Look to Your Wife

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Look to Your Wife Page 12

by Paula Byrne


  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: One of each, but they’re both men. You’re on the wrong track: I know that this letter was written by a woman. The details about my clothes, my body, the bitchiness. It’s not a man. I’m sure of it.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: I have, in my time, encountered bitchy men. Remember what I told you about the priests in Old Compton Street? But seriously, I’m worried about you. I don’t like this business. I think you and Edward should call the police.

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: That’s a bit OTT. I think it’s best ignored. I’m not giving it the oxygen of publicity.

  Twitter: what’s happening?

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  You won’t silence me. Unfortunately for you, my courage arises at every attempt to intimidate me.

  *

  ‘Darling, remember what I said about Twitter? I think you should be careful. We do have enemies. Don’t feed them ammunition. I’ve been thinking some more about that letter. If it is someone we know and not some troll who’s decided to cross the line into the real world, then it’s got to be someone from my past. The writer oscillates between calling me Edward and Ed. I was always Ed at JYA, but I’m Edward here at Blagsford. If they decided to impersonate a teacher, they’d have looked at the school website and seen the Headmaster’s Welcome from Edward Chamberlain. But then as they warmed to their theme they inadvertently slipped back to Ed, which is how I was known in Oxford and when I taught down in Surrey.’

  Lisa wasn’t persuaded. This all seemed very tortuous. Why were they letting it get to them? ‘Mightn’t it be the other way round – someone from here who saw the old “Ed the Head” story in the Liverpool Echo – that’s bound to be still online somewhere – and then they put in a few Eds deliberately, to lay a false trail?’

  ‘I really don’t think it’s someone on the staff here,’ said Edward, ‘There’s no real inner knowledge of the workings of a private school. It’s all based on your Twitter, larded with a few details that anyone could have found online. I’m convinced that it’s an outsider masquerading as a teacher at Blagsford. Lots of things just don’t add up.’

  Lisa was rinsing plates and glasses at the sink before loading them into the dishwasher. She raised a small chopping knife, pointing it melodramatically at her husband.

  ‘Well, darling, I am not going to be silenced by some sad old troll who hides behind their laptop. The boys around school call them keyboard warriors. They are not warriors, they are cowards. Do you know, for me, the worst moment in Pride and Prejudice is when that ghastly fool, Mr Collins, intimates that if he marries spirited Elizabeth Bennett, he will silence her. Shut her up. Austen knows that this is the gravest sin a man can commit against a woman he professes to love. Edward, please don’t attempt to silence me. I don’t want to be married to Mr Collins.’

  Edward grinned. ‘As if I would, or could. I would never try. The problem is that the people here in Blagsford don’t understand vivacity. Or that you’re a cross-over girl. You love Wagner and Van Morrison, Henry James and Harry Potter. I don’t want to change you. In ten years of marriage, Lisa, you have never bored me. Not once, not ever. And they don’t see you as I do, how lovely you are in your silence. And I don’t mean that in a Mr Collins way. I mean it in a Mr Knightley way. Now shut up and come to bed.’

  *

  Sticking to her rule about not contacting Sean, she relied more and more on her father confessor.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Did it mention Sean?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: No, Edward said not. That’s the supreme irony. The letter attacks me for things I haven’t done (as if I’d take a school bribe. I can afford my own bloody sapphires), and doesn’t mention the one terrible thing that I have done.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Fuck. I see what you mean. So is it someone who knows you?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Who knows? Probably not. It all seems based on my Twitter persona. And clearly someone with no sense of humour. And guess what? They used a second-class stamp. The shame.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Now that’s the first interesting thing you’ve said. Hmm: Vicious and tight. Must dash. Off to Compline. Love you, Blaize.

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Love you too, father. And stop saying Fuck so much. You could get into a lot of trouble with your parishioners.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Naw … they fucking love me … XXX

  *

  Edward was in the shower. Lisa was reading in bed. Her bedroom was a paean to Coco Chanel. Everything was black and cream. Her four-poster bed was hung with heavy cream silk drapes edged with black grosgrain ribbon. The carpet was cream wool, topped with an enormous black fur rug. She had invested in art deco furniture: a beautiful curved chair in the shape of a fan, a mirrored dressing table, and black silk lamps.

  Suddenly, she called out: ‘Edward, you don’t think it could be Moira, after all these years. Finally wreaking her revenge?’

  Edward came in, draped in a towel. ‘Don’t be absurd. Moira is happily remarried. She never gives us a second thought. You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  But in the dark, small hours of the morning, he changed his mind: ‘God, Lisa, I think you could be right. Moira’s an editor, a stickler for grammar, just like the person who wrote the letter. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Moira would have loved to be Lady Chamberlain. And, do you know, as a Scot, she often used the word “folk”. I thought she was so happily married. That she had moved on. That’s the saddest thing.’

  ‘Well, except that she won’t really try to harm us. It’s just words. But why would she especially attack me?’

  ‘I don’t know. She was always more angry with me than with you. But it’s a possibility. To make me think I made the wrong choice, and that she would have been a more dignified Lady C? That you were always just some little social climber, and that you’ve finally got your way? And there’s something else. It’s something that Nick mentioned. When we were in Jakarta, he told me – to my astonishment – that she kept in touch with him after the divorce.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He said that he thinks Moira is still bitter about never having had children. Apparently she tried for years with her new partner, but to no avail. It must have been hugely traumatic for her, especially when she heard that we had gone on to have two children. It’s just so much easier for men than for women. Nick reckons that she thinks that you and I destroyed her chances of motherhood.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. You always told me that she was the one who didn’t want children. She only wanted them when you threatened to leave her. People want what they can’t have. She had ample opportunity to have a child.’

  ‘Well, she tried everything. But it didn’t happen for her. Spare a moment to think how it must have hurt her.’

  ‘But she took all your friends. You were persona non grata for years in and around that school down in Surrey. That was all her doing. You left her the house, provided for her.’

  ‘Hell hath no fury. Revenge a dish best served cold. That’s all I’m saying.’

  *

  ‘You might stop posting photographs, Lisa. Maybe leave that to Snapchat or Instagram.’

  ‘I have stopped posting pictures, Edward. I stopped doing that in May.’ There was no point after the end of the affair.

  She tried to follow her husband’s advice. She knew that the received wisdom was always to ignore online trolls and anonymous letter writers. But then she said to herself: I’ll stop in my own time, not when I’m told to. In a flash of anger, she went to her keyboard. If the troll was going to come into the real world by writing anonymous letters, she’d get back at them in the Twittersphere.

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  Dear Troll, I can afford to buy my own bloody sapphires.

  Then she quickly deleted it. Don’t give the cyberstalker what they want: your attention.

  Surfing the net, she found a wonderfully acute description of trolling by an eleventh-century Sufi philosopher, Al-Ghazali. It amused her that he had anticipated ou
r social media problems by a thousand years. She fired off a series of tweets.

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  A thousand years ago, a Sufi philosopher called Al-Ghazali identified four types of Twitter troll. The first type is the worst.

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  Al-Ghazali’s Troll Type 1: Jealous haters. Advice: ‘Depart from him and leave him with his disease.’

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  Al-Ghazali’s Troll Type 1, part 2: ‘Of diseases which cannot be cured, the first is that which arises from envy and hate.’

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  ‘Every time you answer him with the best or clearest answer, that only increases his rage and envy. And the way is not to attempt an answer.’

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  ‘Envy eats up excellences as fire eats up wood.’ #Al-Ghazali.

  For good measure, she added an equally prescient quote from Jane Austen, dripping with irony:

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  ‘To flatter and follow others, without being flattered and followed in turn, is but a state of half enjoyment.’ #Persuasion

  Lisa took great pleasure in this burst of tweets. She knew that she was taunting her troll, but she couldn’t help herself. Her quotes got more retweets and ‘favourites’ than any of her previous posts.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Albion

  The Albion Bookshop became a second home to Lisa. She usually cycled into town. Much as she adored her hot pink Fiat 500, it was always impossible to find a parking space in Blagsford, so she left it looking increasingly dusty and forlorn in the driveway outside Headmaster’s House. She felt virtuous when she got on her bike. It was Tiffany Blue, with a basket on the front, and she called it Audrey.

  Always one for nicknames, she loved calling Belinda Bullrush ‘Bee’. She was a busy bee, always helping out, doing her private tuition and her stretching classes in an unassuming corner of the bookshop.

  She relished the banter between Dicky and Bee. Dennis was crotchety about the school students, whereas Bee defended them to the hilt.

  *

  ‘Why do young people insist on carrying around rucksacks? What on earth do they keep in them? They come in here with those huge things on their backs, barging into things, like lost camels. Why don’t they just use a sensible shoulder bag?’

  ‘Because, Dicky, if you are a man, then you would automatically be categorized as “gay”. Only gays carry shoulder bags. They’re called “Man Bags”, and no self-respecting man has one.’

  *

  ‘Young people just don’t know what a book is these days. They used to walk in here and attach themselves to a book like a transition object, walk around for a while, put the book back down, then walk out. Now what they do is they walk in, walk around looking bewildered, and walk out, without even touching a book. They don’t know what to do with books any more.’

  ‘Well, the world they are in is a textbook world. Everything is served up to them inside boxes, already labelled. Your shop isn’t very labelled, Dicky. It’s rather blurry. They don’t know where the tea room ends and where the bookshop begins. And you’re not very good at labels, Dicky.’

  *

  ‘Dicky, do you have any cake? People keep asking for cake.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t keep abreast of cake at the moment … things are going to the dogs … I might have someone coming in with some vegan cake next week.’

  ‘Oh Lordie, vegan cake? If you can organise vegan cake then you can organise cake, Dicky! Who wants vegan cake? That’s a step too far.’

  *

  ‘Dicky, where do you get your lovely china teacups from?’

  ‘My grandmother.’

  ‘What was her name? I love old names.’

  ‘I can’t remember. I just know I got her teacups.’

  *

  They had no idea of how funny they were: like an old married couple. For the first time since meeting Sean, Lisa felt at home. Felt safe. She loved her conversations with Bee. When they had afternoon tea together, at the Albion, it was like being in the presence of Fanny Burney. Bee was observant, shrewd, and properly clever. She made the pompous Blagsford teachers look like errant fools.

  Being a former ballerina gave her an especial interest in the body.

  ‘Lisa, your great beauty lies in your child-like form and energy – that is what makes you so attractive. You have a beautiful youthfulness in your legs and knees, and the way you are in trousers and shorts – your boy persona. It’s delightfully unconstructed. The way you move like a child still – it’s rare – so embodied and gauche – ageless. Loveable. I don’t know many women with that youth in their body movement. It’s not about anything constructed or put on. It’s the opposite of strutting. And that makes other people feel relaxed and embodied.’

  Lisa hated compliments. They made her blush and feel awkward. It was not easy to take a compliment from a woman as beautifully made as Bee.

  ‘I think women’s bodies are much nicer than men’s. But I’m not a “lezzer”, as my friend Toby’s v v funny 104-year-old grandma would say.’

  ‘No Bee, I can see that you’re not a lezzer.’

  ‘You see, Dicky has very beautiful nostrils. Really, they are his best feature. He’s always been rather vain about them. Do you know he calls us Sharon and Tracey?’

  ‘Cheeky Bastard. I prefer to think of us as Charlotte Bartlett and Eleanor Lavish in Forster’s A Room with a View. Do you see yourself as Miss Bartlett or Miss Lavish?’

  ‘Oh I think I’m the lady writer, Miss Lavish. Would you like to borrow my Macintosh Square?’

  Lisa squealed with laughter. Bee really got her.

  ‘Bee, I’ve got to tell you something. Edward’s received an anonymous letter about me.’

  Bee was suspicious of Edward. She had bumped into the whole family while they were walking on Pig Hill. They had exchanged a few words. Edward, never good at small talk, had initiated a conversation about Wittgenstein and weather. Bee had made a hasty exit.

  ‘He’s intimidating. That huge brain and his lanky, angular body, like a Daumier caricature. He speaks in a very reverential manner.’

  ‘He’s not a reverend, he’s a fucking knight of the realm. My Mr Knightley. Bee, don’t be absurd. He’s lovely. You’ve only met him that one time. I’ve never been intimidated by him. He has the most incredible sense of humour. He’s very self-deprecating. You just need to get to know him.’

  ‘Touché. Now tell me about the letter.’

  So she did.

  ‘And I’m scared – I’ve told you I’m psychic, and I’ve got a horrible feeling that this is only the beginning.’

  *

  And it was. The next letter was to her, alone.

  Hi Lisa,

  I look Edward up on Google now and again purely because I’m interested in what goes on here in school and also in some of the stuff he’s saying about education, but the latter only from an amateur perspective. Until the other day I had not looked you up on Twitter although I know that a lot of people in school do follow you either officially or unofficially (i.e. not necessarily as dedicated ‘Followers’ as such).

  I was aware that something unpleasant had happened to you a few weeks ago because people were saying at the time that you had tweeted things about a stalker or troll and a poisoned-pen letter, or something along those lines. People said you were exaggerating – but I can imagine how such a nasty experience can tip someone over the edge. I didn’t look up what you had said at the time, and tried to keep clear of the whole thing. I have come to loathe certain aspects of Twitter and really do believe that it can bring out the worst in people. My daughter had a bruising experience on Facebook a couple of years ago which has strongly coloured my view of social media.

  Having tried to steer clear of the whole business, I happened, in this last week of term, to see a long letter pinned to the main school noticeboard where everyone could see it. It was addressed to Edward, but was la
rgely about you, and I immediately took it down because it was very personal in nature and it didn’t seem right that it was in a public place. Evidently students had been reading it – there were comments scribbled in the margin and so on. Some of them very offensive. ‘We all know the head loves his baby mama dripping with bling.’ That kind of thing. I found it very painful reading.

  I thought it must be the poisoned-pen letter you had reportedly received, though what it was doing in such a public place was a complete mystery to me. I wondered whether Edward had left it there as a way of shaming the person who had written it, but that seemed unlikely as I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted everyone to see the very cruel things that were said about you in the letter.

  I haven’t destroyed it because I don’t feel it’s my place to do so. I think I should probably just return it to you and Ed, though if by any chance you haven’t seen this letter, I’m loth to send it to you because it is very hurtful. I did find myself looking you up on Twitter for the first time, just to see if you’ve read the poisoned-pen letter, and I discovered that its content does tally with some of the things you’ve posted, though many of the tweets quoted in the letter don’t appear to be on Twitter now. I’m guessing you deleted them (understandably).

  Anyhow, seeing your tweets for the first time did give me some insight into what all the fuss had been about and I hope you can forgive me for expressing some views about it because the impact of social media on our lives is something that’s been troubling me for some time. I find myself getting drawn in to what everyone in school has been talking about.

  I feel more than ever that Twitter is a pernicious influence on all of us and that we need to step back and reassess what we’re trying to get out of it and what effect it’s having on ourselves and others. You make some reference to a deranged ‘Twitter stalker’, and I’m not sure whether you mean by that the person/people who wrote the letter or someone who has been trolling you on Twitter.

  I do think, though, that the idea of a Twitter stalker is a bit of a contradiction in terms because Twitter invites followers. I’ve been trying to grasp what the difference between a Twitter follower and a Twitter stalker would be. Stalking implies intruding into someone’s private life, whereas people only put things on Twitter that they want people to read or see, presumably. Anything that people want to keep private they can keep private by not putting it on Twitter or Facebook or whatever. Your tweet of a quotation about a life in which one is not flattered and followed being only a half-life made me think. If people want to be flattered and followed on Twitter, they surely have to take the risk that not everyone will admire what they see and read. But if they don’t admire it, or if they disapprove of it, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they are deranged nutters.

 

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