One hot August evening, when she’d tossed and turned heavily all day waiting for them to come in, they both ignored her to the extent of turning their backs and reading. Furthermore, they were both reading different copies of the same book and they were at the same page. Furious, she wrenched the books away and threw them both out of the window. With one accord, they each picked up part of the same newspaper, and when she had crumpled those into balls and hurled them after the books, they simply closed their eyes and lay back on the couch.
‘Very clever,’ said Meredith, cuttingly. ‘Why don’t you knit identical sweaters and buy a tandem?’
Jos smiled slightly.
‘You’re just so damned superior, aren’t you?’
‘I was laughing at your joke,’ said Jos. ‘You can be very amusing sometimes, can’t she, George?’
‘Sometimes,’ said George, also smiling.
‘Bugger you both,’ said Meredith.
‘I hope it isn’t true that children are affected by pre-natal experiences,’ said Jos.
‘It isn’t,’ said George. ‘The only thing that can affect them is anything that affects the blood stream because they’re only connected to the mother through the blood supply’
‘But doesn’t anger affect the blood?’ said Jos. ‘I mean, suppose you keep losing your temper and the blood runs quicker – won’t these repeated shocks affect an unborn child?’
‘Shut up!’ yelled Meredith.
‘Aren’t you interested in the miracle of childbirth?’ said Jos.
‘No,’ said Meredith.
‘Don’t you want to understand what’s happening?’ said George. ‘Jos and I could explain it to you.’
‘I don’t want to know,’ said Meredith. ‘You both make me sick.’
Jos turned to George. ‘She probably won’t even recognize labour when it starts,’ he said.
‘Oh, won’t I,’ said Meredith sourly.
‘Are you frightened?’ said Jos. George regarded her with interest. Meredith hated them both.
Another night, it was their stupid fooling about that made her want to scream. She kept trying to tell them that they weren’t even vaguely funny, but they just wouldn’t take any notice and she worked herself into a frenzy trying to make them stop it. They thought they were so bloody witty prancing around dressed up as policemen in a lot of silly clothes. They didn’t even look like policemen.
‘You look more like rag and bone men,’ she roared.
‘You ‘ear that Fred?’ said Jos.
‘She finks we ain’t policemen,’ said George.
‘We’ll ’ave to show our cards,’ said Jos. ‘Here you are madam – just a peep, now.’
Meredith lunged forward and tore up whatever he was showing her.
‘That’s contempt,’ said George.
‘Obstructing an officer,’ said Jos.
‘Nine days,’ said George.
They started doing a song and dance routine that involved kicking their legs up behind them and waving frantically at the audience. The big joke was to disappear into the kitchen, smiling and waving brightly, like the end of a chorus line, then collapse, jaded and bored, until the supposed tumultuous applause brought them on again as before.
‘I can’t stand it,’ said Meredith, hysterically. ‘O.K.,’ said Jos.
They stopped and sat down quietly, exchanging looks across the room indicating that women who had nearly reached their time must be humoured.
‘Put your feet up,’ said George, kindly.
‘I’m not a bloody invalid so stop being so patronizing. My God,’ she went on deliberately, ‘at least I know now what it feels like to look like the back of a bus and have to stay in every night.’
George flushed slowly and deeply, her eyes filling with tears at the reminder.
‘You bitch,’ said Jos, and crossed swiftly over to where George was sitting.
‘Give her your shoulder to bawl on,’ said Meredith, ‘But watch she doesn’t get too excited, won’t you?’
‘If you weren’t pregnant, I’d smack your face,’ said Jos. ‘You’d think you were one of the world’s beauties.’
‘At least I’m not one of its freaks,’ said Meredith.
‘Maybe I’ll smack it anyway,’ said Jos, advancing towards her.
‘Don’t,’ said George. Her nose had gone red with crying and her face looked puffed and swollen. ‘It’s true what she says so I don’t know why I’m getting so upset.’
‘Of course it’s not true,’ said Jos. He swore and kicked the leg of the chair Meredith was sitting in.
‘It is,’ said George, wanly. ‘I’m ugly and big and stupid.’
‘Oh God,’ said Jos.
‘I know,’ said Meredith. ‘It gets very boring doesn’t it? She goes on like this all the time. The best thing to do is ignore her.’
Jos suddenly wanted to bring back his fist and smash it hard into her belly. He stared at her instead, imagining how her face would contort with pain, how the cold, self-assured little mask would slip. Then it occurred to him that she’d said those things to George for one reason only, and he smiled with malicious delight at the thought that she should experience such a very undetached emotion.
‘You’re jealous,’ he said, softly, ‘you’re jealous of George. She’s winning hands down, isn’t she, instead of providing the humble audience you wanted. Nothing’s working out right, is it?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Meredith, sharply.
‘You’re jealous of George,’ repeated Jos.
‘How could I be?’ drawled Meredith. ‘Just look at her snivelling there. She hasn’t got a single thing so how could I possibly be jealous of her?’
‘And what have you got?’ said Jos.
‘Very clever,’ said Meredith. ‘So loaded with significance and inner meaning. I like the way you dropped your voice an octave.’ She stood up, with an effort. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Good,’ said Jos.
He felt quite light-hearted when she’d gone through into the bedroom. Sometimes, he wondered why he just didn’t leave her. She seemed to want nothing from him except his presence. They hardly spoke, and now that the baby was almost due they didn’t make love either. There was nothing but that great bulge to keep them together.
He tried to make allowances for her, just because George was always doing so. But none of the excuses worked. Basically, she was a selfish bitch with nothing to give anyone except her body. He didn’t even miss that. He’d rather talk to George.
She was in the bedroom and he and George were free to enjoy the rest of the evening. He savoured the feeling, walking round the room and humming to himself. He wasn’t bored. They wouldn’t do anything exciting but they wouldn’t need to go to the pictures or dash round seeing other people. He didn’t know what they would do, or how to describe the active inactivity, but he would be looking forward to it the next night. He felt elated. George was still crouched in her chair, the picture of misery.
‘Come and sit over here,’ he said, and went himself to sit on the sofa. She joined him, reluctantly. Jos put his arm round her.
‘We’re quite an old married couple now,’ he said.
‘Us?’
‘Yes. Don’t you think it’s seemed like being married to each of the other two? I’ve felt like an eastern oil king with two wives – one for sleeping with and the other for living with.’
‘One for having babies,’ said George.
‘That’s just to make her worth her keep.’
‘It’s a pity you can’t have them both in one,’ said George. ‘I mean, if I looked like Meredith there might have been a chance for me.’
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ said Jos. ‘If you looked like Meredith I’d kick you out of the window. I can’t bear the sight of her.’ He put his arm lower and drew George to him. She turned her head away and he turned it back so that he could look at her properly. Her eyes looked down and then up, anywhere but at him until he started mo
ving from side to side and up and down, like a tic-tac man, to catch their gaze. George laughed and at last steadied her gaze to meet his. The doubt and unhappiness in her face made Jos choke. He bent swiftly towards her and kissed her passionately.
‘I – love – you,’ he said separating each word harshly and distinctly. ‘I’ve never said that to anyone before. Do you believe me?’
‘Does it matter?’ said George, trembling.
‘Of course it matters. I’ve never said it. I’ve said everything else but not that. Do you love me?’
‘I always have,’ said George, ‘but it’s useless. You’re just sorry for me, you’re married –’
He put his hand over her mouth. He’d said he loved her without thinking what he was saying, but the minute he’d said it he knew it was true. He was terrified she wouldn’t believe him. It was so simple to say, she might think he’d said it a thousand times and it mattered very much that she should know he hadn’t, because he hadn’t anything else new or fresh to give. She didn’t realize the value of the gift his tongue had just given her.
He shut his eyes until they hurt and tried to see all the weeks that had gone by all at the same time, like a dying man is supposed to see his whole life laid out before him. Image after image flashed in front of him. He could see himself going over to George that first time and talking to her. He could see them doing things together. They’d done it all as it should be done without realizing it – a long apprenticeship to the real thing. All that had been lacking was desire for her. He’d never thought he would feel that.
The aftermath that had seemed so important before didn’t worry him in the slightest. He loved her. He could deal with the guilt and panic and all the endless worries that would tumble out. It wasn’t taking advantage of her at all. He started to unfasten the shirt she was wearing, and pulled her skirt down. She was so excited that she clung to him and hindered him. He tried to unfasten her hold on him so that he could stand up and lead her to the divan, but she refused to let him, as though afraid that if she once let go it would all end. Urgently, he pulled her with him to the floor and lay on top of her, cradling her head in his hands. She was warm and soft and there was so much, so satisfying much, to hold and caress.
It should all have been so right. She was relaxed and wanting him, every nerve quivered with eagerness, but as he penetrated her, gasping with haste, he could feel her flinch and contract. He felt it but could do nothing about it, he was too preoccupied with his own climax. He wanted to reassure her, to stop, to go more slowly, but he couldn’t contain himself and he had to go on leaving her suffering behind him.
She lay and wept. Exhausted, he wanted to turn over and go to sleep. He needed to gather strength to soothe and silence her.
‘Sssh,’ he said. ‘It will be all right. It sometimes happens like that the first time.’ He couldn’t actually remember it ever happening before but then he couldn’t recall having any girl for what was her first time.
‘It didn’t with Meredith,’ sobbed George. ‘I asked her once and she said it was an old wives’ tale that it hurt. She said it was marvellous the first time.’
‘Bugger Meredith,’ said Jos, sleepily.
‘I’m just no good. I’m as hopeless at sex as everything else.’
‘Oh Christ,’ said Jos. He couldn’t believe the elation had gone so soon. He sat up and pressed the palms of his hands hard into his closed eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ said George. ‘I spoil everything.’
‘Look,’ said Jos. ‘I love you.’ He stopped. He couldn’t think what he’d meant to say, or why he kept on thinking those words were so shattering. ‘Don’t let’s talk now,’ he pleaded.
He was scared. There wasn’t anything to communicate by except speech. If only she could know how much he loved her, everything would be all right. But she couldn’t. She had to be told and he didn’t know how to tell. He wished he had a portable lie-detector which he could plug in and speak into and say ‘Look, all those red flashes mean it’s true.’
He flopped back on to the floor and groped for a cigarette. It was very undignified having his trousers round his ankles. He smiled experimentally but George didn’t take it up. They made a sordid heap. Her clothes seemed to be everywhere. He swore when he couldn’t find a cigarette in his pocket and said ‘Oh Christ’ and then ‘Oh bloody hell’. He got up and stretched and yawned and looked down at her. He thought he would have to do something, temporarily. Vaguely, he bit his nails and stared down at her.
Then he heard Meredith cry out from the bedroom, a prolonged ‘Oh’, and then repeated again and again.
‘She’s started,’ said George. They stared at each other, weak and numb, then the cry came again and George began to struggle frantically into her clothes.
‘You go in,’ said Jos. ‘I’ll ring for an ambulance.’
George pushed open the bedroom door and switched the light on.
‘Put that bloody light off,’ screamed Meredith. She was lying arching her back on the bed, her hands clutching her swollen belly. George felt a wave of sheer terror run through her, for herself, not Meredith, and then she moved forward and tried to help her off the bed and into her dressing gown.
The ambulance took twenty minutes to arrive. They sat, all three, on the side of the bed, Meredith in the middle, alternatively leaning on Jos and then on George, moaning and cursing them both. Dully, George thought it was like the ball game at school where someone stood in the middle and the other two threw the ball to each other over her head. She’d always hated being the piggy in the middle. She hugged Meredith and tried to comfort her, while Jos slumped on the other side. When the bell rang, he jumped as though he’d been asleep. On their way down, they passed Peg, standing at her door.
‘I heard her scream,’ said Peg, solemnly. ‘Are you all right?’ she said to Meredith.
‘Don’t be so bloody silly,’ said Meredith. It was meant to be a roar, but came out as a feeble whisper.
‘Do you want a boy or a girl?’ said Peg, blinking.
Meredith laughed hysterically as they helped her into the ambulance, on and on until the tears streamed down her face. One of the ambulance men looked at Jos, ‘Shall I slap her?’ he said. Jos shook his head, and eventually Meredith’s guffaws trailed off into spasmodic giggles. She seemed calmer, and gazed at them searchingly, from one to the other. Finally, she stopped at George, and her expression became mocking. She seemed about to sit up and say something, but another spasm of pain seized her, and instead she lay back, groaning.
George put her hand out to steady herself as the ambulance swayed round a corner. She found a nerve beating in the side of her head, and put that hand up to press and stop it, but it went on pulsating through her.
Gradually, inside her, a feeling of complete disaster surged up. It was a physical throbbing, welling up into her throat. She was sweating, and moisture rushed into her mouth from nowhere. She felt she was going to faint, when the ambulance stopped and the doors opened and the air hit her face. She and Jos clambered out stiffly, as though they’d been travelling all night on the back of an open lorry. They went into the hospital, following the stretcher men, and were left behind in the waiting room as they carried Meredith off down a long corridor. They sat down, hand in hand.
The nurses passing to and fro looked at them with just a flicker of sympathy. Maybe they think our only child’s been knocked down by a bus, thought George. We’re sitting here waiting to see if it’s got to have its legs off or not. They don’t know we’re an adulterer and his mistress, waiting to see what the wife’s had.
They waited four hours and then someone came and told them they might as well go home and get some sleep, it was going to take a long time. So they went back to the flat. The bed Meredith had got out of looked crumpled and forlorn, the covers twisted in painful contortions to one side of it and the pillows deeply dented. Jos fell on to it, fully clothed, and slept immediately. George went into the sitting room and sat up the rest of the
night, smoking. It was she who phoned the hospital at 8 a.m. and was told Meredith had had a girl and both were well.
The relief of having Meredith out of the flat hit Jos the moment he woke up. She’d lain there, those last few months, like a great burden of guilt, a daily early reminder of his predicament. It was lovely to be able to stretch and fling his arms about and not hit her.
He could smell bacon frying, sweet and succulent, mixed with the strong hot wafts of coffee, and hear George moving quietly about in the kitchen. Quickly, he got up, deciding he would take a holiday from work, and padded through to see her.
‘Good morning,’ she said, formally.
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it marvellous not having Meredith moaning around?’
‘That’s an awful thing to say,’ said George.
‘Why? It’s so obvious.’
‘Don’t you want to know about your child?’ said George, stiffly.
‘It won’t be born yet,’ said Jos, picking a piece of bacon out of the frying pan with a fork and holding it up to cook. ‘I’ll ring if you like.’
‘I’ve rung,’ said George, suddenly abandoning her cooking.
‘Well?’ said Jos. He felt vaguely excited, he was pleased to note.
‘A girl,’ said George. ‘7 lb 2 oz, at seven this morning, both well. You can visit this evening, 7.30 to 8.30.’
Jos sat down and ate his bacon. The only conscious thought he had was that it was a very good job it was a girl. If it had been a boy, it would have needed a father and George and he would have had to adopt it which might have caused all sorts of complications. But a girl could very well be managed by Meredith on her own with occasional visits from him.
Georgy Girl Page 8