Collected Stories (62 page)

‘Were you followed?’

‘Why would I be? What’s going on?’ Alicia said. ‘You know what Patricia wanted? For you to run the place with her.’

‘I’d have liked to do that,’ I said. ‘For a while. It would have been fun. Impossible too, of course, with her attitude towards me.’

‘You’d have done it?’ she said. ‘Don’t you have any doubts?’

‘What?’

‘About yourself. About what you are capable of? That makes you different to a lot of people. Different to most people, in fact.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do have doubts. I just don’t want them getting in the way of my mistakes.’

She said, ‘Something else happened. I haven’t told you the whole story. When you disappeared from the boat that last night –’

‘Yes, sorry. I couldn’t stand it –’

‘Some people went back to the Centre. But I was hanging around to see whether you might return. A lot of our group stayed on the boat until after breakfast. The dawn was lovely. Matte came to me. He realised I was from the Centre. I don’t look like the other people he knows, with their perfect bodies. He took me to his room. He wanted information about you.’

‘What did you say?’

‘He was sitting there opposite me, opening and shutting his legs like a trap. He looked almost as handsome as you. I promised to tell him everything I knew about you if he fucked me. I told him I was an unorgasmic virgin. It was time, you see. He was amused, and seems to have looked into these things. “Apparently, the use of virgins”, he told me, “prolongs life. The headmaster of a Roman school for girls lived to one hundred and fifty. Rather that than ingesting the dried cells of foetal pigs, or drinking snake oil.” He seemed to think it was a decent exchange. He fucked me hard, right there on the floor. It was wonderful. Is it always like that? I’m pregnant.’

‘By him? Matte?’

She patted her stomach. ‘Don’t ask me if I’ll keep it.’

‘The world is full of single mothers. It’s the only way, these days. What use are men? But he’s not a good man.’

‘I don’t need to tell you, a good man is hard to find. Ask Patricia!’

‘Alicia, that was a mad thing to do! You don’t know him!’

‘One day, I’ll present him with a bill.’

‘But why him?’

‘You’d turned me on and I couldn’t wait any longer. No one else on that boat seemed much interested in having me. I know I’m not beautiful, and as a girl all I wanted was to be beautiful. Matte was looking at me like a hungry wolf I couldn’t keep from the door.’

‘It’s like having a kid with the devil.’

‘If he’s really bad, you’d better tell me the details. I can only consider my position if I know the facts. Otherwise … I’m going ahead with it.’

She was waiting; she seemed to be aware that there was more I knew.

‘I only met him once,’ I said. I kissed and cuddled her. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What will you do now?’

‘I’m back living with Mother. Things are dark. I need to tell you, I don’t know how to go on.’

I was looking at her. ‘People either want eternal life or they want out right now.’

‘Can you think of reasons to continue?’

‘Lots. Pleasure.’

‘Only that?’

‘Children,’ I added, ‘if you like them. They always gave me more pleasure than anything else.’

‘Good, good,’ she said.

With her, I always felt I had to justify the most basic things, which discomforted me. Still, I liked her; I’d always liked her. I wanted to help her. Then I had an idea. I told her I had something to sort out; we agreed to meet later.

When we parted, I went to an Internet café and sent an email in my given name, to a friend who was the editor of a literary magazine which published fiction, some journalism and photographs. I urged him to see Alicia as soon as possible. I told him I didn’t want my name mentioned. Then I rang Alicia and told her she had to go and see this man after lunch. After some argument she agreed to go to his office, read him a couple of poems and talk about herself.

Later that day, when we met again in a local pub, she told me he’d given her a job reading manuscripts and sorting out the office three days a week.

‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘Are you pleased?’

She kissed me. ‘I knew that somehow this had happened through you, Leo. But the odd thing was, he didn’t know your name.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t remember me. But my father was well connected.’

‘Who was your father? Or is that your privacy, right?’

We were sitting in a bar by the window where I could monitor the street for murderers. I recognised a few local people. They all looked like murderers. However, there was one person in particular I had been looking out for during the last few days, without properly admitting it to myself, someone I couldn’t search out, but had to wait for.

It had to be now. There she was, my wife, across the road. The wheel of her shopping cart had come off. She was fiddling with it, but it would have to be fixed properly. At a loss, she stood there, looking around. The cart was heavy, full of provisions. She couldn’t leave it and she couldn’t carry it home.

I asked Alicia to excuse me. I crossed the road to my wife and asked if she were okay.

‘I’m rather stuck, dear.’

‘These small accidents can be devastating. Can I?’

I hauled the cart into a doorway and took a look at it. I’m not mechanical, but I could see the wheel had sheared off.

‘Do you live far?’

‘Ten minutes’ walk.’

I said, ‘I’ll be a good Samaritan. Wait one minute.’

I went back to Alicia.

‘This is my good deed for the week, perhaps for the century. Meet me in three hours at the pub on the corner.’

She was looking at me. ‘You’d go home with any woman, apart from me.’

‘It must seem like that.’

‘Can’t we bring up the kid together?’

I kissed her. ‘Later.’

I recrossed the road and picked up the cart in my arms.

‘Which way?’

It was heavy and awkward. I walked slowly, with exaggerated complaints, in order to spend more time with my wife.

‘Don’t you have anyone to help you?’ I said.

‘Not at the moment.’

We were approaching my house. I noticed the front gate was wonky and needed repairing.

She opened the front door. ‘Would you like to come in?’ I hesitated. ‘Just for a minute,’ she said.

‘If it’s all right with you. I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.’

Inside, she said, ‘Can I ask … what do you do?’

‘I’ve been travelling. Gap year.’

She went into the kitchen and I looked around. Nothing had changed, but everything was slightly different.

My son, now the same age as me, came downstairs and put his head round the door. I almost gave way. It was him I wanted to touch, his hands and face. In the last few years it had become more difficult for us to touch each other. He was embarrassed, or he didn’t like my body. I loved, still, to kiss his cheeks, even if I had to grab him and pull him towards me.

‘All right, Mum?’ Mike said. ‘Hello,’ he said to me.

I must have been staring.

‘My cart broke,’ she said.

‘Your heart?’ he said.

‘Cart, you big idiot!’

He came into the room. He looked alert, happy and healthy. I could see my old self in the way he held himself. I missed me. I missed, too, my pleasure in him, in living close to his life, in knowing what he did and where he went.

I was dismayed to see he was carrying my new laptop, a gorgeous little sliver of light I’d bought just before deciding to become someone else. I had been intending to use it in bed. I had always been attracted to the instruments of my trade. Sometimes, merely buying a new pen or computer was enough to get me back to work.

‘That looks good,’ I said.

‘Yes.’ He said to his mother, ‘I’m borrowing this for a while. I’ll return it before Dad gets back. Have you heard from him?’

‘He sent his love,’ she called.

‘Is that all?’ he said. ‘He won’t mind me borrowing this, then. By the way, happy anniversary. Shame to be on your own.’

‘I’ll raise a glass later,’ she said.

I said, ‘Can I ask what anniversary it is?’

‘Not my wedding anniversary,’ she said, ‘but the anniversary of the day I met my husband. He’s away on business at the moment, the fool.’

‘Why fool?’

‘His breathing was painful. He couldn’t walk far. I could see it in his face, but I don’t think he knew how ill he had become. Before he started out on his jaunt across the continent, I had decided we should enjoy the time we had left together. Still, I didn’t want to put him off his pleasures.’

Mike said, ‘Mum, are you okay? Can I go?’

‘Please do.’

He shut the front door.

I asked, ‘Would you like me to get going, too?’

‘But I must offer you some tea. I’d feel bad if I didn’t, after you helped me.’

‘You’re very trusting.’

‘I noticed you looking at the books just now. No burglar or lunatic would do that.’

‘Your boy is a great-looking kid.’

‘He’s doing well. His girlfriend’s pregnant.’

‘Really? How wonderful. Congratulations.’

‘Adam will be back for the birth, I know he will.’

I went upstairs to the bathroom. Coming out, I noticed my study door was open. The books I’d been using before I left were piled on the coffee table, next to the CDs I’d bought but not yet played. I couldn’t resist sitting down at my desk. I looked at the photographs of my children at various ages. I knew where everything was, though my hands were bigger and my arms longer than before. The ink in my favourite fountain pen still flowed. I wrote a few words and shoved the paper in my pocket. I had to tear myself away.

When I returned, I sat beside Margot and poured the tea. I glanced at the wedding ring I’d bought her and said, ‘Where are you from?’

‘Me? You’re asking me?’ she said. ‘Do you want to know?’

‘Why not?’

‘No one’s much interested in women of my age.’

When she told me where she was born, and a little about her parents, I asked other questions about her early life and upbringing. I followed what occurred to me, listening and prompting.

I had heard some of this before, in the years when we were getting to know each other. I had not, though, asked her about it for a long time. How many times can you have the ‘same’ conversation? But the past was no more inert than the present: there were different tones, angles, details. She mentioned people I’d never heard of; she talked about a lover she’d cared for more than she’d previously admitted.

Her story made more sense to me now, or I was able to let more of it in. We drank tea and wine. She was stimulated by my interest, and amazed by how much there was to tell. She wanted to speak; I wanted to listen.

I asked only about her life before she met me. When my name arose and she did speak about me a little, I didn’t follow it up. I wish I’d had the guts to listen to every word – my life judged by my wife, a summing-up. But it would have disturbed me too much.

How she moved me! Listening to her didn’t tell me why I loved her, only that I did love her. I wanted to offer her all that I’d neglected to give in the past few years. How withdrawn and insulated I’d been! It would be different when I returned as myself.

Two hours passed. At last, I said, ‘Now, I really must get going. I should let you get on.’

‘What about you?’ she said. She was shaking her head. ‘I feel as though I’m coming round from a dream. What have we been doing together?’

I went over to the table on which sat a music system and a pile of CDs.

‘Can I play a tune?’

She said, ‘Oh, tell me, why did you ask me all those questions?’

‘Did they bother you?’

‘No, the opposite. They stimulated me… they made me think …’

‘I’m interested in the past. I am thinking of becoming a medieval historian.’

‘Oh. Very good.’ She added, ‘But what you asked was personal, not historical. You are a curious young man, indeed.’

‘Something happened to me,’ I said. ‘I was changed by something. I …’

She waited for me to continue, but I stopped myself. Sometimes there’s nothing worse than a secret, sometimes there’s nothing worse than the truth.

She said, ‘What happened?’

‘No. My girlfriend is waiting for me down the street.’

I put on my wife’s favourite record. I kissed her hands and felt her body against mine as we danced. I knew where to put my hands. In my mind, her shape fitted mine. I didn’t want it to end. Her face was eternity enough for me. Her lips brushed mine and her breath went into my body. For a second, I kissed her. Her eyes followed mine, but I could not look at her. If I was surprised by the seducibility of my wife, I was also shocked by how forgettable, or how disposable, I seemed to be. For years, as children, our parents have us believe they could not live without us. This necessity, however, never applies in the same way again, though perhaps we cannot stop looking for it.

At the door, my wife said, ‘Will you come for tea again?’

‘I know where you are,’ I replied. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘We could go to an exhibition.’

‘Yes.’

I said goodbye, and reluctantly left my own house. Margot had placed a bag of rubbish outside the front door, ready to be taken to the dustbins. I was annoyed my boy hadn’t done it; he must have had his hands full, carrying my laptop.

I took the rubbish round to the side of the house. From where I stood, through a hole in the fence, I could see the street. There was a car double-parked on the other side of the road, with two men in it. It was a narrow street and irritable drivers were backed up behind the car. Why didn’t they move on? Because the men in the car were watching the house.

I slipped out of the front gate and headed up the road, away from them. It was true: they were following me. I went into my usual paper shop. Outside, the men were waiting in the car. When I continued on my way, they followed me. Who were these men who followed other men?

I knew the streets. Under the railway line, beside the bus garage, was a narrow alleyway through which, years ago, I’d walked the children to school. I turned into it and ran; they couldn’t follow me in the car.