Unravelling

by Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn

  Vanessa didn’t think there was any way it could get worse, but she said ‘No, Mammy. What is it?’

  ‘I denied the poor man his conjugal rights, so help me God. I said to him, Danny Heaney, if you want me as your wife in the way God intended, you’ll have to give up the drink, so you will.’

  Vanessa stared at her mother. Was she saying what she thought she was saying?

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ her mother said. ‘I wouldn’t let him … you know … make love to me.’

  Make love. Make love! Had those words really come out of her mother’s mouth? Making love was what she and Gerald did, their bodies moving together to a glorious shuddering climax, not some furtive coupling in the dark when her father got home from the pub, him in his striped pyjamas, her mother in her winceyette nightdress and curlers. It was gruesome. Once, she’d been waiting outside the bathroom, hopping from foot to foot. ‘Da, I need a wee!’ she’d shouted. ‘Da, I need … ’ and the door had swung open and he was standing there, without a stitch of clothing, his powerful body white as marble, his face brick-red above it, and there, curled all fleshy and squashy between his thighs, his penis. What a peculiar thing! Her gaze had been riveted on it. She thought now of Gerald’s penis, of taking it into her mouth, her lips closing round it, her tongue running along it in the way he liked – No! Her mother could never have done that to her father.

  All through that summer Vanessa lived two separate lives. She was like the woman in Catherine’s little weather house, who popped out when the day was going to be fine. When she was with Gerald, it was as if the sun was permanently shining. She loved going to his house. It was everything her mother would have hated: polished wooden floors instead of carpets, curtainless windows, tables piled high with books and magazines, a bronze statue of a nude woman in the middle of the sitting room floor, chunks of stone he was working on in his studio overlooking the garden. But on the days when she didn’t see Gerald, she was the little weather woman when rain was predicted, trapped in her house in the darkness.

  Vanessa had seen Andrew at the beginning of the summer. He came back to London as soon as he got the letter about her father. He waited for her in the coffee bar. She told him about that night, about not going to the hospital with her mother. He held her hand. His fingers were long and slim, and although they were often stained with paint, were smooth, almost feminine hands. She couldn’t help but compare them with Gerald’s, which were sturdy and powerful, their texture rough from the materials he worked with. She and Andrew talked all afternoon, but she didn’t tell him about Gerald Blackstone. Not straight away anyway. And he didn’t ask. Not straight away anyway.

  Later, they went to the park. They walked round the lake where the boys had been sailing their boat on that previous occasion. Andrew put his arm round her shoulder, and they matched their steps to each other’s pace.

  ‘Sorry I was such a prat last term.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘No, listen,’ Andrew interrupted. ‘I need to say this. As soon as I got home, I knew I’d done the wrong thing. I couldn’t wait to come back, but I could hardly say to my mum “I’m off now” when I’d just got there. And then your letter came … ’

  ‘Don’t Andrew. We were both to blame.’

  His fingers tightened on her shoulder. ‘I was selfish. Going on about sex all the time and running off because you said no.’

  ‘I did want to.’

  ‘If you’ll have me back, there’ll be no pressure. We can take things as slowly as you like – ’

  ‘Andrew.’ She had to stop him. She couldn’t let him say any more. He’d be mortified if he knew about Gerald.

  ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think – ’

  ‘Andrew … ’

  ‘What?’ Suddenly he seemed to sense her mood. He took his arm from her shoulder. ‘You don’t want us to be together.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘It’s … ’

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Come on, Vanessa. I’m not daft.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  He swung her round to face him. ‘There’s something about you. You look different.’

  He stooped down, so that their faces were level. His eyes bored into her. She turned her head away towards the lake, but he caught hold of her chin and jerked it back.

  ‘You can’t look at me, can you?’

  She laughed awkwardly. ‘Of course I can.’

  His pupils were huge and dark.

  ‘Don’t muck about, Vanessa. I’m not stupid. It’s him. I know it’s him.’

  She didn’t answer and he let go of her, giving her a little push as he did so.

  She rocked back on her heels, almost losing her footing. ‘Andrew, there’s nothing. I promise – ’

  ‘Don’t, Vanessa. You’re no good at telling lies.’

  Gerald warned her she mustn’t tell anyone about them. Relationships with students were frowned on. She started to protest. She wanted the world to know how she felt about him. She wanted him to hold her hand in front of everyone, then she could see the envy on their faces. To think of her, Vanessa Heaney, on the arm of Gerald Blackstone.

  But he got angry when she said as much. ‘You’ve got to promise not to say a word to anyone.’

  ‘But – ’

  ‘There are no buts. Promise?’

  ‘Well … ’

  ‘Vanessa … ’

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  He leant forward and kissed her forehead. ‘There’s a good girl.’

  The first day back at college was worse than the early days at the start of the course before she made any friends. There was a new tutor and they were working with acrylics, which she enjoyed, but the other students seemed distant towards her. The easels either side of hers were the last to be taken and when they had a break, none of the conversations included her. When Andrew arrived, she felt his eyes search her out, but then he went to the other end of the studio, as far away from her as he could get. At lunchtime he disappeared with Judith beside him. Judith glanced over her shoulder at Vanessa, her little pointy teeth clearly visible as she smiled. Vanessa glared back: she’d always fancied Andrew, and it looked as if she’d got her way at last.

  When Vanessa left college that afternoon, she saw Gerald at the end of the corridor with another tutor. He waved at her. A quick movement of his hand and then he turned away. That little acknowledgement was the only thing that stopped her bursting into tears on the bus home.

  Straight away, she knew something was different. She stood in the hallway and listened. The radio was on in the kitchen, and the smell of frying onions hung in the air.

  She pushed open the kitchen door. ‘Mammy, what are you doing here?’

  ‘And where else would I be?’ Her mother didn’t look up from the ironing board. She was dressed in the skirt and jumper she usually wore for housework; her apron was in place around her waist and her hair was crimped into its usual waves. It was as if nothing had happened.

  ‘A house doesn’t look after itself, Nessa.’ Her mother’s voice had its old scolding tone.

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t.’

  ‘And how was the college?’

  ‘Fine. It was fine.’

  ‘You would be glad to be back?’

  ‘It was nice to see everyone.’

  ‘I knew you’d be hungry.’ Vanessa’s mother jerked her head towards the table where a glass of milk and a plate of digestives were sitting.

  ‘Thanks, Mammy, but I’m going up to my room.’

  ‘Sit down, Nessa.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you.’ Her mother folded the sheet she’d been ironing, end-to-end, corner-to-corner. She shook it vigorously between each refolding, creating gusts of air that blew in Vanessa’s face.

  ‘What about?’ V
anessa had heard her mother sound angry, determined, irritated, but never with this note of authority in her voice before. She sat down.

  ‘We’re going home,’ her mother announced.

  ‘Home? We are home.’

  ‘This isn’t home. Your da could never abide it here, so we’re going back.’

  ‘Back?’ Vanessa hated the way she kept repeating her mother. She sounded like the woman down the road who joined in the last word of every sentence a second or two after you’d said it.

  ‘I telephoned your Auntie Maura this afternoon and it’s all arranged.’

  ‘What’s arranged? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mammy.’

  ‘We’re going home. To Sligo. Auntie Maura will put us up at first and then – ’

  ‘But … ’

  Her mother held up her hand. ‘I know what you’re going to say. You’ve got your course to finish and we wouldn’t want to upset that, would we? Your da was so proud of you. I’ve got it all sorted.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Mrs Cochrane’s agreed you can lodge with her during the term. God bless her. She’s a good woman. She’s got a room at the back of the house where her husband keeps his pet snakes. She’s going to make him clear them all out and you can have the room for two pounds a week. Isn’t that grand?’

  Vanessa stared at the broken veins on her mother’s cheeks, the powder caught in the creases of her nose. How come she’d never noticed how ugly her mother was? How her false teeth didn’t fit, but slipped down from her gums when she smiled that stupid smug smile she had on her face now?

  Vanessa stood up. ‘If there’s one thing I’m not going to do, it’s live at Mrs Cochrane’s.’

  Her mother’s forehead wrinkled and she put her head on one side as if she was trying to work out a crossword clue, or one of Catherine’s jigsaws. ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘Because she’s a vile spiteful hypocrite who hates me and I hate her.’

  ‘In that case,’ her mother said, ‘you’ll be coming back to Sligo.’

  ‘You can’t make me!’ Vanessa shouted. ‘I’ll find somewhere of my own to live.’

  ‘And where will the money come from?’

  ‘I’ll get a job. Loads of people do it.’

  ‘So you’d throw over the college after all the fuss you made to get there?’

  ‘I’ll manage. I’ll do anything. But I’m not going to live at that horrible woman’s house.’

  Her mother folded her arms and her mouth settled into a thin line. ‘It’s Mrs Cochrane’s or Sligo – that’s your choice, Nessa.’

  ‘I’m nearly nineteen. You’re treating me like a child. You’re worse than Da was.’

  Vanessa made for the door, but her mother was quicker. At first Vanessa thought that she’d hit her on the back of the head. Then she felt herself being yanked backwards by her hair. She put her hand up and found her mother had caught hold of a fistful and was dragging her across the room. Struggling to keep her balance, she fastened two hands round her mother’s and prised her fingers free.

  She turned round to find her mother’s face inches from her own.

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that about your poor dead da.’ Her mother’s voice was full of menace. ‘When I think … ’

  Vanessa didn’t listen to any more. She raced down the hall and out into the street, as fast as if six Mrs Cochranes were after her.

  Vanessa got off the bus and ran the rest of the way to Gerald’s house. What was her stupid mother thinking of? How dare she start telling her what to do when for weeks Vanessa had been forced to look after her? As she reached the gate, a car pulled up beside her and she heard a voice she recognised: Carla Scott was paying off a taxi.

  Carla had ditched her usual flowing skirt and was wearing yellow and purple striped trousers, which flared out from the knee. Vanessa had never seen anything like them, not even in one of her magazines, and immediately coveted them. Worse, Carla’s long hair, which usually hung untidily round her cheeks, had been cut into a sleek shape, like Mary Quant’s, Vanessa’s heroine.

  She forced her mouth into a smile. ‘Hello, Carla.’

  It was only when she spoke that Carla seemed to recognise her. ‘Vanessa! What are you doing here?’

  Vanessa remembered that no one was supposed to know about her and Gerald, not even, apparently, Carla. ‘Gerald said he’s got a book I’d be interested in,’ she said, hating everything about the lie.

  ‘Couldn’t he give it to you at college?’

  ‘Well, he gave me his address, so he must have meant me to come round,’ Vanessa said. What right did Carla have to question her? Gerald was in love with her, Vanessa. He’d told her as much last time they met. ‘You’ve got under my skin, my little butterfly,’ he’d said, his finger under her chin, his black eyes searching her face.

  The front door swung open. ‘Whatever’s going on, ladies?’ Gerald called from the front step. ‘The whole street’s agog.’

  The sight of Gerald, his shirt open to the waist, his mouth wide in one of his grins, made her want to feel his arms crush her against his chest. But Carla’s presence at her right shoulder kept her rooted to the spot.

  ‘You’re working too hard,’ Carla said. ‘I’m taking you out for a meal. My treat.’

  A frown crossed Gerald’s face. ‘Lovely idea, Carla darling, but I’m in the middle of things.’ He held out his hands which were white with stone dust.

  ‘Come on, Gerald,’ she wheedled, in a tone Vanessa knew he would hate. ‘All work and no play … ’

  ‘Oh, all right, you might as well both come in for half an hour.’ He opened the door wider. Carla led the way up the path; Vanessa trailed behind her.

  They followed Gerald down the flight of stairs that led to his basement kitchen. It was growing dark and he flicked on the light switch. Vanessa remembered she needed to consult a mirror urgently.

  ‘Is it okay to have a pee, Gerald?’ she said, more boldly than she felt. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by Carla’s presence.

  ‘Yeah, there’s a cloak room just across the passage.’

  I know there is, Vanessa screamed in her head. You know I know there is. How much longer are we going to keep up this stupid pretence? Gerald winked at her as she went out the door, a slight twitch of his right eye that Carla couldn’t see. Vanessa’s anger evaporated.

  She stayed in the lavatory longer than she intended. The cold water felt good on her cheeks and wrists. The roughness of the towel invigorated her, as she dried her face. She rubbed at the smudged mascara under her eyes. She found a comb and pulled it through her hair. There was a bottle of cologne on the shelf below the mirror and she took the top off and sniffed it. She’d never smelt it on Gerald, but she tipped some on to her fingers and dabbed it on her wrists and her throat. It made her feel more connected to him.

  When she went back into the kitchen, Gerald was leaning against the sink, a glass in his hand. There were two glasses on the table: one empty, an inch or so of amber liquid in the other one.

  ‘I poured you a whisky.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Vanessa whispered.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ Gerald drained his glass. ‘Isn’t it enough she has?’ He picked up the bottle and poured in some more whisky.

  ‘But what did you say to her?’

  ‘I promised to go out for dinner tomorrow night, said I had to get on with work and that I’d get rid of you as soon as you were out of the bog.’

  ‘Get rid of me?’ Vanessa took a big gulp from her glass. She clenched her teeth against the taste.

  ‘What was I supposed to say? I told you not to come here unless I said it was okay. You can bet Carla’s not going to keep quiet about this.’

  ‘Is she your mistress?’ Vanessa was pleased with the word. She’d been reading Francoise Sagan’s novels over the summer and she wanted Ger
ald to know she wasn’t as naïve as he thought. Ever since that first night when he’d realised she’d lied about Andrew, ‘a virgin’ he whispered as she cried out in pain and his fingers found the hole, so that he could ease his way in more readily, he’d treated her as an innocent.

  He let out a shout of laughter. ‘Of course she’s not, though she wouldn’t say no to the odd tumble. Now, having completely disrupted my work, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?’

  ‘So, what on earth am I going to do?’ she finished in a rush, feeling sick at the thought of the odious Mrs Cochrane’s house. ‘They might as well shut me up in Holloway prison!’

  Gerald put his arms round her waist and pulled her towards him. He kissed each of her eyes in turn. ‘Don’t cry any more, my sweet. Those poor eyes of yours are puffy as rain clouds.’

  She snuggled against his chest. ‘It’s all right for you.’

  ‘You’ll have to find a place of your own. The college has lists of accommodation.’ His voice reverberated against her ear.

  ‘She won’t let me.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Vanessa!’ Gerald dropped his hands from her waist. He reached for his glass and drained it.

  ‘What?’ She hated the sudden distance between them.

  ‘You’re nineteen, not nine. Tell your mother how it’s going to be.’

  ‘You don’t know her. When she’s set her mind to something, she’s immovable.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll have to be the irresistible force.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Tell her you’re getting married.’

  ‘But I’m not.’

  Gerald’s eyes gleamed. ‘You mean you’re turning down my proposal?’

  ‘Proposal?’

  ‘Yes … yes, let’s get married.’ Gerald grinned as if he’d suddenly come up with an idea which pleased him enormously.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never more, my darling one.’

  Vanessa couldn’t believe it. She had to make sure. ‘You are saying you want us to get married?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think you don’t want me after all.’ Gerald screwed up his eyes and wrinkled his nose, like Daniel did just before an outburst of crying.