In the events of that week, crowded as they were with his imaginary journey to Birmingham and his sense of reconciliation with Polly, Arnold began to put to the back of his mind the promise he had made to Angus and Vera, that he would tell Polly everything by the end of the week. In only a matter of days that shocking confrontation with Angus had receded into the past. When he thought about Angus and Vera, they seemed small, unfrightening things. He imagined that they, like him, would feel, as the days passed, that the initial sense of betrayal and anger can quickly dissipate, so that we wonder why we felt so strongly about something that only a few hours beforehand we might have given our lives for. Vera was already something that he could only puzzle over – the quiet, colourless woman who had once held his attention so that he forgot the brilliant spectrum of his own wife’s personality and form. She too must wonder what she had seen in him, the quiet, faithless poet, a feeble, invertebrate thing next to the pious, bearded bear of her husband. They surely must see that time alone was enough to heal their wounds, there was no need for prayer groups or therapy groups or sessions of primal screaming or whatever they had in mind. And so he regarded the end of the week as no kind of deadline. He didn’t expect anything to happen.
And then on Friday evening, just before dinner, Polly mentioned in a casual way that she had met Angus in the school playground that morning, and that she had a message to pass on. The cold fear Arnold felt the moment Angus’s name was mentioned was softened a little when it became apparent from her tone of voice and manner that Polly was still innocent of any knowledge of his wrongdoing.
‘Angus?’
‘Yes, Vera’s husband. I didn’t know you were friends with him, but anyway, he asked for you to phone him.’
‘Does he often do the school run?’
‘I’ve never seen him there before. It was very unusual. Vera wasn’t there, I suppose she was sick, I forgot to ask, I was so surprised. He must have taken the time off work.’
‘Why does he want me to call him?’
‘He said you’d know what it was about. Something about Sunday?’
So Angus had refused, so far, to disappear. The confidence that Arnold had slowly built up over the last twenty-four hours vanished instantly, and he felt a sense of cold dread for the rest of the evening. He wondered when he would find an opportunity to phone, and how to explain the conversation to Polly, if she overheard any part of it. He stumbled through the routines of the evening. They watched a bit of the news on TV, and he laughed at something a political commentator said. Polly asked him what he was laughing at, and he became irritated, because he couldn’t find a way of explaining the joke, which made him realize he didn’t fully understand it himself. And he became tetchy at having his own vanity and ignorance exposed.
‘Men don’t like to admit to their ignorance, do they?’ Polly said. ‘You start so many sentences with the words “I’m sure . . .” I could find it quite annoying if I thought about it too much. “I’m sure everything will be all right. I’m sure your lump is benign. I’m sure the environmental crisis will sort itself out.”’ She never talked like that normally, she was never so detailed in her criticisms of him. She never went to such lengths to identify and illustrate them. ‘You are always sure about things, aren’t you?’
Arnold didn’t say anything.
‘Daddy’s not sure,’ said Evelyn.
‘I need to do some work upstairs,’ said Arnold, lifting himself up, with difficulty (he felt unaccountably tired) from the couch and moving towards the door.
‘What about phoning Angus?’
‘I’ll phone him from my study.’
When he did phone later, sure that Polly was still downstairs and out of earshot (though she would have had to stand with her ear to his study door to catch anything), it was Vera who answered.
‘Hello, Vera, it’s me.’
‘Oh, hello,’ there was a slight panic in her voice, as though she wanted to get off the line as quickly as possible, ‘Angus – it’s . . .’ She evidently couldn’t say Arnold’s name. But her voice was quickly replaced by her husband’s.
‘Hello, Arnold, thank you for calling.’
‘Polly said you wanted me to.’
‘Yes. I wanted to hear about your plans.’
‘What do you mean, “plans”?’
A moment’s pause, as if Angus couldn’t believe he was being asked the question.
‘It’s quite obvious that you haven’t told Polly yet.’
‘No, I haven’t told her.’
‘Only you said you would tell her by the end of this week, and today’s Friday, so . . .’
‘Listen, Angus, I realize I’ve done a terrible thing, and I apologize most profoundly – you have every right to be angry with me, but you mustn’t think you have the right to interfere in my family and how I handle my relationship with my wife.’
Another pause.
‘Let me explain something to you, Arnold. What you have done is more than terrible, and what I feel is much more than anger. You seem to think you are free to pick up your life where you left off, as though nothing had happened. We do not have that privilege. The damage has been done and the healing process cannot take place without your help. I am not threatening you in any way, but if you don’t undertake to help us in this process, I will have no recourse but to turn to Polly for help. I could come round this evening . . .’
‘No, no. Angus, please. Listen . . .’
‘Do you want to know what I was doing this afternoon? I was searching through the internet for poisons. Not to give to you, or Vera, or anyone else. I was looking for poisons for myself. Something I could drink that would act quickly and painlessly and stop the pain for ever. And then I only felt all the more terrible for even having those thoughts. I got down on my knees and prayed. Right there in the office, at my desk. People around me asked what was wrong. I told them a relative was sick. Another lie. Then I felt bad for lying.’
‘Angus, I don’t know what to say.’
There was a lengthy pause on the line. Then Angus’s voice again, slightly more reasoned.
‘There is another way forward, Arnold. The reason you are unable to tell Polly the truth is because you don’t have the strength. The courage. This is not your fault. I don’t blame you. But there is a way of gaining that courage and strength, and that is to come to our church.’
Arnold couldn’t help letting out a breath of laughter, that he drew back almost immediately. He shook his head to himself, in disbelief. This is what the nine-to-five man had wanted all along, he said to himself, this is what they both wanted, to save his soul.
‘Really, Angus?’
‘It is only through following that path that you might begin to understand the importance of forgiveness, and why you and Vera need it from Polly.’
‘Angus. I’m not a believer. I’ve told you. It would be pointless.’
‘That is precisely why it would help you – and us – if you came. If you refuse, then I am afraid I really will have to involve Polly. I can’t see any other way these issues can be resolved.’
Arnold paused, made dumb by the shock of Angus’s demand. He wanted to ask him what he was supposed to tell Polly. Was this another secret he had to keep from her?
‘I’m not sure, Angus. I’m not sure – it’s just another way that Polly might find out. I would have to explain going to church to her.’
‘That’s not my problem . . .’
‘It is if you are asking me to do something so out of character that it will arouse suspicion.’
‘Well, you have until Sunday to make up your mind, but I will expect to see you at church.’
He gave the address and the time they were to meet, and then put the phone down, allowing Arnold no further say in the matter.
If Evelyn would allow them, Arnold and Polly usually spent Sundays slowly and lazily, not getting up till nine or ten, and spending the rest of the day reading, eating and going for walks. But Arnold had to be at Angus and Vera’s church by nine fifteen. He would have to get up early on a Sunday, and explain why. He spent most of the Saturday trying to think of a plausible reason for going somewhere on Sunday morning. His first idea was to say he was playing golf with Angus, since that was something he understood regular men liked to do on Sundays. The problem was that he had not shown the slightest interest in golf in his life until then. Fishing? Football? Flying lessons? The problem with all of these kinds of lies was that they would need Angus and Vera’s corroboration, and he rather doubted they would be keen to back him up. Then there were the children. How could little Irina and her siblings be expected to join in any subterfuge; they would be more likely to ask Evelyn why she hadn’t come to church with her father. He realized he would have to tell Polly the truth, and tried to imagine her response.
‘Are you insane? Church? Why are you going to church?’
In fact, her response was quite different. Silence, at first, as though she had not heard. She lifted her face from the paper she was reading, looked at him quizzically, noticed that he had a half-smile on his face, as if he was joking, realized he wasn’t, wrinkled her nose slightly and said, ‘What for?’ As if she already knew the last thing he could be going there for was to worship.
And then he found the only answer he could give convincingly.
‘Research.’
‘Research?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you’re writing poems about church?’
‘A novel, actually.’
‘I thought you said you hated novels.’
‘I never said that.’
‘You said that novels weren’t real literature. That the form was dead, killed off by the corporatization of modern publishing, reduced to a mere commodity, subservient to the market. Those were your actual words. I’ve remembered them.’
‘Well, maybe I said that once, now it just so happens that I thought I’d try my hand at one.’
‘Have you actually started it?’
‘No.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘I’m not sure yet. All I know is that one of the characters goes to church.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, why all the questions . . . ?’
‘I’m just interested.’
‘But you know how it is – if you try explaining too much too soon, the whole thing can slip out of your grasp . . .’
‘How would you know, you’ve never written a novel before?’
‘Perhaps I have, for all you know. Look – can we just leave it, I don’t want to go to church, but I need to find out what it’s like. I’ve never been, apart from weddings and funerals.’
‘Can’t you just ask Angus and Vera, ask them what they do in there?’
‘It’s not the same. And actually, I have asked them, and it’s not enough. I have to see it.’
‘So you’re leaving us? Leaving us alone on a Sunday morning so you can go to church? When will you be back?’
‘Not long, I don’t think they last very long, church services, about an hour? You see? I don’t even know that . . .’
It seemed to be working, this strategy. He didn’t actually feel like he was lying, because as a writer he could regard anything he did as research, even having the affair with Vera, in an extreme way, since he would undoubtedly be using some of that experience in his writing, in one way or another. As long as he maintained the playful tone of the thing, as long as he didn’t get cross or tetchy, which was in fact very hard because he found the lying very stressful, then Polly showed every sign of accepting this turn of events.
‘Fine, go to your house of God. Just tell me one thing – are you going to be a detached observer or are you going to – you know – join in?’
‘I’ll play it by ear,’ Arnold said, ‘I’m hoping I can observe things from a distance, but if I have to join in, then I suppose I will.’
And so, on Sunday morning, Arnold went to church.