Trouble

by Fay Weldon

  ‘I just get headaches all the time,’ said Annette.

  ‘Personally, I blame Spicer,’ said Gilda.

  ‘I expect it has a lot to do with it,’ said Annette. ‘He’s had a new phone system put in, so if I ring him the calls are public. You’ve no idea how hurtful that is.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be hurt,’ said Gilda. ‘He’s just got one of the new systems that records everything automatically.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Annette.

  ‘Steve told me,’ said Gilda.

  ‘I see,’ said Annette.

  ‘No need to say “I see” in that tone of voice,’ said Gilda. ‘Are you feeling okay? Spicer told Steve you were insane, suffering from a paranoid episode. I told Steve there was nothing insane about it: the proper response to Spicer is paranoia. Do you want me to come round?’

  ‘No. I’m okay,’ said Annette. ‘Susan’s cooking us supper. Jason’s sulking in his room because I made him throw away a marijuana plant he was growing on his windowsill. At this very minute Spicer’s seeing Dr Rhea.’

  ‘I thought you said he’d given up seeing her,’ said Gilda.

  ‘He’s changed his mind,’ said Annette. ‘He says he can’t cope with me without help from her.’

  ‘That figures,’ said Gilda. ‘It’s how you train dogs. You’re quixotic. They never know what to expect next, a kick or a pat, so they end up fawning and licking every boot that comes along.’

  ‘But I haven’t given in about Oprah Winfrey,’ said Annette. ‘I won’t. And that’s what it’s all about, I’m sure. Or most of it.’

  ‘You look for one thing in a marriage going wrong,’ said Gilda, ‘you look for another: you can never quite be sure. If I were you, I’d go and see this Dr Rhea Marks on your own and just tell her to leave Spicer alone. She’s spoiling your marriage and damaging your health.’

  ‘I’m frightened of her,’ said Annette. ‘I only have to think about her and I get a headache.’

  ‘Or issue Spicer an ultimatum,’ said Gilda. ‘“Her or me”.’

  ‘Ultimatums are dangerous,’ said Annette. ‘Supposing he chooses her? No, I just have to sit it out until the baby’s born. My mother’s always saying men behave in a peculiar way when their wives are pregnant.’

  ‘That’s because your father had an affair when she was pregnant with you,’ said Gilda.

  ‘Fancy you remembering that, Gilda!’ said Annette. ‘I’m touched. You’re a really good friend to me.’

  ‘I try to be, Annette,’ said Gilda. ‘Look, there’s something I have to say to you. About Spicer.’

  ‘What?’ asked Annette.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ said Gilda.

  ‘I don’t want to hear this,’ said Annette.

  ‘I think you ought to know. It was when he was having this thing with Marion,’ said Gilda.

  ‘You knew about that?’ asked Annette.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilda.

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because it’s so difficult. You know that perfectly well,’ said Gilda.

  ‘And anyway, I had my suspicions about you and Ernie Gromback, and I thought Spicer was probably just evening things up a little. It was just all too complicated. And Spicer’s so charming, and you and I weren’t such good friends then.’

  ‘Please just tell me, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ said Gilda.

  ‘Liar,’ said Annette.

  ‘It didn’t,’ said Gilda. ‘I promise. Spicer just wanted me to make up a threesome with him and Marion.’

  ‘I can’t believe that! Was he drunk, or on drugs, or what?’

  ‘It was only a phone call, Annette,’ said Gilda. ‘I didn’t know him well enough to tell if he was on anything.’

  ‘And where was I?’ asked Annette.

  ‘I think your father was ill,’ said Gilda.

  ‘And did you?’ asked Annette. ‘A threesome? Oh, Gilda!’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I was with Steve by then anyway,’ said Gilda.

  ‘But why should he think you would?’ asked Annette. ‘Why should he call you?’

  ‘Because Marion told Spicer about her and me ending up in bed together after some stupid drunken party. I’d had so much of this and that I couldn’t tell male from female, and things happened that shouldn’t have. Marion’s like that. Anything for kicks. Of course she’s into celibacy now, or says she is, for Ernie’s benefit.’

  ‘Oh God, I don’t want to know any of this,’ said Annette. ‘I just want to have some kind of decent home to bring my baby into.’

  ‘I feel better now I’ve told you,’ said Gilda. ‘Please don’t say anything to Steve.’

  ‘I just want to forget the whole thing. If you said no, who do you think said yes? Eleanor Watts?’

  ‘It isn’t beyond the bounds of probability,’ said Gilda. ‘Just because she looks like a horse doesn’t mean she doesn’t enjoy an orgy. Annette, it was at least ten years ago and we were all a lot younger. I’ll come round tomorrow and we’ll talk more, shall we? Spicer does love you, Annette. He just has a lot of sexual energy but he’s not very good at sex so he has to experiment,’ said Gilda. ‘I’m only speculating. And anyway, according to Steve, Spicer’s trying to reform. That’s why he’s been seeing this therapist: for your sake.’

  ‘Is that what Spicer told Steve, or what Steve thinks for himself?’ asked Annette. ‘Or what you’re all just saying to make me feel better?’

  ‘What Spicer told Steve,’ said Gilda. ‘Spicer wants to make a go of the marriage: he’s trying to settle down sexually. I didn’t know how much you knew about what Spicer gets up to. Now I know about you and Ernie Gromback I reckon there’s no point in you not knowing everything I know. Some marriages depend upon fidelity: some don’t. Mine and Steve’s does. Yours and Spicer’s doesn’t.’

  ‘It does so,’ said Annette.

  ‘You took Marion quite calmly,’ said Gilda. ‘I’d have gone mad.’

  ‘I just feel so depressed,’ said Annette. ‘I’m going to bed. Susan’s making cheeseburgers. I can’t face them. She slices the onion really thick.’

  ‘Spicer.’

  ‘What is it, Annette? I’m reading. I thought you’d gone to bed.’

  ‘I went to bed early,’ said Annette. ‘At eight o’clock. What time did you get in?’

  ‘Around midnight,’ said Spicer.

  ‘I didn’t put any fruit out for you. I’m sorry. There’s some in the fridge I bought specially. Shall I fetch it?’

  ‘That’s okay, Annette. I ate out.’

  ‘It isn’t very warm in here,’ said Annette. ‘You’ve opened the windows.’

  ‘This temperature suits me,’ said Spicer. ‘You keep the house hotter than I really like.’

  ‘Isn’t it too dark to read? You’re using candles.’

  ‘Candles are natural, Annette,’ said Spicer. ‘Electricity is cold and harsh.’

  ‘What are you reading?’ asked Annette.

  ‘A book called Healers of Olympus. Theotherapy: The Magic of the Gods. Symbols and Practice. You wouldn’t be interested.’

  ‘Did Dr Rhea give it to you?’ asked Annette.

  ‘Please, Annette, go back to bed, go to sleep,’ said Spicer. ‘I’m not doing you any harm. I’m just sitting in my study and reading by candlelight. I wish you very well. I’ll sleep in the spare room so as not to disturb you.’

  ‘I was coming round this morning, Annette,’ said Gilda on the phone, ‘but there’s a new washer-drier being delivered. Steve bought it for a surprise. Now I’ve got to wait in for the man.’

  ‘That’s okay. Have you heard of Theotherapy, Gilda?’

  ‘I can’t say I have, Annette.’

  ‘It’s archetypal psychology,’ said Annette. ‘Jungian.’

  ‘You’ve already left me behind,’ said Gilda.

  ‘Symbols are primitive analogues that speak to the unconscio
us,’ said Annette. ‘I’ve been reading this book. Actually it’s rather more complicated than that. To quote Gustav Jung himself, they’re also ideas corresponding to the highest intuition produced by consciousness. Archetypes get to us all, Gilda. They’re what we know without knowing.’

  ‘Is it Spicer’s book?’ asked Gilda.

  ‘Yes,’ said Annette. ‘He said he’d sleep in the spare room, but he didn’t. He read till about five when he slipped in beside me. He was very cold. I think he just wanted to get warm. I was sorry for him. I don’t know why. He says if my reactions are screwy it’s because I have the moon in Aquarius. He seemed inclined to forgive me for my existence. Poor Spicer. I wish he were happier. A threesome with you and Marion and him won’t make him happy: I can see it might relieve some inner pain, but how horrible to have the pain in the first place.’

  ‘The threesome didn’t happen, Annette,’ said Gilda. ‘Believe me.’

  ‘I believe you, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘I feel quite calm this morning. I think probably I’m good and he’s bad. But at least he’s trying to be good. I stretched out my hand and touched him. You know how men will be in bed, careful not to touch you but wanting your warmth?’

  ‘I can’t say I do, Annette,’ said Gilda. ‘I don’t know men like that.’

  ‘Lucky old you,’ said Annette. ‘In the early days we’d lie entwined, facing each other; I’d have my knee between his legs. That hardly ever happens now. Of course I’ve always had to wait for him to make sexual overtures to me; he’s always had to initiate lovemaking. If I make the first move he’ll turn over and go to sleep, or turn on the light and start reading, so I’ve learned not to. But last night I just touched him because I was so sorry for him. He winced. He just shrank away from me. It was worse than if he had hit me.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me all this, Annette,’ said Gilda.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘It’s too personal, isn’t it, sorrow? Even more personal than threesomes. Let’s get back to Theotherapy. Oh look, it’s inscribed inside the front cover: “To Spicer—a special gift, from Dr Rhea Marks”.’

  ‘Are you crying, Annette?’

  ‘No. I feel quite calm,’ said Annette.

  ‘It could have said “To darling Spicer with love from Rhea”,’ said Gilda.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Annette. ‘It’s the “special” I don’t like. There’s a pencil mark down the side of page eighty-one. Spicer never marks books. He hates the children doing it, or me. So we’ve learned not to. I expect Dr Rhea did the marking. He wouldn’t think to reproach her. The passage marked is about the goddess Hera, Gilda. Otherwise Juno. I suppose the first is Greek, the second Roman. It says “Attributes: Fatal softness, gullibility, dependence: ill treatment by husband: shame, embarrassment, bickering: scheming; meddling: intrigue: lying; insane jealousy: use of sex as a weapon …” Gilda, what’s going on? A little further on it says: “Therapies: bathing in moonlight, running water, wearing of bangles, bracelets and anklets.” I am suddenly so sleepy, Gilda, I am just going to lie down and sleep. I can’t go on talking.’

  ‘I wish I could help more, Annette.’

  ‘We used to be happy, Spicer and me,’ said Annette. ‘Really happy. But he seems not even to remember that any more: it’s as if someone were stealing all our good past: replacing it with something dreary and dreadful. But how can that be? I have to go to sleep.’

  ‘Annette, darling, you took ages to answer the phone.’

  ‘I was asleep, Spicer.’

  ‘Sleep is the best thing for you,’ said Spicer. ‘You’ve been looking so tired! Good news. The British Rail deal has come through at last. All signed and sealed. Horrocks Wine Imports out of the woods.’

  ‘I didn’t know Horrocks and Sons Wine Imports were in the woods,’ said Annette.

  ‘I didn’t like to worry you with it, darling,’ said Spicer. ‘It’s all been touch and go, financially, over the last couple of months. If I’ve been behaving out of character, that’s all it’s been. I’ve been under a strain.’

  ‘Spicer, I wish you’d told me,’ said Annette. ‘I thought I was causing the strain, but all the time it was only business worries! How wonderful—’

  ‘“Only business worries” is a rather mild way of describing near-bankruptcy, Annette,’ said Spicer. ‘You’ve no idea how close to ruin we were. How it distressed me, the thought of letting the family down: you, Susan, Jason, the baby, all of you!’

  ‘You would only have let us down in a material sense, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘We wouldn’t have thought you loved us any less. You have been behaving rather strangely, Spicer.’

  ‘In what way, strange?’ asked Spicer. ‘I’m sorry you see it like that!’

  ‘I don’t see it any way, I’m just so pleased to have you back,’ said Annette. ‘Your voice is altogether different—’

  ‘The BR contract means me spending quite a few months in France each year,’ said Spicer. ‘I’ll have to go over in January, February. I’m sorry about that. The baby will be so new I’ll hate to miss a day. My loss. Shall we go out to lunch to celebrate? One o’clock? Can you make it?’

  ‘I’ve let myself get into such a mess,’ said Annette.

  ‘Stick your hair under the tap,’ said Spicer.

  ‘My eyes are swollen—’ said Annette.

  ‘Why? Does pregnancy do that?’ asked Spicer.

  ‘Seems to,’ said Annette.

  ‘We’ll have champagne and lobster,’ said Spicer.

  ‘I’m not sure about lobster,’ said Annette. ‘Salmon would be good.’

  ‘You can’t not like lobster all of a sudden,’ said Spicer.

  ‘My digestion’s a bit queasy,’ said Annette. ‘But it’s only temporary.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ said Spicer. ‘You’re my-lobster-and-champagne girl. Don’t let new motherhood change you too much. So it’s meet me for lunch, sweetheart, and put all our troubles behind us and start again.’

  ‘Oh, Spicer! Oh, darling!’

  ‘Gilda, it’s Annette. Gilda, everything’s explained. Spicer nearly went bankrupt. That’s why he’s been so dreadful. He’ll give up therapy now, I know he will. It’s only when the material world fails that the spiritual one seems so exciting.’

  ‘Annette,’ said Gilda. ‘I can’t bear to hear you sounding so happy.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s too sudden,’ said Gilda.

  ‘We’re having a celebration lunch, Gilda. Just him and me. Everything’s just fine. I’m sorry to have been such a pain. I have to go. I can’t find the hairdryer anywhere.’

  ‘Happy birthday, Annette!’

  ‘Happy birthday!’

  ‘Many happy returns of the day—’

  ‘Here’s to you, Annette!’

  ‘Many happy whatsits.’

  ‘Why, Spicer! And Ernie and Marion—and Eleanor and Humphrey! Good heavens, it’s my birthday! I’d quite forgotten!’

  ‘Trust Annette to forget her own birthday!’

  ‘Champagne, Annette? We opened it,’ said Spicer. ‘You are rather late. I said one. It’s one-twenty—’

  ‘Spicer, I’m sorry. It’s just when you say one it’s always one-thirty—’ said Annette, ‘so in my head I was going to be early …’

  ‘It’s party time again! My beautiful wife. Isn’t she lovely, isn’t she perfect, in spite of her bump!’ said Spicer. ‘In spite of her being the vaguest person in the world. Forgetting her own birthday!’

  ‘Because of her bump,’ said Eleanor, ‘not in spite of. It’s not the neatest bump in the world, it’s true. It is kind of all-pervasive. Round the back as well as in the front.’

  ‘I’d marry Annette tomorrow if I wasn’t married already,’ said Humphrey. ‘I love every single bumpy bit of her.’

  ‘That’s only because to live with Annette is to live in the Crescent,’ said Eleanor, ‘and that is your major ambition in life. You say it’s mine but everyone knows it’s yours.’

&
nbsp; ‘Hump would have to move me out first,’ said Spicer. ‘And if I ever move out of that house it will be feet first so I’m afraid we’re talking about murder.’

  ‘I did your Tarot cards again this morning, Annette,’ said Marion. ‘Here’s the computer printout. Happy Birthday! You can get a Tarot programme now. It chooses your cards at random. Jungian Synchronicity. You should read the great Carl Gustav’s intro to the I Ching. All part of the flow, the ebb and the flow. Isn’t that so, Spicer? Your cards were brilliant, Annette. Death upside down. That means new life, new hope, rebirth.’

  ‘And I’ve got Annette a couple more chat shows,’ said Ernie, and a Guardian interview. It looks as if this book of hers is going to make quite a splash, even without the Oprah Winfrey intervention!’

  ‘I may not be feeling up to any of it,’ said Annette. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Annette will decidedly not be feeling up to it,’ said Spicer. ‘Here comes the lobster thermidor. I ordered for everyone inasmuch as it’s a working weekday: we’ve all got to get back to work, except of course the birthday girl, who can sleep all day and often does. We have so very much to celebrate, Annette and myself: haven’t we, darling? Here are my birthday gifts to you, Annette, with all my very, very, very, very, very special love. One present for every very. Annette, the love of Spicer’s life. The only one.’

  ‘Thank you, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘That was a really lovely speech.’

  ‘Start opening your presents now,’ said Spicer. ‘Nothing messier than lobster thermidor when the claw crackers start cracking.’

  ‘What pretty little packages,’ said Marion. ‘What can they be? Five little flat circles, so prettily wrapped! Are those mandalas on the paper?’

  ‘Mandalas, Marion?’ asked Ernie. ‘The things you know. Marion is into the occult. She’s had a pyramid made above her bed to focus the energy but it’s the energy of dreams that concerns her, nothing else.’

  ‘Sex is a waste of time, Ernie,’ said Marion. ‘It stands between a soul and its dreams.’