Mouths of Babes

by Stella Duffy

  “I’m Becky. Amy said you wanted to speak to me? You’re the auntie, right?”

  Saz flinched inwardly at the ageing term, one her nieces and nephew were forbidden to use, but smiled anyway, “I’m Saz. Hi.”

  Becky nodded. Grinned back at her friends, gestured them closer in. Maybe she wanted witnesses for her audience with Saz. She was evidently delighted to be sitting there, though for no clear reason Saz could see.

  “So how can I help you … Saz?” Slight pause, too big a grin.

  “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “Something to do with school?”

  “No.”

  “But it is about Mr Carver? Daniel?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what are you, the ex-wife?”

  “I didn’t know he had one.”

  “Neither do I.” Then a little laugh, making sure her audience had heard her, “But I don’t think you’d be wife material, even if he did.” A louder laugh now, spreading to the other girls.

  Saz held her tongue. And the hand that wanted to grab Becky’s and make her sit still, face front, stop turning to her gurning mates. “No, I’m an old friend of Daniel’s, we went to school together.”

  “So why don’t you speak to him?”

  “I don’t know how to get hold of him.”

  “I do.”

  Saz was still calm, quiet, “Yes, I know.”

  “You could ask his family. They still live round here.”

  “Daniel’s mother didn’t like me when I was at school with him, I don’t imagine she’d approve of me any more now.”

  The girl sat back in her seat, studying Saz, “Were you a bad influence?” Saz shook her head, remembering the long lectures Judy Carver had given her own mother about her son’s perfection and how little his friends lived up to him. “She thought so.”

  “But you want to get hold of him now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Becky was clearly enjoying the power of her special knowledge. If this was the kind of easily-led baby Will had imagined Daniel being with now, Saz hated to think of the girls who were too tough for Daniel to handle. She took a slow breath and hoped that the pause would give her some of the status Becky seemed intent on keeping to herself.

  “Let’s just say I want to get in touch with him, but I’d really like it to be a surprise. I thought if I find out where he goes for a drink or something like that, I could just turn up. From what I hear, you probably know more about him than I do these days. He was your teacher, after all.”

  “Yeah, but … ”

  “What?”

  Becky shook her head, “Nothing. You probably just think we’re all a lot … younger than we are.”

  Saz looked at Becky’s long highlighted hair, straightened to an icy sheen, the rings on her fingers, heavy-handed makeup, perfectly shaped and shaded nails. “Only in years.”

  It was evidently the right response. Becky softened considerably. A mirror-perfected grin curled her beautifully defined lipline into a pout of shaded maroon. Saz imagined this girl had probably never gone over the lines in her colouring books. “So what do you want to know?”

  Becky was obviously eager to tell Daniel’s story – the young girlfriend keen to show how very much she knew about her bloke. Not that she actually admitted to having had an affair with him before he left the college; even in her desire to show off to both Saz and the listening friends, she wasn’t stupid enough to admit to that kind of trouble. She did though, manage to pass on the basic details of a few of his great American adventures – no doubt somewhat embroidered for the benefit of her young woman’s impressionability. She offered a brief description of his teaching style – all right, pretty good really, if you care about that shit. Becky didn’t. And best of all, the pub Daniel liked to drink in after work. Every day except Fridays, when he went to a first-run movie up in town. Saz was surprised to find herself smiling to note that even after his own career disappointments, Daniel couldn’t keep himself away from other people’s work. Even if it was only to slag them off as Becky suggested.

  After she had paid for their coffees, and the ones Becky’s friends had ordered as well, Saz stood up to go, asking as she did why Daniel Carver had been so interesting to Becky? Weren’t any of the guys at college worth seeing?

  “Some are. Some are all right. But they’re just too young for me. You should ask Amy, one of the slightly less shite ones wanted to go out with her … ” One of the standing girls poked another in the ribs. She was studiously ignored. “But you know, she wasn’t really interested.” The pouting smile again, nearly a laugh. “In fact, we were wondering … ”

  “What?”

  “Well … you know … maybe … ?”

  Becky bit the perfect upper lip, picked at the edge of one of her dark pink nails, raised her eyebrows with her inflection. More stifled giggles from the chorus line behind.

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Saz had no idea what they were trying to insinuate and the teenager before her suddenly morphed into a talk-show host, all fake-attention and concern.

  “Well, we wondered if Amy was … like … you.”

  Chorus line eyes wide, Becky’s lipline held tight against a mouthful of sneer.

  Saz looked up at the backing four, held their gaze until they looked away, turned her attention back to Becky. “Oh, I see. You thought Amy might be gay because I am?”

  “Well, not just because of that.”

  “No. Also because she wasn’t interested in the guys you think she should fancy?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Boys from this school?”

  “This college. Yes.”

  “The ones I saw outside? On the street by the gate?”

  “Yeah, some of them.”

  “Spotty, greasy hair, concave chests, bum-fluff faces? Not really grownup yet? No proper sexual experience, no skills to speak of, nothing that would make a young woman moan in pleasure and surprise?” The chorus line leaned even closer. “Those boys?” Saz underlined the word boys.

  “Not all of them look that young.”

  “No, not all of them do. But they all are that young, aren’t they? I mean, you’re not interested in them, are you?”

  “Yeah, but that’s different, I’ve got … ”

  Saz continued, ignoring the gap where Becky couldn’t risk naming Daniel as her lover. “Yes, I think we both know exactly who and what you’ve got. I hate to tell you this, Becky, but it takes a bit more than not being interested in seventeen-year-old boys to make you a dyke.”

  Chorus line giggles and Becky furious with her back up, “I do know that actually.”

  “In fact, it generally takes wanting to fuck other women.”

  Gasp from the chorus, defiance from the lead.

  “Yes. I know.”

  Saz couldn’t help herself, reached out and patted Becky’s arm, “You do?” She left with a wink. “You know? I imagine you do, Rebecca.” And a very sweet smile.

  TWENTY-TWO

  That night, Saz and Molly made dinner together and bathed Matilda and talked about their respective days. Molly told how she’d saved a three-year-old’s life, counselled a grieving father and completed a small forest worth of paperwork. Saz told lies. The two women then sat down, again together, exhausted in front of the TV. There was nothing on. Literally. The set wasn’t switched on but they sat facing it anyway, neither of them had the energy to get up and turn it on, despite the fact that Molly had already expressed interest in Newsnight’s trailed piece on the MMR vaccine and Saz was hoping that the look at tomorrow’s papers would show a front cover featuring Ross Gallagher’s whirlwind marriage to a Brazilian supermodel, previous plans in tatters; Gorgeous Gallagher’s sudden conversion to radical Buddhism; Rugged Ross’s untimely death in a freak costume drama horse riding accident – anything that would get him out of her life, rid her of her present fe
ars. She knew it was stupid – even without Will around, Janine Marsden would have to be dealt with. Saz had always been highly skilled at charging into other people’s problems; she was starting to see just how good she’d also been at running away from her own.

  Saz was sitting beside Molly, had spent the entire evening by her side, and felt anything but together with her partner. And she was about to take herself further still.

  “Babe, do you mind if I go out tomorrow night?”

  “What?” Molly stirred herself from her thoughts of baby guilt versus patient guilt to pay attention to her partner. Partner guilt.

  “Do you mind if I go out tomorrow night?”

  “No. Why? Where?”

  “Nowhere yet. Don’t know. I’m just feeling a bit hemmed in, being here all day with Matilda.”

  “But you said you went for a big walk today?”

  Saz, not wanting to lie any more than was absolutely necessary had indeed told Molly that Matilda had had a big walk that afternoon. Which she had, with Carrie – when she’d realised three hours away from her latest delight was two hours too long and had walked Matilda to a café where she and the new love-hope had flirted over baby, tea and cake.

  “No, I mean proper going out. I’m sorry, I know it sounds awful, and it’s not that I’m not happy at home with her, not at all … ”

  “But you’re feeling stir-crazy?”

  “Yes. No. I mean … ” Saz sighed, allowing her self-imposed angst to be interpreted as a reluctance to admit being just that little bit constricted by the new routine with their daughter.

  “Sweetie, of course you should go out and do something nice. I’m sorry, I’m coming home totally knackered and I can’t be any more interesting for you than a grumpy nine-month-old.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Saz knew if Molly was too nice she’d want to tell the truth even more, “I just fancy a night out. I’m sorry. We could do something together? I could ask Carrie to babysit?”

  Saz knew the offer was a risk. Will might not be free to meet up with Daniel the next evening. Daniel might not be in the pub on his usual night out, Becky might not know Daniel as well as she thought she did. All of it risky, but while Saz could be sure of nothing to do with the people she had once known so intimately, she figured she did know Molly well enough to take a chance.

  “Or it might be nice for us to go out together? I know it’s your first week back, but … ”

  Saz was right. Molly’s head was shaking before she even finished her sentence. “I just don’t think I can face it. I won’t be able to get up in the morning, and it’s not as if Matilda lets us lie in anymore. You go out, see if Carrie wants to do something, or one of the boys. I’ll stay home with her. It’ll be nice for me anyway, we don’t get enough time together alone now. I’m jealous that you get to take her for a walk and I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She meant it both for her partner missing their daughter and for her lie. “No, it’s cool. I’ll see if I can finish work a bit early. Then I can do her tea and the bath stuff, you can get off out.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. It’ll do you good,” Molly stood up, turned on the TV, came back to the sofa with the remote in her hand. “Go and give them a call now, sort something.”

  Saz got up with, she hoped, not too much enthusiasm and went to the kitchen to the telephone. “I love you.”

  “I should hope so. Cup of coffee while you’re up, please. Decaff.”

  While she put on the kettle Saz called Will and then, when they’d agreed on their arrangements, she called Carrie. Carrie wasn’t home but Saz left a message and an offer she knew her ex couldn’t possibly refuse. Carrie was well behind – as always – with the rent she owed on the flat she sublet (illegally but at the standard council rate) from Saz. Now that she wasn’t working herself, Saz had struggled to cover the gap when Carrie was in arrears, Molly taking care of the shortfall. With the certainty of Ross Gallagher’s TV wealth behind her, Saz’s message offered Carrie not only a temporary rent amnesty, but also some extra cash to go with it. All for occasional on-demand secret babysitting and, more immediately, that Carrie would lie about going out with Saz the next evening. Saz knew Carrie was happy to lie, whether money was attached or not, but somehow she felt marginally less guilty when she made the lie a business transaction. She was more practised in lies-for-work. She put down the phone feeling like a sneaky sixteen-year-old. And, thinking about the evening she had just planned, realised that was pretty much what she was.

  She was about to add boiling water to coffee grounds when she had a better thought and checked the fridge for wine. She went back to Molly. The MMR item was over and her partner sighed in frustration at the half-science she’d just heard from both sides of the argument, then sat up in surprise when Saz kneeled in front of her, full and cold glasses in hand. “I really do love you, Moll.”

  Molly took the glass. “Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

  “Shall we drink this and go to bed?”

  “Shall we stay here and drink this and not go to bed?”

  “Why?”

  “Our room is closer to Matilda’s. We don’t want to disturb her. Not now she’s so good with her routine.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  Kiss touch hold. Stop. Kiss hold touch. Reach. Start again. Kiss, kiss more, hold harder, tighter. Kiss, bite. Not kiss, too slow, bite. Stop. Look. Listen. Silent, humming TV, truck rolls past. Smile, giggle, bite, laugh. Kiss again, OK, if you want, there and there and there, lower down, leg feet lips teeth. Hand holding, hand holding flesh. Goose-pimple skin and yes there, you know it, you know it. And again. Push, fast, faster, slow, the fucking quick-step four-step double beat time-step. Wine spilled on sofa and mumbled offers to wash it tomorrow, wine spilled on skin and no offer, dive in, lick it up now. More wine, not spilled, poured this time. Saz’s heart beating faster next to Molly’s heart, next to Molly’s thigh. Saz’s heart in her mouth, Molly’s sex in her mouth. Same place, know it so well, same moves, again and again and again, so good at this, this so good, but same. Very same. Years of fucking and kissing and coming and going, the years of it, bodies so well matched they simply begin the touch and skin quivers as it knows what comes next, when comes next, who comes next. Saz and Molly moving fluidly and skilfully and a part of Saz’s mind watching, noting. Set back, sit back. Sees their abilities, their knowing. Their too-knowing. Sees and wonders and questions and the body is still moving and heart beating a pulsing blood rhythm and yet not all there, not all here, somewhere watching, noticing. Outside. And then the shift. The shift that always comes, the shift that takes the sex from a place of before and certainly again, into now. Just this one. This fuck and only this. Not the many times before or those to come. Just this one time. Two times if you’re lucky. Something about her own skin, an attention in her cells, tension in herself. And wait, two three four – release.

  Saz curled into Molly’s arms, her body cooling against the floor, warm touching Molly, and she wondered how it could be that she could lose her brain so readily. That huge moment between watching herself and feeling odd about being so used to it, their fucking, the tradition of their fucking, as well as feeling bad about the lies this evening, and then the leap into just body. Or maybe it wasn’t a leap – it felt more like she was pulled, that picture she used to love in the Narnia books, where the painting of the ship just dragged the kids into it, and they felt the ocean spray before they’d even left their bedroom – pulled into a whole new place. How weird that every time, no matter where her head was, once that leap was made, it was as if it hadn’t happened countless times before. Saz had never been able to work out if it was her body or Molly’s body or the combination of the two that made this possible, the leaving her head behind. But she knew she never wanted to lose it. And she knew that with each step towards her own past, the loss became a more real possibility, the lies distancing her from Molly, the possibil
ity that truth would send Molly from her. She stretched out to better feel her own relaxation, better ignore her fears. Molly threw Asmita’s old green travel rug over her partner as she switched off lights and TV, took up glasses, washed dishes. Later, the two women bumbled through teeth cleaning quietly so as not to disturb Matilda, quietly so as not to disturb the skin ease between the two of them. And then they went to bed.

  As they fell asleep Molly talked about Ian. Just that evening, laughing at Matilda in the bath, she’d realised how vibrant the images of her daughter were when she was at work and thought of Matilda, her child was always active. And she’d noticed that the store of images she had of her father were gradually becoming static.

  “It’s as if he’s all photos now, Saz. I used to see him, in my head, as if he was doing stuff. In their garden, or playing cards with my ma, holding Matilda when she was tiny. But now all the pictures I have in my head look like photos. He’s static, still.”

  Saz squeezed Molly’s hand, pushed away the still images that had come into her own mind. A bright spring morning, a screaming mouth, cold skin, broken bones. Forced herself back here, back now. Running away again. “Yeah, but loads of the pictures in my head are still too. Like most of the ones from when Cassie and I were small. I’m not even sure any of them are real images, I think half my memories are actually the photos Mum and Dad took when we were kids. Maybe none of our memories are true recollections.” She could but hope.

  Molly frowned. “Yes, but I can picture you yesterday. Making breakfast, shouting at your sister on the phone … ”

  “We were discussing her husband’s birthday party, it just sounded like shouting.”

  “That’s what you two always say. Anyway, I see that picture as a moving one. But all the ones with my dad, they’ve turned into stills.”

  “Colour?”

  “Old-fashioned over-bright technicolour.”

  “Nice. Maybe it’s our generation. We’re so used to photo images that it’s what our brains do to our own memories, turns them into photos. Puts borders round our people.”