A Sense of Guilt

by Andrea Newman

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’

  They always enjoyed these sessions, reminding them of how they had met and what a good team they were, matching their expertise and remembering their youth. ‘Just for that, I’ll do your back,’ he said. ‘Turn around.’

  She moved languidly: she would probably want to make love again quite soon. Holidays always made her extremely randy. Well, that was all right; there was no one else around. ‘How am I doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Coming along nicely. A curiously light brown, just like the young man’s former eyes.’

  She was squirming with pleasure as he rubbed oil into her. She had put on weight on the holiday but it didn’t matter so much with a suntan. ‘Does the young man have a name?’

  ‘I thought probably Sebastian.’

  ‘Oh, very good. God, your hands are such a turn-on. We may have to have a siesta.’

  ‘Never known to refuse.’ And indeed he did very seldom refuse her, which he thought was a point in his favour. One of many, in fact. He was sure if he had been conventionally faithful to her they would be bored shitless with each other by now. The atmosphere of wayward sexuality from his affairs spilt over into the marriage, and the knowledge that he might just leave her or she could just throw him out spiced their deep security with a small thrill of fear.

  ‘I wish all my authors were like you,’ she said.

  ‘So you could have an orgy?’ He kissed the base of her spine. In the early days of their marriage he had tried to interest her in threesomes, foursomes; it hadn’t worked but he still liked to tease her about it. Maybe it was all for the best. Normally greedy for all he could get, he did actually know when he was well off, could recognise that here was the most satisfactory deal he was likely to find.

  Elizabeth turned over and removed her bikini. Felix started to suck her warm, familiar cunt, gratified by the whimpering sounds of pleasure that she made. He had rarely met a woman who wasn’t turned on by oral sex. His own success (he enjoyed the pun) with women was based, he thought, on three main factors: sucking, fucking and listening. Most men could manage one or two of these, but very few could be bothered with all three. That was his secret, and it was so simple. Oh, and he also made them laugh. Perhaps that gave him an extra edge. The rest of it, the champagne and flowers and presents, those were mere details that anyone could copy.

  * * *

  Inge woke early on Saturday morning. In fact she had hardly slept at all, first from worry at how much she had hurt Richard, then from excitement at wondering what he might say and do to Helen. She imagined a row at least, and hoped for physical violence, or desertion, or best of all murder, although she had to admit that was unlikely. Her fantasies kept her awake most of the night, leaving her exhausted but energised, as if she had jet lag. She knew if she hadn’t shown Richard the letter she would merely have been kept awake by her own pain.

  When she eventually went downstairs to the kitchen she found the boys already there, Karl tucking in to a large fry-up, and Peter drinking coffee and spooning yoghurt from a carton. She stared at him in amazement. ‘Is that all you’re having?’

  ‘I’m on a diet.’

  ‘His girlfriend’s got anorexia,’ Karl said, ‘and he’s trying to compete.’

  Inge was shocked. She had met Rosemary and liked her and assumed she was naturally thin. But she knew the boys enjoyed teasing her because her sense of humour was not like theirs. ‘I don’t think that’s very funny,’ she said severely. ‘Anorexia is a serious disease.’

  ‘Aren’t all diseases serious?’ Peter looked at her with an air of innocent enquiry.

  ‘Except piles and chilblains,’ Karl said. ‘They’re pretty comic.’

  ‘Not if you have them,’ said Inge, who had suffered from both in her time.

  ‘And gout. And housemaid’s knee.’ They snorted with laughter.

  ‘So why aren’t you eating?’ she said to Peter.

  ‘I told you, I’m on this diet. It’s for spiritual enlightenment. As you rise above the demands of the body, you gain insight and awareness. It was all in the colour supplement last week. Didn’t you see it?’

  Karl was shovelling bacon, fried bread and sausage into his mouth. He had always been rather a messy eater and she had given up nagging him about it. ‘You save all the labels from the tins you’re not eating,’ he said, ‘and when you’ve got four million and seventy-two, you trade them in for a ticket to Kathmandu. He’s on a sixties trip. Peace and love, man.’

  She thought he sounded in a good mood. ‘Karl…’

  ‘No, Mum, sorry.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not going to do the favour you’re about to ask me in that special tone of voice.’

  ‘It’s only a little one,’ she said. ‘Just to ring up your father.’

  ‘But you’ve been doing that for years.’

  ‘Only this time I can’t. Peter?’

  ‘Don’t do it, Pete, there’s a catch to it, my son.’

  ‘Tell me the catch and I might do it.’

  Oh, lovely soft-hearted Peter. That was how it sounded. Only she knew that ultimately Karl was more vulnerable to her. ‘Well, yesterday your father was very cruel, he said he wouldn’t see me any more, so I told him something bad about the cow, something she’d done, to make him very angry. And now I want to know what’s happened.’

  Peter said, ‘It doesn’t sound very spiritual to me.’

  ‘Right on, man.’

  ‘Please. I have to know. It took a lot of courage to do what I did. It was a big risk.’

  Karl said uncomfortably, ‘Oh, Mum, you do keep on, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I usually find if I keep on long enough, people do what I want.’

  ‘Dad must be the exception,’ Peter said. Inge sometimes thought he had a cruel streak.

  ‘There’s still hope, until we die,’ she said sharply. ‘Is that spiritual enough for you?’

  ‘All right, Mum,’ said Karl. ‘What do I have to say?’

  She turned a radiant face towards him. She thought it was lovely the way he responded to her need. He was going to grow up into a wonderful man and some unknown girl would no doubt take advantage of him. ‘If your father answers, you have just an ordinary chat. But if the cow answers, you ask for your father. If she says he is out, you ask when he’ll be back. Don’t let her be vague. Ask for an exact time.’

  ‘OK.’ Karl went out of the room, sounding burdened.

  Peter screwed up the empty yoghurt carton and aimed it at the bin. ‘Mum, don’t you think if you let up a bit you’d feel better? All this keeping on at Dad and calling her the cow, it doesn’t change anything but it keeps you sort of worked up. I think it’s bad for you.’

  Inge was annoyed by the critical tone in his voice. Suddenly at fourteen he was trying to sound like an expert on human relationships. She hoped it didn’t mean he was going to start siding with Richard. ‘Perhaps when you’ve been on your diet a bit longer,’ she said, ‘you’ll understand more about suffering.’

  His mouth tightened, reminding her of Richard in a bad mood, but he didn’t answer, merely stared at the table and traced a pattern with some spilt sugar. Presently Karl returned. ‘He’s not there and she’s got no idea when he’ll be back.’ He hesitated. ‘She sounded very odd. Sort of spaced out.’

  Inge could hardly contain her excitement. She wanted to clap her hands and jump up and down, like a gleeful child. ‘They must have had a big row. Perhaps he has even left her. Oh, it’s wonderful.’

  ‘I didn’t like doing it,’ Karl said, sounding grown up and serious.

  She wanted to hug him but sensed he wouldn’t welcome a hug at that moment. ‘It was important to me and I’m very grateful.’

  He wouldn’t look at her, but turned to Peter. ‘I’m going to clean the bike. Coming?’

  ‘In a minute.’

  Karl went out, whistling. He always whistled when he was upset. After a moment Peter picked up one of h
is discarded sausages and ate it.

  ‘I won’t tell,’ said Inge softly. She could hardly wait for him to go and join Karl; she didn’t want them to know where she was going.

  * * *

  She had to know how Helen was coping without Richard, how her grief looked, had to see her ravaged face. Of course she couldn’t be sure Richard had gone for ever, but it was a start, just knowing that he had gone and Helen didn’t know when he’d be back. Helen must be in pain and Inge had to see this rare sight, like Halley’s Comet. She dressed carefully in her best clothes with plenty of make-up and drove to the house filled with a sense of occasion, as if she were going to the theatre.

  Helen came to the door. She looked very tired and red-eyed, as if she hadn’t slept and had done a lot of crying. It was so wonderful to see that Inge felt her whole body flooded with triumph, a warm wet sensation similar to orgasm. ‘Now you know how it feels,’ she said smiling, as Helen just stared at her. ‘He’s left you, hasn’t he? I’m so happy. Even if I never see him again, it’s worth it to know you’re in pain.’

  Helen shook her head. She looked weary and disbelieving, too tired even for anger, Inge noticed. She was impressed.

  ‘Christ, Inge, just piss off, will you?’ she said.

  She did look her age, Inge thought. ‘And even if he comes back, it won’t be the same. He’ll never trust you again.’

  Helen slammed the door in her face, but it seemed to take a big effort. ‘You’ve lost him for ever,’ Inge shouted after her, hoping it might be true, or that she could make it true by saying it, like a curse. She felt so elated by her visit that she actually skipped on her way back to the car. The hatred she felt was so pure that it invigorated her whole body like adrenalin. It would take her a while to come down. She thought she would probably go to the wine bar that night and pick someone up for sex.

  * * *

  Sleeping in the car proved so uncomfortable that it made him inefficient and he switched to the office floor, sneaking back in there with a sleeping bag after everyone had gone home. Highly irregular, of course, but it was only for a week, he told himself, ten days at the most. Once Felix was back he could ring up, arrange to see him, and then it would be over. He didn’t know quite what he meant by that, only that his plans for living seemed to stop at that point. Confronting Felix was such a milestone that he couldn’t see beyond it.

  He slept badly, waking early to wash and shave in the lavatory before anyone else arrived, so he thought he was getting away with it, but he was so tired that one morning he overslept and woke to find Marion standing over him. Marion looking sympathetic and tweedy and enormous, viewed from the floor. He was intensely embarrassed. It was like being a little boy again, his first day at primary school.

  ‘I knew you arrived early and worked late, Richard,’ she said gently, ‘but I didn’t realise you actually lived here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you.’ He scrambled up and out of the sleeping bag, conscious of his grubby tracksuit, thankful he hadn’t stripped down to his underpants.

  ‘I was sort of joking, but I see you’re not. Whatever’s happened, can’t you talk to me about it? I’ve been very worried about you this past week. You seem to be heading for some kind of breakdown.’

  ‘So you’ve come in early to catch me at it.’ Being in the wrong made him sound angry, he noticed.

  ‘I wanted to have a private chat with you. I know we’ve had our differences in the past but I hope we respect each other as colleagues. You can’t work properly if you’re having a crisis in your private life.’

  ‘No wonder some of our clients find it so difficult to hold down a job,’ Richard said, stuffing the sleeping bag into a cupboard. ‘Their lives are one long crisis.’

  Marion seemed unperturbed. ‘Could we just focus on you for a minute? If you tell me what’s happened, I may be able to help you. I used to do marriage guidance and I’ve been divorced myself.’

  ‘Really? I’d no idea.’ In spite of himself, he was interested: it seemed so unlikely.

  ‘Yes, it’s a second marriage for both of us, John and me. I know you think I’m a dried-up old stick but I may understand something of what you’re going through.’

  ‘You’re very sure this is something to do with my marriage.’ He resented her confident tone.

  ‘I hardly think you’d be sleeping at the office if things weren’t even more uncomfortable at home.’

  ‘Of course.’ He almost laughed. ‘I’m being very stupid, I haven’t had much sleep this week. Yes, I have had a row with Helen, in fact that seems like a vast understatement, I’ve actually left Helen and I’m here because I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’ve also had a row with my step-daughter and now I have to wait till my so-called best friend gets back from holiday so I can have a monumental row with him. And somehow I have to hang on to my sanity while I wait.’ He stopped, heart pounding, surprised at how much he had told her. He took his electric razor out of his desk drawer and started to shave rather aggressively.

  Marion perched on the edge of his desk. ‘Would you like to tell me what all these people have done to make you so angry?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘If we’re talking about adultery, it’s not the worst thing that can happen to a marriage—’

  ‘We are not talking about adultery. In fact I rather wish we were. Mere adultery would be much easier to handle. A bit of good honest lust on the one side and hurt pride on the other, my God, I’d almost be grateful for something as simple as that. I’m talking about the kind of deceit and betrayal you can’t imagine. Every morning when I wake up on that floor with all my bones aching I have to remember that the three people I loved and trusted most in the world have done this incredibly ugly thing.’

  Now he was terrified. One moment he was refusing to talk to her and the next he was telling her almost everything. He couldn’t trust his own judgment any more; he had no way of knowing what he might say or do next.

  ‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ Marion said.

  ‘No, well, let me assure you it’s even worse from the inside.’

  After a moment she said, ‘You know, Richard, we do have a spare room and you’d be very welcome to use it.’

  He started to laugh and to his horror felt his eyes fill with tears. ‘Marion, you’re amazing. You really do surprise me… You’re very kind…’ He sat down at his desk with his face in his hands and Marion put her arm round his shoulders. It was the first time she had ever touched him and it felt odd.

  ‘That’s right, let it out,’ she said, sounding pleased at a response she could understand.

  ‘No, that’s just what I mustn’t do.’ He blew his nose on some Kleenex. He always kept a box handy for clients and encouraged them to cry if they needed to, as Marion was encouraging him now. Only now he knew why so many of them resisted. ‘It’s only anger that’s holding me together and I’ve got to hang on for another week.’

  There was a long silence. Marion patted his shoulder and took her arm away.

  ‘I’ll make you some coffee,’ she said.

  * * *

  Elizabeth was used to authors in general procrastinating, and Felix in particular, but this time he cut it so fine that he was actually reading the last sentence of the book to her while she was packing for their flight home.

  ‘…so that when he turned his head just in time to see the blow about to fall, it was already too late.’

  He put down the pages and looked at her with an expression of triumph.

  ‘My God,’ she said. ‘Poor old Tony Blythe.’

  ‘Well.’ Felix looked smug. ‘It was about time. And I’ve left it just slightly ambiguous, so if I have to revive him, God forbid, I can.’

  ‘So it was the lovely yellow-eyed Sebastian all the time.’

  ‘’Fraid so. Or avocado-eyed. I haven’t quite decided yet.’

  ‘Poor Tony. I shall miss him.’ She thought it was rather like losing an uncle you had always resented havi
ng to invite for Christmas. Suddenly there was no one to complain about in a comfortable familiar way. ‘I feel quite sad.’

  ‘I don’t. I just feel an enormous sense of relief. At last I’ve got rid of the tiresome little bugger.’

  Felix was never sentimental. She always forgot that. Emotional yes, but that was something different. ‘Rest in peace, Tony Blythe,’ she said seriously, with a feeling of real loss. So many books financing their lifestyle, so many holidays spent on research. Tony Blythe had been family.

  ‘Gone to the great investigation bureau in the sky,’ said Felix. ‘Good riddance, that’s what I say.’

  ‘It’s fantastic you’ve finished on time.’ She went on packing: he never helped her with that and on the whole it was simpler that he didn’t.

  ‘I told you all I needed was sunshine. And you with your blue pencil. God, I feel wonderful. How long before the euphoria wears off?’

  ‘About two days usually.’ She thought it was sweet that he never remembered, that he was always ready to believe it would last for ever. She hated to disillusion him: it was like telling a child Santa Claus didn’t exist.

  ‘Yes. But this time… it’s back to real books.’ He was far too high to be reached by mere words. ‘I think I’ve got an idea for the new one actually.’

  ‘Already?’ She was pierced by envy, as occasionally happened. She would have liked to be creative.

  ‘It’s about a man who’s having a midlife crisis and he has an affair with a young girl he meets in a supermarket. He’s trying to recapture his lost youth but really he loves his wife.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said drily, locking the suitcase and watching him pour champagne. ‘So what happens?’

  ‘Oh, the girl leaves him for a younger man, but his wife won’t have him back, so he kills himself. It’s a cautionary tale, the new grim message for the eighties. You reap what you sow and all that jazz. Why should anyone get away with mere adultery?’

  ‘Except that they do, all the time,’ she said, saddened by the flip way he told her the plot, as if it wouldn’t hurt at all.