Past Perfect

by Karen Zelas

  Sue stumbled, as she recommenced speaking French. She did not know what to think. This man: she hardly knew him, yet felt drawn to him in an inexplicable way. She felt excited, aroused – and ashamed; shame tempered by defiance and curiosity. She struggled to focus her mind. ‘With … with descendants … of Brigitte’s family in France. It’s a pity I can’t be here longer.’ She chewed her lip. ‘Maybe some other time.’

  ‘I will see what I can unearth. A good project for me in my spare time.’

  Sue burrowed in her backpack, withdrawing a pen and notepad. She carefully penned her contact details. ‘If you find anything, please let me know.’

  Gérard folded the paper into his shirt pocket and they rode in silence for some minutes. The rain had eased and now dripped off the canopy onto the cobbled street rather than falling in a sheet. The horse’s pace continued unaltered, drumming a regular, hollow beat. ‘I would like to have dinner with you tonight. Are you and Jayne free?’

  ‘That would be nice.’ Sue meant it as she said it. They were leaving France tomorrow and she had not seen all she wanted of Gérard. But then she remembered breakfast and lunch and how uncomfortable it had been with Jayne’s eyes upon her. ‘I’ll need to … to check whether that suits Jayne,’ she said.

  Gérard gave her a quizzical look, but said nothing.

  The drive back to La Rochelle passed in a blur. Unlike the morning, the conversation was mainly between Jayne and Gérard.

  Sue reflected on the day and tried to place the upheaval she felt inside. She was feeling alive in a way she hadn’t since … since … perhaps never. No, since the night of her first high school ball. She remembered the anticipation. Being invited by Jeff, the Captain of the First XV, every girl’s heart-throb. The exhilaration, mixed with pit-of-the-stomach anxiety. He had called her beautiful and given her a corsage, they had kissed in the back of the taxi. Sue knew it could not last, but that night, she was in love. Like now, she realised – the sense of impermanence, of grasping the moment or it would be gone, never to return, only heightened the excitement. The urgency. Too much of her life had been spent being sensible, responsible, concerned for others – what they needed, what they would think. And now there was this thing with Ben. Twice he had betrayed her. What did she owe him? Bugger him! He had no right to play with her head, her heart, like this. She had to look out for herself. And she needed to understand something … understand about … herself. About raw animal attraction. She knew it could be dangerous, that the stakes were high, but not finding out would have its costs, too.

  ‘You’ve been very quiet,’ Gérard said, as they drew up outside the hotel.

  ‘Just reflecting on the day.’ Sue smiled into Gérard’s eyes, darker and more intense in the fading light. ‘I need a rest before dinner.’

  Jayne said goodbye and thank you to Gérard and was out the door before he could kiss her again.

  ‘Do you have a card?’ Sue asked. ‘I’ll ring you about dinner.’

  Gérard produced a business card from his shoulder bag and wrote his home number on the back. Sue leaned over, pecked his cheek and quickly followed Jayne into the hotel. She could not resist a backward glance, but already Gérard’s silver Citrôen was pulling away from the curb.

  The two women kicked off their sandals and lay on top of their beds. It had been raining in La Rochelle, too, and the breeze floating in the window brought with it the dank smell of wet pavements.

  ‘What do you think of him now? Still think he’s a conman?’ Sue folded her hands behind her head and rested back on the pillow, legs outstretched and ankles crossed.

  ‘I never said he was, just that he could be.’ Jayne paused. ‘He may not be a conman, but I think he’s pretty smarmy.’

  ‘You mean, pretty dishy.’ Sue had not intended to say it out loud. She cast a sideways glance at Jayne.

  ‘Not my type. And too old.’ Jayne rolled over to face Sue. ‘A more serious matter: where shall we eat tonight?’

  ‘Um, ah, I don’t know how to put this. He’s … he, Gérard, said he would like to have dinner with me tonight.’ Sue studied the ceiling, waiting for Jayne’s response. ‘Just me.’

  ‘What about me?’ Jayne propped herself on an elbow.

  ‘You’re … not invited. I’m sorry. Do you mind?’

  ‘And you’re going to go? Without me? Of all the selfish things …’

  ‘I didn’t encourage him. I didn’t expect – ’

  ‘You haven’t changed a bit. Not since we were kids.’ Jayne sprang to her feet and started pacing the room.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Selfish. You had to have everyone to yourself. Mum. Dad.’

  ‘You were never around.’ Sue felt anger swelling inside her. ‘Even when Mum was dying – out with your friends.’ She had felt frustrated, irritated, with Jayne before, but never rage like this. ‘A chirpy good morning, not even a kiss. Then out. I was the one who saw the look on her face, the longing. I was the one who tried to make up for the hurt.’

  ‘I couldn’t get near her. You were always there, keeping me quiet, telling me to go and play. I couldn’t get near my own mother – and I was only a little girl.’ Jayne subsided in tears. ‘No one told me anything.’

  ‘Do you think I wanted to be cooped up in that death-chamber? I wanted my mother, but that shadow under the sheet wasn’t my mother. She was long gone. Dad and I together, we kept her at home, where she wanted to be. Until the end.’ The last slash of sunlight shrank and was gone. ‘You couldn’t wait to leave home, leave the country, even though Dad pleaded with you to stay.’

  ‘There was nothing there for me. You and Dad were thick as thieves.’

  ‘He’d lost his wife, for Christ’s sake. He needed somebody to look after him. I couldn’t just walk out. I looked after him and I looked after you.’ Sue’s voice caught. ‘You wouldn’t know that I’d wanted to go to university in Wellington.’

  Jayne shook her head.

  ‘I looked after Dad the rest of his life.’ Sue sat up. ‘And you call me selfish,’ she muttered, swiping away the tears that threatened. She snatched fresh underwear from her bag and strode into the bathroom. Once inside, tears started to flow, all the tears she had held in for years. Sue had no inclination to stop them. Needles of hot water stung as she tilted her face to the shower rose. Her eyelids burned inside and out. Gradually, her sobs subsided.

  She dressed quickly, appalled by her limited selection of clothes. She would have liked to borrow something from Jayne, but under the circumstances … Gérard would have to accept her as she was, she thought, feeling confident that, indeed, he would. She moussed and blow-dried her hair, noting with satisfaction its body and sheen. Her puffy eyes were another matter.

  When Sue returned to the bedroom, Jayne went into the bathroom. As soon as she could hear the shower running, Sue dialled Gérard’s number.

  ‘Hello. It’s Sue. Jayne says she’s too tired to go out again. So it’s just me, I’m afraid. I hope that’s all right,’ she said, her voice as apologetic as she could make it. ‘There’s a little bar opposite the hotel. I’ll meet you there at, say, eight o’clock?’

  Jayne returned from the bathroom in her underwear, climbed into bed and feigned sleep, or so it seemed. She did not stir throughout the rest of Sue’s noisy and unrestrained preparations.

  ‘I’m taking this key,’ Sue snapped, as she opened the door into the passageway. ‘You can get another if you go out.’ She slammed the door behind her and turned her wrist to consult her watch, the one Ben had given her last year for their twentieth wedding anniversary; the pang she felt was momentary. Ten minutes to eight. She did not mind being early. She could wait in a French bar on her own.

  The passage from the lobby to the street seemed to have lengthened since she last passed through. Her heels rang a tattoo on the black and white tiles, sounding, she thought, like a condemned person walking to the gallows. She held her head high.

  Emerging into the shadow of the arcad
e, Sue was about to step through an archway into the blue evening, when she saw Gérard. He was already in the bar, seated near the window, holding a glass of wine to his lips, maybe the regional Pineau, and reading a newspaper. He was even earlier than Sue. She slipped back behind a stone pillar and leant against it, its hard rough surface boring into her spine, the discomfort solid, reassuring. Gérard’s earliness, his eagerness, perhaps, was suddenly alarming. Sue took a small mirror from her handbag, held it up and turned to catch the fading light. She angled the mirror, examining each segment of her face at length, oblivious to passers-by: the way the lips flared upwards at the corners; the tiny lines that were starting to spray from the edges of the red bow; the rounded grooves that separated cheeks from mouth; the wide cheekbones; the unruly curls falling over the high, lined forehead; eyes more pupil than iris in the dim light, unreadable. She frowned, then lifted her eyebrows in a surprised expression, pursed her lips, then stretched them, experimenting. Who was this woman in the mirror and what did she want? What did she believe in? A week ago, Sue could have answered without hesitation, but now she was unsure.

  It was all very confusing and she started to panic.

  It was eight o’clock. She peeped around the pillar and withdrew quickly lest she be seen. Gérard was scanning the front of their hotel. He looked up at their room. Did Jayne have the light on? She might come down in search of food and find Sue lurking. She could not let Jayne see her now, in this state. Scuttling between the arches, close to the shop windows, she sheltered in a doorway where she could see without being seen.

  Gérard was no longer in his casual clothes but had dressed for the occasion – for Sue. Her panic increased. Yet this was what she had wanted: Gérard to herself, a romantic evening, leading … where? She had been prepared to let the evening unfold, intrigued to see where it would end. She had lied to her sister for this. She had put herself first to get what she wanted, and now … when she could have it … Gérard put down his paper and pushed up the left sleeve of his jacket, frowning at his wrist. He scanned the street, settling his eyes on the hotel entrance. The glass of wine was now almost empty. Sue saw him gesture to a waiter and wondered how long he would wait for her; she wanted him to wait for her; she needed him to be willing to wait for her.

  Part of her wanted to run across the road and apologise breathlessly for being late. It would serve Ben right. But something held her back. It was not about Gérard; Sue knew that. It was something about herself, about Ben and about the beliefs that had temporarily evaded her.

  At eight-thirty, Gérard folded the paper, laid it neatly on the table and drained his glass. He disappeared momentarily into the depths of the bar, then emerged onto the pavement. He peered across the road to the hotel, raising his head to the façade for a last lingering look. Sue thought she saw him shrug, but she could not be sure. He set off, away from her, his shoulders slightly stooped. For the first time, she thought he looked old.

  Sue let out her breath in a long sigh; she had not been aware she was holding it. ‘That’s that,’ she said aloud, and thought what a terrible thing she had done.

  Her hunger had gone.

  She walked slowly to the hotel and was about to enter, when she noticed Gérard’s car cruising along the curb. She ran the last few steps into the lighted corridor. He must have seen her. She did not look back.

  The student behind the desk called as she ran up the stairs.

  ‘Madame. There is a letter here for you.’

  Sue retraced her steps, breathing heavily, and took the envelope from his hand. An English stamp and Ben’s handwriting. He had said he was sending her something, something he was clearly anxious she should receive.

  Jayne was not in the room. That was a relief. She must have slipped out without Sue noticing. Sue sat on her bed and turned the envelope over and over in her hands. She was not sure she wanted to know what was inside. She had behaved badly: she had betrayed Ben, she had been unfaithful – at least in her mind – and most of all she had betrayed herself. Before she could face anyone else, she would have to come to terms with herself, but had no idea how to achieve this.

  Eventually, Sue tore the envelope open. Inside was a single page. Not a letter, a poem.

  I know love …

  I see plainly now its form

  as when

  the mist coaxed from the valley floor

  rises to reveal crisp

  each tree rock chimney

  an arm’s length away.

  And it

  wraps me like an old jersey shrugged

  on this Sunday morning

  all familiar smells and softness

  each snag mapped and chronicled

  as we map and chronicle our voyages

  in disparate directions

  then

  find each other here at the crossroads …

  All my love

  your Ben

  For the second time that evening, Sue wept.

  20.

  Headlights criss-crossed the ceiling and swept the walls. Through the open window the swish of tyres on wet tarseal, voices, drifts of music from the bar across the road – the bar in which Gérard had waited for her. As she lay in bed, Sue was flooded alternately with embarrassment and relief. Poor Gérard. She had used him, flirted with him, deliberately led him on – and it had felt delicious. She had lied to be with him, to have the chance of discovering infatuation, passion, depths in herself she had never before plumbed. Now she felt wretched: she was disloyal, a liar – and a coward. Not only had she betrayed her husband, but Jayne and Gérard as well. How could she criticise Ben? She was no more deserving of his trust than he was of hers. Tomorrow night they would be sharing a bed at Jayne’s – unless she decided otherwise. The decision had been whether to accept Ben back into her bed, but now it was whether she had the right to share his. No longer could she take the moral high ground.

  Ben appeared to be sorry, or at least regretting his actions. The poem he had sent exuded remorse. But also love, a reappraisal, a revaluation of his relationship with Sue. Perhaps he had learnt something from the experience; perhaps she had, too.

  A sudden yearning overtook Sue to speak with her children. Their children. Hers and Ben’s. 8am NZ time, she calculated. She dialled home. A flustered Rachel answered after many rings, explaining she had been in the shower.

  ‘Why didn’t one of the children answer?’ asked Sue.

  ‘Ah, a bit early for Jase and, well, haven’t seen much of Charlie.’

  Sue chewed at the inside of her cheek. ‘Jason should be up by now, if he’s to be at school on time. Oh, no. It’s Sunday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but it could just as well be a weekday. I’m not going to fight with him, Sue.’ Her tone was terse and defensive. ‘Got enough on my plate.’

  Sue went cold; they should not have left Jason. She should have stayed home and let Ben go alone. But if she had not been here in Europe with him, how far might he have gone? And would he have confessed, or had the sense not to? Even in hindsight, it was an impossible choice – her son or her marriage. But if Sue could not salvage her marriage, what would become of her son?

  ‘And Charlie? She’s at Patrick’s, I suppose,’ Sue said.

  ‘So she says.’

  ‘Do you mean you don’t believe her?’ Panic was rising again; Sue wondered what else could go wrong.

  ‘No, I do. She comes in for clean clothes now and then. Leaves me a note. She’s okay.’

  ‘Thank God! Tell her I rang. And that I love her.’ Sue hesitated briefly.

  ‘Would you please give Jason the phone?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. On my way. Pooh, the fug! Tripping over clothes, books, backpack, CDs. Ah, here’s a bed and there’s a body in it. It’s your mother.’

  ‘Mum,’ said a muffled and sleepy voice. ‘What do you want?’

  Sue recoiled. It was not the greeting she had hoped for – but on the basis of what? she asked herself. ‘Just … to speak to you. To see you
’re all right.’

  ‘Well, I am.’

  ‘Good. That’s good.’ Sue paused, unable to think what to say to engage her own son. The only thing that came to mind was her concern that he was skipping school, and with exams coming up. To raise this would surely precipitate a storm, but not to would shirk her parental duty. She would have to accept the consequences. ‘Rachel says you’ve been getting to school late.’

  ‘Study periods first up.’

  ‘Since when?’ Sue was sceptical. Jason did not normally lie – but then, nor did she. Sue twisted the phone cord around an index finger, while her eyes followed the twisting leaf pattern of the wallpaper until it disappeared out of the circle of the bedside light.

  ‘Don’t nag, Mum. Can’t I get any peace, even when you’re on the other side of the world?’ His accusation found its mark. She wished Ben were with her. Suddenly, all those years of parenting seemed a thankless burden. If this was what she had sacrificed her self for, it was no recompense.

  ‘We’ll be home in a week,’ she said, choosing her words carefully.

  ‘Sweet. Catch you then.’

  ‘Jase …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. Just remember I love you. And so does your father.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She and Ben: so much shared history – she needed to salvage something. And it seemed unfair to contemplate leaving him when the changes that would enable this were partly the fruit of their relationship. There would be challenges ahead but, Sue decided, they should face them together.

  For all his foibles, Ben was the man Sue loved. Like an old woolly jersey. A favourite jersey, she thought, full of snags, but one she was not ready to relinquish.

  Even so, they would need to talk before they could share a bed again. Ben should be back at Jayne’s by now. Sue dialled the number. After many rings, a breathless Nigel spoke into the phone. ‘We were just coming up the path. Been down to the pub for a meal. How is La Rochelle?’

  ‘Ah, great,’ Sue said. ‘Can I speak to Ben?’