“Yes, I was only thinking a moment ago how deeply connected we are, but—”
“Wait, wait, wait! We’ve established that I love you and you love me and that we’re deeply connected. Now, keep that thought in front of you, hold it, hold it—okay? Right, I feel much better now I know you’re thinking that. Thanks! It was very good of you to go out of your way to help me relax.”
“Not at all,” I said politely, and thought: anything to please an old pal.
“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“Easy-peasy.”
“I wasn’t browbeating you, was I?”
“Nope.” I was thinking how sweet it was that he was so earnest and sincere. I found myself vaguely moved. Dear little Nicky, how adorable he had looked long ago with his fair hair and pink cheeks and Bear tucked under his arm …
“I’m still feeling a bit tense—could we do a rerun just to reassure me—for old time’s sake—” He clicked his fingers absent-mindedly.
“You love me and I love you.” After all, I didn’t want to go on screaming at him, did I? I just wanted a respite from all the horror now, and anyway he was my oldest friend. I’ll always go the extra mile for a friend.
“I love you and you love me,” he was saying. “Great. Okay, I’ll forget about going downstairs to work in my study. I’d much rather stay here. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here, would you?”
“Not really.” I was thinking how stunning his eyes were, pale grey but brilliant and glowing like clouded white fire. It was funny how the irises seemed to change colour; sometimes they were as dark as slate and sometimes they were so light that they were almost blue. He really did have the most unusual eyes I’d ever seen … He was talking again. Pulling myself together, I struggled to concentrate.
“You’re all right now, aren’t you, Rosalind? You’re totally relaxed now, aren’t you, after that awful scene?”
“Yep. Finally.”
“So am I. It’s terrible when the future seems upsetting, but there’s no need for the future to be upsetting, is there? Tell you what: let’s get under the duvet and imagine a future which isn’t upsetting at all. Remember how we used to play imaginary futures in the old days?”
“Of course. You used to make a tent out of that old army blanket and we’d crawl in after listening to that super Malcolm Saville serial on Children’s Hour—”
“—and imagine an exciting future. That’s right. We imagined—”
“We imagined we had a big house in a magic city, didn’t we?”
“Exactly, I knew you’d remember. And this is our big house, Rosalind, and this is our magic city, and now we’re going to resume that vision, we’re going to get under the duvet and imagine—”
“—something wonderful.” By that time I could hardly wait to crash out. I felt as if I were on the verge of sleep—yet at the same time I seemed to be pulsing with a curious energy, very peculiar, I couldn’t understand it but wait a moment, yes, I did, it was sexual energy because Nicky was being so incredibly erotic, and I fancied him, fancied him deeply, in fact I couldn’t wait to get my paws on his body and … Paws? No, hands. I was a human being, not an animal. Or was I?
“Nicky, I’m not Bear, am I?”
“Absolutely not. You’re Rosalind, the most wonderful woman in the world,” he said, snapping his fingers as if to salute a fact which was indisputable.
I said: “You love me and I love you,” and all at once I felt blissfully, immeasurably and indescribably happy …
VII
Well, there we were under the duvet, and Nicky began to waffle away about the ideal future; it was all about a community where everyone was linked to everyone else and supported everyone else, a world where the self-centred behaviour of the individual had no place to exist, a world of relatedness powered by the dynamic of love. “The Trinity is a symbol of relatedness powered by that dynamic,” he was saying. “It’s a model of how reality truly is. Reality is threefold,” and I was murmuring yeah-yeah, I could see that, it was all clear as crystal, and I could do with a little relatedness right now, how about it, come down out of the future, Mr. Wonder Stud, and let’s go all related in the present.
And Nicky was saying fine, great, we’d pretend we’d slid sideways into a parallel world, we’d pretend we were starring in a sex movie, why not, anything could happen in a parallel world, and I said—rather woozily, as if I’d had the whole bottle of plonk instead of half of it—yeah-yeah, go for it, Miracle-Man, but no porn because Mummy wouldn’t approve. Then Nicky said okay—okay, he said no porn, this would be very high-tone, like an art movie—like that famous scene in Don’t Look Now when Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie had done a terrific number in Venice, and I said yeah-yeah, let’s do it, let’s do it, I said, and swore this would be better than the film because he was far sexier than Donald Sutherland—at which point Nicky said I was far sexier than Julie Christie because Julie Christie was too thin. And when I argued no one could be too thin, according to Mrs. Simpson, he just said he wouldn’t have wanted to go to bed with Mrs. Simpson, it would have been like making love to a broomstick without the witch, and he’d never envied the Duke of Windsor one little bit.
Then we forgot about the Windsors because we were so busy being Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie in this fascinating parallel world—well, universe, actually—which we just happened to have dropped in on, and of course I knew it was really all a dream—Nicky said it was all a dream and of course I believed every word he said—but it was such fun, so when he said it was all a dream, this wasn’t really happening, I didn’t get upset, far from it. I said yeah-yeah and swam around swoonily.
After that there were no more words for a while, but it was all right because Nicky said it was all right and of course I believed every word he said. After all, ultimate reality, as Nicky had said earlier when talking of the Trinity, lay beyond the scope of words to describe and this experience of ours was ultimately real—and I remember thinking how strange it was that I’d never realised this truth before, but there it was, words were inadequate when one was engaged with the ultimately real and that was why all Trinitarian talk sounded so weird, but never mind, ultimate reality was all about relatedness powered by the dynamic of love—and wowee, was I perfectly relating to Nicky in our parallel universe, and wowee, was he being dynamic, and wowee, this was the best dream I’d had for ages, so when he said that this was the way things really were I said yeah-yeah, and when he said that this was why we had to stay together I said yeah-yeah, and when he said we were going to live happily ever after I said yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah …
It was the most beautiful dream but at last it came to an end, just as all dreams do, and the parallel universe exploded across the star-spangled heavens in cascades of white light. Gently we floated down to earth on a fluffy white cloud and gently we landed on a bed of white swansdown and gently, gently, gently we slipped into a shimmering seraphic sleep …
VIII
When I awoke later that evening, I found something had happened to my memory and I couldn’t remember where I was or how I’d got there. In fright I exclaimed: “I’ve got amnesia!” but Nicky said at once: “No, you haven’t,” and snapped his fingers.
Instantly I said: “You love me and I love you,” but that struck me as all wrong, weird, not chiming with what had been going on in my life—although I couldn’t quite remember what had been going on. “Nicky, I really do have amnesia—”
“No, you don’t. We were playing imaginary futures and I was discussing Josiah Royce’s concept of the ideal community and you fell asleep. I’m not surprised either after all that plonk you knocked back.”
“But did I knock back so much?”
“At least half a bottle, and that stuffs all chemicals … Like some tea?”
“Very much. Thanks.” My memory had started working again, thank God, and I could now remember how he had wolfed down my exquisite dinner, how angry we had been with each other afterwards and how only the mention of Be
ar had saved us from further marital horrors. I could remember too the relief I had experienced as we reminisced about our kindergarten days and regressed into our childhood friendship. That was probably another reason why I had passed out; after the extreme tension produced by yet another row I had been half-dead with exhaustion in addition to being half-poisoned by that plonk … I made a mental note to spend more money next time I picked up a bottle of wine in a supermarket.
Meanwhile Nicky was sliding out of bed on his way to the kitchen to make tea, and to my astonishment I saw he was naked. My brain did a stagger. “Nicky …” I rubbed my eyes for fear I was hallucinating.
He was pulling on his dressing-gown. “Yes?”
“Why do you have no clothes on?”
“Because it was hot under that duvet and I didn’t think you’d thank me if I sweated like a pig all over you.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. But I didn’t. Alarm made my stomach flutter. “Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “Wait a minute. I had this extraordinary dream—you said it was a dream. We were doing a remake of the sex scene in Don’t Look Now, and—”
“Hold it, I’ve got to pee.”
“God!” I exclaimed appalled as the memories snowballed. “That plonk must have been spiked with LSD!”
Nicky disappeared. The lavatory door closed and eventually I heard him pull the old-fashioned chain. Then the door opened and he went into the bathroom to wash his hands before heading for the kitchen. By this time I was feeling deeply confused again. I was trying to work out how on earth I had wound up with him under the duvet when I was supposed to have been talking to him about divorce. I knew—I could clearly remember—that I’d been feeling sentimental about the childhood friendship, but it was a big step from indulging in nostalgia to sliding under the duvet and playing imaginary futures with this husband I was determined to leave. Why on earth was I bothering to play imaginary futures—what a damn stupid, childish game!—when the whole point about the marriage was that it had no future whatsoever? Somewhere along the line I’d gone bananas. That bloody plonk! I felt like suing the supermarket. Yet I wasn’t hung over. Curious. I had no headache of any kind and the only discomfort I was currently experiencing was a full bladder.
Having decided to go to the lavatory I sat up—and found to my astonishment that I too was naked. When had I removed my clothes? Nicky must have eased me out of them when I was in my stupor … or did I have some distorted memory of tearing them off as I slipped into the Julie Christie role? No, the sex sequence had been a dream. Nicky had said it was a dream, and of course I knew it had been a dream because in the present circumstances when all I wanted was a divorce—and when I had firmly said to Nicky that I didn’t want to sleep with him—the very last thing I would ever have consented to was sexual intercourse.
Still feeling troubled by the peculiarly groggy state of my brain I swung my legs from the bed to the floor, but as soon as I stood up I knew something was horribly wrong.
For a second I was transfixed, unable to believe the truth which was now clamouring to be acknowledged, but then I put a trembling hand between my thighs.
There was no mistaking what I found.
For ten dreadful seconds my mind was again in chaos, but finally reason and reality snapped back into their familiar alignment, the fog of confusion was blasted apart, and my memory raced to project image after image, all pornographic, onto my mind’s big, bright, blazing screen.
I only just managed to reach the lavatory before I was violently ill.
But I knew now exactly what was making me vomit.
And it wasn’t the cheap supermarket wine.
9
[The anger’s] expression may, on the other hand, become inhibited as in those who have suffered sexual abuse. Here inappropriate shame and guilt stir up deep anger and aggression.
GARETH TUCKWELL AND DAVID FLAGG
A Question of Healing
I
I flushed the lavatory, stumbled next door to the bathroom and locked myself in. Turning on the taps I waited for the bath to fill. My brain had seized up again by this time. I was in shock. Scrambling clumsily into the bath I began to scrub and scrub and scrub.
After a while Nicky knocked on the door. The noise startled me so much that I almost passed out. As I gripped the side of the bath and listened to my banging heart I heard him call: “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine—I’ll be out in a minute.” My voice sounded casual, almost languid.
He went away.
I remained motionless for a further minute, but I was in control of myself again now after that nightmare scene when far more than my will had been twisted and violated, and at last my instinct for survival triggered some rapid rational thoughts. My first decision was that I should avoid a further conversation with Nicky about the future because as he was irrational on the subject, any attempt to discuss a divorce would be futile. My second decision was that I had to fight the urge to flee at once either to Butterfold or to anywhere else because he would only rush after me and engineer more disgusting scenes. When I left the Rectory it would be with his consent, and this meant that for a while at least I would have to pretend that the marriage was still viable. However—
However, the third decision I made was that I was never, under any circumstances, going to sleep with him again.
Struggling out of the bath I dried myself, tucked the towel around my body and went to the door to listen. All was quiet. Turning the key in the lock I opened the door and found myself eyeball to eyeball with him.
I screamed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay—” He backed off hurriedly.
“Christ, Nicky, you gave me a shock! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, and all the time I spoke I was willing myself to behave as I would have done if no revolting abnormality had taken place. “Did you make the tea?”
“I’ll make a fresh pot,” he said at once. “I didn’t realise you were going to have a bath. But perhaps I should have done. Rosalind—”
“Never mind, I didn’t really want tea anyway. What’s the time?”
“About five to ten. Darling—”
“Oh, five to ten, good, we’re in time for the ITV news. Let’s goggle at the box and recuperate from all that frenzied exercise in the bedroom.”
“I was just going to say—”
“No need. Naturally I’ve put two and two together but we won’t talk about it. You were extremely silly and to be quite honest I did feel livid with you when I realised you’d pulled off one of your childish parlour-tricks, but never mind, it’s all over now, forgive and forget, and we won’t refer to it again. Now I want to find out who’s starving, who’s fighting, who’s whingeing and what Mrs. Thatcher’s doing to fix them, but if you don’t want to watch the news with me, if you want an early night—”
“Rosalind, can you hold it right there for a moment? There’s something I want to say.”
When I finally summoned the nerve to look him in the eyes I realised how tense he was. “Absolutely no need to say anything,” I said strongly at once. “Much better not. No need to say anything at all.”
But he was apparently incapable of taking this advice. “I just wanted to tell you,” he said unevenly, “that I know I’ve overstepped the mark, but I did so only with the very best of intentions. You see, I knew—I knew—that deep down you loved me and wanted us to stay together. I knew that because of all the self-centred crap which was cluttering up the surface of your mind you couldn’t think straight. I knew that if I cut through all the crap and put you in touch with your true feelings everything would be all right. I knew that if only I could reach you on that level I could initiate a healing—and when I say ‘knew’ I mean it was true psychic knowledge, I just knew I was right—”
“Uh-huh. You know, I think I’ve changed my mind, I feel sleepy after the bath and now I just want to go straight to bed. But don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be as right as rain in the morning.” Moving back into t
he bathroom I opened the door of the airing cupboard.
I was aware of him staring without comprehension as I pulled out fresh bed-linen. The boys’ duvet covers, printed with pictures of ancient cars, were quite different from ours.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’ll sleep in Benedict’s room,” I said. “No problem. I just feel I’d like to be on my own for the rest of the night, if you don’t mind, but no offence meant. I only want total peace and quiet so that I can crash out for at least twelve hours.”
“But I can sleep in Benedict’s room! You sleep in our bed which you like so much!”
“How sweet of you, darling, but no thanks. I’d rather be in Benedict’s room.”
“But why?”
It wasn’t just because the thought of our bed was now repulsive to me. It was because I knew the lock worked on this particular door. Benedict had locked himself in during his last visit after a row with Nicky, and it had taken me over an hour to coax him out. “Just humour me, Nicky, would you, please? I’m so tired,” I said, and began my journey to Benedict’s room. Only a few more steps to go now until I was safe for a few hours. I’d nearly survived this terrifying and obscene ordeal. I was almost there.
“Rosalind, I really do think we should talk about this—”
“No, Nicky. I’m sorry, but no.”
“Obviously you’re angry, but don’t forget I proved that deep down you still love me. You wanted the sex, remember—you asked for it—begged for it—”
I whirled round to face him. “Shut up!” I screamed. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” And bolting the last yards to Benedict’s room I hurled myself inside, locked the door and began to shake from head to toe.
I’d never been so frightened in my life.
II
It was freezingly cold in the room so I lit the gas fire before I made the bed and burrowed under the duvet. At last I managed to stop shaking, but nightmarish thoughts continued to plague me. Was there a spare key to the room? Would Nicky unlock the door when I was asleep and creep in and … Leaping out of bed I dragged the chest of drawers across the door and switched on all the lights, even the desk-lamp. Only then did I feel safe enough to close my eyes.
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