Then C put his head round the door and said he was going for a walk and would anybody like to come. I said I’d rather stay with Marsha. I was surprised to hear myself say that. Marsha made him take Tom and Kim, so that just left us with Chloe. When they’d gone Marsha giggled and said, ‘Ooh, hasn’t it gone quiet?’
I said, ‘He doesn’t help you much, does he?’ and she said, ‘He does sometimes. He’s a bit lazy. I think he’s got more than he bargained for. ’ I pointed out all she did yesterday and the day before and she said, ‘Well, you were helping me.’ I asked if she minded and she said, ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered to make a fuss, I’m lazy too.’ I said, ‘Mum and Richard share everything,’ and then I realised what I’d said, how there’s this big secret between them now for ever and it’s all my fault. Marsha must have picked it up because there was a very long silence and then she said gently, ‘D’you want to talk about it?’
I said, ‘I did try but I don’t think he wanted to listen.’ And then I thought how what she really meant was did I want to talk to her, not C.
She said, ‘He gets upset if he can’t make things all right. And he feels guilty for losing touch with you.’
I said, ‘I’ve told him it doesn’t matter. He hasn’t ruined anything.’ And as I said it I realised I was very angry with him.
She said, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t offer to help if you wanted the baby but you see how things are,’ and again I was impressed by how direct she is. And I thought how awful, Mum talking to C and C talking to Marsha and nobody talking to me but it was my baby.
I said, ‘No, you couldn’t possibly have. The whole thing was crazy. I must have been mad to get into it. Why did I take such a risk? I’m not stupid. I mean my mother’s really tolerant and I go and do the one thing that would upset her most. Felix didn’t encourage me, not really.’
Marsha said, ‘Can’t you forgive yourself? You can’t change it, so why not just let it go? It’s sad but it may be all for the best.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I said, ‘You make it sound very simple.’ Nobody’d ever put it to me like that before.
She said, ‘I’m not trying to put you down. But I used to spend a lot of time fretting about things. Now I don’t bother. Either they don’t really matter or if they do they’re beyond my control or else it’s too late. I just let everything wash over me now. It’s much more restful.’
I thought about it. I really tried to let her words sink in. ‘I’d love to be like that. I suppose I’m used to Mum being in control of everything.’
Marsha said, ‘Look, you made a mistake. It happens to lots of people.’
I said, ‘But I want to know why. I want to learn from it.’
And then, of course, just as I thought we were getting somewhere, C and the children came back. He just gave us both a big grin and said he was going down the pub to recover. I couldn’t believe it. I said to Marsha, ‘He did it again.’ But she only said, ‘Oh well, it gives us more time to talk.’
Then she said she thought I was very brave to be in a house with children and a pregnant woman. I said it was hard to explain but it sort of helped me.
‘So long as you’re not doing it to punish yourself,’ she said.
I said, ‘Maybe I am. Would that matter? Anyway it’s real life. I can’t keep running away. And I wasn’t brave enough to face Mum and Felix.’ I thought for a bit and she waited and then I said, ‘You’re so different. It’s really hard to imagine he’s been married to both of you.’ I’d been staring into space and then I heard her breathing and when I looked back at her, oh God I was so frightened, I realised she was having a pain.
She said, ‘Sorry. That one took me by surprise.’
I said, ‘You’re not in labour, are you?’ I so much didn’t want to believe it.
She said, ‘Didn’t you notice me puffing and blowing a bit when we were washing up? Don’t panic, it’ll be ages yet. I ought to know the routine, just think of all the practice I’ve had.’
I wanted to fetch C immediately but she said later on maybe and why spoil his evening, there was nothing he could do.
So I bathed the children for her and put them to bed. We made out it was a special treat and I tried to make it fun. When I came back downstairs my clothes and my hair were soaking wet and Marsha was lying on the sofa panting.
I was terrified. I just ran out and down the lane all the way to the pub. I didn’t even stop to put my coat on and I ran all the way. It was freezing cold and the air made my chest hurt. When I got to the pub it was very crowded and noisy and hot and at first I couldn’t see C anywhere. Then I saw him and he was sitting in a corner tucked away almost out of sight talking to a girl and he was kissing the palm of her hand. I just stared. Then he felt someone watching him and he looked up and saw me.
* * *
When we got back to the house Marsha was in bed. C went up to see her and then he came down and rang the midwife. Tom said to me, ‘Mummy’s trying to push the baby out,’ very matter of fact. I put on my coat and went into the garden where I couldn’t hear the sounds from upstairs. It was very cold but I quite liked that. I stroked the rabbit for a while and then I went and talked to the goat. I don’t know how long I was there but Tom came out and said, ‘Mummy’s pushing very hard now. Don’t you want to come and watch? She has to do funny breathing.’ I said, ‘No, I don’t think so, thanks. I think I’ll stay with Benji,’ and he ran indoors. Then I went and sat in the rusty old car.
Eventually C came out and found me. He said, ‘You must be frozen. Don’t you want to come back in the house?’ I shook my head and he said, ‘It’s all right, it’s all over. It’s a girl and Marsha’s fine.’
I couldn’t speak.
He said very awkwardly, ‘Look, about the pub.’
I said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He said, ‘Things aren’t always what they seem.’
* * *
I went back inside with him because I was really cold by now. Marsha was sitting up in bed cuddling the new baby and the children were all round her and the midwife was bringing her a cup of tea. Tom said, ‘Look, we’ve got a sister,’ and Kim said, ‘That’s our new baby.’ Marsha looked tired but very well and happy and C put his arm round her and I saw he actually had tears in his eyes. She gave me a great big smile and I just couldn’t take any more, I went to my room and went to bed and cried and cried and cried until I fell asleep.
* * *
The atmosphere grew strained. More drinks were poured. Nuts and raisins were swallowed. Longing eyes were cast at the food ready on the table and jokes made about starting without her, as it was only cold. Still they waited. Felix and Richard went on at length about the horrors of Christmas.
‘Well, I think you’re a couple of Scrooges, you two,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I love Christmas. I think it’s absolutely wonderful to have tinsel and holly and presents and carols—’
‘My God, I can’t bear this,’ said Felix, groaning theatrically. ‘She may be about to sing.’
‘—and plum pudding and log fires. I’m sick of spending Christmas in the sun. I like being cold and then getting warm again and doing all the traditional things.’
At last the sound of Helen’s van. It was after three.
‘Ah, here she is,’ said Richard with relief.
‘And I think you’re both pretending to be above it all. Hating Christmas is just a form of intellectual snobbery.’
Helen came in. Her face was blank behind her social smile. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I wanted to catch the last of the light. You should have started without me.’ She kissed Elizabeth and looked past Felix. Her beauty moved him, an older, tireder version of Sally. He felt a sense of loss that surprised him, an uncomfortable pang that pierced through the layers of hunger, alcohol and boredom, and made him realise how much he had wanted to stay at home.
‘How’s it going?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘How would I know? I’m the last person to ask.’<
br />
They ate. Elizabeth and Richard did most of the talking. Felix tried to avoid Helen’s eyes but the effort was too great to sustain and eventually he stumbled into a direct glance, their first since before Sally’s abortion. The strength of pure hatred made all her previous looks of indifference or dislike over the years seem like positive regard. Felix felt quite weak, as if he had swallowed a dose of pale green poison.
After lunch they all slumped on the sofas, put on the television, went through all four channels and switched it off. Richard made coffee.
Felix said, ‘I wonder why doing nothing is so exhausting.’
‘I’m not doing nothing,’ Richard said. ‘I’m putting off going to see Inge.’
‘It’s like a conditioned reflex,’ Felix said, grateful for the small joke. ‘I’m sure the day will come when I won’t be physically able to swallow a mince pie unless I’m watching The Sound of Music or The African Queen.’
Elizabeth said to Helen, ‘Will Sally be home for your show?’
Felix wanted to hit her: she seemed to be dragging Sally’s name into every conversation and yet he was sure she knew nothing.
‘I hope so,’ Helen said. ‘If it ever happens. Right now I can’t believe I’ll ever finish.’
‘Heavens, you’re as bad as Felix. Of course you’ll finish. It’s going to be wonderful, I’m really looking forward to it. Richard, can’t you talk some sense into her?’
‘I do, all the time. It’s like pouring water into a sieve.’
Felix felt panic rising at the thought of Helen’s show with them all there together and Sally arriving.
‘I know just what you mean,’ Elizabeth said, and turned to him. ‘Don’t I, darling?’
He said, ‘Of course we may be away on holiday.’
‘But we can’t miss Helen’s show.’
God, she could be relentless. ‘I need sunshine to finish the book.’
* * *
Richard left to see Inge. Helen offered mince pies. But Elizabeth said it was time they were going.
In the car on the way home she said, ‘Helen was very quiet.’
Felix said yes.
‘I got the feeling she didn’t really want us there.’
Felix made a sound of agreement.
‘I suppose she’s missing Sally. And she does seem awfully worried about work.’
Felix said mm.
Elizabeth said sharply, ‘Darling, you’ve gone awfully monosyllabic.’
‘Have I?’ He enunciated with savage ironic precision. ‘Sor-ry. Is that bet-ter?’
‘We can’t miss her show,’ Elizabeth said after a pause.
‘We can if it clashes with our holiday.’
‘But we haven’t booked it yet.’
‘I just have a feeling they’re going to clash.’ The conversation terrified him, it was much too close to the truth, but if she forced him into a corner he was prepared to fight and she ought to know that and be willing at the last minute to back off.
‘Honestly, you and Helen,’ she said, after a longer silence. ‘You’re like a couple of silly children, always trying to score points off each other.’
Felix could feel his breathing just begin to work normally. ‘Don’t nag. I feel stuffed to the gills with all this ridiculous food and drink, and all I want to do is get home and lie down in a darkened room.’
‘Sounds like a fun evening,’ Elizabeth said, but in a tone of ordinary annoyance, and he knew the immediate danger had passed.
* * *
29 December.
I’ll have to go home. Now Marsha’s staying in bed (not that I blame her for that) I’m more like an au pair than ever. Meal times are incredible, with C and me and all the children. He keeps telling them old jokes, it’s like a quiz show on TV to see who can shout the answer first. For instance: What are the three most useless things? The Pope’s sex life, a man’s chest and a viola solo. Or: If you were lost in the jungle, who would you ask the way, a pink elephant, a good viola player or a bad viola player? A bad viola player, the others are figments of your imagination. It’s meant to be fun, I suppose, and the kids certainly enjoy it, but it makes me feel rather tired.
It’s strange to hear him calling the viola the box. It makes me think of coffins.
I tried to get him to talk seriously about his work but he kept making jokes, like how they switch from violin to viola because they think they’ll get better jobs or the school suggests it, and how they like teasing each other. ‘Are you going to take that up professionally?’ or ‘I can imagine that sounding very good.’ I can’t get him to talk about actual music. It’s almost as if it was an embarrassing question, like asking about his sex life, and he makes jokes to cover up the embarrassment. Then I remember how Mum doesn’t like talking about her work and the only time I tried to get her to, she said if she could do it in words she’d be a writer not a painter. Only she made it sound as if painting was superior to writing, because she doesn’t like Felix, I suppose. So I gave up asking. I actually think composing music must be superior to both because you can reach more people without any translation and your work can be all over the world simultaneously and yet it still belongs to you. I tried saying something about this to C, I thought maybe we could discuss it, but he was so busy with the children I don’t think he was really listening.
He was wearing a jersey without his usual polo neck, so I could see more of the viola mark on his neck than usual and I was staring at it and thinking how it looked, like a bruise or a love bite, or something out of a vampire film. I don’t think he noticed me staring. He kept complaining about backache, and how he hoped he could fit in a visit to the osteopath before his next concert, and how Marsha’s very good at massaging his neck and shoulders only of course right now she doesn’t feel much like doing anything. I hope he wasn’t hinting I might do it. I didn’t offer, anyway.
Perhaps I should have tried to have the sort of musical conversation I wanted with him before when we were alone together in Sussex, only then my head was full of other things, like the past and how I was feeling.
It’s really ironic that all the time he and Mum were married they were so hard up because he was freelance, and then just after he met Marsha he joined the orchestra, so they’ve always had enough money and been able to afford all these children.
* * *
The boys went out after lunch. They shared a joint with Inge to cheer her up and promised to spray the room so Richard wouldn’t notice.
‘We’ll make it smell really disgusting, like pine or lavender.’
‘Or lemon verbena. Yuck. Happy Boxing Day, Mum.’
But they wouldn’t stay to see Richard with her, even when she started to cry. She wanted to see the whole family together for Christmas but they wouldn’t help her. ‘Cheer up, it’s nearly over,’ they said, and went out, whistling, to see their friends.
She poured herself another drink and turned out the lights. Sitting in the darkened room, waiting for Richard, she thought of all the Christmases they had spent apart. She watched the clock on the video, but the prearranged time came and went. He was late. He was always late.
When she heard the car arrive she was in such a trance-like state that it came as quite a shock. She waited behind the front door, noticing how slowly he walked up the path. Was he so reluctant then? He rang the doorbell and she waited another moment: the last few seconds of anticipation were particularly precious. Then she opened the door. As always the sight of him moved her greatly and she flung her arms round him. He tolerated the hug but did not return it, in fact she sensed him slightly straining away.
She took him into the living-room and he immediately put on the lights. She poured whisky for them both.
‘I’d like to have seen the boys,’ he said.
‘They had to go out. You were late. They couldn’t wait for you.’
‘Seems to happen a lot.’ He took two parcels out of a carrier bag and placed them on the coffee table. ‘I expect they’ll still want their pr
esents though, even if they don’t want to see me.’
She couldn’t guess from the shapes. He was clever with presents, often concealing small things like cassettes or cameras in shoe boxes. She took her own parcel from behind a cushion and gave it to him. He accepted it reluctantly.
‘Thank you, Inge, but I do wish you wouldn’t.’
‘It gives me pleasure.’ In the past she had bought him jerseys and shirts but noticed he never wore them. This year she had chosen a book of cartoons. At least she could make him laugh. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
‘Later.’ He put it in the carrier bag.
‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ It was three years since he had bought her a present.
‘It was all right. Very quiet. Felix and Elizabeth came over today.’
‘How lovely,’ she said. ‘So you had your old friends with you. I’ve been all alone.’
He sat in the big chair opposite her. ‘You had the boys. And I’m sure you have friends you could ask if you wanted to. Neighbours even. You must have. You’ve lived here a long time.’
‘I don’t want to be with people just because they feel sorry for me.’ She was alarmed by the coldness in his voice. ‘Oh, that poor lonely woman. We better be nice to her. Since her husband left her she has no one and she’s a foreigner too. How awful.’
He said, ‘You’re not very foreign after twenty years over here.’
‘In this country a foreigner is always a foreigner.’
A Sense of Guilt Page 25