Listen (12 page)

It was a night towards the end of that summer, just before they were due to start school again. They were watching TV with their
father like they did most nights, all of them in a line on the long green couch, and just as the news ended with the warning of ‘another day of total fire ban,’ their dad, still looking at the TV screen, said, ‘Your mother has had to go back to England for a while.’

The children’s heads swivelled to face him. Alex blinked and gave them a small uncertain smile.

‘How long for?’ Deborah had asked.

‘Well, it’s hard to say. Her father is, ahm, not well, and she has to help look after him.’

‘Is she all right?’ asked Robert anxiously.

‘Yes. She’s all right. She’s perfectly all right. You don’t have to worry about that.’

The theme music for the next program began. Meredith drew her thumb out of her mouth with a loud wet
pop
and asked in a remarkably strong, urgent voice, ‘When is Mummy coming home?’

‘Oh, sometime soon, sweetheart. It’s just a bit hard to say. Sometime. And in the meantime, a very nice lady called Mrs Hardman will pick Meredith up from school each afternoon and she’ll get dinner ready for you all. She’ll stay here till I get home. So you don’t have to worry.’

Meredith started to cry. Deborah looked past her father as he twisted awkwardly to cuddle his youngest child, and her eyes met those of Robert and James.
She’s not coming back.
In that instant, they all knew it. Robert’s hands flexed convulsively in his lap; she saw his thumbs begin to work their private patterns across his fingertips at lightning speed, like the telegraph operator she had seen in a movie, sending an urgent message. James let his head drop back, resting it on the back of the couch. His eyes, gazing up to a corner of the ceiling, lost focus, and his face took on an odd faraway expression, almost as though he were sleeping with his eyes open.

Deborah looked at them, her father, her brothers, her little sister with her face buried in her daddy’s neck, sobbing.
All of you
, she thought.
I’ve got to look after all of you now
. It seemed that the holidays
had ended, not just for the summer, but for the rest of her life.

Standing before the painting that had prompted all this, James asked at last, ‘So, what did you realise, Deb?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said, taking another, careful sip of champagne. ‘I can’t… explain it.’

‘I decided something then, too!’ exclaimed Meredith.

‘Oh, come on!’ Deborah said. ‘You weren’t much more than a baby!’

‘And that’s what I decided!’ her sister said, sounding girlishly delighted. ‘To stay the baby! I mean, why grow up when you just… when you just never know what’s going to happen? Why would you want to have to deal with all that?’

‘Oh, Merry!’ said Robert, and gave her a little hug.

‘Too true,’ said Deborah. ‘Too bloody true.’

CHAPTER 8

James regarded the splendid meal that had been put before him with a sorrowful look.

‘What’s up, hon?’ asked Silver, freeing her cutlery from the enormous linen napkin. ‘Not what you wanted?’

‘No, it looks… perfect.’ James sighed. ‘I was just picturing what they’re eating… back there.’ He inclined his head towards the rear of the aircraft.

Silver chuckled. ‘Well, you’re not catching me out! I ain’t gonna say let them eat cake!’ That got a small rueful smile from him. ‘Oh, hon! I know it’s not great back there but it’s not like they’re eating pig food. Or six months of weevily ship’s biscuits, like it would’ve been in the olden days.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But, Sil, don’t you think first class is a bit… over the top?’ There was so much space between their magnificently engineered seats, it was tricky to lower his voice enough so as not to be overheard by the hovering attendants. ‘Don’t you think we should fly… ’ He hesitated. Despite his egalitarian principles, James had no desire to be crammed in with the masses in economy. ‘Business?’

‘We
do
fly business, usually!’ Silver reminded him. ‘This is only a points upgrade. And you know, I have to hit the ground running the minute we’re in London. This is a really big deal for Tanya, sweetie: her first solo show there. I’ve got a lot of finessing to do. And a whole lotta business… ’ she nodded at her laptop, ‘for the foundation, before I go to Chicago.’

‘Hey, did you think Tanya sounded okay when she rang yesterday? She told me she’s sure nobody’s going to come.’

‘Oh, that girl!’ Silver made a face of fond exasperation. ‘What a worry-wart! Her work is so
perfect
for the UK market. There’ll be so many red stickers they’ll want to put up a quarantine notice!’

‘Yeah? That’s great, then.’ James settled back in his seat. He had no doubt at all that if Silver said the show would be a success, then so it would be. She’d never been wrong yet. When it came to business – the art market, or her wealthy family’s foundation – she was infallible. And hey, if she wanted to fly first class (and take him with her), well, why not?

‘Hon?’

He glanced across. His wife was waving the plastic knife at him cheekily. ‘First class or cattle class, we all gotta use these dumb things!’ He laughed.

Silver was her own person, that was the thing: a wonderfully self-propelled, idiosyncratic person. His best friend, as well as his wife. They’d been friends from the day they met, at a small gallery which was showing a couple of James’s paintings in a group exhibition. He didn’t even have a dealer back then, and she was new to Australia, just nosing around the art scene. But once she decided to become a player, boy, didn’t she learn the ropes fast! Even when they were just friends, they were a couple: together, sympatico. Their decision to marry grew out of a shared sense of humour, mutual admiration for each other’s talents, and visa hassles, rather than lust or romance. James thought it was the best thing he’d ever done. Silver was terrific: funny, expansive, savvy, hard-working, generous. And despite
her bulky figure and plain features, she carried herself with such style and assurance that heads turned when she came into a room, as though she were a model, or a celebrity.

Heads turned when James came into a room, too, but that was because of one simple thing: his looks. The luck of the draw – and James was well aware that he had drawn an incredible amount of luck. More, probably, than his share. He knew exactly who he resembled: the young Elvis Presley. Of course he wasn’t exactly young any more, but the crinkles now permanently at the corners of his eyes, the silver threads appearing in his black hair, only added to his appeal. And he was making darn sure that he didn’t age the way poor old Elvis had – no fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for him! James kept to a balanced diet, drank alcohol only once a week, and swam for a good hour every day. When they were travelling, he usually found a swimming pool, but if he couldn’t then he ran, and if the weather didn’t allow that then he went to a gym. James had skin that glowed with health, a washboard stomach, and a broad-shouldered, tapering body that men as well as women looked at with admiration and, often, longing.

He knew, too, that his faithfulness to his wife made him even more attractive. Funny, really. Before he met and then married Silver, he’d been rushed constantly by ardent women. James hated to disappoint, and he couldn’t bear to argue. So he had gradually become more and more like a performing seal, doing his tricks, going through an ever less satisfying routine. It came to frighten him that he felt so little as he brought yet another panting partner to orgasm and then dutifully went there himself. God, what a relief not to have to do that any longer! To be able to go to a party and just enjoy himself, without that pressure! Because he did like a busy social life; he liked to talk, to laugh, to charm, to flirt even, and Silver looked on with indulgent pride because she knew that he would never take it further.

She had given him so much. Artistic success, sure, but James was not particularly ambitious for his art. What he relished most was the
sense of being taken care of. Deborah had done it when he was a kid – still did, in some ways – and Silver did it even better. He admired her so much and he had not the slightest desire to risk what he had. To make her unhappy. He knew what it would do to Silver’s pride to have her handsome husband fool around with someone younger, prettier than she was.

It was their choice, James felt, and nobody else’s business, that their relationship was companionable, not passionate. They snuggled together in their bed, watched movies on the enormous TV while Silver drank champagne and James sipped his soda, read bits out loud from books and magazines – and talked, talked endlessly, gossiped and confided and argued (though without venom), and sometimes held each other as they drifted off to sleep. In their own way they were sensuous. But actual sex? Almost never. It just wasn’t
them
.

After the meal they decided to watch an in-flight movie ‘together’ – though each on their personal screens, of course. It was an English film about a troubled family, and as they watched it their thoughts settled simultaneously on the same subject. When the movie ended they turned to each other, Silver saying, ‘How did –’ just as James spoke.

‘I haven’t told you about that meeting I had with my family,’ he said apologetically.

‘Yeah. Well, we’ve been busy: the party, the trip. But how was it?’

‘Oh…’ James looked down, occupied himself putting away the entertainment handset. ‘As well as could be expected, I guess.’

Silver waited.

‘Dad has to have some tests, I did mention that? Robert’s going to let us know. So really there’s nothing more to say till we get those results.’

‘But… there’s something else? Did you let ’em know about my offer?’

‘Yeah.’ He looked at her ruefully. ‘They’re a funny lot, my family. F’r instance, even though Deb agreed to Vesna’s involvement,
you could tell she still resented it, even Robert talking about it. And when I told them about your offer, they were… ’

‘Yeah?’

‘They just… I don’t know, Sil. I guess they don’t want to think about that yet. Christ,
I
don’t want to think about it yet, you know. A time when maybe Dad can’t look after himself properly.’

‘I can understand that. So, we put it on the backburner. That’s fine.’ She smiled at him, genuinely, and James was surprised at how relieved he felt.

‘I’m just going to stretch my legs,’ he said, rising from his seat to walk around the cabin, flex and bend and stretch. Silver watched him.
God, he is so beautiful!
It was a thought she had often. From her teens, Silver had trained herself not to let desire show. Too many good-looking boys had turned from her in embarrassed, unspoken rejection. She’d never really had much of a sex life – even in the seventies, when promiscuity was so fashionable, she had been too plain to be chosen, too proud to beg and too smart to be taken advantage of – but that didn’t stop her yearning. Sexual passion wasn’t part of her marriage because… well, what Silver kept very much to herself was her belief that it was because James was not actually in love with her. That, unbeknown to himself, he was waiting for someone else. Some other woman who would set him afire, or perhaps – could it be? – some other man. Maybe he was gay and in deep, deep denial. It was not impossible.

Silver believed that one day her husband would find his real, true love. And then he would, inevitably, leave her. Sometimes she imagined that day, in detail, preparing herself. But meanwhile, she could delay it as long as possible. She kept them both happy – more or less – by not putting even the slightest pressure on him to fulfill the desires she kept so sternly under control. She loved him; she wanted to be with him; and this was the best – the only – way to have him.
At the end of their first week in London, Tanya’s show having opened to the predicted acclaim (and sales), Silver and James went to a dinner party in a particularly charming part of Holland Park. Their hosts were old friends of Silver’s: Alice, a Canadian collage artist, and her Dutch banker husband. Of the other guests, two were an unattached man and woman in their thirties – a match-making attempt, James figured, on their hostess’s part – and the other pair a well-heeled diplomat couple who, it soon transpired, were looking to expand their art collection.
Ah, another kind of match-making
, James thought. Alice suggested, apparently on the spur of the moment, that Silver could perhaps arrange a private viewing of Tanya’s exciting new exhibition. The couple was thrilled at the idea; Silver gracefully agreed, and James observed with admiration the discreet congratulatory lift of wineglasses exchanged between his wife and her friend.
Nicely done, you two
, he thought.

The wine was kept flowing (to encourage the unattached guests, James suspected) and it was a lively evening, with enough shared opinions to make for agreeably easy conversation, and enough differences to make for equally agreeable argument. After the dessert course cigarettes came out – their host was Dutch, after all, and his diplomat pal French – and people were feeling sufficiently liquored and comfortable to start telling colourful jokes and make mock-insults about things like national characteristics.

‘Heaven’s above, people say the Scots are dour,’ said the single woman, teasing their host, ‘but they’re positively frivolous compared to the Dutch!’

‘Oh, such brisk English economy, Margot! Insulting two nationalities in one sentence!’

‘Ah, but I’m not English,’ the woman declared. James had gathered that she was one of London’s most sought-after interior designers, and she was certainly a confident, good-looking woman. He found himself enjoying more and more the musical tones of this Margot’s voice and the fine cleavage revealed by her deep blue silk dress. ‘I’m
Irish!’ she said. ‘Irish parents, born in Ireland, spent every summer of my girlhood in Ireland. I vote in the Irish elections. And that, I believe, makes me Irish, not English.’

‘Ah, but you
live
in England.’

‘Dear Henk, we all
live
in England.’