When Richard got back to his office he found Inge waiting for him. He couldn’t blame his secretary for letting her in, although she apologised; if he didn’t know how to deal with Inge, why should anyone else? But the sight of her reminded him that months had gone by since he had promised himself to break with her, and promised Helen too, and told Felix and Elizabeth. He had made a vow in front of witnesses, like someone who knew there was no other way he could give up drinks or drugs or go on a diet, who needed to be shamed into it so there was no going back. And still he had been avoiding her so that he wouldn’t have to keep his word. He was angry with her for being there, reminding him of his own weakness, and angry with himself for being weak.
‘You might pretend to be pleased,’ she said, almost in a flirtatious way, as if they were really on good terms. She came over to him and hugged him, and he endured the hug without responding until she let go. He couldn’t quite bring himself to push her away. All human affection was valuable when so many went without it; he was reminded of his mother making him eat up his greens because of the starving millions.
‘It’s so long since I’ve seen you,’ she said. ‘I thought we could have a drink together. I’ve been shopping and I’m so tired.’
But he didn’t see any bags. ‘Shopping?’
‘Oh, I didn’t buy anything. I couldn’t afford to. But I walked and I looked and now my feet hurt.’ She sat down again and smiled at him. She looked somehow young and vulnerable and mischievous. He remembered how much she had enjoyed shopping, even for the smallest thing, when they were together, how it had always been a treat. Her enthusiasm for the trivial things of life had been very attractive, far exceeding his own, and seeming like a source of vitality.
‘Maybe if you got a job you could afford to buy things and you wouldn’t be so bored and lonely.’
‘I think there’s something called unemployment. Haven’t you heard of it?’ She gave a big grin, like a naughty child.
‘But you haven’t even tried. You speak three languages. You can cook and drive and type and look after children. There must be someone who’d employ you.’ He heard his own voice speaking the dreary litany and it gave him a strange, mad feeling in his head that they had had this conversation so many times, always without effect, yet he still felt compelled to try again. It was like endlessly rerunning a cassette that was meant to change your life.
She shrugged. ‘I can’t leave the boys.’
‘The boys are huge. They’ll be leaving you pretty soon. And they can certainly manage to make a sandwich and put the kettle on. You’d be happier, Inge, believe me.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you’d be happier. You’d have more money to spend on the cow.’
‘Come on,’ he said, forced now to make a stand. ‘Time to go home.’
‘Will you drive me?’
‘No.’
‘Then I won’t go.’
He tried to stay calm. If she knew how much she was annoying him, she would go on playing. ‘Well, you can’t stay here.’
‘Are you going to throw me out? How exciting. I didn’t know you were so violent. Isn’t it nice you can still surprise me after all these years?’ She leaned back in her chair, smiling again, daring him to do something. ‘What will your colleagues think when I start to scream?’
In the car she was silent at first, stretching luxuriously, reminding him of a cat. Then she started to talk.
‘Oh, Richard, this is such fun. I can have a fantasy we’re still married and we’re going home to supper and bed.’ There was something about her strength that frightened him. If she could cling so tenaciously to one idea for eight years, perhaps she had a valid point of view.
‘If you know it’s a fantasy, why d’you want to have it?’
‘Oh, Richard, don’t you understand anything?’ Now she sounded like an indulgent mother: the little girl was gone. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I still love you when you have so little imagination.’
He put on the radio to discourage her from talking and she looked out of the window and hummed to herself. Occasionally she stroked his arm. It fascinated him that nothing he said or did over the years had affected her belief that she had the right to touch him whenever she felt like it. He wasn’t sure if it showed confidence or desperation, but it earned his grudging respect.
As they drew nearer to their destination, he became convinced that he had to tell her his decision. It was fate: he had tried to postpone it but she had come to his office. It was meant to be done today, a clean break, no matter how shocking, and then they could both begin to heal. By the time they reached the house he was shaking inside. They sat in silence for a moment; then she said, ‘Aren’t you going to come in for a drink?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ He felt like a murderer about to strike, while his victim smiled up at him.
‘The boys may be there,’ she said, trying to tempt him.
It had to be done and he would never be ready to do it. ‘Inge, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m not going to see you any more.’
He heard her gasp and then there was a terrible shocked silence. He couldn’t look at her. He said gently, ‘I’m sorry, love.’
Presently she said, ‘You don’t mean it. It’s a horrible English joke.’
He shook his head. Now all he wanted was for her to get out of the car so he could drive away with his guilt, hoping it might eventually turn into relief.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘Is she making you do this?’
‘No. She doesn’t make me do things.’ He felt he owed her reasons, and just saying he was too tired to go on, which felt like the truth, didn’t seem enough, even seemed insulting. ‘I can’t take any more. It’s no good for either of us. We’ve tried our best and it doesn’t work. I feel guilty and you feel miserable.’
‘Richard, please tell me you’re joking, oh Richard, please.’ Now she grabbed hold of him, talking very fast. ‘Why now? What have I done? I’m sorry, I’ll take it back, I’ll do anything. I can’t live without you, Richard, I mean that. I’ll die without you, I really will.’
It was predictable that she would say all these things, yet he still felt shocked to be the object of so much naked emotion. ‘No, you won’t,’ he said, trying to be rational. ‘I’ve spent eight years believing you, but it’s simply not true. You’ll be depressed for a while but you will get over it. I’m sorry to hurt you but I’m making it worse by seeing you. We should have had a clean break years ago. Truly, Inge. It’s no good like this. I can’t go on being blackmailed.’
Too many words, he thought, even as he said them, remembering Felix teasing him that he protested too much. If he could just tell her he didn’t love her any more, he hated her, or better still was indifferent to her, that might finish it. Ten years ago Helen had told him he would find there was no nice way of breaking with Inge and here he was, still trying to find one. He felt sick at the pain he was inflicting from the best of motives.
‘I’ll kill myself,’ she said flatly.
‘I hope not,’ he said, thinking with terror how appalling it would be if she did just that, how he would never recover, how the boys would be scarred for life. But sooner or later it was a risk he’d have to take. ‘That’s your choice but it would be an awful waste. Come on. I’ll take you into the house.’
Her nails dug into him as he helped her up the path. She moved slowly and awkwardly, like an invalid, and he had a sudden vision of how things would be when they were old.
By the time they got into the house Inge felt quite ill with pain. She couldn’t believe what was happening: there must be some way to make sense of it, to make it stop hurting. It was worse than anything she had experienced in childbirth, worse than a dentist drilling on an exposed nerve, worse than torture she had imagined in a dream. She hadn’t known such pain existed. It affected her breathing and she thought she might actually die.
Richard helped her into a chair and got her a glass of whisky. She could feel him straining to leave.
‘There. You’ll be all right, Inge, believe me. I must go now. We can always talk on the phone. And the boys know where to reach me.’
Through the fog of pain, an explanation crept into her mind. ‘It’s Felix, isn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘Why you’re leaving me.’
He said, ‘I left you a long time ago, love,’ and she thought he sounded compassionate.
‘Did he tell you we had an affair?’ It would be like Felix to do such a shitty thing. First he deserted her, then he betrayed her to Richard. ‘It was only to feel closer to you. I never cared for him, you must understand that. It was only an itch and it’s gone.’ She wondered if Felix had known that and been upset, or if he was too conceited to believe it.
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Richard said. ‘I thought he might cheer you up.’
‘You knew?’
‘He’s a friend. He had to tell me the truth.’
Now she felt like a parcel, passed from man to man by agreement. And the irony of Felix as a truthful person made her angry. Perhaps anger would act as an anaesthetic.
‘And you’re not even slightly jealous? That’s not why you’re leaving me?’
He said, ‘Inge, I’m leaving you because I can’t stand the strain and I owe it to Helen to make a clean break. She’s been very patient.’
‘You owe it to Helen,’ she repeated. All her demons were coming together. She began to see a way out. Then maybe the pain would stop and Richard would understand who really loved him.
‘Yes, to Helen and Sally. To put them first for a change.’ He was moving to the door, so eager to leave. ‘I really am going now. You’ll be better off without me. You’re always better off without someone who loves someone else.’
He had never sounded so determined before. Perhaps he actually meant it this time. And the word love wounded her. ‘Before you go, will you just open that drawer?’ She didn’t want to hurt him, but she wanted to make him stop hurting her.
‘No, I’m not playing any more games.’
‘Don’t you want to know what you really owe Helen?’
‘Inge, what is all this nonsense?’ He looked very tired and she found herself wanting to comfort him, if only he would let her. She had to remind herself that he had pushed her to this point, that this crisis was not of her making. She had kept the letter because it made her feel powerful, but like an ultimate deterrent, she had never intended to use it.
‘I want you to know the sort of woman you’re leaving me for. Go on, open that drawer. There’s a letter from Sally to Felix all about the abortion that Helen arranged.’
She saw him look stricken and disbelieving, like someone in a film, suddenly stabbed to the heart. She said, ‘Oh Richard, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Helen was in the kitchen when Richard came home. His face looked drained, as if he had been dealing with a particularly difficult client. She said, ‘Have you had a bad day? You look exhausted.’
‘I went to see Inge.’ He spoke slowly, as if speech were a great effort.
‘Oh well, enough said.’ She put down the knife she was using to chop the salad. ‘Come and have a drink.’
He followed her into the sitting-room, moving slowly too, so that she began to wonder if he might be ill. She said, ‘Darling, are you all right? Was she worse than ever?’ She poured him a drink but when she held it out to him he didn’t move to take it and she had to put it down on the table beside him.
‘I’ve been saying goodbye to her.’
There was a curious note in his voice: sorrow, anger, shock. Helen wished he hadn’t done it if it cost him so much; it was not as if she had insisted on it. She had not in fact ever believed he would do it. Perhaps in a way he still loved Inge and he always would; perhaps she would have to accept that. Inge was family, like one of his children, and he could never be truly divorced from her.
‘My God, no wonder you look shattered.’ She noticed then that he had picked up the kitchen knife. ‘Is that why you’ve got a knife your hand? Did you want to finish her off?’ She hoped he might laugh, relax, have his drink.
He said very calmly, ‘No, it’s you I’d like to kill, but I don’t have the guts.’ He picked up the glass and drained it in one go, then with enormous sudden ferocity turned on one of her paintings, an early one that she was particularly fond of, and attacked it with the knife, making a jagged tear. Helen was so shocked she couldn’t speak. She felt she was looking at a stranger with Richard’s face, a stranger with a knife who had broken into the house and attacked her. At the same time part of her mind was wondering if she could repair the painting. It was one she had done shortly after Sally was born, and had always been special: she wondered if he remembered that.
‘Yes,’ he said in the same calm voice, ‘that’s what I’d like to do to you.’
She couldn’t believe he had found out; surely Felix had not been so stupid as to tell Inge. And yet what else could it be to make him behave like this? Suddenly she was very afraid.
‘She had a parting gift for me,’ he said. ‘I think that’s the German for poison. See what you think. She went through his desk in an idle moment and this is what she found.’
He held out a photocopied letter. Helen barely glanced at it: she could see it was in Sally’s handwriting. So it was as bad as she feared.
He said savagely, ‘Christ, Helen, why didn’t you tell me? I’m only your husband. I’m only her step-father. I’ve only been around for the last ten years. Don’t I count for anything?’
Now that they were actually facing it, the whole thing seemed unreal. It was six months ago. She could see the terrible pain in his face and knew she had caused it, but all she could remember was Sally’s pain and her own, and how she had not been able to turn to him for help when she needed it most.
She said, ‘I’m sorry,’ knowing it was inadequate, feeling an edge of anger underneath the sorrow.
He looked at her incredulously. ‘Sorry? Sorry?’
‘It was a very painful decision.’ She found she actually resented having to explain it to him. ‘I wanted to talk to you but I couldn’t. I knew you wouldn’t agree. It was something I had to do on my own. It was very hard, very lonely.’ And you should have been on my side, she wanted to shout, no matter what I did.
‘You and Sally and Felix,’ he said, ‘all being lonely together.’
‘They didn’t want you to know either.’
‘How very convenient.’
‘Well, you’d have been hurt and angry. As you are now. What was the point?’
‘Oh, quite,’ he said in a sneering tone, not like himself. ‘When you and Felix had already made up your minds what to do. It would have been really awkward if I’d agreed with Sally.’
Helen was almost pleased to be angry: it made her feel less vulnerable. ‘I assumed you’d be against abortion, you usually are. And you’d just had that client who killed herself when her baby was adopted. How could I tell you? Sally didn’t know what she wanted. You’d have made her more mixed up than ever.’
‘You mean I might have stopped you forcing her to have an abortion.’
In a way that was true, but it was only a partial truth. ‘If she’d really wanted that baby she could have told you any time. But she didn’t. She came to me and I had to do what I thought was best.’
‘God, no wonder she didn’t come home for Christmas.’
‘She was depressed for a while, of course, but she’s got over it. She looked happy at the show, didn’t she? She’s had time to think and she knows I was right.’
He said slowly, ‘You’re unbelievable. Did you ever think of the alternatives?’
‘Yes, I did. They were worse.’
‘And it didn’t matter what I might have felt.’
It was useless: they were ranged on opposite sides, alien and hostile, cancelling out all the years together. There was no sympathy or understanding on his face. He was just as implacable as she had feared he would be, but that only proved she was justified. It felt very lonely.
‘She’s my daughter. I had to make the final decision.’
‘Yes, that says it all.’ He turned away. ‘God, I don’t feel I know you at all.’
She said to his retreating back, ‘Aren’t you even a tiny bit angry with your precious friend?’
‘He’s not here, is he? I’ll get around to him later. Right now I’m going to pack.’
That sounded so melodramatic she almost laughed. ‘Don’t be silly.’
He said in the doorway, in quite a reasonable tone, as if she ought to understand, ‘I can’t live with you after this. If you can do something like this on your own, then we don’t have a marriage at all.’
And he went out, leaving her alone in the room. She couldn’t believe that this was the price she must pay for rescuing Sally. She had known he would be angry but she had never thought beyond the anger, thought as far as action. Surely in a little while he would come back and say he was sorry and she would say she was sorry too and they could hug each other and start again. It couldn’t be the end. People simply didn’t end marriages like that.
It began as an ordinary pleasant evening, like any other. They sat on the floor in Sally’s room and played draughts and Jamal kept winning. Sally pretended to be cross but really she was enjoying the fact that he cared so much about the outcome. She felt grown up and maternal when she watched his excitement.
‘Ugh, you won again,’ she said, trying to sound disgusted. ‘Why d’you always win?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Nearly always then.’
She loved his childish smile of pleasure. ‘Well, I’m quite lucky. And also highly skilled, of course.’
‘I think you cheat.’
‘You can’t cheat at draughts.’
‘Well, if you could, you would. It’s the same thing. It’s the spirit of cheating.’
They both laughed and settled themselves more comfortably on the cushions, their knees casually touching.
‘D’you want your revenge?’ He was resetting the board, eager for more winning, or perhaps more time with her, she wasn’t sure which. She loved the seriousness with which he played, his total enthusiasm for whatever he was doing at the time. It made for a feeling of strength, like a current running through him that she could tap into, the fact that he could be so concentrated upon any one thing. She never felt as she had with Helen and Richard and Carey and even Felix that part of his mind was elsewhere.
‘Yes, why not? I’m an optimist.’ She watched his brown nimble fingers, slim and delicate like a child’s hand, and wished they would touch her. ‘I love this game,’ she said happily, ‘it’s so utterly pointless.’
‘Aren’t all games? Isn’t that the point of them?’
She giggled and he looked pleased. ‘Maybe I could do a thesis on that.’
‘God, you’re not going to do postgrad, are you?’
‘I don’t know yet. I might. I rather fancy being a student for as long as possible. What shall I call my thesis?’
She considered. ‘“The Utter Pointlessness of Board Games.”’
‘I’d like something a bit more pretentious. How about “The Intrinsic Lack of Meaning in Board Games as a Therapeutic Activity”?’
‘That’s perfect. Sounds a bit American though.’
‘Maybe I’ll do it at Berkeley.’
What fun it all was, how far removed from pain and blood and death. They played again, not talking at all, pretending it was serious, and this time, to her own surprise, she won.
Jamal yawned, ‘I must go, I’m falling asleep.’
She felt panic; she didn’t want him to leave. She was afraid of sleeping and dreaming again. ‘That’s no excuse,’ she said, doing her impression of a boxer. ‘It was a good clean fight and I’m glad to have won.’
He smiled. ‘You distracted my attention.’
‘I wish I could.’ She touched his hand, stroked it, and their fingers interlocked. She looked at their two hands and thought of Othello and Desdemona. The contrasting colours looked good together. It was so long since anyone had touched her. They had all said she would be unchanged, as good as new, but how could she be sure?
‘You can. You do.’
‘Then why don’t you stay?’
He went on holding her hand and said quite calmly, ‘I’m not going to make love to you, if that’s what you mean.’
She felt disappointed but not rejected. ‘Why not? Don’t you fancy me?’
‘Yes. But I think it’s too soon.’
‘You don’t think I’m still in love with Felix, do you?’ She held her breath a bit because she wasn’t sure of the answer to that one herself.
‘No. But I don’t think you’re quite over him either. And I don’t want to help you prove you are.’
She had been wrong about him: he wasn’t young and naive at all. ‘That was nasty,’ she said.
‘No, it wasn’t.’
It seemed easy and natural then to kiss. His lips tasted bitter but she liked the taste.
‘But I could stay and we could just sleep.’
She was so amazed to hear him say exactly what she had been thinking. ‘Could we?’
‘I think that’s what you really want.’
‘I didn’t know I could have a cuddle without sex.’ Now she felt she was the naive one. Would he think she was silly?
‘Why not? Anyway, I’m quite shy.’
‘Even with me?’
‘Especially with you.’
She took a risk and told him the truth. ‘Sometimes I just want someone to hug me so much, I think I’ll die if they don’t.’
He didn’t seem shocked or surprised. He looked at her as if she had said something quite reasonable and held out his arms. She shot into them very fast, like a rabbit into its burrow.
‘Oh, that feels lovely. You do realise you’re missing a treat though.’ She wanted him to know she was sexy and adult, a woman who had suffered, not someone playing childish games.
He held her comfortably tight. ‘Won’t it still be there another time?’
‘Yes, of course it will,’ she said, feeling reassured, perhaps even a bit relieved it didn’t have to be tonight after all.
The hug went on so long that eventually they were both falling asleep but it still seemed a pity to break it up. They decided he would stay the night after all but they’d keep some clothes on and just cuddle. Once that was settled they both felt very cheerful. Sally stripped down to her knickers and T-shirt and Jamal kept his underpants on. They got into bed like old friends, feeling very comfortable with each other and yet somehow adventurous, and snuggled up together. It took a while to get all their limbs arranged in the right places so they wouldn’t get pins and needles later on and have to move away. She was glad he didn’t have an erection. At first they kept chatting and telling each other jokes. She felt very safe with him, at ease. She supposed she was trying to exorcise her memories of spending the night with Felix. She thought she might lie awake for hours remembering, but in fact fell asleep much sooner than she had expected.
Richard drove down to Sussex that night, overtaking dangerously on the motorway, causing other cars to swerve and hoot and flash their lights at him. He knew he was beside himself; the expression suddenly made vivid personal sense.
It was only when he reached the darkened campus that he felt like an intruder, parking his car, finding his way to Sally’s building, not knowing what he would do if the front door was locked. But it wasn’t and then he was actually walking down Sally’s corridor. When he opened the door of her room he might have been quiet and sad if she’d been alone, and merely reproached her, for he was already feeling guilty for coming here at all. But she was in bed with the Indian boy she had brought to Helen’s show, and somehow the sight of them curled up together enraged him, as if the abortion had meant so little to her that she could recover from it quickly. He heard himself shouting abuse at her and the boy got out of bed, still wearing his underpants, and put on his clothes as if he needed to be dressed before he could deal with Richard. He was very polite and Richard felt embarrassed. He shouted all the more, or rather he heard someone who must be himself doing a lot of shouting, trying to get the boy to go away so he could talk to Sally alone, but it didn’t work. Sally wanted him to stay and he stayed, even though Richard kept saying it was a family matter.
He tried to make Sally understand the enormity of what she had done but she only seemed concerned to know if Helen was all right. He was reminded of her as a child, making sure he wouldn’t interrupt Helen’s work, and he was enraged by the knowledge that he had always been an outsider, that the mother and daughter alliance was unbreakable. He found himself calling her a tramp and a murderer and trying to get to the bed to drag her out of it, but the boy got in his way and he was tempted to hit him and surprised by the temptation. Sally stayed in bed and put her hands over her ears to shut out his words, so he shoved the boy out of the way and wrenched the quilt off her, as if being uncovered would make her hear him. Then she started sobbing and screaming at him that he was not her father, and he knew he was defeated. He went away.
He sat for a while in the car, which seemed his only refuge, not knowing what to do. He was aware of feeling very tired and rather ridiculous, so he thought he would sleep for an hour or two before driving off, especially as he didn’t know where to go. Then it was abruptly morning and Sally was shaking him by the shoulder and asking him if he was all right. He started apologising to her and she kept saying it was OK. She said the Indian boy was just a friend and Richard said it was none of his business. She was very calm and forgiving, and the events of the night receded like a bad dream. ‘You look terrible,’ she said gently. ‘Come and have some breakfast.’
She took him to a cafeteria place but she pushed her plate away half full when he told her about Inge finding the letter. She asked him not to be angry with Felix. He burst out, ‘Oh Sally, why didn’t you tell me when it happened? We could have worked something out. Didn’t you trust me?’
She wouldn’t look at him. ‘Can’t we just forget about it?’
‘Did you want to have the baby?’
She said firmly, ‘Richard, I really don’t want to talk about it any more.’
He knew he should leave it alone but he couldn’t. ‘God, something this important can happen and you and Helen don’t even bother to tell me. Don’t I count for anything?’
‘Of course you do,’ she said, looking at the table.
‘Can you imagine what it feels like? You’re the two people I love most in the world, more than my own children, God help me, and you can just leave me out.’
‘We didn’t want to upset you. And we knew you wouldn’t agree.’
‘It’s as if I didn’t exist.’
She told him he was over-reacting. ‘We didn’t have much time and we had to make a decision.’
‘Without consulting me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She chewed her thumb. ‘We thought it was all for the best. We weren’t rejecting you. We were just two women sticking together.’
He was struck by her composure, how cool and detached she seemed. He couldn’t get her to talk about the baby or admit Helen had pressured her into making the wrong decision. He couldn’t find out what her own wishes had been. The child who used to hug him and talk to him and depend on him seemed to have gone for ever. ‘I made a stupid mistake but it’s all over,’ she said. She only became agitated when he told her he had left Helen. She talked about love, as if that made everything simple. He couldn’t walk out on Helen if he still loved her, she said. Helen wasn’t to blame for anything was the message he got, and he must go back to her. He wondered if she was hiding behind Helen’s problems to avoid facing her own, but when he tried to put that to her she got up and walked out.
Richard just burst into my room in the middle of the night. I was so fast asleep, like at the bottom of a well, the first good night’s sleep I’ve had for ages, that it was really hard to haul myself out and there was this mad person, kind of snarling at me and saying I was disgusting. He was like somebody out of a horror film, and it could have been almost funny if it hadn’t been so frightening. All I could think of was that something must have happened to Mum.
Jamal was marvellous. He really stood up to Richard and tried to calm him down, but it didn’t do any good. Richard just went raving on about how I was a tramp and I’d murdered my baby and why did I choose Felix when I knew what he was like. I sort of cowered under the duvet. I couldn’t understand how he’d found out and I kept thinking he ought to feel sorry for me, well a bit anyway, instead of just furious. He didn’t sound angry with Felix, either, just me. It didn’t seem fair at all. He went on about loving me and taking care of me for ten years, as if I’d done something terrible just to annoy him, he didn’t seem to understand I was hurt. In the end he actually pulled the duvet off me and that was it, I went mad and screamed at him, ‘Shut up, you’re not my father.’ It was horrible of me but I was desperate to make him go away and leave me alone.
And he did. His face sort of crumpled up and he just slunk out of the room. It all seemed terribly unreal once he’d gone. We even started giggling about it, we were a bit hysterical. Jamal made some tea and we had that and talked for a while and then we tried to get back to sleep but we couldn’t. We kept trying to work out how Richard knew about the abortion when Mum and Felix had been just as keen as I was to keep it secret. I’d never seen Richard in such a rage, it made him seem like a completely different person who might do absolutely anything, and I kept wondering if he’d hit Mum. I felt as if I’d never really known him at all. It made me realise how seldom he must have lost his temper in the past, even slightly.
Eventually Jamal decided to go back to his room and I dozed for a while, then I got up and had a bath because I thought it might make me feel better. I wanted some coffee but we’d used up all the milk, so I went down to the supermarket for some more and there in the car park was Richard’s car with Richard in it asleep. He looked so pathetic I stopped being angry with him and felt sorry for him instead. I debated what to do and then I woke him up and took him in the coffee shop for breakfast. He kept apologising in a grovelling way till I was quite embarrassed, so I asked him how he’d found out and he said Inge told him. Apparently she found one of my letters in Felix’s flat. I felt so awful then. It must mean they’re having an affair. Not that I expected Felix to be heartbroken or never have anyone else, but it does seem awfully soon and it’s so much worse that it’s Inge. So near home and sort of incestuous. And now there’s someone else who knows what happened to me. I’m not even going to think about her and Felix together.
Then Richard started to get all heavy about how could Mum and I not tell him and didn’t I trust him and he could have helped me and how left out he felt, as if he didn’t exist. It was awful. I began to wish I’d left him asleep in the car. I tried to make him feel better. I told him he was much more of a father to me than Carey’d ever been, but that didn’t work because when he realised Mum had told Carey about the abortion he felt even more rejected and furious, which was silly really, because she had to tell him if I was going to spend Xmas with them. I might have been crying all over the place when Marsha had her baby. Well, I was.
I started to feel very tired, what with not sleeping much and then all the drama, but it got worse. Richard told me he’d actually left Mum, walked out, just like that. He doesn’t want to live with her any more because she didn’t tell him what was happening, she just wanted her own way. I was so shocked. I couldn’t believe it. I asked if he still loved her, but he wouldn’t answer, he just kept on at me about whether I’d have had the baby if Mum or Felix had offered to help me look after it. I couldn’t see the point of asking me that. It’s too late. Once I got pregnant there simply wasn’t a right thing to do: all the options were horrible. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, I’d made a stupid mistake and it was all over. But he kept on. It was amazing. He simply didn’t care if he was upsetting me. In the end I just got up and walked out.
I went to Jamal’s room in case Richard came to look for me. Jamal wasn’t there, but that was all right, it was just nice to feel safe and alone. I lay down on the bed and it smelt of Jamal, it was very comforting, and I fell asleep. Around lunchtime he came back and gave me a big hug and we went to the pub so I could tell him all about it over a drink. I’m beginning to see why people like drinking so much. It really does make you feel better, for a while anyway.
I can’t get over the fact that Richard never said he was sorry I’d had such a rotten time. I said to Jamal, ‘Surely it’s worse for me than him. I actually had to have the abortion. He just wasn’t told about it. Now he wants me to pretend it could all have been different if only he’d known. But he couldn’t have made Felix leave Elizabeth and he couldn’t have made Mum look after the baby. So what’s the point of going on about it?’ Jamal asked if I’d said all that to Richard and I realised I hadn’t, I’d been too busy trying to make him feel better. God, I’m so tired of trying to make people feel better. How about somebody trying to make me feel better for a change? Well, I suppose that’s what Jamal’s doing.
Richard told me Felix is away on holiday with Elizabeth and that’s why he hasn’t had a showdown with him yet. Jamal thought maybe I should write to the flat and warn Felix so when he gets back he’ll know what to expect, but I can’t be bothered. He’s had an affair with Inge and let her read my letters and now he’s having a nice time in the sun with his wife. Nothing ever goes wrong for him, at least nothing he can’t get out of with money. It’s not that I want revenge exactly, although Jamal thinks I do, I just want to let them all get on with it, if they’re all meant to be so grown up and clever and such good friends. I’ve done enough. I don’t have any energy left for other people. The thing that worries me most is if Richard doesn’t go back to Mum. I hated him trying to get me to gang up with him against her. I said to Jamal, ‘We were on our own together a long time before he turned up.’ But I remember how pleased I was when Richard came along to look after her. I’m really frightened that if he doesn’t go back I’ll end up feeling responsible for her all over again.
At home Felix would have given Elizabeth the pages and gone away while she read them, but on holiday the whole exercise felt more light-hearted. It was fun to read aloud to her while they sunbathed and sipped their drinks, fun to send himself up slightly in the way he read. She was a good audience, listening properly and rewarding him with a look or a smile at the right moment without overdoing it. The last bit was the best, and he had stopped as usual, like Hemingway, while he still knew what was coming next.
Looking at the young man’s sturdy streamlined body, suntanned and covered in curly black hair, his splendid prick, his eyes a curious yellow like an animal, Tony could feel the faint >tirrings of something he had denied since his youth.
‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about the murder,’ he said.
‘In that case I’d better get dressed,’ the young man said. ‘I always think better with my clothes on.’
Tony followed him out of the sauna and into the jacuzzi.
‘Such a pity about Steven and Bernard,’ said the young man, splashing. ‘They must have overdone their S-M games. I always thought they would, one of these days.’
‘Wow,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Tony Blythe is a closet gay. After all these years.’ She sounded impressed.
‘Well, why not? It’ll give my readers something to think about. With a bit of luck they’ll read all the other books again, just looking for clues.’
‘Which they won’t find.’
‘Yes, they will. You can always find something if you look for it hard enough. Especially if it isn’t there. That’s the basis of most religions.’ He must make a note of that, he thought. It had only just struck him and it sounded good.
‘It’s a great idea,’ Elizabeth said.
‘I thought so.’
‘You haven’t forgotten Tony Blythe had a wife and kids at the beginning?’
‘So did Oscar Wilde.’
‘Right. That was silly of me.’
‘Not at all. You’re meant to be playing the average reader.’
‘And he’s always been such a philanderer,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Well, you know what they say about Casanova and Don Juan.’
She smiled. ‘I love it.’
‘Ready with the blue pencil?’
‘Only a couple of details.’
Felix refilled their glasses. ‘Christ, this bit hurts. I never get used to it. That’s my baby you’re about to mutilate.’ Too late he thought it was an unfortunate phrase, but of course she wouldn’t notice.
‘Not at all. I’m only going to trim its nails. “A curious yellow” reminds me of a film title.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He should have remembered. ‘How about… “a curiously light brown, almost yellow”?’
‘That’s better.’
‘I was thinking of a German shepherd dog, actually.’
‘Richard’s eyes are that colour,’ she said.
‘So they are. I wondered where I’d got it from.’
‘Will he mind?’
‘Well, he may think twice before he takes another shower with me at the club.’ They laughed comfortably. ‘I could always change it. How about… “a curiously muddy green, like avocados, somewhere between ripe and rotten”?’
She considered. ‘Mm. I like the symbolism. I’m sure the young man’s going to be trouble. You’ll have to cut “like an animal” though.’
‘I’ll just make a note of it,’ said Felix, scribbling. ‘More?’
‘Well, I think “faint stirrings” is a bit of a cliché.’
‘Would “reawakening” be better?’
‘Yes. “Of something he had denied since youth.”’
‘Cut “his” as well?’
‘I thought maybe…’
‘No, you’re going too far. That makes it too impersonal.’
‘OK. He’s your hero. “Since his youth.”’
‘Is that all?’
‘It’s wonderful.’
They always enjoyed these sessions, reminding them of how they had met and what a good team they were, matching their expertise and remembering their youth. ‘Just for that, I’ll do your back,’ he said. ‘Turn around.’
She moved languidly: she would probably want to make love again quite soon. Holidays always made her extremely randy. Well, that was all right; there was no one else around. ‘How am I doing?’ she asked.
‘Coming along nicely. A curiously light brown, just like the young man’s former eyes.’
She was squirming with pleasure as he rubbed oil into her. She had put on weight on the holiday but it didn’t matter so much with a suntan. ‘Does the young man have a name?’
‘I thought probably Sebastian.’
‘Oh, very good. God, your hands are such a turn-on. We may have to have a siesta.’
‘Never known to refuse.’ And indeed he did very seldom refuse her, which he thought was a point in his favour. One of many, in fact. He was sure if he had been conventionally faithful to her they would be bored shitless with each other by now. The atmosphere of wayward sexuality from his affairs spilt over into the marriage, and the knowledge that he might just leave her or she could just throw him out spiced their deep security with a small thrill of fear.
‘I wish all my authors were like you,’ she said.
‘So you could have an orgy?’ He kissed the base of her spine. In the early days of their marriage he had tried to interest her in threesomes, foursomes; it hadn’t worked but he still liked to tease her about it. Maybe it was all for the best. Normally greedy for all he could get, he did actually know when he was well off, could recognise that here was the most satisfactory deal he was likely to find.
Elizabeth turned over and removed her bikini. Felix started to suck her warm, familiar cunt, gratified by the whimpering sounds of pleasure that she made. He had rarely met a woman who wasn’t turned on by oral sex. His own success (he enjoyed the pun) with women was based, he thought, on three main factors: sucking, fucking and listening. Most men could manage one or two of these, but very few could be bothered with all three. That was his secret, and it was so simple. Oh, and he also made them laugh. Perhaps that gave him an extra edge. The rest of it, the champagne and flowers and presents, those were mere details that anyone could copy.
Inge woke early on Saturday morning. In fact she had hardly slept at all, first from worry at how much she had hurt Richard, then from excitement at wondering what he might say and do to Helen. She imagined a row at least, and hoped for physical violence, or desertion, or best of all murder, although she had to admit that was unlikely. Her fantasies kept her awake most of the night, leaving her exhausted but energised, as if she had jet lag. She knew if she hadn’t shown Richard the letter she would merely have been kept awake by her own pain.
When she eventually went downstairs to the kitchen she found the boys already there, Karl tucking in to a large fry-up, and Peter drinking coffee and spooning yoghurt from a carton. She stared at him in amazement. ‘Is that all you’re having?’
‘I’m on a diet.’
‘His girlfriend’s got anorexia,’ Karl said, ‘and he’s trying to compete.’
Inge was shocked. She had met Rosemary and liked her and assumed she was naturally thin. But she knew the boys enjoyed teasing her because her sense of humour was not like theirs. ‘I don’t think that’s very funny,’ she said severely. ‘Anorexia is a serious disease.’
‘Aren’t all diseases serious?’ Peter looked at her with an air of innocent enquiry.
‘Except piles and chilblains,’ Karl said. ‘They’re pretty comic.’
‘Not if you have them,’ said Inge, who had suffered from both in her time.
‘And gout. And housemaid’s knee.’ They snorted with laughter.
‘So why aren’t you eating?’ she said to Peter.
‘I told you, I’m on this diet. It’s for spiritual enlightenment. As you rise above the demands of the body, you gain insight and awareness. It was all in the colour supplement last week. Didn’t you see it?’
Karl was shovelling bacon, fried bread and sausage into his mouth. He had always been rather a messy eater and she had given up nagging him about it. ‘You save all the labels from the tins you’re not eating,’ he said, ‘and when you’ve got four million and seventy-two, you trade them in for a ticket to Kathmandu. He’s on a sixties trip. Peace and love, man.’
She thought he sounded in a good mood. ‘Karl…’
‘No, Mum, sorry.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not going to do the favour you’re about to ask me in that special tone of voice.’
‘It’s only a little one,’ she said. ‘Just to ring up your father.’
‘But you’ve been doing that for years.’
‘Only this time I can’t. Peter?’
‘Don’t do it, Pete, there’s a catch to it, my son.’
‘Tell me the catch and I might do it.’
Oh, lovely soft-hearted Peter. That was how it sounded. Only she knew that ultimately Karl was more vulnerable to her. ‘Well, yesterday your father was very cruel, he said he wouldn’t see me any more, so I told him something bad about the cow, something she’d done, to make him very angry. And now I want to know what’s happened.’
Peter said, ‘It doesn’t sound very spiritual to me.’
‘Right on, man.’
‘Please. I have to know. It took a lot of courage to do what I did. It was a big risk.’
Karl said uncomfortably, ‘Oh, Mum, you do keep on, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I usually find if I keep on long enough, people do what I want.’
‘Dad must be the exception,’ Peter said. Inge sometimes thought he had a cruel streak.
‘There’s still hope, until we die,’ she said sharply. ‘Is that spiritual enough for you?’
‘All right, Mum,’ said Karl. ‘What do I have to say?’
She turned a radiant face towards him. She thought it was lovely the way he responded to her need. He was going to grow up into a wonderful man and some unknown girl would no doubt take advantage of him. ‘If your father answers, you have just an ordinary chat. But if the cow answers, you ask for your father. If she says he is out, you ask when he’ll be back. Don’t let her be vague. Ask for an exact time.’
‘OK.’ Karl went out of the room, sounding burdened.
Peter screwed up the empty yoghurt carton and aimed it at the bin. ‘Mum, don’t you think if you let up a bit you’d feel better? All this keeping on at Dad and calling her the cow, it doesn’t change anything but it keeps you sort of worked up. I think it’s bad for you.’
Inge was annoyed by the critical tone in his voice. Suddenly at fourteen he was trying to sound like an expert on human relationships. She hoped it didn’t mean he was going to start siding with Richard. ‘Perhaps when you’ve been on your diet a bit longer,’ she said, ‘you’ll understand more about suffering.’
His mouth tightened, reminding her of Richard in a bad mood, but he didn’t answer, merely stared at the table and traced a pattern with some spilt sugar. Presently Karl returned. ‘He’s not there and she’s got no idea when he’ll be back.’ He hesitated. ‘She sounded very odd. Sort of spaced out.’
Inge could hardly contain her excitement. She wanted to clap her hands and jump up and down, like a gleeful child. ‘They must have had a big row. Perhaps he has even left her. Oh, it’s wonderful.’
‘I didn’t like doing it,’ Karl said, sounding grown up and serious.
She wanted to hug him but sensed he wouldn’t welcome a hug at that moment. ‘It was important to me and I’m very grateful.’
He wouldn’t look at her, but turned to Peter. ‘I’m going to clean the bike. Coming?’
‘In a minute.’
Karl went out, whistling. He always whistled when he was upset. After a moment Peter picked up one of his discarded sausages and ate it.
‘I won’t tell,’ said Inge softly. She could hardly wait for him to go and join Karl; she didn’t want them to know where she was going.
She had to know how Helen was coping without Richard, how her grief looked, had to see her ravaged face. Of course she couldn’t be sure Richard had gone for ever, but it was a start, just knowing that he had gone and Helen didn’t know when he’d be back. Helen must be in pain and Inge had to see this rare sight, like Halley’s Comet. She dressed carefully in her best clothes with plenty of make-up and drove to the house filled with a sense of occasion, as if she were going to the theatre.
Helen came to the door. She looked very tired and red-eyed, as if she hadn’t slept and had done a lot of crying. It was so wonderful to see that Inge felt her whole body flooded with triumph, a warm wet sensation similar to orgasm. ‘Now you know how it feels,’ she said smiling, as Helen just stared at her. ‘He’s left you, hasn’t he? I’m so happy. Even if I never see him again, it’s worth it to know you’re in pain.’
Helen shook her head. She looked weary and disbelieving, too tired even for anger, Inge noticed. She was impressed.
‘Christ, Inge, just piss off, will you?’ she said.
She did look her age, Inge thought. ‘And even if he comes back, it won’t be the same. He’ll never trust you again.’
Helen slammed the door in her face, but it seemed to take a big effort. ‘You’ve lost him for ever,’ Inge shouted after her, hoping it might be true, or that she could make it true by saying it, like a curse. She felt so elated by her visit that she actually skipped on her way back to the car. The hatred she felt was so pure that it invigorated her whole body like adrenalin. It would take her a while to come down. She thought she would probably go to the wine bar that night and pick someone up for sex.
Sleeping in the car proved so uncomfortable that it made him inefficient and he switched to the office floor, sneaking back in there with a sleeping bag after everyone had gone home. Highly irregular, of course, but it was only for a week, he told himself, ten days at the most. Once Felix was back he could ring up, arrange to see him, and then it would be over. He didn’t know quite what he meant by that, only that his plans for living seemed to stop at that point. Confronting Felix was such a milestone that he couldn’t see beyond it.
He slept badly, waking early to wash and shave in the lavatory before anyone else arrived, so he thought he was getting away with it, but he was so tired that one morning he overslept and woke to find Marion standing over him. Marion looking sympathetic and tweedy and enormous, viewed from the floor. He was intensely embarrassed. It was like being a little boy again, his first day at primary school.
‘I knew you arrived early and worked late, Richard,’ she said gently, ‘but I didn’t realise you actually lived here.’
‘I’m sorry, I should have told you.’ He scrambled up and out of the sleeping bag, conscious of his grubby tracksuit, thankful he hadn’t stripped down to his underpants.
‘I was sort of joking, but I see you’re not. Whatever’s happened, can’t you talk to me about it? I’ve been very worried about you this past week. You seem to be heading for some kind of breakdown.’
‘So you’ve come in early to catch me at it.’ Being in the wrong made him sound angry, he noticed.
‘I wanted to have a private chat with you. I know we’ve had our differences in the past but I hope we respect each other as colleagues. You can’t work properly if you’re having a crisis in your private life.’
‘No wonder some of our clients find it so difficult to hold down a job,’ Richard said, stuffing the sleeping bag into a cupboard. ‘Their lives are one long crisis.’
Marion seemed unperturbed. ‘Could we just focus on you for a minute? If you tell me what’s happened, I may be able to help you. I used to do marriage guidance and I’ve been divorced myself.’
‘Really? I’d no idea.’ In spite of himself, he was interested: it seemed so unlikely.
‘Yes, it’s a second marriage for both of us, John and me. I know you think I’m a dried-up old stick but I may understand something of what you’re going through.’
‘You’re very sure this is something to do with my marriage.’ He resented her confident tone.
‘I hardly think you’d be sleeping at the office if things weren’t even more uncomfortable at home.’
‘Of course.’ He almost laughed. ‘I’m being very stupid, I haven’t had much sleep this week. Yes, I have had a row with Helen, in fact that seems like a vast understatement, I’ve actually left Helen and I’m here because I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’ve also had a row with my step-daughter and now I have to wait till my so-called best friend gets back from holiday so I can have a monumental row with him. And somehow I have to hang on to my sanity while I wait.’ He stopped, heart pounding, surprised at how much he had told her. He took his electric razor out of his desk drawer and started to shave rather aggressively.
Marion perched on the edge of his desk. ‘Would you like to tell me what all these people have done to make you so angry?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘If we’re talking about adultery, it’s not the worst thing that can happen to a marriage—’
‘We are not talking about adultery. In fact I rather wish we were. Mere adultery would be much easier to handle. A bit of good honest lust on the one side and hurt pride on the other, my God, I’d almost be grateful for something as simple as that. I’m talking about the kind of deceit and betrayal you can’t imagine. Every morning when I wake up on that floor with all my bones aching I have to remember that the three people I loved and trusted most in the world have done this incredibly ugly thing.’
Now he was terrified. One moment he was refusing to talk to her and the next he was telling her almost everything. He couldn’t trust his own judgment any more; he had no way of knowing what he might say or do next.
‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ Marion said.
‘No, well, let me assure you it’s even worse from the inside.’
After a moment she said, ‘You know, Richard, we do have a spare room and you’d be very welcome to use it.’
He started to laugh and to his horror felt his eyes fill with tears. ‘Marion, you’re amazing. You really do surprise me… You’re very kind…’ He sat down at his desk with his face in his hands and Marion put her arm round his shoulders. It was the first time she had ever touched him and it felt odd.
‘That’s right, let it out,’ she said, sounding pleased at a response she could understand.
‘No, that’s just what I mustn’t do.’ He blew his nose on some Kleenex. He always kept a box handy for clients and encouraged them to cry if they needed to, as Marion was encouraging him now. Only now he knew why so many of them resisted. ‘It’s only anger that’s holding me together and I’ve got to hang on for another week.’
There was a long silence. Marion patted his shoulder and took her arm away.
‘I’ll make you some coffee,’ she said.
Elizabeth was used to authors in general procrastinating, and Felix in particular, but this time he cut it so fine that he was actually reading the last sentence of the book to her while she was packing for their flight home.
‘…so that when he turned his head just in time to see the blow about to fall, it was already too late.’
He put down the pages and looked at her with an expression of triumph.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘Poor old Tony Blythe.’
‘Well.’ Felix looked smug. ‘It was about time. And I’ve left it just slightly ambiguous, so if I have to revive him, God forbid, I can.’
‘So it was the lovely yellow-eyed Sebastian all the time.’
‘’Fraid so. Or avocado-eyed. I haven’t quite decided yet.’
‘Poor Tony. I shall miss him.’ She thought it was rather like losing an uncle you had always resented having to invite for Christmas. Suddenly there was no one to complain about in a comfortable familiar way. ‘I feel quite sad.’
‘I don’t. I just feel an enormous sense of relief. At last I’ve got rid of the tiresome little bugger.’
Felix was never sentimental. She always forgot that. Emotional yes, but that was something different. ‘Rest in peace, Tony Blythe,’ she said seriously, with a feeling of real loss. So many books financing their lifestyle, so many holidays spent on research. Tony Blythe had been family.
‘Gone to the great investigation bureau in the sky,’ said Felix. ‘Good riddance, that’s what I say.’
‘It’s fantastic you’ve finished on time.’ She went on packing: he never helped her with that and on the whole it was simpler that he didn’t.
‘I told you all I needed was sunshine. And you with your blue pencil. God, I feel wonderful. How long before the euphoria wears off?’
‘About two days usually.’ She thought it was sweet that he never remembered, that he was always ready to believe it would last for ever. She hated to disillusion him: it was like telling a child Santa Claus didn’t exist.
‘Yes. But this time… it’s back to real books.’ He was far too high to be reached by mere words. ‘I think I’ve got an idea for the new one actually.’
‘Already?’ She was pierced by envy, as occasionally happened. She would have liked to be creative.
‘It’s about a man who’s having a midlife crisis and he has an affair with a young girl he meets in a supermarket. He’s trying to recapture his lost youth but really he loves his wife.’
‘Of course,’ she said drily, locking the suitcase and watching him pour champagne. ‘So what happens?’
‘Oh, the girl leaves him for a younger man, but his wife won’t have him back, so he kills himself. It’s a cautionary tale, the new grim message for the eighties. You reap what you sow and all that jazz. Why should anyone get away with mere adultery?’
‘Except that they do, all the time,’ she said, saddened by the flip way he told her the plot, as if it wouldn’t hurt at all.
‘Well, Anna Karenina didn’t, nor Madame Bovary, and that’s good enough for me.’
‘They were women,’ she said. ‘They were stupid enough to take it seriously.’
‘So does my hero. You can’t get much more serious that suicide. He’s sensitive. He’s the new man, in touch with his feelings.’
‘Don’t tell me any more.’
‘Why not?’
Oh, she must get a grip on herself. ‘Or you may not want to write it.’
‘You know me so well.’ But he saw the tears in her eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. I just… don’t want to go home. It’s been so perfect. I like having you all to myself.’
‘Silly old thing.’ He held out his arms. ‘Come here.’
Felix returning from holiday was like a child on its birthday, excited at first then complaining there wasn’t enough post. She thought he was childish too in the way that he always wanted to go away and then always wanted to come back, whereas she, all sober and grown up, usually wanted to do neither, but merely to stay where she was. His exuberance touched her.
‘It’s almost a reason for going,’ he said, ‘just to get lots of letters all at once. And one day amongst them there will be –’ he made trumpet noises – ‘the summons from Hollywood. Come and write scripts for us. Name your price. Sell your soul for a fistful of dollars. What a bargain that would be.’
‘And this time…?’ she said, playing along.
‘Guess they missed the post again. All I’ve got is a whole stack of bills. Plus an invitation to talk to a Writers’ Circle on how to write a thriller – as if I knew, and if I did, why should I tell them? An American student begging for help with her Ph.D. thesis on Crime Writing as a Meaningful Adjunct to Existential Philosophy – well, she may be pretty. And a card from the library that my compact discs are three months overdue.’
‘You’re in good form this morning.’ She served breakfast, waiting on him, thinking what a good bargain it was, that she liked doing it and he liked accepting it.
‘Oh Lizzie, I keep forgetting and then I have the pure rapture of remembering, that I’ve actually finished the book. That bastard Tony Blythe has gone for ever. I’m a free man. It’s yo ho ho and eyes down looking for the great novel again. We can make our fortunes or we can grow old together in romantic poverty. What d’you say? Double or quits?’
How could anybody not appreciate someone with such a capacity for happiness? ‘I love you,’ she said.
‘That’s just as well because I simply adore you. Or I might be the new Noel Coward. How about that? That’s better than the old Felix Cramer any day. Buy a new dressing-gown and knock out half a dozen plays over the weekend.’
She kissed him. ‘And I think you have jet lag.’
Marion let her in. Kind, understanding, old-fashioned Marion, whom Helen suddenly found she liked, said of course Helen could talk to Richard and she’d take his calls. Richard himself looked less than delighted when Helen walked into his office unannounced and told him that. He went on ostentatiously pretending to write a probation report as if she wasn’t there.
‘But what am I supposed to do?’ Helen said. ‘You hang up when I phone, I don’t know where you’re living, you look terrible… I’m worried about you. I miss you.’
He looked very tired and he had shaved badly. He had a scruffy, pathetic look, almost like someone sleeping rough. She was annoyed with him for looking like that, for doing that to himself, and she also wanted to take him home and put him to rights.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ he said without looking up, a coldly controlled voice that didn’t match his appearance. ‘I’d have thought you were so used to acting independently you’d hardly notice I’ve gone.’
‘God, you can be pompous.’ She always forgot that because they quarrelled so seldom. She wanted to kill him when he was pompous.
‘Then you’re better off without me, aren’t you?’
She tried to calm herself with breathing.
‘Inge came to see me,’ she said, thinking that might arouse a little humanity. ‘She wanted to gloat. God, she was weird. High as a kite.’
No reaction.
‘All right,’ she said, giving in, ‘I did something serious without telling you and I’m sorry.’ How many more times, for God’s sake, did he want her to say it?
‘Sorry you did it or sorry I found out?’
‘I just can’t believe that cancels out the last ten years.’
‘Try harder.’
She had come to make peace and instead he was making her angry. Out it all came. ‘All right, you wish I’d told you, but what if I had? Abortion’s out. Adoption’s out. So what do we do? Bring up Felix’s child? Have Felix drop in to pat it on the head? Have Elizabeth as a sort of auntie? Have Sally playing at motherhood in the long vac? Make up a tale about some missing boyfriend? You tell me, Richard, what would you have done?’
Now he looked up. ‘I wouldn’t have forced my daughter to kill her baby.’
Like a politician he still hadn’t answered her question. She said, ‘If Sally’d really wanted that baby she could’ve told you she was pregnant.’
‘Sally does whatever you tell her, we both know that.’
‘She came to me for help and I helped her.’
‘You made her have an abortion because you hate Felix, and bringing up a baby might have stopped you doing a few paintings. Sally’s baby or my baby. Nothing must be allowed to get in the way of your work.’
So that was it. She should have known, of course; and perhaps on some level she had known. ‘Ah, that’s what it’s about. You’ve never forgiven me for not getting pregnant by you. This isn’t about Sally at all.’
‘It’s about all of us.’ He was looking at her now but not really seeing her, she felt, as if his anger created a fog between them, or as if she had developed a stranger’s face. ‘Don’t you understand anything? How can you and I be married if you go on behaving as if you were still single? No, not even that, still married to Carey. You can tell him what’s going on but you can’t tell me.’
‘Have you been talking to Sally?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You didn’t upset her, did you?’ She didn’t like to think of him going to Sally in this mood.
‘Oh, I shouted a bit and made a fool of myself. She was in bed with that Indian boy at the time so maybe she’ll get pregnant again. It wouldn’t surprise me if she does it just to rebel against you.’
‘That’s sick.’
‘No, it makes perfect sense, you’ve got her so brainwashed. That’s probably why she chose Felix, just to annoy you.’
‘I don’t want any more of your half-baked psychology.’ She found she was actually tempted to hit him. It was all escalating dreadfully, a real slanging match, just what she had meant to avoid.
‘Then get out of my office.’
‘God, I came here to ask you to come home and all we do is have another row. Why is all this my fault? Isn’t Felix to blame for anything?’
‘I’m not married to him.’
‘You might as well be.’ Now it all came spewing out. She was shouting; screaming almost. Everyone in the office would hear but she didn’t care. ‘As long as I’ve known you I’ve heard nothing but how wonderful Felix is, how splendidly romantic, such a free spirit, screwing everything that moves and making his wife put up with it, isn’t he clever, isn’t he lucky, doing all the things you maybe wish you could but you haven’t the guts, and now this happens and it’s all my fault. Well, just you try thinking that maybe some of it’s his fault and maybe some of it’s your fault, bringing him into my home…’ She was shaking with rage but she wanted to cry and she wanted him to put his arms round her.
'Yes, it is your home, isn’t it?’ he said. He looked stricken: she had managed to hurt him. ‘I left my wife and children for you, I wanted a child with you, I thought of Sally as my own daughter, but really I’ve just been a lodger all these years. Not even a very good lodger. I couldn’t pay enough rent.’
Felix was meeting Natasha for lunch and his mood lasted through the morning spent at the flat putting new pages on disk. When he arrived at the Groucho Club he was still feeling like Tigger, full of bounce. The elation that came from finishing the book and the sense of well-being that a suntan always gave him combined to make the events of last year recede like a distant bad dream. Now all he needed was a new woman and his happiness would be complete.
Natasha was sitting in a deep armchair in a corner near the bar. He embraced her and they kissed the air beside each other’s cheeks. She smelt deliciously expensive. ‘That’s quite a colour,’ she said, looking him over appreciatively.
Felix sat down beside her. 'We do our best. Slaving over a hot typewriter in the broiling sun. Is there no limit to the sacrifice this man will make for his art?’ A waitress arrived and he ordered a dry Martini because it always felt decadent at lunchtime. Natasha’s glass looked disgustingly healthy, full of ice and lemon and fizzy water. ‘I see you’re still knocking back the Perrier,’ he said. ‘Can’t you do better than that on ten per cent of me?’
‘I got kinda used to it on that diet,’ she said in her soft mid-Atlantic accent that she had kept or cultivated. He liked the fact that she was steely inside but soft-spoken, like Jackie Kennedy or Nancy Reagan; he trusted her to get her own way and therefore the best for him. In all their years together he had never attempted to make love to her. It would have been trespassing on their professional relationship, like importuning a doctor or a hairdresser or an accountant, all of whom could be difficult to replace. Besides, he had always had the feeling that he might bruise himself on her bones.
‘But I don’t want the thinnest agent in London.’ He knew she liked to be teased about this, seeing it as an achievement. As a little girl (not that he could imagine she had ever been a little girl unless she had run a protection racket in the playground) she had probably idolised Wallis Simpson. ‘Give me women about me that are fat. Well, decently voluptuous anyway.’
‘No need to ask,’ she said, smiling at him and displaying the alarmingly perfect teeth that all Americans seemed to regard as mandatory.
‘Finished.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Maybe this time we could have an auction.’
‘Why not? Have some fun.’
They talked shop for a while, moving on from the last of Tony Blythe to the new novel.
‘I’d like to find out what I’m worth.’
‘But you don’t really want to move?’
‘No, but it wouldn’t hurt to frighten them a little. This could be the big one.’
‘It might be worth moving in the States,’ Natasha said. ‘They haven’t promoted you too well lately and you could do with a hard sell. If they think they’re getting another Heartbreak Merchant.'
‘Oh, bigger than that.’ God, he hoped he was right.
She looked pleased. ‘How long will you need?’
‘Well, it’s been cooking for a while, so I might have a first draft ready in six months, and the final version, well, maybe by Christmas. If I’m lucky. With a following wind.’ He even caught himself crossing his fingers like a schoolboy.
‘That’d be great. Then it could come out next autumn. Do you have a title or is that still under wraps?’
‘I’m not sure. At first I called it And Then There was Lisa. But now that feels a bit soft. Now I’m thinking more of Anatomy of a Love Affair.’ Elation made him want to be indiscreet but even as he spoke he wondered if it was unlucky to reveal so much.
‘I like it,’ Natasha said. ‘I like it very much.’
Helen looked wary, uneasy, as if now she was here in Elizabeth’s office she wished she hadn’t come. Elizabeth thought she was thinner than ever, pale and tired; she wondered what was wrong. ‘It’s lovely to see you,’ she said, giving Helen a hug.
‘I’m sure I’m interrupting something important,’ Helen said, accepting the hug but not returning it.
‘Rubbish, I’m just catching up after the holiday.’
‘Oh yes, was it wonderful?’ She sounded as though her mind were elsewhere, almost as if she had forgotten Elizabeth had been away.
‘Yes, it was,’ Elizabeth said rather emphatically. ‘Felix is always blissful on holiday. Food and wine, sun and sex, work and talk. All the things he likes best. And I have him all to myself. It was a real treat.’
‘You’re very brown,’ Helen said, sounding sour and distracted.
‘Yes, I don’t believe all this stuff about skin cancer, it’s like dieting. Doctors trying to take away our few remaining pleasures.’ She smiled at her small joke but Helen didn’t respond. ‘Are you all right? You sounded very odd on the phone.’
Helen went and stood by the window, looking out for a moment, then turned to face Elizabeth again. ‘Richard’s left me,’ she said almost defiantly.
Elizabeth could feel herself looking shocked and disbelieving. It seemed impossible to accept, like news of sudden death.
‘I know,’ Helen said ironically. ‘We were such a happy couple. Right.’
‘God, what a shock,’ said Elizabeth, feeling inadequate and foolish.
‘Yes.’ Helen looked vaguely round the room as if searching for something. ‘I do wish I hadn’t given up smoking.’
‘Have a drink?’
‘Yes please.’
‘White wine be all right?’
‘Anything. Turps. Meths, anything.’ She didn’t smile.
Elizabeth got a bottle out of her office fridge. Authors always wanted a drink. If there was such a thing as a teetotal author, she had never met one. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t really talk about it. We just had an incredible row and he walked out.’
‘I can’t take it in.’
‘Neither can I really, only I’ve had more time than you.’
Elizabeth could feel her straining to leave. She was drinking fast and watching the door, like an animal that fears it may be trapped if it stays too long. This made her long to keep Helen there, to get her to talk. It was a chance to be helpful, a rare chance, after all the times she had been the one with problems and Helen the sympathetic, faintly impatient listener. She wanted to redress the balance, to make the friendship more equal.
‘I must go,’ said Helen, putting down her glass.
‘But you’ve only just got here. Look, I have to see an author later on but that won’t take long. We could have supper together.’
Helen was shaking her head before Elizabeth had stopped speaking. Elizabeth felt resentful at being dismissed without being heard but she understood Helen’s pride and how she must hate being in trouble.
‘No, really,’ Helen said. ‘Thanks all the same. I’m not good company and I’d rather get home. I keep thinking Richard might turn up and I’d like to be there.’ But she still hovered, undecided, in the middle of the room. ‘He came round one day when I was at the studio and took some clothes. I might as well have been at home, I can’t work. I can’t do anything.’
‘I’m just worried about you. I’d like to help.’ Elizabeth tried not to sound too pressing.
‘I know, I’m hard to help. That’s what Magdalen always says.’
‘If you’d only tell me what’s happened…’
‘I just did something unforgivable, that’s all, and he won’t forgive me.’ She shrugged as if it wasn’t important. ‘You’ve been very good.’
‘But I haven’t done anything,’ Elizabeth said, frustrated. She had felt so well after the holiday, brown and relaxed and filled up with Felix, and now it was as if Helen was draining the well-being out of her.
‘It was nice to see you. Nice to talk. I don’t know where he’s living or anything. I never thought this could happen.’ She shook her head distractedly. ‘I didn’t know I’d miss him so much. I used to be good at living alone. Only I suppose I wasn’t alone really, I had Sally.’
Suddenly it came to Elizabeth what must have happened. ‘Have you been having an affair?’
Helen looked surprised. ‘No. Nothing like that.’
‘Then I can only think you’ve had an abortion or been sterilised or both. Richard’s always wanted more children, hasn’t he?’
‘Please don’t keep guessing,’ Helen said, sounding cross. ‘It’s very embarrassing.’
‘Sorry. I just can’t help being curious. And I thought maybe I could help if I knew a bit more.’
‘Nobody can help.’ Helen moved nearer the door. ‘The details aren’t important anyway but they’re very personal. I took a decision without consulting Richard. I think I was right and he thinks I was wrong. That’s all there is to it.’ Elizabeth felt excluded. How could she help if Helen wouldn’t tell her any more, and why was Helen here in her office if she didn’t want to talk? ‘But he’ll come round,’ she said. ‘He must. He’ll have to forgive you eventually.’
‘Will he? That’s what I keep telling myself but I wonder. I’m seeing another side of him now. Or maybe I always knew it was there and that’s why I didn’t tell him the truth. It’s not easy living with a good person. They’re implacable.’ Elizabeth had never thought of Richard like that. She wondered how far Helen’s troubles were of her own making. What could possibly be serious enough to make Richard leave her and why didn’t she want to talk about it?
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘Felix is pretty easy going. So long as he gets his own way, I mean. He’s self-indulgent but he indulges me too.’
‘I never thought I’d envy you but right now I do.’
‘Oh?’ Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to take that.
‘Yes. Going home to someone who’ll never leave you, never condemn you, no matter what you do, because they haven’t a leg to stand on. That must be very nice. Very comfortable.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ Elizabeth said, offended, suddenly wishing she hadn’t told Helen quite so much about Felix. ‘We do love each other.’
‘Sorry. I haven’t had much sleep and things just come out. I’m not thinking straight. Don’t hold it against me.’
She did look very tired and it was a crisis; Elizabeth had to forgive her. But the words rankled.
‘I wish you’d come to supper,’ she said, more out of duty now. ‘I bet you’re not eating properly.’
‘I’d rather be alone, honestly,’ Helen said, her hand on the door knob.
Elizabeth had one last try. ‘Does Sally know about this?’
‘I haven’t told her anything, but Richard did. She rang up to say she was sorry. What more can she do?’
‘I thought maybe she might… come home for weekends. Just be with you.’ She remembered all she had done, resentfully, for her own parents.
‘I wouldn’t expect that. She’s got her own life. Anyway, she’ll be home for the vac and that’s not far away.’
‘Maybe Richard’ll be back by then.’ Elizabeth felt Helen was pulling rank on her, telling her she didn’t understand what could be reasonably expected of children these days.
‘Yes, that’s what Sally said. She’s like you, she’s sure he’ll come back.’
‘But you’re not.’
‘No, I’m not. I just have a feeling of doom. But I’d love to be wrong. Well, I’m really going this time.’
How beautiful she was still, Elizabeth thought, even looking old and tired, thin and miserable. Pale and angular and beautiful like one of her paintings. Inaccessible. And yet she must have come with some purpose. Elizabeth felt she was trying to decode something dangerous. She even wondered if they had ever really been friends. Had she ever known Helen at all? She knew Felix desired her and would never have her, and she could see why, and that knowledge would always be between them although it was not Helen’s fault.
Helen turned in the doorway, on her way out. She was very casual. ‘Oh, Elizabeth, do me a favour. Don’t mention any of this to Felix. I’d rather he heard it from Richard. It seems only fair.’
When Richard had finally got rid of Helen he went into Marion’s office and told her at some length how angry he was. Even as he spoke he thought he sounded hysterical and he marvelled that Marion could listen so calmly.
Eventually she said, ‘I’m sorry you’re annoyed with me for letting her in but I did it from the best of motives. She was very upset. She needed to see you.’
‘And I call it interference. If I wanted to talk to Helen, I do know where she lives.’ He started to laugh. ‘God, this must be how our clients feel when we keep interfering in their lives from the best of motives.’
‘Richard, I do wish you’d tell me what this is all about.’
‘It’s an education.’ Why couldn’t he stop? He knew he had made his point. It was frightening to go on and on, like the runaway train. ‘I feel like a client. Or a child. That’s how we treat them, isn’t it? Like moronic or delinquent children. We patronise them.’
Marion appeared to be giving this serious consideration. ‘I don’t think so. It’s quite possible to respect someone as an adult even though they need help with their problems. Why not? It happens all the time in everyday life. If I call in a plumber, for instance, or go to the dentist or the hairdresser. I need help from an expert. But I don’t feel they’re patronising me.’
He said, ‘Oh, Marion, you’re wonderful. You’re so rational.’
After a moment she said, ‘Richard, d’you have a good GP?’
‘Why?’
‘I really think you need to talk to someone you trust and it obviously isn’t me.’
It was difficult to ring Felix when the time came. He woke knowing it was the right day but thinking with relief, It’s too early to ring him, he won’t be there yet. Then he got caught up in work and suddenly it was lunchtime, so Felix would surely be out. By mid afternoon he was promising himself he would do it after his next cup of coffee.
He had carried his anger for so long, nurtured it until it had become a part of him. It felt unreal that today he was obliged to express it; he couldn’t imagine what he would do afterwards.
Felix took a long time to answer and Richard almost hoped he might get the machine instead. Then there was a sleepy hullo. Richard felt a painful sensation of loss when he heard the familiar voice: it was as if he had not fully realised how much he loved Felix until he learned to hate him. He was conscious that the friendship hung suspended: until he broke it, it would still exist in Felix’s mind.
‘How was the holiday?’ He heard himself trying to sound normal and failing. Surely Felix would pick up that something was terribly wrong? But the drowsy voice sounded unafraid.
‘Oh – hullo, Richard. Terrific. I finished the book.’
‘Congratulations.’ His heart thumped and his mouth was dry. Felix knew him so well; why didn’t he notice the tension, the rage?
‘Thanks. I feel great. At least I will when I wake up. I had my snout in the trough with Natasha at lunchtime and what with that and the jet lag…’ His voice petered out, sounding sunny and genial.
Richard said, ‘I thought I might call in for a drink on my way home.’
‘Why not? We could celebrate. What sort of time?’
‘I’m not sure when I’ll be finished here.’
‘No matter. Turn up when you like.’
Richard put down the phone. He was shaking: Felix sounded so innocent, so accommodating, so normal. He opened his desk drawer and took out a half bottle of whisky. He wanted to deal out justice with a cool head but he knew he needed some artificial courage first, though he must be careful not to have too much. The familiar voice had unnerved him, bringing back twenty years of friendship. He took a long swig from the bottle and put it back in his desk. Then he began to focus very deliberately on what Felix had done. Presently he realised that he wanted to kill Felix but that it would also be like killing a part of himself.
As he opened the door, Richard struck him, a heavy blow, catching him full in the face. Off balance, Felix staggered backwards, nearly falling over, catching at furniture to save himself, feeling a mixture of pain and surprise. In all his fantasies of being found out, he had never thought of violence.
‘And don’t bother pretending you don’t know what this is about,’ Richard said, coming in and closing the door behind him.
Felix clutched his jaw, tasting blood from a cut lip, hoping Richard hadn’t loosened any teeth. ‘Jesus. That really hurt.’
‘I’d like to kill you,’ Richard said, with a kind of grim resolve in his voice, suggesting more of an intention than a wish, as if he might actually do it.
‘I do hope you won’t,’ said Felix, trying to introduce a half-joking tone that he felt might have a calming effect.
‘God, I thought we were friends, I trusted you.’
Of course he couldn’t be sure how much Richard had found out. It might be just the affair and not the abortion. He would have to be careful.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘I’d like to be sure I know what we’re talking about.’
But this only seemed to enrage Richard further. ‘You’re unbelievable. Even now you’re trying to wriggle out of it. Look, I know everything. Inge told me.’
‘Inge?’
‘She found a letter from Sally. Christ. You’re still doing it. That bloody shifty look. Now you’re wondering which letter. God, even now you’d lie to me if you thought you could get away with it. I can see it in your face.’
‘No point in asking for trouble,’ said Felix reasonably.
‘Look, I know about the abortion.’
Well, that made it simpler. Worse but simpler. ‘I really am very sorry,’ he said, the straightforward approach, man to man. ‘About the whole affair, I mean. It should never have happened. I take full responsibility. What more can I say?’ He tried to gauge Richard’s reaction from his face but it was blank with rage, the eyes wild. ‘Let’s have a drink and talk it over.’
‘You can’t imagine I’ll drink with you.’
‘Well, I need one.’
He poured himself some whisky and drank it quickly. It stung his mouth. He poured some more.
‘God, you’re a shit,’ Richard said.
Felix was irritated: he thought Richard sounded contemptuous and smug. ‘Look, Richard, we’ve been friends a long time. You know I like having affairs. OK, Sally was out of bounds, but she had a sort of crush on me and it was very tempting. I mean she made it easy for me. Well, irresistible really,’ he said, remembering.
‘Christ, you’re even trying to blame her.’
He hardly recognised this Richard: the anger transformed him, like a dormant volcano suddenly erupting. Felix even felt a prickle of fear. He could no longer predict how this person might behave.
‘No, of course I’m not. I’m just explaining how it happened. She’d made a start with some boy at school, well, you know I don’t go chasing after virgins, and she was disappointed, and there I was. Look, I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I’m easily tempted and I was flattered. She’s very beautiful.’ He was distressed to find that talking about it actually made him yearn for Sally again.
‘She was eighteen years old, for God’s sake.’
‘She made me feel young again,’ said Felix, remembering more.
‘Jesus, she paid a high price.’
‘Yes, I know, I know, that was rotten luck. But she said she was on the pill.’ He was starting to feel he had grovelled enough and perhaps it was time to stand up for himself a little. ‘It’s not as if I took a chance on purpose, I’m not that irresponsible. But OK, it should have been belt and braces. People do make mistakes or forget or whatever. I know that.’
‘She could have died,’ Richard said.
‘Oh, come on.’ This was going too far. ‘Abortion’s actually safer than having a baby, for obvious reasons. Done properly, I mean.’
‘Did you ever think of letting her have it?’
This seemed an extraordinary question. How could Richard possibly have wanted that? ‘I never thought of leaving Elizabeth, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I mean did you ever make Sally feel she had a choice?’ Felix found this hard to answer. All he could remember was panic, ‘I think I felt it was very much her decision. Hers and Helen’s.’
‘Not mine. None of you thought I had a right to know.’ Now they were getting to the real issue: Richard’s pride was hurt. Perhaps that was more important than the affair, more important than the abortion. ‘Well, it was up to them if they wanted to tell you or not.’
‘Did you offer to help financially?’ Richard was moving around the room, small, restless movements that Felix found quite threatening.
‘I paid for the abortion, of course.’
‘I meant child support.’
‘I really can’t remember.’ What was the point of discussing maintenance for a child he had never intended to be born? ‘I don’t think I did. But I would have done, of course, if she’d decided to have it. Only I was rather hoping she wouldn’t, because of upsetting Elizabeth.’
Richard stopped moving around and stood in front of Felix, close to him. ‘I hope you rot in hell.’ It sounded like a serious curse, not mere words, and Felix felt uneasy. He had seen too many operas where curses were effective.
‘I expect I will,’ he said lightly. ‘If there is a hell.’
‘Oh, there is for people like you,’ said Richard, staring at him. ‘There just aren’t any words for what I think of you.’
‘I’m getting the message.’ Felix moved away. ‘You don’t think you might be over-reacting, just a touch? It wasn’t all gloom and doom, you know. We fell in love. We had a nice time. It wasn’t just mindless screwing.’ He was edging towards the drinks tray, wondering if a third whisky would be a good idea or whether he needed a clear head. ‘When I say I like having affairs, I mean just that. Not only the sex but the chat, the presents, the secrecy. The whole package. It was a magic time for both of us. We were happy.’ The more he spoke, the more he believed his own words.
‘And that’s all that matters.’
‘Well, I think it’s important.’ He tried a small joke. ‘My parents named me well.’
‘Would you ever have told me if I hadn’t found out?’
‘No, of course not. Whatever for? I told you about Inge and you had mixed feelings about that. I’m just sorry this one ended in tears.’ He could see from Richard’s face that he was making it worse, but he was running out of patience. Richard had hit him and abused him and he had apologised: what more was there to say? He poured himself another drink and swallowed it quickly. ‘Oh, come on, Richard, relax. You’ve been getting off on my adventures for years, only you don’t like them too close to home. OK, point taken. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.’
But Richard was staring at him as if he were some strange, alien, deeply disgusting creature. ‘You don’t understand. This so-called friendship is over. You’ve ruined my marriage and you may have ruined Sally’s life.’
‘Now you’re being absurd.’ Felix had had enough: he couldn’t resist the obvious final taunt. ‘Maybe you’re jealous. You probably fancy her yourself. I’ve only done what you’d like—’
The second blow was much heavier. He reeled backwards, cracking his head on the edge of the fireplace, and fell into darkness.
Felix’s head hit the edge of the marble fireplace with a sharp crack, like the sound of an egg-shell breaking against a cup, only much amplified. He slumped to the floor with a thud and lay there quite peacefully, looking surprised. Presently blood trickled from the back of his head.
Richard gazed at him intently. He was astonished how calm he felt, quite removed from the event: all his violent feelings had gone into the blow. He was cold now, even to the point of discomfort; he almost shivered. Watching the blood ooze out of Felix, he wondered what it meant. Was Felix dying? Clearly he was not conscious: he did not move or make any sound. But he was not dead. Richard could see that he was still breathing.
It was while he was noticing that Felix was still alive that he first realised he wished Felix to die. Hitting him, he had wished only to hurt him, as Sally had been hurt; but looking at him now sprawled on the carpet, he found himself sincerely hoping Felix would never get up. He was disappointed to see signs of life: it would have been a cleaner ending if Felix had been dead there and then. But evidently it was not so easy.
He sat down for a moment to think. The obvious thing now was to call an ambulance. If Felix came round he would have to help him and he would not know what to do. Unless, of course, he hit him again. Unless he finished him off, now, without waiting for him to come round.
He was surprised how strong this temptation was. There were several heavy objects in the room: lamps, ashtrays, even Felix’s typewriter would do. He could easily visualise smashing Felix’s skull with any of these items. He could already feel the satisfaction it would give him. That was when he began to be afraid. It was one thing to strike Felix in anger; another to regret he was not dead. But it was something else to contemplate quite seriously committing murder in cold blood.
He had never hated anyone before, though he had listened for hours to many of his clients talking about hatred and violence and sudden death. He had listened compassionately and tried to feel into their circumstances, which had seemed so comfortably remote from his own. Most of them appeared to feel remorse, which was a greater punishment than anything the law could devise.
Richard did not feel any remorse. He looked for a long time at the man who had been his friend and felt nothing but hatred. He knew he was not going to call an ambulance but he was not sure that he would not strike another blow. When he got up, switched off the lights and left the flat, leaving Felix alone in darkness, he still hoped that Felix would die, but at least (with considerable reluctant effort) he was giving him a chance. It was as if instead of going ahead with a hanging on board ship, he had cast the condemned man adrift in a small boat. Without water and without a compass, it was true, so his chance was remote (at least he hoped so) but nevertheless it was a chance. Felix was now on the open sea.
It was only when he got out into the street that he began to shake. He found his way to the car and sat in it, trembling, unable to put the key in the ignition. He did not know where to go, what to do. But he knew it was important not to draw attention to himself, not to be questioned by any passing policeman. So this was how it felt, like a hunted animal, on the wrong side of the law.
He started the car. There was only one place he could go, after all. They were equal now: she had killed Sally’s baby and he had murdered Felix, at least in his heart, which was where it mattered. What could be more natural than for one murderer to seek out another?
Helen woke without knowing what had woken her, then very quickly became frightened. She could hear footsteps downstairs. Careful, stealthy footsteps. Burglar footsteps. For a moment she was tempted to pretend she had heard nothing, to lie there with a wildly beating heart and will herself back to sleep. Then she got up, knowing something must be done. She put on her bathrobe and felt around on her dressing-table for her nail scissors – pathetic, she thought, and predicting an alarming degree of physical closeness, but the only defensive weapon she remembered having in her bedroom, or at least could find in the dark. She inched her way out of the door and along the landing, impressed by her own courage and at the same time thinking how ridiculous her behaviour was. She would not deter a burglar in the least and would be quite likely to get herself injured. But she didn’t seem able to retreat.
Then the light in the hall went suddenly on and she was looking down into Richard’s startled face.
She ran down the stairs, filled with joy and at the same time angry, as she might be with Sally for coming home late and worrying her.
‘Oh darling,’ sh'e said, hugging him furiously, ‘I knew you’d come back – only I wasn’t sure.’
Then she noticed he wasn’t returning the hug but standing there unmoving in her embrace. ‘I think I’ve killed him,’ he said in a conversational tone.
‘What?’
‘That’s why I came to you. I couldn’t think where else to go. Now we’re both murderers.’
He sounded quite pleased with himself. He walked ahead of her into the living-room and poured himself whisky. She followed him.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Felix, I’ve killed him. At least I hope I have.’
Helen considered this. It was what she thought she had heard. ‘Good,’ she said after a moment.
Richard finished his drink and refilled his glass. She watched him.
‘What did you do?’ she asked, trying to sound calm.
‘I’ve been wandering around, then driving a bit, then just sitting in the car. I saw a copper watching me, so I had to move. I didn’t know what to do. If I’d stayed I might have hit him again. Or I might have had to help him and that would have been worse. Much worse.’ He sat down with an air of relief and sipped his drink, even smiled at her. ‘I knew you’d understand.’
Helen felt panic. He sounded so matter of fact. She said carefully, ‘Darling, could you tell me exactly what you did?’
He lay spreadeagled in the chair like someone at last relaxing after a long journey. ‘I turned out all the lights before I left. I thought that way there was less chance of anyone finding him too soon. I thought the longer he just lay there, the more likely he’d be dead. And I really want him to be dead.’
‘Could you go right back to the beginning?’ Helen said. She wanted a drink herself but dared not have one. She needed a clear head more. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
Richard frowned. ‘I think he deserves to die, don’t you? After what he did.’ His eyes closed and he looked as if, having shed all his responsibilities, he might be about to fall asleep. Helen wondered if he had actually gone mad. She was still thinking how wonderful it would be if Felix was actually dead, only not if Richard had killed him.
‘I’m going to have to call an ambulance,’ she said angrily. All her instincts cried out that this was unfair.
‘Don’t,’ Richard said without opening his eyes. ‘They might save him.’
‘Look, I’d love him to be dead, but not if it means you being arrested for murder. Come on, be sensible. We’ve got to do something. Anyway, what about Elizabeth, won’t she be worried? He doesn’t usually stay out all night, does he?’ Still no response. ‘Come on, Richard, you’ll have to give me his address. I won’t mention any names, just tell them there’s been an accident and ring off, OK?’
‘He’s such a bastard,’ Richard suddenly said in a different voice, a faint voice full of pain.
‘I know. Where’s the flat?’
Elizabeth woke when the television went off and Felix still wasn’t home. She was very alarmed. He never stayed out late without letting her know; it was one of the basic courtesies underpinning their marriage. Then she heard a car drawing up outside. She knew it wasn’t his car but she rushed to the door all the same. Perhaps he had drunk too much and Richard had given him a lift. She saw Helen getting out of her van.
‘I didn’t like to ring you this late in case you were asleep,’ Helen said, but in a casual way, as if it were the middle of the afternoon, ‘so I thought I’d come and see if the lights were on.’ Elizabeth was very frightened.
‘Felix hasn’t come home. Oh God, it’s bad news, isn’t it? Something’s happened to him.’
Helen came up to her with a reassuring smile that terrified her still more. ‘Don’t panic, it’s all right.’
‘What is it? Tell me.’
‘He and Richard had a bit of a row and Richard hit him. But don’t worry, I’ve called an ambulance.’
‘Ambulance?’ She felt stupid repeating Helen’s words. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Is he badly hurt? What d’you mean Richard hit him?’
‘Just keep calm,’ Helen said with her hand on Elizabeth’s arm, guiding her back into the house.
‘I don’t understand,’ Elizabeth said, feeling like a guest in her own hall. ‘What happened? Where is he? I’ve got to be with him.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not serious,’ said Helen with maddening calm.
‘You said ambulance.’
‘Just to be on the safe side. He bashed his head on the edge of the fireplace.’
‘But that’s serious. When did all this happen? Where were they?’
‘Where Felix works.’
‘I don’t know where that is.’ She started to cry, thinking how little she knew about his life. ‘I’ve never known.’
‘Come and sit down,’ said Helen like a nurse, leading her into her own living-room. ‘It’s all right, he’ll be fine. Just a little bump on the head, that’s all.’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No.’
‘Then how can you tell?’ She was suddenly frantic. What if Felix died? She couldn’t live without Felix. ‘Oh God, I want to be with him.’
‘I’ll ring up and find out where he is,’ said Helen, soothing, ‘and I’ll drive you there, OK?’
Elizabeth watched her, busy with the directory, taking charge. Terrible suspicions began to stir in her mind. ‘Why did Richard hit him? I knew they were having dinner together, Felix rang me earlier. I didn’t worry, I’ve been asleep. You know something, don’t you?’
Helen didn’t answer. She was talking to someone else on the phone. She sounded very bossy, Elizabeth thought. ‘Have you got Felix Cramer in Casualty? He should have come in just now by ambulance and his wife would like to visit him. Could you check for me? I’ll hold.’
Elizabeth said, ‘What’s all this about? There’s something you’re not telling me. First Richard leaves you and now he hurts Felix… what’s going on? You’re not telling me the truth.’
‘I see. Thank you very much.’ Helen put down the phone. ‘He’s just been admitted. Come on, I’ll drive you.’
‘You should have let me speak to them.’
‘But they don’t know anything yet.’
Sudden icy certainty. ‘Have you been having an affair with Felix?’
‘No, I certainly haven’t.’
They stood looking at each other, not moving.
‘I don’t want you to drive me,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’ll drive myself.’
When Helen got home she found Richard had gone. She was disappointed rather than surprised, and almost too tired to care. She poured herself the drink she had wanted earlier and took it upstairs, faintly hoping Richard might have gone peacefully to bed, but knowing really that he hadn’t. Well, she had done her best. If he preferred to roam the streets or drive around all night, that was his choice. She ran herself a bath, thinking it might relax her and help her sleep. She felt slimy all over from Elizabeth’s accusation. An affair with Felix was the most disgusting thing she could imagine, though it was easy to see why Elizabeth should jump to that conclusion. In fact it seemed almost wilfully perverse of her not to suspect Sally by now: it could only be a matter of time. Perhaps tonight’s accusation had been the last bit of self-protective fantasy.
In the bath she managed to make her mind a blank for a while, then the nightmare returned. She longed for Felix to die but she had to erase that longing, since it meant Richard going to jail. Even an injury could have serious consequences and her own discretion was irrelevant: if Richard didn’t go to the police, Elizabeth would almost certainly report him.
Much to her surprise she fell asleep, the ultimate cop-out, she thought, and woke half an hour later in lukewarm water. She got out of the bath in a rage, feeling disorientated, and went to bed wrapped in a damp bathrobe. She punched the pillow several times before she fell asleep and wasn’t sure if the blows were intended for Felix or Richard.
Elizabeth stared at the doctor, willing him to give her good news.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he said.
‘There must be something you can do.’
‘We’re doing everything we can, but it’s early days yet. Look, I realise you’ve had a terrible shock, but I won’t be helping you if I pretend it’s not serious. He’s got a very nasty head injury and he could be unconscious for quite some time.’
‘How long?’
‘It’s hard to say. Could be hours, could be days.’
‘Days…’
He looked too young for such a responsible job, and he also looked very tired, as if he should be tucked up in bed instead of answering her questions. How could Felix’s life depend on this exhausted well-meaning young man?
‘On the other hand,’ he added with an encouraging smile, ‘he might come round any minute. Is he a heavy drinker?’
She was shocked at the sudden question. It sounded more like an accusation, as if Felix had deliberately made things worse for himself.
‘No. Well, it depends.’ She thought how insulted Felix would have been. ‘I suppose we both drink a lot of wine, yes. I never really thought of it like that.’ To be honest, she couldn’t imagine how she and Felix would get through life without alcohol, whether to dull the pain or lift the spirits or simply as a pleasant diversion, but she was aware this wasn’t a fashionable view nowadays. It seemed very unfair. Your best friend deals you a heavy blow on the head and you are accused of heavy drinking, like a victim of theft being blamed for carrying money. Doctors had done their best to eliminate smoking, encourage exercise and dieting, and now they were trying to ban alcohol. What did this young man do in his spare time? Why was she suddenly dependent on a naive child for news of her husband? She lit a cigarette rather aggressively, thinking how tolerant Felix was, how he had never tried to cure her of her bad habits. Tears came in her eyes. She really didn’t want to live without Felix.
‘He seems to have had quite a bit tonight, which doesn’t help. We’ll know more when we’ve done a scan. Why don’t you come back in the morning? Have a quick look at him now and then go home and get some rest.’
‘He’s not… in any real danger, is he?’
‘Frankly, it could go either way. But at the moment he’s stable and we’ve got him on half-hourly observation. If there was any immediate danger I’d tell you, of course, and you could stay. We’ll phone you at once if there’s any change.’
It was no good. He meant well but he couldn’t or wouldn’t be reassuring. She was terrified.
‘Can I see him now?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He summoned a nurse. She thought she detected relief that the interview was over. ‘Mrs Cramer would like to see her husband now.’
‘Would you come this way, Mrs Cramer.’ The nurse was another child, of course. The entire health service was in the hands of exhausted children. Felix would be furious to wake up and find himself here; she should have arranged at once for a private clinic. Why else did he pay so much insurance? But it had all happened too fast.
She followed the nurse down the corridor.
When Richard left the house he went straight to the police. He felt quite peaceful about giving himself up; in fact the whole experience was remote, as if it were happening to someone else. He thought he might have slept for a while after Helen went out, because he seemed to be in a different frame of mind on his way to the station and he was not sure when the change had occurred. He remembered desperately wanting Felix to be dead, remembered experiencing hatred so violent that it seemed to burn his skin from the inside, but now that was all gone and a feeling of shame and disbelief had taken its place. He had done wrong and he must be punished: that was the only way to restore sanity to his world.
He had trouble making the duty officer take him seriously at first. They knew each other and perhaps he thought Richard was joking, or too calm to have done what he said. But Richard persevered and was allowed to make a statement. Other officers took charge of him and seemed to go out of their way to do everything correctly, by the book.
‘Will you read over these notes, Mr Morgan, and sign them as a true record of this interview?’
He tried his best, but his brain roamed round the letters like snakes and ladders without seeing them as words. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t seem to take it all in.’
‘Just initial your replies if they’re correct and sign at the bottom of each page.’
That was a relief. He could manage that, although he had to think a moment to remember what his initials were. At least it was easier than reading. ‘Oh yes, of course. I ought to know the routine by heart. Funny. I never thought this could happen to me.’
One of the officers peered at him with a worried expression on his face. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to see a solicitor, sir? You know you have the right to do that.’
‘I just want to go to sleep.’ Now that the statement was made he was aware of feeling immense exhaustion that was almost a luxury, like putting down a heavy suitcase or reaching the end of a long overnight journey in some foreign country. He was entitled to sleep now: he had earned it. A solicitor would want him to talk, because they always did.
But the officer persisted. ‘D’you want anyone informed of your whereabouts?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Not even your wife?’
He thought about it, but it seemed complicated. Why did they have to ask him such difficult questions when he was so tired?
‘I don’t think I’ve got a wife. Or maybe I’ve got two. Only they’re both ex. In a way. I’m not really sure.’
‘Then how about letting somebody know at the office?’ Now they were being absurd. ‘I’d like to vanish off the face of the earth, if you really want to know.’ He looked at his neat initialling: RM over and over again. It looked much more solid than he felt. He handed back the statement. ‘There. I’m sure that’s all in order.’
She stayed with Felix as long as they would let her. He looked very ill, his skin drained of colour. There was a dressing on his head and he was attached to a drip. She was very frightened, but the sight of him made her instantly calm, so that she could be useful. She held his hand and kissed it and talked to him in a low voice so as not to disturb others in the ward. She remembered reading that unconscious people could hear what was said to them even though they couldn’t respond, and hearing it could help them get better. She told him she was there and she loved him and she would stay as long as she could and come back the next day. She told him this over and over again like a litany. At the same time she was aware of thinking that if there was any question of brain damage Felix would not actually want to live and in that case she should not will him to survive. She would have to let him go, no matter what it cost her. She wondered if this thought, too, could reach him, if he could read her mind.
A nurse brought her a cup of tea and this simple act of kindness brought tears to her eyes.
‘Better not stay too long,’ the nurse said. ‘There’s nothing you can do and you’ll need your sleep.’ She took Felix’s pulse.
‘How is he?’
‘There’s no change.’
‘Just a little bit longer,’ Elizabeth begged.
The nurse went away. Elizabeth drank her tea, holding the cup in one hand and Felix’s hand in the other. It seemed important not to let go of him. She didn’t feel tired at all; she could have sat there all night pouring her strength into him, telling him she loved him. It seemed the only fact of importance left in the world.
Richard was surprised and annoyed the next day to be summoned to see John Hartley. Apparently Helen had rung Marion, and asked her to check with the police. Now Marion had called in her husband to assist. It seemed an amazing impertinence to Richard: a whole chain of interference down the line, spoiling his day. He had slept wonderfully well. He deserved the simplicity and discomfort of his cell. He felt safe having decisions made for him and it seemed appropriate that he should know at first hand how his clients must feel. Above all, he did not want to be disturbed.
‘Come on, Richard,’ John Hartley said, ‘why don’t you tell me what this is all about?’ He smiled at Richard in a confident way, as if they were friends or colleagues. Richard felt doubly offended.
‘I told them I don’t want a solicitor.’
‘Well, tough. You’ve got to have someone to represent you in court. They’ll have to charge you in thirty-six hours or let you go, and they’re not going to let you go while your chum is still unconscious.’
‘Is he going to die?’ Perhaps John had information. It would be worth seeing him if he had.
‘Who knows? If he does, they can do you for manslaughter.’
‘Why not? I wanted to kill him.’ In his heart he would always be a murderer, whether Felix recovered or not. It was terrible to live with that knowledge. He was no longer the person he had always imagined he was.
‘I hope you haven’t said that to them. Have you? Look, this is serious. At the very least they’ve got you for assault with intent.’
‘It was very kind of Marion to send you along.’ How strange lawyers were, growing fat and prosperous on other people’s pain. John looked fairly typical, Richard thought, grey and heavy and pleased with himself. They had met a few times in the past; he was dimly familiar.
‘She didn’t send me, she asked me to come, and I had to rearrange my day and put off several other clients to fit you in. It’s extremely inconvenient, so I hope you’re going to be cooperative.’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ Richard said. ‘I’m guilty. Whatever they charge me with.’ How angry John sounded; how eager he was to hear gratitude.
‘If you go on like this, they’ll probably make you see a shrink. I hope he gets more out of you than I have. Look, let’s start again. Just tell me exactly what happened.’
Days went by and Inge did not hear from Richard. Was he back with the cow or was he alone? The suspense gnawed at her, affecting her sleep, her appetite. After so much excitement she could not bear the flatness of hearing nothing.
‘I have to know,’ she said. ‘Where is he? A lot can happen in a week. I can’t just sit here, I must find out.’
The boys were eating. She looked at them in amazement. How could they eat at such a time, when her whole future, and therefore their future, hung in the balance? She didn’t remember ever being so detached when she was an adolescent.
‘Absolutely not, Mum,’ Karl said. ‘I’m not ringing up that wretched woman again.’
Peter didn’t even glance up from his plate. ‘Don’t look at me, I’m too young.’
She was very angry. ‘Don’t call her a woman, she’s a cow. And I think you are both very hard-hearted. Don’t you care that I’m suffering?’
‘Of course we care, but you do it so often. We run out of steam.’
She picked up the phone, enjoying their looks of horror.
‘Oh, honestly, you’re not—’
‘No, of course I’m not. I have other ways to find out, I’m not as stupid as you think. Hullo, can I speak to Richard Morgan? It’s his wife.’
‘Oh, Mum…’ It was almost a wail, a pathetic chorus in unison. She was disgusted at their lack of support for her, now when she needed them most.
‘Then can I speak to Marion Hartley? Hullo, Marion? It’s Inge. I need to speak to Richard. It’s very urgent, it’s about his children.’ She turned her back on their outraged faces. Then Marion told her something incredible. She listened, trying to make sense of the words. ‘What? But why, what did he do?’ Marion told her more. It couldn’t be a joke, could it? Richard had always insisted Marion had no sense of humour. But if it wasn’t a joke then it was very serious. ‘Really? I must visit him, where is he?’
She had the boys’ attention anyway.
‘Has something happened to Dad?’
‘Is he all right?’
‘Ssh, I can’t hear. No, Marion, not you. Please tell me everything. I can’t believe it. I want to be with him.’
But Marion said that was all she knew. Inge put down the phone and turned to the boys. ‘It’s impossible but your poor father is in prison.’
They looked at her with awe. ‘Blimey,’ Karl said.
‘They have locked him up because he hit someone on the head.’
‘Dad?’ said Peter, in a small incredulous voice, almost as if she had suddenly told him his father was someone else.
‘You remember the man who came here, the one who had a fat wife, only she didn’t come with him?’
‘The writer?’
‘The old poof?’
Oh yes, they were listening to her now all right.
‘He did something very bad and your father beat him up. Maybe he dies, they don’t know yet.’
‘But you said they were friends.’
‘Dad couldn’t murder anyone.’
She said with satisfaction, ‘You see how quickly things can change.’ She was gratified to see they were impressed as well as worried, seeing Richard in a new adventurous light.
Peter said anxiously, ‘What will they do to him?’
Inge shrugged. She didn’t want to think about that yet.
Karl said with an edge to his voice that meant he was really nervous, ‘Mum, are you sure you’re not exaggerating just a bit?’
Inge could feel her appetite returning. She stubbed out her cigarette and began to eat. The situation was so exciting. It opened up a whole new range of possibilities. And it served Felix right for abandoning her. It would show him, if he lived, that drama existed in the everyday world, drama could affect him, drama was not safely contained in the newspapers, happening to other people, or under his control in the pages of his silly artificial books. And if he didn’t live, well, it would teach him that he was mortal, which no one ever believed. It was only a pity his cock could not be grafted on to someone else.
‘You see, underneath, your father is really quite a violent person,’ she said, smiling and proud. ‘Perhaps he was jealous all the time.’
But later, when she was alone, the excitement ebbed away and she felt cold with fear. It was wonderful that Richard had done such a dramatic thing but Felix would have to live, or they might lock Richard up for years, and she couldn’t bear that. She began at once to pray to her god of vengeance for Felix’s survival.
By the time they arrived at Victoria, Sally had really had enough. Jamal seemed to have spent the entire journey staring at her, holding her hand, or trying to make conversation, when all she could think about was Helen. There was some dreadful nightmare going on at home, some awful piece of news that Helen was keeping from her; she could tell from her voice. Perhaps Helen was ill. Perhaps she had just found out she had some dreadful disease with only months to live and she was trying to break it gently. God, she couldn’t bear it if Helen died. Or perhaps they were getting divorced. That would be bad enough. How would she ever find the strength to see Helen through another divorce? It simply wasn’t fair to expect that of her. She had been through enough already.
Jamal said, ‘Don’t you have time for a coffee?’ and he sounded plaintive, which enraged her still further.
‘I’d rather get straight home. Mum sounded really odd on the phone. I’m sure there’s something wrong.’
‘Well, if your step-father still hasn’t come home, of course there is.’
Why did he have to say banal obvious things like that when he was really intelligent? Was it something to do with being foreign? ‘No, it was more than that. There’s something she isn’t telling me.’
‘Did you ask her what it is?’
‘No, I ran out of money.’ As if she could ask a question like that on the phone.
He laughed. ‘You always do that with your mother.’
‘So what? Why is that funny?’
‘I thought maybe you didn’t really want to talk to her.’
‘And that’s a joke, is it?’ It was amazing how insensitive he could be. Couldn’t he see how worried she was?
‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
They marched on. The station was crowded, noisy and dirty after Sussex. She was suddenly very tired and her head ached with anxiety. She wanted to be home, to know what was going on. And she was afraid to find out. She could feel more demands would be made on her. She would be expected to be grown up all over again and she still wasn’t ready.
‘Shall we go out somewhere next week?’ Jamal asked in quite a normal voice, as if nothing at all was wrong.
‘I don’t know, till I find out what’s going on at home.’
‘Shall I ring you tomorrow? Oh, you still haven’t given me your number.’
It was all too much. She stood still, and put down her suitcase and rucksack. Travellers rushed past them in all directions. He turned back to see why she had stopped.
‘I’m going to be awfully busy,’ she said. ‘What with Mum and that reading list we got and…’ How dreadfully his face changed: all the light went out of it. ‘Jamal, I’m sorry. I like you very much but I think we should sort of give it a rest for a bit.’
‘You don’t want to see me any more?’
Oh God, this was awful. It was like Chris all over again and she still didn’t know how to do it. She tried to be gentle and ended up with a worse mess. ‘It’s not that. I just want a break.’
‘Is it because I said I was falling in love with you?’
‘I just think we should see a bit less of each other, that’s all. I mean next term as well. I think we should just be friends and see other people.’ She knew she was saying too much but it seemed impossible now to stop. She wasn’t even sure how much she had planned and how much he had provoked in the last hour. ‘I mean it’s sort of too soon to get tied down, and if you’re going to have an arranged marriage eventually you ought to be making the most of your freedom.’ It sounded terrible. She hadn’t meant to say all that. She hadn’t even known she was thinking it. But there was an element of relief as well, of a problem solved, a burden put down. She hated giving pain but even more she hated people clinging on to her.
Silence. She couldn’t look at him. She wanted to run away.
‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do,’ he suddenly shouted in an embarrassingly loud voice. ‘I’ve been useful and now it’s over. I’ve served my purpose. That’s it, isn’t it?’ People were staring at them and still he went on. ‘I’ve been an escort at your mother’s show, so you didn’t have to go alone, and you could make your old lover jealous, and I’ve let you show me how clever you are in bed, so you could prove everything was still working properly, and now you want to get rid of me, you’ve had enough.’
‘Jamal, please. Don’t shout.’ She felt herself blushing. It seemed quite out of character for him to make such a scene in public. He had turned into someone she didn’t know.
‘Why not? I can shout all I want. I’m not English. I’m not a hypocrite.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
She was shocked to see he had tears in his eyes.
‘Don’t you think I have feelings too?’
She couldn’t make it all right. She picked up her suitcase and rucksack and walked as fast as she could towards the tube, fearing he would run after her. But he didn’t.
Richard liked the court. He liked the familiar look and smell of it, the way that everyone had a job to do. Only his position in it was different this time, but it was still like coming home. The formality of it comforted him. His mother’s curtains or three-piece suite, always slightly too big for the room, might have had the same effect.
It didn’t take long. He listened to what was said and he agreed with it. He looked at all the people doing their duty and he admired them, he thought they were right. He felt safe. In a little while it would be over.
Helen broke the news as gently as she could but really she was waiting for Sally to hug her, to rush across the room and tell her it would be all right. She wanted Sally to behave like a mother, although her own mother would never have behaved like that. Instead she saw Sally’s attention fixed on Felix, hardly hearing what had happened to Richard. There was no hug. ‘Why ever didn’t you tell me?’ Sally said.
‘I’m telling you now.’
‘I knew something was wrong on the phone. Is Felix going to be all right?’
God, it was hard to take after all the waiting. ‘Is that all you can say? You might spare a thought for Richard.’ And me, she thought, like a child. What about me?
Sally was looking very angry, as if Helen had done her some harm. ‘Well, both of them, of course, only he’s not hurt, is he? Can I see Felix?’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid. You and Elizabeth, one each side of the bed? Terrific.’
‘But he might die.’
Helen abandoned what was left of her self control. ‘I’d love him to die, only that wouldn’t help Richard. Can you imagine what it’s been like for me, trying to pretend to Elizabeth I don’t know why all this happened?’
Sally’s expression hardened. ‘Oh, I see. It’s all my fault, is it?’
‘Well, you did have something to do with it.’
‘I got rid of my baby, isn’t that enough for you?’ Sally suddenly shouted. And burst into tears.
Helen watched, not going to comfort her. She felt envy and irritation. She felt isolated. ‘You’re lucky to be able to cry so easily,’ she said after a while. ‘I wish I could. If you’d only left Felix alone, I’d still have a marriage.’
Sally stopped crying, almost, it seemed, out of shock. ‘Is that really how you see it?’
‘Tell me another way,’ Helen said wearily.
Much to her relief the phone rang, before they could say any worse things to each other. It was John Hartley, and she listened to more bad news, letting it wash over her, watching Sally wipe her eyes and blow her nose. How lovely it must be to let all your feelings out like that. She was strung so tightly she might snap. She had waited all this time for Sally to come home and now she was no help at all. Too much to expect.
‘Who was that?’ Sally said, looking anxious, when she put down the phone.
‘Richard’s lawyer. Oh, don’t worry, nobody’s dead.’ She could hardly breathe. ‘Just no bail for Richard. They won’t let him out. Remanded in custody for another week.’
‘Why?’
‘They want him to see a psychiatrist. They think he’s mad or dangerous or suicidal. God knows what they think. Oh, what does it matter? They won’t let him out, that’s all.’ She was very tired. On it went. On and on. At some level she had imagined him home tonight.
Sally said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Helen sat down and put her head in her hands. She said, ‘Can we start again? I didn’t like all that very much.’
After a moment, not quite soon enough, Sally came across the room and hugged her. She felt very solid. Helen hung on to her tightly and let the tears come.
Elizabeth saw the consultant next day. An older man with a bedside manner, gained no doubt from familiarity with his own bedside, a man exalted enough not to be woken any more in the middle of the night. She gazed at him, imploring him with her eyes to tell her good news.
‘Well, your husband’s still unconscious,’ he said, smiling encouragingly, ‘but we’ve got the results of the scan so you can relax a bit.’
She felt herself daring to breathe.
‘No blood clot. No brain damage. Nothing nasty like that.’ He looked at her kindly, as if she were a child waking from a nightmare. ‘Of course he’s not out of the wood yet but it looks hopeful. As far as we can tell.’
She couldn’t say anything. She just smiled.
‘Best to err on the side of caution, of course,’ he said. ‘Then, God willing, you get a nice surprise.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
A nurse was taking Felix’s pulse. ‘Can you open your eyes for me, Felix?’ she kept saying in an encouraging yet oddly detached voice. ‘Mm? Can you try?’ She was young and pretty. Elizabeth wondered if Felix could tell. Would he wake up faster for a pretty young nurse? Could his unconscious subconscious register that much? Were his instincts still alive and well? She would gladly grant him access to every woman in the world if he would just wake up and be all right.
‘Has he woken up at all?’ she asked in an ordinary voice, as if it were trivial.
‘Not yet, but we like to keep trying.’ The nurse bent over him again but in such a practical way that it occurred to Elizabeth she perhaps didn’t realise how beautiful he was.
‘Are you going to wake up for me, Felix?’ she said again, as if he were just any old patient. ‘Can you squeeze my hand?’
There was no response.
‘Oh well,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Maybe next time.’
Elizabeth sat down beside the bed and held his hand. He had particularly nice hands; they had both often admired them and agreed it was appropriate for a writer. Her own hands were broad and ugly. Working hands she called them. Helen’s hands were different again, the squat, practical hands of the painter or sculptor. She had seen them on plumbers too, with a sort of utilitarian beauty about them. No. What had happened there? She mustn’t think about Helen. Not now.
A sound, a movement. It was too wonderful to believe but it was true. It was Felix waking up.
The nurse said brightly, ‘Oh, isn’t that nice? He did it for you.’
Elizabeth started to cry. ‘Oh, Felix,’ she said. ‘Your timing’s wonderful.’
She had to do something when visiting time ended. Not that he had spoken or sat up or anything miraculous like that, but there had been that sound, a murmur, meaningless, of course, and he had moved, it showed there was hope, he was coming back to her and she wanted to give thanks. She bought flowers. She drove around. She found herself outside Helen’s house. Forgiveness, she thought. If I can be generous then God will be too. I can’t live without Felix. I love him so much. Do other people feel like this?
Helen came to the door. She looked surprised. She smiled but she looked wary, even reluctant.
‘He’s woken up,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Oh good,’ said Helen, with a tight smile. ‘I’m glad for you.’
She really does hate him seriously, Elizabeth registered. It wasn’t a joke or a tease. There is something enormous here. ‘So I brought you these.’ She gave Helen the flowers. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’
‘I felt so high. I had to do something to celebrate. I mean, I could have just rung you up but… After all, it’s good for Richard too, isn’t it?’ Perhaps Helen had had bad news. She must ask. ‘How is he? Have you heard anything?’
Helen’s face closed down. ‘Remanded in custody for a week. And he doesn’t want to see me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ A greater effort was called for. ‘Look, Helen, about the other night. I said something I shouldn’t have said and I’d like to take it back. Can you just put it down to the stress of the moment?’
‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘It’s all forgotten.’
It was odd to be still on the doorstep. Normally she would have been asked in at once. There was music from upstairs, too, well, not really music, odd sounds, a beat.
She said bravely, ‘I still think there’s something you’re not telling me but it’s not what I said.’
Helen looked cornered, angry. ‘Honestly, I don’t know any more than you do. It’s something between the two of them. Men can have secrets too, you know, just like us.’
It didn’t feel right at all; ‘I expect you’re trying to protect me,’ she said, ‘but I’m a bit old for that.’
‘Would you like to come in?’ Helen said then.
There was a movement on the stairs. Elizabeth, hesitating, saw Sally about to come down.
‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’d rather get home.’
‘She knows,’ Helen said, closing the door. ‘She must.’
‘How’s Felix?’ Sally said.
‘Recovering, apparently. Is that all you care about?’
Sally shrugged. ‘Then they’ll let Richard out, won’t they? And that’s all you care about. Shall I make scrambled eggs? You should eat something.’
Elizabeth, driving home, pushed the thoughts away. Be like Scarlett O’Hara. Think about that tomorrow. Be grateful. Take it a day at a time. If God lets Felix get better, then I won’t question anything.
She drove carefully. Not the moment to have an accident. It was a demanding job, life-saving, and she needed all her wits about her.
Richard resented any interruption in his routine. As long as they left him alone he was safe. He didn’t want news from the outside world. When John Hartley told him Felix was recovering he couldn’t even feel relief, in fact it seemed almost irrelevant. The image of the new recovering Felix simply lined up beside the older one he had killed.
He needed to make sense of himself and his guilt, and to do that he had to see Sally. Felix’s words haunted him. He asked John Hartley to arrange a visit.
‘They want you to see a shrink,’ John Hartley said. ‘That’s more to the point. Now don’t look like that. Her name’s Jennifer Daley. You’ll like her.’
Jennifer Daley was small and dark with hair that fell over her face. She kept pushing it back like someone modelling sixties clothes. Inge had worn her hair like that once but it had not been straight enough and drove her mad because it wouldn’t flop correctly. He remembered her rages well.
He could see that Jennifer Daley was a good, well-intentioned person, but for some reason she brought out the anger in him. She looked too young for her job. She looked like an actress pretending to be a psychiatrist, as if she had been brought in to tease him with her sexuality. And yet he had to be careful, in case she could make things worse for him. He found himself wanting to hit her, and his anger frightened him; he did not know whom it was meant for.
‘You know this can’t work if I don’t cooperate,’ he said to her. ‘And I’m not going to.’
‘Why’s that?’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Come on, spare me all that. I cut my teeth on it.’
‘Don’t you want to get bail?’
‘I’ve nowhere to go.’ What stupid questions they asked. ‘I’m better off here.’
‘You’ve left your wife, is that right?’
‘You know all this, why ask me?’
‘When did you leave her?’
‘I don’t remember.’ It seemed a very long time ago but he knew it couldn’t be. ‘Last week or the week before. Maybe ten days ago. Ask her. She’s sure to remember. She’s extremely efficient. She probably made a note in her diary.’
All the months that Helen had lived with him since Sally’s abortion. All the normal life they had had, eating and sleeping, talking and making love, all the ordinary things they had done together, and she had known all the time. She had betrayed him and kept her secret and behaved as if nothing had happened. She had behaved as if he didn’t exist and she had gone on living with him.
‘You sound very angry with her,’ Jennifer Daley said.
‘Yes, I do have to get pretty angry with someone before I walk out on them. Especially if I’m married to them.’
‘And even angrier before you hit them?’
He laughed again. They were so predictable, these people. ‘My God, you’re brighter than I thought. You’re really getting there.’
‘Did you want to kill your friend when you hit him?’
‘No, but I hoped he was dead the moment after.’
‘And now?’
‘And now what?’
She fiddled with her hair. ‘What are you feeling now?’
‘Pretty angry with you for asking all these bloody stupid questions.’
To be locked up for ever, that would be peaceful.
‘Go on.’
‘Isn’t that enough for you?’
Jennifer Daley said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not very experienced yet.’
This threw him. ‘Oh God, am I supposed to feel sorry for you?’
‘No, we all have to start somewhere,’ she said, sounding composed. ‘But I thought it was only fair to warn you.’
Silence. He longed to be alone. He’d had enough.
‘D’you feel sorry for lots of people?’
That was a joke. ‘In my line of work, yes I do.’
‘As well as feeling angry with them?’
‘Sometimes.’ And wanting to be dead, there was that feeling too, but she was too young to understand about that.
‘And how d’you feel about yourself?’
He wanted to explode. ‘Yes, that’s the big one, isn’t it? Sad. Angry. Is that what you want to hear? I hate myself, will that do nicely? Is that appropriate, as you people say? My life’s an absolute shambles. I deserted my first wife and kids, now I’ve lost my second wife and my best friend. I think if you’d done all that, you might feel quite pissed off with yourself too.’
Her hair fell forward again and she pushed it back. He wanted to kill her for being young and stupid and innocent. Life hadn’t tarnished her yet. Sally had been like that once.
‘I think you’re in a lot of pain,’ she said, ‘and I’d like to help you work through it.’
‘Well, don’t. That’s how I got into this mess, trying to help people.’ He saw her eyes look startled. ‘Go and take up a nice clean trade. Go and work in a slaughterhouse. Something like that. Where you can really see results at the end of the day.’
He wondered afterwards if he was going mad. But that was for her to find out. It hardly mattered.
Felix was profoundly impressed that he might have died: it was a solemn fact. He thought it would give greater meaning to the rest of his life and oblige people to behave better towards him. He was also aware that sooner or later he would have some explaining to do. And he had a very sore head.
The ward was grotesque, full of extremely sick people, some of whom were repulsive or made strange sounds. The hours kept were not to his taste, the food and drink on offer were quite extraordinary, and the discomfort of his bed made him very thoughtful. On the whole he found the entire experience rather surreal. He wondered if he had forgotten anything of importance; and he wondered how soon he could escape.
There was a bedside table crowded with flowers and fruit. Elizabeth sat beside it, looking at him with a sort of honeymoon expression, as if he had risen from the dead, which in a sense he supposed he had. She was smiling a lot and at the same time looking as if she might burst into tears at any moment.
‘Oh darling,’ she said, ‘you gave me such a fright.’
He kept thinking of Richard and the attack, and then waking up here. There didn’t seem much in between, and yet there was, known only to others. He didn’t like thinking he’d been absent that long; it was reminiscent of Lost Weekend without the fun and gave other people an unfair advantage over him. He thought he looked older, too, and he could do without that. He had asked for a mirror and had a careful look. Perhaps it was just shock and would wear off.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I scared myself a bit too.’
Amazing to think old Richard had all that violence in him. He’d never have been so provocative if he’d known. But locking him up was absurd.
‘How are you feeling now?’
Elizabeth was like a sort of auxiliary nurse, he thought. Eager for good news. Any moment now she might pop a thermometer or a grape in his mouth, plump up his pillows. It was appalling to think that some people spent years like this. It was like being an overgrown baby in some science fiction tale.
‘Pretty weird,’ he said. ‘D’you know what I said when I first came round?’
‘No. I wasn’t here, damn it.’
‘I said, “Where am I?” Isn’t that humiliating? You’d think I could have come up with something a bit more original.’ She laughed weakly. It was always good if he could make her laugh, but he was seriously shocked by his own dialogue. A blow on the head was no excuse for banality.
‘What are you going to tell the police?’
‘The truth, of course.’ But he was alarmed; it seemed a bit soon for such a question. ‘The whole truth and nothing but the truth. Or at least as much as it takes to make them go away and leave me alone.’
‘And what are you going to tell me?’
Really she was pushing hard. Surely the jaws of death and all that could not be discounted so swiftly?
‘Oh, darling,’ he said. ‘Not now. I’m very tired and I’ve had one hell of a crack on the head.’
‘Your best friend tries to kill you and that’s all you can say?’
‘We were larking about. It was all a silly accident.’ He had made up his mind about that, whatever Richard might say, and her disbelieving look annoyed him. ‘Oh, come on, darling. I’m saving my energies for the old bill.’ He closed his eyes for a moment to make her feel guilty, but he was genuinely tired and then there were manipulative layers of tiredness as well, a protective screen. ‘There is something you can do for me though. Get me moved to a private room. Put the whole thing on Bupa. It didn’t matter while I was out for the count, but now – dear God, there are people coughing and spitting day and night, I don’t know how I’m going to sleep now I’ve woken up, and it’s impossible to get a drink round here.’ He held her hand and kissed it. ‘Really, hospitals are pretty barbaric places once they’ve saved your life.’
John Hartley asked, ‘How did you get on with Jennifer Daley?’ He seemed excited by her visit.
‘Who?’ said Richard, just to annoy him.
‘Your shrink.’
‘Oh, she tried hard.’
‘Don’t be fooled by that little girl approach, she’s actually quite astute. Mind you, between ourselves, I have trouble hearing what she says because I can’t take my eyes off her legs.’
He grinned at Richard as if demanding some sort of complicity and Richard stared back astonished. It threw fresh light on Marion’s marriage. John seemed to him like a sniggering small boy in the playground. Was he supposed to laugh?
‘Now, with a bit of luck we should get bail this time,’ John said, professional again. ‘Your chum’s going to live and a lot depends on what he says to the police. Is he a forgiving sort of chap, d’you think? Willing to let bygones be bygones and all that?’
Chum. It seemed an odd word for Felix, for someone you’d tried to kill. It had a Boy’s Own and Beano ring to it. ‘I don’t want to be forgiven,’ Richard said. ‘I’m guilty and I want to be punished.’
‘Oh, come on, Richard,’ John said as if he had caught him cheating at cards, ‘that’s not the right approach at all. Where would we all be if everyone took that attitude? I’d be out of a job for a start.’
‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ Richard was suddenly frightened, a new strange feeling coming at him out of nowhere. He wondered how John would react if he panicked, begged for help, cried? He felt he could no longer predict or control his own behaviour.
‘Well, if they decide to go ahead but they stick to assault with intent, you could wind up on probation.’
Richard laughed.
‘Yes. Sorry about that. On the other hand if your chum gets a bit heavy, they might go for attempted murder. You didn’t help yourself much with that statement you made. Just begging to be locked up, that’s the way it reads. Of course that could make them decide you’re a genuine nutter and they’ll let you out, just to be awkward.’
And where do I go then? Richard thought. John made it all sound quite jolly. He didn’t see the abyss.
‘I often wish I was dead,’ Richard said. ‘Oh, not in a suicidal way, I’m much too limp to do anything about it, but I do keep thinking how peaceful it would be.’
‘Try telling Jennifer that,’ John said eagerly. ‘She’s very good on depression.’
But Sally was the only person he wanted to see.
Felix had just about settled into his private room by the time the police arrived to interview him. He thought the whole thing was very theatrical and he wondered if he was up to it, if he had sufficient reserves of energy. He hoped they wouldn’t stay long; he was rather looking forward to watching television, enjoying the privacy of his own bathroom, playing some music on his cassette machine and generally pretending he was in a hotel. Later he would have to persuade his consultant to allow him some wine with his meals. He really didn’t have much time to spare for the fuzz.
‘But surely,’ he said, ‘if I don’t press charges, you haven’t got a case.’
‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that, sir. The court doesn’t have to proceed but Mr Morgan can be charged on his own confession.’
‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Felix said. ‘I’m the one in hospital and if I don’t want to make a fuss why the hell should anyone else?’ It had never occurred to him that Richard could be charged against his wishes; he had been looking forward to being magnanimous, heaping coals of fire and all that. Love your enemy. Do good to those that hurt you. Forgiveness felt like a powerful weapon. It was annoying to be told that the pathetic wheels of the law could grind away without his consent.
‘If you could just tell us what happened.’
One of them asked questions and the other took down the answers. Behind the politeness he felt suspicion, as if he might be a criminal instead of a victim, and he found it irksome.
‘It was an accident,’ he said firmly. He had given a lot of thought to this and had come up with a scenario he found so convincing he was almost beginning to believe it himself. ‘We’d had a few drinks and we were acting out a scene from my new book. I’ve only just finished it and I wanted to make sure I’d got it right, so I said come on, hit me, see how far I can roll. I’m very keen on getting details absolutely correct.’
He wasn’t sure if they were impressed by his fame or whether he should play it down.
‘Go on, sir.’ Their faces gave nothing away but he had the same feeling of unease as going through customs at the airport.
‘Well, he couldn’t do it. I mean he’s a really nice bloke and thumping people just isn’t his style.’ Unlike Tony Blythe, he thought. ‘So just to get him going I said something about fancying his wife or maybe it was his ex-wife or both, I really can’t remember, but anyway I made some stupid joke that obviously got him on the raw and he hit me. If I hadn’t bashed my head on the edge of the mantelpiece I’d have been perfectly all right.’
‘What time did all this take place?’
Oh dear, it was hard work. He could feel his energy flagging and he had a long way to go yet. ‘I’m not sure. It was early evening because Richard came straight from work. Seven or eight maybe. I was a bit jet-lagged from holiday and I’d had lunch with my agent, so I had a bit of a kip before he arrived. That’s why I’m not too sure of the time.’
‘Was it dark?’
‘I really can’t remember. I didn’t know I’d have to describe the evening in such detail or I’d have paid more attention. Does it matter?’
‘It was after midnight when your friend’s wife called an ambulance.’
Felix could feel irritation swamping his desire to be charming. ‘Was it really?’
‘So you’d been lying on the floor of your flat for several hours.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it. I was unconscious so I really didn’t notice time dragging.’
Not a flicker of amusement, ‘If you could just bear with me, sir. I’m trying to establish what your friend did during those hours.’
‘Perhaps you could try asking him.’
‘Yes, we did think of that, but he seemed rather vague on the subject. Just wandered about, he said.’
‘Then that’s what he did. He’s extremely truthful.’
‘So if he says he was hoping you’d die, we can believe him.’
God, how they twisted everything. ‘Certainly not. He’s truthful but he’s also very confused. He’s been under a lot of strain at work and at home and obviously something snapped. He probably lost his memory, poor chap.’
They both looked at him thoughtfully.
‘You do realise the longer the interval between knocking you down and calling an ambulance, the more it looks as if he wished you to come to some harm?’
Well, of course he realised that. No one had ever tried to kill him before. Ironic it should be Richard. What deep feelings must be there. It was almost a tribute.
‘I can assure you he didn’t. He’s been having marriage problems and he must have flipped.’
‘So your vagueness about the time wouldn’t have anything to do with trying to protect him?’
‘Rather more to do with a bump on the head, I’d have thought.’ He was getting tired: they had a heavy presence. ‘But you’re quite right, I am trying to protect him, not just because he’s my friend but also because he’s innocent. I think it’s quite absurd you’ve got him locked up. I’d be happy to stand bail for him if necessary.’
They didn’t look as if they believed a word he was saying.
‘You’re an extremely forgiving man, Mr Cramer.’
‘Well, I’ve known Richard for twenty years and I value his friendship. I’m not going to let a silly accident change that. And I’m certainly not going to testify against him in court.’
‘You can be subpoenaed to give evidence, you know, sir.’
How eager they seemed to make trouble. Perhaps promotion depended on it.
‘Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It would be a terrible waste of public money.’ He tried his charming smile on them. ‘Can I have a rest now?’
‘We’ve nearly finished, sir. Mr Morgan says you had a quarrel about a woman.’
‘Wasn’t that what I just said? Look, I’m very tired and I think I’ve answered enough questions for one day.’
‘But he didn’t say she was his wife or even his ex-wife. In fact he refused to name her.’
It was all getting much too close to home. ‘Well, there you are. He’s a perfect gentleman.’
‘And he didn’t mention acting out a scene from your new book.’
‘I told you, his memory’s probably not so hot. He’s got a lot of problems at the moment.’
Surely that was enough? He was exhausted.
‘Mr Cramer, what’s your latest book about?’
Suddenly this seemed like a very sinister question. But it was absurd. Why should he let them disturb him?
‘A homosexual murder.’
Sally didn’t want to be there. ‘He’ll be out in a few days, what’s the point?’ she kept saying, but Helen had bullied her into it, making her feel guilty if she refused, implying that it was a matter of life and death, as if Richard were being hung up by his thumbs and Sally could save him. In the end Sally agreed furiously: she knew she was going as Helen’s deputy and she resented it. She couldn’t feel the same about Richard any more, knowing what he had done to Felix: it altered her whole perception of him and made him seem like a stranger, hostile and slightly crazed. Most of all she didn’t want to go inside a prison but she couldn’t say that to Helen, who was longing to go and be reconciled.
Everything about it dismayed her: the formality, the smell, the other people. It made her feel like a criminal herself. She thought it was unfair that she was expected to visit him under such conditions when he had got himself into this mess. He looked suitably grateful, though, somehow cowed and subdued.
‘It was good of you to come,’ he said.
She had meant to say she wanted to see him, one good honest lie to cheer him up, but when it came to it, she couldn’t get the words out.
‘I know,’ he said, reminding her against her will of the old Richard who had understood things, ‘it’s awful, isn’t it?’
She attacked at once on sure ground, before she could get snarled up in feeling sorry for him. ‘Richard, what about Mum? She’s so upset. Why won’t you see her?’
All the warmth went out of his face: he must have put it on just for her. ‘I’ve nothing to say to her. We’ve said it all.’
‘But she’s in a terrible state and I have to cope with it.’
‘I’m sorry. You’re having a rotten time, aren’t you?’
But what use was that, sounding compassionate if he wasn’t prepared to do anything? What did she say when she went home to Helen?
‘How could you hurt Felix?’ she said. ‘How could you? It was between me and him. It was nothing to do with you.’
He looked at her as if seeing the child she used to be. ‘Oh, Sally. Don’t you understand anything?’
‘But it was none of your business. It was all over. God, it was six months ago.’ She wished she could stop thinking about dates. ‘It was private. How could you go round there and hit him? How could you leave him like that? He might have died.’ And next month it would have been born, she thought. Would anyone else remember that?
Richard didn’t appear to be listening. He said, ‘Sally, I want to ask you something very important. Will you tell me the truth? It’s not easy to ask, but I’ve done a lot of thinking in here and… I’m very embarrassed, so please bear with me.’
God, this was awful. He was going to ask her something terribly intimate about Felix, about sex, something he had no right to ask. She couldn’t imagine what it was but she wanted to run away.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.
He clasped his hands together as if he were praying. ‘I know you’re very angry with me and you’ve every right, but will you please think back and give me an honest answer. Have you ever felt I wasn’t like a proper father to you? I mean, have I ever made you feel uncomfortable or… well, have you ever felt I was, what can I say, lusting after you?’ She was appalled. It was such a horrible idea. It had never entered her head and now it was fixed there for ever. Was he telling her that was how he had felt?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I really need to know. I’ve never been aware of it but maybe I’ve suppressed it.’
She said violently, ‘God, I never thought about it.’
‘Then he was wrong.’ He looked extraordinarily relieved. ‘Only that’s why I hit him. That’s what Felix said, that I was jealous.’
Sally got up. All she could think was that she didn’t want to hear all this.
‘Don’t go yet,’ he said. ‘I had to ask you.’
‘You’re just trying to put me off Felix, aren’t you?’
He looked very serious and yet as if he thought he was entitled to behave like this, ‘I need to feel I’ve got something right and I’d like it to be our relationship.’
She couldn’t stand the weight of it. It was bad enough having to cope with Helen, who at least was her mother. And she had problems of her own. Nobody was helping her.
‘I don’t want to listen to this,’ she said. ‘You’re trying to make out it was my fault you hurt Felix and it isn’t.’
She cried tears of anger on the way home and felt better. Helen wasn’t there, so she went to the studio and found her sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, head bent. A dramatic attitude but she knew it wasn’t a pose and all her anger melted. Perhaps she had used it up on Richard. The smell of the studio reassured her too. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it since she’d been away. Helen had had the studio longer than the house. It had been their earliest home alone together; she didn’t remember the flat. The studio had a reality like nowhere else. The smell of paint and turps was the smell of creativity that went on no matter what else happened. Helen had survived Carey. She could survive Richard. She would go on painting. Sally just had to be patient and loving. It would be an effort but it was worth it. Helen was solid and real.
‘I knew you’d be here,’ she said, thinking poor Mum, loving Richard more than I knew and he’s let her down, what a mess.
‘I can’t work,’ Helen said. ‘Can’t do anything.’
‘You will. Give yourself a chance. It’s a bit soon.’ She sat down on the dusty floor beside her.
‘How was Richard?’
What to say? ‘A bit weird. Very wrapped up in himself.’
‘Any message?’
‘No. Sorry.’
Helen rested her head on her knees, put her hands round her face. Sally thought she looked very beautiful, not old at all. Just tired and sad.
‘Come on, Mum. You’ve still got me. And all this. Remember there was only the two of us for years and years and we managed.’
Helen produced a sort of smile. ‘I wish I could cry a bit more.’
‘Keep trying.’
Silence. She held one of Helen’s hands. She liked the feel of it, the knobbly knuckles, knowing what it could do.
‘Magdalen wants me to go to the oast house tomorrow,’ Helen said presently. ‘See Jerome Ellis and those ghastly paintings I did for him.’
‘They weren’t ghastly. They were OK.’
‘If you like that kind of thing.’
They both managed a small giggle. Helen put her arm round Sally.
‘You should go,’ Sally said. ‘Do you good. Take your mind off things.’
‘Come with me?’
But that was going too far. ‘No. I want to see Jackie and Maria.’
What she in fact did was get her hair cut. She had been thinking about it for a while and now was a good time. But she didn’t want to tell anyone. It seemed such a large gesture. She remembered Felix telling her never to do it and she felt rebellious. Maria was a hairdresser now and Jackie worked in a bank, so she could have a chat, cash a cheque and get her hair cut all in one afternoon.
She wanted it very short but Maria wouldn’t do it. ‘It’s too much all at once. It’s halfway down your back. You can’t have it up round your ears all at once, you’ll hate it and you’ll blame me.’
‘It’ll be like culture shock,’ said Jackie and they both laughed.
‘It’s my hair,’ Sally said, ‘and I want to look different. Really different.’
‘You could always have it permed. Have an afro.’
‘Or dye it red or something.’
‘Or both.’
‘No, that’ll make it fall out.’
‘Well, bald would be different.’
They stood round peering at her and she felt the centre of attention. It was strange to be back with them, like a time warp, before anything had happened to her. Like a space capsule re-entering her childhood. They didn’t envy her Sussex, or if they did, one look at her reading list cured them. She was really pleased to see them again and yet she felt they had nothing to say to each other, she felt a million years old.
In the end Maria cut it so it rested on her shoulders, and she was quite right, it was enough of a shock.
‘You should keep the piece, you could wear it as a plait.’
But Sally said no, she wanted it thrown away.
Once the euphoria of not being dead wore off, and the relief of getting a private room, Felix began to feel rather bad-tempered. His back ached and he wanted to go home. He imagined Richard might well feel the same about jail, in fact it was quite amusing that they should both be incarcerated at the same time. It would give them a lot to talk about when they eventually met again.
He wondered what would happen to the friendship. Did an attempted murder make for greater or lesser intimacy? Was forgiveness a bond or a deterrent? He liked to imagine a sort of camaraderie of the trenches in World War One would result, a blend of Owen and Sassoon, but he might be entirely wrong.
Elizabeth seemed unduly interested in his visit from the police. He told her what he had told them but she didn’t look any more convinced than they had.
‘Dirty little minds they’ve got, the fuzz,’ he said, trying to make light of it. ‘I wonder if the job attracts people like that or if they develop these tendencies on the job, as it were. Gives a whole new meaning to the boys in blue.’
She wanted to know what they had said to him.
‘D’you know, I could have sworn they didn’t believe my story. They more or less implied old Richard and I had a lovers’ quarrel. Imagine that.’
‘What d’you mean, story?’ she said.
‘My statement. About the accident.’
‘Story sounds like fiction.’
‘Well, I may have tarted it up a bit to put poor old Richard in a better light.’ He liked his new big-hearted image.
‘Helen once said you were like David and Jonathan.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘“And David and Jonathan made a covenant, for he loved him as his own soul.”’
‘Fancy you knowing that. I really like being married to a dictionary of quotations. Saves me looking them up.’
‘Would it be dirty if it was a lovers’ quarrel?’
‘No, of course not, just inaccurate.’ Was she also accusing him of being gay? What a joke. ‘Mind you, there is a pleasing symmetry about it. Tony Blythe gets murdered by goldeneyed Sebastian, and I get punched on the jaw by Richard. Serves me right for borrowing his eyes.’
‘Yes, that’s curious,’ she said.
‘Only life imitating art. Happens all the time.’
Helen enjoyed the drive into Kent. Magdalen drove fast and well and entertained her with scandal about people in the art world whom they both knew. Although she hadn’t wanted to go and had ridiculed the idea, she had to admit now that Sally and Magdalen were right: she did feel taken out of herself and it was doing her good. Even the scenery was reassuring: there really was a world out there with trees and fields, houses and other people. Her world had narrowed down recently to home, studio and prison. It was good to know not everyone was locked up.
The oast house was beautiful, set in lovely countryside, and Jerome had obviously spent a great deal of money doing it up. He was touchingly pleased to see her and she felt humbled that the time had come when she was actually pleased to see him.
‘You see, Helen,’ he said, waving his arm round the circular room. ‘What did I tell you? Don’t they look great?’
It was a shock to see the paintings again. She could feel Magdalen willing her to be tactful. Actually they did not look as bad as she had feared. She thought now she saw them together in situ that they were too small for the space, but away from the studio they had a surprising cohesion that they had lacked while competing with her other work. And they looked so unlike anything else she had ever done that she could almost dissociate herself from them. She could hardly believe these colours, these shapes were hers. She had signed them on the back. Perhaps in a little while she could forget she had ever done them. And perhaps also they were not altogether shaming.
‘I’m glad you’re pleased with them,’ she said.
‘Wait till you see your painting in the john.’ He was wearing another brilliant jacket that hurt her eyes. ‘Reckon that makes it the classiest john in the whole of Kent.’
She had to get used to the fact that a serious painting of hers called Self now hung in Jerome’s lavatory and he was proud of it. She had to remember that he had embarrassed Felix for her at her show and therefore he was a person who deserved gratitude and respect. Perhaps he really didn’t see any difference in quality between the different paintings. It was a curious thought.
‘If we don’t eat soon,’ Mario said, ‘everything will be spoilt.’ He was in charge of the cooking and kept darting out to the kitchen and coming back with an anxious expression.
‘OK, Mario, don’t panic,’ Jerome said. He seemed unconcerned about food. Helen thought how much she would hate to cook for him. ‘Have another dry Martini and relax. You know I want to sell Helen on the idea of doing a gigantic mural in the bedroom. A complete bacchanalia. Helen, how about that? Pan, Dionysus, the whole shebang. How does that grab you?’
Helen smiled. She thought the idea, though unsuitable for her, had a certain lurid charm, and she could think of several painters who might take to it very well. ‘I think you need a representational painter for that.’
‘Sounds like a big job,’ Magdalen said. ‘Maybe Helen needs time to think about it.’
Jerome lit a cigar. ‘Nonsense, it’s more subtle if it’s abstract. Half the people who come in here can’t tell which deadly sin is which, and I like that, it makes a good talking point.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Helen,’ Mario said. ‘He just likes making people do things they don’t want to do.’
‘Mario, don’t you have something to do in the kitchen right now?’
Mario refilled his glass and went out.
‘I think it’s a very challenging idea,’ Magdalen said.
‘Take your time, Helen,’ said Jerome. ‘There’s no one else I’m gonna ask. I want a total look for this place.’
A yell from Mario. ‘We have a soufflé and we eat it now.’
‘That sounds urgent,’ Magdalen said. ‘I’ll go and give him a hand.’
As soon as they were alone Jerome leaned forward and touched Helen’s arm. ‘Helen, I’m really sorry to hear about your family trouble.’
Helen was startled. How much had Magdalen told him? She felt betrayed but she was also touched by his genuine concern. And the Martinis were strong. She could feel a sensation like mist gathering inside her head, a fear that after struggling to cry safely with Sally she might burst into easy tears in front of Jerome. She felt tired and hungry and drunk, unfit to be out, yet glad to be away from home. It was very confusing.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I can really empathise with you. Mario got himself locked up once and I had one hell of a job getting him out.’
He knew too much and yet she was relieved. It made her troubles seem more ordinary, something that could happen to anyone, inconvenient but normal, like needing a plumber in the middle of the night, and therefore more capable of solution. She began to feel hope again.
Mario yelled from the kitchen, ‘Don’t bother, it’s ruined,’ and Magdalen returned, smiling like a hostess determined to save the day. ‘Don’t believe him, it looks wonderful.’
‘And I’m not sure it was worth it,’ Jerome said.
Suddenly she envied them just for being a couple, able to have fights because they were still together.
Felix, resting with closed eyes, let his thoughts drift. The new book, how to deal with Richard when they both got out, whether Elizabeth really suspected the truth, all these fragments whirled about in his head like snowflakes in a paperweight, important and decorative but insubstantial. Until he was home, he felt, none of these issues would have much reality. Hospital was time out, like floating on his back in a hotel pool. There was not much he could do about anything while he was here.
He heard someone knock and come in, felt them stand there watching him. Not a nurse; it was a different quality of watching. He opened his eyes and saw Sally, a new Sally with shoulder-length hair. He was instantly very alert, aware of the dramatic possibilities of the situation. At last something was actually happening in this place.
‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘My God, you’ve cut your hair.’ It made her look older and smarter; he remembered telling her not to do it. And yet it had a certain streetwise charm. The untidy romantic child had gone. No more Tess of the d’Urbervilles.
Well, at least no one else would have her hair cascading over them, stroking their body, playing Mary Magdalen, the way he had.
‘Surprise,’ she said. ‘D’you like it?’
‘It’s wonderful. But you look like someone else.’
‘That was the idea.’
They stared at each other, smiling slow, delighted smiles.
‘And you’ve just missed Elizabeth.’
‘I know. I rang up and checked with the nurse. I think she enjoyed feeling she was involved in a plot. It probably helps that you’re famous.’ She paused. ‘I always talk too much when I’m nervous.’
How strange it was, after six months without contact, that they were instantly conspirators again. ‘My God, how devious you’ve become.’
‘That’s what two terms at Sussex does for you. I didn’t know you wear pyjamas.’
‘Isn’t it shaming? Elizabeth had to buy them specially. Oh Sally, it’s so lovely to see you. Come a bit nearer.’
She walked towards the bed but stopped out of touching distance.
He said, ‘Darling, I’m so sorry about what happened. I’ve never had the chance to say it before. But I’ve thought so much about you. I kept wondering how you were. Only when you didn’t write again I thought maybe you wanted to be left alone.’
‘Don’t, you’ll set me off.’
But she moved closer to him and they held hands. He thought what power there was in touch. She looked so fresh and new, and yet he knew what she’d been through and it altered his whole perspective of her. He hadn’t felt so turned on in months. God, he’d like to make love to her again. Wipe out the bad memories.
‘Are you really all right now?’ she said.
‘Right as rain. Christ, what a cliché. You can see my brain’s got scrambled in here. Wearing pyjamas can seriously damage your health. What’s right about rain, for God’s sake?’
They laughed. They were still holding hands loosely, without pressure. Innocently, avoiding significance.
‘I was so frightened,’ she said.
‘So was I.’
‘And angry with Richard.’
Her hair swung back and forth as she moved her head.
‘Oh, poor old Richard. He was only thinking of you. Doing his good step-father bit. If I hadn’t collided with the fireplace I’d have been fine.’
‘Right as rain.’
‘Yes.’
‘A bit over the top though, wasn’t it?’
‘Straight out of Tony Blythe.’
‘But it could have been fatal.’
‘Well, I suppose so.’
They were both silent, impressed by the drama they had caused.
She said, ‘Felix…’ and it moved him, just hearing his name like that. ‘Can I tell you something? I’ll never be sorry about us. It was worth it. When I wrote you that awful letter I was bitter and miserable but I feel different now. I’ve grown up a bit.’
He was touched by her generosity. ‘I don’t deserve that.’
‘Yes, you do. It wasn’t your fault, what happened. And I feel a bit guilty. If I hadn’t written that letter, Richard would never have found out and you wouldn’t be in here.’
‘Oh well. It’s all useful experience. I wouldn’t have chosen it but I can always write about it.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
He felt her hand waver in his grasp, so he kissed it and let it go. Watching her, he saw her eyes widen on the kiss.
‘Have some grapes,’ he said. ‘Have a drink. They don’t really approve but I’ve finally got some alcohol in here and it’s a great relief, I can tell you. The first few days, it was like being in Saudi Arabia.’
They smiled again. There was immense unformulated goodwill in the room with nowhere to go. He poured two glasses of wine. He hated her seeing him in pyjamas.
‘You’ll always be special,’ she said. ‘Whoever I meet later on. I won’t ever forget you.’
‘Well, here’s looking at you, kid.’
‘Yes.’
They drank their drinks. He thought it was time to be brave.
‘How’s that handsome boyfriend of yours?’
‘Oh, that’s all over.’
Well, that was worth knowing. ‘Poor chap. I thought he looked very taken with you.’
‘Yes, he was, he was sweet. But I don’t want to get tied down.’
Now what exactly did that mean? Was she playing the field or playing hard to get? It felt like a challenge but he wasn’t sure of his ground.
‘If I’m ever passing through Sussex, shall I look you up?’
‘Why not? I’m not on the phone. But you could always take pot luck.’
Elizabeth tired of waiting for the lift and decided to climb the stairs. She was pleased with her purchases and eager to make amends for asking Felix too many awkward questions. She felt she had broken her promise to herself, the bargain she had made with God, that if Felix recovered then nothing else mattered. She must remember how terrified she had been at the thought he might die: it was amazing how quickly the memory faded. Perhaps she was not meant to know too much about his friendship with Richard.
She was walking down the corridor, slightly out of breath, when she saw Sally coming out of Felix’s room, and Sally saw her. They were only yards apart.
She said, ‘Hullo, Sally.’
Sally blushed deeply. ‘Hullo. I’ve just been to see Felix.’
‘Yes, so I see.’
She didn’t want to believe what this meant.
‘Richard asked me to come and see how he was,’ Sally said.
‘Oh, that was nice of him.’
‘Yes, he’s feeling awfully guilty about what happened.’
It was too painful. She would rather believe anything else.
They seemed locked in the corridor together, unable to move apart, she and this child she had been fond of, had envied Helen for having, had watched grow up, who wasn’t a child after all.
‘How’s Sussex?’ she asked.
‘Oh, fine. I’m enjoying it. Lots of new people. I’m having a great time.’
‘Good.’
Perhaps it could yet be innocent. Richard must feel guilty, he would send Sally. She was the only possible intermediary. He had quarrelled with Helen, who wouldn’t want to come anyway. Yes.
‘But they work us quite hard. Great long reading lists, too many essays.’
‘Oh dear.’
She looked older with short hair. She had a knowing look. And they were still stuck there, facing each other, being polite.
‘Well, I better get home,’ Sally said. ‘Mum’s a bit low.’
‘Yes.’
Elizabeth watched till Sally turned the corner at the end of the corridor. She had a pain in her chest and it was difficult to breathe. She waited a few moments before going into Felix’s room.
He looked surprised to see her, and slightly uncomfortable. Or was she imagining that? He said, ‘Oh, hullo, darling.’ She put down the book and the bottle, feeling angry and stupid and hurt, longing to be saved. ‘I got you the Simenon and the champagne and I thought you might like to have them both for this evening. So I came back.’
‘That was sweet of you. How lovely. What a lot of trouble to go to. Thank you, darling.’
It was too much. It didn’t feel right.
‘And I ran into Sally.’
Watching him closely, too closely for her own comfort, she saw a sort of shift of focus behind his eyes.
‘Yes, she came to see how I was. I think Helen made her feel she ought to. She’s a sweet child.’
No.
‘Well, that’s it really.’
She turned her back on him. She wanted to be home but she didn’t know how to get out of this horrible place without breaking down.
‘Oh darling,’ he said, ‘stay and have a drink.’ He sounded quite normal.
She said, ‘No, I think I’ve had all I can take for one day.’
There was a long silence. She felt he ought to be able to hear all her nerve endings screaming. Something like that. A kind of torture she hadn’t known before and couldn’t really describe.
‘You know,’ he said in a very gentle voice, ‘things aren’t always what they seem.’
She said, ‘And sometimes they are. Exactly that.’
She managed to walk to the door but she still couldn’t look at him. How was it possible to feel such pain and be alive? All these years, all the love and forbearance, all the pretence, the bargaining, the forgiveness, the compromise. Were there no limits to what she was asked to endure or had she just reached the end?
‘What time will you be in tomorrow?’
He sounded casual, but carefully casual. Could she face a showdown now? Could she ever face one? She couldn’t imagine life without him, but she also couldn’t imagine that life with him would ever be the same again.
If she tried very hard, if enough time passed, could she believe she’d been wrong, made a simple mistake?
She took a deep breath and it hurt her chest. ‘Oh – the usual time, I expect.’
Inge stayed in all day but the phone never rang. She left messages for Richard’s lawyer but he didn’t ring her back. When the boys came home they were eager for news.
‘What happened?’
‘Did Dad get out?’
She told them she didn’t know, she had heard nothing.
‘Didn’t you go to court?’
‘I promised not to. The lawyer said he didn’t want me there.’
‘We thought you’d go anyway.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I gave him my word.’
She sat at the kitchen table, despondent, smoking, pouring red wine from a litre bottle. The boys hugged her.
‘They’ll have to let him out, won’t they?’ Peter said. ‘He didn’t kill anyone, did he? That bloke’s getting better.’
‘Perhaps he’s gone back to the cow,’ Inge said. The longer she waited, the more likely it seemed.
‘Cheer up, Mum,’ Karl said. ‘You’ve still got us.’
‘And we’re quite hungry,’ Peter said. ‘We need to build up our strength.’
She made them supper. Evening sunshine poured through the kitchen window and lit up the dust and the grime. Well, it was clean dirt, she thought, and did not matter; it bothered nobody. She looked at her children fondly, thinking what good boys they were but they wouldn’t always be here. One day they would leave her, it was only natural, and then she would be alone for ever. Perhaps she would kill herself then. She pictured Richard alone in a bedsitter, killing himself. She pictured him going back to the cow. She wasn’t sure which was the more painful.
While they were eating, the doorbell rang. Peter went to answer it. Inge called after him, ‘Whoever it is, if they want money we don’t have any.’
After a few moments Peter came back but there were other footsteps with him. She had her back to the door and saw only Karl’s delighted, incredulous face. Then she turned her head and saw Richard. She jumped up, spilling her bowl of soup, and flung her arms round him, saying his name over and over again.
‘Don’t get excited,’ he said. ‘I just want to stay for a bit. Is that all right?’
He looked terrible, grey-faced and exhausted. She wanted to kiss him all over but she thought maybe he wouldn’t like it.
She hugged him and sobbed and hugged him again.
He said, ‘Look, I don’t know if this is going to work.’
She took her arms away. ‘I’ll be very good. I won’t annoy you.’
He said, ‘D’you mind if I just go and sleep for a while? I’m very tired.’
He went out of the room and upstairs. Presently she heard his footsteps above her head. She sat down again at the kitchen table, thinking that a miracle had happened and she did not know how to behave. When you get your heart’s desire, what do you do to celebrate?
The boys hugged her. They looked so happy that just seeing them made her want to cry. All this time they had been suffering too, but she had been too busy with her own pain to pay them much attention.
The footsteps upstairs had stopped. They all had some red wine. They tried to finish their supper.
‘We must make it easy for him,’ she said. She was laughing and crying. ‘We mustn’t play loud music or talk too much. Will you help me?’
Helen and Sally waited all day for news, tense with hope, mostly silent but occasionally snapping at each other. Finally, when she could bear it no longer, Helen rang John Hartley. ‘He got bail,’ she said, putting down the phone.
Sally said, ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘So where is he? Why isn’t he here?’
‘Give him time,’ Sally said. ‘Maybe he only just got out.’
‘No, it was this morning, John said.’
‘He might have let you know.’
‘He thought Richard would be here by now.’ She paused. ‘He said he was going straight home.’
Silence while they both considered what this could mean.
‘He can’t afford to live alone,’ Helen said. ‘They offered to put him up but he said no.’ She was very frightened.
‘He won’t be dead,’ Sally said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s not that sort.’
‘He wasn’t the violent sort either.’
‘Come on. He’s just sulking. He’s had a big shock. It’ll take him a while to get over it, that’s all.’
They looked at each other, unconvinced. Sally made tea and put whisky in it. They sat at the kitchen table and drank it together.
Helen said, ‘Sally, what if he’s not coming back? Not ever.’
‘We managed without him before,’ Sally said firmly. ‘We can do it again.’
‘I can’t believe it. I make one mistake and that wipes out everything.’
‘And it’s all my fault.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Well, it is, in a way. You were protecting me and now he’s punishing you.’
Helen said, ‘I thought I was more independent than this. I didn’t realise I’d miss him so much.’
‘He’ll be back,’ Sally said. ‘You just wait and see. He’s angry with you now but he loves you really. And he’s got nowhere else to go.’
But Helen didn’t believe her. And she didn’t think Sally believed it either. Had she taken Richard for granted all these years? She hadn’t been aware of it and yet now he had gone the pain was so sharp that she didn’t know how to bear it.
The bed smelled of Inge. Richard burrowed down into it. It was warm and dark and safe. It didn’t matter that he had to keep appearing in court, that it would be months before the case was heard, that he might lose his job, that he might go to jail. Just for now he could rest. He could forget everything.
Downstairs were the only three people left in the world whom he could trust. If he listened hard he could hear their voices; if he took his head out from under the duvet he could smell their supper. He had deserted them once and he had been terribly punished. Now he was back, not because he wanted to be but because he did not know where else to go.
He was taking the coward’s way out and he was too tired even to be ashamed.
He hoped Inge would not expect him to make love to her tonight; he knew he couldn’t manage that yet. The way he felt now, he couldn’t imagine making love to anyone ever again. But then he equally couldn’t imagine driving a car or cooking a meal: anything requiring the least flicker of energy seemed beyond him. It had taken all he had left to get himself here. It was the last refuge he knew.
In his heart he felt the venture was doomed and yet he had hope, he wanted to make the attempt. He didn’t need a court to judge him: he had passed sentence on himself. He couldn’t bear to be alone and so he would try to atone for the last ten years.
When she came to bed she would hold him and he wanted to be held; she would love him and he wanted to be loved.
Felix felt quite tired after Elizabeth had gone. A dangerous crisis, narrowly averted, he thought, and containing more drama than he could comfortably handle in his convalescent state. Coming on top of Sally’s visit, it was very nearly too much for him.
But he forced himself to be positive. Elizabeth could only suspect now that he’d been involved with Sally; she hadn’t actually accused him and he had admitted nothing. She had no proof of an affair and she certainly had no reason to suspect an abortion. If he played his cards right it would all blow over. After all, they both had a vested interest in preserving the status quo. But it had been a close call: perhaps he should be a little more careful in future.
Still, it could all have been a great deal worse, he had to remember that. He could have been dead. That concentrated his mind wonderfully. Or reduced to some kind of slobbering vegetable. Richard could have been put away for manslaughter or GBH. It was very bad luck that Sally had got pregnant but it was her own fault and she seemed to have recovered remarkably well from an unpleasant ordeal. Helen and Richard had over-reacted but they would eventually calm down, he thought, and life would go on much as before. In his experience, that was what usually happened.
He wasn’t sure what to do about Sally: he wanted her, certainly, but she might be just teasing him and perhaps it would be foolish to go back to such a dangerous place. Still, there was no hurry to decide about that: it could be left to time and chance. Even the remote possibility could be a lurking delicious pleasure.
And in the meantime, he was going to be very busy with his new book. He had to get his mind into gear for that; he couldn’t afford too many distractions. It was a challenge, certainly, to take such a well-worn theme and make it new, but he welcomed that. The young girl, the middle-aged man, the jealous wife. This time the man would die heartbroken, deserted by them both, and the feminists could make what they liked of it. But en route for death there was much to be said about the pleasures of the flesh and the pangs of guilt. And he was scared, as he always was, that he couldn’t write it well enough, could never do justice to the vision in his mind. That fear was agony and would never go away. He just had to live with it.
He poured a little champagne to give himself courage, and put on some Mozart. Then he started to explore his memories.