Trouble

by Fay Weldon

  ‘Did you like Dr Rhea?’

  ‘She was okay,’ said Susan. ‘But she kept asking questions and pretending she wasn’t.’

  ‘She smiles all the time,’ said Jason, ‘but she isn’t really. Who is she, anyway?’

  ‘A friend of Daddy’s,’ said Annette.

  ‘What does he want friends for?’ asked Susan. ‘He’s got you. What sort of doctor is she, anyway?’

  ‘A head doctor,’ said Annette.

  ‘Why? Is one of us mad?’ asked Susan. ‘It’s probably Dad, taking us to a show like that.’

  ‘She made us drink caffeine-free coke,’ said Jason. ‘She can go and take a leap at herself.’

  ‘Annette?’

  ‘Hello, Spicer.’

  ‘You always take so long getting to the phone,’ said Spicer. ‘I nearly gave up. I’m speaking from a call box. Look, all the fish and chip places in London seem to be closed. And I promised the children.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Annette. ‘They’ll survive. They can have an omelette. They’re very tired anyway. They loved the show, Spicer. And they really liked Dr Marks.’

  ‘Good,’ said Spicer. ‘I just can’t understand your antagonism to her. Or all this stuff about her unfortunate husband. It makes things really difficult for me.’

  ‘I feel more settled in my head now, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘The rush of hormones when you’re pregnant can do all kinds of things. It says in my Before the Birth book that in the sixth month women sometimes get very sexy; they even find themselves reading pornography.’

  ‘Good God, do they really?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annette. ‘So I expect it was just that kind of energy gone sour: I kind of imagined things that just weren’t happening. I’m ever so sorry, Spicer,’ said Annette.

  ‘I might ask you to put that in writing when I come home,’ said Spicer.

  ‘Which bit, Spicer?’ asked Annette. ‘About it not happening or about being sorry?’

  ‘Either or both, darling,’ said Spicer. ‘Or none at all so long as it’s all clear in our heads. Actually, Rhea can be a bit of a pain: all this stuff about transitional crisis. Anyway, I’m on my way home, fish and chipless. Shall I buy some champagne?’

  ‘I thought you were off alcohol?’

  ‘Well, you can go too far, can’t you? And champagne’s different,’ said Spicer. ‘It doesn’t count.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Annette. ‘Did Rhea think the kids were okay?’

  ‘Tell you when I get back,’ said Spicer. ‘Shall I bring you an interesting video?’

  ‘What sort of video?’

  ‘A sixth month of pregnancy video.’

  ‘Oh, Spicer! How exciting. You are in a good mood. Come home quickly. You’ll find me sweet as pie.’

  ‘Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘The price tag’s still on the bottle. £120. It’s insane.’

  The children had gone to bed. The fire was lit.

  ‘Don’t wet-blanket, Annette,’ said Spicer. ‘So’s our telephone bill insane. You talk too much to Gilda.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Annette.

  ‘What do you find to talk to her about?’

  ‘Just babies,’ said Annette. ‘Childbirth. Washing machines. Domestic detail.’

  ‘And, Annette—’

  ‘What, Spicer?’

  ‘You’re married to a wine merchant.’

  ‘I know that, darling,’ said Annette. ‘And a very successful one.’

  ‘To a wine merchant,’ said Spicer, ‘all bottles are cheap at the price. £120 is not insane.’

  ‘Sorry, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘I’m the one who’s insane.’

  ‘Funny one,’ said Spicer forgivingly.

  ‘It’s lovely having you here beside me in such a good mood,’ said Annette.

  ‘I have been worried,’ said Spicer. ‘To be frank. Anxious, even.’

  ‘About money, you mean?’

  ‘No, about you and what peculiar things were going on in your head, and whether it was okay to leave you with the kids,’ said Spicer. ‘That’s why I wanted Rhea to see them.’

  ‘I see,’ said Annette.

  ‘I’ve been doing my best,’ said Spicer. ‘Family outings and so forth. But you’ve been really distracted.’

  ‘In what way has it shown itself, darling?’ asked Annette.

  ‘How long since you cooked a proper meal?’ asked Spicer.

  ‘You don’t eat dinner any more.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean the kids have to be doomed to frozen TV chicken platters,’ said Spicer. ‘But, according to Rhea, the kids are just fine.’

  ‘I’m so glad she thought so,’ said Annette. ‘I really trust her judgement. A warning shot over the bows does no one any harm.’

  ‘Rhea’s very well qualified,’ said Spicer. ‘A wise woman, in both the Jungian and the worldly sense. Highly respected in her profession. Her word goes in a court of law. Not many laughs, though, on an afternoon out. I really missed you, Annette. And the play was dire. Embarrassing.’

  ‘I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it,’ said Annette.

  ‘Life can’t be all wine and roses,’ said Spicer.

  ‘There’s the soul as well,’ agreed Annette.

  ‘There’s a time and place for the soul,’ said Spicer. ‘Shall I put on the video?’

  ‘Anything you say, darling. Anything that makes you happy.’

  ‘That makes us happy,’ said Spicer.

  ‘That makes us happy,’ repeated Annette.

  ‘Ernie Gromback called this morning,’ said Spicer. ‘He couldn’t raise you at home. He seemed to think you were doing the Oprah Winfrey Show. I told him you weren’t, you didn’t want to be gawped at by the whole world.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing the Oprah Winfrey Show,’ said Annette. ‘They’re bound to worm things out into the open one would rather keep to oneself. Family’s more important than fame. Fame’s vulgar.’

  ‘Annette, you haven’t even finished one glass. I’ve had three.’

  ‘I’m not saying it’s acid; champagne can’t be acid at £120,’ said Annette. ‘It’s just that being pregnant makes it give me indigestion.’

  ‘The whole point about champagne is you have to drink the whole bottle,’ said Spicer.

  ‘Yes. Otherwise it goes flat,’ agreed Annette, staring at the screen.

  ‘If I drink the whole bottle on my own I’ll go flat,’ said Spicer. ‘You don’t want that, so help me out.’

  ‘Of course, Spicer,’ said Annette, and took another glass of champagne.

  ‘Why are you shutting your eyes?’ asked Spicer. ‘This is a good bit.’

  ‘I expect it is,’ said Annette, ‘but I don’t think I want to look at it.’

  ‘Prude!’ said Spicer. ‘Perhaps Dr Herman Marks was right about you. Perhaps you need treatment more urgently than any of us realise?’

  ‘I’ve opened my eyes,’ said Annette. ‘I’m just fine.’

  ‘I’ll put it on pause so you can tell what’s going on,’ said Spicer.

  ‘Thank you, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. Doesn’t it hurt? Two men at the same time like that?’

  ‘That’s a silly question.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you wanted my comments.’

  ‘God, Annette, you are hopeless. In answer to your question, not if she relaxes, not if she enjoys it, no, it doesn’t hurt.’

  ‘But I suppose if it does hurt just a little bit,’ said Annette, ‘she enjoys it a bit more.’

  ‘Yes. Exactly. Everyone does,’ said Spicer.

  ‘Well, I’m really glad for the human race,’ said Annette, ‘that it’s evolved the way it has.’

  ‘Next you’ll be saying the one behind her reminds you of Dr Herman Marks,’ observed Spicer.

  ‘He’s not in the least like Dr Herman Marks,’ said Annette.

  ‘I was only joking,’ said Spicer. ‘Why do you have to take everything so seriously? You’re sure the kids are asleep? We wouldn’t wan
t them to come in and find us watching this.’

  ‘No, we certainly wouldn’t.’

  ‘You in your sixth month and liking porno all of a sudden.’

  ‘I didn’t say that exactly, Spicer,’ said Annette.

  ‘I certainly heard you say it,’ said Spicer.

  ‘Well, if you heard it, I said it,’ said Annette. ‘I have no excuses to offer. It’s perfectly clear that anything I say about Herman Marks was just me making trouble.’

  ‘But why should you have wanted to make trouble?’ asked Spicer.

  ‘I was jealous about you seeing so much of Dr Rhea Marks,’ said Annette.

  ‘At last you admit it!’ said Spicer.

  ‘I want to make it up to you now, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘To show how sorry I am. Jealousy is a truly pathetic emotion.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of Pause,’ said Spicer. ‘Let’s put it on Play.’

  ‘It’s quite on-turning,’ said Annette. ‘You can’t help it in the end.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Spicer. ‘You’re becoming human at last. See how the woman’s enjoying it? Even more than the men? She’s not faking. You can tell. Now, you relax. At least there’s only one of me. That should suit you.’

  ‘Couldn’t we go upstairs? Do we have to do it on the sofa?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Annette!’

  ‘Sorry, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘We’ll stay here.’

  ‘You are so inhibited,’ said Spicer. ‘But perhaps that’s why I love you. I as Zeus the seducer-lover-divine, you as Danaë.’

  ‘Just call me sweet-as-pie,’ said Annette, ‘and I’ll answer to it.’

  ‘Those bracelets are practically sinking into your arm. You can’t have got fatter since yesterday.’

  ‘Water retention,’ said Annette.

  ‘Don’t be so unglamorous,’ said Spicer. ‘Don’t they hurt?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annette.

  ‘I quite like the thought of that,’ said Spicer. ‘Turn over.’

  ‘Dr Rhea told me you were leaving me,’ said Annette.

  ‘I’m beginning to think Dr Rhea’s nuts,’ said Spicer.

  ‘But did you tell her that?’

  ‘I tell her all kinds of things she wants to hear,’ said Spicer. ‘From dreams I invent to scenarios of the future.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I’m easily bored,’ said Spicer. ‘And she drones on and I like to get her to change the subject, or at least the archetype.’

  ‘But why do you go to her?’

  ‘Because I’m in a transitional crisis, because I need to liberate my Perseus from my Polydectes, and slay Medusa, the poisonous feminine, or look at it another way, cast off Medusa and escape Lilith; or simply be the tree, the trunk, the pillar, the stake, the anti-natural which penetrates the cleft hill. Does that hurt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s meant to,’ said Spicer. ‘Just a bit. Isn’t this good?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Annette. ‘Just call me Tweetie-pie. Each to their own myth. Personally, I choose Disney.’

  ‘Annette?’

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Did you speak to Spicer about your father’s money?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Annette. ‘Spicer has had business worries. They’re over now. I’m sure the repayments will start flowing any minute. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Don’t you know anything about Spicer’s business affairs?’

  ‘Not much, actually. Look, Mum, I’ve got a headache: please, can’t this wait?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Annette,’ said Judy. ‘I was awake all night worrying. Spicer’s such a charmer, but do we really know him?’

  ‘Probably not, Mum,’ said Annette. ‘Men are always full of surprises. Wives can be married to bigamists and not know it till both families meet up at the funeral. Rapists and serial killers likewise.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting Spicer is a bigamist, a rapist or a serial killer, Annette,’ said Judy. ‘Don’t misrepresent me. I’m very fond of Spicer. I have to be. He’s going to be the father of one of my grandchildren. I want everything to go well for you both. You can always come and stay with me, Annette. You know that. This is always your home.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Annette. ‘But things are looking okay. Just fine.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that, Annette, because something’s just occurred to me. You remember yours and Spicer’s wedding?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Annette.

  ‘It wasn’t a legal ceremony, was it? You were going to have that later. Did you?’

  ‘It was a wonderful wedding party. A marquee in the garden: all those roses, and songs.’

  ‘It was all very charming, Annette, but it wasn’t legal. Your divorce hadn’t come through.’

  ‘A scrap of paper,’ said Annette.

  ‘Your voice has gone very quiet.’

  ‘You’re right, Mum. I don’t think Spicer ever did put the house in joint ownership and we didn’t actually get to the Registry Office. They’re such dismal places. Births, deaths, marriages all lumped together and you have to book up so far ahead and either Spicer or me were always busy, and it just kind of drifted off into “one day we’ll get round to it.” But it’s okay, Mum. It doesn’t make any difference. I’m a common-law wife.’

  ‘There’s no such thing, Annette. A woman has some legal rights once there’s a baby of the unwed union, but none at all if there isn’t. She has just the same status as a friend who’s happened to live in all those years, and enjoyed the perks while she was at it.’

  ‘But I am having a baby, Mum, so there’s no worry.’

  ‘I don’t mean to upset you, puss,’ said Judy, ‘but you do need reminding of practicalities sometimes. Your father’s been looking it all up.’

  ‘Dad hates Spicer, Mum,’ said Annette. ‘Of course he’s been looking it up.’

  ‘He doesn’t hate Spicer,’ said Judy. ‘Not at all. He finds him as charming as I do. We’re just both the worrying kind. You are our only daughter. Now don’t get upset and start lashing out at us because we’re in the way. I’m going to put the phone down now, puss, so you can get a hold of yourself.

  ‘I’m perfectly in control of myself, Mum,’ said Annette.

  ‘Goodbye, Annette,’ said Judy. ‘Love to Spicer. And I mean that. And look after yourself.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mum.’

  ‘Annette, are you okay?’ asked Gilda. ‘There was another child abuse case on the news last night. I sometimes wonder what my own father was like. He died when I was three. If you don’t remember it, is it there in your psyche, traumatising you for ever?’ Or do you have to remember it for it to damage you? The things they never tell you; it’s worse than AIDS. Annette, are you there?’

  ‘I’m here, Gilda.’

  ‘Annette, I spent most of the morning on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor,’ said Gilda. ‘Scrubbing! Does that mean I’m going to have this baby soon?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Annette. ‘It’s the nest-building instinct. You make things clean.’

  ‘I hate being taken over like this,’ said Gilda. ‘I’m terrified. Supposing I split?’

  ‘You do split,’ said Annette. ‘They sew you up afterwards. Or else they cut you open neatly before you begin.’

  ‘They don’t say that at the Clinic, or did I miss it? It’s all about holding your birth-partner’s hand.’

  ‘That’s why I don’t go much to the Clinic. I don’t want to hold my birth-partner’s hand, I want gas-and-air and an epidural and a nurse I’ve never met who’s never heard of an archetype.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Gilda.

  ‘Do you remember when Spicer and I got married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t,’ Annette said.

  ‘It was a wonderful wedding,’ said Gilda. ‘A marquee and champagne and a band, but none of us got asked to the ceremony itself, I do remember that. We felt demoted to second-class frie
nds. I went right off you and that was the real reason I had that stupid thing with Spicer. I keep trying to think of reasons. I feel so bad about it, Annette. I’m superstitious. If I have a clear conscience, I’ll have an easy birth. So I keep confessing to everyone. It’s insane. I know it’s insane but I can’t help it.’

  ‘There was a hold-up to my decree and we’d done all the organising, so we went ahead with the reception. And then we just never got round to getting married. It didn’t seem to matter.’

  ‘Get married now,’ said Gilda. ‘Suggest it to Spicer. How can you get divorced if you’re not married?’

  ‘Now seems a little edgy, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘Though I’m being as sweet as pie, I really am. And it’s working. He’s running down Dr Rhea himself: I don’t have to do it.’

  ‘Oh God, Annette, is it worth it?’ asked Gilda. ‘I’m getting contractions. They don’t hurt; my belly just goes hard as a board. I rather like it. Do you think men feel like this when they have an erection? Purposeful and out of control at the same time?’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Annette. ‘I wonder if Spicer realises about the house and us not being married?’

  ‘Of course he does, darling,’ said Gilda. ‘He’s a very successful businessman.’

  ‘Not all that successful,’ said Annette. ‘If it wasn’t for British Rail we’d be bankrupt; poor Spicer was just about to put everything in my name.’

  ‘Who told you that? Spicer? Steve says he has so much salted away it’s unbelievable,’ Gilda said. ‘Annette, I can’t talk any longer, I’m going to lie in the bath.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Annette, ‘because if the waters break you might not notice.’

  ‘Annette?’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me. It’s Ernie. Where are you? Why did you take so long answering?’

  ‘I went back to bed,’ said Annette. ‘I was tired.’

  ‘But you’re okay? I worry about you.’

  ‘Thank you, Ernie. I just didn’t get much sleep last night, one way and another. And I had to grope for the phone. Somewhere on the floor in the bedclothes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It sounds a wild scene,’ said Ernie Gromback.

  ‘It was rather.’

  ‘Should you be doing this kind of thing?’ asked Ernie Gromback. ‘You being so pregnant?’

  ‘I’m told it’s natural,’ said Annette. ‘And if it’s natural it must be good, or else the patriarchal spirit will triumph, and Eve will be wrenched once more out of Adam’s rib.’