She cried and walked, walked and cried, not thinking about where she was going, concentrating only on getting away from her son. The further she went, the more she found she just wanted to keep moving, keep her legs going, keep the pavement thumping past under her feet. The motion of her body and the concentration required to get through city crowds without a collision distracted her, for the moment, from the worst of her misery. She couldn’t stop herself thinking or feeling, but she could do this, at least, to help numb the pain.
It was not that she wanted a baby. It was not that she felt in any way jealous. But the injustice of it wounded her like a punch in the belly. While the divorce had made her older, weaker, more tired and more vulnerable, Larry seemed with every passing year somehow to get stronger, younger and more alive.
A bad marriage is like a war. A divorce is the decisive battle of that war. Their war at the time appeared to end inconclusively, with victories and defeats on both sides. Now the real result, the judgement of history, was clear. This baby was the final, incontrovertible event that she would never be able to ignore, deny or forget. There was no longer any escaping the fact that he had won, she had lost. He had moved on to a happier, luckier, more fruitful life, while she simply plodded on, year by year, following her slow downward trajectory to the grave.
It was so unfair that men could do this: rewind thirty years and start again with a young wife. They had a second chance. A woman was stuck. For a woman, a second marriage wasn’t a second chance at a first marriage; it was the tail end of a first marriage, but with a new cast.
Her tears, she realised, were tears of rage. Why did Larry always skip away from his mistakes unscathed, while every error Helen made clung to her for ever? Why did men always get to choose from a wider, more appetising menu than women? How was it possible that there was always a way for them to cheat, when for women the rules never seemed to be negotiable?
Helen found herself at Moorgate station, and without consciously deciding on a plan, she walked in and headed down into the familiar dank air of the Underground, towards the Metropolitan line that would take her back home to Pinner. She was defeated. As ever, her ex-husband and her son had devoured her, shredded her, wrung her out. This was what men did. They used you up, then moved on to someone else.
Why had she not had a daughter? Why was she not allowed a wife? Why did no one accept her love, and give some of it back? No wonder women shrivelled and shrank as they got older. They wasted their love on emotional cannibals. They allowed themselves to be eaten alive.
Only as the train pulled up to her platform did she hesitate. The doors opened, then shut. A surge of people jostled impatiently around her as the train drew away, then the platform fell quiet again. Helen looked down at the tracks. A mouse skittered along the rails, traversing with happily oblivious impunity on to the electric rail and off again, in a manner that, for a moment, reminded her of Larry.
‘Hello, Larry,’ she thought to herself, watching it scurry away towards the tunnel. Then she turned and looked at the Tube map on the wall behind her.
You are as weak as you allow yourself to be. If she was the victim of the family, it was because she didn’t fight her corner. It should not have to come down to fighting, but if those were the rules, those were the rules. If you were outnumbered by men, you’d always end up playing a rougher game than you wanted, and it was time she accepted that and fought back.
This was her last chance, and she was not going to give up. She would head back to Hoxton.
Gillian and Daniel
sickening overtones of farce
Daniel turned the key quietly in the door and walked into his flat. He knew he’d always remember this moment. As he crossed the threshold, he felt himself passing from one phase of his life into another. Right now, at this instant, he was at long last truly becoming an adult. He was finally committing himself, for ever, to this woman, and to the family they would create together.
His body was palpitating with joy, and the sight of his home seemed to wipe out the weeks he had been away. Already, just standing there on the doormat, he could smell Erin’s presence, a faint whiff of her perfume that pummelled his heart. He had never really known, until this evening, how much he loved her. He understood, finally, how blessed he was to have found her, and to be loved by her, and to have the chance to turn their love into a new person who would blend them together into one body, knit them into the ultimate in human proximity.
The lights were on in the living room, and a Nick Drake album was quietly playing. He had given her this CD a couple of years earlier for her birthday. She must have been listening to it as a reminder of him. ‘I’m back!’ he called.
There was no reply. He walked to the source of the music, but the room was empty. He looked in the kitchen. Erin wasn’t there, either.
Daniel walked back into the hallway and called up the stairs. ‘Hello? Erin?’
As Daniel placed his foot on the bottom step, Erin appeared on the upstairs landing, looking confused, hastily dressed and a little cross. She was wearing a short dress that he had never seen before and no socks or shoes.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said.
‘I live here.’
‘I mean, why didn’t you phone?’
‘I thought we agreed not to speak. And the time’s up, and I just . . . I had a revelation and I rushed over here to share it with you.’
‘You should have phoned.’
Daniel could feel his legs almost giving way under him. His mouth began to fill with thin saliva.
‘Are you . . .?’
‘It’s not good timing, Daniel.’
‘Are you alone?’ he said. He could barely get the words out.
She didn’t respond, or move. She didn’t even shake her head. Just the way she looked at him gave the answer.
For a moment, Daniel felt as if he was going to throw up. He could feel his stomach tensing into a dry retch. His head swirled as if he had been punched. Without knowing why, he found himself striding up the stairs.
‘Daniel,’ said Erin, ‘don’t do this. Really. There’s no need.’
He walked past without catching her eye and shoved his way into the bedroom. There, as if out of some plan to maximise Daniel’s humiliation, to load his cuckold’s role with sickening overtones of farce, was a tall blond man who was at that moment in the process of putting on his trousers. Daniel didn’t recognise him, except as an archetype of everything he wasn’t. The man stood there, his trousers round his knees, and stared at Daniel with an air of dazed panic.
Daniel was not a puncher, but this was the closest he had ever come, less because he wanted to harm this man than because he found himself inside a cliché in which he knew instinctively what was supposed to happen next. It took a conscious effort of will to depart from the script, but even as his fingers curled into a fist, he realised that he didn’t want to hit him. He didn’t like fighting, he had never fought in his life, and this was no time to take up a new hobby. The man gave him what looked like an apologetic shrug.
Daniel turned, slammed the door and rushed downstairs into the living room, expecting this to be where he would find Erin. She wasn’t there, but it felt beneath his dignity to chase after her, so he paced up and down, waiting for her to come and find him. For a moment he felt annoyed that she didn’t come fast enough, then it occurred to him that, in the circumstances, it was crazy for this to be, even fleetingly, the focus of his anger. Then he began to wonder whether he was insane for thinking about what he ought to be thinking about instead of just being simply, straightforwardly angry. Was he incapable of feeling anything? Was thinking all he could ever do? Even now. Any normal person would be engulfed by a wave of overwhelming emotion, but here he was, standing there, not just thinking, but thinking about thinking. In fact, was he now thinking about thinking about thinking?
Erin appeared in the doorway of the room. She took one step inside and leaned her back against the wall. Daniel stared at her, una
ble, perhaps for the first time in their entire relationship, to think of anything to say.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘You’re sorry? And is that supposed to make any difference?’
‘You should have phoned. You should have rung the bell.’
‘What, so you’d have time to hide him in the cupboard?’
‘No, I just . . . it just feels so clumsy.’
‘Clumsy? Is that what you’re worried about? You’ve been fucking another guy! I can think of worse words for it than clumsy".
’That’s not what I meant. I just . . . don’t want to make it any harder for you than it must be anyway.’
‘So you were going to tell me, then?’
‘Of course!’
‘But not yet.’
‘As soon as I spoke to you!’
‘But it was up to me to guess and call to find out.’
‘It was up to you to call, yes. It was up to you to come back. That was the deal. That you’d go for a month, and think about it, then come back if you were ready and not if you weren’t. You didn’t come back. And you didn’t even call. What was I supposed to think?’
‘So you wait a few days and hop into bed with the next guy that walks past? Is that it?’
‘I didn’t think you were coming back! And if you’re not even decent enough to give me a call and let me know what’s happening, what do you expect? You think I’m just going to sit here waiting for you for ever, with a candle in the window, in the vague hope that one day you might show up.’
Daniel heard the faint sound of the front door clicking open and shut. ‘There’s for ever and there’s four weeks,’ he said.
‘You’ve been gone more than five weeks! Without a word!’ snapped Erin, stepping out of her corner by the door, approaching Daniel with her hands slicing angrily through the air. ‘It never occurred to me that you’d really walk out of the door and be so literal-minded that you don’t even send me as much as a text message for a whole month. It felt like you must have been just waiting for this opportunity to walk away and forget all about me. And then when the month finished and you still didn’t get in touch, I . . . I just couldn’t believe it. It was as if you hadn’t even been thinking about me and our relationship at all. I was so hoping that you’d come rushing back, and that when you’d had a chance to think about it on your own, you’d realise what we had, and what kind of a future we could make together. There was a while when I felt genuinely optimistic, and I jumped up every time the phone or the doorbell rang. Then, when there was just endless silence, for the whole month and beyond, I realised you’d just given up on the whole thing and walked away. I realised you were such a coward, you couldn’t even face telling me. It made me hate you. It really did. So this evening I got sick of sitting around here brooding, and I went out with Abi and Jess, and they were trying really hard to cheer me up, and buying me all these drinks, and we were all talking about what a bastard you are, and I was trying to play along with it and act like it was helping, but I was actually just feeling miserable, and that just made me drink more, then they made me go clubbing, and things got a bit wild and kind of weird and I ended up back here with a guy.’
‘Why? Why would you do that?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why? What went weird? What does that even mean?’
Erin began to sob, gently at first, then with her whole body, which crumpled down on to the floor. She sat on the carpet, her back leaning against the sofa, tears wrenching her body, while Daniel stood over her, watching from above, feeling strangely numb towards her misery. Some habit or instinct told him to sit beside her, to cradle her in his arms, but he fought it. This was what women did. They were simply better at being upset than men, more fluent in the language, so in a crisis they always won out in the audition for the tragic lead. But on this occasion, he couldn’t let that happen. He was the wronged party here. If anyone deserved any sympathy, it was him.
‘Why are you crying?’ he said. ‘It’s not you that should be crying. This isn’t about you. I’m the one who should be crying. Why the fuck should I be standing here watching you crying?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘Why did you do it? Why did you want to do it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must know.’
‘I don’t. I didn’t want to do it,’ she said, her voice muffled behind her hands, which she was pressing into her face.
‘He forced you?’
‘No.’
‘So you did want to.’
‘No! I can’t explain.’
‘Well, you’ll have to.’
Daniel knelt in front of Erin, trying to look into her eyes. She dropped her hands to her lap, but her gaze fixed unwaveringly on a patch of carpet beside her feet. ‘I was angry and drunk, and I wanted to hurt you, and it made sense for a moment, in a bar, but the minute I got into bed with him, the whole thing just felt disgusting.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t make me explain.’
‘What – you think I should be sparing you embarrassment? Is that what I should be worrying about?’
‘No! No! Please, there’s nothing to say. I’m just sorry.’ Erin stood and walked to the window. Daniel levered himself up from the floor and sat on the arm of the sofa, staring blankly at Erin’s back.
‘I came here to tell you I’d decided,’ he said, after a long silence. ‘I’d just realised that everything was clear and I knew all I wanted from life was you, and for you and me to be a family and make children together, and that would be the purpose of our lives and the best thing we’d ever do, but . . . but . . . I was wrong. You’re not who I thought you were.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t help.’
‘I know.’
‘Have there been others?’
‘No! Of course not!’ She spun on her heel and looked him straight in the eye for the first time since he had entered the flat.
He held her gaze, and spoke in a slow, flat voice. ‘There’s no way back from this.’
He stood, took one step towards her, then realised that in these circumstances you don’t kiss, or even touch, as you part. Turning towards the door, he said, ‘I’ll come back and get my things another time. And I’ll ring the fucking doorbell before I walk in.’
With only a quick glance backwards, Daniel left the flat, left Erin, and left the future he had only a few minutes before been certain was his.
Within two months, sick of his life, sick of London, sick of everything familiar and everywhere he had ever been with Erin, Daniel threw all his possessions into a van and drove to Edinburgh. Wherever he could find a phone and an internet connection, he could work. His clients never knew where he was, or cared. He’d start afresh in a new city, in what was almost a new country. He’d been there for the festival, many years before, and had liked the look of the place. It was perfect. It was far away. Nothing would remind him of anything. He’d never bump into anyone he knew or stumble across an unwelcome memory. It would be like being born again, but without the religion or the mad people, and his friends wouldn’t pester him to cheer up and go out, because he’d be four hundred miles out of reach.
The move would solve all his problems, except one. But the problem of who to love, who to trust, was no longer one to which he believed there was an answer. He had lost faith in the whole idea.
you don’t know anything about anything
‘Great news!’ exclaimed Gillian. ‘I’ve found a Jew!’
It was not yet nine in the morning. Gillian was still in her dressing-gown. Daniel had not even drunk his morning coffee.
‘Er . . .’ This was too much to take in. He didn’t know what to say; he didn’t know where to look.
‘I’ve been making some calls, and the last piece of the jigsaw just fell into place.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t think I wan
t to.’
‘What kind of a way is that to talk to your mother?’
‘It’s the way I always talk to you.’
‘And that makes it better?’
‘Just have some breakfast, Mum. The cereal’s in there.’
‘I can’t. I’m too excited.’
‘Don’t, then.’
‘Don’t you want to know why I’m excited?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t want to know why?’
‘No.’
‘How can you not want to know why?’
‘Easily.’
‘That’s very rude.’
‘It’s not rude, I’m just telling you I don’t want to know. You want me to lie?’
‘There’s a difference between common courtesy and lying.’
‘Well I must be badly brought up, then.’
‘Always my fault. Everything’s always my fault.’
‘Toast. Why don’t you have toast? There’s juice in the fridge.’
‘It’s a mother’s lot, isn’t it? We’re the butt of everything.’
‘Just sit down, Mum. I’ll do the toast.’
‘Here I am, I’ve travelled hundreds of miles to see you –’
‘Honey? Jam?’
‘Marmite. Thinly spread. Margarine, not butter. Crossing the whole country from top to bottom, just to see you, not begrudging it for a moment, just pleased to be able to finally see my son who chose to run off to this God-forsaken iceberg –’
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea. Earl Grey. Lemon, not milk. And I walk into the room –’
‘I still don’t have any lemons.’
‘Ha!’
‘What do you mean, "Ha!"?’
‘I’ll just have milk.’
‘Why are you saying it like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘As if it’s some huge sacrifice. I’m the one making the breakfast.’
‘It is a sacrifice. I don’t like it with milk. And what I’m saying is, I walk into the room, excited, not because I’ve done something for me, oh no, this is nothing to do with me; I’m not telling you about something I’ve done or bought, I’m not excited for me, I’m excited for you.’
Otherhood Page 14