by Jean Levy
He wrote a quick note then he looked up. ‘So, anything to report?’
‘I seem to have a mental block about my mobile phone.’
‘Any idea why you think that is?’
‘Perhaps my mind is worried it might tell me something it doesn’t want me to know.’
‘Could be.’ He paused and sat looking at me. His silence made me feel really uncomfortable. At last he spoke. ‘Sarah, would you like to tell me about the gentleman you’ve been meeting?’
Dr Gray knew about Matthew! All that time I’d been worried that they were spying on me and they actually had been spying on me! He waited for my response. But I wasn’t sure what to say. In fact, I wasn’t at all certain that I would be able to say anything. I tried to swallow but my mouth felt numb. Dr Gray clearly perceived my discomfort and pushed a glass of water towards me.
‘Can we chat about it, Sarah? We ought to get our story worked out before you see Mrs Parkin tomorrow.’
I took the glass and sipped tiny amounts until I was sure my swallowing reflex had returned, placed the glass back on the table and took a deep breath.
‘We met at the supermarket and we went for coffee. And he took me to a restaurant and I told him about my memory. He cooks me supper. Last night we had skate wings and popcorn and we watched Jurassic Park. At my flat.’ I noticed Dr Gray was smiling at me. ‘I wanted him to stay, but he said I wasn’t ready.’
Dr Gray looked surprised. ‘My goodness, that sounds very gallant, doesn’t it? And do you think you’re ready?’
‘Yes!’
‘I see. No doubts about that, then?’
‘But, Dr Gray, I do have doubts. I’m worried that there might be someone from before. Nobody has told me anything about the years I can’t remember. What if I’m hurting somebody by being with Matthew? His name’s Matthew Parry. How did you find out about him?’
‘Well, Sarah, we wouldn’t deserve our enormous salaries if we didn’t find out about things like that, would we? But I don’t think you should worry about hurting anybody.’ He watched me over the top of his spectacles. ‘I assure you there are no left-over romances, so, as far as I’m concerned, you are free to get to know this new man of yours. But, Sarah, we would have preferred you to mention this friendship. You shouldn’t feel that you need to keep things from us.’ He checked his notes again. ‘And we had better make sure we’re looking after you properly.’ He reached for his phone. ‘I just need to make a quick call. Then you can tell me …
‘Hello, Geraint, Bob here, I’m just looking through Sarah’s notes, and we don’t seem to be prescribing any form of contraception. Do you think you could confirm that for me and, if necessary, set that in motion as soon as possible, preferably before she leaves … I would rather you do it … Yes, I’m sure you do but our immediate problem is to prevent a potentially worse situation … I really do not see that as necessary and probably ill-advised given the circumstances.’ He smiled towards me. ‘If you recall I did advise against it. I gather … Well, we’ll have to accommodate that problem if it arises. The prescription, Geraint, please, we’ll discuss the other issues later … Yes, of course.’ He rang off.
‘So, Sarah, tell me about your Mr Parry.’
Episode Eighteen
I left the Regent’s Park rooms with more pills and a leaflet about sexual health. Driving home I considered the various scenarios through which Dr Gray might have learned about Matthew, the most likely being that Miss Lewis told Mrs Parkin who told Dr Williams. I pulled up outside my flat and averted my eyes from any possible encounter with my elderly neighbour and, once inside, I made tea and sat at the kitchen table trying to rationalise. I wanted to go and ask Miss Lewis whether she’d snitched on me but I was not at all confident in my ability to pull that off tactfully. I turned as the black and white cat stepped through the flap:
‘Hi, puss, fancy some lunch?’
The cat threw itself against my leg then padded over to its empty platter and waited. I hurried to tip cat biscuits onto the willow pattern; the last few fell onto the impatient purring head.
‘Can’t you wait, greedy? Doesn’t anyone else feed you?’
And thereby came inspiration: who owned the black and white cat? Tracing its ownership would be a perfectly legitimate reason to go next door and interrogate Miss Lewis. So I spent the next twenty minutes preparing a casual first statement. As it was, when Miss Lewis opened her door, I said, ‘Who owns the black and white cat?’
Miss Lewis was a frail, elderly lady, probably in her early seventies, although she looked tired and even older than that, and she clearly wasn’t expecting to be challenged in this way. She offered me a nervous smile.
‘Hello, Sarah, how are you? Nice bit of sunshine to make us all happy.’
I wondered whether she was going to mention the cat. I prepared to re-ask the question but she saved me the trouble:
‘He’s a friendly old thing is Alfie. He got used to me when you were away. And he still comes for leftovers. But I wouldn’t encourage him, not now you’re back home. I do give him milk from time to time. But I’m not trying to entice him away.’
I stared at Miss Lewis, not really sure what she was talking about. She opened the door wider and pointed along the dim hallway.
‘He likes to sleep on the kitchen windowsill. I won’t let him in if you’d prefer me not to.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘Your Alfie. I just let him in if he cries outside.’
‘My Alfie?’
Miss Lewis’ face fell. ‘Oh dear, I …’
‘The black and white cat’s my cat?’
‘Oh, I am sorry, Sarah, have I said something wrong?’
I suddenly felt light-headed. I needed to lean on something, reached for the door, misjudged it and stumbled towards Miss Lewis, just catching the letterbox to prevent myself from knocking the startled woman backwards into her hallway. The impact twisted my fingers painfully and the sharp metal frame cut into my thumb, causing it to spurt blood. I pushed myself upright and held my hand against my sweatshirt, which instantly became smeared with dark red on the yellow. The combination heightened the nauseous sensation that was building in my chest.
Miss Lewis leaned towards me. ‘Are you all right, dear?’
‘I’m fine,’ I gasped. I would have run home if I’d been sure my legs would cooperate.
Miss Lewis held out her hand.
‘Deary me, Sarah, that looks nasty! Why don’t you come in and let me take a look at it?’
Somehow my legs carried me over the threshold, into the hall and on into an unfamiliar lounge. Miss Lewis led me over to a large armchair, a little like Grandma Bramley’s in the drawing I had made. She bent over me.
‘Let’s see how bad it is, shall we?’
I moved my hand away from my chest. The removal of pressure caused my thumb to ooze, but not as badly as before. Miss Lewis pulled a scented handkerchief from her pocket and placed it over the cut.
‘You sit there, dear, and I’ll go fetch some disinfectant. I don’t think it’s too bad. Thumbs always bleed a lot. Are you all right for a couple of minutes?’
I held the soft material against my thumb. I could smell rusty blood and a powdery perfume that reminded me of my grandma’s bathroom, an artificial essence of roses and violets, sweeter and stronger than any flowers could ever be. I wasn’t sure whether the smell comforted me or made me feel sick. I looked at my sweatshirt and thought of salt. I wasn’t sure why. Miss Lewis returned, armed with a wet flannel, a bottle of TCP and a bandage.
‘Kettle’s on. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?’
I watched Miss Lewis wipe the blood away from my thumb, revealing the actual injury, which was surprisingly minor given the amount of blood that it had summoned. I winced as the disinfectant was poured directly on to the gash in my skin.
‘Only stings for a second,’ said Miss Lewis. ‘Can’t be too careful with all these new germs about. Now, let’s get it covered up. I hope it doesn’t s
top you doing your writing.’ She wound an expert bandage, finishing up with two circuits of my wrist and a tuck-in of the loose end. I felt her cold leathery fingers pressing against my skin.
‘There! Would you like me to soak your jumper in some salt?’
‘Salt?’
‘Salt water. To remove the blood.’
‘I think my granny used to do that.’
‘All grannies used to do that. But you need to do it straightaway.’
‘I’ll do it as soon as I get home. Did you say the cat was mine?’
Miss Lewis folded the bloodied flannel. ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah. They didn’t tell me you didn’t know.’
‘Do they tell you what to say to me?’
‘More like what not to say.’
‘Do you know what happened to me, Miss Lewis?’
‘Not really, dear. I know your memory’s not right and that telling you things might be bad. And now I’ve told you about Alfie.’
‘I was a bit surprised. But I’m glad he’s mine. How often does Mrs Parkin visit you?’ Miss Lewis looked uncertain. I smiled to reassure her. ‘I’ve seen her disappear down the alley. She probably thinks that way I won’t see her.’
Miss Lewis looked even more uncertain. She lowered her voice. ‘She’s a peculiar woman. There’s no doubt about that. But I think she has your best interest at heart. She just asked me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re managing.’
I had to ask. ‘Miss Lewis, did you tell her about my visitor?’
‘You mean your young man? No, I didn’t tell her. There’s keeping an eye and there’s nosiness.’ She placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘You used to call me Peggy. Shall we have that tea?’
Before I left, Peggy and I agreed that, for the time being, Mrs Parkin should continue to believe that her neighbourhood conspiracy remained intact. This counter-connivance lifted my spirits so, as soon as I arrived home, I dragged off my sweatshirt, threw it into the rubbish then went through to run a bath. I selected a bottle of rose and jasmine gel and added it to the gushing water, pulled off my clothes and, being careful to protect my bandage, stepped into the bubbles, lay back and thought about my conversation with Dr Gray.
Twenty minutes of soaking later, I dripped through to my bedroom to inspect the bottom drawer I had been contemplating for the past two weeks. I pushed aside four optimistic bras and a diaphanous nightdress too slight for springtime, and slowly closed my fingers around a stash of disgraceful knickers, some of them almost non-existent.
An hour or so later, Matthew arrived bearing strawberries, swordfish steaks, vegetables, prosecco, a vast bunch of pink roses and …
‘What’s that?’
‘An iPad!’ He stepped inside and kissed my cheek. ‘How did your psycho visit go today? I’ve got to check a contract before …’ He threw everything down onto the sofa and lifted my hand. ‘What in God’s name did they do to you?’
‘I went to see Peggy next door and I cut my thumb on her letterbox. I don’t think she had anything smaller than this.’
‘Let’s take a look.’ He held my wrist steady as he unwound the bandage.
I wiggled my thumb. ‘It bled loads.’
He scrutinised the tiny wound then let go of my wrist and carried the slightly bloodied bandage to the bin. ‘Go find a plaster. I’ll start dinner.’
I left Matthew unpacking vegetables and went off to the bathroom in search of a plaster. I could hear him fussing around between the kitchen and the dining area and wandered out to discover my dining table set for two, a vase of pink roses at its centre. One of the roses had been sacrificed to provide the petals that were strewn around the base of the vase.
‘Happy Anniversary. We met thirteen days ago. What on earth have you got on your thumb now?’
‘Batman plaster. They were all I had. You found the vases!’
He was momentarily caught off guard: ‘I … I’ve been rifling through your cupboards. There’s a box with CDs written on it. Do you fancy some music?’
‘Not really, but if you do …’
‘No. Go choose a movie.’
As with the previous evening, Matthew instructed me on the complex art of making after-dinner coffee, or, in fact, any coffee. ‘That’s right,’ he suggested. ‘See how much nicer it looks when it doesn’t have lumps in it?’
I jabbed him in the ribs then reached for the tray. ‘Oh, the sugar bowl’s empty.’
‘I’ll do it!’
I turned to instruct him: ‘It’s in the tall cupboard … Oh, you found it!’
He was holding a packet of soft brown sugar: ‘Lucky guess! Could have been an ironing board. Or cornflakes. I’m yet to rifle through your drawers.’
I instantly recalled my drawer of shameful knickers and assumed what I hoped was an attitude of calm detachment. ‘You take the coffees through. I won’t be a minute. And put some tuna down for Alfie. That’s the cat’s name. Peggy said he’s mine.’
‘That would explain the cat flap. Do you think he’d like to watch the movie with us?’
‘No! He’s not allowed in the lounge even if he is mine.’
‘But I am, right?’
I indicated the coffees. ‘Matthew, take them in.’
I left Matthew loading the tray and hurried away to the bedroom. Five minutes later I walked as casually as I could into the lounge to join him, although the four-inch heels made walking casually utterly impossible. Matthew was sitting opposite the TV; he turned as I approached.
‘Did you remember to … Jesus Christ, Sarah!’
He leapt to his feet, knocking the edge of the coffee table and causing coffee to splash over the tray. I realised that it was probably not so much the patent stilettos that had caused this startled reaction but rather the fact that all I was wearing besides the shoes was the black lace knickers I had plucked from my drawer several hours earlier, a concealed outfit that I had been obsessing about throughout the entire evening. I continued to walk towards him, praying that one of the skinny heels would not catch in the carpet and blight my performance. He watched me approach. I reached him after what seemed like an age, placed my hand upon the soft cashmere of his sleeve, and steadied myself whilst I stepped out of the shoes: ‘These are impossible to walk in!’ I let go of his arm and looked up at him.
Finally, Matthew broke his frozen silence. ‘I see you’ve taken your plaster off.’
I showed him my thumb, pushed my hair back away from my bare shoulder, said nothing.
He took my recently compromised hand in his: ‘Sarah …’ He exhaled frustration. ‘This is not leaving me a whole lot of alternatives.’
I stroked my free hand down his chest and tugged at the waist of his trousers. ‘I was hoping there’d be no alternatives.’ I couldn’t believe I had just said that, but as I felt his chaste resolve crumble, I was really grateful I had.
He closed his hands around my arms. ‘Sarah, are you sure about this?’
‘Yes!’ I could hear him controlling his breathing, could see the concern in his eyes. I needed to reassure him. ‘Dr Gray said I needn’t worry about any leftover romances, so …’
I felt his fingers loosen. He took a step back. ‘He said what?’
Suddenly I felt naked. Folded my arms around myself. ‘I told him about you … Well, he knew already. And I said I was worried there was someone from before that I might be hurting if I carried on throwing myself at you like this. And he said there wasn’t anybody for me to worry about.’
Matthew looked at me for a long moment then his confusion broke into a smile. ‘So you’re throwing yourself at me, are you? With Dr Gray’s approval?’
I felt every scrap of confidence disintegrate beneath my black knickers. ‘I’m trying to but I’m obviously CRAP at it! What are you doing? Are you taking your clothes off?’
His jumper and shirt landed on the floor. The sight of his bare chest, his shoulders, the muscles in his arms terrified me. Took my breath away. He sat down and pulled off his shoes and socks. Unzipped his zi
p. I could feel my breath coming in shallow bursts. I feared that I might faint but somehow I managed to speak. ‘Are we going to make love?’
‘I would think so.’ He stepped out of his trousers and scooped me up.
I caught hold of his smooth shoulder, felt his arm strong and warm across the back of my thighs, glanced at the empty bottle of prosecco as it rushed past, the scattered rose petals, my wardrobe door left open. I heard the bed groan to accommodate our weight. Felt his lips cool against my throat. Felt my body move with his. And, that night, I learned for the second time what it was like to make love for the first time.
*
I lay still, listening to my blood pulsing hard to catch up with me, felt my skin against his, my whole body rise and fall with his breathing as if his breathing was all the time that there was. These were the moments I had craved since I first saw him: his fingers stroking, tracing a small arc just above my waist. I felt him kiss the top of my head, shifted slightly and my senses became filled with his fragrance. My hand strayed easily against his shoulder as I pushed myself up to see his face, his eyes glistering in the dim lamplight, almost colourless. It was all too familiar. I felt for his hand, linked my fingers into his and was certain.
