The Gravity of Love

by Noelle Harrison

  He just stood there, astounded. Being the boss’s wife didn’t entitle her to interfere in his private life.

  He had already drunk his first pint by the time Marnie arrived. The ice had melted in her gin and tonic, and the ploughman’s lunch he had ordered for them to share was still untouched.

  ‘My God, our boss is an awful lech,’ Marnie said as soon as she sat down.

  ‘What the hell did he do?’ Lewis demanded in a blaze of concern. ‘I don’t care if it’s George, I’ll knock his block off.’

  ‘Calm down, it’s all the pathetic sexual innuendoes; he never does anything past the bum pinching. Thank God Eva turned up.’

  Lewis was surprised to hear Marnie use her first name. ‘Are you friendly with George’s wife?’

  ‘A little bit,’ Marnie said, sipping her G&T. ‘Remember I mind their boys sometimes. We have more in common than you’d think.’

  ‘Well, I hope that doesn’t make me like George.’

  ‘No chance.’ She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling in amusement. ‘So tell me more about this morning. What did George say to you?’

  ‘He was so impressed with the designs, he’s going to make me a partner in the agency.’ He beamed at her.

  ‘Lewis, that’s fantastic.’ She sprang up from her seat and hugged him awkwardly across the table. ‘So are you going to tell him we worked on them together when we get back to the office?’

  ‘Maybe not this afternoon,’ he said. ‘But once I’m a partner, I can make you a proper member of the team.’

  Marnie looked a little crestfallen. ‘Can you promise me that?’

  ‘Of course I can. I’ll be a partner at Studio M. I’ll have the authority to promote you.’

  She pulled a corner off her bread roll and pressed it between her fingers, before dropping it onto her plate, uneaten.

  ‘But I thought you were going to tell George about me today. I don’t want to wait until you’re made partner. I thought we were a team.’

  ‘We will be a team – soon. Don’t you see, Marnie?’

  She drew a perfect circle with her finger in the condensation on her glass. ‘I don’t think it’s fair.’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I do all the work. You get made a partner. George thinks my work is yours. It’s wrong, Lewis.’

  ‘It’s my work as well, Marnie. You’ve helped me, sure . . .’

  ‘Excuse me?’ she hissed, her cheeks beginning to bloom.

  ‘Look, George is making me a partner, which is like a promotion for you too. Don’t you understand? He would never accept a woman in a senior design position.’

  Marnie shook her head. ‘Are you so sure?’

  Lewis felt a nudge of unease. He hadn’t expected her to react like this.

  ‘Why do we have to keep lying?’ Her eyes searched his. Her caked black lashes looked like spider’s legs.

  ‘Because it’s the only way to get what we want,’ he told her as gently as he could.

  ‘It’s not what I want, Lewis.’

  He leaned forward to take her hand in his, but she sat back on the pub bench and crossed her arms defensively. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to lie.’

  ‘We aren’t lying to anyone, Marnie. We’re just not revealing everything until the time is right. It’s different.’

  ‘I told you this morning that it’s time now. I can’t wait, Lewis.’

  He got up and sat next to her on the bench, took her arms away from her chest and gripped them in his hands.

  ‘Remember what I told you this morning, Marnie. I love you. Please trust me. Just wait a little longer, darling. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  She turned to look at him. He had never seen her so cool, and so serious.

  ‘You were different in Ireland,’ she said suddenly.

  He didn’t understand. What did their Easter trip to Ireland have to do with all of this?

  ‘No, I’m the same. I feel the same about you, Marnie. There’s something amazing about the two of us. Please don’t ruin it.’

  ‘I can’t wait until you’re made partner, Lewis. I just can’t wait any more.’

  ‘If you really feel that way I’ll tell George tonight at the dinner with the Phoenix International Airlines guy all right? We’ll pitch for that together, okay?’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘You really mean it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He kissed her on the lips, pulling back to stroke her cheek. He wished he could make love to her. ‘You’re right. It’s not fair. I am nothing without you, Marnie,’ he whispered into her ear, brimming with his need for her.

  When she kissed him back he could feel her love for him. The emotion swelled within him and the years fell away. He was a boy again, looking for someone to love him.

  Berkshire, 7 July 1955

  A silvery fish leaped out of the river, catching a fly in its mouth before disappearing beneath the ripples. The high summer sun was beating down on the back of his neck. He could feel the tiny hairs there prickling with heat. He was sitting on the riverbank, next to his Uncle Howard, Alfie the red setter snoozing in the sun, as they fished for trout. Lizzie was kneeling in the grass making daisy chains and singing nonsense. Her high-pitched voice was an unwelcome discord in the harmony of his summer’s day.

  ‘Shush,’ Uncle Howard said to her. ‘We have to be quiet, otherwise we’ll scare the fish away.’

  Lizzie stopped singing, picked up her daisy chain and put it around her neck. Lewis felt a slight tug on the end of his rod and reeled it in. Had he caught his first fish? Would Uncle Howard be proud of him? However, when his line emerged from the river, his only catch was a water-lily leaf, dripping off the end.

  ‘Hard luck,’ Uncle Howard said, winking at him.

  Lewis disentangled the slimy water lily from his hook. He had to catch a fish. Uncle Howard had already caught two, and he had none. He took another maggot from the box and stuck it onto the hook then swung his rod in a loop behind his head and cast his line. He watched it flying out across the surface of the river, as if it were trying to run away from him.

  ‘Good cast,’ Uncle Howard said.

  ‘I need the lavatory,’ Lizzie announced.

  ‘You can go in the trees over there.’ Uncle Howard nodded towards a copse of trees across the field.

  ‘I don’t want to go on my own,’ Lizzie whined. ‘Lewis has to come with me.’

  ‘Can you not wait, Lizzie?’ Lewis said, as he felt a strong pull on his line. His rod bent into an arch. ‘I think I’ve got something this time.’

  He could see splashing. Excitement surged through him as he saw the back of a brown trout twisting and flipping in the water.

  ‘Good boy, Lewis,’ his uncle instructed. ‘Reel him in.’

  ‘I have to go!’ Lizzie shouted. ‘I can’t wait . . . I can’t wait . . .’

  ‘Lizzie!’ Lewis cried out. ‘I can’t let go!’

  ‘I’ll take her,’ Uncle Howard offered. ‘Keep a hold of him.’

  He took Lizzie’s hand and marched her towards the trees, Alfie trotting along behind them.

  It was a big fish. Lewis could hardly believe how strong it was. It pulled him forward, his bare feet skidding on the grassy bank.

  ‘No you don’t,’ he shouted at it. ‘I’ve got you.’

  His rod bent and strained and he pulled back with all his might. Suddenly the trout burst from the water and flew through the air. Lewis fell on his back as it landed on the ground next to him. It stared at him with accusing fish eyes, its gills working desperately to keep it alive. He picked up the big knife, which Uncle Howard used to kill the fish, and stood over his trout. He had to kill it, but he didn’t want to. Not now. Catching it was enough. He wanted to put it back in the river, but he couldn’t. Uncle Howard would call him a sissy.

  He was just about to slice the trout’s throat when Lizzie emerged from the trees. She was screaming, running away from the wood as if there were monst
ers in it. She ran past him, slid down the slippery bank and plunged into the river.

  ‘Lizzie!’

  He dropped the knife and ran after her. He waded into the water and tried to drag her out, but it took two of them, him and Uncle Howard, to convince her to come out. Alfie was in the water as well, barking wildly at the three of them. The river had become a churning cloud of brown muck, every fish for miles around scared away. His sister was beyond reason, shaking in her summer dress, her toes laced with riverweed, tears and snot streaming down her face.

  Uncle Howard wiped her face with his handkerchief and carried her up to the bank.

  ‘What happened?’ Lewis asked.

  ‘She sat on a patch of nettles.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Well, I believe that is quite painful . . .’ Uncle Howard was unsmiling, not his usual self.

  ‘You got it,’ he said to Lewis when he saw the trout, now dead, lying on the ground. ‘It’s cruel not to kill it immediately though. You have to be a man and do it right away.’

  Lewis was about to explain, but in the end he didn’t bother. The fishing trip was abandoned. As usual, his sister had ruined everything.

  Six

  Resistance

  Scottsdale, 23 March 1989

  Joy was late. How long had she sat at the junction just round the corner from their house, cars beeping and swerving around her, thinking about Heather and Carla? Panic rose in her chest as she drove the rest of the way home. She had to get her head straight. Eddie would be mad at her if she was late. He always came home for his dinner at 5 p.m. sharp and headed back out to do more viewings in the evening, often working until late into the night.

  It was 5.15 p.m. She had left nothing at home for him to eat, and she had no idea what she was going to cook. Her mind was a blank.

  She did a U-turn, driving off to the closest grocery store. Once inside she scanned the aisles, her mind spinning. What should she cook? Burritos? She had made those last night, and enchiladas the night before. She couldn’t do any more Mexican food because Eddie would be sick of it. He wasn’t as keen on spice as she was.

  My daughter is gay!

  What about steak and fries, nice and simple? But it would take her too long to peel and cut the potatoes, and to be honest she just couldn’t face the bubbling fat and the fryer.

  Are Heather and Carla in love?

  If only she and Eddie could go out for a meal, but of course Eddie had to work.

  Should she tell Eddie?

  She could drive to McDonald’s and buy a takeaway. She’d never done that before. She could present it as something special – a treat.

  What about the wedding?

  As soon as she burst in through the porch door, clutching her brown paper McDonald’s bag in one hand, the holder of shakes in the other, she knew she had made a big mistake. Eddie was sitting in front of the TV, glaring at a golf tournament on the screen. She stood on the threshold, unsure what to say or do.

  Dashing past him she went into the kitchen. Nothing had changed since she’d left this morning. The dirty dishes were still in the sink, the empty apple-pie tin on the counter, her coffee on the table, half drunk, her pink-lipstick lips on the rim of the mug.

  She bustled about, pulling out two plates and bringing them over to the table. Should she lay out cutlery? Was it okay to eat McDonald’s with knives and forks?

  ‘Where were you?’

  Joy nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t realised he was standing behind her all the time.

  ‘I’m sorry, honey, I lost track of time. I was in the library.’

  She turned and smiled weakly. He didn’t return her smile. In fact, he looked almost rigid with displeasure. All the features of his face that used to look so handsome, were distorted into a sort of hardness. His brown eyes were black as ink, his blonde hair was no longer so golden and it was receding so his forehead was more prominent.

  ‘Well, isn’t that nice for you?’ he said. ‘So while I’m working my butt off trying to make enough money to pay for our daughter’s wedding, you’re taking it easy in the library?’

  ‘I was looking at books on Ireland,’ she blurted out in defence.

  He looked at her with a toxic mix of sarcasm and pity. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Joy. Ireland?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said nervously, taking out the paper napkins and folding them into triangles. ‘I’m thinking about going to find my birth mother.’

  ‘But you know that’s a bad idea, honey,’ he said, his voice softening.

  ‘I need to know where I’m from and who I am,’ she said, feeling defensive.

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it, Joy.’ Eddie grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him. ‘Your mother gave you up. She didn’t want you. So why would you put yourself through all this hassle, go all the way to Ireland, to find some old woman who doesn’t care about you?’

  She said nothing. Half of her believed Eddie. What was the point? Surely she would just feel worse if she went to Ireland, but beneath the fear was a driving force, an ambition she couldn’t ignore. She needed to go to Ireland and see where she came from. She was going to find a cliff in the west of Ireland, just like the one she and Lewis were looking at in the book today. She was going to stare at that wild Atlantic Ocean and drink it in.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Eddie said, his attention turning to the food on the table. He flicked the end of the McDonald’s bag on the counter.

  ‘I thought we’d have a treat. I got you a Big Mac.’

  ‘I don’t eat junk food, Joy. Don’t you know that by now?’

  Her heart sank. She had screwed up again.

  ‘I can’t eat this trash,’ he said, walking out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll pick up something after work.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie. I’ll cook something.’ She heard her plaintive tone, and she hated herself for being so subservient, yet she couldn’t help feeling guilty.

  ‘Forget it,’ he said, picking up his car keys. ‘I told you I’ll get something later.’

  ‘Will I cook something for when you get back? A nice piece of steak?’

  ‘Don’t bother, it could be late,’ he said. ‘It’s okay, really. I have to go.’

  He hardly looked at her as he left the house. The door slammed behind him. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional.

  She stood trembling in the front room. Half of her was relieved it hadn’t escalated into a full-blown fight, and half of her was disgusted at herself. Why couldn’t she tell him to get his own dinner? Because that was her job, wasn’t it? He looked after her, and she looked after him. That was the deal. And yet it felt to Joy as if she hadn’t got to choose. Eddie had always wanted to be a realtor. But had she ever put her hand up and said she wanted to be a housewife?

  She walked back into the kitchen and slumped at the table, looked at the fries and burger. She was still full from the Buster Brownie at the Sugar Bowl, and the McDonald’s meal didn’t look too appealing. Even so she found herself pulling the wrapper off her husband’s Big Mac and taking a bite. She took two more bites and ate a couple of fries, which now tasted like sticks of cold, salty cardboard, before giving up and chucking the rest in the trash.

  She felt sick. Too much food in her belly plus the tension of letting Eddie down and her worries over Heather. She should make herself a cup of camomile tea to relax, but instead she opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, snapped the lid off and took a slug. She thought of Lewis, and how gentle and softly spoken he was. She couldn’t imagine him getting angry about whether his dinner was ready for him or not. But maybe he was just like Eddie. Did all men at some stage lose patience with their wives? What kind of husband was Lewis? Did he expect his wife to serve him? No, she was certain he was a different kind of husband, the kind who cooked dinner for his wife sometimes or took her out. In all their years together she had never known Eddie to cook anything apart from managing the barbeque when they had friends over during the holidays.


  Yet, despite her attempt at resentment, Joy couldn’t help feeling guilty. Eddie had expected her to be at home with his dinner ready. He had been working hard all afternoon making money for their family, and now he was out again working until late at night. Not many husbands worked as hard as Eddie. It was selfish of her to neglect him.

  Joy was seized by a sudden desire to please him. She wanted so much to see the hard edges of Eddie’s face dissolve into good humour, for him to smile at her, genuinely – to look pleased with her. She wanted to see that Eddie of old, interested in her, looking into her heart and soul, and loving her spirit, making her feel special. It had been too many years since either of them had felt like that.

  She started opening the kitchen cupboards, searching for inspiration. She had to find something to cook. Her eyes lit upon a bowl of fresh figs on the countertop. She pulled out a bag of flour as a memory came to her of Eddie sitting at the kitchen table in her parents’ house, licking his fingers as he devoured a slice of her mother’s fig cake. Afterwards he had taken her for a drive in his new Plymouth Satellite. He had taken her all the way to the Grand Canyon to watch the sunset. She had still tasted the sweet fig seeds on his tongue when he had taken her in his arms, the rich sienna of the sinking sun burning through the lids of her closed eyes, imprinting an image of their love. Fig cake in the sunshine, kisses in the sunset. Her young lover had been so sweet and comforting beneath his tough exterior of Stetson hat, Levi’s, fast horses and even faster cars. She had loved this contradiction within Eddie. She had thought him a rule breaker; the kind of guy who took her all the way to watch the sunset at the Grand Canyon on a whim. A guy who loved her mother’s fig cake, and yet could take it or leave it, the spice of life a stronger pull than the safety of a home hearth. She had thought Eddie was an adventurer and that if she stuck with him her life would be exciting.

  Joy took her big mixing bowl out of the cupboard along with a wooden spoon. The TV was still on in the front room. To hear that blaring noise and know she was the only one in the house made her feel lonely so she went and switched it off, standing by the window for a moment and staring out at the ridiculous little fountain in the front garden. How could Eddie have known her so little after all these years? How could he not have known that tearing down her orange tree would break her heart?