A Bouquet of Barbed Wire, page 27
‘Sarah? Are you packed?’ More decisive still.
‘They’re at the nursing-home,’ she said.
‘What nursing-home? Who?’
She felt angry with him for not knowing at once. ‘Prue’s ill,’ she said helplessly and looked at the clock. Too much time had passed: it could not be good news.
‘Who?’
‘His daughter,’ she said, and started to cry.
‘Sarah. Are you all right?’
She went on crying, having no choice. A great storm of tears forced its way out and erupted over the phone.
‘I’m coming round. Tell me the address again.’
‘It’s all my fault,’ she said, howling. The receiver was damp in her hand.
‘The address,’ he repeated. ‘Where are you?’
She told him; it took her a minute to remember it.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Oh Geoff, I can’t bear it.’
‘Get a hold on yourself. Have a cigarette.’
‘I don’t smoke,’ she said miserably, hysterical.
‘Well, try.’ The phone went dead.
She walked round and round the room. Then she walked round the flat. She wanted a drink but she had already had two and she did not want to be uselessly drunk when news came. She kept thinking, or hoping, that they might need her, that all was not lost, that she might be allowed to make amends. When the bell rang she ran to the door, convinced that this was her chance. She had forgotten about Geoff.
‘Oh. It’s you.’
‘I said I’d be here in ten minutes.’ He came in, looking at her anxiously.
‘I forgot.’
‘Come and sit down.’ He put his arm round her but it felt strange, alien. She thought bitterly, enviously, You’re outside all this. It’s not your trouble.
‘Drink this.’ He had poured her a large Scotch.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve already had two. I want to keep sober.’
‘Whatever for? That’s the last thing you want to be. Drink it.’ He poured one for himself.
‘Oh, Geoff.’ She sipped the drink—he had made it too strong as usual—and began to cry again.
‘Now tell me.’ He shook her gently. ‘What happened? Come on, Sarah. You’ll feel better if you tell me.’
‘She … I think she’s dying. And it ought to be me. I’m her and she’s me. But they’ve got it the wrong way round.’ She was still holding her drink to her lips and tears actually splashed into it. Salt Scotch.
He took hold of her free hand in a tight grip. ‘You’re not making sense. His daughter is in hospital, that’s all you’ve told me so far. Come on, darling, I want to know so I can help you.’
She looked at him, puzzled, as if she had never seen him before. Who are you to help me? Stranger. Or perhaps it was always so, one stranger or another, a hand to clutch, a body to lean against, a face to show concern. The endless charade of finding someone in whom to hide.
‘She’s having her baby. But it’s too soon. There must be something wrong. They rang him at the office this afternoon and he went straight away. He said he’d phone but he hasn’t.’ She wound her handkerchief round her hands. It was wet and bit into her fingers, leaving a mark. Perhaps if she could hurt herself enough Prue would be all right.
‘Well, it’s just taking a long time. Why all the fuss? People take ages having babies, don’t they? My mother never got tired of telling us what hours of agony she endured to produce the two of us. What are you in such a state about?’
She got up, wanting to free her hand, feeling guilty to have even that much comforting contact with another human being. (This is something I must bear alone.) If she had known any magic spells she would have done them.
‘I was a substitute,’ she said. ‘But they’re killing her.’
48
‘CHAMPAGNE,’ SAID Prue rapturously. ‘Oh, I wanted champagne more than anything else in the world and you knew. You’ve brought it.’ She started to raise herself up in bed, pulled a face and subsided. ‘Ouch, I forgot. Stitches. God, I’m a wreck. Mummy, you never told me it was so painful—no, good job you didn’t. And I thought I liked pain—ooh, sorry—’ as she caught the look, simultaneous and identical, on all their faces. ‘Well, you know what I mean. But I think I’m cured, if anyone’s interested. God, it was awful: right now I hope I never even prick my finger again. Sorry I’m a bit woozy, it’s that wretched stuff. But it helped. Not enough, though. God, they do pull you about. I felt like a horse or something, everyone tugging at me. Ugh. But I did it. D’you realise, I actually did it. Not alone and not unaided but I did it. I produced!’
Manson struggled with the cork, watched by Cassie and Gavin. He felt Gavin restraining himself from offers of help. He grew hot, felt the veins on his forehead, the tension in his fingers and the start of sweat. Excitement, relief, old-age?
‘Careful,’ said Prue, and the cork popped. They all laughed nervously and he started to pour. Cassie handed Prue the first glass. ‘Well done, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m sure this is very unethical but never mind.’
Prue laughed. ‘They can’t say a word, you’re paying. Oh, you were clever to get me in here. Imagine if I’d been in a stuffy old hospital where you couldn’t all come, and no alcohol. Imagine.’
They all had their glasses. Manson cleared his throat, glanced at Gavin and Cassie, and then turned to Prue. ‘To both of you,’ he said. There were sudden tears in his eyes.
Prue drank to herself. ‘Isn’t she beautiful? Oh, don’t you think she’s just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?’
Gavin sat on the edge of the bed. He sipped his drink awkwardly, as if he wished it was something else. ‘Yeah, she’s great. I guess we’re prejudiced but she looks great to me.’
Cassie drank with concentration, her eyes fixed on Prue. She didn’t look at Manson or Gavin. Mingled with lightheaded relief was the purest envy. Prue had her baby. Everything was all right. It was over. ‘She’s beautiful, darling,’ she said.
Prue looked at Manson. ‘Daddy. You’re not saying anything. Don’t you like your grand-daughter?’
‘I love her.’ Prue’s face blurred as he looked at her.
‘So do I.’ Prue sighed with total contentment. ‘God, I can’t believe it. It’s over and I’ve got her. Eve. Do you like the name Eve? I only thought of it the other day. Eve Sorensen. It’s terribly good, don’t you think? And wasn’t she clever to come early? I was so sick of being huge and Gavin was sick of me being huge, weren’t you? (Oh, don’t look like that, don’t be silly.) And now look at me. All gone. You wouldn’t think such a tiny baby could make such a mound, now would you? I thought she’d be a monster. Huge. But it must have been all the padding. I wish she didn’t have to be in that incubator, I want her with me, all the time. But I s’pose it’s all right. It won’t be for long, will it? Oh, she’s so pretty. I thought she’d be hideous, I really did. That is when I wasn’t thinking she’d be dead. Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I? I thought we’d both die, I really did. Wasn’t that silly? I even wrote you all letters. Now I’ll have to tear them up.’
Manson said, ‘Excuse me a minute.’ He put his glass down and went out of the room to the phone down the passage.
Prue frowned. ‘Where’s he gone? What did I say?’
‘Nothing, darling, I expect he’s just gone to the loo.’
Prue laughed. ‘Poor Daddy. His eyes are quite misty, did you notice?’
‘Oh, honey, give him a break.’
‘Well. It’s not like him, that’s all. I’m flattered. D’you think he approves of Eve? Oh, I know I could have called her Petra or Cassandra, or Gavina come to that (wonder why “a” is so feminine in all languages) but I like Eve. It’s like a fresh start and that’s what I want. Oh, I know I’ve been bloody to everyone but I’ll make up for it, promise. And I’ll be such a model mum you won’t recognise me. Honestly. I’m going to be the greatest mum who ever lived. Well, maybe the second greatest. God, I just can’t stop talking, have you noticed? Do you think it’s the champagne or the stuff they gave me, or just having had her? I feel so elated I could burst.’
Cassie said gently, ‘It’s everything, darling. That’s what it’s like.’ She had the strangest sensation of loving them both, Prue and Gavin, with separate passion, as if she were physically split down the middle. And Manson must surely be telephoning Sarah, but it did not matter, there was no jealous pain. It seemed trivial, faced with the enormity of birth.
‘I don’t think I’ll bother going back to college,’ said Prue. ‘It’s so unimportant, with Eve to look after. And Gavin’s clever enough for two … aren’t you?’
‘I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to be.’
‘You’re not sorry she isn’t a son?’
‘She’s Eve—how could she be a son?’
Prue grabbed his hand. ‘Oh, I do love you. Mummy, isn’t he lovely?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I’m so lucky.’
Manson came back into the room. Cassie, watching, thought she saw him switch from one mood to another by merely adjusting the muscles of his face.
‘Daddy, you’ve been ages. Is there any more champagne?’
Manson gave them all a little more. Prue held up her glass. ‘Now then, come on. I want to see you shake hands, you and Gavin. And put your arm round Mummy. Oh, come on, Daddy, please. Let bygones be bygones, all of you. It’s not much to ask and surely I’m entitled. After all, just think how you’d feel if I’d died.’
49
‘HE MUST have hated that,’ said Gavin as Manson drove away.
‘What?’
‘That kiss and make-up bit. God, that was pure Prue, wasn’t it?’
‘Meaning you hated it too?’ She was smiling.
‘Meaning it was typical of Prue. But yeah, I did hate it. Not that I mind shaking hands, I’ve got nothing against him, but it wasn’t spontaneous so what does it mean? Just Prue, getting her own way again.’
‘Get in the car,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
In the car he stretched out his not very long length and sighed, ‘Jesus, I can’t believe it. I had—not like me a bit but wow—the wildest premonitions.’
‘So did I.’
‘Cassandra.’
‘No, really I did. And Prue did as well, it seems.’
‘Oh, she’s probably making it up. Anything for drama. God, the relief. I can’t believe it’s all over.’
‘I know.’
They drove for a while in silence. Then: ‘I thought he’d stay, though. I thought you’d drive off together in a cloud of marital bliss for the technicolor finale with choirs and a sunset.’
‘Sunrise, you mean.’ Already the sharp, pale dawn was rising as they drove towards Regents Park.
‘Were you disappointed?’
‘I didn’t consider it. You can’t … do big things like that just because you feel emotional.’
‘What other reason is there?’
‘We’re too old to be hasty.’
‘Oh, come on. Don’t give me that.’
‘We’re grandparents, have you forgotten?’ She was lightheaded with relief. Prue was all right. The baby was all right. No one had been punished. To have escaped scot-free seemed to her the purest good-fortune, a gift from the gods, and made her frivolous.
‘So what? I still love you, Cassandra. Do you love him?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘Well, that’s all right. That gives us two each.’ He sighed contentedly.
‘You have a very simple mind.’
‘Why? What’s the problem?’
‘Doesn’t it ever occur to you there’s an element of choice about this. That people can’t just … love each other all over the place.’
‘Why not? Why can’t they?’ He sounded genuinely surprised.
‘Well, for one thing you’re married to Prue and I’m married to Peter. And you and I are legally related.’
‘So what?’
‘Well, it makes a difference. Surely—’
‘Oh, balls. If you mean you don’t love me just say so, don’t fence.’
She was silent. They had reached the door of the flat and she drew up at the kerb. ‘Ah, you can’t say it,’ he exclaimed in triumph.
‘I can’t say I do either.’
‘That’s different. If you can’t say you don’t then you do, even if you can’t say you do.’
‘That’s too much for me.’ She was trying to be flippant.
‘Don’t laugh it off. It’s too important.’
‘You’re home,’ she said gently. ‘We’ve arrived.’
He ignored that. ‘Look, Cassandra, I’ll tell you something. I used to think about going back to the States with Prue. When I’m through with school.’ He shook his head. ‘Not any more. You’re in England, so that’s where we’ll be. I don’t just fuck and run away. I mean it. You’ve altered my life. Now do you believe I love you? Oh, I’ll be a good husband to Prue, there’s no problem, but I love you as well. I mean it.’
She made a huge effort. ‘You’re just saying you can cope with two women. Well, lots of men can. Or more.’
‘Meaning you can’t cope with two men?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Well, can you or can’t you?’
‘Gavin, you’re bullying me.’
‘All right, and you like it. Have you ever tried to cope with two men?’
‘Yes.’ Why was it so hard, such anathema, to lie?
‘And?’
‘It was tricky.’ She closed her eyes; she did not even want to be reminded. And yet it had worked: she had not gone off Peter at all, merely loved him and pitied him.
‘But you managed it, yes?’
‘Yes.’ She did not know if the image in her head or the image beside her were the stronger.
‘Well, then, what’s the problem?’
‘No problem. Look, you better go in. I’ve a long way to drive and I’m tired. It’s terribly late.’
‘It’s early.’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’
‘So come in.’
She was amazed, tempted, disappointed. ‘No, I can’t. You must know I can’t.’
‘This night of all nights we should be together. Who’s closer to Prue than the two of us?’
‘That’s lovely incestuous reasoning.’ She wondered how long she could hold out. Exhaustion beat in her brain.
‘Well?’
‘No, I can’t, Gavin.’
‘He’s got his secretary, you know, all tucked up and warm.’
‘Yes, I know. Thank you for reminding me.’
‘Yeah, I’m mean enough to do that. Amazing, isn’t it? I want you so much, Cassandra.’
‘That’s a frustrated husband talking.’
‘No. I just love you. I really do. You want to know what that means? I like you, I respect you, I want to take care of you, see you never catch cold or get tired, and I want to fuck you blind. What more can I say?’
She had screwed up her face in an effort not to cry. ‘No more, please.’
He leaned across. ‘Is it too much?’
‘Yes, it’s too much.’
‘So will you come in?’
‘No.’
50
THEY MADE love to celebrate. Sarah thought she had never seen him so happy, and despite all her own joy and relief she felt a twinge of resentment that she had not been able to do that much for him: inevitably it had taken Prue and her baby to restore him to life. Afterwards she was tranquil but empty, as if they had reached the end of something. Their love-making had had a good-bye taste: did he already know what she had to say? She opened her mouth to begin and closed it again. Geoff would call this an ideal opportunity, no doubt, but Geoff did not have to find the right words. She was relieved when Manson spoke instead.
‘Sarah.’
‘Yes.’ Anything to postpone the moment.
‘Darling, I don’t think we can go on.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all night. At one point I was even making bargains with God: If You let Prue be all right I’ll even give up Sarah—you know what it’s like when you’re desperate.’ He sounded apologetic; she squeezed his hand. Surprise, relief, even disappointment: all combined to keep her silent. He went on, ‘But it’s more than that. You were right when you said I hadn’t let go of my old life. I haven’t, and I don’t think I can, because Prue is the only reality for me. You’ve been wonderful. I’ll always be grateful to you, but tonight I’d have died, gladly, not just to save her life, that goes without saying, but even to spare her a minute’s pain. I’d cut off my arm to save her a headache. Does that sound ridiculous?’
He’s embarrassed, she thought, to be telling me how he feels. Was I ever real for him? What did we have, did we imagine it? Was I just Prue, her hair, her skin, when he shut his eyes? Was I ever a person for him, Sarah, myself? But that was selfish. She said, ‘No, of course not, I understand. You want to go back. I thought you would.’
‘Well, I haven’t talked to Cassie yet, but I think she’ll agree. I don’t see that we have any choice. If we’re going to function as a family again, if I’m going to visit Prue and the baby without any tension, well, Cassie and I will have to be together.’
Sarah thought how unloving it sounded, how functional. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said.
‘Prue was right,’ he added. ‘Tonight she—oh, we had a lot of champagne—she made us all make it up in front of her. She even made me shake hands with Gavin. But she was right. I’ll have to accept him or I’ll lose her and the baby. I’ll always be an outsider. I’m sorry, Sarah, but I can’t do it any other way.’
‘No, of course you can’t.’
He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you? You’re so independent. You’ll have a life of your own again, remember? Of course you must stay here as long as you like, that’s understood, but I think I must move out tomorrow. I’ll find an hotel or something. But I can’t talk to Cassie from here.’
She felt her eyes prickle. This is terrible, she thought; I’m not used to good-byes. ‘Well, actually,’ she said, ‘there’s no need. I’ve been waiting to talk to you about that.’
