The doctor she had talked to before finally arrived. “Mrs. Isaacs,” he said in a neutral voice, “what can I do for you?”
“I just want to know what is happening to my brother, what the situation is today.”
“His vital signs are good, but it’s difficult to tell how long the recovery process will take. Well, you’ll know that. Being a doctor’s daughter.”
Presumably that was meant to be sarcastic. Why were these people so hard to charm? Shirley nodded her head.
“Thank you,” she said.
There were still stories about what had happened to Joseph in the news. Thank God that awful boy had been arrested. Oh, Joseph, she thought, why couldn’t you have found a nice interior decorator? The consistent thing in the articles was that they all eventually came round to A Taste of Honey. It was the show that Joseph had waited “all his life” to write. After an “uncertain” few years he was back on top form. The show was a “giant hit” in Manchester. It was reported that the cast dedicated every performance to Joseph after which there were standing ovations. Shirley had a reflex moment of irritation that Alan was hardly mentioned — all their shows appeared to have been written by Joseph alone — but it passed quickly.
Shirley detected the stench of Kevin Lever in all this. He had probably used the last of the money to hire a phalanx of publicists to shoehorn the show into every available piece about Joseph. And the extraordinary thing was that it had worked. From teetering on the edge of disaster, the show now seemed to be hovering on the brink of success. The show was coming to London. Shirley did not know whether she was pleased or not. If she was pleased, it was only for Joseph.
She did not know where Alan was and she did not care. He had left endless phone messages, begging and pleading. She did not reply. The only contact she had had with him was text messages:
“Can we meet? We need to talk.”
“No.”
“Can I collect some things?”
“Out till lunchtime tomorrow. Pick them up then.” It was going to be Alan’s last time in the house: she had arranged for the locks to be changed.
She was not going to pretend it was not humiliating. She was not going to pretend she was not lonely. She had read about the plight of dumped wives and it had seemed as relevant to her as the plight of Ethiopian refugees. She was going to behave with dignity, though, not like those women who took a pair of scissors to their husband’s expensive suits or threw a brick through the windscreen of their flashy car. Nor was she going to comb through their lives and kick herself that she had not spotted the signs earlier. There were no signs: Alan had simply become a different person overnight, a freak event like a tsunami that comes with no warning and washes the village away. Everyone seemed to think that blame for this sort of thing must be shared, but why? She knew that none of it had been her fault.
But a month after everything had happened, she began to realize that having dignity and being able to hold her head up high did not achieve much. It did not help her sleep or fill her days. There were people she could have called, but not many of them and not any that she wanted to talk to. She thought of going to the synagogue, but she was certainly not about to find religion to get her through. Anyway, she had not set foot in one for years, not since Sally died. What would she have made of all this? She would be thirty now, maybe married, maybe with children. It was not painful to think of her at thirty because Shirley could not imagine her at thirty. The only Sally was the sixteen-year-old Sally, the one she had glimpsed so briefly in the hotel room in Manchester. She felt like everyone was dead. Even the ones who were alive felt dead to her: Alan and Joseph. Of course, Joseph could come alive to her again when he got better. He was the one person she wanted to be with. She knew she was a powerful person: she was simply going to will him to get better. Maybe Sally would help her do that.
She was unsure precisely why she did it, what she hoped she would get out of it, but she surprised herself: she called David Arbuthnot from the Tuesday group and asked him round for a drink. She could tell he was surprised, but of course he was scrupulously polite. She went to Waitrose and bought some good wine, not the Chenin Blanc that Alan liked, but something expensive and South African.
When she opened the door, David was in his usual outfit: gray flannel trousers, a Viyella shirt and tie, and a tweed jacket. His gray hair was neatly combed.
“Shirley,” he said. “How very nice to see you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
She did not know whether it was appropriate to kiss him on the cheek. He obviously had the same problem, so they shook hands and she took him into the living room. He turned down her offer of wine and asked for some mineral water instead.
“Is your husband here?” he asked politely. That was such an irritating question. She did have an identity outside her husband. She was capable of having a drink with someone without him.
“No. I’m afraid we’ve had a small domestic disturbance,” she said coolly.
David looked confused. She was not going to spell it out for him.
“I see,” he said cautiously.
“Yes. We have split up. I’m quite happy about it. At our age we all need a shake-up or else we atrophy and die.” She must have read that somewhere. It did not sound very convincing but she certainly did not want David Arbuthnot pitying her.
“And what have you been up to, David?” she said.
“Did you know I’m doing a PhD?”
“How interesting. That must keep you busy. And what is your subject?”
“Water technology. The history of aqueducts and dams. There’s so much fascinating stuff. Amazing stories — you know, when the St. Francis Dam in California collapsed in 1928 twelve and a half billion gallons of water poured out? Can you imagine that? Twelve and a half billion gallons!”
“Well, yes, I suppose if it was leaking through your ceiling it could cause a lot of damage. How did you get interested in all that?”
“I studied engineering.”
“At one of those technical colleges?”
David seemed offended. “No. At a proper university.”
Shirley poured herself another glass of wine. She was trying to think why she had even invited him round.
“I did sociology at university,” she said. “I thought of going further with it but what would I do with a PhD in it? Anyway, I’d learnt everything I needed to know about people by then.” She finished her wine. “And how is the Tuesday group?”
He looked sheepish. “I’m sorry about what happened. The letter and all that.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you, David,” she said magnanimously. “I know they put you up to it. Anyway, I don’t hold grudges.”
“Yes. I always thought that underneath everything you might be a rather forgiving person.”
She was touched. “Well, I don’t necessarily forget, yes, but I do forgive.” That was not entirely true. She was never going to forgive Alan.
“Actually we miss you. Well, some of us do. The sessions aren’t quite as…”— he tried to find the right word — “…dynamic as they were when you were with us.”
“Any breakthroughs?”
He laughed. “You know they come as often as Halley’s Comet, Shirley. We do it as much for companionship as anything else, don’t we?”
She took another gulp of wine. “I certainly didn’t. I would have chosen my companions more carefully if I was looking for that.”
“Loss is equal opportunity, Shirley. You can’t pick and choose,” he said gently.
She poured herself another glass of wine, but then everything went wrong: the glass slipped and it spilled onto her lap all over her beige trousers. “Oh!” she screamed, leaping to her feet. The sudden action seemed to release something in her because she suddenly found herself saying, “Actually, my husband left me.”
David got to his feet and pulled her to him. “Oh my dear,” he said, “I’m so sorry. How awful.”
She extricated herself from his arms. Da
vid poured her another glass of wine.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” she said sharply.
“Talking about the pain of loss, that’s good, that’s what we do in the group.”
“I’m not in the group anymore.”
“But you do think about Sally?”
“Of course I think about Sally. She’s always with me.” She paused for a moment, and then said, “Actually, I did have a bit of a breakthrough. On my own. Without the group.” She didn’t mind that it sounded like one-upmanship.
She told him about what had happened in her hotel room in Manchester, how it felt like Sally had led her to Joseph. She left out certain key elements. She did not say she knew him: she simply said that the man in the room down the corridor had had a heart attack.
“That’s extraordinary,” David said. “Well done! I’m so pleased. Sally must have been a very caring person to have guided you.”
Shirley’s head was swimming. “You’ve been very kind, David. Thank you.”
“I don’t have much to offer, but I do understand how hard it is to lose someone whether they’re dead or alive. You might be able to find your husband again.”
“He isn’t lost, David. He hasn’t vanished into the ether like the loved ones you’re all looking for. I don’t want to be back with him.”
“You’ll get through it, Shirley. You’re brave. You’re strong. You’re an attractive woman. You’ll be able to move on.”
“Well, I hope so.”
“As I discovered after losing my wife, there’s a lot of readjustment. You lose a lot but you can gain a lot. That’s the thing you may not know yet.”
Shirley was having some difficulty following what he was saying, but that might have been because he was skating from one inane cliché to another. Or else it might have been the wine. She could see the empty bottle out of the corner of her eye.
David took her hand. “If there’s anything I can do, Shirley.”
She thought that touching her hand would be a brief gesture, but he did not take it away.
“One of the things I found difficult after my wife passed was losing the things we shared together. Though I suppose we really lost them a long time before, when she became ill. The oxygen machine in the bedroom rather cramped our style.”
“Well, yes, not going out together, not having someone to go on holiday with…”
“I really meant more intimate things.”
“Oh,” Shirley said.
“Yes, when that side of things is so fulfilling, it’s painful when it’s suddenly whisked away. We all have needs. Perhaps you’ve found that yourself.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Well, it wasn’t really that kind of thing with my husband.”
He nodded his head meaningfully. “Then you’ll certainly know about need, Shirley. I’ve always found you very attractive. You know that. I told you once before.”
“I remember.”
“Of course, your circumstances were rather different then. You see, I’m a very sexual person. I sense that you are, too.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said nervously, but before she had finished speaking he was on her side of the sofa and his mouth was against her ear, breathing heavily. His jacket smelled a bit musty. Then his tongue was wriggling around inside her ear. She had not liked that much when she was a teenager and it had not improved over the years. She gently pulled herself away.
He took her face in his hands. “Oh, Shirley, we could really have something together. I’ve always known that. Perhaps now is the right time.”
Before she could speak — not that she had any idea what to say — he was kissing her. I am a fifty-eight-year-old woman whose husband has just left, she thought, and a middle-aged structural engineer who is passionate about dams has his tongue in my mouth. Why not go with it? Maybe it was true: maybe everybody did need a shake-up or they would atrophy and die.
David gently pushed her back on the sofa and lay on top of her. She was surprised how good his weight felt. Soon his hands were inside her blouse. His fingers were scrabbling round the clasp of her bra. How old did a man have to be to finally understand how a bra comes off?
He put his head between her breasts. It was not unpleasant and she put her hands on his head and caressed it, but either his hair was greasy or he had put some kind of lotion on it. She took her hands off and surreptitiously wiped them on the fabric of the sofa, hoping it would not stain.
She was not sure of the etiquette of this kind of thing. “Should we go somewhere more comfortable?” Her back was beginning to ache.
“Oh yes, please. I want to see you properly,” he said breathlessly. Her heart sank slightly. She realized that was the point of the thing, but she was not entirely sure that she wanted anyone to see her properly.
In the bedroom, he said, “Which one should we use?” gesturing at the twin beds.
“I’m not sure it much matters, David. They’re both the same.”
“Is there one that you and your husband…”
“Don’t worry: the sheets are clean.”
He pulled the cover back. “Let me undress you,” he said gently.
“Why don’t you go first?” she said nervously.
He was out of his clothes quickly and he faced her naked with his hands on his hips. She resisted the urge to pick up his trousers and put them over the back of a chair.
“Give me a moment, David. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
Once in the bathroom, she turned the key very slowly so he would not hear. She could see that locking the door could be misconstrued. She took her clothes off. Well, she didn’t look too bad. She was a bit bony and her breasts seemed to have got smaller but she thought she did not look too bad. She put her new negligee on, took a deep breath and opened the door.
David had turned all the lights on and was sitting up in bed, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Do you mind if we turn the lights off?” She gave a nervous laugh. “I need to ease myself into this gently.” She did not want to ease herself into this at all, but it seemed too late to back out.
She turned the overhead light off, and one of the bedside ones. Then she let the negligee slip to the floor and got into bed as quickly as she could. He was very hot. She thought she’d better begin stroking his body. She avoided going too low: the top half would have to do for the time being. He began to kiss her again. He put his hand between her legs. To her surprise, she did not find it unpleasant. He rolled on top of her. Was this it? Was this the moment? But he went on kissing her and moving his hands over her body as if he was trying to find something that had gone missing. This seemed to go on for a long time. Her arm had gone to sleep. She wondered if he was being considerate, trying not to go too fast for her. “David, I’m ready,” she said gently.
“Hold on,” he said, and got out of bed. “Time for Plan B.” He put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. “These are miracle workers,” he said, holding up a box and popping a pill in his mouth. “Give me fifteen minutes for them to work. I hope we’re not in a hurry.”
Outrage surged up in her. First Alan had them, now David. Were those bloody pills going to follow her round forever? She jumped out of bed and pulled the negligee on.
“Put on your clothes,” she said.
“But…”
“Please.”
“It’s nothing to do with you, Shirley, I promise. I haven’t been with a woman for a long time. I don’t normally need them. Everything works fine at other times.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I…relieve myself.”
She let out a groan of disgust.
“We all have…”
“Please don’t say that again,” she said.
“You know, at our age everybody uses Viagra. It’s not unusual.”
“So I gather.”
“Shall we forget all
this?”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”
“No, I meant, forget this conversation. Spool back.”
“I’m all spooled out,” she said. “Please go, David.”
There had been a small problem at the hospital the next day. The doctor drew her to one side while she was waiting outside Joseph’s room. “A word please, Mrs. Isaacs.”
“Yes?”
“Your husband was in this morning.” She had texted Alan to say that she would do afternoons at the hospital, so she did not have to run into him.
“Ex-husband, actually,” Shirley said, not strictly accurately.
“He asked how Mr. Carter was doing, and I said that his brother-in-law was doing as well as can be expected, although not entirely out of the woods yet.”
“That’s good.”
“Apparently, he is not Mr. Carter’s brother-in-law.”
“Oh.”
“So that would make you what, precisely, Mrs. Isaacs? Not his sister, anyway.”
She did not say anything.
“Look, believe me, whatever silly subterfuge you’re indulging in is very low on my list of priorities. We’re serious people here. Please treat us seriously. We have a lot to do.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said crisply. “He has no relatives and I’m the closest person to him. I didn’t want to endlessly be told he was comfortable. I needed the full story. I am a doctor’s —”
“Are you? Really?” He turned and strode down the corridor.
It was embarrassing to be caught out, but she had done it for good reasons. She was not going to be apologetic. She was a serious person and she had a lot to do as well.
When the nurse came out of Joseph’s room, she smiled warmly. She thought she’d better be charming. She did not want everyone in the hospital to turn against her. “May I go in now? And by the way, I just wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for my…for Mr. Carter. I know how hard you work. And all for so little pay. And probably such a long way from your country.” The nurse looked confused. Maybe she didn’t understand English very well.
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