Agent Provocateur

by Faith Bleasdale

  ‘I heard his voice,’ she says eventually. ‘He’s with her, and she’s won. And I’ve lost.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Grace? You seem a bit preoccupied.’ Johnny has barely managed to get a word out of her since they made their way on to the course.

  ‘Sorry. I just didn’t think it would be this hard.’

  ‘What, golf?’

  ‘No. Not golf.’ She smiles at him sadly, but she cannot walk away. Not yet. ‘I know, let’s get on with me thrashing you, and then we’ll talk over supper.’

  ‘Good idea. Golf and talk don’t mix. I hope you’re not one of those women who never shut up when they’re playing.’

  ‘How dare you?’ She pretends to be indignant. ‘For that, I’m going to tee off first.’

  As they start playing, Johnny is swinging from feeling relaxed. It is a mixture of fresh air, his favourite game and Grace that is doing it. But his composure is being interrupted by a collage of the morning’s events with Betty. The breakfast, the handcuffs, the edible knickers. He hits a bad shot.

  ‘Oh dear, you weren’t concentrating,’ teases Grace, who is on good form despite the fact she hasn’t played for a while.

  ‘I thought I’d give you a chance, or something. But for that, I won’t. Prepare to be humiliated.’

  ‘OK, Johnny, do your worst.’

  The most awful thing is that he can see it now. There are two Johnnys: the one who would now be talking about going to the supermarket with his wife, Betty; would be petting Cyril, and arguing over who does which chore. Then they would have lunch and then he would probably play golf with Matt, or watch sport. Not the most exciting life, but his life, his chosen life, the life he was always happy with.

  Then there is the Johnny who would bring her breakfast in bed, because Grace is the sort of woman for whom you have to do that. He can picture himself pulling back the duvet, and kissing her from her ankles, up her long legs. He shudders with that thought. Luckily, Grace is lining up a shot. Then, after a morning of making love, they would get up and do something. Play golf, maybe, go horse riding (although he can’t ride), drive to the country. That is what he would do with Grace. She promised excitement and he wouldn’t go shopping, do chores – no, because that isn’t what Grace represents. He knows that there is an element of fantasy attached and the reality would be different, but the worst thing, the thing he is losing the ability to cope with, is the thought that he wants to try. To give that life a go, maybe.

  He loves Betty, but he believes he loves Grace, and there aren’t two of him to go round, so he is clueless as to what to do.

  ‘Nice shot,’ he calls, as he realises that the only thing he can do is play golf.

  ‘They’re playing golf together, but that doesn’t mean that anything else is happening.’

  ‘No, but how do we know they are playing?’

  ‘You said he said that they’d miss their slot.’

  ‘That could mean anything. They could be fucking. “Oh, Grace, put the phone down. I missed your slot.”’ Betty realises what she’s said and she bursts out laughing, sounding hysterical.

  Alison shoots her a worried look. ‘That was really crude, even for you. I’m sorry, but you have to do something.’

  ‘But what? I can’t ask him, can’t let on that I know because he’d never forgive me. I can’t speak to her because she’s with him.’ Betty puts her face in her hands. Tears begin rolling down her cheeks. ‘He said that he was having supper with the client as well. Shit, Alison, I’m going to lose him and I have no idea how I’ll ever cope with that. Oh, shit. You know what? I’m not letting him go. I can’t do that. We need a plan. I know, we can think while we clean this mess up.’ They start on the house, putting everything back so Johnny will never know that anyone has been through his things, looking for clues that Betty no longer thinks she needs. She is falling apart but she is still determined to fight; that is keeping her together. Just as they finish, the doorbell rings.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Alison says. After a few minutes she returns with a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates.

  Betty looks at them and bursts into tears, for the first time, at the action of her guilty husband.

  ‘I’ve become a cliché. And I fucking hate clichés.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘Can I try some?’ Grace asks, putting her fork into Johnny’s mushroom risotto and taking a mouthful.

  ‘I didn’t say yes.’

  ‘I know, but it is so good. Here, to be fair, you have some of my lamb.’ Johnny obliges.

  He beat her at golf but she played well. They had a drink at the club before Johnny drove her to a bistro near her flat. He feels tense again as he realises that his need for her is now physical as well. There is only so much you can put down to her attractiveness. It is not about her looks. He is beginning to weaken, to feel that he is unable to resist her and he knows that if she made a move, he would be powerless to refuse her. But she hasn’t done anything but give him a peck on the cheek for winning, and lightly brush his hand. He is relieved but disappointed.

  Grace smiles at him. She feels truly happy. Whatever happens to her, she resolves that she will remember this day for ever. The day that she let everything good flood her body, because she feels normal, human. She will always remember it, and him. Even if she cannot be with him. She senses his confusion and wants to help him, but knows that only he can decide. And she also feels that whatever decision he makes will be the right one. She trusts him – if he stays with Betty, or if he comes to her. She knows that it is wrong to try to break up a marriage, she knows that, but she is in love, and the fact that they aren’t having an affair, or not a physical affair, is important. She is not sure that it is better to have a mental affair, because you still get the mental guilt. She doesn’t want him to agonise over it, she doesn’t want him to be hurt, but he will be, as will she herself or Betty. They might all be hurt. But she cannot stop it. Not now. She is going downhill and the brakes have failed.

  ‘Thanks, Ali,’ Betty says, as she sips a cup of tea, having woken up from a long nap.

  ‘You needed sleep, you’re so tense.’

  ‘I know. I feel saner now.’

  ‘It’s understandable, but the thing is that you have to pull yourself together. How long left for the bet?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘Call it off tomorrow.’

  ‘I will. I’ll tell her. She might even understand if I beg. I’m sure that’s all she wants anyway. I’m sure she has no use for Johnny – it’s all about getting me riled. And she’s doing a pretty good job.’ Betty feels calm about everything. She will tell Grace that it’s over. She’ll tell her that she won. Then she’ll tell Fiona that she’s not carrying on. Then she will address the problem of Johnny. Because if he left her... She cannot yet contemplate that.

  ‘But in the meantime if you want to keep him I’d have a shower and do something with that hair, and also put on some decent clothes.’ Alison smiles. They giggle at the tracksuit Betty is still wearing.

  ‘He’s having supper with her.’ Tears are coming back.

  Alison is mixed up and doesn’t know what to do. She opts for denial.

  ‘Look, I know how tough you are. I’ve seen it. Get changed, come home with me for supper, call Johnny and leave a message on his mobile telling him you’re having drinks with us and for him to join us when he’s finished. Pretend he has been playing golf with a client and nothing more.’

  ‘You’re right. If I don’t feel threatened then I might be all right.’ Betty is trying so hard not to be threatened. That way, if she can keep control, she knows she will win.

  ‘Well, you might not go mad.’

  ‘I might not. Thanks, Ali.’

  Betty gets up to go and have a shower while Alison starts praying.

  ‘You better not drink any more, you won’t be able to drive,’ Grace says, tipping the rest of the wine into her glass. ‘Thank you, Miss Sensible. I’ll get a coffee,
just in case.’

  ‘You could come back to the flat for coffee.’ Grace realises the minute the words leave her mouth that it sounds like a corny line. She giggles, like a young girl, and that is how she feels. When she works she is so precise in what she says to the men, her chat-up technique is faultless, but now she cannot control her mouth.

  ‘Nice line, Grace. I gave you more credit than that.’

  ‘OK, then how about this? Shit, have you seen how much they charge for a coffee in this place? You’d better come and have some at mine. It’s free.’

  ‘Better, but not sure if it still doesn’t sound like you’re trying to get me into your lair.’ He leans in close. Grace is right, he has had a couple too many to drink, and he shouldn’t drive. But part of him feels that he is drunk with her, because he is now over the line that he created – finished with self-justification, and lengthy explanations. Now he wants her. If that is wrong, then it is, but he is blocking out right and wrong. He’s blocking out Betty. He sees only Grace because that is the world he wants to inhabit right now.

  ‘Actually, I’m trying to save your driving licence.’ She knows that this is it. She knows that physically she could have him, and she senses his desperation. But she is not sure that it is the right thing to do. She knows it isn’t the right thing to do. She doesn’t want him to be unfaithful to Betty. She doesn’t want to be ‘the other woman’.

  The mood is broken, the spell that Johnny is under lifts.

  ‘We’re not going to do anything, are we?’

  ‘Apart from have coffee.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I should call my wife.’ The way he said it, ‘my wife’, is a physical blow to Grace.

  He knows that he is playing a game of contradiction. A minute ago he was ready to leap over the table and grab her, and now he is sitting opposite her, making her listen to him calling his wife.

  Betty is sitting on the sofa watching the latest reality TV show with Matt. Alison is cooking. Betty looks normal again. She is wearing a pair of jeans and a ballet top. Her hair is tied up, her face made up. The mad woman, the banshee has vanished.

  ‘Oh, my God, that woman is so embarrassing. How can she think that she’s normal?’ Betty cringes at the screen.

  ‘The worst thing is that she thinks she’s “zany”. You know a person’s a saddo when they describe themselves as “whacky”, “zany”, or “mad”.’ Matt laughs. What he likes about Betty is that she enjoys the same television as he. Johnny hates anything like it, as does Alison. They prefer a good drama, or a comedy, and although Matt likes that too, he also likes trash. Betty and he are often comrades when it comes to viewing.

  Betty’s mobile rings and Johnny’s name flashes on the display. A mixture of relief and fear comes across her, because although she wants him to call her, she is afraid of what he might say.

  ‘Hi,’ she says.

  ‘Are you all right?’ She thinks back to the heap he left her in, that morning. But she is composed again.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m with Matt and Ali. Oh, I meant to say thank you for the flowers and chocolates. They were lovely.’ She is all sweetness and light.

  ‘You’re welcome. Are you out?’

  ‘No, at their place. If you want to join us at any time, you know, when you’ve finished your business dinner …’

  ‘Yeah, I might be a while longer.’ His guilt was growing, he could no longer contain it.

  ‘Just call when you’re on your way, to check I haven’t left.’

  She ignores Matt’s questions about Johnny, lost in her own thoughts. Alison is right: she has done this. She knows where Johnny is and who he is with because she set him up. She didn’t hire Grace, but she agreed to the stupid bet. She might as well have given him another woman on a plate. He is lying to her, but she is lying to him. She looks at the screen, takes a deep breath and forces a smile. She has no one to blame but herself.

  ‘So, coffee?’ Johnny asks, reluctantly. He feels as if, she is his addiction. Then he feels silly for behaving like a romantic. He is not. He likes lager and football and golf and sex. He likes love, but doesn’t want to go on about it all the time. He is not romantic.

  ‘Yes. Johnny, I am not going to try to get you to do anything.’ Grace cannot quite express what she means. What she wants to say is that there will be no pressure from her, no moves. She won’t make it more difficult for him than she can see from his face that it already is. She wonders what Betty made of the phone call. She knows he is with her, and that must make her feel awful. Grace feels bad for Betty. She knows how special he is and she is now terrified of not having him there, so she knows how Betty feels. She wonders if that is the case with affairs – if the women who sleep with other women’s husbands feel dreadful but can’t help it, or if they don’t care. Grace does care; she surprised herself with that, but she does. Poor Betty.

  ‘Good, then you won’t make me pay the bill,’ he jokes, finally getting everything normal again.

  ‘Apart from that,’ she replies.

  Alison serves dinner. She can see that Betty’s equilibrium has slipped a little, but on the whole she is impressed with the way her friend is coping. She suddenly feels angry for Matt. She doesn’t want to have to deal with this on her own. She wants to talk to her best friend, but Betty is involved and Matt cannot know. She is torn herself. Part of her would love to confess everything to Matt, knowing that although he isn’t a serious person, he will know what to do about it. He will come up with a good solution. Part of her wants to sit in his arms and tell him the story, then let him fix it. But that would destroy everything. Matt is loyal, fiercely loyal, and he would no doubt tell Johnny. Betty would hate her, and she couldn’t have that, because Betty means so much to her. She is trapped.

  ‘So, is Johnny coming over, or am I stuck with the birds all night?’ Matt asks.

  ‘He’ll be here later, as soon as he can get away from his client.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Are you worried about your testosterone ebbing away?’ Alison teases, determined to keep the evening light hearted.

  ‘Never. Just wouldn’t mind talking about something other than shoes.’

  ‘As if that’s all we talk about.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Well, would you prefer us to talk about lesbians?’ Betty asks, winking at Alison.

  ‘Now that would be good.’

  It is Betty’s fault. She will sort it. Tomorrow, she will sort it out once and for all.

  ‘Well, there’s this movie I’ve heard is quite good. Lesbians in Outer Space.’

  Matt’s jaw drops as Betty and Alison fall about laughing.

  ‘How are you, fish?’ Johnny asks. ‘You all look quite happy. Do you enjoy swimming around in your tank? What about food, do you like your food?’

  Grace walks in with coffee and catches the conversation. ‘No one else normally talks to them except me.’

  ‘Do they talk back?’

  ‘Not really, but they come to the front of the tank sometimes and I like to think they are trying.’

  ‘They’re really pretty.’

  ‘I know. I find them relaxing.’

  ‘Were they yours?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sorry, I mean did you have them when you were married?’

  ‘No. I got them when I moved here. For company. Silly, really.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  They sit down and drink coffee.

  ‘Grace, I hate to think of leaving you, but if I stay …’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We could play a game. You know, like rummy. So we can talk but we’ll be doing something else and we won’t, you know …’ He is red with embarrassment.

  ‘I’m really good at Trivial Pursuit.’

  ‘Why don’t you pour us some brandies and we’ll play?’

  ‘Johnny, you’re driving.’

  ‘I’ll get a c
ab.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asks.

  He looks at her, she looks at him. Her eyes are so beautiful, big hazel eyes; his eyes are so honest, she thinks, so blue, and honest. She goes to find the board game and she directs Johnny to the brandy.

  It is eleven when his phone goes. He is just about to answer a question to get his last wedge. Grace is losing badly. She has no wedges and is drunk. Although is not Betty drunk.

  ‘Hello.’ He knows it is Betty.

  ‘Johnny, I’m about to go home. I thought I’d tell you.’

  ‘Sorry. Hold on.’ He smiles at Grace, and gestures quiet. ‘I just wanted to get out of earshot. The client seems intent on making a night of it. I don’t know what time I’ll be home.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you when I see you.’

  ‘I better go,’ Betty says, when she’s hung up.

  ‘I’ll walk you,’ Matt says, sensing that something is very wrong, but having no idea what.

  ‘I’ll come too. I could do with some fresh air after all that food.’ Alison is more concerned about Betty keeping it together. She is coping well, but looks a bit manic every now and then; as if the banshee could reappear. Suddenly Alison realises that she is also being furtive, worrying about leaving Matt and Betty alone in case she blabs to him. Whereas this would solve her problem of keeping quiet, she knows that Betty will regret it, and she is trying to be a friend. They are all deceiving each other. Matt is the only one amongst them that is innocent. She hopes. She shakes the feeling off her, physically, as it sinks in just how paranoid and awful the situation is making her feel.

  A couple of months ago, they were two couples, friends, best friends, who hung out together but were decidedly normal. Now, one made a bet with another woman that her husband couldn’t be seduced; the husband is probably being seduced; the best friend is lying to her husband; he is unsure what is wrong, but knows something is. And, Alison concludes, it is a mess. Which, again, she concedes, is a huge understatement.