pulled on her sage green coat and left the house shaking her head in defeat.

As she hurried through the village, Olive cursed to herself. She sincerely hoped that Barbara hadn"t scared some poor old woman half to death and that medical assistance would be more appropriate than any attempt at an apology. As she neared the church, the little thatched cottage came in to view and Olive sighed deeply. Here goes, she thought.

The heavy brass knocker only needed to be rapped once before the door was opened. Olive sucked in her breath.

Before her stood a short woman of average looks wearing nondescript dark clothing but certainly not a person that resembled anything like a witch. In fact, the person before her looked like a typical middle-aged spinster. Olive quickly explained the reason for calling and was immediately invited inside for a cup of tea. It seemed that this lady understood a childish prank when she saw one and insisted that Olive had no need to explain her daughter"s actions. In fact, Barbara"s scream had added some much needed drama to the woman"s mundane morning.

“I actually thought it was quite funny”, the lady quipped, “The sight of those golden ringlets bouncing up and down was priceless.”

“Well, as I said, I"m very sorry that Barbara bothered you. She"s very highly strung.”

The woman invited Olive to sit in a chintz armchair next to the fire, where an enormous black cat lay sleeping, oblivious to the guest who was eying him with interest. While a pot of tea was prepared, Olive cast an appraising eye around the room. Everything seemed to be coordinated to perfection, with the mint green curtains and pale pink cushions complimenting the wild rose patterns of the wallpaper. There were clusters of family photographs dotted around the surfaces of highly polished furniture and a pretty collection of china plates perched precariously on a well-crafted Welsh dresser. As the two women chatted and ate slices of fruit cake, Olive noticed that there were very few lines around the other woman"s eyes, she was perhaps only a few years older than Olive herself, but strangely she did have a few straggly grey hairs protruding from her chin. Olive tried not to stare but was fascinated as to the woman"s age, no wrinkles but a hairy chin pointed towards poor genes in her estimation. It also occurred to Olive that the woman had an unusually gruff voice too. Perhaps she was recovering from a particularly bad cold poor love. Still, she made a good cup of tea and excellent cake, so perhaps the two could become friends after all.

An hour passed in amiable conversation. Olive learned that her new acquaintance was called Marilyn Roberts, which made her smile inwardly. It was an unusual combination of Hollywood glamour and English tradition but oddly it suited her. Marilyn had never been married, which Olive had guessed from the moment she clapped eyes on her, and she worked from home as a seamstress, taking in work from several boutiques and haberdashery stores in the town. Judging by the beautiful beaded gown that hung on a dummy in the corner of the room, Olive thought that Marilyn must be very good at her job.

“It"s made from organza and chiffon”, explained Marilyn proudly, “Takes me hours to sew on all those little pearls on by hand.”

Olive nodded approvingly, it really was a wonderful piece of workmanship.

In turn, Olive imparted bits of her own family life, telling Marilyn about her caring husband, her very opposite girls and her precious baby boy. On the last topic, Olive was alerted to the fact that she had left Eileen caring for little Godfrey, who would be due for his feed any time now. Olive hurriedly put on her coat and said her goodbyes to her new friend. Marilyn was sad to see Olive go but invited her to call again soon. Olive said that she would and left the cottage on a high.

Geoffrey was intrigued to hear all about "the Witch" that evening, and chuckled as his wife recounted how Barbara had scared herself silly that morning.

“That"ll teach her”, he laughed, “Maybe she"ll keep out of mischief for a while now.”

“I certainly hope so”, replied Olive shaking her head, “She"s such a handful.”

“So what is this "Witch" like then?” Geoff asked his youngest daughter as she looked at him sheepishly over her cup of warm milk.

“Scary, that"s what”, replied the red-headed minx, “I still think she"s a witch.”

Both parents laughed heartily. Maybe one of these days Barbara would learn a valuable lesson about keeping out of trouble, but she never ceased to provide them with a source of entertainment.

“She"s actually a very nice lady”, finished Olive, “She"s got a gorgeous tomcat called Cecil.”

“Oh, no you don"t”, started Geoff wagging his forefinger at his wife, “We"ve got enough mouths to feed in this house without bringing strays in to it.”

Olive shrugged, this wouldn"t be the first nor last time that the subject of a cat had been broached.

It wasn"t until the two girls were back at school that Olive had chance to take baby Godfrey out for a stroll on her own, and as soon as she did, Olive headed down the lane to the little thatched cottage once again. She only intended to say a quick hello, after all she had left bread rising on the kitchen windowsill and there were numerous household chores which needed her attention. Olive looked down at Godfrey, who was busy examining a corner of his wool blanket.

“Shall we go and say good morning to Marilyn”, she cooed, “Shall we?”

Godfrey squealed with delight and kicked his tiny toes wildly.

“Come on then”, giggled Olive, tickling the bottom of his foot, “Let"s see if the pussycat"s there.”

Marilyn was as welcoming as on the first occasion and busied herself with making refreshments whilst Olive settled Godfrey on the rug in front of her, where he chuckled and cooed at Cecil the cat. Cecil was most obliging and stretched his great body out in front of the infant, enticing him to stroke the fur on his huge black underside.

A brand new Singer sewing machine was set up on a lace-covered table in one corner, and the hem of a velvet jacket lay neatly clamped underneath its needle.

“I didn"t mean to interrupt you if you"re busy…” ventured Olive, “If you need to get this finished…”

“Don"t be silly”, enthused her friend, “I"m due a break anyway, I"ll just finish that seam.”

Olive watched admiringly as the spinster deftly cranked the handle of the machine with her right hand, while guiding the fabric carefully along with her left. Less than a minute later, the two ends of the cotton had been tied and the finished item hung loosely on a wooden hanger.

“I"m so happy that you came”, enthused Marilyn, “I rarely get visitors and it can be so lonely with only that big furry devil for company.”

Olive glanced down at Cecil, “He"s lovely, I sometimes think that we should get a cat.”

“Oh do”, replied her friend, sitting down in the opposite armchair, “They"re wonderful pets.”

Olive noticed that Marilyn was looking slightly more glamorous than on her first visit. She couldn"t quite decide whether it was the addition of a touch of rouge or the way that the other woman had pulled her hair up into a high chignon, but she definitely looked better for it. On closer inspection, but very discreetly of course, Olive wondered whether her new friend was in fact wearing a wig. There was something a little too perfect about the smooth hairstyle that Marilyn now sported and the colour of the hair was so very different to the last time she had visited. Still, one couldn"t chide a woman for wanting to take care of herself and the glamorous spinster was certainly doing just that. Ever the matchmaker, Olive wondered whether her bachelor brother would be interested in taking Marilyn out on a date. Although she didn"t have the usual style or pretty face that her sibling looked for in a woman, Marilyn was polite, self-sufficient and mild-mannered. Olive thought it a genuine possibility.

“I"ll make us a drink”, the woman called as she disappeared along the hallway and in to the kitchen, “Make yourself at home. Give your little lad one of those bananas in the fruit bowl.”

Olive looked around. Not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, it was good to meet someone as house proud as herself. She glanced toward the sideboard, where the framed pictures that she remembered from her first visit stood lined up along the polished surface. One in particular caught her eye. A young boy of around four or five years old sat in a wicker chair with his arms folded. A frown wrinkled his brow and the corners of his lips were turned downwards as if he were very cross indeed about something. Olive smirked, she had plenty of pictures of Barbara with that exact same expression. Children, who could predict their moods?

Behind her, Marilyn entered the room and set down a heavily laden wooden tray.

“Oh, I see you"ve noticed the family photos”, she laughed, “He was a little tyke that one.”

“A nephew?" Olive asked innocently, expecting Marilyn to elaborate.

“No”, came the unexpected answer, “Just someone I used to know.”

Olive didn"t like to pry further, she had a good instinct for when someone had opened up as much as they were going to, so she turned away from the pictures and busied herself pouring tea.

As they chatted over refreshments and watched Godfrey play with Cecil the cat, Olive and Marilyn found they had more than a few things in common. They both had a passion for cooking, came from large families, loved fashion and both had a secret penchant for handbags. As they discovered this last bond, Marilyn stood up and opened a large built-in cupboard next to the fireplace. Olive"s eyes widened as she feasted her eyes on more handbags than she could count. They were neatly lined up in order of colour, with the white ones on the top shelf, passing through peaches, reds, blues and purples, until finally on the very bottom shelf stood a row of black patent delights, standing upright like a black-painted picket fence.

"Oh my goodness", gasped Olive, "How wonderful. This is my idea of handbag heaven.”

"My substitute for a husband and children", smiled Marilyn, "But don"t tell the vicar!"

Olive laughed, how marvelous to have discovered a woman with such a wonderful obsession. She was sure the two of them would become great friends. Her own great passion was hats, but every outfit needed a matching handbag and it seemed that Marilyn had every possible colour co-ordination covered with this fabulous collection. She smiled and scanned the shelf once more, pure handbag heaven!

“You"re more than welcome to borrow one any time you like”, offered Marilyn unexpectedly, “You only have to say the word.”

“Oh, that"s very kind”, gasped Olive, genuinely overwhelmed, “But I"m not sure that I go anywhere posh enough to warrant using one of those!”

“Well, the offer"s there. Any time you like.”

Olive smiled warmly at her friend. She was beginning to feel very comfortable in Marilyn"s company.

Godfrey"s niggling brought the two ladies back to reality and Olive suddenly realised that she had been sitting in Marilyn"s home for over two hours. It was time to get back to her own house, where laundry, dusting and the evening meal were all waiting to be seen to. And the bread, thought Olive, by now it would have risen to the top of the mixing bowl! As she bid farewell, Olive gave Marilyn a little squeeze on the arm and invited her new friend to call round any time, but the invite was received with hesitance and excuses. Marilyn didn"t venture far from home apparently, especially not to that end of the village, but Olive was more than welcome to come again she said, in fact Marilyn insisted.

Olive"s visits to Marilyn"s little cottage became a regular occurrence with both women enjoying the other"s company immensely. They had no end to chat about and often traded favours too, with Marilyn offering to make new summer dresses for the girls and Olive providing her friend with a crocheted throw for her bed and any batches of jam that she happened to be making that week.

Olive was always careful to spend no more than an hour at the cottage, as she was aware how easy it was to get behind with her household chores. Marilyn was always busy too, working on some new ball gown or another but she always seemed happy to put her sewing aside to spend some time chatting. It had been a cold spring but thankfully summer came early, giving the two ladies plenty of opportunities to take their pot of tea outdoors and relax in the warm sunshine. Cecil the cat was always around somewhere, either hiding in the bushes or stretched out on a window ledge, and it soon became a game for Godfrey to seek him out and tickle the feline"s big furry tummy.

On one particular visit, Olive noticed that Marilyn wasn"t her usual chatty self.

“You seem a bit down today, love”, clucked Olive, “Is everything alright?”

"Oh, I"m okay”, her friend replied, but with a saddened tone in her voice, “It"s just I"ve heard that my mother"s not well and I"m not sure whether I should visit.”

Olive coaxed the other woman to explain the reason for her reluctance to take the short bus ride to her mother"s village only a few miles away. It seemed that they were no longer close, but what had happened to cause the rift was something that Marilyn seemed to want to keep to herself. Still, Olive could see the pain in her friend"s eyes and assured her that, no matter what had happened, family was the most important thing in a person"s life. A visit would do Marilyn the world of good.

“I know you mean well dear”, said Marilyn as she cleared away the tea cups that afternoon, “It"s just been such a very long time.”

Olive patted her friend"s hand and turned to leave, “At least think about it, eh?”

The next time Olive called on her new friend was after Church service one Sunday. Geoffrey had offered to take all three children to his parents for the afternoon as he could see that Olive had "one of her headaches" (which incidentally usually occurred at the mere mention of Geoffrey"s parents) and needed some peace and quiet. It was always a source of amusement to Olive when she attended Church without her family. A soft murmur could faintly be heard as she took her usual seat beside the vicar"s wife, and occasionally the voices rose in volume to confirm her suspicions that the rest of the congregation thought her and Geoff had quarreled, hence the noticeable absence of her loved ones. Of course, nobody ever directly asked Olive the reason for her husband"s nonappearance, and neither did she offer any explanation. It was rather fun to leave them guessing, she thought.

As the parishioners stood to sing the first hymn, their leather-bound books open at the relevant page, Olive glanced across the aisle to where the Mullers were standing rigidly side by side. Anna Muller looked as resplendent as usual in a smart camel-coloured coat, her soft lips forming every word of the song perfectly, while her bespectacled husband kept his head high and his back stiff, as though standing to attention in an army parade. Apart from Geoff, she had told no-one about the strange conversation that she had heard outside their house those few months ago. Besides, what if she had interpreted the conversation incorrectly? Although she was positive that she hadn"t. And what would people think when they realised that to have discovered such a dark secret, Olive must have been listening at other people"s keyholes! That in itself would be enough to keep the gossip-mongers fueled for weeks! She shuffled her feet to keep them warm and stole another furtive glance towards Anna Muller. The tall Russian caught her eye and smiled politely. Olive flushed but managed to keep enough composure to conceal her inner thoughts from being revealed. Poor woman, Olive reflected, fancy having to carry those awful memories with you, and as for her fiend of a husband, why had he never been taken to trial for his diabolical actions? She shuddered, both from the draughts that seeped through the church doors and from the sudden realisation that she would never be able to tell another living soul about her dreadful discovery.

Worship continued and Olive was soon absorbed in the reading being delivered by the tiny mouse-like shopkeeper, Elsie Corbett. It had been a lovely service with Reverend Todd giving a sermon on helping thy neighbour in need. As she waited in line to shake the pastor"s hand, Olive reflected upon the words that had been spoken in his lecture. She had seen the folk around her nodding approvingly, clearly full of their own intentions to lend someone a hand, visit the sick or write a long overdue letter to a distant relative. Olive doubted whether anyone in her cul-de-sac were in particular need of anything, therefore she settled on visiting Marilyn who might need a bit of company if nothing else.

The cottage garden was immaculate as usual and Olive could see that her friend was obviously at home, as she observed a thin wisp of smoke winding its way up to the sky from the chimney-pot ahead. Cecil was stretched out on the doormat and raised his head sleepily as Olive gently stroked the back of his ears. She tugged at the heavy brass knocker, once again wondering where on earth Marilyn had found such a strange object. There was a faint shuffling sound from inside but nobody came to answer the door. The distinctive sound of footsteps upon a tiled floor could be heard very faintly, as if they came from the back of the house. Olive looked back down at Cecil, who was now fully awake and anticipating the opening of the door in case there was a chance of being fed. She shrugged at the wide-eyed feline, waited a few moments and knocked again, this time a little harder in case the first rap had gone unheard.

After another short period of odd noises, a rather flushed Marilyn opened the door. Her pale pink cardigan was buttoned up incorrectly, revealing a cream coloured lace camisole underneath and her hair looked slightly disheveled. Marilyn appeared to be panting somewhat, causing the other woman to conclude that she had been caught in a predicament and had dressed pretty hastily. Olive felt awkward, obviously she had called at an inconvenient time, the other woman hadn"t even put her stockings on and thick dark stubble covered the bottom half of her legs! For one embarrassing moment Olive wondered if Marilyn had company, and perhaps if that "company" were male. That would explain the red cheeks and half-dressed appearance of her friend. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, neither woman not quite knowing what to say.

"I"m so sorry, I shouldn"t have called unexpectedly", muttered Olive, "I"ll be on my way".

Marilyn started to say something but stopped, maybe it was better if she didn"t try to explain.

"Good bye", said Olive as she retreated up the path, "I"ll see you another time".

With that, Olive hastily unlatched the wooden gate and made her way back past the church where several stragglers were still saying their goodbyes to the vicar. She was aware that she probably looked quite flustered but Olive was in no mind to stop and offer an explanation, so marched back up the lane as if on a mission until she reached her own back door. Only then did Olive compose her thoughts and begin to wonder whether she had over-reacted. After all, Marilyn was fully entitled to have male visitors should she wish to do so, perhaps it was just the shock of potential Sunday afternoon frolicking that had got Olive so hot under the collar?

Far behind, Marilyn stood in her own doorway saying nothing but feeling ridiculous as her friend scuttled away, there was nothing to hide, she had only been taking a nap. No Casanova lay spread-eagled on the eiderdown waiting to cover her body in kisses, she was simply taking a nap. Something would have to be done to recover her reputation. It didn"t matter what the rest of the village thought she got up to behind closed doors, but Olive, she was a very good friend, the kind that were worth keeping.

Olive arrived home to the silence of an empty house, and exchanged her patent shoes for a pair of soft sheepskin slippers. She flicked on the radio and began filling the kettle to make herself some tea, but stopped when she realised that she had run out of sugar. Damn it! Was everything going to be a disaster today? Be a good Samaritan, love thy neighbour, so much for that! she huffed. Olive"s thoughts were still back at the little cottage. She tutted at herself for over-reacting at her friend"s unexpectedly bedraggled appearance, good luck to her if she had managed to find a man at long last! Wasn"t that exactly what Marilyn needed? Someone to love and cherish her? I should be the last person to judge, she told herself defiantly, there are plenty of others who are willing to do that!

An hour later Marilyn stood on Olive"s doorstep, red leather bag in hand and a black pillbox hat covering the crown of her platinum and grey streaked hair. I really shouldn"t have come, Marilyn told herself. She could already see a couple of the villagers craning their necks to see who the lady was that had passed by their windows and before long the whole community would be out in force to have a good look.

Why wasn"t Olive answering the door? Was she ignoring her friend because of what she"d seen? Maybe she"s upstairs, the woman thought, I"ll just give it a few minutes more.

As Marilyn stood knocking at her friend"s door, Olive was in fact two doors away borrowing sugar from her neighbour, Mrs. Hargreaves. As the local store was closed on Sundays, it was quite common for the villagers to "borrow" supplies from one another, concluding the transaction over a cup of tea. Such a scenario was now taking place, with Mrs. Hargreaves setting two China cups and saucers down on the table in front of her and Olive.

"There we go dear”, clucked Mrs. Hargreaves, “Can"t beat a good brew can you?”

Olive nodded eagerly in agreement. “Especially when someone else makes it for you.”

Both women chuckled. Just what I needed, mused Olive, I feel better already.

Mrs. Hargreaves was quite the opposite of most of the women that Olive had already encountered in the village. Loud and brash with crooked teeth, she smoked rolling tobacco and dyed her hair with henna. Olive didn"t" mind that the other woman asked a lot of questions and was always angling for gossip, in fact she found it quite amusing that her neighbours were all so very different. She would never have imagined the Hargreaves" being together but they seemed happy enough. Polar opposites in both looks and personalities, the couple were complete misfits. But, I have to hand it to them, admitted Olive, they have two of the most polite children in the village.

Mrs. Hargreaves bustled about searching the cupboards for biscuits whilst simultaneously rubbing a trail of cigarette ash in to the rug with her stockinged feet.

They were just taking their first sips when the door connecting the kitchen to the lounge was abruptly opened by Mr. Hargreaves, who reeled in to the kitchen with tears rolling down his cheeks. He was shirtless and wore a string vest under red braces, which served to hold up a huge pair of tweed trousers, over an even huger stomach. His feet were covered in tartan slippers and he carried the sports section of a national newspaper in his hand.

Both women looked up startled.

"Whatever is the matter with you Stan?" demanded Mrs. Hargreaves.

Her husband held his sides and hooted loudly "It"s Martin, outside Olive"s", he gasped.

"Martin who?" queried Olive, looking puzzled. But Stan Hargreaves was in no condition to explain and continued to laugh uncontrollably. His face had now become so flushed that he gasped for breath and began fanning himself with the newspaper. A long bead of sweat ran slowly down one side of his face and a globule of spittle had gathered at the side of his mouth.

Both women rose from their seats at the table and peered through the kitchen window. Olive was just in time to see Marilyn making a hasty retreat back towards the main thoroughfare but there was certainly no gentleman called Martin accompanying her.

"God Lord", exclaimed Mrs. Hargreaves "He hasn"t been up here for years".

"Who?" asked Olive, now beginning to get very frustrated that nothing was being explained to her.

"Martin Roberts", replied her neighbour, shaking her head sadly as if someone had died.

"I can only see my friend Marilyn", said Olive, craning her neck in case another person was out of view.

"Oh dear", said Mrs. Hargreaves, now taking Olive by the elbow and leading her back to the kitchen chair, "I think you might need a drop of brandy in your tea dear".

"Brandy in my tea? Will somebody please tell me what"s going on!" demanded Olive.

Stan Hargreaves finally stopped laughing and turned to face his visitor. He slapped a big chunky palm on his thigh and let out a deep breath.

"There is no Marilyn", he said "Only Martin, in ladies clothes", upon which he started chuckling again.