Striking a Balance

by Curtis, Norma

  ‘I saw it in a garden a couple of streets up from me, just by accident. Someone must have liked it.’

  ‘You bought it back off them?’

  James hesitated. ‘Sort of.’

  Megan knew what that meant.

  He looked at her hopefully. ‘Do you think she appreciated the gesture?’

  Megan looked at him. ‘Do you?’

  James didn’t seem to know. He stared at the lift doors as though he could see through them. ‘I wanted them to keep it. I don’t know what to do without them. I want them back. I don’t know how Charles can live with himself,’ he said. ‘A man like that, with all his so-called principles, harbouring stolen goods.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of taking the Venus back in there, are you?’

  ‘No, not the Venus.’ The lift doors opened and Larry, James and the statue staggered out. The tears were rolling down James’s face as he turned to look at her. ‘Not the Venus,’ he said, ‘not the Venus. I mean Lydia.’

  14

  Zelda and Megan finished Triton’s initial brief late that evening after a busy day. When Megan finally got home from work she was tired and hungry and looking forward to some pampering.

  She opened the kitchen door to find Larry sitting at the table painting plastic soldiers. He muttered a brief hello with-out looking up.

  She took her jacket off, threw her keys onto the table and went into the sitting room where Ruth was curled up on the sofa watching a pop video, surrounded by empty mugs.

  Megan reached for the television and turned down the sound and Ruth sat up indignantly, folding her arms. ‘Actually, Megan, I was listening to that.’

  ‘This place is a mess,’ Megan said. ‘How long would it have taken you to put these mugs into the dishwasher?’

  Ruth stared at her for a moment, her full lips slack with sulkiness. ‘They’re not my mugs,’ she said, ‘they’re Larry’s. I don’t see why I should have to clear up Larry’s mess for him.’ She grabbed a cushion and hugged it to her.

  ‘Fine.’ Megan rolled her eyes and went back into the kitchen. She heard the volume being turned up behind her, louder than before. Larry was painstakingly hunched over a figure no more than an inch long.

  ‘Couldn’t you have cleared up before you started that little hobby?’ she asked, putting the mugs in the sink.

  Larry looked up. ‘Come and have a look at these — careful, they’re wet — look at this one, I’ve given him sidies. Who does he remind you of?’

  ‘I give up.’

  ‘No, go on, have a guess,’ Larry said. ‘What colour is his hair?’

  ‘Black,’ she said in a monotone.

  ‘Right, now who do you know who has, or did have, black hair and sideburns?’

  Megan felt a silent scream building up inside her. She’d had a long day. She didn’t want to come home to a mess and the prospect of having to cook supper for two able-bodied adults who could easily do it themselves. Resentful? You bet. ‘Larry, I’m not in the mood,’ she warned.

  ‘Elvis,’ he said, holding it closer to her face. ‘Take a look.’

  She pushed his hand away and went to the wine rack, pulling out a few bottles to check the labels. Sparkling Shiraz. Twelve years old. That would do. She put it down on the worktop, took the foil out and undid the wire.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Larry asked, getting to his feet.

  ‘What does it look like?’ she asked, twisting the cork out. ‘I’m getting myself a drink.’

  ‘Don’t open that — it’s a good one,’ Larry said querulously.

  ‘Too late,’ she said as the cork gasped out. She gave him a false smile. ‘Sorry.’

  Larry sat down again. ‘That was a stupid thing to do,’ he said. ‘It’s not even cold. You’re just wasting it.’

  Megan reached into the cupboard for a Victorian saucer-shaped champagne glass which they’d been given as a wedding present and she poured the churning pink foam into it. ‘Do you want one?’ she asked without turning her head.

  ‘No, I don’t.’ He was annoyed now, and making a big thing of putting the lids back on the Humbrol tins.

  Just like Bill, she thought. What was she saying? Worse than Bill. Larry was a man who wasn’t playing any more.

  ‘You deliberately chose that one, didn’t you, because it was the dearest,’ Larry said, putting his soldiers in a row.

  Megan took a sip and considered. ‘Probably.’

  Larry got up to wash his brushes in the sink. ‘Probably,’ he repeated, shaking his head.

  ‘What’s the problem? I’ll buy you another,’ she said dismissively.

  The wine was lovely, she could feel it relaxing her.

  There was a sudden splashing and she turned to see that Larry had aimed the mixer tap at the draining board and the water was sprinkling freely onto the quarry tiles.

  ‘Larry, what are you doing?’ she asked, her voice rising angrily. Then she saw the expression on his face; a look of cold dislike. It was so unexpected that she stared at him with her mouth open, unable to move.

  ‘Don’t you ever say anything like that again,’ he said furiously and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, bang bang bang, she could hear him thudding around over her head.

  In the background Megan heard the thud of the pop video join in tandem for moment. She took a gulp of wine, and as she swallowed it she leaned over the sink to turn off the tap, getting her dress wet in the process. What the hell had that been about? She took another gulp of wine and put the glass down with deliberate carefulness.

  She threw a couple of tea-towels onto the wet floor and went upstairs after him, torn between anger and annoyance. She tried the bedroom door but it was locked. ‘Larry?’

  No reply.

  She waited for a moment, listening, and went to look in on Bill. His night light was on and the room was warm with a pink glow. He was sprawled in his bed, his legs on top of the covers, his arms outstretched. His mouth was slightly open. She kissed his cheek. He twitched at her touch and lifted his arm and it flopped down again.

  She retreated from his room to the guest room which over-looked the garden, and she lay down on the bed. She wasn’t going to apologise, no, no way.

  She thought of all the times she’d been home before Larry, getting him a drink, maybe supper, bathing Bill, juggling like an idiot. Reverse the roles and she finds him painting little soldiers and expecting her to admire them.

  The leaves on the tree outside were playing tricks with the late-evening sun on the ceiling. If she lay there long enough Larry would come and lie down next to her and ask whether she was going back down and what there was to eat. Maybe.

  She thought again of the look on his face. It was the first time she’d ever seen him look ugly.

  She rested her bare forearm over her eyes to block out the rippling reflection of the light.

  Something would come up; good people always got jobs eventually. Eventually...that was the problem, that one word. Still, she thought, her heart hardening, he should have made supper and tidied up. And she objected to him telling her which wine to drink. It’s not on, she thought.

  There was a tap on the door and she sat up hurriedly and smoothed her hair.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Ruth asked, popping her head round the door.

  Megan nodded and sat up on the edge of the bed. Ruth came to sit next to her. The bed undulated with their weight.

  ‘Have you had an argument?’ she asked, plaiting the ends of her long hair.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it about me?’

  Megan looked at her. ‘No, it wasn’t. Why?’

  ‘Larry and I had a row this morning. It’s not the first time he’s taken Bill to the park and not come back when he said he would. He did the same thing on Monday, too.’ She pulled the plait apart and started it again. ‘We were going to Damien’s for tea and he didn’t get back until almost five.’ She looked at Megan, her dark accusing eyes beginning to film with tears. ‘I was really worried abou
t them today,’ she said, ‘because he promised he’d be back. I didn’t know what had happened. And when they got back, I yelled and Bill started crying.’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I mean, Bill’s my job, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Megan said slowly, wondering why she’d put it like that, Bill’s my job, like plumbing or something. ‘Yes, he is, you’re right. Larry probably thought he was doing you a favour.’

  Ruth sniffed. ‘Well, he wasn’t. What are we going to do?’

  Megan liked the ‘we’. ‘I’ll have a talk with him,’ she said. ‘If he’s going to be at home more, he could help you look after Bill but it’s not right that he should upset your plans, I agree. See how it goes.’ She got up off the bed. ‘It’s not an easy time for any of us and we’ll just have to make the best of it for a while.’

  Ruth got off the bed. ‘I’m not going to apologise to him,’ she said. ‘He’s the one in the wrong.’

  Megan nodded. She knew exactly how Ruth felt. She didn’t much want to, either.

  ‘Put the kettle on,’ she said, ‘I’ll be down in a minute. I just want a word with Larry.’

  Ruth nodded and Megan went to the bedroom door again. ‘Larry?’ She tried the handle and the door opened. She went inside. Larry wasn’t lying on the bed, he was sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. The bedroom was darkening fast.

  Megan leaned against the wardrobe. ‘You and Ruth argued today,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. She said I was stealing her job.’

  ‘She was worried because you were late, that’s all.’ She hesitated. ‘Larry, about the wine —’

  ‘It’s not about the wine. The wine’s not the issue,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, I know you weren’t rubbing it in when you said you’d get another bottle. It’s just — I feel so bloody useless.’ He fell silent.

  Megan couldn’t think of anything to say.

  The darkness in the bedroom had become oppressive. Megan felt for the light switch and pressed.

  Larry looked up, blinded and stunned like a mole pained by the light. ‘What am I going to do?’

  Megan felt his frustration rub off. He was doing everything he could. The fact was that although most people did get other jobs, she’d seen people at the Colgin Partnership who never could find anything.

  They’d get in touch and months later they’d drop her a line, to remind her of their existence, and she’d be shocked for a short time that they were still jobless and then she’d forget them again. The people who were in the groove generally stayed in; the people who’d been pushed out lost touch. Not Larry though. It was early days yet, she told herself.

  Larry heaved himself out of the chair, stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. It was funny, it suddenly seemed ages since she’d seen him standing up. She looked up at him and he pulled her to him and she stood rigidly against him. She could smell his skin, a sweet, familiar smell. His arms closed round her and she let herself soften and leant against him.

  They rocked together in silence, thinking their own thoughts.

  She felt his hands stroking her back gently.

  She didn’t respond; didn’t want to get hopeful for nothing. His hands slid lower, cupping her bottom; she could feel the warmth of them through her dress. She felt an ache of longing for him so fierce it made her feel sick. Her emotions were tumbling around her head; resentment, anger, need.

  He bent his head and kissed her, his lips warm. She felt drunk, drunker than she ever did on wine.

  They took a step, together, like dancers, in the direction of the bed. He held her, lowering her onto it.

  He pushed her dress up and lowered her pants and she saw his hand go to his belt, undo it with a jerk.

  As he entered her, the astonishment of the sensation came back to her as it always did, new every time. Her body, all of it, felt alive, she was aware of the coldness of his belt on her hip, the rough teeth of the zip scraping her thigh. She held him tightly, slowly losing him and gaining herself, concentrating only on the wide blackness with the pinpoint of light that she had to make for, had to get to, and as she strived she could feel it coming closer, closer until all at once it was on her, in her and her life burst apart with a dazzle of colour and light.

  She felt him fall on her, breathing hard, his hot breath roaring in her ear as she fought to get her own breathing under control. Her heart was pounding and she felt the sweat cool swiftly on the side of her face.

  He clung on to her and raised his head and looked at her, surprised. ‘I can never believe this is legitimate,’ he said softly, wiping her temple with the ball of his thumb.

  They moved apart slowly. He stood up, stretched, and quickly grabbed his trousers before they fell.

  There was something furtive, shy, unfamiliar about the way they straightened themselves hurriedly. Megan went to the bathroom and looked at her flushed face in the mirror.

  Ruth would be downstairs, waiting for them with a cup of tea. She’d probably be wearing her disapproving look. Hopefully, she’d just think they’d carried on arguing.

  As she splashed water on her face, she felt weak with relief that they hadn’t, but it wasn’t always going to be this easy.

  In her mind she could see the puddle of water still on the kitchen floor, and the gleam of the wine glass by the sink. She shivered, although the night was warm.

  No, it wouldn’t always be so.

  15

  It was a weekday again. Bill knew weekdays — they were when his mother went to work.

  His father was still in bed and his door was closed. Bill had looked inside but the shape of his father under the blue duvet didn’t move.

  For his father, it was always the weekend now. He got up late every day and never threw him into the air any more.

  Sometimes when he and Zoofie came back from playgroup, his father was still in his dressing gown. Once, he had a letter on the table which he squashed in his hands and threw at the wall.

  And one day he had taken him to the boats in the park, and rowed round the island and laughed and the swans had pecked the oars. But when they’d got back Zoofie had been angry because they’d missed a party and because of that he could hardly remember his father laughing — he could mostly only remember the pecking swans and the noise.

  ‘Bill?’

  Zoofie’s voice startled him and he looked out from under the yellow tablecloth.

  ‘Where are your shoes? Hurry up. I want to get out before your dad gets up. He’s under my feet all the time.’

  Bill looked, but he didn’t expect to see his father there. His father was too big to trip over. It was something grown-ups just said, without meaning it, like, catch the waitress’s eye.

  ‘Look, do you want to go or not? We can stay here if you like. Someone else will get the Cozy Coupe, you know.’

  He got out from under the table. He could tell that Zoofie wanted to go.

  Zoofie lifted him onto a chair and pushed his shoes on and fastened them tight.

  ‘You like the playgroup, don’t you, Bill?’

  Bill nodded his head. He got off the chair and followed her to the door.

  He knew he had to go, but he didn’t want to.

  He really didn’t want to.

  ‘Come on, we’ll be late.’

  He let his hand be taken. He wanted to stay in, as a sort of guard. He didn’t like the thought of leaving his father.

  He didn’t like the thought of him being in the empty house, big and noiseless, getting under people’s feet, all on his own in bed, having a weekend again.

  16

  That week, Megan was meeting Harvey Fields for lunch at The Ivy, where they both always ordered the squid ink risotto. Megan had a weakness for black food, from caviar to black pudding, and The Ivy’s risotto she could live on happily for ever.

  Harvey Fields’s company used the Colgin Partnership for their entire sales department. Instead of the partnership taking a percentage of the salary, th
ey were paid a retainer for their services. Professionally, Megan had no choice but to like him. Personally, he was one of her favourite people.

  When they’d first met, he’d had neat, dark hair. A couple of years later she hadn’t recognised him — he had no hair at all. As soon as it had started thinning, he’d shaved it off.

  She’d liked his style then and she liked it now.

  ‘Don’t look now,’ he said, ‘but Trevor McDonald’s sitting behind you.’

  Megan giggled. His stock phrase was: Hey, isn’t that...when the truth was, financially he was worth more than any of them. ‘Where?’

  ‘Don’t look. He’s going to get up in a minute. They want his table by one-thirty.’

  The risotto came, and Megan knew she could enjoy it. Some lunches were strictly duty, but this was just a keeping-in-touch one and one she could enjoy. MDs often used headhunters as sounding boards on anything from changes in office policies to what time of year was best to go on holiday.

  ‘I hear changes are in the air at your place,’ Harvey said presently as he poured a second glass of wine.

  Megan raised her glass and paused. ‘Zelda, you mean? She’s leaving as late as she can so as to have the time at home when the baby’s born.’

  ‘Unlike Sue Fisher. She left when she was six months pregnant and came back a week after the baby was born. Said she wanted to make the most of her leisure time while she had the chance.’

  Megan laughed. She could feel her napkin slipping off her knee and caught it. ‘But that wasn’t what you meant, though, was it? You were thinking about something else.’

  ‘Lisa Ashridge,’he confirmed. ‘Zelda’s replacement, in more ways than one.’

  The clink of cutlery on china filled the gap in their conversation.

  Realising what he was saying, Megan shook her head. ‘You’re way off target on that one, Harvey.’

  Harvey kept looking at her, his eyes steady. He certainly believed it, but it didn’t mean he was right.

  Hell, Lisa had been open about it. What had she said about Gerry? That she’d met him at Madame Jojo’s. She’d been frank, hadn’t she, said that he’d mentioned Colgin was looking for someone. She wanted another string to her bow. It wasn’t a secret. ‘Gerry and Lisa?’ she said aloud, and she knew what she was pushing for; she was pushing for Harvey to retract.