by Zaza, Agatha
A woman had slapped him once. Edmund had recalled the weak ineffectual blow. He’d felt no pain, but he had been surprised. Even at the schools he’d gone to, fighting and violence had been reserved for a certain group of boys, brawling types whose playground punch-ups were immediately reported to a teacher by fleet-footed onlookers.
That had signalled the end of their relationship.
But, standing in front of the address he’d been given, Edmund had hesitated. Maybe the fault had been his own. Had he been too busy with his own life? Perhaps if he’d paid more attention to Jasper’s relationship, visited, and made an effort to meet and get to know Ovidia, he would have seen it sooner?
His plan had been to meet her and talk to her. He would either verify his suspicion or know that he had to look for another cause for the bruising around Jasper’s neck. Unlike at work, where he knew what to say and do, that day he’d felt completely unequipped to for his mission.
He’d knocked on the door, hoping she was there so it could all be cleared up right away.
The door had opened and Ovidia emerged. He’d guessed it was Ovidia. She had been smaller than he’d expected. He’d only had his parents’ and Jasper’s descriptions of her and some professionally taken photographs on the internet that gave him little idea of the scale of her.
He’d expected someone bigger, someone capable of frightening a fully grown man.
In one hand she’d held a mobile, and he’d got the impression he’d disturbed her.
‘Hi,’ she’d said politely. ‘Are you looking for someone?’
‘Yes. I’m looking for Ovidia,’ he’d replied, pulling himself up to his full stature, though he was already towering over her.
‘That’s me,’ she’d said, her tone still friendly.
‘I’m …’
‘Jasper’s brother, right — Edmund?’ She’d held out her hand and smiled. ‘You look just like him.’
‘Or the other way around, perhaps.’ He’d shaken her outstretched hand and smiled back. Her friendliness had been an unexpected setback.
‘He’s not here, but …’
‘Leave him alone.’ The words had flung from his mouth with more force than intended. As he’d let go of her hand, he’d seen that her right hand was bruised along her knuckles and the flat of her fingers. He knew little of violence, but he’d dated a woman for a while who’d taken martial arts classes and was constantly unable to form a proper fist, walking around week after week with bruised knuckles until she gave it up.
Ovidia had backed away. She’d tried to close the door between them, but he’d easily stopped her.
‘Leave him,’ he’d repeated, this time less violently. ‘Or I’m going to get the police involved.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ She’d pushed the door harder against him, but he’d forced it back open. She could have screamed for help — it was a ground floor flat with neighbours on every side — but she hadn’t.
Once inside, he’d marched through the small flat. Though the phone had been in her hands, she didn’t call the police.
He was right, he’d concluded. He’d walked through the room from the front door, taking in the pictures on the wall, the blue sofa and its scattering of colourful cushions. He couldn’t recognise a single item as Jasper’s, except for the laptop on the kitchen table and clothes in a pile in a corner. Pictures of her family had sat in frames, books on engineering and math and popular women’s literature and the standard classics had stood on shelves. Jasper had owned a larger and newer TV and an expansive leather sofa that was of some value. Both items were far superior to the ones in this room. His framed posters had been nowhere to be seen, nor was the family photo that Jasper had had professionally framed. His books about art and design that were normally in piles in corners had been missing. Jasper wasn’t living in this flat, Edmund had thought. He was imprisoned here, being let out occasionally to play a charade at lunch and dinner with his brother and family.
‘What have you been doing to him?’ How long had he been complicit in his brother’s misery by brushing away the signs and not paying enough attention? How long had Jasper needed him to intervene? ‘You hit him, don’t you?’
‘Right. I’m calling the police.’ Though she’d sounded decisive, Ovidia still hadn’t dialled the mobile in her hand. She’d been in front of the door, facing him with a defiant stance, her feet slightly apart and arms crossed.
He’d got to the end of the room and turned back to her.
‘Jasper’s my only brother.’
She had begun to speak, but he’d cut her off.
‘I’ll do anything to keep him safe …’ He’d nodded a goodbye.
He’d never in his life made a threat of physical harm to anyone. But his words had been spontaneous, barely disguising the rage inside him. The idea of his brother living in terror for all that time without being able to come to him for help had incensed him. Without regret, he’d strode back through the front door and slammed it shut as he left.
24
‘Edmund threatened you?’ Holly shrieked, a few feet ahead of Anne.
Ovidia was startled, not having heard them enter. How much had they heard? Holly looked cheerful, buoyed by the wine that, though being drunk slowly, was having an effect. Anne looked pensive. Ovidia guessed she must have heard something significant enough to have to think over.
Edmund had never apologised for threatening her. He’d never, even as they had settled into their lives, retracted what he said or told her that he never really meant it. She’d never asked him if he would have gone through with it, neither did she worry that he ever would. It was one of those obstacles that they seemed to agree had to let lie — history that cannot be changed.
‘Returning to the theme of invading aliens,’ Ovidia said with a sudden and bright smile that she hoped concealed the conversation that had just transpired. She’d stopped drinking earlier, holding on to the same half-full glass. She wished she’d had more: enough to get drunk, enough to forget. She glanced at the clock on the microwave and hoped for a moment it had stopped. The numbers moved forward by a minute. It hadn’t. It was only past one.
Holly laughed, tinkling like a bell, honestly, happily. ‘I’ll believe that. Right now — Edmund says — he’s not saying it’s women’s work, but he did open the champagne, so can we get dishes and things. We’re having lunch out in the extension — your cubey thing is just made for spring days.’
Holly’s laughter helped. Or it could have been that Ovidia had finally spoken to Jasper? She’d been dreading that encounter since he’d tapped her shoulder that morning. She’d imagined what they’d say to each other if alone, how much longer they could continue the charade outdoors. She’d tried to explain, but her words seemed inadequate. She wanted to tell him how much she’d gone through, but she didn’t want it to be about her. She’d hurt Jasper, over and over, again and again. And she knew it hadn’t stopped when she ran away.
She’d never forgotten what she’d done. Over the years, Jasper had become something she accepted would never leave her. Edmund told her about him on rare occasions and always briefly. He had only told her about Jasper’s new relationship when Holly had moved in with Jasper. Occasionally, a friend would mention that they’d spotted him at an event or walking down the street. But, despite being in the same city, she hadn’t seen him even once. London was an enormous place filled with millions of people; their professions and families were unconnected. Had it not been for Edmund, they might never have seen each other again.
She heard Jasper breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt. It seemed unfair that on the first day of his engagement he should find himself faced with her. It wasn’t a situation she’d imagined — Jasper walking into her kitchen. She was sure he hated her, that was, if he felt anything for her at all.
She’d often wondered if he was safe now. Did this new woman, with her tresses and girlish laughter, ever hurt him like she did?
&nb
sp; Some days, thoughts of Jasper were as brief as a flash of light, other days it was a weight that she carried for hours. She carried the guilt for what she’d done with her not as a word or a single thought. It was integral to who she was now, so thoroughly enmeshed in her life that she knew it was something of which she could never divest herself. She couldn’t say at any moment, I feel guilty for what I did. Instead her constant regret was formless, intangible. The feeling lurked within her; it did not announce itself and then berate her for what she did, but it drifted in as a cloud in a sunny sky, a smudge on her laptop screen, a kiss from Edmund that was briefer than she wanted it to be. Then she’d be reminded of how she’d tortured a man who had done nothing to deserve it.
She wondered if her remorse had anything to do with her feelings for Edmund. She’d weighed the question, analysed it, watched the man she loved with an intense gaze, but how would she know even if there was a connection? She could never be the person she was before Jasper, and, no matter how much she wished, she could not erase time.
She wanted to run out to Edmund and bury herself against him. There she would feel safe from herself.
‘Not to pry,’ Holly came to a stop in front of the cutlery drawers, ‘but what’s the pile of woody stuff in the corner of the garden?’
‘It was one of these garden rooms,’ Ovidia said without hesitating. She was battling to appear normal. She reminded herself that Holly and Anne didn’t know. If they did, they would not be here. ‘That corner looked so, erm, disused, and we didn’t want to add any more greenery, so we thought of a garden retreat.’
‘And it lost its life due to …?’ Anne asked.
‘We never used it. We’d made all sorts of plans for it, but we won’t need it now.’ Her eyes held Jasper’s briefly and then she turned away. He was still standing where he’d been when their conversation ended. ‘We should have sold it, but we couldn’t get ourselves organised.’
‘Couldn’t get yourselves organised?’ Holly hooted. ‘I think you two were born organised — look at this cutlery drawer.’ She marvelled at the perfectly arranged contents of the drawers.
‘You said you’re an engineer, didn’t you?’ Anne asked.
‘Civil,’ Jasper said, inadvertently alluding to their shared past, always adding ‘civil’ whenever anyone asked if she was an engineer.
‘I was,’ Ovidia corrected Anne. ‘I did a few finance courses a couple of years ago and basically forgot about them. Then one day I saw an ad that needed engineering and finance, and shadowing and mentoring were provided, and suddenly — bang — I was a financial engineer. Really lovely office, and I never had to work outdoors again.’
She didn’t say that she’d being trying to create a new life, fleeing the world she’d lived in with Jasper.
‘You didn’t need to start from scratch or do a new degree?’ Anne asked.
‘No,’ she said, omitting that she’d had the job for less than a year.
‘You make it sound so easy,’ Anne said. ‘Nobody said you’re a woman or too old or too …?’
‘Black?’ Ovidia suggested. ‘There is always someone telling you that you’re too something. You have to choose who you listen to. I even got people telling me that I was too successful, that I made too much money …’
‘Made too much money?’ Holly screeched. ‘Is that even possible?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Ovidia said. ‘People said things like, as a black woman I should be less selfish and more community orientated, or that I should be less assertive because it shows a bad example to young black girls …’
‘No,’ Holly gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth.
‘I wasn’t making that much money anyway.’ Ovidia was glad that the women had joined them. She was sure Edmund had sent them in to intervene. He’d have been worried about her and Jasper alone together.
‘You gave it up?’ Anne must have noticed her use of the past tense.
Ovidia didn’t answer. Instead she pulled a large knife from a wooden knife block kept in one of the cabinets.
Anne continued. ‘A couple of years ago, I started a design course. John put me off it — he says nursing is far more reliable. It is, but wouldn’t it be nice to do something a bit more glamorous? I feel I’m creative, but I never have the opportunity to express it. Well, I have a design blog, but it’s not very popular, and John doesn’t know.’
‘You have a blog? You didn’t tell me about it.’ Holly turned swiftly to Anne. ‘You could make it into a side business. Just like John has his books and public speaking and stuff — that’s not strictly related to his job.’
‘Yes, but he says …’
‘Screw what he says,’ Ovidia replied, ‘and if he doesn’t like it, chuck him and get yourself a flashier model.’ She felt a spark of excitement at talking with the two women, perhaps a momentary freedom from the choking feeling she’d had for most of the day.
Anne chuckled, but Holly winced saying, ‘Don’t think like that. He’d be upset, but once he gets used to the idea, he’ll come round. Luckily, Jasper and I have similar interests, and there’s plenty of space to express our creativity in our lines of business.’
Ovidia glanced at Jasper again. He’d remained quiet, though he was watching the women. They were talking as if he wasn’t there anymore, like women speak without their men. The three women passed cutlery and crockery and organised the meal as if they were living a generation ago when it would have been expected of them. It felt oddly natural. When she was a teenager at family get togethers, especially on her father’s side of her family who still retained many of their Ghanaian norms, the girls always found themselves stuck doing the cooking, cleaning, and serving. As she’d grown older, she’d railed against the expectation that the women of the family would continue to act as the previous generations had done, but time had made her objection nearly irrelevant. As the children of her peers entered their early teens, boys found themselves stuck alongside their sisters serving their elders at parties.
‘You know, this is really weird.’ Holly was the first to articulate it. ‘We could be sisters-in-law soon — common-law sisters-in-law, if there’s such a thing. And Anne’s always around at ours and Jasper’s mum’s. Imagine we could end up doing this quite a bit — if only you and Edmund come out of the closet.’
Anne chuckled. ‘Out of the closet? They’re not gay.’
‘I mean leading a double life, hiding. It must be pretty lonely and scary even — wondering if someone will find out,’ Holly elaborated.
‘It’s not like there’re any real repercussions. Some people would be pretty upset, but I’m sure they’d get over it,’ Anne said.
Ovidia wanted to tell them that the repercussions would not matter, because the relationship would be over before the end of the day. She wanted to say she and Edmund wouldn’t be together to face the furore and confusion, that each of them would deal with the disapproval or questioning without the other to lean on.
Instead, she clung to Anne and Holly’s cheerfulness, knowing it would help her get through the afternoon.
‘It’s not like we’re the only ones who do it,’ Ovidia said. ‘Anne has her secret life in design. But what about you Holly? You must have a secret, too?’
‘Well, Jasper’s sneaked out now, you may as well tell us,’ Anne egged her on. Ovidia turned and realised Anne was right — Jasper was gone.
Holly looked around, hesitating. Then she blurted out, ‘I have about thirty years’ worth of Archie and Sabrina at my parents’ house.’
Anne stared at her and then erupted in laughter. ‘The comics?’
Holly looked embarrassed. ‘My mother got me a subscription when I was about eight, and I just can’t let it go. I read every one and keep them in storage boxes in the garage. I’m not quite sure how to tell Jasper. They’re still delivered to my parents’ address.’
‘Why?’ Anne asked.
‘I don’t know. I love Archie comics, I really do. When I was about eighteen, my mu
m tried to throw them away. I cried so hard, she had to fish them out of the bins and wipe them down.’
Ovidia wasn’t laughing. The secret was silly, flippant, but she had hoped Holly would say no, that she could never think of keeping a something from her husband-to-be. She’d hoped that Holly, unlike herself, would be beyond reproach, that Holly would be a woman she could trust with Jasper. She crossed her arms and, suppressing her emotion, said, ‘I don’t get it — you seem so normal.’
‘Maybe I’m too normal,’ Holly replied. ‘I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I’m one of those women who has wanted to fall in love and get married almost all her life. But I haven’t been willing to compromise about it. I’ve had relationships before, but, apart from Immanuel, Jasper is the first guy that I can say unequivocally that I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I’ve known that since pretty much the third time we met — we’re inseparable.’
Ovidia bit her finger, her nerves taut. Had she ever been able to talk about Jasper like that, to say she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? She must have, at least at first. They’d introduced the other to family and friends. Surely that was a sign that they had been in love? At some point, her love must have died, because people don’t torment those they love.
‘That’s lovely to hear,’ Anne said, taking her friend’s hand, and Ovidia nodded.
25
Jasper was on the ground floor, having left without saying as the women talked among themselves. He stopped briefly and looked out over the cube, where he could see John and Edmund in a slow conversation. He looked around the room they’d entered the house through. A few books were neatly piled on a side table. Even they looked as if a designer had laid them there. The room was as if it had been organised for a public viewing. He couldn’t imagine Ovidia living here, with her floral prints, engineering texts, and boots muddied from visiting a construction site — at least not as she once had been.