A Bouquet of Barbed Wire, page 9
15
PRUE WAS scared. She had actually made the phone call while crouching on the floor in what she now noticed was very nearly a foetal position. She replaced the receiver reluctantly: even dead in her hand it was some small link with her father, with the outside world. She did not know what she had expected: magic words, a healing spell, absolution? Her eye looked dreadful in the mirror; she flinched from looking at it with the other one. She had worn dark glasses to the shops but even so had imagined everyone could see behind them and would know why she was buying meat. She felt silly, too, for she had no way of knowing if this really was an effective cure: she had only heard about it. Like buying gin for abortion (not that she had ever wished to do that), it was the classic remedy of folk lore to which the mind automatically sprang, but without any factual knowledge.
When she got home she had applied the meat, feeling totally ridiculous. She did not know how long to leave it on for or how bloody it ought to be. It made a terrible mess of her face and she kept thinking how everyone would laugh if they could see her all alone in a darkened room lying on the bed with a piece of meat on her eye. So presently she took it off and laid it carefully on the plate she had brought from the kitchen for the purpose. This, too, made her feel hysterical. Then she had to get up and go to the bathroom to wash off the blood and inspect her injury for signs of instant improvement.
But why had he hit her? What was so terrible about wanting to give up her job after only three weeks instead of four? She was temporary staff and no notice was required; people were coming and going all the time. Financially, it would not make all that much difference: they had their fares and their pocket money was dictated by the government. But if they got really short she could no doubt arrange with her father that friends of his in France could help them out and he would repay them. It could be a sort of advance birthday present. Gavin had said, ‘God, you’re a spoiled brat,’ and she had become indignant. ‘Why? Why am I? I hate the job, it gives me backache. You don’t know what it’s like being pregnant—’ using the one unfair and irrefutable argument she had, and he had said furiously, ‘Oh yes, the great out. Now you’ve got to get away with everything instead of just nearly everything, you can’t even sit at a desk for four weeks and get paid for it, well that’s how impressed I am,’ and he had slapped her across the face.
She still trembled when she remembered the shock of it. It was neither a heavy blow nor a light one but it took all the breath from her body with shock. It was not the pain, such as it was, that she minded: there was even a faint sense of pleasure in the stinging sensation and the knowledge that Gavin had caused it. He had always been very rough with her in bed, which she liked and had come to take for granted. But her dignity was hurt, and she could not have been more affronted if Gavin had spat on the floor. She said incredulously, ‘You hit me. You hit me.’
‘Sure I hit you.’ He had no sense of the ridiculous. He was talking and behaving like some third rate gangster in a very old B picture and it did not seem to strike him as the least absurd. The independent bit of her mind, the bit that provided the running commentaries on her life, wondered if Americans as a nation had been fed so much on their own movie culture that they were now spewing it out in the naive belief that this was how everyone talked. ‘I’ll hit you again if I like. If I think you need it. I want you back at your desk, that’s all.’
She shouted at him, ‘But I feel ill, I told you,’ backing away from him.
‘Balls. You’re fitter than I am.’ He came nearer: with every step she drew away he came closer to her, till she felt herself sweating with fright. ‘So you’re going to work. Is that clear? I’m not having you prove your old man was right.’
So that was it. She was out of her depth now. It had started so casually, innocently, waking up with a headache (the sickness had stopped so no excuse there) and thinking how nice to stay at home. The idle thought of a day off had turned pretty swiftly, as she lay curled up against Gavin’s sleeping warmth, into not going back at all but going instead on holiday just a week early. The more Gavin, when he woke up, opposed this plan, the more set on it she became, and the more she had exaggerated (with conviction) her pains and aches, her boredom. She had never dreamt he would make such an issue of it.
‘I shall please myself,’ she said to him when backed (now literally) into a corner. She had to be brave now. But it was exciting to be so frightened. He looked like a stranger.
‘But I want you back at work,’ he said as if there was no argument about it, almost pleasantly.
‘I’m not going.’
‘Then you need an excuse.’ Still no sign of temper.
‘I’ve got one. A real one.’
‘Well, now you have,’ he said, a second after he punched her.
It really hurt. She saw all the stars in the firmament on a clear night, and the fireworks on Guy Fawkes night for good measure. It was a stabbing pain that went through to the back of her head and somehow made her feel sick. She clutched her face and screamed.
Gavin did not attempt to comfort her. Nor, to give him his due, did he say anything about disturbing the neighbours or keeping her voice down. He said nothing at all and poured himself a drink out of their emergency bottle. When she had stopped screaming and started crying he gave her a drink too. Bourbon. Neat. She drank it all. She simply couldn’t stop crying until she had exhausted herself. In the middle of it all, he left. When she managed to ask where he was going he gave her the one word ‘Work’. But he said it in a defeated tone which suggested that she had won, as perhaps she had. So she lay on the sofa and wept for her victory, her first over him, and wondered if things would ever be the same again. Crying gave her a worse headache than before and made her eyes ache and swell more than ever. The one he had hit felt as if it would burst. It was hours before she dared to look at herself, before curiosity triumphed over apprehension. The eye was swollen and discoloured. By tomorrow, no doubt, it would be blue, green, purple. It was enormous. It was obscene. She became hysterical at the sight of it.
But throughout the course of the day hysteria cooled into fear. Gavin had been violent—no, vicious—and she was pregnant. Nearly four months pregnant. That hadn’t deterred him. She had had no way of knowing that he could behave like this, for they had never had a quarrel before, at least not one that could not be made up instantly by her giving in and him making love to her. She had never dreamt that she was tying herself for life to a man who was capable of hitting his pregnant wife. She resented, too, being made the living embodiment of a music hall joke: it was such a comic disability, to those not afflicted, like chilblains or a plaster-cast leg. It offered such unlimited opportunities for laughter. This worried her almost as much as the violence itself. But her mind returned to that with recurrent alarm. Had she really not suspected? Had there not perhaps been some current of violence in Gavin, unseen but clearly sensed, as in water-divining? Was this what she needed, was this why she had chosen him? (For he had certainly not chosen her.) She had never seen violence in her own home, beyond the most rudimentary taps on the twins’ legs or bottoms in moments of stress. She herself could count on one hand the times she had been slapped, and at such an early age that she could not remember her reactions, though she now wondered if they had been significant. Was there something wrong with her perhaps? She became mildly excited at the very idea. It might be interesting to have something wrong with her. Did this explain why she tormented her father—did she want him to strike back? Perhaps Gavin’s intractability had fascinated her so much because it offered unlimited opportunity for provocation, and the retaliation, when it came, would be so much greater—as indeed she had now proved. Was it something she needed and did it mean she was sick—or merely clever in finding out how to obtain the desired effect, like a cat eating grass? She didn’t know.
She was still on the floor, in the dark, when Gavin returned. She shook all over at the sound of his key in the lock. He came in and switched on the light in one movement, then saw her.
‘Christ! Have you seen your face?’
She burst out laughing. The relief was too great. ‘Yes, of course I have. What d’you think I’ve been doing all day?’
‘Baby, baby.’ He was close to her, almost crooning over her. ‘Did I do that? Was that me? Oh, precious baby …’ and he was kissing her all over her face. She put her arms round him and let her body go limp. She had never felt so relaxed. She was safe, they were suited. It would not be hard to provoke him again.
16
‘THERE’S SOMEONE to see you,’ said Annabel when Sarah got in. She looked her up and down in a new, queer way before adding, ‘He says he’s your father.’
The frosty element of doubt in her voice confirmed all Sarah’s worst fears about his appearance. She tried to be casual. ‘Then he probably is. Thanks, Annabel.’ She went into the sitting-room briskly, but suddenly feeling twice as tired as when she had left the office.
Her father was seated on the sofa and Connie was attempting to make conversation with him or rather to respond to his monologue. Sarah caught a quick flash of her childhood (‘when she was a little girl’) as she entered the room. Connie smiled gratefully at the sight of her. ‘Oh, hello Sarah, I’ve been keeping your father company but I must wash my hair so will you excuse me?’ She vanished before Sarah could answer.
‘Well, Sally,’ said her father, eyeing her critically. ‘I’ve been waiting a while for you.’
Out it came, without thought or hesitation. ‘Well, I do work, you know.’
He clicked his tongue. ‘Now that wasn’t kind. Aren’t you pleased to see me? I thought if you weren’t doing anything we might have a bite to eat together.’
Sarah sat down and said wearily, ‘I’m going out.’ She wasn’t, but it looked as if she would have to. He wanted money, obviously: the question was how much.
‘How did you find me, Dad?’ She had purposely kept her new address from him with the idea of avoiding this very catastrophe.
‘I had to ring up your mother.’ He sounded indignant. ‘She knew, all right. You’d told her. I don’t understand, Sally, it’s not like you to be so secretive.’
Yes, it is, Sarah thought, very like me. But you wouldn’t know. I’ve been keeping secrets from you all my life and you never noticed. She said, ‘Can’t you call me Sarah like everyone else?’
He looked at her in amazement as if the question had not arisen a few dozen times before. ‘Why should I? Your name’s Sally. Your mother and I, we’ve always called you Sally.’
‘My name is Sarah,’ said Sarah, persevering. ‘You christened me Sarah, don’t you remember?’
‘But we called you Sally. We always called you Sally.’
‘Oh, skip it.’ He had infinite patience and time; he would argue all night if she let him. ‘Look, Dad, I’m sorry but I have to go out and I want to have a bath and change first.’ All the time they were speaking she wondered what Connie and, worse still, Annabel, had made of him: dirty bare feet in sandals, a matted beard, flowing black garments. The sort of thing she found mildly amusing in the street on someone of twenty. Oh God, it just couldn’t be worse, in a new place, so soon after moving in. She would never live it down. It would give Annabel a permanent hold over her. ‘I wish you’d phone instead of dropping in, Dad, then we could fix something. It’s impossible like this.’
He eyed her sorrowfully: she thought he was probably high on something, either drugs or drink; she could not be sure which since she could always smell both on his clothes. ‘You’re hard, girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve got no heart. I didn’t even have your number. But your mother did. And your address.’ His speech rhythms were out, in some odd way: he seemed to be functioning at a different pace from the rest of the world.
‘No, she didn’t,’ Sarah said truthfully. ‘I gave them to Barbara. She must have passed them on.’ And when I see her, she thought, I’ll kill her. Typical Barbara: with John and the kids to fall back on she lands me right in it. Selfish bitch. All their childhood animosity flooded back.
‘And why not?’ he said indignantly. ‘She’s got some feeling in her, some natural feeling.’
‘Then why not visit her instead of me, if I’m so hardhearted.’ But she knew why. Barbara would claim she was broke and he would not dare approach John. Beyond patting the heads of the grandchildren there was not much to be gained there, maybe just egg and chips on a very good day.
‘Can I help it if I want to see both of you? It wouldn’t be natural if I didn’t. My two little girls.’
He was getting maudlin. Sarah sat and waited for it to pass. It would not last long, she knew from experience, and never prevented him from appraising his surroundings. In a moment, predictably, he said, ‘Nice place you’ve got here, Sally.’
It was at times like these that Sarah wished she smoked. She was sure it would be a comfort: it seemed to help other people. And at least it would have been something to do. She could not even have a drink without offering him one. She opened her handbag and began to repair her face. As if reading her mind, he started to eye the bottles on the trolley. ‘How about a little drop of something?’
‘Those are Annabel’s.’
‘But she’s a friend of yours, she wouldn’t mind. Surely one of your friends wouldn’t grudge your father a drink.’
Sarah, snapping her compact shut, said, ‘She’s not one of my friends and she’d grudge anyone a drink. It’s her flat and we’re all sharing. Not friends. We pay rent to her and she pays the landlord. It’s a nice place because it’s expensive. So you see, we all have our problems, okay?’
‘Sally.’ He was looking at her with his shocked expression. How watery his eyes were becoming, now that she noticed, as if the blue, always pale, was leaking into the white, and the white itself was criss-crossed with red. God help me, she thought, I despise you, I’ll never forgive you for being such a slob, and if I could afford it, I’d pay you to go away for ever.
‘You’re surely not thinking I’m after your money,’ he said in outraged tones, as though she had blasphemed in church.
‘Oh no,’ Sarah said, letting full irony into her voice. ‘Nothing like that. But since I can’t have a meal with you, as I’m going out, maybe a pound would help?’ And she took one out of her bag, after rapidly calculating what she had left to live on for the rest of the week.
He took it instantly: almost snatched it, in fact. Then, with it safely in his hand: ‘Is that all you can spare?’
Sarah stood up. The crisis—for the time being—was over. ‘Yes, Dad, I’m broke.’
He surveyed her clothes. ‘You don’t look broke.’
‘No, I try not to.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘You’re very hard. I’ve always done my best for you and you turn out like this. I don’t know.’
Sarah said, ‘No, there’s no justice, is there?’ She thought if she heard once more about all he had allegedly done for her, she would do him a physical injury. A terrible nausea was rising in her throat, the recurrent sense of shame at their being related. Flesh and bone. He had made her. He and her mother, now mink-clad and chauffeur driven and Riviera-brown. They had rolled around together one night and she had been the result. It was enough to put you off sex for life.
‘But you’ve got a new job,’ he went on, ‘an important new job. You’re getting more money. Barbara said so.’
Barbara, Sarah reflected, should fry in oil, slowly. ‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘and I pay tax on it. The remainder is there in your hand.’
His fingers clenched instinctively on the pound, as if she might try to take it away from him. ‘Do you want me to go on my knees?’
‘No, you’re heartily welcome. If I had any more you could have it but I haven’t, so there you are.’
His face crinkled up. Only the words got through to him, the tone meant nothing. ‘You’re a good girl, Sally.’
‘Yes, good and hard.’
‘Ah, I didn’t mean that. You mustn’t take too much notice of all I say. I don’t always mean it.’
Then for God’s sake why say it? Sarah thought. Her back was stiff, she realised, and quite suddenly. That could only be tension. She must have been sitting so rigidly that she had made herself ache.
She walked with him to the door, feeling all the time the pointed non-presence of Connie and Annabel. They had not gone out. They were there somewhere, in their rooms, in the kitchen, in the bathroom. They were tactfully leaving her alone with her embarrassment.
‘It’s a fine big flat,’ he said approvingly.
‘Yes, for four people it’s just right.’
He put on his hurt face, the one that long ago used to upset her. ‘All right, child, all right. I’m not trying to move in.’
Not much, she thought, not much. But she couldn’t say it. ‘Have a nice dinner,’ she said. ‘Ring me up sometime.’
He hesitated on the doorstep. ‘And where will you be going?’
Sarah said, ‘Out.’
‘I know that, I know that. Out somewhere grand with a boy-friend, I suppose.’
‘I don’t know where. I won’t be going anywhere if I don’t have a bath.’ She wondered when last he had had one, come to that. Now that she was close to him she could smell it, dirt and sweat, arising from socks and underwear mainly, she thought, and the terrible staleness of unclean old clothes.
‘Boy-friends,’ he said. ‘You want to be careful with boyfriends. Remember, I’ve always brought you up to be respectable.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Sarah. ‘Quite.’
He actually shook his fist at her, the one still containing her pound. ‘Now then, my girl, none of that. After all I am your father.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you remember that.’
‘You don’t allow me to forget it.’
His eyes narrowed, but he seemed to be looking past her. ‘You’re getting altogether too saucy for my liking.’
Sarah ached to close the door. Her whole body leaned against it, her fingers trembled lovingly on the catch. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. Perhaps if she sounded pathetic enough he would let her go. ‘I’ve had a long, hard day. Let me go and run my bath now, hm, and we’ll talk another time?’ She was wheedling him and it sickened her, but there was no other way.
