Close Relations (11 page)

‘Just like that?' asked Stephen.

‘I had to fuck someone first.'

‘Er, yes,' he replied. ‘But did he know why?'

Erin shook her head.

‘Who was he?' asked Prudence.

‘An architect. Out of work, of course. They all are.'

Stephen laughed. ‘Well, at least he didn't have trouble with
one
erection.'

Prudence burst out laughing. Maddy stared at Stephen. ‘What an appalling joke,' she said. Prudence sat there, rigid.

Erin speared some beans. ‘He did have trouble, now you mention it. But then I put on a tape I use.'

‘You use?' asked Stephen.

‘Just some music,' said Erin.

The three of them gazed at her, awe-struck. The flat seemed suddenly constricted and spinsterly. What sort of music? Something only lesbians knew about? None of them dared ask. Prudence carved some more slices of beef; she remembered her only brush with Sapphic pleasures. A girl in her class called Jemima, who had come to stay the night, had inserted a Tampax up her and said, ‘
Now you'll have an orgasm
.'

Stephen, though hypotised by Erin, wanted her to leave. He wanted to go to bed with Prudence. He only had a couple of hours before he had to go home. Erin hadn't laughed at his joke – not a bad one, in the circumstances – and he disliked humourless women. That was the main problem with his wife, but she had her foreignness as an excuse. Now he thought of it, Kaatya and Erin had a certain amount in common – vegetarinism, flamboyant clothes, a high-voltage quality to them. Stephen swabbed his gravy with a piece of bread. He didn't want to think about his wife.

‘Is this your first novel?' asked Prudence.

Erin nodded. ‘I'd always meant to write one but I'd never had the time.' She spoke as if she had fitted it in between breakfast and dinner.

‘Well, I hope it won't be your last,' said Stephen. ‘We like our authors to go on producing.'

‘They're not cows,' said Maddy.

Stephen laughed. ‘Oh, I could name you one or two.'

Prudence stiffened. Was Maddy going to flare up? It was like being with their father all over again. But Maddy didn't seem to hear; she was talking to Erin. Prudence gathered up the plates.

She had made a rhubarb fool. Stephen had said it was his favourite pudding. As they ate it she was conscious of a gathering tension in the air. Maddy and Erin were discussing the crippling effect of World Bank loans on developing countries. Prudence wasn't interested; she felt the wires between the four of them, stretched so tight they hummed. Was it Maddy's hostility to Stephen? Her sister's face was flushed; her eyes were bright. This could simply be caused by political zeal. Maybe the tension came from Stephen, who was longing for the guests to leave so that he could tear off her clothes. Twice he had looked at his watch – the adulterer's nervous tic. She hated him for it; she hated his watch. And, just for a moment, she hated her sister for her fierce and mistimed loyalty. She looked at Maddy and thought: what a ball-breaker my sister is. And then she hated herself for even thinking it.

The trouble was it was true.

‘I'm sorry,' said Stephen. He rolled off Prudence and lay, gazing up at the ceiling.

‘It doesn't matter,' she lied.

‘Your sister certainly knows how to –'

‘I know.'

They lay there, miles apart. ‘As evenings go, tumescence-wise, that little scene in the kitchen was on a par with my Aunty Madge telling you about my potty training.'

‘But I've never met your Aunty Madge,' said Prudence.

He got out of bed and picked up his boxer shorts. ‘That's why.'

‘That's not why.'

He paused, one leg in and one leg out. ‘You will, one day. I promise.'

Prudence lay there, watching him as he got dressed.

His eyes flicked to her bedside clock. ‘I'm sorry,' he said.

‘Sorry I made us leave,' said Maddy. ‘Thing is, he's shagging my sister and wants to give her one before he gets back to his wife.'

‘He'd better hurry then,' said Erin, ‘he looked half-asleep already.'

‘I shouldn't have told you, I suppose. Seeing as you're their author now.'

‘Who cares?' Erin parked outside Maddy's flat. She switched off the engine. ‘It's you I'm glad I met.'

There was a silence. The street was empty, as if it lay under a spell. Nothing stirred – not a leaf, not a piece of litter.

‘Really?'

Maddy's throat closed up.

Erin nodded. Maddy concentrated on the parked car in front. She felt Erin's hand cupping her face. She turned. Erin kissed her on the mouth. Her lips opened Maddy's lips; her tongue met Maddy's tongue. It was a deep kiss, long and
warm. Maddy sat there, rigid.

Erin drew back and smiled. ‘Relax,' she said.

She pushed back Maddy's hair and kissed her again. Maddy felt the strangest sensation. It was as if her body unclosed. It was as if, after a lifetime asleep, she had finally woken up like a princess waking from a spell.

Erin touched her mouth. ‘I've been longing to do that all evening,' she said, her voice low and thrilling.

Maddy opened the door and climbed down from the van. ‘Night,' she said shakily.

‘You've got my number. Ring me.'

Maddy hurried to her basement steps. Behind her, the van revved up and drove away.

‘SHE DIDN'T!' LOUISE
clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Poor Stephen!'

‘It's not funny.' Prudence choked back her laughter.

‘Good old Maddy,' said Louise. ‘Remember Hans, that German boy? She asked him if his father was a Nazi?'

They had reached Russell Square. Prudence grabbed her sister's wrist.

‘There he is!'

In the distance, Stephen was making his way to the snack bar. They could see him through the trees.

‘Is that where you have lunch?' asked Louise.

‘Sometimes.'

‘Bit cold, isn't it?'

Prudence nodded. ‘We freeze to death. Adultery's bad for the circulation.'

It was Friday. They were meeting Stephen for lunch. Prudence had arranged this, hoping it might defuse Tuesday's disastrous evening with Maddy. Stephen was bound to be charmed by Louise. Everybody was. This was the reason, in fact, that she had been reluctant to introduce her boyfriends to Louise in the past. Louise wouldn't have stolen them. Of course not. But it had sometimes seemed prudent not to risk it.

On the other hand, she liked showing her sister off. Today Louise had been shopping. She wore a new blue jacket from the Nicole Farhi shop in New Bond Street. Her hair rose and fell as she walked. Men gazed at her. They seldom
wolf-whistled – her beauty was too upmarket for that. After she had passed, however, they found themselves humming. There was a sheen to Louise. She looked like a woman who had been spending her husband's money, a woman who didn't have to pay her own parking fines.

They walked towards Stephen. He sat on one of the plastic chairs, with his back to them. Prudence hadn't seen him all morning; he had been in meetings. As they drew nearer she noticed something odd; cigarette smoke wreathed up in front of his head.

She said: ‘Stephen?'

He turned round in his seat. He didn't get up.

‘This is my sister, Louise –' Prudence stopped. ‘What's the matter?'

Stephen took a drag of his cigarette. ‘They've made me redundant.'

Louise glared at her husband. ‘Don't you dare call it market forces! He's got to clear his desk by next week.'

Imogen rummaged in a carrier bag. ‘Got my tights?'

Louise pulled out a Sock Shop bag and gave it to her daughter. She had just arrived from London. Robert was mixing gin and tonics; her children were hovering, looking at the carrier bags.

‘Did you go to Red or Dead?' asked Imogen.

‘Yes, I went to Red or Dead.' Louise turned to Robert. ‘They've sacked ten of them, even the old boy who packed the parcels.'

‘Did you get my top?' asked Imogen.

Louise thrust the bag at her. ‘Black, right? Just to make a change.' She took the drink from her husband. ‘These horrible money men have taken it over.'

Jamie rummaged in the bags. ‘Did you get my CD?'

‘Vultures!' She gave her son the CD. ‘And don't play it so we can hear.' She sat down at the table. ‘They're absorbing everybody, or rationalising them, or whatever inhuman
words you use –'

‘
I
didn't do it,' said Robert.

‘This nice, fusty old family firm that actually cared about books –'

‘Darling, you only read
Hello!
–'

‘And people like Stephen, who looks really nice, who's devoted his life to literature, they're just like old Kleenexes, just thrown away –'

‘Why do you care so much?' asked Robert. ‘Just because he's boffing your sister –'

She glanced at the children. ‘Robert!'

‘They're not listening. They're far too egocentric.'

‘It's just such a vulgar way of putting it.'

‘Sorry, oh builder's daughter,' he said. ‘Thou hast never heard coarse language?'

‘Yes, but
you
went to Charterhouse.'

Imogen said: ‘I know about Stephen. He's got two boys. One of them broke his arm playing football. They live in Dulwich.'

Louise stared at her daughter. ‘How do you know?'

‘I heard Aunty Pru talking to him on the phone. Last Easter.'

Robert laughed. ‘So let's throw it open. Jamie, Imogen, some input here. Would you like to share your thoughts on modem management methods and their effect upon legover situations?'

The teenagers shrugged. Louise got up. ‘I'm going to make some supper.' She turned to her children. ‘Did either of you dig up the leeks?' There was no response. ‘I phoned!'

‘Yeah,' said Jamie. ‘In the middle of
Neighbours
.'

Louise sighed. She went to the back door, pulled her old gardening coat off the peg, and stomped out into the dark.

Maddy's love life had always been unsatisfactory. Her first lover was a man called Jake. He was a decent, bearded man who had run the adventure playground in Stockwell where
she had worked. He had relieved her of her virginity so gently that she had hardly noticed it was happening. For two years they had worked together, building walkways in the sky and painting them primary colours, constructing a club house and a ping-pong room. They had toiled against the odds – gangs of youths from the nearby housing estate vandalising the place, the local authority threatening to close it down and build flats on the site. Jake was a saintly man. Doggedly he reglazed broken windows and cleared up the mess. Like all good people he never hated a person, only the actions of which the person seemed so unaccountably capable. At the beginning Maddy admired this but as time went by she found it frustrating. Why couldn't he stand up and fight? Their relationship, never vigorous, petered out. His lovemaking no longer seemed gentle, just tepid. Perhaps it had always been tepid, she just hadn't used that word for it. She wasn't good with words. They had drifted into friendship, both secretly relieved that there had been no emotional showdown. Later, Jake found God and became a born-again Christian. It suited him. With his beard, his carpentry skills and his limitless compassion he had always resembled Jesus.

Her later affairs had followed the same pattern. She met a man. They became friends and eventually drifted into bed. She enjoyed the sex but in a companionable way. Two bodies rubbed together in a vaguely comical manner; there was a spasm of pleasure and then both parties got a good night's sleep. She didn't see what all the fuss was about. Oh, it was pleasant enough but it didn't touch her to the core, she could live without it. And for years, off and on, she did.

It took Maddy four days to pick up the phone. Finally, she did it. Erin said that she would come round that afternoon. She sounded brisk and businesslike. After all, it was a business transaction.

Maddy sat on the rim of the bath. She looked at herself in the mirror. The bathroom was lit by a frosted lozenge on the
ceiling. Dead flies had collected in it; she could see their smudged shapes through the glass. She suddenly saw her surroundings clearly. What had she been doing all her life?

She looked at her face – properly, for the first time in years. Her tan had faded; in the harsh light she looked sallow. Her fringe was a straight line across her eyebrows; she had always cut it this way, it was the simplest. Under it, her face looked heavy. Square jaw, stubborn lower lip. She had always felt the odd one out; her parents had found her in a doorway and taken her home. That was why she had failed them and they had failed her.

Later, she remembered that moment when she sat in the bathroom, leaning against the blistered wall. She closed her eyes. She felt as if she stood at the edge of her old life, teetering on the rim. Ahead of her stretched an abyss. Did she dare to step out into the unknown? Upstairs, a woman shouted ‘Damon!' She heard the clatter of pans. Upstairs, people's lives were carrying on as usual. Wasn't that strange?

The bell rang. Erin stood in the doorway. Maddy nodded hello and ushered her in. She opened the back door and stepped out onto the patio. She could feel Erin beside her. Kicking aside a bottle, she gestured around.

‘You see, I'd like to clear it up a bit, to thank the woman who's lent me the flat. Maybe returf the lawn, it's got all mossy, what do you think?' She was gabbling. ‘I don't know how much it would cost . . .'

The sun was sinking. It bathed the derelict garden in golden light. A blackbird sang, startlingly close.

Erin turned to her. ‘You didn't ask me here to look at your garden.'

Erin unbuttoned Maddy's shirt. She ran her finger down Maddy's throat; she felt the hollow with her fingertip, the pulse beneath the skin. She kissed it, kissing her own finger there, including herself in Maddy's bumping blood. She reached into her bag and took out a phial of oil. Tapping
some drops onto her finger she touched Maddy's throat, she anointed her temples. The scent made Maddy swoon. Erin ran her fingers over Maddy's breast. Such sensitive fingers she had, as if she were reading the Braille of Maddy's body.