Striking a Balance

by Curtis, Norma

  ‘Larry, have you found them?’

  He was so glad to hear Lisa’s voice. ‘I’ve found James. Get an ambulance.’

  Larry pulled the bed away and James fell to the floor with a light thump, as though he was almost weightless.

  Larry crouched down by him. ‘Sorry, mate.’ He pushed the bed against the adjacent wall and crouched down. ‘Are you all right? Are the girls here, James?’

  James’s pale eyes opened with effort and he looked painfully into Larry’s. ‘Goh.’

  Larry wanted to wipe the froth away from his mouth, but couldn’t. ‘Gone? They’ve gone?’

  He got up and snatched a pillow from the bed and put it under James’s head, and began pulling the duvet off to put over him. Then he remembered the recovery position.

  They’d done it once at Burgess McLane, during a first-aid course. They got the secretaries to do it too, so that in an emergency they could be revived by someone they fancied. He remembered Debbie saying that if she died and he touched her she’d get him for sexual harassment. ‘Recovery position,’ he said, pulling James’s legs. James kept pulling them back into himself and Larry was getting desperate. ‘Try to lie still, will you, mate?’

  He abandoned it and ran back down the stairs and phoned for an ambulance and ran back up again. ‘James?’

  The froth was still around his mouth. He tried to wipe it with the corner of the duvet, but James began flailing at him and he gave up. ‘What can I do for you, mate?’ he asked in desperation.

  ‘They goh.’

  Larry jumped to his feet. The feeling came back to him that the girls were in the house and, suddenly convinced, he began to look for them; and everywhere he looked he prepared himself to find something worse than he’d ever imagined. He saw four bin bags in a wardrobe and thought his heart would stop. But they were light and opening them he found they were only stuffed with clothes and papers. Afraid, he returned to James.

  The ambulance could be heard, getting nearer, stopping outside, flashing blue across the curtains.

  Larry ran back down and opened the door. ‘He’s up here.’ Three paramedics followed him, walked up steadily to the bedroom and in their calmness he found the panic leaving him.

  When he came down, Lisa was in the lounge, smoking, scrutinising a photograph of Lydia which she’d taken off the wall.

  They came back down with James on a stretcher.

  ‘Where are you taking him? UCH? We’ll follow.’

  They were in for a long wait, but at the end of it they were allowed to see James briefly.

  Larry was stunned at the sight of him.

  The image came into his head of James as a battered bendy toy, shabby but indestructible.

  He’d been wrong. James had tried to self-destruct. He had taken an overdose and written a letter saying he was depressed.

  Larry was amazed at James knowing such a mundane word, but as he thought of depression, of James being depressed, he could see the black cloud of flies, and he wanted to cry.

  The doctor took him into a room.

  Larry tried to explain and the doctor sat down and put his hands in the pockets of his coat. ‘The majority of divorced men lose touch with their children. The mothers move away, or make it difficult to visit, or find someone else. And the men start a new family...’ he shrugged. ‘It’s not always easy.’

  ‘What if a man doesn’t want a new family? What if he wants the old one back?’

  ‘I don’t know about what if. I’m just telling you what I know.’

  And Larry thought of Bill, and he began to talk, and he talked as though he was on his own, rambling, unable to find a place to stop.

  He told the doctor about James, who didn’t give a toss about his home or his wife or his children when he had them, but who couldn’t bear it now they’d gone. He talked about the playgroup where they hadn’t wanted him until he was useful, and about Helen’s husband, whose name he didn’t even know, who had lost everything he loved through no fault of his own. And he talked about the man at the zoo, with the sweat seeping through the thick blue denim shirt on a hot day, catching his daughter’s patent shoe with a practised hand.

  ‘Bummer, isn’t it, said, and wiped his hand over his eyes and suddenly was wrenched by silent, wracking sobs.

  They seemed to tear him apart for a long, long time, but when they finally stopped, and the extreme tiredness took over and he made one last effort to lift his head, the doctor was still there, a warm presence, waiting.

  Larry’s eyes met his and though he knew he wouldn’t recognise his face five minutes from now, he knew also that he would never forget him.

  The doctor got to his feet. ‘Stay in here until you’re ready,’ he said. He was at the door when he stopped and turned. ‘When you feel that strongly,’ he said, ‘my best advice is: do something about it.’

  *

  Lisa was waiting in the corridor when he came out.

  Her hair was held back as immaculately as ever, but she seemed agitated where he’d only ever seen her calm. Her eyes kept returning to the door of the ward where James lay semi-conscious, his eyes flickering, a tube taped to the side of his mouth and a dark weight over him.

  ‘He’s needy,’ she said. ‘He ought to be looked after. I mean, I know he’s in the right place, but afterwards, what’s he going to do afterwards?’

  Larry had never felt his head so heavy. ‘I really don’t know.’

  42

  ‘They’re back. Larry’s in the interview room,’ Nigel said, pop-ping his head around the door.

  Megan looked up with relief. ‘Thanks, Nigel.’

  ‘He looks pretty grim.’ Nigel glanced meaningfully at Bill who was drawing on laser paper on the floor. ‘Want me to keep an eye on this one for you?’

  Megan hurried into the interview room. Larry was sitting by the table, his hands resting flat on it. He looked up at her like a man who hadn’t been allowed to sleep.

  She put her arms around him. ‘What happened? How’s James?’

  Larry kissed her forearm absently, leaving the prickle of his bristles on her skin. ‘He’s pretty bad. He took barbiturates that he’d bought from a man in a pub. He was serious. He’d written a letter to the girls...’ Larry swallowed and she could feel the muscles working in his throat.

  She felt a mixture of emotions rise to the surface like bubbles, and guilt seemed to appear more than anything else. We’ve done nothing wrong, she thought quickly, and rubbed her cheek against Larry’s short, dark hair. ‘Oh, Larry. Is Lydia with him?’

  ‘I’ve just called her, but she said it was blackmail. She doesn’t seem to think he’s capable of real feelings at all.’

  Larry got jerkily out of his chair and Megan let him go, her hands dropping to her side. She felt helpless, and it wasn’t a state she was used to. ‘Well at least you’ve done your bit,’ she said, trying to comfort him.

  ‘How? In getting there in time? I can’t think he’s going to see it as a favour. He’ll get home and what will have changed?’

  Megan felt a coil of fear heavy and tight inside her. ‘He had his chance, Larry. Lydia put up with more than most women would. She held them together for years before getting out.’

  ‘He was a good father,’ Larry said.

  ‘A good father?’ She gave a short, incredulous laugh. ‘A good father is one who supports his family, sees they don’t have to go without. Those girls only went to state school because Lydia couldn’t afford on her income to send them both privately.’ She stopped awkwardly, but hell, it was true, wasn’t it? It was no use Larry thinking of the hard-done-by James when James, let’s face it, had brought it all upon himself.

  Larry looked at her with the calmness of someone ready to pounce, and who knows he’s got all the time in the world. ‘And that’s a good father, is it?’ he asked softly.

  She looked at him, surprised with herself. But yes, it was her idea of a good father; it was a description of her own.

  ‘Megan,’ Larry said,
and stopped.

  She was glad to hear that his voice was stronger now. It had been a shock, finding James like that, of course it had, but they’d got their own lives to think of. She’d written an advert to put in The Lady for a new nanny for Bill, and she wanted Larry to read it first; she could show him the advert now, yes, why not, then she could ring it through.

  But she just stood looking at him. Then she said, ‘What?’

  Larry rubbed his eyebrow. His scar moved like a silver thread. ‘I want you to get Lisa in here,’ he said. ‘I’m not taking the Triton job.’

  It took a minute for it to register in words, but the coil of fear released immediately and she felt her stomach contract as she tried to contain it. ‘No, Larry,’ she said, and it wasn’t denial, this was panic. ‘You can’t do that. You lost that option a long way back.’

  ‘Megan, I don’t want that life any more.’

  She stared transfixed into his dark and once familiar eyes that weren’t at all familiar any more. ‘It’s not negotiable.’ She backed away, putting the table between them.

  He leaned across it towards her. His eyes narrowed, the skin crinkling around them. ‘I am tired of games,’ he said slowly, enunciating the words as though they were new to him. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘What games?’ She was baffled now, she felt as though she’d come into a room halfway through an interview, couldn’t manage to pick it up.

  ‘This!’ he said, flinging his arm out and knocking a vase. It fell with a crash and he looked at it, righting it swiftly. The water spread to the edge of the table and tapped slowly onto the carpet. ‘This — fake — existence. Money. Products. Deals.’

  She almost laughed at the absurdity. ‘It’s called work, Larry! Have you forgotten what that is? It’s who you are, remember?’

  Was,’ he said. ‘Was. It was me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, mocking, ‘it was you.’ She pointed her finger at him. ‘What do you want to be now, Larry? Leader of the young mothers? Is that your latest role? Grow up, because you know how it will be. You’ll end up like James, with nothing.’ She glanced at the door, afraid that someone would hear. Worse, afraid that Bill would hear them. But she was fighting for her life and she couldn’t give up. ‘Larry, you’re just upset and I understand that —’

  He smiled humourlessly. ‘You want us to be in touch with our emotions and then you can’t handle them! You see men as clowns until it suits you — a clown or a meal-ticket. Take your pick.’

  Megan felt herself freeze. ‘I wouldn’t say too much about meal-tickets if I were you, Larry.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Or you might find yourself without one,’ she added quietly.

  Larry began to laugh. His tanned face creased into a rictus and Megan looked with alarm at the door. Suddenly he grabbed her arm and she pulled away from him but his fingers dug in deep. He jerked hard, pulling her round to face him. ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘Do you think you’re so important to the family that you have to threaten me? We hardly ever see you. Why would we miss you?’

  ‘I’ve been busy, you know I have. Now let me go.’ She wrenched her arm from his grip. ‘I’d rather you made a scene out of the office,’ she said coldly.

  ‘Aaargh!’

  His roar deafened her.

  ‘Tell me there’s someone human in there,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Oh can’t you just shut up,’ she said angrily. ‘If you want to get in touch with your feelings, do some primal therapy and have done with it.’

  He looked at her, his eyes like those of a stranger encountering something new. Insulting eyes, their gaze ranging over her.

  ‘We’re talking feelings, are we,’ he said, walking around her. ‘Where are yours? You had some once, didn’t you? What did you do, lock them away, tidy them up? This is this,’ he said, putting his hands parallel, chopping the air, mimicking her again, ‘this is this, this is this. A good father pays for his child’s schooling and a good mother finds a good nanny. You’re not a mother, you’re a money machine. And I was a money machine. And I’m not one any more and I feel a damn sight better for it.’

  She stared at him and felt a rush of pressure to her head, hurting her eyes, closing her throat: fear and injustice rolled into one. It was difficult to breathe. ‘To see ourselves as others see us,’ she said bitterly. Her voice seemed to be tearing out of her. ‘That’s not how I saw you.’

  He slammed his hand down on the table again. ‘Yes! That’s exactly how you saw me! And that’s the way you like me. I’ve always been the dumb one, haven’t I, Meg? Acting a part. Well I don’t have to any more. This is the real me.’

  The resonance of his slamming hand died away slowly. He hates me, she thought, and it struck her like a lightning flash, illuminating the block of their marriage, and she saw them stuttering along the years together as though in a strobe.

  ‘And, Megan, from now on, this is my life.’

  Each word hammered into her head. Megan tried to gather her thoughts but they were spinning away from her like un-nailed Catherine wheels. ‘Larry —’she put her hand to her head, couldn’t follow the thread of what she was saying. ‘Larry —’tried to take a deep breath but found herself panting. Put her cold fingers over her mouth.

  ‘So ask me what I want out of my life. Right, Meg, I want to set up a charity to listen to men like James, men who can’t be the fathers they want to be. Does that surprise you? That original idea?’

  Megan, shaking, fought to keep the tears away. ‘Charity begins at home.’

  The door opened and she turned and in walked Lisa, three glasses in her hands and a bottle of champagne under her arm. ‘We haven’t drunk to your future,’ she said to Larry. ‘Congratulations.’

  Megan stared at her.

  Lisa put the glasses down on the table and looked at Larry before turning to Megan. ‘What’s happening?’

  Megan stared at the glasses, her mind a blank. Groping for something, the phones ringing in the background, trying to be She-Man, pulling on the ill-fitting costume. Finding it not so comfortable now.

  ‘Get Paul Camberwell for me,’ she said. ‘Larry’s changed his mind. We’ll have to speak to Jeremy again.’ She snatched the words out of the air and took a juddering breath. Larry’s got himself a life.’ Just getting the last word out in time before she saw the contempt on his face, before her voice gave out; leaving the room before the pressure in her head was too great, before the tears came.

  43

  When she got home that night the television was off and Larry was standing awkwardly in the doorway, having, she supposed, heard her car.

  She went past him and Larry followed her into the living room and went over to the books in the bookcase, fingering a few spines.

  ‘I’ll pack some clothes for the next few days,’ she said. ‘I need time to think. I need some space.’

  He kept his back to her, his hand on the books.

  The pressure in her throat had returned and she went upstairs to their bedroom and opened the wardrobe. They kept their clothes together and she could smell his aftershave faintly mingled with her perfume.

  She pulled a suitcase down and brushed the dust off it with her hand. Step by step, that was the way to do it.

  She opened the case and put in dresses and a couple of jackets; opened her drawers, threw in undies, jewellery, t-shirts, shoes, make-up. She locked the case and went into Bill’s room.

  His night light was on and the room glowed. Bill was lying on top of the bedcovers, a piece of Lego in his hand, his face flushed.

  She looked at him. He was still and peaceful. She picked up a white vest from the floor and put it in her pocket. ‘It’s not for long.’ A promise.

  She went back into the bedroom and fastened the case. It was heavier than she’d thought and she took it down the stairs, trying not to bump it. She was at the bottom of the stairs when Larry came through.

  ‘Where are you going? ’he asked.

  ‘I’m goi
ng to Lisa’s,’ she said.

  She hurried out of the house, half-carrying, half-pulling her cases out onto the path before closing the door. She bumped them as far as the car and hoisted them into the boot, slamming the lid down on them. Breathing heavily enough for sobs to catch at her throat, she stared at the house.

  Turning, she checked behind her and started the engine. She began to reverse slowly out of the drive and now she was out of the drive and over the pavement, the car rolling onto the road at an angle; she would straighten up, she did straighten up, the car was parallel to the kerb and she could see the whole of the house — the light still on in their bedroom, and below it, the russet glow from the lounge, and in the hall, the light shimmering, welcoming. She felt a twist of surprise. It was a home, without her.

  She changed gear and pulled away and as the car gained speed she knew that she had never seen things with such clarity. Approaching a puddle of light around a street lamp, a dog, plodding slowly, dragged his stretching shadow along the dusty path. Ahead the traffic light was a luminous blue-green permitting her to glide on along the road ahead, her lights shining cones of brightness on the tarmac, and she put her foot down harder. The windscreen wipers had cleared a fan shape in the opaque dust on the periphery of her vision.

  At last she had reached Lisa’s flat. She parked haphazardly and stopped the car and got out. Megan could actually see her leaning out of a window, smoking.

  She got out of the car and a cigarette came flying down at her. Megan dodged. ‘Lisa? It’s Megan.’

  ‘Oh, hello, didn’t see you there. Saw the car, of course. Just a minute, I’ll be right with you.’

  Megan could see her outline through the door.

  ‘Come in, Meg. What’s up?’

  When Megan didn’t answer, she led the way to the sitting room and gestured at her to sit down. ‘Just finished supper,’ she said. And she went away for a moment. Megan wondered whether she was ringing Larry, as a delinquent’s parents would. But of course she wasn’t; she came back with two glasses of amber liquid in her hand.