Copycat

by Gillian White

  This was awful. No, worse than awful. I’d been dreading this encounter and now I was on the receiving end. I’d never imagined that. I was made fragile when I needed my strength.

  ‘I don’t mean to judge you, I wouldn’t judge anyone, but it does seem rather cruel.’

  ‘Cruel?’ she said through a sickly smile. ‘So how about you, Jennie? Are you rather cruel, or off your head?’

  I couldn’t find the words. In the end I stuttered, ‘We’re not talking about me…’

  ‘Oh? That’s convenient, isn’t it? So you are conducting this investigation from an impartial position, is that it? You are not, and you never have been, sexually involved with anyone else’s spouse?’

  It appalled me to think that this woman might know about my feelings for Martha. She must know, she did know… ‘Sam must have told you.’

  ‘No, Jennie, Martha told me. I walked into her house the moment after you’d damn nearly raped her and she opened her heart to her friend, as you do. At least I make sure that my passions are reciprocated.’ The viciousness of her last remark stabbed me and stained me like a rusty dagger.

  I asked softly, ‘So who else knows?’

  ‘Who doesn’t would be easier to answer. I doubt that Martha was particularly discreet, repulsed as she was by the whole sordid business.’

  My world might be collapsing around me but I wasn’t about to accept defeat. ‘That happened years ago. What you’re doing is happening now…’

  ‘So what do you propose to do, Jennie? Go next door and tell precious Martha? She wouldn’t thank you for that, you bitch.’

  My head spun, I felt drunk. ‘I might do that, yes.’

  When she folded her arms, her shoulder pads bulged. I hadn’t noticed before what a cold, spiky person she was, or the depth of that hard veneer.

  ‘And then what d’you imagine would happen? What the hell would you gain from doing that?’

  ‘Sam would be forced to choose.’

  ‘He might choose me.’

  I managed to give her a scornful smile. ‘Never. Not in a million years. This isn’t Sam’s first time, you know, he’s renowned for his weakness for silly women who throw themselves at his feet. He’s gone back to Martha every time. He’s just that sort of man. You should know, you’ve got Carl.’

  ‘So should you, from what Angie says. You didn’t turn Sam down when he carried you, drunk, into the bedroom, not that many moons ago.’

  I went weak with shame. ‘That wasn’t true.’

  Tina laughed, not pleasantly. ‘That’s the trouble with you, isn’t it, Jennie? Nobody knows if it’s lies, attention-seeking or just straightforward madness. So I wonder if Martha would really believe you if you told her about me and Sam, especially when we’d both deny it. I wonder who she would rather believe. She might think you were up to your old tricks again. Trying to get rid of Sam, maybe, so you could take his place in her bed.’

  ‘You’re foul.’

  ‘You said it.’

  ‘It’s nothing like that…’

  Tina sat back while I took the chair opposite, hunched with the cheese-grater still in my hand.

  And I felt grated, every piece of me as spindly and wrinkly as the spirals that hung from the metal holes. I must have looked ashen, while Tina, I noticed, had a bright orange tinge to her face and a line faded round her neck where the make-up stopped.

  A fake tan. Pathetic.

  ‘Come on, Jennie, be honest,’ she said, ‘what did you expect me to say? Did you think I would promise to give Sam up out of fear that you’d go and tell Martha? Are you honestly that naive? I can’t believe it – nobody is. Sam knows all about you and Martha. Since that abject letter you sent, she’s told him everything, you know that. So what the hell did you hope to achieve by threatening me this morning?’

  ‘I’m going to achieve what’s best for Martha,’ I managed to croak through her sneers. ‘I’m still going to tell her, and I’m sure that if Sam finds out, he’ll drop you like a stone.’

  ‘But you’re not sure about that,’ said Tina.

  ‘I’m pretty certain.’

  ‘Going on past experience?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Well, please bear in mind that Sam and I have been screwing on the side for more than four years. I wonder if any other women have lasted that long in Sam’s life?’

  My mouth was parched. ‘That long?’

  ‘So you have to agree this is something different?’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘And that my influence over Sam is more than just a passing passion?’

  I plucked at the shavings of loose cheese and gave a toneless ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me put it like this,’ crowed Tina. ‘Let’s be fair. If Martha was to find out from you about Sam and me, Graham would also have to be told about that rather unpleasant business that took place in Martha’s bed. That would be one distressing result. No, wait, there’d be others: Sam would leave Martha; Martha could not keep up that house no matter how many hours she worked; and Martha’, Tina finished sweetly, ‘would move away from the Close.’

  ‘But why this deceit? You don’t want Sam,’ I exclaimed, ‘else why don’t you come clean, split and divorce? Why don’t you and Sam set up house together?’

  ‘Because this arrangement suits us both. It’s as simple as that,’ said Tina.

  ‘And what happens if Martha finds out for herself?’

  ‘We’ll deal with that when the time comes,’ she said with patient malice. ‘But I warn you, Jennie, if by some chance Martha did find out, I’d insist on dates, times and places before I’d believe it wasn’t you that went creeping to her with your wretched tales. So all I can say is, it’s in your own interest to keep your mouth shut and make sure Martha remains in blissful ignorance.’

  ‘You are disgusting.’

  She was remote, self-possessed. Why could I never argue like that?

  ‘And there are words for you, too, Jennie,’ she said, ‘but personally I’d rather not use them.’

  Life without Martha would leave me deaf, blind and crippled.

  And so I was grateful for her lack of trust. If she’d chosen to share her anxieties with me, I couldn’t have kept the secret, not even for self-protection. But now I was a party to the deceit, disloyal to the person I loved best.

  Maybe I was being kinder? Perhaps she would rather not know. And I tried to console myself with these thoughts while I watched her suffering in traitorous silence. All I could hope for was that the affair would fizzle out by itself.

  But naturally Tina told Sam about our hostile conversation and his attitude towards me grew more aggressive. When Sam was around I was made unwelcome, and I wondered if Martha noticed the change from his normal indifference.

  ‘Sometimes, Jennie,’ Sam said to me, arriving home one evening, ‘I have to wonder if you’ve got a home to go to.’

  I jumped up. ‘I’m just off.’

  ‘Sit down! Take no notice of Sam,’ said Martha, laughing. ‘You know him well enough by now to ignore his appalling rudeness.’ And she gave her husband a strict, cross look.

  But he carried on. ‘Doesn’t old Graham feel abandoned sometimes?’

  The silence was uncomfortable until Martha broke it cheerfully. ‘Graham’s not home yet. Get yourself a drink and stop interfering. Jennie and I won’t say no either. The kids are busy playing outside, so there’s no need to disturb them yet.’

  ‘I have to go anyway,’ I said. ‘Things to do…’

  ‘Never a dull moment, is there, Jennie?’ Sam said, his mouth straight and tight. ‘The rich tapestry of life and all that.’

  Not knowing how to respond to this, I pretended not to hear. I collected the children and fled.

  He was not only laughing.

  He was threatening me.

  God, what did Martha see in that man? Why did she need him in the way she did? Was it just sex? Surely she would have no trouble finding someone else for that. But then
she would move in with that someone else… no, no… that was intolerable, she must stay here with Sam.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, clenching and unclenching my hands. My whole world had turned unfriendly. All I had left was Martha, but then all I needed was Martha…

  ‘But you have your children,’ said Mr Singh, as if I needed reminding. ‘And your husband. These are realities while your make-believe Martha world is delusion, an intoxicating vision you won’t let go of.’

  He was right. At the end of the day, the one who would be there for me was Graham. But not if I’d been misbehaving, not if I was still misbehaving.

  ‘Why not give it a try?’ said Singh, offering a rare piece of advice instead of leaning back with his eyes closed.

  I was astounded. ‘What? Risk telling Graham what I’ve told you?’

  ‘You don’t think he’s big enough to take it?’

  I blew my nose violently. ‘I know he’s not. Graham is normal, Mr Singh.’ I was annoyed at being forced to explain. Wasn’t it obvious? The doctor should know that by now. ‘An ordinary man who likes black and white houses, reads biographies, loves cricket, plays golf, votes Tory, watches Ground Force, and considers any eccentric behaviour to be not just unnecessary but ridiculous. If he chose a dog it would be a spaniel. He’s embarrassed to watch Tina Turner.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ sighed Mr Singh, ‘you know him better than I do and it’s up to you, of course. But you’re in a virtual blackmail situation. Life would be so much simpler for you if you…’

  I groaned aloud. ‘There’s no question of me confiding in Graham, so talking about it is a waste of time.’ I was impatient, eager to be gone. Mr Singh and the hours I had spent with him – expensive hours, paid for by me – had achieved nothing at all. I wanted comfort like a naughty child, but Mr Singh wouldn’t give it.

  I must be very careful now or I knew I was going to be hurt.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Martha

  I MUST BE VERY careful now or I knew I was going to be hurt.

  The killer question was – how long? And it haunted me day and night. How long could Sam and I play mind games? The kind of games favoured by Jennie back in those dreadful times, during those years of trauma. I started to lean on her heavily now, but I wished so much I could trust her in the doting way she trusted me.

  Alas, Jennie was due for one of her ghastly confessions.

  I was so tuned to it, I could smell it coming.

  ‘But don’t say anything you’ll be sorry about afterwards,’ I reminded her for the tenth time. ‘I know you have this compulsion, this confession thing which you have to obey, but please try to be selective.’

  Her mood-change was instant. ‘You’re not interested. You find me boring.’

  Jennie told so many conflicting stories, depending on who she was trying to impress, that I’d stopped taking much notice when she launched into one of her make-believe modes. And her fantasy tales ranged over all subjects – from her childhood to her wedding day, from her ‘big house with grounds’ to her meeting with Graham. This time, she warned me, she’d be telling the truth and it was how Graham and she had first found each other.

  ‘Jennie, I don’t find you boring, however you tell it, whether you and Graham met in the loos of the biscuit factory, or over the counter at the bank, and then there’s the picnic version. I don’t care where you met him; I’m just relieved that you did. You mustn’t feel you have to justify everything you say, even lies, to me.’

  ‘I just worry I would be betraying Graham.’

  ‘Well then, that’s easy, let’s change the subject.’ The weather was icy and I was driving. The car was fugged up with throat-parching heat. Every so often Jennie leaned forward and wiped the screen with her glove. We were on our way back from the Marks superstore, making the most of a precious hour free of kids. We had reached the blissful stage of being able to leave them to play in the Close, just so long as they had a house to go to and Angie promised to keep a lookout. It was a Saturday morning: they could watch TV or play on the green with the other kids, in safety. Most likely, as it was cold, they’d all be huddled up in our house, eating crisps and watching cartoons.

  Poppy and Scarlett were nine years old; the boys were only six, not really old enough to be left alone, but the Close was a very safe place. There were lots of responsible adults around and all well known to the kids. Although the prestigious Close was surrounded by a sink estate, we’d never had any trouble from there. We wouldn’t be gone longer than an hour. Graham was playing golf. And God only knew what Sam was up to; I’d stopped asking.

  Jennie went on, sounding ominous. ‘I’ve never told anyone this before.’

  I groaned. ‘So are you sure you want me to know?’ I wasn’t remotely interested in what had happened in Jennie’s past – or in anyone’s past for that matter. Today was all that counted.

  ‘I have to tell you. I need you to know.’

  ‘But maybe I’d rather not hear it.’

  I was concentrating hard on the road. They’d given black-ice warnings and I never understood what black ice looked like. The whole road could be sheer black ice, for all I knew. I wished she would shut up or get it over with quickly. I couldn’t wait to get home in the warm and make a huge mug of hot chocolate, with a flake. Or two. Or three.

  ‘Graham and I met in a car.’

  ‘That’s a new one,’ I said, from a distance.

  I gave her a glance, just a quick one. The driver behind was becoming frantic, infuriated by my crawling pace, and I feared road rage might be imminent. Should I accelerate and throw caution to the wind? The bastard behind clearly thought so. Maybe he knew the road better than me. Jennie said that there had been times, hair-raising times she could never forget, when she’d been coerced into driving at breakneck speed to pacify the pig in the car behind. Risking her life to please some turd.

  It happens. I’d done it.

  But Graham, when pushed, would drive slower, while Sam gestured obscenely out of the window. And I wondered how much was given away by a person’s reaction to driving pressures.

  ‘He was kerb crawling,’ Jennie said.

  I started with amazement. Then I laughed. ‘A habit of his you forgot to mention.’

  It took time to register that this was no joke. My woollen gloves itched my fingers. I took the tip of one in my mouth and struggled with a hairy tongue to tug the damn thing off. I prickled all over. Jennie’s imagination was wild. What the hell was she going to say next?

  ‘Light me a fag, will you, Jennie? Front pocket of my bag.’

  ‘I know where you keep your fags,’ she said crossly, annoyed by the interruption.

  Did she know what kerb crawling meant? Perhaps not. Maybe she’d misunderstood the term? She had been known to be silly like that. ‘What do you mean, kerb crawling?’

  The hand that passed my cigarette shook. ‘Come off it, Martha.’

  ‘You mean, kerb crawling to pick up a pro?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly, ‘that’s what I mean.’

  Graham? That was laughable. That quiet, gentle, studious man – a manager with Essex Water – whose sandals and brown socks heralded the first chirpings of summer? Whose knitted scarf signified winter?

  ‘Jennie, shut up. This is outrageous.’

  ‘He picked me up,’ she said. ‘That’s how we met.’

  ‘And I’m Cherie Blair.’ I refused to indulge her.

  She hissed her annoyance. It looked as if it might snow at any moment; the black wires of the power lines cut into a greying sky. I opened the window a fraction. The air was so cold it seared the throat, but I needed to puff out my smoke.

  ‘He picked me up and I was glad I’d found another punter.’

  ‘OK, Jennie, OK… if that’s what you want me to believe for some strange reasons of your own…’

  ‘I was lonely. So was he. We’d both decided we’d not find anyone, nobody could love us. We were both looking for comfort.’

  ‘OK,
Jennie, so that’s how you met?’ I didn’t need to look at her. I knew she would have her eyes closed in the way she did when she got intense. She’d be missing the squiggles on my kitchen table which she liked to trace when she got emotional.

  Damn damn damn. What sort of reaction did she expect? The only natural one was humour, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate that from the depths of her special slough of despond. If I took this too lightly I would wound poor Jennie, but what I couldn’t understand was the way some people guarded their secrets, nursed them, wrapped them and hid them away – I could never do that. Sam might call me a prima donna, and yes, when I had pain I let everyone know, so it didn’t assume such an enormous significance or turn into a closeted skeleton.

  So why not tell the world about Sam?

  That was different. Perhaps I’d been wrong? If I’d shared it, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling so hellishly ill with it all.

  ‘I got in his old blue Metro and we drove to the car park beside the bakery. I usually took the punters there.’

  I kept my eyes glued to the road. Was Jennie telling me she was a whore? And did she really think I’d believe her? ‘Usually? So this was not a one-off?’

  ‘I was in business on Formby Road for six weeks.’

  She sounded sincere, but she was expert at lying and fantasizing – I knew that to my cost. I’d play along just to humour her. ‘Good God, the risk, you could have been killed.’

  ‘At the time I wouldn’t have cared.’

  Could this be true? Could all that crap about being a virgin when she married Graham be a he? All that high-handed moral stuff… I was so stunned by what she was saying that I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d said she’d once been a serial killer. It was too fantastic for words. This wasn’t like Jennie, this was far too extreme.

  ‘You see these,’ Jennie went on calmly, as we passed a row of Thirties houses with red brick porches and bay windows. The lights from within made patterns on the otherwise colourless scene. ‘See how they look, so warm and inviting… all the happiness in the world behind those safe, closed doors.’