Swan Song

by Tom Butler

  Hiding her underlying bitterness, she spoke clearly and calmly to him, cruelly falsifying his hopes.

  ‘You admitted to what you called a moment of madness in taking somebody else to bed,’ she said, going over old ground, lingering painfully on the word ‘somebody’. ‘But it was in our bed Dan, not the back of a car in lover’s lane or a hotel room. Our bed. And like every bloke who ever got tempted to stray, you say it was the biggest mistake of your life. Now you expect me to wipe your slate clean and take you back like it was nothing. Just something that happened in the heat of the moment.’

  There were couples to either side of them with ears twitching, and Daniel could feel their eyes on him, waiting for him to add to the suspense. He tried whispering again which made him look pathetic.

  ‘I can’t expect you to forget what has happened, but you must believe me when I say I love you. To contemplate life without you is unbearable. We are so good together. You must still have feelings for me.’

  She caught most of what he said, and he did seem sincere. Either that, or he was an exceptionally good liar.

  She kept him dangling on a thin piece of thread, not even looking at him as she paused after taking a drink and nearly emptying her glass which was, of course a hint that he took.

  ‘Let me get you another one of those and we’ll talk some more, okay?’ he said, not even giving her time to reply and heading for the bar. For him so far, this wasn’t going so bad. But he had completely underestimated her.

  He ordered another glass of the wine for her and orange juice for him and thought how little the venue had changed. Still the cheapest drinks for miles around to go with the inexpensive meals menu though he also suspected there had been no updating of either the décor or furniture since they had first started going there.

  For a minute, he stood looking at Natasha who had now moved from sitting with a straight back to slouching with her legs crossed. Fantastic legs, beautiful thighs. Out on display in a short black skirt as if to deliberately let him know what he had given up for half an hour of frenzied passion with an, as yet, unidentified female.

  She had worked out that it must have been someone he met at art class, and his refusal to name her had only infuriated her more when his guilt finally surfaced. She had said that if she knew who the “crazy bitch” was she could cope better and come to terms with it, even in time forgive him for his one moment of weakness. He had kept telling her the woman was a casual acquaintance who had thrown herself at him despite his insistence he was spoken for. It had happened so fast and before he had realised its implications and it was a dreadful, unforgivable mistake that would haunt him forever if she chose to end this wonderful thing they had built together.

  Natasha had listened, cried and listened again and tried to imagine who or what the other woman might be. He had once sang the praises of the wife of the owner of an art gallery he had exhibited at, and Natasha had named her in a vitriolic verbal attack only for him to assure her she wasn’t the one. So who was she? This scarlet woman who had seduced her man. Even after her sudden, some would say, drastic re-invention, she needed to know. Not knowing was eating her up. How hard would it be to make Daniel tell her? How devious would she have to be? Little did he know what lengths she would go to.

  Back with the drinks and a face full of remorse, he sat quite close to her, and she did not complain or flinch. He drank at least half of the orange juice in one go and took a breath.

  ‘Every day we’ve been apart I’ve hated myself a little bit more,’ he announced. ‘I would willingly walk the streets of Leicester naked in a bid to win you back. Anything you ask of me I would do. I was so happy with you; how could I be so stupid.’

  ‘Tell me her name, and I’ll seriously think about what you have said about us still having some kind of future together,’ Natasha said, unemotionally.

  It was a somewhat disguised ultimatum and one he was never going to completely ignore whilst appearing so desperate.

  ‘So you would have me back? We could start again?’

  ‘I never said that. I said I’d think about it.’

  He tried one last act of defiance to hide Angelica’s identity.

  ‘She’s not important; she’s a nobody.’

  Natasha raised her voice a decibel. ‘She’s a somebody, and without her name, I couldn’t bring myself to even think about going back to what we once had.’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Dan, a name or I leave right now.’

  She had dug her four-inch heels into the carpet and had pointed her knees in readiness to stand and head for the door.

  ‘What good would it do?’

  ‘I would know, and that would be enough. Just say it, Dan, and don’t fob me off with any old name you can think of. Her real name or I walk out of your life forever.’

  ‘I don’t think it would be fair on—’ he hesitated.

  ‘Don’t even dare to mention fairness to me. Were you being fair when you were screwing her to our mattress? I think not.’

  ‘Nat, I’m so sorry—’

  ‘I’ve heard it. You can say that word a trillion times, it won’t get me back but a name might.’

  He was reaching for her hand, but she was stubbornly pulling it away.

  ‘OK, I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to…’

  ‘Dan, I’m no axe murderer. She’ll have nothing to fear from me.’

  He sighed and told her and then waited for the shock to register.

  ‘It was Angelica Swan,’ he said, barely believing he had said it.

  Several dawns broke at once inside her head.

  ‘The woman who sketched you? But you told me she was sixty five and a grandmother.’

  ‘I lied,’ he confessed.

  ‘Fuck you, Daniel Sutton. How could you?’

  Lying came natural to him, but perversely, he felt relieved. He would assign to honesty from now on. There would be no more lies.

  Her knees were suddenly knocking, and it transferred to the rest of her body which shook with rage.

  With even more ears on alert around her, she asked, ‘Are you telling me you fucked a college student in our bed? Was that before or after she drew your two timing face?’

  ‘Nat, it wasn’t like that,’ he replied. ‘Please let me explain.’

  Seeing how most people in earshot were expecting her to get up and leave she didn’t disappoint. He made some futile effort to stop her, upsetting her wine glass which, after liberally spraying its contents, spun around several times but amazingly didn’t fall from the table and break. She had found out what she had needed to know, and the answer had been under her nose all the time. The almost indecipherable scribbled signature at the bottom of the portrait she had so much admired did not belong to a retired widow with grandchildren and a very steady hand when it came to art after all. He had compounded one lie with another and that somehow for her that made it ten times worse.

  He had followed her out into the street where she stood taking deep breaths. Her small clutch bag hung indelicately from one wrist and her hands were balanced on her hips, head bent slightly forward. She had come close to alienating her parents because of Daniel; they had almost refused to take her back, and it had soured their feelings for her. Less than forty-eight hours ago, her father had looked at her and almost cried, mourning the loss of her beautiful tresses that were once the talk of the small Gibson dynasty. She was metamorphosing into someone else, and despite all the acrimony, he wanted the old Natasha back, not the dark willowy shadow she had now become.

  Getting her former self back was at least something Daniel and her father would agree on though it was for greatly differing reasons. Away from staring eyes and general noise, Daniel had only evening traffic to contend with as he faced her square on, made a grab for her hand and threw himself on her mercy.

  ‘Whatever I have to do to convince you that I am truly sorry and want you back, I will do it. Please Nat, just say you’ll give it serious thought. W
e could go somewhere, away from here, anywhere and make a new start,’ he paused. ‘There’s this artist in London getting filthy rich painting the same sort of stuff as me. And you’re such a brain box; you’d have no trouble getting a job and fitting in down there. At least say you’ll think about it.’

  She shrugged and said, ‘London?’ out loud. It, sort of, made sense even though it was out of the question.

  Daniel repeated himself. ‘Please say you’ll think about it.’

  He was wasting his breath. All it was to her was a distraction not a viable option. Angelica Swan was monopolising her thoughts. There were probably hundreds of Angelica Swan’s in London, all waiting to get at the young flesh of a charismatic abstract artist.

  ‘How could you even think I would consider it,’ she sniped, barely looking at him.

  ‘Because I love you Nat. Always have, always will. That’s as powerful a reason I know of. I came here prepared to beg. To grovel if I had to.’

  She tapped her right shoe on the pavement and, as if from another planet, offered him some advice laced with cynicism.

  ‘Go to London. Seek your fortune. A new start. New friends. The art world may be itching to discover someone just like you. Go, do it.’

  ‘I would tomorrow if you would too.’

  ‘Fuck you, Daniel Sutton,’ she repeated. ‘Never in a million years. Just leave me alone. I won’t wish you luck. I don’t want to see or hear from you again, ever. We’re finished.’

  The finality of it had sunken in only after she had left. He had wanted to run after her, but she had muttered something about the police being deployed if he did. He went back inside, and, although he was driving, ordered a pint of lager and drank it, pausing only once to inhale. Then he ordered another and just sat staring at it like it was a painting that needed definition. He knew he had lost her.

  ******

  Just over three weeks later and after a lot of subterfuge, Natasha Gibson was sitting in the tiny reception of Randall Briers Properties and Auctioneers in the town of Desford, waiting for Michael Swan to show his face. Her hair had grown amazingly quickly to a length she didn’t much care for. It was neither one thing or another. Not long enough to be combed out or short enough to be properly styled in a way that might have suited her. In essence, it was a frizzy mess, but then, perhaps, that said it all about her life.

  She had ignored Daniel’s last ditch texts and drawn a definite line under them ever getting back together. An older brother of a friend had asked her out, and she had almost said yes. He might ask again, she thought. It might be fun as he was a children’s entertainer and magician whose female assistant was now seven months pregnant and unlikely to continue in the role. Her friend encouraged them to date, saying Natasha could even fill the void left when his assistant’s waters broke. It had become a running joke, but in the absence of other offers, it might be the best one and worth considering. She thought she might, however, draw the line at him taking a rabbit to bed, insisting on making her disappear or sawing her in two.

  When Michael did eventually turn up full of apologies to ask how he could help, she shrank back slightly and wondered if she really had it in herself to shatter somebody else’s life, assuming he didn’t already know. But in a matter of seconds she was re-focussed and sure it had to be done for the sake of equilibrium. As well as peace of mind.

  They were sat facing each other, a small, functional and uncluttered desk between them. Natasha sat well back from the desk and tried not to look too nervous. Unless she was a bad judge, Michael Swan was older than she had expected; there were plenty of facial lines, and his hair was turning grey and thinning at the front. But his eyes were bright and inquisitive. She began with the speech she had been practising in her head for the past twenty minutes.

  ‘You are the Michael Swan who is married to Angelica, the sketch artist?’ she asked, taking him aback.

  He gazed at her with curiosity. She wore a black ensemble, topped with a fur lined jacket and woollen beret style hat. She was sitting cross-legged with perhaps too much thigh on show as her skirt rode up, her patterned tights showcasing her lower limbs as Michael pretended politely that he hadn’t fully noticed them.

  ‘My wife’s name is Angelica and the sketching is just a hobby. Why do you ask Miss Gibson?’

  Natasha blinked nervously. This was not as easy as it had appeared when she had rehearsed it. But she still delivered the words faultlessly.

  ‘Do you love her? Do you love your wife Mr Swan? Do you love Angelica?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your wife Angelica, do you love her?’ she repeated.

  Michael was unsurprisingly bemused and hesitant.

  ‘I don’t understand Miss Gibson, what had this to do with my wife?’

  Without doubt from her expression and general demeanour, she was not here to talk about available properties or the services he might provide. His mouth moved as if to repeat himself, but nothing much came out. He was desperately trying not to stare at her shapely legs.

  Eventually, he asked her again, ‘What’s this about?’ and waited.

  Natasha took her time. She had plenty and was in no rush to explain herself.

  ‘I gather you and Angelica have three lovely children, two boys and a girl, how sweet,’ she said, sounding remarkably casual.

  This panicked him. What had his children got to do with her?

  ‘What do you want, Miss Gibson? Why are you here?’

  She sighed dramatically, ‘I would quite like to have three children myself one day. I’m an only child myself.’

  ‘Please, Miss Gibson. I can’t help you unless I know why you are here.’

  ‘I take it that your wife idolises the children, and so do you,’ she went on torturing him.

  ‘What’s this got to do with them? Please tell me what you want?’

  She uncrossed her legs ineloquently. He tried to look away.

  ‘Do you know who Daniel Sutton is? Have you heard your wife mention him at all?’

  Michael wasn’t sure, though the name didn’t immediately exercise any bells inside his confused head. Then he thought some more, but she was already filling in the blanks.

  ‘Daniel used to be my boyfriend, we never got engaged, but we did talk about it even though money’s always been tight, and really nice rings are so bloody damned expensive.’

  Although he considered he had an even temper, Michael was on the edge of losing his. If only Natasha would begin to make sense, he might not have any need to get annoyed with her.

  ‘Miss Gibson,’ he reasoned with her. ‘I am an estate agent, what is it you want? Has this anything to do with a property you wish to buy, sell or have auctioned off? Please come to the point.’

  Her eyes moved from his to the ceiling, and she sat back, crossing her legs again. Spontaneously, he tried to avert his eyes, but she was making it hard for him. It was like some, mysterious guessing game. And he was not much in the mood for games.

  However, Natasha wasn’t to be rushed, biding her time and almost revelling in the notoriety of having him exactly where she wanted to inflict pain on him. Even in the relative coolness of his plain grey office, she noticed he was starting to sweat with uncertainty, this being pretty much the effect she had hoped for when she planned her cruel and dastardly deed.

  Michael Swan was losing his patience with her. So far she had talked only in riddles

  ‘Miss Gibson, I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want from me,’ he pressured her.

  Slowly but surely, she put him out of his misery.

  ‘Your wife certainly knows who Daniel is,’ she announced without hesitation. ‘For all I know they might be together right now. Perhaps practising their art skills on one another. Angelica has a talent for sure.’

  His eyes glazed over. Then he reacted.

  ‘What are you talking about? I’m not sure I follow you.’

  Natasha curled her mouth into a sarcastic smile.

  ‘Daniel posed f
or her, and I must say she did him justice. But she couldn’t simply leave it at that; she had to go and get to know her subject a little better if you know what I mean, and that messed with his head.’

  Naturally, Michael didn’t want to believe what he was hearing, but he still asked the question.

  ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying? My wife and your boyfriend?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Daniel’s admitted it. I made an assumption that you wouldn’t have a clue what went on between them and thought it best to enlighten you.’

  Michael was on the edge of his seat. He was shaking.

  ‘It’s nonsense. This can’t be true. Whatever he’s told you must be a lie. She would never—’

  ‘Painful, isn’t it, to find out something like that. Unbelievable. I thought exactly the same. You think you know somebody, and then this. It blows your whole world apart. I felt sick for days, and I suppose you will too.’

  Michael thought back to his conversation with Angelica over the unfinished sketch of a fellow adult college student she had taken particular care over. It had lay on the kitchen table, and she had boldly talked about the subject, and he had become bored with her rhetoric. It was just a sketch, there was nothing more than that to say about it. But it had hidden depths he had never picked up on at the time. It was like sitting near the epicentre of an imminent earthquake.

  ‘Take a few deep breaths and try to take it in,’ she tutored him. Her determinedly cold eyes were closely trained on his, reading his thoughts. They were no longer bright and were floundering in a sea of uncertainty, unable to focus on anything clearly.

  How could it possibly be? He loved his wife, and she so often told him how happy she was and how much he and the children meant to her. There must be a simple explanation. His unwelcome visitor must have got it wrong.

  He suddenly took to his feet, virtually shouting at her as he rose.

  ‘How dare you come here making false accusations against my wife? Just because she drew your boyfriend’s portrait doesn’t mean she slept with him. It’s a ridiculous notion. It must have been someone else.’

  Natasha’s smile remained intact, and she began slowly and cruelly shaking her head from side to side.