The Master Bedroom

by Tessa Hadley

  Every day when it wasn’t raining she made huge efforts and went out to walk: she knew you were supposed to walk in the country. She hadn’t any shoes suitable for the muddy paths, but in a musty cloakroom by the back door generations of coats and sticks and boots were piled up, along with the leads of departed dogs, and trophies of driftwood and bird skulls from the beach. Kate sorted out a pair of icy and dank wellingtons (most were vast: perhaps these were David’s daughter’s, or Betty’s?) and borrowed walking socks she found discarded there. She discovered a little walk along the quay and up the path along the edge of the low cliff, exulting at the bleak sea with its resolving, emptying crash of waves, and the smashed beach, the pounded broken rocks; then back across stubble fields to the little town, where she bought food and cigarettes. She felt mildly ill all the time, but made herself eat. In the evenings she telephoned home to talk to Billie: there weren’t many evenings in her life she hadn’t done this. As a first-year student in London she had called every night from a red public telephone box in a sinister street, and had once seen a knife fight outside and been afraid to come out, pretending to go on talking into the receiver long after Billie had hung up.

  Jamie called her. She hadn’t told him where she was going: he’d found out from Carol.

  —What are you doing there? he said. —It’s strange to imagine you. I used to love that place when I was a kid. Which room are you sleeping in?

  —I’m working hard all day. In the evenings I’m reading everything on the shelves here: I take it all to bed with me. Refutations of communism; denunciations of the death sentence. Books about the agricultural year, merrily advocating the use of the new pesticides. Novels by Howard Spring, Joyce Cary; the Reader’s Digest Book of Laughter. I can’t read the things in Welsh. Or the Dylan Thomas, on principle.

  —Can’t I come down? I could hitch. Nobody would know. We could really be alone together.

  —If you came down, I’d have to leave. We can’t be here together. In fact we can’t be anywhere together. That’s the whole problem. It’s time we faced it.

  He was simply silent, whenever she named their impossibility: he made her weaker to resist him than if he’d tried for words. Putting down the receiver, Kate caught herself reflected: there weren’t many mirrors in the house, but a narrow one with distorting bevelled edges on the hallstand must have been meant once for checking respectability before leaving home. She switched on the hall light, contemplated the thin slice of herself unforgivingly, peering close up at her face pinched with cold, flesh drooping – yes, surely, it was beginning to droop? – under her jaw; she was a schoolteacher-witch in her glasses, sliding away at the mirror’s rim into fairground grotesque. What would Betty’s mother have thought of her coupled with beautiful youth?

  On her third day, most extraordinarily, in the butcher’s shop (in her resolution to look after herself properly, she had decided after all to queue there for protein), someone touched her arm from behind.

  —Kate? It must be you.

  She turned to see Suzie Roberts.

  —What are you doing here? she said: her first impulse was defensive, as if Suzie must have pursued her, found her out. There was an expression in Suzie’s face – tanned, exposed, her hair wind-blown and bleached – making a more intimate claim than the acquaintance they were supposed to have.

  —I’m here for the weekend, camping at Mwnt with friends. We came to see the dolphins.

  —Are there dolphins?

  —Every day at teatime. They’re marvellous. Haven’t you seen them ever? I mean, it’s only the fins and backs, curving up out of the water.

  —But why didn’t you bring your friends to stay at the Parrog? I hope my staying there hasn’t spoiled any plans of yours?

  Suzie’s hand was still on Kate’s arm, arresting or claiming her; she coloured. —They’re not those kind of friends. I couldn’t have asked Bryn and Betty for the house. I don’t suppose they know I’m over here. I don’t think even David does.

  At this point Kate reached the front of the queue, and had had no time to think what she wanted. —What should I buy? she asked, panicking.

  —Oh: lamb chops? Sausages? I think it’s very good here. I only came in because I saw you: my friends are vegetarian.

  Kate bought both; at the door of the shop the two women stood hesitating as if they were reluctant to part, although Kate knew she ought to get rid of Suzie. Next door to the butcher’s there was a café, closed out of season like so many of the shops: they peered into its windows.

  —I’d ask you back for coffee, only it’s very cold in the house.

  —Oh, are you having trouble with the Rayburn? I could sort it out for you. I’m good with it, although Betty never believes me.

  —What about your friends?

  —They’re not the sort who would worry. I could go off anywhere.

  If she was plaintive, it was the merest hint. —I’ve got the car. Let’s drive. Have you finished shopping? It’s funny to see you in wellingtons.

  Kate had thought of Suzie as one of those flatteners who clamp down complex feeling. Today though she jumped with nerves, driving with quick jerky changes of gear; she had surely lost weight, she was angular under her thick ragged jumper and skein of coloured scarves, the skin was pale around her eyes, behind her fading summer freckles. Leading the way into the house, she was proprietorial and intruder-like at once. Kate could imagine how solidly the place must seem to belong to her family-in-law: this was Suzie’s chance to surprise and dominate it. She laughed at the little nest of Kate’s books and blankets, holding her shape where she’d stepped out of them, in the front room.

  —You’ve been frozen! Weren’t you awfully bored, here by yourself?

  Kate, on her dignity, denied it.

  Swiftly Suzie cleared out the Rayburn and lit it, then squatted on her heels to watch, her hands black with coke, a smear of coke dust on her cheek, altering the draught adjustor as the flames took hold. Kate made coffee with the electric kettle; Suzie, hunting for drink, found an old bottle of sherry among the cooking things.

  —We’ll buy more and top it up, so Betty won’t know.

  Kate sat pressed up against the metal of the stove as it heated. Warmth crept into the kitchen languorously: she realised how her muscles had knotted in resistance to the cold. The sherry went straight to their heads, and it was only two in the afternoon.

  —I’ve always wanted to ask you, Suzie said, nursing her coffee mug at the table. —Did you really not see me that day?

  —Which day?

  —An accident on the motorway: we were both standing on the hard shoulder. I thought you recognised me but you didn’t say anything.

  —Oh, you mean when that swan came down? You looked as if you didn’t want me to.

  —So you did see. Suzie appeared gratified. —I’ve often thought about you since then. It was odd when we met in the supermarket: I felt as if, because you’d seen that happen, you knew something about me. You’ll think I’m stupid – David does – but it’s always seemed to me more than just an accident, that swan falling onto my car, not anybody else’s.

  —It had to fall on someone’s.

  —But it seemed to have a message for me.

  —What kind of message?

  —I don’t know. I wanted to ask you.

  —Me? How absurd. I don’t believe in messages.

  Suzie poured them both more sherry. —May I tell you what I thought I saw? You won’t be outraged at me desecrating sacred old memories or anything?

  —I don’t have sacred old memories.

  —David couldn’t bear me to talk about it. He thought I was just dabbling, you know: making games out of serious things. I believed it was Francesca when it fell. I hadn’t been thinking about her or anything: I really didn’t think about her much. Of course I’ve always known about her, but I hadn’t ever seriously tried to imagine what she did. You were a friend of hers, weren’t you? Then out of the blue – only it wasn’t blue, was
it? it was horrible weather – this body came hurtling down onto my car. It was so heavy, the whole car leaped under the blow. It shook me out of my skin. Without giving it a second thought, I understood that it was her.

  —Free association. Perfectly natural. You probably thought about her more than you realised you did.

  —But ever since then I’ve been possessed.

  Kate looked for a flare of madness in the wholesome face: perhaps these earthbound types were more susceptible to the freaks and fumes of delusion, having no resistance when once they stumbled in.

  —Really, as if something jumped inside me that I haven’t been able to shake off in all this time since. First, I couldn’t let David touch me. I’d think every time he came near me: it’s in his hands. Death or something. Don’t imagine I don’t know how unfair that is.

  —You didn’t think for one minute David ‘drove her to it’, did you? That only happens in films. With Francesca he was the most considerate, the gentlest, the most decent . . .

  —Oh don’t! said Suzie sharply. —I know!

  —She’d moved out from their home anyway, with the baby. With Jamie. She was filthy to David. I’d seen them, during that time before she moved out; although I’d gone to the States by the time she died. The poor girl was ill, she was depressive, she’d overdosed once already, I believe, when she was a teenager. She was a bore with it all. Forgive me speaking rudely of the dead.

  —A bore! No one’s ever said that to me before.

  —It might be a useful thing for you to know.

  Suzie shuddered: perhaps melodramatically. —Since the thing with the swan, I’ve been behaving so badly. As if its message was: make a mess of everything you’ve got.

  —You funny creature, said Kate. —How old are you?

  —Thirty-five, said Suzie gloomily. —I’ve made such a fool of myself.

  —With these friends of yours? I hope you’ve had a good time doing it.

  —I couldn’t tell you what I’ve done, I’m too ashamed. She laughed and covered her face with her big hands, the skin around her fingernails torn and sore. —I’ve got a bad streak in me. I knew it would come out. Blame my misspent youth.

  Calmly Kate asked if she was going to make up with David.

  —That’s what I wanted you to tell me. Should I go back? Are we right together? You’re his friend.

  —No, said Kate. —I mean: no, I won’t tell you.

  Suzie peeped between her fingers. —Do you want him for yourself? He likes you, doesn’t he?

  —I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  —I rather thought you liked him.

  When, late in the afternoon, faint sunshine touched the stones in the garden, Suzie said she wanted to swim. Kate – who told her she would die if she did, especially after drinking alcohol (they had finished the bottle) – stood watching, swaddled in coat and scarves and gloves and hat, while Suzie, shivering, stripped on the beach. The low blurred chilly sun was reflected in the rocking water, a silver path from the horizon. Suzie had her black swimming costume on under her clothes; she stepped long-legged, lean-thighed, across the shingle, laughing and grimacing, balancing with her arms held out.

  —You’re mad, Kate called. —I really think you’re mad. You’d better come back. I’ve no idea how to cook those lamb chops.

  Suzie only waved, stepped in, tottered at the shock of cold, forged on up to her knees, then with a shriek plunged, and swam crawl with strong strokes into the glittering path. Kate watched the black shape of her head bobbing, disappearing and reappearing against the dazzle; she was wrapped in the sensation of absence, the gulls crying and circling, the crash and drag of the waves, the freezing wind slicing underneath her clothes. After a while she worried that Suzie must be going much too far, there would be currents out there, the sea was treacherous; she was seized with the idea that she would be left alone on the shore for ever like this, holding the towels. How absurd: she was entirely alone, all the houses on the quay were probably holiday lets, there was no one to call for rescue; what would she do if suddenly she couldn’t see Suzie, and there was only the emptiness of the ocean left, meaning nothing? Accidents really happened: it really had been foolhardy to swim in this cold, after all that alcohol. For a moment the stupid girl with her raw ragged life seemed as mysterious as if she was lost. Kate imagined having to tell David. Then she caught sight of the black bobbing dot of a head again: grateful, she saw it turn and head back towards the beach. She clutched the towels against her chest inside her coat, to warm them.

  David woke when it was very early, perhaps just after dawn. He was filled with joy, from a dream he’d had; even as he came to complete consciousness the joy didn’t dissipate but persisted, as if it was something he must act upon. Mostly these days his dreams were an idiotic mishmash of petty anxieties, repressed resentments, sexual pressures, and he took no notice of them; but aesthetically this one satisfied him. He had been standing with Kate Flynn in a room that had seemed to belong in his own house; now he only thought he remembered it from other dreams. There were high windows on all sides of the room, as though from outside you could have seen right through it; the space was full of air and light; in fact gusts of birds darted past them as if blown out of trees around, although both of them knew this wasn’t normal, indoors. Kate had stepped back giddily, with a little laugh, from the swooping birds, and he had steadied her against his arm; then he reached with his other hand inside her clothes, where it was intensely warm, and took out something. They bent together over the little brown bird that sat hot and still in his palm, too frightened to fly, its whole body beating with its fear.

  —It’s a wren, he said. He was pleased to recognise its tininess, its wood-brown spotty breast, its pert uptipped tail.

  —What a lovely metaphor, said Kate.

  He thought in the dream that that insight was typical of her, typically clever, that he would never have understood by himself what the bird meant, or known the word to use. But when he woke he realised that of course it was he who had understood, because everything that was in the dream was his.

  —In truth, he thought with absolute clarity in his waking self, —she’s the one I want.

  He was afraid of staying in bed, dwelling on his dream, in case he consigned it to becoming only a sex fantasy among others; he dressed quickly and went downstairs. There was no sound from the kids; Suzie was here, asleep in the study; Jamie was home too, his bike was in the hall, the attic steps were down. David picked up his car keys and went out. Suzie for once could get the kids to school; he didn’t care if she heard him drive away.

  Outside in the muffling greyness, yellow light beamed out from windows in one or two of the other houses, promising and homely as lanterns; his steps scrunched on the gravel drive damp with dew. When he was a child he had loved listening from his bed to the sounds of cars starting up in the early morning, then droning away from him through the sleeping streets; now he felt himself inside the kind of significant adventure he had attributed to those adults then. He wasn’t sure yet whether he was going to go to work today or not. The streets he drove through were mostly empty; he imagined a comradely connection with the few cars that passed him, lit up as he was, obscurely purposeful like him.

  By the time he drew up on the road opposite Firenze, the dark had lifted enough for him to see through the railings into the locked-up park: each bush, still thickly leaved but wintry-numb, was doused in its own cap of grey mist; it lay three-foot deep like dirty wool along the grass and on the lake, the tall trees standing disdainfully out of it. Unpeopled, the park seemed alive to itself. He mustn’t wake them in Firenze just yet; he had an idea they didn’t get up early. Kate was home from west Wales, David knew, because Suzie had told him how they had met down at the Parrog, and how she had driven Kate back to Cardiff to save Carol a trip. He hadn’t liked the idea of the two of them hobnobbing together (they had drunk his mother’s sherry, Suzie said), or Suzie’s air of suppressed excitement, telling hi
m how she had swum and Kate had watched.

  If he hadn’t been such an idiot he would have understood from the beginning why he had always wanted to have Kate to himself, dreading dissipating their relationship by introducing her inside his family life. Sitting in the car, feeling the cold creep up from his feet once the engine died, he could remember again how it had felt in his dream to reach inside Kate’s clothes, his fingers closing in that warm dark around a fluttering live thing. Was it a metaphor or a simile? He tried to remember from school English lessons. And was it a metaphor for sex or for love? Flooded with revelation at how these twisted together, he was too restless to sit. He left the car and took a walk around the lake – only the promenade across the bottom end was locked – rousing the Canada and barnacle geese still huddled, holding back from the shrouded water, on the trodden bank dark with droppings. Honking, they bustled and shifted. Swans sublimely turned their heads to look at him. Last year’s young ones, though they were fully white, still had necks ungainly stiff, not bent yet to adult sensual poise.

  He met runners breasting the mist, absorbed in their own panting, and an early dog-walker, averting her eyes from her half-visible dog squatting to make hot urine in the early cold. Then the grey fume began to thin and they were all beached in the ordinary eye of the day; visibility unspectacularly gathered, delivering the familiar city. The islands that seemed from the promenade to belong to a dream distance weren’t really far; sooner than he expected David was crossing behind them, at the end of the lake, through a scrubby little patch of wood in a crescent of suburban houses, some showing signs of morning awakening, lights on, steam billowing from gas water-heaters, a murmur of radio. David’s joy was not susceptible to these deflations. I could wake her now, he thought. Other people are about. It would not be ridiculous to wake Kate now.