by Mia Farlane
Et cetera. May went back inside and rang a locksmith.
Two hours later, May sat in bed with Troisième personne singulière opened at the ‘Recognition’ essay Francine had read out at the book launch. Although May had not yet responded to the reading, that was quite acceptable, as long as she did respond – within a week would be acceptable. What she would do – she made her humiliated resolution – was write a letter completely dedicated to the essay, with all her thoughts and questions et cetera; and at the end of the letter she would write a tidy little line (or two or three at the most) concerning the deferral of her PhD, as well as an apology for having telephoned so late at night and keeping Francine on the phone; and she would also apologize for not yet having written the covering letter to the universities. (She could include a photocopy of that covering letter, if she had managed to write it by then.) And then maybe Francine would like her again. May read the first paragraph of ‘Recognition’, flicked to the end, and read the last paragraph (this was a reading technique proposed in Methodology in Qualitative Research). After this, she began skim-reading the whole essay. She was incapable of concentrating; however, when she read it tomorrow, it would nevertheless be more familiar to her than if she hadn’t even glanced at it, and that would –
There was a quiet tap at the front door. May climbed out of bed.
‘He didn’t get here until quarter to eleven,’ May told Jansen as she held the door open for her.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have been around.’ Jansen came into the bedroom, clattered her keys onto the writing desk, and took off her jacket. ‘How long did he take?’
‘Not that long. Elizabeth made pizza and invited him to dinner.’ May shut the bedroom door.
‘Oh, that’s kind of her.’ Jansen sat on the end of the bed, and took off her shoes.
‘Fortunately he couldn’t though,’ May said as she got back into bed. ‘He had to go straight to another job, so she gave him a slice to take away and she was all smiley and grateful. It stresses me when she does that sort of thing.’
Jansen made one of her non-committal ‘mm’ sounds. She undid her shirt buttons, and pulled off her trousers. ‘I’ll say hello to you properly in a minute.’ She put on her pyjamas and went off to brush her teeth.
It made May anxious when Elizabeth invited strangers in off the street, like that. (It would have been all right if they’d been cats.) She was always befriending people. When Elizabeth was five or six she once brought home her best friend’s older brother, and fed him cornflakes in order to keep him there until May got back from secondary school. She thought he could be a boyfriend for May (he was only twelve or something); May got rid of him politely. It was so tiring going anywhere with Elizabeth, because she had to talk to people – at the shops, at the park – and then May would have to join in. If Elizabeth had gone to Francine’s book launch, May pictured it, she’d have been mingling happily away. Francine would think she was fantastic.
‘I’m exhausted!’ Jansen came back into the room and got into bed. ‘Hello, darling.’ She kissed her on the cheek and climbed into bed. ‘Thank you for waiting up for me.’ She straightened up the blankets and pulled them up. ‘Oh, did you find something when you went to bed?’
‘No…’
‘Lift up then!’ From under May’s pillow, Jansen retrieved a crumpled card:
A Birch Tree has been planted for you – Happy Easter, darling. Love, Jansen.
‘Oh, that’s lovely!’ May’s eyes watered up. Jansen was so kind to her, and loving. ‘But I’ve crushed it!’ She set the card on the stool next to the bed, and gave Jansen a hug. ‘Thank you. That’s so lovely!’ She wished she could delete her messy late-night phone call to Francine.
Jansen smiled. ‘I’m glad you like it. So! Let’s get some sleep now.’ She went to turn out the light.
‘Can I just quickly tell you how the book launch went?’ May asked.
Jansen turned out the light behind her and lay down.
‘Or are you not really up to it?’ May added.
‘You could tell me briefly,’ Jansen offered.
May said nothing.
‘How did it go?’ Jansen prompted. ‘Was it okay?’
‘I told her I’ve deferred.’
‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean by “ah”? Was that a judgmental “ah”?’
Jansen sighed. ‘Do you want to tell me how it went or not?’
‘You’re too tired to really listen, though, aren’t you?’ May felt awful about the call; it was so embarrassing, she couldn’t bear thinking about it.
‘May, I’d love to be able to listen, but I’m so tired, I’m falling asleep while we talk. Can you tell me about it tomorrow morning? And then I’ll really be able to listen.’
May said nothing. She wouldn’t be able to talk to Jansen about the phone call anyway, so what was the point?
‘Can we talk tomorrow?’ Jansen suggested. ‘Before I go to work.’
‘You’re not working tomorrow, are you?’ May needed her.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘But that’s illegal, isn’t it? That’s dangerous! How many hours did you do today?’
‘I didn’t start until twelve. I agreed to do a swap with someone.’
‘And you still have to work tomorrow?’ May said. ‘So we won’t be able to have a day together.’
‘I don’t start until twelve.’
‘But you’re going to have to sleep all morning.’
‘I’m going to need to sleep in, yes, and then we can have breakfast together before I go.’
‘It’ll be just like a weekday,’ May concluded.
‘The longer you keep me awake; the longer I’m going to have to sleep in. Let’s just get some sleep now, and see what happens,’ Jansen said.
‘Someone else could have offered to do the swap, but they asked you because they knew you’d say yes. What does that mean for you the rest of your week? You’ve got Tuesday to Friday off, now. And then you’ll be working over the weekend, and we won’t get to see each other. That’s what it means.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh God I’ve just remembered: the mock exams are coming up; how boring! How boring!’ May was a stupid primary-school teacher, and a boring nobody.
Jansen said nothing.
‘And then come the real exams and then I’ll have the reports to do: “blah-blah is a hard-working, conscientious pupil. She listens carefully in class and –”’
‘May, you’re raving on.’
‘“She always hands in her work on time, and obtains –”’
‘I’m very tired.’
‘You don’t want to know what she obtains then – just quickly? Before you go to sleep?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘“Full marks”,’ May told her anyway.
Jansen said nothing again, only more loudly.
‘“In all her spelling tests”,’ May completed her sentence. She laughed a little hysterically, and then she cried.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Jansen said, and she got out of bed.
‘Where are you going? I thought you were tired. I’m not happy,’ May said.
‘Neither am I.’ Jansen put on her slippers. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes – leave me alone.’ She left the room.
26
Victim Support
‘Hi-there!’ Elizabeth, still glowing from a recent bath, was sitting in front of the gas heater, cutting her toenails onto that day’s Guardian – onto the G2 section, the most interesting part. Jansen was at the table, reading the rest of the paper.
‘Hi.’ May took off her coat, and put down her bag. No one had made dinner.
Jansen looked up from the sports page. ‘Hello,’ she said, and handed May a letter.
It was from Victim Support. ‘“Dear Ms Woodlea”,’ May read out.
‘I opened it.’ Jansen returned to the football. She was still annoyed from the other evening.
‘We were curious,’ Elizabeth added.
She picked up a piece of nail that had flown off onto the carpet.
May skimmed through the letter: ‘“I was sorry to hear from the local police… free and confidential support.” Gosh, that’s nice. That’s nice, isn’t it? It’s nice to know they send these out.’ May sat at the table next to Jansen.
‘Mm-hmm.’ Jansen wasn’t listening. ‘Do you want to make me a hot drink?’
‘I’m the one who’s just got in,’ May said.
‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it. No squabbling, now!’ Elizabeth folded up her newspaper of nails, and took it out to the bin in the kitchen. ‘Whadd’ya want?’ she asked as she left the room.
‘Green tea!’ Jansen called out.
May looked at the Victim Support letter again. ‘There are good people out there, aren’t there?’ she said. ‘We should keep this. It’s a memory.’
Jansen ignored her.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth returned with four cups on the breadboard. ‘I’ve made you a coffee,’ she told May. ‘And an ordinary tea for Tamsin, right? Well, this is cosy. Tea to your liking, Jansen?’ Elizabeth faked an American accent.
‘Tamsin’s here?’
‘She’ll be here any minute. She’s gone to the Fish Bar to get us some fish ’n’ chips.’ Jansen spoke to the page she was reading.
‘And now, it’s presents time!’ Elizabeth kneeled on the rug, got a plastic carrier bag from next to the sofa, and pulled out some books: ‘Yours –’ she handed Jansen Friendly Food, a cookbook; ‘mine –’ she placed a large book, Sculpture: My Way, next to her on the floor; ‘and May’s –’ she handed May a book. ‘All for less than ten pounds.’
Women of Iron and Velvet: And the Books They Wrote in France. Colette was on the front cover.
‘Great title, isn’t it?’ Elizabeth said. ‘What d’you think? It’s old, but the pictures are still good.’
Copyright, 1976. May flicked through the book, looking at the portraits and photos: Monique Wittig with a bob, Minou Drouet the child poet, Françoise Mallet-Joris. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It looks interesting.’ She hated it when Jansen was angry with her.
‘Could be useful for this PhD,’ Elizabeth specified. She got off the floor and went and sat on the sofa. ‘That you’re apparently doing,’ she added.
There was a knock at the door. Jansen left her book and went to answer it. Pleased sounds, laughter, Tamsin appeared. She’d got a free Coke. Polite greetings. She and Jansen went off to the kitchen to get plates.
‘I’m not “apparently” doing it, by the way; I am doing it,’ May told Elizabeth while they were alone. ‘Thank you for the book.’ She wished Jansen hadn’t mentioned the PhD to Elizabeth.
‘There’s something else; it turned up a few days ago.’ Elizabeth handed May The Angel and the Perverts. ‘I got it through Abe.books; actually, Mark ordered it for me, but you can have it. Your need is greater than mine.’
‘I’ve already read it.’
‘Oui, but not en anglais.’
‘I don’t need to read it in English. I’ve already read it in French. Why would I want a translation?’
‘Dunno. Maybe you missed something. There’s a rather interesting introduction in here, as well.’
May took the book. ‘Do you want it back?’
‘No, it’s a present. I’ve read it now anyway. Waste not, hoard not.’
Jansen and Tamsin came back with glasses and plates, salt and vinegar and tomato sauce. ‘I’m still amazed we bumped into you!’ Jansen said. ‘London’s so small actually, when you think about it.’ She opened up the large fish ’n’ chips package and, with one hand, craned out the chips onto the plates.
‘Thank you,’ May said to Elizabeth, and she placed the books on top of the bookshelf.
‘Mon plaisir. Enjoy.’
Tamsin poured the Coke.
‘None for me, thanks,’ May said. ‘I’ve still got my coffee.’
A tap at the door: ‘That’ll be Mark.’ Elizabeth bounced off the sofa. ‘He’s having a hard time at the moment, with Kate. Everyone, be nice to him.’ She went to answer the door.
Jansen got him a plate and a glass. He came in. Re-round of greetings.
‘Mi-um, mi-um,’ Elizabeth said, and burst out laughing, choking on her chip; Tamsin thumped her on the back. ‘Ta.’ Elizabeth coughed and took a glug of Coke. ‘Mark, I was just um,’ she said, ‘Tamsin’s been filling us in with her and Jansen’s brief stint in the army: I’ve learnt how to dig trenches –’
‘Power tools are better than pickaxes, it shouldn’t be more than half a metre wide…’ Tamsin supplied the details good-naturedly.
‘How to starch-iron clothes: really useful stuff (not)!’ Elizabeth laughed.
‘The collar’s all I bother with,’ Mark said. He had tomato sauce on his chin.
‘Women like a well-ironed shirt,’ Elizabeth told him. ‘A bit of insider information for you.’ She stretched and yawned. ‘We had such a great day! Pity you couldn’t make it,’ she said. ‘Jansen and I spent a few profitable hours in the second-hand bookshops on the Charing Cross Road, and then we wandered down to the Portrait Gallery, where my personal guide introduced me to a few of her favourites – Marie Stopes, the Brontës, Beatrix Potter – before taking me to afternoon tea at the caff at the top. What a view! I felt like Mary Poppins.’
May looked at Jansen. ‘Great,’ she said.
‘How was your day?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I had a boring English teachers’ meeting to go to.’
‘Boring teachers only?’ Elizabeth said, unscrewing the Coke.
‘Some idiot thinks we should be changing the exam paper more often.’ May ignored her. ‘That’s going to slow down my marking.’
‘It might be an improvement,’ Jansen said. ‘Yes, please.’ She passed her glass to Elizabeth.
‘No, it’s not going to be an improvement. They’re not changing it for any reason. What they’re doing is putting in a different boring reading comprehension, a different boring story topic, and different boring grammar questions. It’s just so that if one of the children has managed to take home a paper, their younger sister won’t get a hundred per cent when they sit the exam.’
‘May, if this is all so boring, do we have to hear about it?’ Jansen laughed.
‘Oh yay that I’m not at school any more!’ Elizabeth said. ‘Mark?’ she asked, and he gave her his glass. ‘And none for you, May?’
‘I’ve got my coffee.’
‘Ooh. You look a bit grumpy. Have I said something wrong?’
‘I’m tired,’ May said. ‘I’m not grumpy; I’m tired.’
Tamsin focused on her chips. Mark glanced over at Elizabeth.
‘Actually, I’m sorry but I really am exhausted,’ May told everyone. ‘Sorry, Tamsin; thanks for the dinner,’ May spoke to her ‘adult-to-adult’, ignoring Elizabeth, ‘but I’m going to have to be rude and go to bed. Good night, everybody.’ She got her books from the bookshelf. ‘I had such a late night last night. And my feet are tired.’
‘Sleep tight!’ Elizabeth waved at May’s feet. ‘No talking, you two.’
‘Good night, May.’ Jansen looked up briefly.
May went to bed, and Jansen didn’t follow her to come and say hello or good night. May waited for about ten minutes; she opened The Angel and the Perverts at the introduction, ‘Lucie Delarue-Mardrus and the Phrenetic Harlequinade’, but she wasn’t reading, she couldn’t read: she was too hungry to read. And she was waiting for Jansen.
May got up, and went to the kitchen to get herself some toast. On her way back to bed she looked in at Jansen, Elizabeth, Mark and Tamsin; they were all reading books or parts of newspapers; the ‘hiss’ of the gas heater was providing them with gentle background music.
‘You’re still awake.’
‘I wish you hadn’t told Elizabeth about the PhD.’ May slid The Angel and the Perverts off the bed and onto the floor.
‘I didn’t know it was a secret, May. I thought she already knew about it. If
you’d told me it was a secret, I wouldn’t have said anything.’ Jansen put her Friendly Food book on the bed, and pulled off her jumper.
‘It wasn’t a secret; I just wish you hadn’t told her about it. Because, now, what if I don’t ever do the PhD?’
Jansen nodded, and started unbuttoning her shirt.
‘I just didn’t want Elizabeth commenting on it,’ May went on.
Jansen paused to say ‘hmm’, and then continued undressing.
‘Which she will now, now that she knows about it.’ May wanted to talk to Jansen about the phone call to Francine. But she couldn’t.
‘May, she’s bought you a book. Two books. What does that say to you?’
‘I wish you hadn’t told her.’ May shook her head.
‘Yes.’ Jansen had her pyjamas on now. She went to the bathroom.
May hadn’t said everything she needed to say; there was one more thing. She waited for Jansen to get back and shut the bedroom door.
‘And did you tell her it was our special café?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘But you took her there, anyway?’
‘So I’m not acquitted?’
‘You could’ve taken her to the basement café.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
Jansen sat on the bed, and pulled off her socks.
‘You think I’m being unreasonable,’ May said.