A Sense of Guilt

by Andrea Newman

  She said, ‘You’re the nicest stranger I’ve ever met,’ to show she had forgiven him but also to remind him there was a lot to forgive.

  He kissed her on the cheek. It felt strange. ‘Bye, Sally. Keep in touch. I don’t want to lose you again.’

  She said suddenly, almost with panic, ‘I don’t know what to call you.’

  * * *

  Elizabeth came round to ask how the meeting had gone. She caught Helen in the garden.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Helen said. ‘She hasn’t rung.’ She wasn’t surprised but she was disappointed.

  After a while Elizabeth said, ‘It must be very difficult being a parent.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Still envy you, though.’ She watched Helen’s savage pruning. ‘My God, you really do cut them back.’

  ‘Yes,’ Helen said, ‘I believe in drastic measures.’

  Elizabeth scrunched through the dead leaves on the grass. ‘You know, it’s funny,’ she said, ‘but I feel ever so much lighter these days. Oh, physically I’ve still got all the same boring symptoms, but in myself, as they say, I feel I’m floating. It’s as if Felix and I have passed through some crisis I didn’t even know about. I wanted to talk to you about it but you seemed so preoccupied with Sally going away.’

  Is she really blind, Helen wondered, or just very stupid, or perhaps absolutely brilliant at protecting herself? ‘Yes, it was quite a wrench,’ she said.

  Elizabeth pulled up a couple of weeds and tossed them on the compost heap. ‘I wish I felt you could talk to me if you had a problem. You’ve been such a help to me and it would make things a bit more equal.’

  Helen almost laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘I don’t really talk to anyone.’

  ‘I suppose it’s enough to have Richard,’ Elizabeth said comfortably. ‘You can always talk to him, can’t you?’

  * * *

  Richard never quite got used to prison visits. He tried to think of them as just part of the job, but in many cases the sentence seemed disproportionate to the crime and the loss of liberty such a savage punishment that he had no patience with anyone outside who complained that conditions were too soft. Knowing that he could leave and his client couldn’t gave an uncomfortable edge to all his interviews. And yet at the same time he knew he was often a vital bridge between them and the outside world. The smell and the feel of prison stayed with him for hours afterwards, tainting the day.

  ‘I just know there’s something wrong,’ Bob had said. ‘You know how you can tell but you can’t put your finger on it.’

  Richard did know, all too well. ‘Have you asked her?’

  ‘Oh yeah, but she keeps smiling and saying don’t be silly. It’s that smile really… I just know she doesn’t mean it.’ Richard knew the smile too because Sandra had used it on him, seeming to agree with him and then ignoring all his suggestions. It was a docile, secretive, subversive smile: he could picture her as a child using it on parents and teachers to get her own way, hoping they wouldn’t notice what she was doing.

  ‘Maybe it’s something she wants to save up till you get home,’ he said without much hope. ‘Maybe it would be easier to talk about it then when you have all the time you need.’

  ‘I can’t last out till then,’ Bob said. ‘There’s no way.’

  ‘But it’s not long now, if you can just hang on.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid. Can’t you go and see her for me and ask her? Tell her to give it to me straight. I’d much rather. I can’t think about nothing else.’

  * * *

  He thought of Bob now as he sat in the pub hearing Felix talk about Inge. ‘I wasn’t at all sure how you’d react,’ Felix said.

  ‘You shouldn’t have worried,’ Richard said, ‘it’s a weight off my mind.’

  Felix looked relieved. ‘D’you mean that?’

  ‘Yes, I really think it might be good for both of you.’ Felix turned his glass round and round on the table and Richard found the gesture irritating him almost to screaming point. ‘Nothing’s happened yet. But when she turned up at the shop I thought it was only fair to take her out to lunch and I got the impression she’d quite like to have an affair.’

  ‘I’m sure she would. She’s always telling me how frustrated she is. I think she feels it’s not such a humiliating word as lonely. It’d be ideal for her – someone like you to keep her happy. And she’d be no threat to Elizabeth.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Felix, looking surprised. ‘Well, we’ll see. I just wanted to clear it with you, just in case. It does feel a bit incestuous.’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault I left her,’ Richard said, trying to be fair. He had never liked the position of dog in the manger. ‘She didn’t do anything wrong. I just felt I was being eaten alive.’

  ‘She does still adore you,’ Felix said thoughtfully, as if meeting her again had given him a fresh perspective on the stale known facts. ‘It’s very impressive.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Richard said irritably. He felt Felix was trying to reassure him and he resented it.

  Felix went on turning the glass. ‘The boys are amazing. So tall. It was all I could do not to comment on their growth.’

  ‘Oh, were they with her?’ This was a surprise. It seemed unlike Inge to take them to a bookshop.

  ‘No, but I drove her home.’

  ‘That was kind of you.’ It was odd to think of Felix arriving at the house with Inge, seeing the boys. Odd not to be there with them. The whole thing was odd.

  Felix stood up, glass in hand. ‘Same again?’

  * * *

  Richard thought of Bob again when he went to see Sandra. Her council flat was cold and cramped and smelt of damp washing. With three children under five Sandra often found it too difficult or expensive to get to the launderette. But her face had a new look of determination and self-satisfaction as she listened to Richard, the look of a woman who has finally got her life in order. She was twenty-seven, though she somehow managed to look both older and younger, like an elderly child. She listened but she did not hear. She was starting a new life. Soon all her washing would be drying in the sun.

  ‘He’ll go mad if I tell him now,’ she said.

  The children played round their feet, demanding attention or stumbling off to hide behind the furniture. ‘But he’s already going mad worrying about it,’ Richard said. ‘He knows something’s wrong.’

  Sandra’s face set with a stubborn mulish look. She wasn’t bothering to smile today. She didn’t have to be ingratiating to Richard any more. Or to Bob, come to that.

  ‘I can’t help that,’ she said. ‘We’re going. Dave’s got the tickets.’ She said his name with pride. Another man wanted her. Her and Bob’s three children.

  ‘Does it have to be Australia?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ The two-year-old wailed. ‘Oh, shut up Darren. I’ll be safe there. He can’t have another go at me if I’m in Australia, can he?’

  ‘But he’ll never see his children.’

  ‘He should have thought of that before.’ She sounded almost smug.

  Richard tried a different approach. ‘Look, I know he gave you a bad time—’

  ‘A bad time? My doctor says I nearly died.’

  ‘I think you’re exaggerating a bit. I did see you in hospital and I talked to your doctor…’

  ‘Well, Dave says I nearly died.’

  ‘I’m not defending what Bob did, but you did know how violent he can be and you did make him very jealous.’

  Sandra looked shocked. ‘Are you saying it’s all my fault?’ The four-year-old started investigating a power point. ‘Samantha, come out of there, you’ll hurt yourself.’

  ‘No, of course I’m not. Bob has to take responsibility for what he did, just as you have to. But he is very sorry and he does care a lot about you and the children. He knows something’s wrong and he’s in quite a state about it.’ But he could tell he wasn’t getting through. Sandra’s gaze drifted around the room. S
he stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. ‘Couldn’t you tell him the truth and maybe put off going away till he’s out, so at least he can have some time with the kids? It’s going to be one hell of a shock for him to come out and find he’s lost his entire family. It could push him right over the edge.’

  ‘It’s funny really,’ Sandra said thoughtfully. ‘If he’d married me when I wanted I couldn’t do this, could I? It’s like he’s brought it on himself.’

  Richard said, ‘Look, Sandra, will you think about it? If you can’t face him with it, can you write him a letter and I’ll support him all I can.’

  Now Sandra smiled. ‘I want you to tell him for me. After I’ve gone.’

  * * *

  Helen watched Magdalen walk round the studio, pausing in front of each canvas. It was agony. In the old days she would have lit a cigarette. But in the old days the paintings would have been finished. She had never let Magdalen see unfinished work before. It felt dangerous, unnatural, even slightly obscene.

  She tried to think about something else while Magdalen walked and looked. She was reminded of the indignity of lying on the gynaecologist’s hard couch for one of what felt like countless internal examinations for pregnancy, contraception, abortion and minor forms of VD. It was the same process of trying to disassociate her mind from her body and remind herself that this was an unpleasant necessity. Somewhere out there Magdalen was examining her intimately and it had to be endured: she had to grit her teeth and relax and soon it would be over.

  Time passed. She remembered the cold hard speculum. Magdalen said, ‘I don’t know what you’re worried about. I think they’re wonderful.’

  Warm relief flooded Helen. She knew Magdalen never pretended. She heard herself talking fast and excitedly, like a child. ‘I’m pleased with some of them, but they’re not all finished and I can do better, I know I can, and there aren’t enough of them…’

  Magdalen turned her back on the pale oblong shapes. ‘What is all this? It’s not like you at all.’

  ‘Oh, they’re meant to be about serenity and I’m not feeling serene.’

  ‘No, I can see that.’ She studied Helen’s face. ‘Why not do one about how you’re actually feeling?’

  ‘It’s too soon.’

  ‘We could settle for a smaller show.’

  ‘No, I must get it right. It’s important. I want to get it right.’

  Magdalen lit one of her small cigars. ‘Helen, stop saying yes but. How much more time d’you need?’

  ‘To be realistic, not optimistic… about three months, I think.’ She had rehearsed this in her head but it was still hard to say.

  ‘OK,’ Magdalen said easily. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’

  ‘Oh Magdalen, I’m sorry. Sackcloth and ashes. I’ve had one hell of a year.’

  Magdalen looked puzzled. ‘The last time we talked it was going so well.’

  ‘Yes, it all fell apart in September.’ She needed a shield against the facts; she went over to the corner where she kept a bottle of whisky and poured herself and Magdalen two drinks.

  ‘What happened?’ Magdalen said.

  ‘Oh – life just got in the way.’

  ‘You’re not doing too much teaching?’

  ‘No, that’s all fine, the students are lovely. Besides, I need the money.’ She watched Magdalen shrug. ‘Yes, I know, if I did more work, etc, etc. Anyway, there it is. I can’t be ready on time.’

  The shame of it. She had never before had to postpone a show. She had never had to ask Magdalen to look at unfinished paintings. She had never been unprofessional and let people down.

  ‘Come and have lunch,’ Magdalen said, as if it didn’t matter at all.

  ‘I don’t deserve lunch.’

  ‘Helen. I’ve never seen you so punitive.’

  ‘No, neither have I.’

  Magdalen sat on the arm of the old brown chair Helen had never replaced. It was hard and prickly, horsehair stuffing bursting from it. Helen sat in it every day to look at her work and think about what to do next. It had been second-hand when she and Carey bought it for the first flat they had ever shared. Magdalen said, ‘Are you missing Sally?’

  ‘Yes, I expect that’s part of it.’

  ‘How’s Richard?’

  ‘He’s fine. Busy as ever.’ She could feel Magdalen probing for clues and she didn’t like it: they had always talked about work or trivia. She didn’t feel she owed Magdalen information because she had been understanding about the show.

  ‘Well, I’m not just here to make money out of you,’ Magdalen said after a short pause, and they both smiled. ‘Not that I object to that. But you know I’ve got every confidence in your work. If there’s anything you’d like to talk about, or anything I can do to help…’

  ‘I know. I appreciate that.’

  ‘Thank you but no thank you?’

  Helen went on smiling.

  ‘I wish you’d come to the Jerome Ellis party,’ Magdalen said, grinding her cigar out on the floor. ‘He’s so pleased with your Seven Deadly Sins, and they really look very good in the oast house.’

  ‘He just thinks of me as an interior decorator. Only cheaper, of course.’

  ‘Look, I know he’s a pretentious git on a bad day, and a pain in the arse on a good one, but he is rich and he fancies himself as a patron. They’re thin on the ground these days.’ Magdalen eased herself off the chair and Helen tried once again to work out how she managed to look so elegant when she was considerably overweight. ‘You might meet some useful people at the party and if you let him commission you again…’

  ‘God, I think he must be the original fate worse than death.’ Helen felt safer now they were talking about someone else; she could relax. ‘He wouldn’t know a real painting if it jumped up and bit him.’

  ‘I know you hate doing commercial work but you do it very well. I don’t think you realise how versatile you are. You could have two quite separate careers.’

  They faced each other across the ancient chair, Magdalen pulling on her gloves.

  ‘Sorry, Magdalen, I know I’m hard to promote. It must be a nightmare for you.’ She wanted to placate Magdalen now the heat was off. She could feel her attention span was coming to an end. In a moment, like the searchlight beam from a lighthouse, it would move past Helen and be focused somewhere else.

  ‘I don’t mind. It just seems a pity for you. Such a waste of potential. Still, if that’s how you want it.’

  * * *

  Felix was nearly asleep when he heard Inge say, ‘Shall I get us a drink?’ He had been aware of her moving restlessly beside him and he knew she hated him to doze off after fucking: he had had the same problem with many women, who seemed to take it as a personal affront, but he had kept his eyes shut nevertheless.

  ‘That would be nice,’ he said, wishing she had left him in peace for another ten minutes. It didn’t seem much to ask after all his exertions. He was beginning to find her heavy going because she always seemed to want more. He understood that he had to make up for years of starvation, and for the fact that he was not Richard, but he still found it a strain.

  She got out of bed and he heard her moving around and the clink of glasses, then she said, ‘I do hope you’re right, Felix, I hope you’re sure we’re not going to catch any infection.’

  The remark irritated him profoundly. She had made it before, but always after the event, which indicated, he thought, that she was not really worried at all but merely did it to annoy, because she knew it teased him.

  ‘We’ve been into all that,’ he said, immediately regretting his choice of words. ‘I’m quite sure we’re both perfectly healthy.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I can’t take any chances. It would be terrible if I give Richard a disease when he comes back.’

  ‘Well, that’s an original way of looking at it.’ He was now thoroughly awake, noticing her mad certainty that Richard, like Pinkerton, would return. Inge as Madame Butterfly. It was an intriguing thought and one that had neve
r occurred to him before. He wondered if he should share it with her.

  ‘Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I don’t believe you and I are at risk at all but if we were then I don’t think Richard’s health would be my first priority.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, with a curious note of triumph mixed with sadness in her voice, ‘then you don’t love him as much as I do.’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising,’ said Felix, feeling uncomfortable and forgetting about opera.

  ‘Don’t you even worry about Elizabeth?’ She came back to the bed with two glasses of wine and stared at him. He always found it disconcerting that her eyes were blue when the rest of her seemed like a sepia print.

  He said, ‘Inge, in a long career, I’m happy to say that none of these dread diseases has ever materialised.’

  ‘You’ve been lucky.’ She sounded sulky. ‘It’s very boring at the clinic. You always have to wait a long time and occasionally they are rude to you.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Maybe you could get Richard to pay for Bupa.’

  ‘Poor Richard,’ she said. ‘He can’t afford anything now he has to support the cow.’

  Felix drank his wine rather fast. Really she was stuck in a time warp, as if desertion and remarriage were recent events. Perhaps she was more like Miss Havisham, with her yellowing wedding dress and cobwebbed cake. ‘Actually, I don’t think that’s quite accurate. I think it’s supporting you that he finds a strain.’

  ‘Have I made you angry talking about disease?’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly romantic.’

  Her eyes widened and he realised that he had fallen into a trap. ‘But I didn’t know we were supposed to be romantic. I thought we were two old friends who have sex together. I thought we could speak frankly. Anyway, I like to speak frankly with everyone. Don’t you think it’s the best way?’

  This was so far from being Felix’s philosophy that he was amazed she could even ask him such a thing. It must be her foreign sense of humour again. She was playing games and he felt tired at the thought of it. He had played games in the past, but Sally had not played them and he had got out of the habit.