Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  They kissed goodbye and he left her, walking slowly down the long carpeted corridor towards the lifts.

  Janet was asleep when he crept up to the darkened bedroom. He undressed quietly in the bathroom, and stood for a while looking at himself in the steamy mirror. His face was strained taut into lines which grooved his cheeks and furrowed his forehead with weariness and worry. He frowned and the lines deepened.

  ‘You’re working too hard, Derek.’ Janet’s voice from the darkened landing made him jump. She appeared in the doorway and smiled. ‘Poor darling. I wish you would take a day or two off and let up for a bit. Shall I get you a hot drink?’

  Still looking in the mirror he saw her, pretty and feminine, in the lacy negligee he had bought her, her immaculate hair touselled and softened from the pillow, and his own face, in front of hers in the glass, visibly relaxing and lighting before his eyes at the sight of her. He turned.

  ‘Darling.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you have to go away this weekend?’ He had forgotten Burnham woods.

  ‘You know I must.’

  He sat on the edge of the bath, his shoulders slumped, and she came to him, taking his head in her arms and cradling it on her breast.

  ‘I am going to work less afterwards, though, Derek. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and there is quite a bit I can delegate.’ She smiled and dropped a kiss on his head. ‘I’ve been ignoring my husband shamefully.’

  He glanced up at her. Her eyes were bright and her face relaxed and pretty. He quite suddenly wanted her very badly. He stood up slowly and took her into his arms.

  He would give Tina this one last treat. Then he must tell her that it had to end. Almost he dreaded picking her up on Saturday, but when it came the time passed in a haze of happiness. She did not once mention Janet, or the possibility of divorce; nor did she say anything which made him feel old. They laughed and joked together in the sun-bright frost and watched their breath mingle in clouds of whiteness and Derek forgot that he had meant to end it. A few more meetings could do no harm and they gave her such pleasure. Each time as the weeks passed, when his conscience pained him, he would buy her a present; less often now something for the flat; things like flowers and chocolates which required less thought.

  Slowly he began to realise that there was something about his wife which was different and it pleased him immensely. They no longer bickered and after a while he realised it was because she was not on the defensive any more. It was as though she had relaxed, accepted something, he was not quite sure what, which she had been fighting for a long time. Puzzled, but pleased, anxious not to endanger their newfound happiness together, he found it surprisingly easy to leave the office earlier now, and as the frosts relaxed their hold and the countryside began to stir he would look forward to the long slow drive through the rush-hour towards home.

  He took to snatching a couple of hours in the afternoon every now and again to see Tina. She too had changed. She had grown more composed, more self-reliant; almost preoccupied now. And she radiated a new inner happiness which he hated to endanger, but he knew he had to tell her sometime. It was unfair to her to let her go on loving him. A little he hoped that she had found someone else and that that was the reason for her happiness. He hated the idea, but at the same time he wanted, in a cowardly way, for it to be true. Then he need never tell her.

  It was a relief on this last day, when he had nerved himself for the final break, that she had opened the door to him fully dressed. He had not said as much to her, but it had shocked him slightly that over the past weeks of their afternoon meetings she had met him undressed at the door like a whore, too blatantly waiting for him to make love to her. He grinned at her now, relieved. Perhaps today she was going to give him his marching orders and save herself the hurt.

  He went in and automatically she poured his drink. She had on a scarlet and orange skirt which swayed and flared as she walked. It was seductive. Now that he had made up his mind to leave her he felt a strange, urgent longing to make love to her again. He turned towards the window and looked out at the noisy street, sipping his drink. Her flat was on the first floor, level with the thickly flowering horse chestnuts which lined the street, and he could almost touch the blossoms through the open window.

  ‘I’ve something to tell you, Derek; I hope you’re going to be pleased.’ Her voice was hesitant, almost lost beneath the roar of the bus which accelerated into the stream of traffic outside.

  ‘What is it, Tina?’ He turned and smiled to make it easier for her to tell him.

  She hesitated for a brief moment, and then, ‘I’m going to have your baby.’

  The smile stuck on his face for a moment, wooden. Then slowly it faded as he felt the draught cold from the window behind him. Christ Almighty! How could he have been so stupid? But surely, surely, she had been on the pill? Taking a deep breath to steady himself he smiled again; he must reassure her.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Well, I’m nearly sure. I haven’t had a test or anything, but …’

  ‘Then you must. Once we know we’ll be able to decide what to do.’

  He was wondering how much it would cost; and then of course he would want to send her away for a really good holiday. But she was still talking, rushing on, not listening to him, her eyes panicking suddenly … divorce … marry her … keep the baby … divorce … divorce Janet …

  ‘No!’ His voice came out much louder than he had intended. Oh Christ, why had he let it go on so long? Why had she not understood? Why had he ever mentioned children to her at all? He cursed himself silently as he turned back to the window, to give himself some time, not able to look at her frantic face. No. No. There was no way he was going to allow her to blackmail him like that, to force his hand, to betray Janet any more. He set his teeth grimly. He was fond of the girl; he even loved her still, in a way, but Janet had to come first.

  Later she ran from the room crying, defiantly shouting that she wanted to keep the baby with or without him and she had slammed her bedroom door in his face. He reached for a cigarette, shaken, expecting to hear her sobs from behind the door. But the bedroom was silent. After a few moments he stubbed out the cigarette. Automatically he glanced at his watch. It was time to go back to the office.

  Should he say anything before he went? Better not. In a day or so he would ring her; he would see she lacked for nothing whatever she decided but he would never see the baby. Whatever happened he would never do that to Janet.

  With a shrug he gave a final glance round the room and slowly he walked out, carefully closing the front door behind him.

  THE WIFE

  Rows with Derek at breakfast always left me quivering with resentment and hurt. By and large they followed the same pattern each time, as though they had been scripted for us by a hack writer, and later I would try and shrug them off, pouring myself another coffee, my hand shaking a little. Glancing at my watch I could time him exactly. Two minutes to the door to collect his briefcase and coat, three minutes out to the garage. Another three to start the car and crunch slowly backwards up the drive – then silence.

  I nearly always had twenty minutes or so to spare from that moment before I left to catch the commuter train to my office. I could not bear the traffic and the crawl for hours through the suburbs as Derek could, I am too impatient, so I would never accept a lift with him.

  This time the quarrel had ended on a conciliatory note. He had apologised, trying humorously to rationalise. ‘I must be seeking the immortality of sons or something,’ he had laughed as he refolded the paper to fit into his briefcase. I groped in my bag for my cigarettes, frowning. That throw-away comment had reached me where so many other arguments had failed. He was after all so much older than I and it meant so much to him, having children. But then, I reminded myself crossly, I had never had any desire for a family, and had made that clear before we married. He taunted me with the description ‘high-powered business woman’ and I knew
from him it was no compliment, but that is what I was, and I revelled in it.

  ‘Morning Mrs H.’ Maggie’s cheerful voice echoed through the hatch from the kitchen. I stood up slowly and taking my cup and my cigarette went thoughtfully out to her.

  ‘It’s cold this morning! You wrap up warm, dear, and watch out for the ice on the way to the station!’ My cleaning lady was a cheerful, plump, motherly woman. I watched her take off her coat and hang it behind the door and suddenly I wanted to confide in her, ask her opinion. I took a sip from the cup. It would be foolish of course and all round the village in no time. ‘Have some coffee, Maggie. It’s still hot.’

  ‘Thanks, dear. You know, I will this morning. It’ll warm me nicely.’

  ‘Maggie.’ I was strangely embarrassed, not knowing how to put it. For so long I had been used to people – friends, above all relatives – saying, ‘And when are you going to start a family?’ to which I replied indignantly that it was none of their business. But we had been married, what, eight years now, and the questions had for the most part stopped. Except from Derek.

  ‘Maggie, do you think I’m wrong not to want children?’

  She gaped at me for a moment. Then she grinned comfortably. ‘Well, each to his own way, that’s what I say. We can’t all want babies I suppose; and it would be wrong for you to have one after all this time if you didn’t want it – not that you wouldn’t love one if it came. I was only saying to my Harry last week, what this house needs is some little ones. Mr H, he’d be a lovely father.’ She was pouring herself some coffee and she crossed to refill my cup at the same time. ‘You enjoy your job too much though, don’t you, dear?’

  She began to stack the breakfast things. ‘You’ll miss your train if you don’t hurry.’

  ‘I suppose I could have a baby and go on working. People do. They get nannies or au pairs or something.’

  She beamed going to the sink with the loaded tray. ‘I’d give you all the help I could too. Love kiddies, I do.’

  I set down the cup and reached for my coat. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone about this Maggie, will you? I am still thinking about it.’ I pulled a wry face as I buttoned my coat and she smiled confidentially.

  ‘Mum’s the word, Mrs H. Now you run for your train, or you’ll miss it. And mind the ice!’

  It was a busy day and went reasonably well. At six I closed my desk diary and put it away with a sigh. Then I stood up and stretched. Outside, the evening was black, but the towering office blocks were bright with thousands of lights. London throbbed at this time of day and I loved it. I grabbed my handbag and made my way out to the Ladies’ to patch up my make-up. It was one of the days Derek was going to be late home; he was under a lot of pressure at the office and two or three nights a week he had been out till after midnight. In a way it was a relief. It meant I had no need to switch from thoughts of international currency exchange to worries about whether Maggie had done all the shopping and remembered to turn on the oven. I could go on being myself for the evening and not pretend to be more domesticated than I was.

  The evening was mine. I slung my bag over my shoulder and ran down the steps to the entrance hall. Digby, the commissionaire, dapper as always, wished me a knowing goodnight as he opened the door and I was outside. I took a deep breath of the cold damp air. It has a strange quality all of its own, London air. Not sharp like country air; not sweet like that of the hills. It has a bitter, sour smell that combines traffic fumes and hurrying people and wet scummy pavements and the excitement of the lights, the noise and the constant vibrant hurry. I adore it.

  I thought of Derek stuck in that smoky boardroom in the City and I suddenly felt very benevolent towards him, poor darling. He always worked so hard.

  Then I thought again of my plan. It was late-night shopping and I had decided to do a little research into my own psyche! The thought had come to me gradually as the day had progressed and I had faced it with equilibrium. It was, after all, the sensible way to analyse my own state of mind.

  I pushed with the crowds into the store and allowed myself to be steered at random between counters stacked high and unattractively with Sale goods. Once or twice I stopped and allowed myself to be tempted but I was restless. I was suddenly eager to get on with what I had come for. I made my way to the escalators and let them carry me up out of the crowds. One, two, three, four floors. Why so high? It was much quieter up there. The crowds were thin. I stepped off the moving concourse and stood and looked around. Before me stretched lines of cots and prams, elegant, glittering and empty. I swallowed. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so soulless. Slowly I began to walk.

  For ten minutes I wandered around that department, out of the prams towards the soft toys, the tiny clothes, the powder and the rattles. There were no real babies there. I suppose it was too late for them to be out. I glanced at my watch. It was after seven. Once more round the display of baby buggies, each with a fluffy teddy bear as occupant, and I made thoughtfully for the Down sign.

  I could feel myself frowning as I descended slowly into the crowds again. The visit had not been in any way decisive. I had not been repelled by what I saw and I must confess that I had been scared that I might be, but I hadn’t been won over, either. I thought about all the babies I knew. The trouble was that I didn’t actually know any. I always inspected from a safe distance, usually a little distastefully, shrinking from the sour milky smell so many of them seemed to have.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Janet,’ Derek had said in one of our earlier rows, when he still had the energy to go into the practicality of things. ‘You needn’t even look after it if you don’t want to. Just give birth, that’s all I ask. We’ll get someone from the village to come in. I can afford it. Damn it, you can afford it, if you insist on going on working.’

  ‘If you want to know, the idea of being pregnant repels me,’ I had retorted, to hurt him. ‘You don’t have to go around looking like the back of a bus, suffering from varicose veins and God knows what else for three-quarters of a bloody year!’

  Poor Derek. It was to his credit that he had stuck so gently but so firmly to his guns for so long. Not that I had seen it like that. I had been on the point of leaving him over it, and yet …

  The problem was a straight choice. I loved my husband and my home. Even more I loved my job and my independence. I loathed the idea of having to go to anyone and ask them for money and if I gave up work I would in a sense be giving up my right to be an individual – even if it was only for a few months or so.

  That was the way I saw it.

  I put my key in the lock and pushed open the front door. The house was warm and welcoming. Nothing had changed of course. It was still home. With a grateful sigh I kicked off my boots and wandered into the living room to turn on the lamp. In the winter Maggie lights the fire before she leaves in the afternoon and she had done it today, not realising I would be late home. It had died to embers. I threw on a couple of logs and poured myself a drink.

  In theory three months off work should be no problem. But there was always Ronnie Maxton. Ronnie, who had come in as my assistant, waiting, watching, full of drive and an ambition which I had straightaway pinpointed as ruthless. I am good at my job, but when it comes to it, if I took maternity leave Ronnie would still be there ready with his own schemes.

  I lit a cigarette and began to pace up and down the hearthrug. Would there be a place for me when I went back? The logs were blazing up now, on their bed of ash, shooting sparks up the chimney, scenting the room with the lovely fragrance of burning apple. I threw the half-smoked cigarette into the red heart of the fire.

  I had a long leisurely bath and wandered into the bedroom. The rain had stopped earlier and when I drew back the curtains and glanced out I could see the black sky was pierced with a myriad shimmering stars and the garden was glittering with frost. I hoped the roads would not be too icy for Derek when he drove back from his meeting.

  I kept my contraceptive pills in the bathroom cabinet. Last thing ea
ch night I would take one meticulously before I cleaned my teeth. Tonight I took them out and looked at them, turning the unopened new pink-and-white packet in my hand. It was the right moment, as far as I understood it, to stop – If I was going to stop. I took a deep breath.

  I didn’t have the courage to throw them away. I took the packet into the bedroom and tucked it into the back of the top drawer of my dressing table. It didn’t seem somehow quite so irrevocable an act as putting them in the waste bin.

  I was asleep when Derek came home at last. I woke when he tiptoed into the bedroom and then out into the bathroom again and I lay there thinking sleepily, listening to the bath water flowing, watching the wisps of steam curling across the landing in the hall light and disappearing into the dark. Then at last I could lie still no longer. I got up and pulled on my dressing gown.

  He looked so tired. I stood and watched him as he cleaned his teeth. Then he stood, stooping forward over the basin, gazing for a long time at his reflection. He looked haggard and my heart went out to him.

  ‘You’re working too hard, Derek,’ I whispered, hardly realising that I was speaking out loud. ‘Poor darling. I wish you would take a few days off and let up for a bit. Shall I get you a hot drink?’

  He was still looking in the mirror. As if half asleep he raised his arm and rubbed the steamy reflection with the sleeve of his bathrobe. Our eyes met for a second in the glass. He turned.

  ‘Janet.’ He looked so anguished that for a moment I was afraid.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Do you have to go away this weekend?’

  I jumped. This weekend. The two-day conference I had been looking forward to so much. It had slipped my mind altogether. For a moment I was tempted to let Ronnie go and keep the weekend free for Derek, but I knew that just this once more I had to be there.

  ‘You know I must.’

  His shoulders slumped a little and suddenly I desperately wanted to tell him what I had done; about the pills in the dressing-table drawer, but I knew I must keep it a secret. Supposing he had been right when once, not so long ago, he had said I would soon be too old to conceive. Suppose I had been too long on the pill? Supposing tomorrow I panicked and changed my mind?