Say You Love Me

by Marion Husband

  Mark had said, ‘Hello, Kitty. I’m pleased to meet you at last.’

  He had taken both her hands and kissed her on each cheek and smiled his shockingly beautiful smile. He was as expensively dressed and as powerfully built as Ben, but a bit taller, just enough for the difference to be noticeable. When the brothers stood side by side it seemed to her that Ben realised how much Mark out-shone him; Ben became a different, diminished man and even the sentences he spoke became poor, stunted things, as though he could hardly bring himself to speak for bitterness and jealousy. After that meeting, half-drunk and off-guard, she had asked Ben if he hated his brother.

  He had turned on her angrily. ‘Why do you say that?’

  She’d retreated at once. ‘Sorry – of course you don’t hate him –’

  ‘Don’t I? No – of course.’ He snorted. ‘Have you fallen in love with him?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Don’t protest too much. Most women do fall for him.’ He frowned, studying her for a moment. ‘Perhaps you’re too young to make that mistake.’

  Later that night as they lay in bed together, Ben asked her to marry him. His proposal wasn’t unexpected but all the same she had struggled from his embrace to kneel at his side. ‘You really want to marry me?’

  ‘Yes, I really do.’

  ‘Why?’

  He laughed and reached out to press his palm against her cheek. ‘Because I love you. Because I find you sweet and sexy and lovely. Perhaps the better question is why you should want to marry me, if you do want to, of course.’

  ‘I do!’ She remembered laughing and thinking that this was how it felt to be truly happy. Unable to contain herself she’d stood up on the bed and looked down on him. ‘Can we have a big white wedding? Can we have a horse and carriage and loads of bridesmaids and a marquee and a massive party –’

  He’d laughed and held out his hand to steady her as she bounced on the bed. ‘You can have anything you want. Choirs of angels, if you want.’ He pulled her down, holding her close as he guided her hand to his erection. Softly he said, ‘I want a child, a son. I don’t want to wait.’

  What is happiness, anyway? Kitty thought. An excitement that’s quickly over. It’s not contentment. She used to imagine contentment was only for the old. Happiness was nothing very much more than sparks from a Catherine Wheel.

  The day Nathan was born Ben had bought her three dozen yellow roses. On the card he wrote, ‘Well done, my darling girl.’ Her mother, reading the message, had laughed shortly. Her mother and husband successfully made her feel like a child.

  Ben’s car spread its light across the ceiling. She listened to the car door slam, the beep that meant it was locked and alarmed; she heard his footsteps on the gravel, his key turn in the door. She tensed, wondering if he would go into the kitchen or come straight upstairs to bed, to her, wanting her with the single-mindedness that had recently transformed their love-making so that she felt her only part in the process was as a receptacle for his sperm. Nathan was no longer enough; there was more to prove.

  She turned on her side and curled into a ball, her back to his side of the bed. She thought of the hedgehogs that bumbled across the lawn at night and wondered if Ben had ever found one to dissect.

  Simon was still up when Mark returned home. He came out from the kitchen as Mark hung up his jacket and said, ‘Iain’s here,’ his voice flat so there could be no doubt he was still upset with him. Mark sighed.

  ‘In that case I’ll go straight to bed.’

  ‘No. You won’t be rude to my friends. You’ll come through and say hello.’

  Mark imagined arguing, whining like a child, saying that he was tired and that Ben had been nasty to him and couldn’t he take his side, just for once? He imagined telling him about Steven – a good enough excuse to be allowed to be alone. But Simon was gazing at him, expecting him to argue, expecting to be let down and disappointed. Through the open kitchen door Mark could see the chess set on the kitchen table. The two men would stay up late into the night and in the morning he would come down to the half-finished game, the captured pieces lined up against the whisky bottle and two sticky tumblers.

  Simon went into the kitchen. Cheerfully he said, ‘Iain, fetch another glass, Mark’s going to join us for a night-cap.’

  Iain Weaver stood up. He went to a cupboard and took out a glass, perfectly at home. Pouring a generous measure of Simon’s whisky, he smiled at Mark as he handed him his drink. ‘You don’t take water with it, do you Mark? I should know, shouldn’t I – you’re my Godson, after all. I don’t see enough of you, Mark – read your last review in the Observer, though. Terribly proud of you, my boy. Terribly proud.’

  The Observer had said he was back on form after a disappointing run. He remembered tossing the paper down, thinking wankers. He smiled at Weaver. ‘How are you, Iain?’

  ‘Oh, you know – when you get to my age…’ He laughed. ‘You’ve lost weight, my boy. Good for you! Fat at fifty, fat forever, that’s what I say.’

  Dryly Simon said, ‘Mark’s nowhere near fifty, Iain, and he’s never been fat. Please don’t upset him.’

  Iain frowned at Mark. ‘You’re not upset, are you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Weaver went on frowning at him. He had a way of sizing him up that had always made him uncomfortable. Iain Weaver knew too much about him, knew everything, in fact. When he was a teenager Weaver’s knowledge of him made him blush to the roots of his hair. For years he couldn’t stay in the same room as him; even now he longed to get away. He thought of the boy, Steven, and wanted to be alone to begin to understand how he felt. The boy had Danny’s voice; his voice more than anything else dragged him back to his childhood.

  Simon said, ‘How’s Ben, Mark?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Weaver said, ‘Your father’s told me what Ben’s been up to. I have to say I think he’s a bloody fool.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t think why he would want to do such a fool thing.’

  ‘All right, Iain.’ Simon glanced at Mark, embarrassed. ‘I think enough has been said on that subject.’

  ‘Yes. Of course. I just wanted Mark to know I don’t support what Ben’s doing.’

  The two older men sat down, facing each other across the chessboard. Mark realised he’d been dismissed and set his barely tasted drink down gently. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mark!’ Iain smiled at him. Simon hardly glanced up as he made his first move of the game.

  Later Simon knocked on his bedroom door, waiting only a moment before coming in. He said, ‘I saw your light was on. Can’t you sleep?’

  Mark put down the book he’d been reading. ‘I haven’t tried to sleep.’

  ‘No?’ Simon sat on his bed. He smiled awkwardly. ‘Months since I climbed those stairs. Quite an effort…’ Sighing he said, ‘I didn’t think you’d be asleep.’

  ‘Has Iain gone?’

  ‘He’s contemplating his next move – could take an age…I wanted to find out how you’d got on with Ben.’

  ‘Not very well.’

  ‘No, I supposed you hadn’t. What did he have to say for himself?’

  ‘Nothing very much.’

  ‘No news?’

  Mark laughed bleakly.

  ‘Mark, please don’t keep things from me – if Ben’s discovered anything at all I’d like to know.’

  ‘He hasn’t.’ He looked at him, feeling blatant, knowing that he could lie well when he chose to.

  Simon exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath. ‘That man! That disgusting swine! Why should Ben want to look for a swine like that? Why? He should have been hanged! I would have put the rope around his neck myself!’

  Such vehement hatred was disturbing, it exposed too much that was better shut away. Quickly Mark said, ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the truth! Iain always said he should have hanged for what he did and I agree!’

  Iain had said, ‘Now, young man, you’re going to ha
ve to be very brave and good whilst I examine you. It won’t hurt, you just take some good deep breaths…’ A nurse had held his hand and stroked his head and said ‘It’s all right, good boy, good boy, good boy,’ as the doctor hurt him. They had laid him on a high narrow bed covered with a roll of white paper as though he was dirty and there was a sharp, bad stink and shiny metal objects arranged on a trolley and glinting in the hospital’s bright, white light. The doctor and the nurse seemed to know what Danny had done to him. He thought he would die of shame.

  Mark turned away, unable to face Simon after such memories. He said, ‘I’ll go home in the morning, Dad. I think that would be best.’

  ‘Oh Mark. How did we come to this? You know what Iain said to me just now? He said how proud I must be of you and Ben that you both over-came so much and turned out so well –’

  Mark shook his head, smiling in disgust. ‘I suppose he considers your experiment a complete success now he can see how well we’ve turned out.’

  ‘My experiment?’

  Ashamed of himself he said, ‘I’m sorry. Forget it. I’m tired –’

  ‘You say foolish things, Mark.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Sorry.’

  ‘Your mother and I adopted you and Ben because we loved you and wanted to give you a proper home.’

  Mark hung his head. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

  ‘All I wanted – all your mother wanted – was for you to feel safe and loved enough to put your past behind you.’

  ‘Yes, Dad. I know. And we did, I did, at least. I knew you loved us…’

  ‘Did you?’ He laughed a little. ‘I wondered. When you first came to us you reminded me…’ He pressed his lips together, clamping down on the words he was about to say. ‘Anyway – long time ago, now.’

  ‘What did I remind you of?’

  Simon gazed at him. At last he said, ‘You reminded me of a kitten my father brought home once. A farmer had given it to him. He had thrust the poor creature into a sack, tied the top and handed it to my father as a present for me. As soon as Dad opened the sack in our kitchen the little cat leapt out and ran straight up the wall. Such a look of shock and fright on its face…’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry – it’s a silly comparison.’

  ‘It’s not. I was a timid child.’

  ‘No – not really. You could be a fearless little thing!’ He laughed. ‘I remember the first time I took you and Ben swimming, how you took to the water so naturally while Ben flayed about… and if you were timid around strangers, well, maybe you had every right to be…’ Fervently he said, ‘I just wanted to protect you – like I wanted to protect that kitten – make you see that you were safe and wouldn’t be harmed again! But I couldn’t – you had to learn that for yourself. I just had to wait for you to trust me. I was impatient, though. I remember feeling terribly impatient.’

  ‘Yes, I remember too.’

  ‘Do you? Then I’m sorry.’ To Mark’s surprise he reached out and took his hand between his own. ‘I wanted to be a good father.’

  ‘You were.’

  ‘I could have been better –’

  Mark drew his hand away gently. ‘All parents make mistakes.’

  ‘Do you think I loved Ben more?’

  ‘No!’ He frowned at him. ‘Please, Dad, there’s no need to talk like this –’

  ‘There is! I need you to know I treated you both as fairly as I could.’

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘Then why…’ He closed his eyes. Painfully he said, ‘Then why did you set out to hurt Ben so badly –’

  ‘I didn’t set out to hurt him.’

  ‘You had an affair with his wife.’

  ‘He didn’t find out.’

  ‘But you wanted him to.’

  ‘No! It had nothing to do with Ben or you, or the past. Nothing to do with the way you brought us up. My childhood doesn’t have to be the reason for everything –’

  ‘I’m just trying to make sense of it!’

  ‘The sense is I loved her.’

  ‘Love! For God’s sake be honest with yourself if not with me –’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘How could I what? Love someone? I don’t know, Dad. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Who’d have thought I’d be capable of love, eh? A dirty, filthy, damaged creature like me!’

  ‘I never thought of you like that and you know I didn’t!’ He frowned at him as though coming to a realisation. ‘You’d do it again, wouldn’t you? You have no remorse –’

  ‘I loved her!’

  ‘She was your brother’s wife! Whatever you felt for her you should have left her alone! You set out to wreck his marriage, I know you did –’

  ‘All right, you’re right. I was so jealous I hated him and wanted revenge and it’s your fault for being such a bad father. You should have left me with Danny. Is that what you want to hear?’ He picked up the book that lay face down on his lap. Closing it he kept his gaze fixed on its cover. ‘Anyway, it’s over now. Ben has Kitty and Nathan; he has what he always wanted.’

  He thought of what he wanted. Susan. The way she held him, how her body fitted with his so well, how she could be so quiet sometimes he half-believed he calmed her and made her different from the woman his brother knew. At such times he had wanted to tell her how much she had made him different; but already he had told her too much. Better just to hold her and to imagine that because they fitted so well it was normal to love someone so badly, that nothing else could matter so much. They were made for each other. All at once he was seized by the desire to make Simon understand that his need for her wasn’t wicked.

  ‘Dad – Susan was everything to me…’ He trailed off, aware of how empty the words sounded, so drained of meaning through over-use. It was a line from a popular song, from a poem put together by someone who hadn’t thought deeply or clearly enough. Everything – the air that I breathe, my moon and stars and sun. Desperately frustrated, he said, ‘She understood me –’

  Simon laughed shortly. He said, ‘Mark – do I have to repeat myself? Do I have to tell you again that she was your brother’s wife? Everything else is romantic nonsense –’

  ‘No. No –’

  ‘She was the only woman in the world for you? The only one from so many – of course! Just an unhappy coincidence that she was Ben’s wife and he loved her, because she was the one, the only one who understood you!’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He could hear the sulkiness in his voice, could hardly bear to meet his father’s eye, just as he couldn’t as a child, because Simon knew him too well, as well as Iain Weaver who sat downstairs. Both of these charming, easy, worldly men knew him and from the moment they set eyes on him he had always made their flesh crawl. He had to make another effort to make him understand.

  Quickly he said, ‘I think about her all the time. Some days the grief is so bad I can’t keep still, can’t concentrate on anything but the fact that she’s gone and I’ll never see her again. I panic. It’s as if I can’t believe that it can’t somehow be fixed, that I can’t find someone who can make it all right again. All my life someone has always rescued me…but I can’t be rescued from this. I wish I had died instead.’

  ‘Don’t say that. If I lost you – well, I couldn’t cope with that.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Carry on? When I lost your mother –’ He sighed, exasperated. ‘Oh, Mark, hush now! Don’t start crying! Come on, don’t behave like this…pull yourself together. Perhaps you should go and see a doctor, you’re obviously depressed –’

  ‘I’m not depressed – pills won’t help how I feel!’

  ‘Not pills, then, a counsellor, perhaps.’

  Scornfully he said, ‘Someone to talk to? Aren’t we talking now? Can’t I talk to you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mark, I can’t. I’m not the right person.’

  ‘You’re the only one who knows.’

  ‘Ben is my son, just as you are. You must understand…please tr
y to understand.’ He took his hand again. ‘Mark, listen now. The pain gets better, I promise, you won’t always feel it so badly…’

  ‘I want to feel it – what else do I have?’ He made an effort to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll go home in the morning.’

  Simon got up from the bed. ‘Iain will be wondering where I’ve got to. I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’

  As he reached the door he stopped. He turned to him with such an expression of shocked bewilderment on his face that Mark got up and went to him. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Mark, oh God…’ His knees buckled and he collapsed into Mark’s arms.

  Chapter 12

  The Tale of Peter Rabbit was inscribed on its facing page with the words, ‘To Simon, who understands all too well what soporific means. With Daddy’s and Mummy’s very best love, Christmas 1927.’

  Annette smiled at the words. On her knee, Mark reached out and touched the copperplate writing. He whispered, ‘Read it, Mummy.’

  ‘You. You read it.’

  He struggled a little with the strange, ornate letters but she broke down the words into syllables, dragging her finger beneath each one. When they’d made sense of it he looked up at her. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. We shall have to look it up in a dictionary. Shall we read the story first?’

  He nodded and relaxed a little against her chest. She kissed his head, inhaling his soapy scent. She’d just bathed him; his hair clung damply to his head. Beneath his clean pyjamas bruises bloomed blue and yellow and black, some of them old, others more recent. She had dabbed at them gently as she dried him.

  She began to read, pointing out the words as she spoke. She was shocked that Peter’s mother told her babies that their father had been eaten in a pie, it seemed too terrible for words in a baby’s story. She had stopped reading but Mark had looked at her impassively, turning back to the book to read the story aloud to himself. She listened, watching as he pointed out the words as she had.

  Outside in the street Ben played football with his friends. She heard their shouts, heard the ball bounce hard against the cobbles. The sun streamed through the open window and she could smell the fish and chips frying in the chip shop on the corner. She remembered how hungry she was, and at once felt guilty. The boys were hungry too and it didn’t matter how she felt. She’d considered going to Joan and begging a couple of shillings to buy chips. Only her pride stopped her. Listening to Mark’s timid little voice she began to think that her pride was nothing against her children’s hunger. When the story was finished she would carry Mark next door and ask Joan for the money. Joan wouldn’t refuse her when she saw Mark. She adored Mark, was always amazed at his ability to read the labels of the tins and packets in her kitchen. As she fed him bread and jam she would sometimes test him with the evening paper and was always astonished. ‘Genius,’ she’d say as he read the bold black letters of the Gazette’s headline. ‘Real genius, aren’t you pet?’