Say You Love Me

by Marion Husband

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Say it as though you mean it!’

  ‘I do! I love you, Danny.’

  He stared at her and it took all her courage not to look away from him. She hoped he wouldn’t notice how much she was trembling and tried to smile, to keep her voice steady as she said, ‘I love you.’

  He went on staring at her although his body lost some of it tautness. His face crumpled. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, babe.’

  He began to cry. Still kneeling astride her he covered his face with his hands. Annette held out her arms to him. He lay down, burying his face against her breasts, and cried as though his heart was broken.

  Chapter 9

  Doctor Walker was out when Annette arrived at his house at the time they’d arranged. After she’d knocked on the front and back doors and peered into the windows to make sure he wasn’t home, she lit a cigarette. She watched the little birds feed from the toast crusts on the bird table, keeping an eye on the cat that crouched half-hidden beneath a bush. She thought how Danny hated cats, seemed actually to be afraid of them. He hated dogs, too. If he heard a dog barking he would say how much he wished he had a gun so that he could shoot it and shut it up for good. She had laughed the first time he said this and he had looked at her as though he wanted to shoot her as well.

  Last night, when he had stopped crying, he had said, ‘They hate me don’t they?’

  She’d thought he meant the boys and so she said gently, ‘No – you’re their Daddy, they love you –’

  ‘No! Not them! The neighbours. They hate me.’

  She’d held him tighter, wishing he would sleep. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the boys, she tried to keep them out of his sight and mind because it seemed to her he could forget he had children quite easily if only they weren’t around to remind him. She stroked his head, afraid to speak even to comfort him. He was right anyway – their neighbours despised him.

  He’d pushed himself away from her and held her face between his hands. She could smell her own scent on his fingers, her fearful stink. ‘We should go away – me and you – away from this bloody hole.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘America.’ His eyes were bright. ‘I’d get a decent job there.’

  ‘All right.’

  He lay down again and pulled her to him. ‘Never walk out on me again like you did tonight. You hear me?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You showed me up.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right. Now go to sleep.’

  The cat began to stalk across Doctor Walker’s lawn, keeping its body close to the ground. Annette clapped her hands together and the birds took off. The cat ducked as they flew over its head. ‘There,’ she said. ‘That’s you foiled.’

  ‘Annette!’

  She turned to see Doctor Walker hurrying towards her. Breathlessly he said, ‘My dear, I’m sorry – I went out for some milk and a paper.’ He held up his shopping as if to prove he wasn’t lying. ‘Forgive me for keeping you waiting.’

  She hastily crushed her cigarette out beneath her shoe. ‘It’s all right, Doctor Walker, I’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘Really? Oh, that’s good. I didn’t forget about you, not at all.’

  He unlocked the back door, putting his shoulder against it when it stuck. He glanced at her, smiling. ‘Does anything work properly in this house? Perhaps I should sell it – buy a nice little bungalow instead.’

  Without thinking she said, ‘You’re too young for a bungalow.’

  He laughed. ‘You think so? I’m terribly flattered. But I was thinking more about my leg. It doesn’t like stairs, I’m afraid.’ Going into the kitchen he placed the bottle of milk in the sink and tossed the paper down on the table. It was the Guardian, the paper Danny sometimes read. There was a headline about Vietnam; Danny was following the war’s progress avidly.

  Doctor Walker said, ‘Let’s have a cup of tea! We must discuss a plan of action for today and I need your advice, Annette. You know Thorp better than I do – where will I find a plumber and a good decorator?’ He looked at her as he lit the gas beneath the kettle. ‘Do sit down, my dear. I’d thought we’d got over all this standing about on ceremony.’

  She sat gingerly, still tender from Danny’s assault on her last night; that morning she’d had a burning sensation when she’d gone for a pee. Trying not to think about what damage he might have done to her, she found herself looking around the room and noticed that it seemed a little cleaner and tidier than the last time she’d been here. A tea chest stood in one corner, spilling shreds of straw. Around it were ornaments, half out of their protective wrappings. A figurine of a shepherd boy smiled up from the floor beside an elegant-looking coffee pot.

  Doctor Walker said, ‘My wife’s things – some of them, at least. They arrived this morning – there’re more chests in the hall. All of them need sorting – I’m just not sure if she would rather do it herself.’

  ‘I’d want to unpack myself, if I were her.’

  ‘Would you? It was just that I don’t want her to come home to a house that looks like the removal men have just left.’ He laughed wearily. ‘When she’s a little stronger I shall ask her what she wants me to do.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Not too bad. Very sad, of course.’

  He made tea briskly and sat down opposite her. ‘Now, then. Plumbers. Can you recommend one?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry – I don’t know any.’

  ‘Decorators?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Oh. Oh well. I shall resort to Yellow Pages. See if I can spot the cowboys by the cut of their jib, eh?’

  She smiled. ‘You could try the hardware shop on Palmer Street. They might know some handy men.’

  ‘Thank you – I’ll pay them a visit. So, how are you today?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘And those little boys of yours – happily off to school? Or are they like I was – dragging their feet all the way?’

  ‘No, they like school. Ben especially – he’s made lots of friends.’ She thought of Mark, who seemed not to have made any friends, who stood alone each playtime. She imagined how scared he must be of going home, a place where he should have felt safe. Guilt at her failure to protect him rose inside her. She fought against it, aware of the strained silence that had grown between her and the doctor. After a moment she said, ‘Mark’s very shy. I worry about him.’

  ‘How old is Mark again?’

  She looked down at her tea. ‘Five.’

  ‘Very little, then. He’s probably just trying to find his feet, holding his fire until he knows what’s what and who’s who – a very sensible little boy.’

  She smiled and was appalled to feel tears sting the back of her eyes. She kept her head bowed to hide them from him.

  Gently he said, ‘Annette?’

  She wiped her eyes quickly. ‘I’m being daft.’

  ‘No – if you’re worried about him…’ He sighed. ‘My dear, forgive me if I’m prying but you really don’t look well to me. Would you like to go home?’

  ‘No – really. I’m all right.’ Forcing herself to look at him she smiled. ‘Really. It’s just when I think about Mark –’

  He looked so sympathetic, so kind and concerned, that she began to cry. At once he got up and walked round the table to sit beside her. He waited patiently, silently, until she stopped. Fishing out the handkerchief Joan had given her she blew her nose. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Tell me about Mark, Annette. Tell me why you’re so worried.’

  ‘I’m not! Not really. It’s probably like you said – he’s just finding his feet…’

  ‘Have you talked to his teacher? Perhaps she sees a different side to him when you’re not there.’ He was quiet for a while. At last he said, ‘I’m afraid I know so little about children. I only know how to treat them when they’re poorly. I wish I could be more help.’

  She stood up, stuffing the handkerchief int
o her pocket. ‘I should get on, Doctor Walker.’

  He didn’t protest as she thought he might. Instead he stood up too. ‘I’ve bought a vacuum cleaner. It’s in the hall – I think I’ve set it up properly.’

  Simon read the paper, reading the same line over and over and still not making sense of it. The drone of the vacuum kept drawing him back to thinking about Annette. He looked up as the vacuum was switched off and her footsteps sounded across the room above him. There was a bump as something was moved; the vacuum was switched on again. He realised he was sitting on the edge of his chair as if about to spring to his feet.

  He couldn’t stand that she was cleaning for him; he wanted to sit her down and feed her something nourishing; he wanted her to rest in the fresh air with the sun on her face. Most of all he wanted to understand what was troubling her and offer a solution. But he was afraid of his own motives: she was beautiful; in his old life he would have pursued her, asking her to share her problems a useful way into her bed. He knew he hadn’t changed and yet there was a vulnerability about Annette Carter that made him want to act with the best of motives. He had almost told Joy about her. But it was in that almost where his true character lurked.

  Her vacuuming went on, the noise becoming more distant as she moved to another room. He should ask her to stop, to go home, she’d done enough for one day. She would think that he was strange to pay her for a half day when she’d only worked an hour.

  He slumped back in his chair, tossing the paper to the floor. Last night he’d gone to dinner at the house of the senior gynaecologist at his new hospital. The man was called Iain, his wife Sarah and there were two other couples there, junior doctors and their wives. Usually he avoided such get-togethers – there seemed to him few worse prospects than an evening with colleagues – but these were new colleagues and he wanted badly to fit in, or at least assess what he was up against. So he’d bathed and pressed his good suit and tried to memorise his hostess’s name as he drove across town to the modern house that Iain had told him he’d had a hand in designing.

  Iain and Sarah knew about Joy, of course; such news always travelled swiftly and he’d prepared himself for sympathy, for those so sorry to hear openers that cloaked curiosity. He’d left Joy’s bedside early in order to be on time and he thought about her guiltily. Only as he’d parked on Iain’s gravel drive did he realise that it probably would be Iain himself who would be operating on his wife the next day. The realisation made him feel sick; he’d almost turned around and gone home.

  Sarah had greeted him at the door wearing a full-length flowing gown patterned in abstract purple flowers, her hair piled in a beehive, kiss-curls artfully slicked into place. She smelt of Chanel Number Five and when she kissed his cheek she rested a manicured hand on his arm and told him that she had visited Joy to welcome her to Thorp. He had felt so grateful he had almost cried. Sarah had patted his arm briskly. ‘Come through,’ she said. ‘Allow me to introduce you to everyone.’

  As they were finishing the Beef Wellington, Sarah had asked, ‘Have you found any help, Simon? I have a very good cleaner – would you like me to ask her to pop over – she lives quite close to you, near town.’

  ‘I’ve found someone, thank you.’

  ‘Oh, that was quick! How on earth did you do it? It took me months to find someone reliable!’

  He’d wondered if Annette was reliable and thought how frail she seemed, how distracted; his mother would have dismissed her as a will-o-the-wisp. In Iain’s brightly modern home he had sipped his wine and wondered if she would turn up in the morning as arranged, surprised at how worried he was that she might not.

  But this morning she had arrived on time and had even waited for him. She’d jumped when he’d called her name, for a moment she’d looked truly frightened. There were dark rings beneath her eyes, standing out starkly against the pallor of her complexion. He noticed how thin her arms were; he’d be able to encircle her forearm with his thumb and forefinger.

  Upstairs the noise of the vacuum ended. He found himself on his feet and walking out into the hall and upstairs.

  She looked at him from dusting the chest of drawers in the second bedroom. Simon smiled, suddenly at a loss, only to be inspired.

  ‘Annette, I’ve been sorting out some things and I’ve come across all my old toys my father kept. They’re in rather good condition – would you like them, for Ben and Mark? There are books, too. Peter Rabbit – a whole set of Beatrix Potter –’

  She looked terrified. She shook her head. ‘No, no thank you – really. It’s very kind…’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  He smiled, feeling even more foolish. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Doctor Walker…’

  ‘All right. Don’t worry, I’ll take them to the hospital, for the children’s ward.’

  ‘Yes. That would be best.’ She wrung her hands, twisting the duster into a tight, grubby knot.

  Afraid that she might cry again, he said carefully, ‘Annette, perhaps you should go home.’

  ‘Have I lost my job?’

  ‘No!’ He was horrified. ‘No, of course not! I just think –’

  ‘I’m all right to finish off here – until the time we said.’

  ‘Annette, I only think…’ He sighed, unable to say that he thought she looked too ill to be out of bed, let alone cleaning for him. ‘I’ll pay you for the whole morning, of course.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll make up for it.’ Feeling he owed her some kind of explanation he said, ‘My wife, Joy, is having her operation today. I should go and be with her.’

  She stepped forward timidly and he realised he was still standing in the doorway, blocking her exit. He stood aside and she pushed the unplugged vacuum past him.

  ‘Let me take that downstairs,’ he said.

  She turned to him. Quickly she said, ‘Thank you for the offer of the toys. Could I take a couple of the books for Mark? He loves to read.’

  The relief he felt was ridiculous. He beamed at her. ‘Of course. They’re in a box in the sitting room. Come and chose which ones you’ll think he’ll like best.’

  Chapter 10

  Ben said, ‘I met Kitty in this pub.’

  Mark looked around the Cross Keys. The bar was crowded and he’d had to wait for several minutes to be served, time enough to notice the groomed, thirty-something women that waited alongside him or stood around with their glasses of white wine in groups of three or four. The Keys was a big pub but its low ceiling and dark, old-fashioned décor made it seem intimate. It was possible to promenade around the Keys, circuiting out into its garden with its industrial-sized patio heaters and hanging baskets full of trailing ivy and dwarf geraniums, and back inside, edging through the elbow-to-elbow crowds of casually well-dressed drinkers. The promenade would be slow; there would be frequent stops to chat, or simply to wait while a jam of bodies cleared. The noise of so many people had made Mark wish his brother had chosen somewhere quieter.

  That morning, as he was preparing to go home, Ben had telephoned. Simon had answered, almost at once holding the phone out to him. ‘I think you should talk to your brother,’ he said. So Simon had allowed him to stay in order that he might talk to Ben, nodding his stern approval when he’d told him that this meeting was arranged. All day Mark’s nerves had jangled. Now it was all he could do to stop his hands from shaking.

  They had found a table that faced the bar, quite a vantage point for watching the ebb and flow. Mark sipped his pint, noticing two slim, pretty blondes pass them for the third time only to stop a few feet away. Mark said, ‘Is it singles’ night?’

  ‘Unofficially.’

  ‘Trying to fix me up?’

  Ben looked at him coldly. ‘No. I’m sure you don’t need any help in that department.’

  Regretting his thoughtlessness Mark said, ‘How’s Kitty?’

  ‘Fine. As is Nathan.’ Taking a long swallow of hi
s own pint he wiped his mouth and looked around. ‘We should have gone somewhere else. I’d forgotten what this place is like on a Tuesday night.’ His lip curled as he watched a trio of men move in on the blondes. ‘Bloody cattle market!’

  Ben had picked him up from Simon’s house in his new BMW. He had driven, as he always did, without speaking. A CD of Mozart’s Magic Flute played softly. Mark had rested his head back against the leather upholstery and tried to concentrate on the music. He’d felt jumpy with nervousness. Now, in the noisy pub, he wondered when his brother would see fit to begin on the reason why they were pretending it was natural that they should have a drink together and the sick feeling in his guts intensified. He half drained his glass in one long swallow. He wondered if being drunk would help.

  Ben said, ‘Do you think Dad’s managing in that house?’ He shook his head. ‘I wish he’d sell, buy something smaller. You know he never goes upstairs now, don’t you? He sleeps in the dining room.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Does it matter?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter – not if you don’t care whether he’s comfortable or not, whether he’s even safe in that bloody mausoleum.’

  ‘He’s safe enough.’

  ‘Yeah? He puts on a front for you – won’t admit to being scared –’

  ‘Scared?’ Mark frowned. ‘Scared of what, for God’s sake? Simon doesn’t get scared.’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Dad.’ Mark picked up his drink only to put it down again. As calmly as he could he said, ‘Dad’s fine. But if you like I’ll talk to him about moving somewhere more suitable.’

  ‘Do that. He listens to you.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Doctors don’t listen to other doctors. Susan was the same.’

  Mark avoided his gaze. He watched as the blonde girls flirted with the three men. One of the girls caught his eye and looked away quickly, her smile faltering as though she’d been caught out in a lie.

  After a while Ben said, ‘God only knows why Dad kept the house on after Mum died.’

  ‘Memories? The house is full of her, it’s obvious why he wants to stay there.’