"You won't be on your own, Penny. I'll be with you,… just not living with you. Not yet."
"How much time should we give them?"
"I don't know."
"A week? A month? A year? How long Phil?" She could feel herself getting angry - not with Phil, but with herself for being unable to think more clearly and define more sharply just what it was that troubled her now! He was right. Nothing had changed and there was still this odd feeling, even now, that they were being manipulated - pushed, moulded into the roles of cheap adulterers. They'd known the dangers, sensed the trap months ago and taken steps - they weren't promiscuous, or stupid. They'd been attracted to each other - of course, but so what? Just because you were married it didn't stop you from occasionally looking twice at someone else. But that's all you did! You looked. Perhaps if things weren't going too well at home, you allowed yourself the comfort of a little fantasy, but that was all. And at the bottom of it you knew your place was to fix things up and keep on as best you could. Except it felt now as if she were scrabbling around in the dark for pieces of her past life that she could hold on to and lash together, but there was nothing - worse than nothing, the darkness was hung with shards of glass and she dared not even move in the direction of her old life for fear of being cut to pieces.
And none of it was her fault!
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. She could never forgive David, so this was about Sally. Maybe Phil could patch things up, maybe Sally would see sense and come home. All right then, she told herself: she'd give Sally a month, but then she'd play on his weak spot, his desire, his masculine readiness to have sex at the drop of a hat with any woman half decent - if he felt he could get away with it. A month, and then she'd take him. Was it wrong to think that way? If Sally, the stupid woman, had lost interest in him, dumped him in the mire, who could blame Penny for wiping him down, putting the sparkle back in him, and taking him home with her?
She looked at him and smiled. They'd fitted together somehow in their later lives as lovers already, lovers interrupted at some point and now they seemed perfectly capable of picking up from where they'd left off, maybe several lifetimes ago. But did she love him - I mean really love him? What was love if it wasn't this feeling of being warm and safe and simply more yourself when you were with someone? And she was sure he felt the same simply by the way he was so unguarded when he was with her, but she was not so stupid as to want to risk spoiling things completely by pointing this out to him.
"You don't mind if I become a Buddhist?" she asked.
"What?" Phil had been lost in her smile, wondering what on earth she was thinking. Her thoughts ran like a river in spate, surging twisting, never predictable, and there he was, paddling like mad in his flimsy canoe, always trying to keep up. But he also felt alive, felt exhilarated by the feel of her. He'd felt this coming, felt it in the steadiness of her that morning while they did Push Hands. "Perhaps I'll join you," he said.
"Oh no - that would never do. We'll be wearing matching sweaters next. What about the piercing? Can I keep that too?"
"I insist. What about my electric Virgo U.S.B. thingy?"
"You've still got it?"
"No,… but if I had."
"If you're with me Phil, I promise you'll never need anything like that again."
He felt his bowels churn and his whole body tingled: was that an orgasm? And all she'd done was look at him earnestly and say some words!
She smiled. "Okay. We'll wait. See what happens. Will you help me move in though?"
"Of course, Penny. Anything,… "
Phil did not want to wait. Of course he didn't. What could Sally possibly say that would redeem the hurt and restore his self respect? One night with Penny would have done all that and more. One night! "Look, I'm a channel-zapper, Pen - you said it drives you mad. Well,… I'd drive you mad! Maybe I'm no good to share a house with."
"Well, no one's perfect. I pick my toenails."
"That's disgusting!"
"And I grind my teeth when I'm asleep."
"That's nothing,… I've got this hat,… "
"Hat?"
"Never mind,… "
Phil understood that Penny was still shutting out memories of her life with David - and they weren't all bad memories. She would never know another family moment with him or with the boys again. She was hiding from it now because it was too painful a thing to have to contemplate. The shock of things was still fresh, but soon, she would think about it, and then she would do anything to salvage what she could, because a family is more than just the two of you. And Phil guessed he would do exactly the same. For now though Penny needed somewhere to go, a temporary roof, and this was it. He could help her with that, because that's what friends did. But he would not move in. He would not have Penny as his lover and why? Well, he had his pride, and he'd be buggered before he'd give Sally and her father the opportunity of saying that they'd known all along there was something going on between them. Which meant of course that whichever way he turned he was still piloting his life through the eyes of others. Indeed the only person whose eyes he had not seen himself through, were Penny's. Was that why he was so drawn to her - but how soon before he swapped Sally's eyes for Penny's and began the ruin of his life all over again?
Penny put her hand on his thigh and jolted him back into the reality of the moment. "Shall we say a month?"
He nodded. "A month, yes."
He looked once more at the front door of a potential future with Penny and though he he wanted it with all his heart, he could not see a way through any combination of circumstances whereby any of it could be made to come true. But he squeezed her hand anyway and told her he was sure things would work out all right in the end.
She didn't believe it either.
Chapter 34
At first it seemed rather a dull house, cold and cavernous, but at least it was clean and Penny managed to get it in order after a week of tickling round with a damp cloth and a duster, and brightening it with flowers. There was no sense in spending a fortune on furnishings, so for the time being it was just a mattress in the bedroom and beanbags in the lounge - plus an old T.V. from a second hand shop and a cheap set of pots and pans. As for the washing she was glad of the laundrette.
She did not return home for any of her belongings because it was easier to convince herself that her home, her former life - David, Angela and even her children, for now, did not exist - that they had been a dream - that she had fallen asleep some time in her mid twenties and was only now waking up. This peculiarly complex defence was holding, but she was a mother and primal instinct was stronger than water, so she knew it couldn't last for much longer.
In the mean time Phil came, good as his word, and helped her to emulsion the bedroom, Hoover the carpets, and generally bottom the place. Some evenings, he'd linger late as if toying with the notion of sleeping over, but he was always away by eleven and she rather liked his old fashioned manners. The garden had been a bit of a jungle but he'd sorted that out for her one weekend. The thing about Phil she most admired in those first weeks of their closer acquaintanceship was that he seemed sincere in his efforts to make sure she was okay, that she was comfortable. She was perfectly capable of doing this for herself of course, except at that time, without him, she wouldn't even have had the will to get out of bed in the morning.
It was good to go out in the garden together of an evening and practice their form. They were doing well with it, and had by now developed a good feel for the moves, so that others in the class on Sundays naturally looked to them for someone to follow. They were slow with their moves, feeding off a calm energy that was at odds with some of the younger and more energetic members of the group who fancied themselves as a Bruce Lee or a Jackie Chan. It was at odds too with the turmoil of their lives, but if they could pull everything back to the same pace as when they practised the form, to that same silken feel, then they felt capable of at least surviving.
It was also good after the cl
ass to come back to the house together, to shower (not together - but Penny told herself she lived in hope), then relax and chat over lunch. Then they would drink jasmine tea from little Chinese bowls and laugh at each other's faces screwed up in cringing disgust because neither of them could bear the bitter taste of the stuff.
All of this was good, she thought.
Towards the end of their first month he left an envelope in the hall as he was leaving, one evening. Inside she found a wad of notes to help with the rent. He'd left it without drawing attention to it, perhaps to avoid embarrassing her. She put it to one side, determined not to spend it, determined to pay him back, though she couldn't imagine how. She couldn't believe how little she was earning at the supermarket - and it even looked like Phil might be forced into premature retirement soon - so what the hell they were going to do, she didn't know. There was just this feeling that they'd be all right, so long as they hoped for the best, thought good things and lived in the present moment.
If only life could be straight forward, she thought, if only we could understand what we were thinking and feeling half the time! She should have felt guilty of course, about leaving the boys, about not caring for them, about not being on hand to pack their school dinners and wash their clothes - but she told herself she didn't feel guilty at all - that such guilt was merely sentimental and impractical. Angela would take care of all that wouldn't she? So any anguish Penny felt could only be the result of Ego and jealousy - or a mother's instinct - which was stupid because neither of the boys enjoyed being "mothered" any more - indeed the pair of them cringed whenever she went near them.
But it was okay because sooner or later either David would turn up and re-stake his claim with an insincere apology - or Sally would yank Phil's chain. Maybe then she could be a mother again. Was that fear she felt? Fear at losing this lovely uncomplicated life, or guilt that she was the worst mother on the planet and deserved to burn in David's Hell for it? Or was it just a negative emotion, and of all the names we have for negative emotions, were they not really all the same? Were they not just the result of our various attachments - attachments to things that were by their very nature, impermanent?
She'd found some more books on Buddhism down at the discount bookstore and picked up her reading where she'd left off at home. It was a change being able to read stuff like that in the open without fear of causing a heart attack amongst her nearest and dearest - a relief too that she could just leave them lying around. Once or twice she'd found herself looking for somewhere to slide them out of view, when Phil turned up, before realising that it didn't matter, that with Phil, she could read what she wanted - be Buddhist today, a Hindu tomorrow and a Born again Christian by weekend - it was up to her. But for now she was definitely a Buddhist.
Just being alive meant suffering, the Buddha had said - well, she couldn't agree more. And the way to stop suffering was to stop being so attached to things - well okay, that was understandable too, but clearly the Buddha had never been a mother! Or was she too possessive? Did she treat her kids like ornaments, like trophies of her lifestyle: I've got three bathrooms, a conservatory, and two children! She skipped over the karma pages because she reckoned she'd a lot to make up for in that department - all that spitting into Angela's custard, Buddha suggested, would be coming back at her - maybe it already had, and the sooner she could lighten up and love the woman, the better it would be for her. Love Angela? Well,… maybe I could try not hating her so much - will that do?
Yes, she was enjoying her freedom, she told herself - or was that an illusion too? Would she not simply have been lonely without Phil popping round most evenings to distract her from her delusion? David didn't come, but she didn't fret about it, didn't try to get inside his head all the time in order to work out what the stupid man was thinking. And anyway, she and Phil were only giving it a month - and then Phil would be moving in wouldn't he? Except he hadn't mentioned it recently and she didn't like to mention it either because that would have been pushing him, and she wasn't sure how much Phil could be pushed - or even if she should push him at all - because there was nothing between them was there? Nothing at all. I mean they enjoyed Push Hands together - but that was as close as they got.
And it was nearly a month now, wasn't it?
Chapter 35
David didn't know where Penny was living. Well, she wasn't going to make it easy for him was she? Eventually though he plucked up the courage and sent a speculative text to her mobile asking if she was okay, to which she returned: "fat lot you care!" So he left it for a week, then texted again. "Can we meet?" So she texted back: "Where?"
And he texted back: "The Park. Band Stand."
Damn! It had to be there didn't it? That was where he'd proposed to her, on bended knee, as she recalled, which only meant one thing, unless he was even more dense that she thought and he really wasn't implying anything by that particular choice of rendevouz. But whatever his reasons, she knew she wasn't going to be able to hide inside this fantasy for much longer. A month! She'd known all long she and Phil hadn't stood a chance.
Time? What time should she and David meet? She'd already arranged to meet Phil in the orchard, so should she meet David before or after? Before - better get it over with. The she could either cry on Phil's shoulder about it, or they could do Push Hands one last time.
Meanwhile Phil was washing up his breakfast stuff when Sally's car pulled onto the drive and the kids came running in. He felt his heart sing, then sink, then sing again, and when Sally walked in, he felt something of that old longing, but fortunately his memory wasn't so easily deceived and his cynicism came to his rescue - had him wondering if she'd come to make things up, or kick him out. Her timing was bad of course. It was a Saturday and he'd arranged to meet Penny at the orchard. Did he stand Penny up, and wait to find out which way the wind was blowing with Sal? Or did he walk out on Sal, leave her scowling and the kids in tears?
She looked confident, her hair shiny and healthy, a brightness about her eyes - a brightness that he discovered was not without a hint of aggression. "Is she here?"
Phil was not to be intimidated though. Too much had happened and rather than knocking him over, he was surprised to discover that so far as Sally was concerned at least, events had settled him a little more on his feet. "We're talking about Penny, right? No. She's never been here, Sal. Only in your imagination."
Their time apart had not weakened her - indeed she looked stronger and though it shamed him, he found this new look Sally rather sexy. "Is this just a flying visit?" he asked. "Or can I make you a coffee?"
Ellie hugged him, wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight. Ellie would grow up hating him if he walked out, grow up to hate Penny or indeed any other woman he looked at. Marty stood a little to one side, looking awkward, like someone uncomfortable in his own skin. He mumbled something incoherent that could have been "Hi Dad," but Phil wasn't sure, and he felt for the lad, the bumbling awkwardness of youth - the desire to feel and the instinct to suppress simultaneously stretching and squashing him. He wanted to tell Marty that it was okay - that he'd come through it, that he'd grow into himself - but it was hardly the time or the place, was it? The moment didn't last and the kids vanished to their rooms. Then the silence of the house was shattered by the sound of a T.V. set vying for supremacy with a machine gun rat a tat tatting on Marty's neglected Gamestation. So far as they were concerned everything was back in its place. Mum and dad under the same roof. Childhood restored. Simple. How Phil wished he could be a child once more.
Sally took off her coat and hung it over a chair back. "I'll make the coffee," she said.
Was that it then? All back to normal? He looked out at the grass - it was getting shaggy and needed a mow, needed grooming back to a velvety nap. He'd not been that diligent with the washing either, and there were piles lying about that needed ironing and putting away. Sally would be thinking he'd let the place go, that he couldn't manage without her on top of him all the time. Sally w
ould be thinking,… . Sally would be thinking,… and through her eyes he saw this worthless, workshy ne'er-do-well, this,… this,… loser! Was that really him?
"Actually, I was just off out," he said, then he scrabbled among the clutter on the work-top for his car-keys.
"You're going? Aren't you pleased to see,… the children? It's been ages,… "
"I know, so another hour or two won't make any difference will it?" He had to get out,… get out and run,… run where? To Penny of course!
Sally's lips tightened - an expression of: I thought as much. "You're going to her, aren't you?" she said.
Phil felt something dangerous stirring. What was that? Oh - I remember now - it's emotion: Hmnn interesting - what a curious blend of anger, frustration and longing - it's so confusing there's no point even beginning to untangle it. "I was going to meet her, yes." Voice calm now, tone level, words measured - how strange! How daring!
Sally's eyes lit up, then narrowed. Success! The look of: so I was right all along!
Phil sat down - he was still going to go, but not right now - he'd plenty of time and anyway, this was odd: How could one be simultaneously angry but also calm? Was he not really angry at all then? Was this unfamiliar feeling simply one of determination?
"Sal,… I don't know what Trevor had to gain by making out I was having an affair. I don't know how he got hold of Penny's name but what he did was stupid and cruel - cruel to Penny, to me, to you, and the kids. The fact that you believed him rather than me,… well, that hurt, but it wasn't your fault - that's just the way you've always been. As for Trevor,… well, I forgive him, because that's just the way he's always been as well."
Push Hands Page 27