1954
‘You should be ashamed of yourself! I promised Jean I wouldn’t say anything to you but I have to do something about it.’
‘Look, Mr Miller – Alec – I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about?’ said Tom on the other end of the phone.
‘Well, you should. Do you remember your wedding day? You’ve broken those promises. To love, cherish and honour her. She wouldn’t look – and behave – the way she does if any of that applied. I’ve never seen a woman look less cherished.’
Tom finally understood what was being said to him. And why. He opened his mouth to reply, but Mr Miller was talking again. ‘Well, I’m not having it. She’s staying here until she’s recovered a little. She’s very against it, said she was going home, but as she was leaving this afternoon, putting Lucy into the car in her carrycot, she just – passed out. Have you seen the size of her? I can’t believe you have, or you’d have done something about it. She’s a wraith. She’s not eating, says she can’t, and yet she’s feeding that baby – words fail me. Her mother’s worried sick about her. Look, I won’t mince words – she’s pregnant again, isn’t she? It’s disgraceful in my opinion. You should be leaving her alone – that’s what any decent man would do, give her some peace.’
Tom put the phone down. He couldn’t reply without being intensely rude. He was angry, angry beyond anything at Alice, for running to her parents, complaining about him, whining behind his back. It was absolutely disgusting. Where was loyalty, where was love in this? She was even clearly implying that the new baby had been conceived against her will, practically turning him into a rapist. What could he do, how could he live with this level of disloyalty? It was not to be borne.
He was just rather half-heartedly tidying the kitchen that evening, thinking at least he’d have an unbroken night, when the front door opened and Alice stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a sleeping Lucy in her arms.
‘Can you bring Kit in, please? I can’t manage them both.’
‘You should have brought your father with you to help,’ he said, his voice raw with rage. But he strode out into the street, reappeared with Kit and carried him upstairs. When he passed Alice on the landing he didn’t even look at her.
Coming down again, he found her slumped on a chair in the kitchen.
‘Apparently, I’m starving you. That’s what your father implied. I could make you a sandwich, would that help? I’m afraid a three-course dinner, which he clearly thought was your due, is beyond me.’
‘Tom?’
He bustled about, rather ostentatiously cutting bread, grating cheese, boiling the kettle for tea. He didn’t speak.
‘Tom, I’m so sorry my father rang you and said all those things. It was terribly wrong of him. I didn’t even know he’d rung until Mummy told me, after I – I –’
‘Fainted? Very dramatic. And what did Mummy think you should do about it all? Sue me for divorce? Leave me? Do tell me, please.’
‘Tom! I didn’t go there to complain, truly I didn’t. I just thought a day with them would be nice. Restful. Mummy’s very – helpful.’
‘And I’m not, is that right? Well, Mummy doesn’t have to pay the bills as well, does she? Doesn’t have to go to work, just potters about, saying what can I do now, darling, apart from keeping your nasty brutish husband away.’
‘Tom! You know I’d never, ever say anything about that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t think I do know, actually. Otherwise how did your father have such a clear picture of my behaviour? Which is not that of any decent man, apparently. I should be leaving you in peace. Dear God, Alice, if you wanted that why not say so?’
‘Tom, I hadn’t told them about the baby. It never seemed the right time. And you know how seldom we – I – see them. It came as a shock.’
‘A shocking shock. Poor Mummy and Daddy. No wonder they want to take you in, give you shelter.’
‘I was going to ring you later, ask you if you’d mind if I stayed the night. Just the one. Then when I heard what Da— my father had done, I was so upset I just left.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘And what about this poor wraith-like creature I am supposed to have created – how did they know about her? About how I never give you any food, watch you starve.’
‘Tom, don’t be so ridiculous. Of course I am very thin, everybody says so, but I don’t feel like eating much of the time, I’m still being sick. When this little one is born, I’ll be better straight away, you know I will.’
‘Yes, and you can be sure there won’t be any more. You’ll find yourself living with a very decent man.’
‘Oh, Tom, please.’
‘Well – it’s disgraceful, peddling that sort of rubbish about.’
‘I wasn’t peddling any sort of rubbish. I – I love our sex life, you know I do –’
‘I could be forgiven for not knowing recently, but I’ll let it pass. Does Daddy know that?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Alice wearily. ‘As if I’d say anything like that to him. I suppose it was just a conclusion he jumped to – that generation, you know, they see it all differently.’
‘And you made no attempt to put him right?’
She sighed, sipped at her tea. ‘How could I?’
‘Very easily, I’d have thought. I’m disgusted at you, Alice, absolutely disgusted.’
‘Yes, I’ve got that message,’ said Alice wearily. ‘Look, I am very tired, it’s been a very long day.’
‘Not my fault.’
‘I didn’t say it was. But I’d like to go to bed – we’re not getting anywhere.’
‘As you wish.’
She got up, threw the uneaten sandwich in the bin.
‘Hey,’ said Tom. ‘That’s a terrible thing to do, throwing away perfectly good food. The children would have eaten that.’
‘Strangely enough, the children don’t really like very stale sandwiches,’ said Alice and then with a sudden return of her old spirit, ‘Perhaps you’d like to take it out and offer it to some poor deserving person on the street.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Tom irritably. ‘I only said it was terrible to throw food away. You do it a lot.’
‘Well, if you can suggest what I do with it, I will.’
Tom glared at her. ‘I don’t know. It’s not my department. You could make stuff into soup or something. I would have thought,’ he added just a little too quickly. Alice felt the familiar flood of jealousy and for once converted it into words. ‘Oh, I see. Is that what Laura did, make leftovers into delicious soup? Difficult with a cheese sandwich, I’d have thought, but I’m sure she’d have managed.’
‘Oh, Alice, for Christ’s sake, grow up.’
Lucy started crying. Alice fled upstairs, crying too.
In bed, still hoping to make amends, she reached out tentatively for Tom; he ignored her. She tried again. He turned over. It was a very clear message. Well, she’d given it out herself enough times, she supposed. Suddenly she was aware of how undesirable she must be, with her droopy breasts and flabby body. She started to cry. She couldn’t help it. Tom turned over sharply.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ he said. ‘You’ve done that to me often enough.’
‘I bet you never refused Laura,’ said Alice. It came out in a rush, stupidly vitriolic. She hadn’t meant to say it.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Tom. ‘Alice, you’ve got to get over this absurd obsession with Laura. It’s extremely tedious.’
Anger shot through her. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that. It’s a hard act to follow, you know, the perfect wife.’
‘You are being bloody ridiculous. I’ve listened to quite enough garbage for one day. I’m going out. I’ll come back when you’ve pulled yourself together.’
‘You can’t go out now. Where are you going?’
He didn’t reply.
Tom had no idea himself where he was going; he walked all the way to Shepherd’s Bush, where he found a lorry drivers’ café. He bought a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich and sat down in the window, staring gloomily out at the green. He felt very depressed.
Life seemed reduced to screaming babies, shouting toddlers, a house that seemed to permanently carry the whiff of dirty nappies, and a wife who did nothing but criticise him. And then go running to her parents, complaining about his brutish behaviour. Which was so unfair. He did what he could, an awful lot more than his father, or even his contemporaries; but she seldom said thank you, seemed to regard it as his duty. She turned him down in bed, and had this bitter jealousy both of the Labour Party and of his first wife. Who had frequently turned him down in bed, he remembered, telling him she was too tired – and almost smiled at the memory. The difference was that she had said it cheerfully, confidently. But it would do no good to tell Alice that. Her jealousy of Laura was impossible to deal with; there seemed no solution. Except to leave Alice, and that was unthinkable; he loved her far too much.
He felt something close to tears at the backs of his eyes, and put his hand in his pocket to pull out his handkerchief.
An envelope came with it, addressed to him by hand at Herbert & Herbert. It had come days ago and he’d stuffed it in his pocket, vowing to tear it to shreds and put it in a litter bin on the way home. Only he hadn’t. Of course. He read it now.
Diana Southcott has moved
to 17 Berkeley Court, Lower Sloane Square, SW3. Tel SLO 1274
He had rather liked the ‘Southcott’. It sent out a clear message that she was no longer a Gunning.
Underneath she had written by hand, If you ever need a friend …
Of course it was unthinkable. Of course he wouldn’t ring her. And certainly not now. It was half past ten.
Diana met him at the door of her flat, wearing cropped jeans, a huge yellow sweater, very little make-up and a cloud of Dior perfume. Half an hour earlier, when he had rung, saying, ‘I think I need a friend,’ she had been dressed in a black cocktail dress and very high-heeled shoes. She had given the metamorphosis a great deal of thought.
‘Come in, Friend Tom,’ she said. ‘Drink?’
‘No, thank you. Some coffee would be nice.’
She made a pot of it, and set it on the coffee table in front of them.
He looked round. The large drawing room was filled with furniture that exactly echoed the style in her parents’ house; the only difference being that all the pictures were stylised coloured prints of birds, their names written underneath in cursive writing, and the fireplace, clearly never to hold a fire, had a huge urn of flowers in it.
‘I’m looking for a house for me and Jamie. I think I’ve found one, in Kensington, but it all takes such an age. It’s lovely, bit more room than here, perfect for when I’ve got him. Which isn’t that much, even though I got custody as you said I would. I mean, he’s away at school and then he has half each school holiday with Johnathan.’
‘Doesn’t sound much, certainly.’
‘Well – he seems happy enough. He should be, we’re both spoiling him rotten. And it means I can concentrate on my career … So – why do you need a friend tonight, Tom?’
He realised he would have to tell her, having arrived so dramatically, but it sounded rather petty when he did.
She disagreed. ‘It does sound rather awful. What a ghastly chap. Ticking you off for claiming your conjugal rights, so to speak. God, I’d have been furious.’
Tom said he had been. ‘I don’t really think Alice went running to her parents, complaining. It would be very out of character. So I feel bad now for shouting at her about it. Leading to the worst row we’ve ever had. It was – bad of me.’
‘Not at all. Maybe she didn’t do that, but you’d had this awful pasting from her old man. You should stop trying to be perfect, Tom, none of us can be. I should know,’ she added, and smiled at him. He looked away; there was an invitation in that smile that he couldn’t quite ignore. ‘Tom, do have a drink. You’ll feel better. Just a tiny glass of red, maybe, or a very small whisky?’
‘Oh, all right,’ he said. ‘Very small whisky. Very small.’
It wasn’t small, of course; and once it had hit him, he found himself telling her more and more, the fact that family life was pretty much hell, and that Alice seemed completely indifferent to his political success.
‘I need someone to really support me, come to meetings and dinners, that sort of thing. And she – well, she can’t. Not at the moment.’
‘Because?’
‘Because she’s so exhausted. And tied to the children.’
‘You could get a nanny,’ said Diana.
‘Don’t be silly, Diana. Would-be Labour MPs, especially the disciples of people like Bevan, don’t have nannies.’
‘I bet they do. Well, can’t help, I’m afraid. I suppose I could come to the dinners and stuff with you.’ She grinned. ‘Only joking. Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry.’
‘Well, it’s not the end of the world.’
‘No, but I can see it hurts.’ She got up from the sofa. ‘Another whisky?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll have to be going soon.’
‘Why? No rush as far as I’m concerned.’
‘No, but I don’t suppose she’s asleep. Probably getting worried. I was angry when I left, and there were a lot of slammed doors. Not very husbandly behaviour.’
She sat down on the sofa again, rather closer to him than before.
‘It doesn’t sound to me as if she’s being very wifely. Don’t suppose there’s much sex either, in spite of what her dad says.’
‘Well – you know,’ said Tom, reaching for his empty glass.
‘Yes, I do know. Actually, I’m quite with her there, I have to say. After a baby everything hurts and you’re exhausted and –’
‘Yes. I know all that, of course. Which is why it’s so bad of me.’
‘To want it? Of course not. It’s entirely natural. You’re too hard on yourself, Friend Tom.’ She leaned forward and kissed him: just on the cheek. ‘Well, if it’s any comfort, I am hugely proud to know you and of what you’ve done. I really am. It’s taken a long time, and a lot of work. It’s a bit like modelling, in a way. It looks so easy, just standing in front of a pillar or something, wearing a nice dress. Nobody knows about the boredom of a lot of it, doing the same thing over and over and over again, or of smiling until your face twitches, or longing to pee and not being allowed to move for hours. That’s very like an election, I should have thought.’
‘A bit,’ said Tom, smiling at the absurdity of the comparison.
‘Anyway, I mustn’t keep you. I can see you’re feeling remorseful. With absolutely no reason, I’d say. But please come again. I’d love to see you any time. Come and let me give you a hug …’
She stood up, held out her hand to pull him up.
‘Dear Tom. I hate to see you so unhappy. Ooh – gosh, nearly fell over.’ And she collapsed back onto the sofa, laughing.
That did it. She knew it would.
His arms were round her, his mouth on hers; she remembered thinking that if the sex was anything like the kissing, it would be astonishing.
It was absolutely astonishing. She could never remember feeling such excitement, such aching desire, such desperation to be touched, stroked, explored, entered. She was taken through new boundaries that night, scaled new heights, rose and fell from those heights in a glorious cycle, reaching, reaching for the pinnacle, and when she was finally there, triumphant, shouting with the pleasure of it. She was slowly, slowly sinking into peace when she smiled at Tom, and said, ‘What a good friend you are, dear Tom.’
And Tom, stricken, terrified at what he had done, said, ‘Diana, I must go. I really must.’
It was hardly a romantic finale but she didn’t mind. She had finally accomplished her mission, that of seducing Tom Knelston, and it had been glorious, and gloriously requited, she knew. He would be back. She was sure he would be back.
And Tom, while vowing as he sat in the cab that he would never go back, knew it was more than probable; and even if he didn’t, a boundary had been crossed, and he had stepped into another country – a dangerous country from which there could be no return, no matter how much he wished it and however hard he struggled to find a way.