Jennifer smiled, tucked them up in turn. Hugh smelt of toothpaste, Robert of bubblegum and hot pennies. Robert kissed her greedily, arms flung around her neck, pulling her down into the pillow. Hugh was more wary. When she got to Charles’s room, there was no kiss at all. Charles was in his teens, already half grown-up and thus inhibited. He was too like Lyn—thin, intense and moody, with the same long lashes, the same angry troubled eyes. He was standing up, politely, but she could see he was waiting for her to leave. She longed to hug him, make him laugh, tear him away from that frowning pile of books.
‘Goodnight, then, darling.’
‘’Night.’
She trailed into her own room, a large and gloomy one with a high wooden bed and two Victorian wardrobes blocking out the light. There were no frills, no fripperies. The walls were solemn brown, the windows gagged and blinkered with heavy curtains. She pushed them back, tried to coax the late evening fragrance of the garden up into the room. The sky was dark and troubled now, bloodied with scarlet clouds. She lay on the bed feeling her own blood seep into the Tampax.
In three weeks’ time, it would be exactly a year since she had lost the baby. Lyn had never called it a baby, never now referred to it at all. She almost wished she could be a different sort of woman, one who didn’t need marriage and a man or crave old-fashioned things like children. If she were a feminist like Susie claimed to be, then she’d be cock-a-hoop with all that she had achieved—not just a job, but recognition, fame.
But fame had threatened her more important job—that of wife to Lyn. It wasn’t simply virtue which made her want it back. There was safety in it and a sort of power. Lyn completed her, gave her a role and purpose. He needed her, relied on her, clung to her as a bulwark or a beacon. His weakness was her strength. She knew he could be touchy, that other people criticised the way she pandered to him, but they only saw the outside. Underneath was talent, passion, anguish—a depth of feeling which both jolted and excited her, expanded her own small and shallow world. Recently, however, the anguish had been more obvious than the passion. That made it harder to put up with his moods. Always before, he had used sex as restitution, apologising with his mouth, his hands, his body. Now he used his hands still, but little else.
Had Susie really had five blokes in a week? The phrase kept exploding in her ears, contrasting with and mocking at her own total lack of sex. She wouldn’t want five men—not in a hundred years, but five Lyns a week—oh, yes. That’s how it used to be, before the book, the baby.
With any other man, she might have made an issue of it, stood up to him and demanded her marital rights—or at least an explanation—threatened to find fulfilment somewhere else. But there wasn’t anyone else. She was tied to Lyn in a way she could hardly explain to friends who disapproved of him. Besides, it wasn’t just rejection on his part. There was fear in it as well—fear of babies, fear of sharing her, more complicated fears she could only feel as vague and threatening shadows. That was partly why she was so alarmed by Rowan’s snooping. Ordinary life was ordeal enough for Lyn, without added shock and scandal. Even now, he was probably inflating his outburst at the dinner-table into some cosmic crisis. Perhaps she should have followed him, tried to coax him back.
‘Jennifer? You there?’
She jumped. It wasn’t Lyn, only a muffled whisper outside the door.
‘Who’s that?’ She was still confused, half dozing.
‘Me. Susie. May I come in?’ Susie didn’t wait for an answer, just burst through the door and stood with her back to it, one foot twisted round the other. She was wearing a sort of smock thing, a cross between a nightie and a mini-dress, feet bare, hair in two fat pigtails. ‘Just came to say goodnight. You’re not still mad at me, are you?’
‘N … no. Of course not. Sorry I snapped. I was just a bit on edge. Lyn may seem … ratty, as you call it, but …’
‘Hasn’t he come back yet?’
‘No. He will, though. He often goes for evening prowls. It helps to calm him down.’
Susie walked over to the bed, flopped down on the end of it. ‘Do you like being married?’
If she paused, it was only for a second. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘I’d loathe it. Being tied to someone all the time—all their moods and fuss-pottings. And having to fit in with them—eating when they wanted to, or going to bed at ten just ’cause they were pooped, or wasting your weekends cleaning cars and mowing lawns and …’
‘We never clean the car.’
‘Oh, you know what I mean, Jen.’
‘Yes, I suppose I do. But I’ve always wanted those things. Surely it’s worse to eat alone or go to bed with only a teddy bear or have no one to care about you or …’
‘Does Lyn care?’
‘Course.’
‘I mean, I can see you slaving your guts out over him, but not the other way round.’
‘Susie, you only met him this evening. How can you be so … hostile?’
‘Oh, I dunno. I’m off all men at the moment. To tell the truth, I’m not too happy here. Anne and Matthew make everything so heavy. It’s all gloom and doom with them. The whole damned household gets on my wick a bit. Not you—you’re different. I like you, Jen. In fact, I wondered if we could be … mates?’ Susie was squatting on the end of the bed, knees hunched up to chest, nightie barely covering them. She was plumper than she looked in dungarees, breasts pushing against the ruched and ribboned top and spilling over it. Her feet were grubby and there was a dirty Band-Aid on her leg. She was half child, half hussy—still with that magnet pull and charm. Jennifer tossed her one of the pillows. She liked the term ‘mates’—it was easy and informal. Making friends took ages normally—observing all those slow and stiff conventions, groping only warily from bread-and-butter clichés to real and lasting bonds. All right—Susie was outspoken, even coarse, but at least she was someone young and easygoing, someone she could laugh with when Matthew was growling, or her husband agonising.
Susie yawned hugely. ‘Well, I’d better trot off and get my beauty sleep. I have to be up at the crack of dawn to help Anne with the boys. Will you be around that early?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘See you at breakfast, then. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Susie leant across the bed. ‘Give us a kiss, then, love.’
Jennifer flushed. Susie was so close, she could smell her scent of hot body and cheap talc. The breasts hung almost free now, only inches from her own. Susie kissed her full on the mouth—a damp childish kiss, eager, unembarrassed.
‘Sweet dreams—and mind the bugs don’t bite!’
The door slammed shut behind her. Jennifer wiped her mouth. Susie was so direct. She acted like a child, but her body was a woman’s and it was somehow disconcerting. She couldn’t understand how Anne and Matthew had ever employed her in the first place. She would have expected someone older and more serious to be the Winterton help and nanny—a dedicated spinster who was addressed by her surname and taught the boys deportment. She was glad they had chosen Susie. If she hadn’t been there this evening, she would have spent far longer fretting over Lyn, or worrying about Vita, Rowan, Jasper.
How did Lyn see Susie? He could hardly have failed to notice those braless breasts jutting through her tee-shirt. She had glimpsed those breasts in close-up, just a moment ago. They were fuller than her own, with larger darker circles ringing squat pink nipples. Breasts varied as much as faces, she supposed. Not that she had seen many. She undressed and lay naked on the bed. It was far too hot for covers or even for a nightie. She glanced down at her own breasts. They weren’t as boastful as Susie’s, but Lyn had always cherished them—sometimes spending half an hour or more simply kissing and caressing them before he entered her. Rubbing his chin across the nipples so that his scratchy stubble kindled them erect, teasing, almost hurting them with his lips and teeth and tongue, sucking them like a baby laying his thing between them, then squeezing them round it until it was like a sausage in a roll.
/> Not any more. He touched them sometimes, but only warily, defensively, and if she murmured or responded, he immediately turned over, backed away. Would he do the same with Susie? Or was it only his dull and prudish wife who turned him off? She wasn’t prudish. Her hand strayed to her nipple. She could feel it tautening, sending messages down between her legs. If Lyn came in, perhaps she could simply stretch out her arms and hold him, coax him down on top of her, pretend all those sexless days and weeks and months had never been. For a long time now, she had tried to stifle her feelings of frustration, pretend she didn’t care about the lack of sex. It made it easier, blocked off her resentment. But now her body was insisting and demanding. It was as if Susie had somehow stirred her up, produced some new strange candle-flame excitement.
She lay flat on her back, trailed her hand down across her stomach, left it on her thigh. She rarely touched herself. She had been too innocent as a teenager and once she married Lyn, there was rarely any need. Now the need was like an ache, a fever. She had been patient far too long and her body was crying out for some release. She slipped a finger between her legs. It was messy with a period, but she felt a slut tonight—wanted some wild sweaty man to sprawl on top of her and have her, curse and all. Screw her, Susie would say. There wasn’t any man, but her Tampax made a tiny substitute. She jabbed it deeper and deeper inside her, scratching her nails up and down her labia.
She used her free hand on her breasts, circling them slowly, slowly, with the very tips of her fingers, until the nipples were stiff and standing up. She shut her eyes. They were Susie’s breasts now, fuller, greedier. Susie’s five blokes were panting round the bed—a whole week’s worth in an evening—five tongues plumping out the nipples, ten hands teasing further down. She could feel the pressure of their fingers rough against her smooth and slippery body. She was sweating in the stifling summer night. Everything was slimy—blood on her hand, perspiration trickling down her belly. Disgusting. Marvellous. Her thighs were shuddering, her whole body joining in. She grabbed the bedhead, tautened herself against it, jerking and rubbing until she could feel the ripples reach even to her feet.
She tried to stop. Someone was creeping along the passage. It could be Lyn, Matthew, even a truant boy come to ask for a drink. They mustn’t find her. Must stop. Must. She let go of the bedhead, but the other hand continued. Couldn’t stop. She had reached that point where there was only go on, go on, go on. Her mouth was open, her eyes shut, fingers circling, jabbing. Footsteps getting nearer. Door creaking open. It must be Lyn. Anyone else would knock. She stifled her cries, wrenched her hand away, dragged the covers over her, tried to hide her flushed and burning face.
‘Hey, Jen? Are you awake?’ Footsteps thudding across the carpet, blankets hauled back, Susie’s icy fingers shocking her bare shoulders.
‘Can I get in? I’m cold.’
‘No.’ Jennifer was trembling. ‘You shouldn’t barge in here, Susie. The least you could do is knock. I might have been asleep.’
Susie grinned. ‘You weren’t though, were you?’ She eased into bed beside her. ‘Phew! You’re boiling! You can warm me up a bit. My room’s like an ice-box. Even in the summer, the sun never seems to reach it.’
‘Get out, Susie.’ Jennifer inched to the far edge of the bed until she was almost falling off it. She longed to dart out to the bathroom, escape altogether, but she didn’t have her clothes. She was trapped, humiliated. Had Susie realised what she’d been doing? Her body was betraying her, throbbing and revving still, wild and overheated, probably even smelly. She pressed her legs together, tried to calm her breathing. ‘I said ‘‘GET out.’’’
Susie groped a hand towards her. ‘Cool it, Jen. We’re mates, aren’t we?’
‘Leave me alone.’ Mates shared beers and pizzas, not a bed. Why in God’s name had she ever encouraged Susie in the first place? She would be pestered now continually, lose every scrap of privacy. She had never met a girl so blatant.
Even now, Susie was hogging the bed, sprawling right across it, talking through a yawn. ‘I only came to say I’d stay and chat with you till Lyn turned up. I thought you might be moping and it would take your mind off things. We could play Scrabble, if you like, or go down and make some milk-shakes.’
‘I’d rather sleep, if you don’t mind. And I’d like my bed to myself.’
‘You’re very grouchy, aren’t you? Almost as bad as Lyn. Must be catching.’
Jennifer said nothing. Was she grouchy? Had Lyn made her so, tainted her with his own fears and squeamishness?
‘It’s cosy like this.’ Susie grinned and stretched. ‘Reminds me of home. I used to share a bed with both my sisters and half their toys as well. Sometimes I’d wake up with a bloody great fire-engine sticking in my bottom or a doll’s leg in my eye.’
Jennifer shifted a fraction. Sisters did share beds, especially younger ones. Hadn’t she always longed to have a sister—someone really close like the sort of chum you read about in school stories to share everything, including confidences?
Susie was kneeing her in the spine. ‘Do you have to turn your back like that? I haven’t got the plague, you know. Hold on—I’ll shove over and give you a bit more room. That better?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Do you always sleep without a nightie? I suppose Lyn likes it, does he? Sparrow used to …’
‘Look, Susie, I think we ought to try and get some sleep now. It’s getting late.’
‘Can I sleep down here, then? I get lonesome on my own. My room’s miles from anyone else’s, up a horrid spooky staircase.’
‘Yes, but Lyn …’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll piss off as soon as he shows up. You won’t catch me playing gooseberry. Mind you, he’s quite good-looking, isn’t he, your bloke? I like those skinny types. Matthew’s almost too thin. He’d have to run around in a rain-storm for half an hour, just to get wet.’
Jennifer laughed. The laugh surprised her. Laughs were rare these days. ‘Oh, Susie …’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I … like you, that’s all.’
‘Like you, too, mate.’
They lay together, in silence, for a moment. Jennifer had moved towards the middle of the bed and felt Susie’s body soft and solid like a pillow. The bed was warm and messy. She supposed she ought to be worrying over Lyn, but Susie made it more difficult to worry.
She turned on her back, stared up at the ceiling. She wished she had her nightdress on. It felt strange to be lying there stark naked, next to another woman. Susie’s presence was disturbing. She tried to ignore her, settle down to sleep, but sleep played hard to get. Her body was too awake and too demanding. She had been only seconds away from coming when Susie first barged in. Those seconds seemed to be throbbing through her thighs now, churning her up.
‘Nice boobs you got,’ Susie murmured, through a yawn.
Jennifer froze. Did Susie know what she was feeling? She edged away a little, covered her chest with her arms.
‘One of my mates is almost completely flat. Nothing there at all. She doesn’t need a bra—just a couple of corn plasters.’
Jennifer smiled. Mustn’t think of breasts. Her own felt taut and pushy. She was still wet between the legs. She longed to touch herself, carry on where she had been forced to leave off earlier. She shut her eyes, inched her thighs apart. Susie wouldn’t notice. She was too busy rattling on. She crept a finger down the inside of her thigh, inching it nearer, nearer. She was the slut, not Susie—wanted a hundred blokes, not five. The finger stopped—had to stop. She couldn’t touch herself, not with Susie there.
‘Tell you what, Jen—why don’t we go and see her—one evening when I’m off? Debbie would love to meet you, now you’re famous. She’s ever such a … What’s that noise?’
‘What noise?’ The finger was almost there now—frantic, begging, deaf.
‘I thought I heard the front door close, and footsteps. Yeah—someone’s coming up the stairs.’
Jennifer shot up in bed. ‘I
t’s Lyn—it must be. Get out, Susie, quick.’
‘What’s the panic? I’m not a bloke, for heaven’s sake. He’s not going to beat me up, is he?’
‘Look, Susie, if you don’t get out, I’ll …’
‘OK, keep your hair on.’ Susie heaved out of bed, skipped towards the door and collided with Lyn head-on. ‘Sorry, mate. Just saying goodnight to your wife. She couldn’t sleep for worrying about you, so you’d better make it up to her. At least I’ve kept the bed warm.’ Susie grinned before she slammed the door. ‘Goodnight, lovebirds.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Right, darling, tip your head a little. No, the other way. Bit more, bit more. Whoa! That’s it. Good. Now look at the camera. Don’t frown like that, my love. Nice big smile. S-u-per!’
Jennifer blinked in the flash, tried to keep the pose through the next flash and the next and the … She was perched high up on the roof of the multi-storey car park in Gateshead, overlooking the jumbled haze of Newcastle, its rackety streets and sullen concrete tower-blocks, its railway and its brown, sluggish river. It was the photographer’s idea to provide a panoramic view of the city in the drizzle as background to his shots of Jennifer Winterton. More conventional photographers had headed straight for parks and gardens and posed the Country Woman in a country setting. Oz Steadman wanted something more dramatic.
Jennifer stared far into the distance while Oz changed a lens and fiddled with his light meter. To the north lay Hernhope and the Cheviot Hills, beyond the roofs, spires, towers, which were all that she could see. Tantalising to be but two hours’ drive away, and yet unable to move an inch beyond her schedule. She was still trapped in the world of radio stations and newspaper offices, smart hotels and cocktail bars. She had survived her television appearance on Tyne Tees’ ‘Arts Night Special’, had crammed in ten more interviews with press and radio and had one last dinner left before flying back to Putney in the morning.
It would be nice to get back home. It wasn’t really home, but Susie made it seem so. The Putney house unbent a bit with Susie there as new kid sister. She could see her now, standing on her head in the shocked and stuffy drawing-room, all four boys upside down beside her in a row of waving legs. She grinned.
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