by Edward Docx
I’d had enough. ‘You’re saying that all of this …’ I got up. And suddenly I was leaning over her and shouting. ‘You’re saying that all of this has been about some kind of private game between you and her. You were sleeping with me out of some kind of revenge?’
For a second I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes but she kept quite still and countered my aggression with quiet, baiting sarcasm. ‘Yes. A game if you like. Revenge makes it all sound so histrionic, Jasper, but yeah – I guess that kind of covers it.’ She looked up at me. ‘I needed somewhere to stay while the work was being done. Once you passed up on me after dinner – well then, I thought, OK – so, right, I’m gonna really enjoy myself here, have some fun.’
I was shaking.
There was silence.
‘Jasper: it was meant to be a lot quicker – a sort of joke – it wasn’t meant to go on like this.’ She bent to poke out her cigarette. ‘Now it’s nearly October and the estate agents on your street have got my flat rented out from next week and here we are and I have to go. I’ve left it way too late as it is.’ She stood up. ‘I have a plane to catch.’
Now we faced each other in bitter mimicry of two people about to kiss. Her self-control was killing me. I wanted to hit her. ‘Where are you going?’
She stood her ground. ‘I’m going to New York.’
‘On a trip? Right now?’ So complete was the devastation of her ambush, that it had not entered my mind that there might be worse to come. ‘You’re going on another trip and you decided to tell me all this shit in two fucking minutes?’
She met my anger with more stillness but there was resolve in her voice. ‘Not on a trip. No, Jasper. Actually the truth is … the real truth is that I’m going to get married.’
I laughed in her face. ‘To get married?’
‘Yes. I am going to get married.’
But for the first time in all the time I had known her, her face was nothing but sincere.
Her buzzer sounded.
‘Shit. That’s my cab.’ She ducked away, crossing the room to pick up her entryphone. ‘You’re a bit early, can you give me five minutes?’
She was putting on her coat. ‘Jasper, there’s no time for me to explain any more of this. I’ve been engaged for a long while. My wedding is in March – in a few months. I’m packed. I’m leaving tonight. The flat is finished. It’s all done. It’s being rented out on Monday. I’m just not going to be here any more.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. But now, please, Jasper, you have to go.’
My anger turned to panic. I was no longer thinking. Whatever came to my lips, I said. ‘I’m not going.’
‘Jasper, you must leave.’
‘Change your mind.’
‘No.’
‘Change your mind.’
‘No.’
I went over and took hold of her. ‘Maddy, change your mind. Don’t go. What about everything we did, what about –’
‘No. I know what you think. But you’re wrong. I have made my decision. I … It has been fun. But I won’t change my mind. I can’t change my mind. I’m going to get married.’ At last there was a catch in her voice. ‘Oh God, maybe I should just have gone to the airport without trying to … I’m sorry, Jasper.’
I held her shoulders in my hands. From somewhere far away, my tears were coming and no matter how I blinked I could not stop them.
She was speaking softly now and her eyes sought mine. ‘I didn’t mean to do this so … so quickly. But it’s better if I just go. For everyone. Really, Jasper, I am sorry. You know that I am. I wish … I wish that I hadn’t been so … I don’t know what. I’m sorry.’
She stepped away, out of my reach and gathered herself with a conscious breath. ‘I don’t think we should see each other again. I mean it. Once I am gone, please do not try to get into contact with me. If you do find out my address or telephone number, I will not open your letters and I will not return your calls. If you send anything to my computer, I will delete it. If you bother me or pester me in any way, then I will contact the police. I will, Jasper. You know I will. Please, I mean it: don’t come looking for me.’ She emphasized her words. ‘I do not want to see you again, Jasper.’
The buzzer hummed low.
‘Fucking cab drivers.’
‘Madeleine, this is insane. I –’
She spoke into the entryphone. ‘Yes, I know. Just give me two minutes. I’ll be out at eleven.’
‘This is so fucked up.’
‘Jasper, I’ve got to lock everything.’
‘Change your mind.’
‘Jasper, please.’ She came over and physically tried to turn me towards the patio doors. ‘Please.’
‘This is not the end.’
‘Go.’
‘Madeleine.’
‘Go.’
I picked up my shoes and went out into the garden where the last of the bonfire cackled and spat.
26. Twickenham Garden
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with tears,
Hither I come to seek the spring,
And at mine eyes, and at mine ears,
Receive such balms, as else cure everything;
But O, self traitor, I do bring
The spider love, which transubstantiates all,
And can convert manna to gall,
And that this place may thoroughly be thought
True paradise, I have the serpent brought,
’Twere wholsomer for me, that winter did
Benight the glory of this place,
And that a grave frost did forbid
These trees to laugh, and mock me to my face;
But that I may not this disgrace
Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me
Some senseless piece of this place be;
Make me a mandrake, so I may groan here,
Or a stone weeping out my year,
Hither with crystal vials, lovers come,
And take my tears, which are love’s wine,
And try your mistress’ tears at home,
For all are false, that taste not just like mine;
Alas, hearts do not in eyes shine,
Nor can you more judge woman’s thoughts by tears,
Than by her shadow, what she wears,
O perverse sex, where none is true but she,
Who’s therefore true, because her truth kills me,
27. The Broken Heart
Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
If once into Love’s hands it come!
All other griefs allow a part
To other griefs, and ask themselves but some …
A scruffy, hand-delivered envelope had been placed on the flimsy wicker post-table in the communal entrance hall. The scrawl was childish – the Js of my name like meat hooks. I read the note.
Jazz – give me a bell at the shop tomorrow. It’s about yr bird. She’s pissing u about mate. Video evidence. Thought u should know. Roy.
The sudden warmth of being inside was melting my eyes. I tore up the cheap paper and dropped it into the recycle bin. Then for no reason I ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time.
But with key still in the lock, I stopped cold. The television was on in my flat. I shut the door loudly behind me. Abruptly, the sound died. I stood still. Someone was coming to the head of my little staircase.
‘Jasper?’
I walked up.
William looked at me steadily but he said nothing.
I went straight past him into my studio and crossed to the window. Her lights were still off. Her flat was in total darkness. I stood, looking down into the garden.
William spoke in a low voice from the lighted doorway: ‘I’ve just seen Lucy. She called me. She told me everything. I came straight over. I let myself in with the spares you gave –’
‘I don’t believe it, Will. I just don’t believe her. I can’t believe she’s done this. She can’t have left it this late. She must be staying somewhere else in town. There’s no way she would –’<
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‘Her flight took off five minutes ago. She’s already in the air. She’s gone.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Lucy said.’ He grimaced but his voice remained even and measured: ‘Lucy wasn’t sure if Madel—Lucy wasn’t sure if Bella was even going to tell you. I mean – Lucy thought she might just disappear off and not say anything or make up some bullshit story and I think Lucy wanted … I think Lucy thought it would be better coming from me once she’d gone.’
‘What time is it?’
‘One.’ He paused. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Sitting on a bench out there.’ I turned from the window. ‘There was no need for Lucy to be so concerned. The bitch made everything very clear.’
‘I think actually that was what Lucy was really worried about. That Madeleine would tell you.’
‘Oh Jesus, Will, she’s been lying to everybody for months. Me. Him. You. For Christ’s sake, she’s absolutely fucking insane. But – you know what? – I think she means it: I think she’s actually going to marry this guy. I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed with her. I should have … I should have got in the fucking cab with her.’
‘I know.’ William shifted in the doorway. ‘I mean – I know about the other guy. I know she means it. Lucy told me everything.’
‘Who is he? Who the fuck is he?’ I met William’s eye directly. ‘How long … did Lucy say?’
He gave me the truth without looking away or changing the evenness of his voice. ‘According to Lucy: three years.’
‘Christ.’
‘They met at some work thing apparently. Lucy wouldn’t say any more. She said it wasn’t important. She said what her sister wanted to tell you about her American life was up to her.’ William became brisk. ‘Listen, Jasper, anyway, I was meant to be going home tonight – home home, I mean – to Norfolk. I’m supposed to be picking up a car. Come with me. Come up and stay for a few days or a week or whatever – there’s plenty of room and my parents are in London anyway – you can have a whole fucking wing if you need. It’s not exactly cramped. Bring your calligraphy stuff. Seriously. I am in one of the tramp carriers – it’s just outside. We can put everything in the back – there’s room for a whole orchestra’s worth of bin lids in there, we must be able to fit your board in – and whatever else you need. We can load it up right now and fuck off. I’ll help. Tell me what stuff you want me to take. Pack some clothes. Get out of London. Finish your work. Think straight. Clear head. That sort of thing.’
I should have gone back to her.
But in the garden, I hesitated. I turned and turned again. I felt wrenchingly, acidly sick in the centre of my stomach. I thought that I might vomit. I rushed as far as the big gate – swallowing gulps of air and thinking that I must get home – but on the pavement outside I span around once more and, ignoring the spasms, I half-ran, half-pushed my way back inside.
People were leaving past me – teenagers, couples, young families. I barged through, scaring mothers, angering fathers, but paying no attention to their protests.
Ahead, two men were spraying the trees nearer the fire with water from a hose.
I rattled at her locks and rapped on her windows but the lights were out. She had gone. I knew it was hopeless but I carried on – banging, knocking, shaking – until, eventually, an old man with a torch came and shone his beam upon me.
I muttered excuses and made to leave. But I could not bring myself to go home and I could not imagine what I would do when I got there. So I sat on the bench and waited while they turned the hoses on the bonfire itself. By midnight the garden was empty.
The Transit van was noisy and slow. But the roads were quiet. And we were out of London quickly, driving east through the ghosted city before turning north for Cambridge. The engine was low geared and even fourth took us no faster than sixty-five. The heater clattered and whirred and the steering wheel juddered in William’s hands. Now and then a car would blaze in the rearview mirror and William would pull back into the crawler lane until it had passed.
For almost two hours, neither of us spoke. I sat, watching tail-lights fade or staring into the blackness just above the feeble limit of the van’s illumination. The windscreen wipers interfered with the radio’s reception. So we turned it off.
The motorway gave way to a main road but after another half-hour, we struck off, due east, heading out across the fens. The drizzle stopped and it began to feel colder.
‘You know I think there are some tramp smokes in the glove compartment,’ William said, looking across, ‘if you want one.’
‘No – fuck it. Anything to drink?’
‘Doubt it – the boys never leave their booze behind. Not the trampish way, I’m afraid.’
‘Should have brought some. I wasn’t thinking.’ I looked out of the side window. A three-quarter moon rode out through a gap in the clouds, lighting their edges in armoured silver for a moment before being obscured once more. I wondered when it would turn light. It was freezing cold. There were shrouds of fog floating over the fens to our left. I sat on my hands.
Suddenly, William swore. ‘Fuck. I just remembered there might be some miniatures in my bag actually. I was given them on the plane – last week. They’ll be in the end pocket – the hand luggage bag – I don’t think I took them out. Can you climb back or shall I stop?’
I had already unbuckled my seatbelt and was clambering over the passenger bench into the back. I found William’s bag and called forward, steadying myself against the roll of a corner. ‘Two miniature vodkas, a gin and a brandy. Is four right?’
‘Think so.’
I dropped back into the front.
‘I’d start with the vodka if I were you. Then the brandy.’ William changed gear. ‘That way you won’t be able to taste the gin when you get to it.’
‘Good thinking.’
We hadn’t seen any other cars for a while. We came to a stop and turned sharp left on to a minor road. There was a humpbacked bridge. William crunched up through the gear box. On the far side, we entered the first wreaths of the fog. Soon enough, it had closed in around us – dense and wet and eerie.
‘Thirty more miles of this shit, I’m afraid,’ William said, driving much more slowly and staring ahead. ‘We’re crossing the Wensum marshes. At least the road is straight and we’re not going to meet anyone coming the other way. Let’s just hope the bloody van doesn’t give up on us. Look at it out there. I don’t fancy walking. Believe me, this stuff gets into your bones.’
I opened the vodka and tasted it. ‘What sort of a state was Lucy in?’
William kept his eyes fixed ahead. ‘She was OK – together, I mean. She was in a funk about you and what was going on – but she wasn’t foaming at the mouth or hallucinating or slitting her wrists. Just anxious that I go round and find you. I called from hers around nine. But you didn’t answer your phone so I just came over straight away. I was watching those bloody fireworks actually, and I was rather shitting myself that you would come back with Madeleine – I can’t call her Bella, it’s ridiculous – and that you would be none the wiser. Christ knows what I would have said then.’
‘Lucy said about her name?’
‘Yes. I thought it might be something to do with her surname – Belmont – but it’s not. Her middle name is Isabella. And everyone calls her B—’
‘I know.’
‘Lucy told me the whole fucked-up jamboree of their family’s history.’
I took a proper swig. ‘She tell you how come they are sisters?’
‘Same father.’ The road was dead straight and William risked a bit more speed. The fog swirled – there was no other word for it.
‘That’s what Madeleine said.’ I finished the first miniature. ‘But I’ve met Lucy’s father – David. He’s called David. He can’t possibly … He’s nothing to do with Madeleine. He’s –
‘Not her real father, Jackson. It all goes back to the real father. Lucy’s real father is none other than Mr Forei
gn Office himself. Madeleine’s father. She told you about him, didn’t she?’
‘Oh Jesus.’ I let out a low whistle.
‘Quite so. Julian Belmont is his name –’ He glanced over. ‘He’s number three in Paris now – so Donald tells me. Used to fuck everything that moved. Still something of a rake.’
I looked over sharply. ‘You asked Don to find out about Madeleine’s dad?’
‘No. I did not. Donald e-mailed me about something else. I’m going to New York next month to oversee the opening of our Christmas concert special – and he mentioned it in passing. That was all.’
I cracked my second vodka. ‘I don’t understand. How is this Julian guy Lucy’s father?’
‘OK,’ William slowed again and wiped at the windscreen with his sleeve. The fog was seeping in. He cranked up the heater to four and raised his voice against the racket. ‘Way back in the deep fried days of the early seventies, Julian Belmont married Madeleine’s mother – also called Magdalena, in case you didn’t know, and also, according to Lucy, suffering far more than her fair share of the affliction otherwise known as feminine beauty. Anyway, the young and happy couple are living together in London for no longer than a year before Mrs Belmont finds herself in the family way with your … with sweet little Madeleine Isabella.