by Adrian White
Margaret had seen him three times now. She’d immediately recommended joint counselling, but the man’s partner wasn’t interested. Margaret knew this was a major obstacle if they hoped to resolve their differences together – so much so, that today she’d switched away from that approach altogether.
“I think you have to focus on what is right for you,” she said. “If you can’t work this out together, you’re going to have to do it on your own.”
Margaret liked the man, and could see he had a lot of things going for him. His decision to do charity work while he got back on his feet was a positive thing, she thought – easily dismissed, but it showed he had at least some self-worth.
“I wouldn’t normally put it in exactly this way,” she said, “but I think you have to be prepared to accept that you might be better off on your own.”
Margaret’s client looked up sharply when she said this.
“I know my job here is to help you find a way to make your relationship work,” she said, “but there’s very little point in having a relationship with someone who doesn’t care about how you feel.”
Margaret thought about this in her car on the motorway. She’d have to write this up clearly and make sure she was taking the right approach. Had she over-stepped the line in guiding rather than accompanying her client? She’d have to ask when she was next in college.
Margaret turned off the motorway, headed into Stretford, and then on to Longford Park. Margaret drove along her road, and looked to see if there was space to park outside the house. She was irritated to see Eugene’s BMW parked two houses down and Eugene in it, sat waiting for her return. She drove into an empty parking space, but she did it badly and was mad at herself for not reversing in properly. She left her notes from the morning on the seat beside her, picked up her bag and got out the car. She walked across the road, into her own front garden, and up the few steps to door.
“Margaret,” said Eugene from the gateway.
“Eugene,” said Margaret, and unlocked the door. She spoke without turning around. “You can be arrested for less, you know.”
“I . . . I – ”
“Don’t tell me,” said Margaret. “You really want to speak to me.”
“Yes,” said Eugene.
“You’d best come in then, but I warn you – I’m on my way back out as soon as I have my stuff together.”
Margaret pushed open the front door and walked in the house. The kitchen was down a couple of steps at the end of the hallway, at a lower level to the rest of the house. She waited for Eugene to follow her inside, and then she closed the door. This was Margaret’s domain – it was like a self-sufficient unit, a cocoon, and it seemed all the more so with her books spread out across the kitchen table.
“You’ve been studying,” said Eugene.
Margaret cleared away the coffee jug and cup from her morning’s work in the kitchen. She didn’t offer to make a drink; she’d have to get a bite to eat in Withington now.
“You’re not at the hospital today then?” asked Eugene.
“You know I’m not,” said Margaret.
She started to gather up her books and files. She needed her project with her in case she had any spare time to work on it this afternoon. She picked up the file for the counselling session in Withington, and put everything into her college bag.
“What do you want, Eugene?” she asked. “Why are you here?”
The years had been kind to Eugene – he still suffered from a chronic shyness, but he’d lost the nerdiness he'd had in college and was no longer the geek he'd once been. He’d learnt how to dress well; his glasses were almost fashionable, or at least not as noticeable as they once were, and he changed the frames every five years or so. He disagreed with the wearing of contact lenses – there was a lack of available data on their long-term safety for his eyes. He’d put on a little weight, but he could afford to and he carried it well. He’d learnt how to handle himself in company, particularly in business situations where Mike often left him on his own. He didn’t come across so much as the freaky boffin these days, more the informed expert whose advice you’d appreciate and listen to. That was out in the world though; face-to-face and alone with Margaret was a different matter.
“I was looking for Mike,” he said.
“You tried that line this morning, remember? Let’s not play games, Eugene.”
“Actually, I really am looking for Mike,” said Eugene. “It’s part of the reason I want to speak to you.”
“You know Mike’s not here,” said Margaret, “so stop pretending otherwise. I doubt if you’d have dared call unless you knew he wouldn’t be here.”
“I know he’s not here, but I don’t know where he’s gone,” said Eugene. “I know where he told me he’s gone,” said Margaret, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean I know where he is.”
“Would he lie to you?”
“It’s what partners do to each other, Eugene – haven’t you heard? Didn’t he let you know where he’d be today? He’s your partner as well, after all.”
“He didn’t say,” said Eugene. He looked up at Margaret. “You don’t have to be so rude, you know.”
“Was I being rude?” asked Margaret. “I’m sorry – Mike’s gone to Dublin for the day. He’ll be home late this evening. There – does that answer your question?” She fastened the buckle on her college bag, and looked back at Eugene.
“Why would he go to Dublin?”
“I don’t know, Eugene,” said Margaret. “And if you don’t know, it’s obviously something he wants to keep from the two of us. There’s nothing new here – surely you know by now that Mike enjoys his little secrets?”
“I mean,” said Eugene, “why would he go to Dublin now, with everything that’s going on?”
“You’d have to ask Mike that,” said Margaret.
“But there’s nothing in Dublin but – ”
Eugene stopped in mid-sentence; Mike had shown him the cuttings of Katie’s articles in the Sunday Independent a few weeks ago.
“What?” asked Margaret. “There’s nothing in Dublin but what?”
“Nothing,” said Eugene.
He was obviously lying, but Margaret let it go.
“It’s not the first time he’s gone off without saying,” she said. “Why should you be so concerned today?”
“Because I think he’s had enough of me,” said Eugene. “Of being in business with me, I mean.”
“And do you really need him any more?” asked Margaret. “Surely you could run the business on your own by now, without Mike?”
“We’ve so many people working for us,” said Eugene, “all I do now is turn up to collect my wages – and I don’t really need to do that to be paid. But at least I still show my face occasionally – Mike doesn’t even bother turning up.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Margaret. “You’re making your money, the business is sound, and you have time on your hands. Learn to play golf or something – isn’t that what you boys are supposed to do at this stage?”
“You’re – you’re not being very nice,” said Eugene. “I don’t want to play golf. I don’t want time on my hands. I want to know what to do next.”
“And you need Mike for that, do you?”
“Yes,” said Eugene. “In a word – yes.”
“Then you’re going to have to learn to do otherwise,” said Margaret, “because you can’t depend on Mike to see you through. You can’t depend on Mike for anything – you should know that by now.”
“But he’s always helped me before.”
“Only because it suited him,” said Margaret, “and you helped him as much as he helped you.”
“But what will he do next?” asked Eugene. “I keep thinking he’s going to run off and do something new, something that doesn’t need my help, and then where will that leave me?”
“Eugene, I’ve spent my entire married life feeling that way about Mike. And now, if he’s finally decided to do it – if he�
�s finally decided to bugger off and leave us on our own – well, you couldn’t you blame him, could you? There’s neither of us exactly blame-free where Mike is concerned.”
“Does he know about us?”
“There is no us, Eugene, I’ve told you that. There’s one mistake, that’s all; one mistake that I’m going to pay the price of forever, that’s all – a mistake.”
The Millennium, thought Margaret. The fucking Millennium – there were so many high expectations over such a big nothing, over the passing of time only. They were trying to be realistic about it, not to have too high an expectation for the night, and had decided to celebrate it at home alone – or at home alone with Eugene. His relationship with his girlfriend hadn’t worked out and he’d spent most of the nineties on his own. He was now determinedly single. Margaret had the impression he’d been badly hurt and wasn’t going to go there again; like a research project that had gone horribly wrong. Margaret didn’t mind letting the Millennium pass in this way – there was a little bit of symmetry in both starting and ending the decade with the three of them celebrating in the house together.
Only that wasn’t quite how it worked out. Mike, being Mike, decided he had to be some place else at the last minute. One of their clients was jittery over the Millennium and Mike volunteered to be on site to make sure nothing went wrong come the stroke of midnight. Eugene assured him everything would be fine and Mike knew that it would, but he said that wasn’t the point – it was a question of reassuring their client, showing how much they cared and keeping the contract for another thousand years.
After midnight, once the kids had gone to bed – Jack was out all night at a friend’s party – Margaret and Eugene had rolled a joint and waited for Mike to come home. And waited. They were huddled together on the sofa, Eugene’s arm around Margaret. There was nothing unusual in this but there was in what Margaret did next – turning to kiss Eugene and lifting herself across him. They had a hasty, fumbling fuck, their minds hazy with the dope and listening out for the sounds of Mike returning and the kids upstairs. It was Margaret who led Eugene but he didn’t need much persuading. She was glad; it felt good, both the sex and the lesson she was giving Mike. She got her own back that night – for all the absences and for all the secrets – a pre-emptive strike for all the times to come.
Eugene had left before Mike came home soon after two o’clock. Margaret had showered and was in her bed.
The Millennium, she thought, the fucking Millennium.
Margaret picked up her bag off the kitchen table.
“Mike wouldn’t just leave,” said Eugene. “He wouldn’t just go without saying anything.”
“You don’t know what Mike might do,” said Margaret. “I don’t know what Mike might do. I don’t even know if he’s really gone to Dublin, though from the look on your face I suspect he has. But I don’t know why.”
“He couldn’t just leave,” said Eugene, “not with . . . not with everything that’s happening.”
“Make up your mind, Eugene,” said Margaret. “You just told me there’s nothing happening, that there’s nothing for you to do at work. If Mike’s bored with his job, he’ll be making plans to do something else – you can depend on that.”
“I don’t mean that, Margaret, and you know it.”
Margaret put down her bag.
“What do you want Eugene?” she asked. “Why are you really here? And why come this morning, of all mornings, when you know Mike won’t be around? What were you doing, waiting out in the street for me to come home alone?”
“That’s not fair – “ began Eugene.
“Why is it that you only ever call when you know I’ll be here on my own?”
“Margaret – ”
“Is this it?” she asked. Margaret pushed her right hand to her breast, and felt herself through the silk of her blouse.
“Margaret – ”
“Is this it?” She reached down to the hem of her skirt and lifted it up to her waist; it was a close fitting skirt and not so easy to do. “Is this what you came for?” She touched herself through her underwear. “Or this?” she asked, and turned around and smacked her bottom. “Come on, Eugene, at least be honest with yourself. It’s here for you if you want it.” Margaret slapped herself again, but when Eugene didn’t move she felt ridiculous and pulled her skirt back down. When she saw the look on Eugene’s face she knew she’d hurt him, but that was what she’d wanted to do.
Eugene turned to go, but then he hesitated.
“Margaret,” he said. “You and Mike are my best friends.”
“Your only friends, you mean.”
“No, actually; you’re not my only friends. But you are my best friends and I care about you, whether you want me to or not.”
“We don’t need your pity, Eugene.”
“It’s not pity, Margaret. You can’t ignore what’s going on here, and falling out with Mike isn’t going to help.”
“Maybe we should have thought of that before.”
“For fuck’s sake, Margaret! I’m not talking about that, and you know it.”
“So what are you talking about?”
“I . . . I know I’ve made things worse in the past – ”
“No you haven’t, Eugene,” said Margaret. “I enjoyed our little fuck that time, our little fucky-fuck-fuck to see in the new millennium – ”
“Margaret – ”
“Stop saying my fucking name, can’t you?”
“If there’s anything . . . if there’s anything I can do to help you, then please just say, but Margaret, you’ve got to face up to what’s happening – you and Mike both.”
“You can help, Eugene,” said Margaret.
“Yes –?”
“You can help by not calling around here when you know Mike’s away – that would be a start.”
“Margaret, I – ”
“And then you can help by fucking off and getting your own life and stop being so dependent on Mike all the time and now I’d like you to just leave.”
“Margaret,” said Eugene, “I know this is hard, and I understand if you want to take it out on me – God knows I’ve got it coming. And I won’t call again if that’s what you want – ”
“That’s what I want!” said Margaret.
“Are you even going to the hospital today?” asked Eugene. “You have to at least go visit her, Margaret – ”
“I told you I wasn’t working at the hospital today.”
“That’s not what I – Margaret, you have to face up to what’s happening.” Eugene knew he was repeating himself, but he couldn’t think of any other way to put it – this was what he’d come to say.
“I don’t have to do anything,” said Margaret.
“But she’s your daughter, for Christ’s sake.”
“I want you to leave now.”
“Please, Margaret – ”
“Please, Eugene,” she mimicked. “Just go, will you – now?”
Margaret lifted the strap of her bag across her shoulder and turned away from Eugene. She heard him leave the kitchen, walk down the hallway and out the front door – only then did she allow herself to breathe. She tried to think what else she might need for the rest of the day. She gave herself a few more minutes, and then picked up her car keys. She left the kitchen and closed the door behind her. At the front door, she couldn’t resist checking that Eugene really had left, but his car was gone. She locked the door behind her and walked to her car.
Margaret drove to Withington for her two o’clock. She was in good time, but she needed that time to compose herself for the session. She waited in the car rather than go in a café for some lunch. The session went okay – a lot easier than the morning out at Alderley Edge. Margaret suspected this had something to do with her having less sympathy for the woman she was counselling, and this allowed her to be more dispassionate in her handling of the case. But even this gave Margaret cause for concern that how she responded to a person should have a bearing on her ability t
o counsel them. Once again, she made a mental note to include this in her written notes later in the day.
The temptation was there to have a little snooze in the car afterwards, but Margaret resisted it and drove back through Chorlton to Stretford. Driving through city streets was a very different experience to the morning’s drive on the motorway, and Margaret stayed alert for the short journey. She passed by the entrance to her road on the way to the Crisis Centre in Stretford, but Margaret decided not to call in at home. She was early for her hour’s shift, and the manager of the Centre commented on how keen she must be. Calls came through, but none were put through to Margaret and she was able to get on with writing up her notes on the day’s sessions. Out of politeness, Margaret asked the manager if it was okay to continue into the next hour – she could be available to take calls while working on her project – but surprisingly the manager refused.
“I think you should go home,” she told Margaret. “You don’t look too well.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Margaret. “I just need a cup of tea – I forgot to have lunch today, that’s all.”
“Still,” said the manager, “I think you’ve done enough for today.”
Margaret almost pointed out that she’d not actually taken any calls for the whole of her shift, but then she realised this might have been deliberately arranged by the manager. Embarrassed, she made a show of checking the rota for her next shift, and then said her goodbyes.
“Get some rest,” said the manager as Margaret left the building. “You look all in.”
Margaret sat in her car and switched on the engine. She didn’t want to go home on her own, but there was nowhere else to go. Now that it was later in the day, and people were returning from work, it was harder to find parking close to the house; Margaret had to double back to a space she’d seen at the entrance to the road. She checked for Eugene’s car as she drove by the house, but it wasn’t there.
Margaret sat for a long time in the car. She was mortified at what they thought of her at the Centre – was it so obvious that something was wrong at home? Did everybody know? Did she only volunteer as a substitute for confronting her own problems? And the counselling – was she really so suited to counselling if she allowed her emotions to interfere with her handling of a case? Margaret was a good nurse; she knew she was. So why couldn’t she get the balance right in this – that all-important balance between professional concern and competence?