Encounters

by Barbara Erskine

  She didn’t turn round when at last she heard Mark’s key. He crept in, not wanting to wake her and stopped abruptly as he saw her sitting on the floor, her narrow shoulders hunched as she gazed at the television in the corner.

  ‘Hello,’ she said wearily. ‘How was the meeting?’

  ‘OK.’ His own voice too was colourless. ‘The dinner?’

  It seemed like a hundred years ago. ‘Boring. Your drink’s in the saucepan.’ She turned then and watched as he went across to the kitchen, his feet dragging as if he were intolerably tired.

  ‘Mark?’ She scrambled up and stood in the doorway behind him as he lit the gas, nerving herself. ‘There is something we must talk about. I can’t put it off any longer.’

  He looked round. He knew she was right; they had to talk. He could not pretend with her, or let things drag on. She deserved far more than that and seeing the pain and doubt in her face he knew that she must have guessed something at least of the conflict that had been going on inside him for the last three days. He swallowed hard and for a moment he glanced away, unable to meet her eyes. He couldn’t bear to hurt her and yet he knew it would be more cruel to deceive her. They had never lied to one another; never hidden anything.

  Bewildered by the emotions within him, not certain suddenly what he should do or what he was going to say he forced himself to look at her again. There was a long pause. Then impulsively he held out his hands.

  ‘You’re right, Annie; we must talk.’ He hesitated.

  She swallowed. Now that it had come to it she was afraid. He might think she was going to use the baby as a lever to make him marry her; he might try and force her to get rid of it. Suddenly she knew she wanted to keep it more than anything in the world.

  Why, when she loved and trusted him so much did she have this strange feeling of foreboding? Why, now that he was here, had she begun to feel so very cold?

  She took a deep breath, but before she had time to say anything he had rushed in ahead of her.

  ‘Annie, as you’ve guessed there is something you have got to know. There is something I must tell you. I wasn’t at a meeting this evening at all …’

  Unnoticed by either of them the milk stirred and began to rise in the pan on the stove.

  She looked at his face and suddenly she knew. The anguish, the uncertainty she saw there were not because he had guessed her secret; they were there because he had one of his own. Her mouth went dry and she began to shiver uncontrollably.

  The boiling milk hissed angrily over the sides of the saucepan and put out the flame. Automatically she released her hands from Mark’s and pushed past him to turn off the gas. She was still shivering as she stood with her back to him, looking at the puddle of milk on the enamel round the gas burner.

  ‘What do you want to tell me?’ Her voice was tight with fear.

  ‘Annie, we’ve lived together a long time. I’ve always thought – well, assumed – that we’d go on like that, but …’ He stopped, fumbling for words, his eyes on her tense narrow shoulders. He wished he could see her face.

  ‘Annie, we’ve never thought about marriage, either of us. We’ve always agreed that we’re free. It’s been a good relationship …’

  He broke off again.

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘It’s over, is that what you’re trying to tell me?’ To her horror Annabel could feel unheard-of tears welling up into her eyes. She gripped the edge of the cooker until her knuckles whitened.

  ‘There’s someone else, Annie. I never meant it to happen. I still don’t know how it did. But I feel so much for her. So suddenly. It’s as if she’s been waiting there all the time; I don’t understand it. I’ve been so happy with you. I care for you so much, but this – this is different. I can’t explain.’

  He pressed his hand to his forehead in despair.

  ‘How long have you known her?’ Still she didn’t face him.

  ‘We met at the office on Saturday.’

  ‘Saturday! That’s three days!’ At last she turned and her large grey eyes seemed enormous in the pinched whiteness of her face. ‘We’ve been together five years, Mark. Doesn’t that mean anything?’

  ‘We’re not married, Annie.’

  ‘Not married!’ She still looked stunned. ‘That doesn’t mean there is no commitment! It doesn’t mean we don’t belong to each other. I love you, Mark.’ Her voice had begun to tremble suddenly.

  He turned away, unable to face those enormous eyes.

  ‘Mark.’ She followed him into the sitting room. ‘Have you slept with her?’ Suddenly it was terribly important to know.

  ‘I want to marry her, Annie.’ Absently he bent and switched off the crackling blank screen of the television.

  Slowly she walked to the window and pushed back the curtain; the narrow strip of lawn was bathed in moonlight. She knew she had only to tell him, now, about the baby, but something stopped her.

  ‘I suppose you want me to move out?” She took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Have you fixed a date for the wedding?’

  ‘Annie, Annie.’ His voice was gentle. ‘I haven’t even asked her yet. I’m the one who must move out. This is your flat as much as mine. More perhaps.’ Unconsciously his eyes went to the half-repapered wall. They never had finished the room. He bit his lip unhappily.

  ‘I don’t think I want to talk about it tonight, Mark. I can’t face it.’ Annabel ran her finger along the lower edge of the window frame. It came away dirty, but she didn’t notice. ‘We’ll sort it out tomorrow somehow.’ She faced him slowly and tried rather feebly to smile. ‘It’s all come as rather a shock, I’m afraid. I never guessed. I’ll be able to think better, later.’

  She walked numbly past him, ignoring his hesitant outstretched hand, and went into the bedroom. He turned to follow her automatically and was brought up short as gently she pushed the door closed in his face.

  He didn’t go home the next evening. He went to Susie. He was late and tired. All day at the office he had found his thoughts straying back to her – never once to Annabel. Once or twice he had broken off in mid-sentence with a puzzled colleague, unable to remember anything but the ash-gold glints of Susie’s hair or the grey green of her eyes. Then at last he was at her door and she was standing there smiling and he could forget everything but the touch of her lips and the faint haunting scent of her perfume.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ His arms were round her at last, as slowly the door swung shut behind them. It was a long time before he pushed her away.

  She glanced up, half shy suddenly, and smiled. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Mark. I was afraid that perhaps you weren’t going to come back.’ Since the night before she had been going over in her mind the scene in the bedroom, unbelieving, hugging to herself the memory of what had happened and of the things he had whispered to her as they lay in each other’s arms on the bed. Still she could not bring herself to believe that this was really happening to her.

  ‘Susie,’ he whispered. ‘Would you mind if we didn’t go out? I’d rather have a snack here this evening.’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea, Mark.’ She had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him unless he bent to meet her. ‘What about a salad and some cheese? And as it happens, I’ve a bottle of wine.’ She was very happy.

  When at last he went home again the following evening. Annabel was sitting at the desk, a cup of cold coffee at her elbow, gazing in front of her with unseeing eyes. Mark frowned. Her hair was unbrushed and she was wearing an old pair of threadbare jeans.

  ‘Annie?’

  She turned to him, her face unmade-up and white. ‘I’ve been trying to sort out our finances, Mark. They seem to be a bit entangled,’ she began tonelessly.

  ‘Annie, I rang you at your office. They said you hadn’t gone in.’

  ‘I didn’t feel like it. I …’ she hesitated. ‘I was a bit sick this morning. I think I must have a touch of gastric flu.’ Her eyes gave a flash of defiance.

  ‘I came to collect my
things. Don’t worry about the money, Annie. I’ll go on paying my share of everything for the time being.’ She heard his words, but they were one dimensional; impersonal. She wanted suddenly to hit him.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody reasonable, Mark!’ She got up, pushing the chair so hard it crashed into the wall, marking the new wallpaper behind it.

  She wanted desperately to touch him, too. To feel the reassurance and comfort of his arms. But he, now, was the last person she could turn to. She wrapped her arms around herself defensively and went to stand by the window. ‘You’d better pack. Don’t worry, I won’t smash up the place after you’ve gone. Anything you can’t take now will be perfectly safe.’

  ‘Oh, Annie. You know I don’t think anything like that.’

  The phone rang. Automatically she put out her hand and lifted the receiver.

  Mark watched her answer and saw her face tighten with pain. ‘It’s for you,’ she said quietly. ‘A lady.’ She put the receiver down on the table and walked past him into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Who was the woman who answered your phone?’ Susie asked curiously when he arrived at her flat.

  Inexplicably he was angry with her.

  ‘It’s none of your business, Susie. How did you get my home number?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She was puzzled and then afraid. Suddenly she didn’t want to know who it had been.

  He sat down heavily on the edge of the kitchen table. ‘Please, Susie, can I have some coffee? I’ve brought all my cases up and I’m tired.’

  She wanted so much to do as he asked, to trust him, to forget the sadness of the voice she had heard on the phone. She bit her lip. ‘Please, Mark. I have to know who it was, don’t you see?’

  He sighed. ‘She’s my sister. Who gave you the number anyway?’ Strange, how he found it easier to lie to her than to Annabel.

  ‘Your office gave it to me this afternoon. I wanted so much to hear your voice so I rang; I knew you wouldn’t mind. Or at least, I thought you wouldn’t … But you haven’t got a sister, Mark. You told me, remember?’ Her words tailed away. She could feel herself beginning to panic and desperately she tried to steady herself.

  ‘All right, Susie. I suppose it’s better for you to know the truth.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I have been living with someone; sharing a flat if you like. It was she who answered the phone.’

  ‘Have you known her a long time?’ She forced herself to speak steadily as she turned away from him and picked up the kettle, filling it automatically, her fingers fumbling with the plug and switches.

  ‘We were together about five years, I suppose.’ He spoke quietly, his eyes on the floor. ‘She and I, well, we were different. We were very good friends and,’ he hesitated, conscious suddenly of his enormous disloyalty in dismissing Annabel so casually, ‘and, yes, we loved each other, of course we did, but we never thought about marriage. I’ve never thought of marrying anyone before. Not until I met you, Susie.’

  She wanted to cry.

  ‘I’m sure she must have thought of marriage, Mark.’ Her hand was on the handle of the kettle, feeling it grow warm beneath her fingers. ‘If you’ve been together so long she probably half thought of herself as married to you already.’

  Slipping off the table he began to fiddle uncomfortably with a spoon on the dresser. ‘All right, if it makes you feel better to know, Susie, I think she did.’ He was silent for a minute. ‘But what can I do? I want you. I love you. I want you to have my children and I’ve never felt that way about Annabel. I’d never even thought about it before.’

  Susie pushed past him out of the narrow kitchen and went to stand in the middle of the sitting-room floor, looking down at his cases. ‘Oh, Mark, why did this have to happen? It’s all spoiled somehow. I never wanted anyone to get hurt by our love. It’s too perfect for that.’

  ‘Sweetheart.’ He was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. ‘Forget about her, she’s my problem. I will be as kind to her as I can. She must have realized though, deep down inside her, that our relationship was going nowhere. If she’s honest with herself she’ll see that. She might be glad of the chance to meet someone else now, who will marry her and make her happy.’

  Susannah glanced round at him hopefully. ‘Do you really believe that?’

  He smiled a little desperately and nodded.

  ‘Will you see her again?’

  ‘I must, Susie. I’ve still got a lot of stuff to collect and I can’t –’ he hesitated, ‘well, I can’t just walk out on her. Not after five years.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She shrugged off his hands with an impatient little gesture and went to turn on the electric fire. ‘Funny,’ she said in a strange high voice. ‘It’s cold suddenly; I thought it was supposed to be summer.’

  Annabel had tried to eat a boiled egg but the runny yellow yolk congealed on the spoon and made her feel sick again. She felt hungry; empty inside and a little light-headed. Glancing round there were already signs that he was going from her life. Pictures; the hammer which for some reason lived on the bookcase, the clothes scattered untidily over every room in the flat – all had gone. A lot of the furniture would too, she imagined, eventually. Her mind skidded sideways at the thought and she found herself clutching the table as though it were about to get up and walk of its own accord out of the door.

  She stood up and immediately flipped open a cigarette box on the desk. It was empty. It was months since she had smoked, but tonight … She began to bite her thumbnail. If she had the right change she would go to the machine on the corner. But there were practically no coins in her purse.

  ‘Oh, Mark!’ She found herself sobbing his name suddenly into the silence. She took a deep breath trying to steady herself.

  The clock struck ten. She forced herself to go and turn on the bath and stood watching the water, eddying beneath the steam. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and glanced in the mirror. She was as slim as she had ever been. She supposed it would be a long time before it started to show.

  For the first time in months she slipped on her nightdress afterwards. Then she lay in bed trying to read, but the print danced and blurred before her eyes.

  ‘Annie.’ When she heard his quiet voice she froze, her fingers clutching the book till it warped in her grasp.

  ‘What have you come back for?’ She refused to let the tiny whisper of hope surface.

  ‘I thought I would get some more things.’ He came in. He was frowning, his face was strained and sad. He stood for a moment looking at her and then he sat down at the edge of the bed, groping for her hand.

  ‘Annie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘Can we still be friends?’

  She raised her eyes to his and tried, not very successfully, to smile. ‘I expect so. Later. Not yet.’

  He nodded dumbly, not releasing her hand. ‘We’ve had some good times.’ There was a long silence. ‘I haven’t seen that nightie before. It’s pretty.’ He grinned a little.

  ‘I didn’t often wear them, did I?’ She tried to smile again. But it was no good. Then suddenly his arms were round her and his lips were on her hair as she flung herself sobbing bitterly against his shoulder.

  Susannah was pacing up and down her room, her mouth dry with fear, at every turn going to the window and peering out behind the curtain. It had begun to rain. There was an ominous roll of thunder and the street lamp in the forecourt below blurred and crystallized through the streaked glass. She walked across the room, pausing at the kitchen door, staring unseeing at the kettle for a moment, then she turned and retraced her steps, skirting the suitcase with a sudden pang of misery. She shouldn’t have made him go back tonight. She shouldn’t have let him go back. She wasn’t sure if she had ever had Mark’s love at all, not his real love and now she might never know. It had seemed so sincere, so real and yet how could he have done this, lying to her and to this other woman, this Annabel? But no, she comforted herself. Some instinct told her that
his love had been genuine. His eyes could not have lied.

  She glanced at her wristwatch. It was twenty to twelve. She couldn’t expect him yet anyway. He had to drive there, talk to her, load the car, drive back … She went to the window again and lifted the curtain as a flash of summer lightning lit the sky.

  ‘I must go, Annie.’ Gently he pushed her back on the pillow. ‘Please, darling, don’t make it more difficult.’

  She sat up and reached for her thin dressing-gown as a distant rumble of thunder broke the silence.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘I’m being silly and hysterical. Not at all me.’ Her voice sounded cold, quite unlike herself. ‘Shall I help you pack or something?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ He went to the window and pushed back the curtain. ‘It’s raining so I won’t take much. If you don’t mind, perhaps I could come back tomorrow after work.’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Annie …’

  ‘Please Mark, stop it. It would be so much easier if you were just plain nasty to me.’ She was pleating the skirt of her dressing-gown with shaking fingers.

  ‘But I …’

  ‘Get out, Mark. Please.’ She had her back to him. ‘I can’t bear this hypocrisy another minute. Take your cases and go back to her.’ She paused. ‘You really only came tonight to appease your conscience, didn’t you?’ She faced him at last. ‘There’s nothing in those cases you could have needed that badly.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to think of you on your own. I had to make sure you were all right.’

  ‘Well now you’ve seen. I’m fine.’ Her voice was trembling a little.

  ‘Annie. We never … Well, we never discussed marriage or anything, did we? It’s not as though …’