And most people begin blaming themselves. Justin is frantic that he gave him her address. “No, it’s my fault for giving him my telephone number,” his mother tells him, meaning it. But Vanessa cannot bring herself to confess that she did it because Derrick was young and handsome. Because she wanted him to feel special. A little flirtation varied her day. The trouble is, flirting wasn’t what he wanted. My fault, my fault. “It’s my fault, Mother,” Justin groans, insists.
But Mary tells him not to talk nonsense. “All over the world there are villains,” she says. “At least this young man did not steal any money. You just be thankful for Mary Tendo!”
“He told me he had a psychiatrist,” says Vanessa. “I took no notice. I just thought, they’re all mad.”
She is sitting in Emergency with Trevor. The NHS does not think she’s an emergency, despite Trevor’s best efforts on her behalf, though they say, “You could fetch your wife a cup of tea.” They seem surprised when he asks directions, as if most of the patients come with maps. “It’s downstairs, turn left, left again, cross the courtyard, in through the red door, not the first, the second; then upstairs, straight down, across the next landing, you’ll see it after the children’s ward. If you get to surgery, you’ve gone too far.” But Trevor decides he cannot leave her. Her back is hurting, and her face, and her neck. Her left leg makes her limp, and sigh.
“You’re all right, old girl,” he keeps telling her. “Thanks to Mary. She was a cracker.”
“I kept my head,” Vanessa assures him, but he does not take the hint and praise her.
When a doctor finally examines her, he is sympathetic, and briskly thorough, but “It could have been worse,” he assures her, annoyingly, after she and Tigger have told their story. “You’ve got some bad bruises. Time will see to that. If you like I can prescribe something strong for the pain.”
“Will I be all right by Christmas?” she asks.
“Oh yes,” he says, startled, as if it is obvious. “I wouldn’t advise you to drive home today. But of course, your husband will be able to drive you.” Normally Vanessa would be the one to correct him, but this time it’s Trevor: “Ex-husband,” he grunts. Vanessa feels the doctor is taking it too lightly; she wonders if she’ll ever recover. The police have offered her counselling, but she doesn’t want to talk to someone stupid. Still, the tired young doctor, as they struggle through the door, with Vanessa leaning heavily on Tigger, manages a final moment of kindness. “You ought to be right as rain by Christmas.”
“How right is rain?” Trevor asks, rhetorically. Outside the door it is raining, hard, and Vanessa clutches him uncomfortably as they limp together across the carpark, like some eternal three-legged race. She weighs upon him. He needs to escape.
Besides, he is feeling a little bit guilty. He’s been talking to Mary about village wells. As a plumber, he knows a lot about water. She has had an idea that he could come out to Uganda and train villagers to look after a well, but she’s made him promise not to tell Vanessa, in case she decides she would like to come with him. Tigger felt disloyal agreeing to this, but he’d love to do something good in the world, and he’d love to have a look at the Pearl of Africa. Soraya knows he’s never got beyond Calais; she’s happy to spare him for a month or two. It would be good for Justin to run the business. And as for Vanessa—he needs a clean break.
51
The weather worsens rapidly. The British are glad, in their aching bones. It gives them something to complain about. Also, a proper cold snap will kill the mosquitoes that make it feel like somewhere foreign, the new clouds of fruit flies in airless kitchens, the whispering indices of climate change. This is Great Britain, not Africa. December should be a chilly month, then they can show character by putting up with it. Pleased, they rush out to buy hot-water bottles, and middle-aged men are indignant to be offered winsome covers like small furry animals. “Sorry, sir, it’s all we’ve got.” Trevor walks away shyly with a garish Pooh Bear, which he thinks at least will give a laugh to Soraya. He intends to pay her more attention. She’s a lovely girl, bright and loyal. Soraya wants to have his children. Now trade is so good, he could almost afford it. After he’s done his bit in Uganda.
Mary Tendo, however, looks grey and grim. She wears all her clothes and still feels cold. Vanessa goes out and buys her a jumper, since Mary ignores hints to do this herself. There has been no more mention of Mary leaving. The jumper is pretty, and very expensive, a peach-coloured mohair that tickles Mary’s neck. It has a matching scarf. Vanessa feels generous.
But she is no longer in charge of the future. Justin seems evasive when she talks about Christmas. Mary Tendo reveals no plans. And Tigger almost seems to be avoiding her, now the bruising has faded, and her leg is better. Though the college was horrified about what happened, and sent memos about ‘putting in place new safeguards’, the Dean said privately that you can’t protect women stupid enough to give out home phone numbers. There is a meeting of Convention (Vanessa isn’t present) where scathing things are said about Creative Writing and the mental state of both staff and students. “It never was a real subject, in my view,” says die-hard Dr Harding, Social Studies, who has never been offered a Readership, who tried to write a novel, twenty years ago; besides, Vanessa once snubbed him, in the bar. All round the room, there are murmurs of assent.
Within the seminar group, people are appalled and thrilled. A garbled version of the story gets about where Vanessa was raped and nearly murdered. Daisy is responsible for these embellishments. It must be true: Derrick has disappeared. The men look at Vanessa assessingly, tenderly, trying not to imagine the scene in detail. She has said the least that she can get away with, attempting to sound neutral, like a policewoman: “You may have heard that some events took place involving a member of this class. He is having psychiatric help. There is no reason for anyone to be anxious.” Yet she herself is still jumpy at night, and prefers it when there are people in the house.
But Justin seems to be staying away. His mother senses he has hardly been here, ever since the strange night when she met him on the stairs, perhaps ten days after she was attacked, and his eyes were shining, and he was wreathed in smiles, and when she said, “Justin, you do look happy,” he hugged her so hard that she gasped with pain and he backed away saying, “Sorry, sorry, I am just so clumsy, what’s the matter with me?” And yet, he went on looking radiantly happy.
“Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?” his mother had inquired. She was curious, and she wanted to talk. But he said, vaguely, “I’m just in and out. I’m actually staying with—a friend. Two friends!” And then he laughed out loud with pleasure. Perhaps he was drunk, but he didn’t seem it, although there was definitely wine on his breath. “I just popped back for some, uh, some blankets.”
And before she could ask any more, he was gone. Vanessa went back to her bedroom, thoughtful. She is not afraid, because she knows that Mary is somewhere, down in the kitchen or out in the garden, having the bedtime cigarette that she no longer tries to conceal from Vanessa, and which Vanessa accepts is her due.
But minutes later she’s convulsed by fear to hear Mary Tendo screaming, loudly.
It seems the screams go on and on, and Vanessa gets ready, she pulls her shoes on, her heart is thumping like some straining engine—
But then she hears that Mary is laughing. Mary is laughing and shouting with Justin. And this time Vanessa feels more sad than envious: Mary Tendo and Justin are friends. Perhaps all that time Mary spent with Justin, all those years ago, when Vanessa was busy, have given them something both precious and ordinary. (It wasn’t her fault. She was always so busy. She didn’t choose it, she had no choice. Surely, though, Justin’s love for her is special?)
For several days the house seems full of laughter. Vanessa would like to be a part of it. But since what happened, she’s felt oddly muted, incapable of going on the attack. The world seems to have become illogical, surreal, as if she is living at an angle to it.
One d
ay there is a phone-call from a bubbly, husky-voiced woman who says a loud, two-tone “Ha-llo!” like an old friend, but then asks to speak to Justin.
“He’s rarely here at the moment,” sighs Vanessa, at which the woman says, with odd intimacy, “No, of course, I quite understand…My name is Jasmine. Call me Jazz. And you must be—let me see—Vanessa! Vanessa it’s so nice to talk to you. I have excellent news for you and Justin. You have been selected from hundreds of callers to take part in next month’s ‘PARENT SWAP’!” She delivers this announcement on an ear-bursting crescendo.
“This is some advertising thing,” says Vanessa, but Jasmine forges on, cheery, brazen.
“Look at it this way, Veronica. This is great opportunity. It’s your chance to tell your side of things to thousands of people who only know Justin’s—”
“Stop bothering me,” says Vanessa, and puts the phone down. When it rings again, three times, she ignores it. Of course, it is just another nuisance call, and yet it is disquieting. She sits there for a few minutes, puzzled. Justin’s side of things, indeed! How would ‘thousands of people’ know about Justin? What could it mean, a ‘parent swap’? She means to tell him about the call, later, but is overcome by a strange inertia.
Small candle-flames brighten these dark days. First, in a simple, childish way, Vanessa is looking forward to Christmas. Once she realised that Mary would not be leaving, Vanessa has simply asked her to join them, and Mary agrees, demurely, saying only, “But Vanessa, I am waiting for a call from Uganda. It is possible that my friend will come.” Vanessa doesn’t take much notice of this, since Mary has been waiting for a call for weeks. Lucy seems happy for Mary to come. So the three of them will drive up together, Vanessa thinks, with some contentment. A real Christmas. A country Christmas.
Secondly, in the last session of term, bearded Alex takes the bull by the horns. He stays behind and hands over a Christmas card. “Look, this is probably not the best time for this, not after, you know, whatever happened, which we are all sorry to hear about, but I’ve put my phone number on this card, and if you felt like going out for a drink…I promise not to talk about writing. Maybe we could do a film, or a show.”
It is sweetly old·fashioned, this talk of a show. Vanessa blushes with pleasure and smiles. The smile keeps warming and extending, on its own, and their eyes meet; older eyes; briefly unguarded. They like each other: a man, a woman. Maybe this time they will get on.
She takes the card without committing herself, but she knows she will give him a ring after Christmas. Perhaps they will go to a pantomime. Something non-verbal, unintellectual. Perhaps she can get him to shave off his beard…but she catches herself, and changes her mind. She will only suggest the lightest trim.
52
But Vanessa’s new calm is badly shaken by two events in the run-up to Christmas. She is sitting in the dining room one morning, ripping open cards with her usual elan, trying to get through ten envelopes a minute, when she realises one of them isn’t a card. It is a letter from the high-powered agent, suggesting a January date to meet the class, and responding to the extracts she’s seen. Vanessa’s heart starts to beat unsteadily, thumping at her ribs, drumming at her temples. She spots ‘Emily Self in the middle of the page.
She forces herself to read from the beginning. “Several very talented students…tribute to your teaching methods…” Then something that makes her choke on her coffee. “Perhaps the most gifted, as I’m sure you’re aware, is the African writer, Mary Tendo. Marvellously fresh, vivid descriptions of growing up in Uganda…certainly like to see more of it…though strictly between ourselves, Vanessa, the multicultural bubble may have burst…could be, frankly, just a little bit ‘last year’…Not that it’s relevant, but is she photogenic? It will be very good to meet her…and Emily Self. Thank you for drawing her to my attention. The second extract was the better of the two. She doesn’t, of course, have anything like the panache and style of Mary Tendo, but I really do think I could do something for her. The feeling is that ‘poor white rural’, sort of post-Cold Mountain with a nod to Deliverance, is going to be very big next year. That father with the henhouse is wonderfully sinister.”
Vanessa reads it again and again, at first unable to understand. Coffee and bile rise in her throat—
So Mary is a secret writer. Mary Tendo has been writing a book. She has smuggled some chapters in, like a cuckoo. Mary has charmed someone yet again. Mary Tendo ‘the most gifted’!
It is all too much for Vanessa to bear. And Emily Self “doesn’t, of course, have the panache and style of Mary Tendo…” It was the ‘of course’ that hurt so much.
But Mary need never see this letter, Vanessa thinks, crumpling it. No, Mary never will see this letter.
Then she uncrumples it, and reads it again.
On the other hand, Emily Self could be big. “The father in the hen-house is wonderfully sinister” (even though Vanessa thought she’d made him touching). “I really do think I could do something with her.”
That means, she must believe she can make me famous.
I am always said to be photogenic. So that’s one less thing to worry about.
Vanessa needs time to take it all in. For a while she cannot bear to look at Mary. The thing she has done is so dishonest. Passing herself off as one of my students! Taking advantage of my trust!
Mary, for her part, has no idea why Vanessa has started glaring again. But Mary feels guilty about having seen the grandchild, so she is submissive, and tries to placate her. It should be Vanessa who is holding the baby, Vanessa, in Mary’s place, gazing down on his quick brown eyes and long tear-slicked lashes, watching him kick like a little pink frog. Vanessa, who doted on frogs in the garden. Though she hadn’t always been good with young children—
But no, Vanessa would love this baby. Mary feels bad for her about the baby, but Justin is stubborn as a mule.
Then, the night before they are all supposed to be leaving for the country, Justin tells Vanessa he isn’t going. “I’ll have to come up later, on my own. There’s stuff I have to finish, Mother.” Vanessa questions him very closely, but all she can establish is that somewhere or other, a young couple need alterations for their new baby, or else they will not get in for Christmas. Justin’s enigmatic: “Like, no room at the inn.” She wonders yet again if he is on something: he seems so giggly, so absurdly happy, yet at the same time he has a sleepy look, though he’s up every morning and out of the house. His bedridden days seem to have gone for ever.
“But darling, you can’t get to Lucy’s on your own.” Because since his breakdown, Justin has not driven. Despite all Tigger’s attempt to encourage him—“Come on lad, you’re a bloody good driver. You passed first time, which is more than I did”—despite Tigger’s pleas that he needs help with the van, Justin’s still afraid of the driver’s seat. “I can’t do it, Dad. I might kill someone.”
And so it is arranged he will follow with Mary, who will drive Justin’s superannuated Jaguar, if it will move, after six months in the garage. Mary likes the idea, and spends a happy afternoon getting it purring over again; she turns out to be a competent mechanic. Vanessa will drive up tomorrow as planned: Justin and Mary, two days later. “And Mary, for God’s sake, don’t forget your glasses!” Vanessa sounds as sharp as before the attack.
Vanessa leaves in the morning, waving manfully, and yet she has a mournful, anxious look. Mary and Justin feel touched and guilty, seeing Vanessa’s small stiff figure manoeuvring herself into the driver’s seat, with two suitcases of what she calls ‘essentials’, plus bags of food, clinking bottles, rolls of wrapping paper, carrier bags of presents, a holly wreath, and a great hollow box of crackers, shining with cellophane, a cube of decorated air, two dozen titivations of crepe and gold paper in which a few paltry plastic giftlets rattle. She is so small compared to the bulk of her possessions. They wave to her as she shrinks down the road.
“So when will you tell her that she is a grandma? Of the most beautiful baby in the
world?” Mary asks Justin, hugging him. “Poor Miss Vanessa, I am sorry for her.” It tempers the faint pleasure of outwitting her employer (but the baby, in himself, is so glorious: pinkish-skinned, though it will darken later, red-lipped, stormy, but easily comforted, topped with a shock of straight dark hair).
“I’m going to tell her. All in good time. Once we’re sorted out, I shall bring them both to see her.”
The next day, the weather’s sharply colder. There are alerts of imminent snow. The bookies taking bets on a White Christmas close their books, and exhausted housewives fight back into the shops to buy more thick soups, more Christmas puddings. Now all the furry hot-water bottles have sold out. There is a miniature run on bedsocks.
Vanessa, in Sussex, starts to worry. “If it gets any worse, you are not to come,” she instructs Justin, when she gets him on the phone, though for the past two days he has hardly been at home. “Mary is not to drive if it’s snowing. She isn’t used to snow. She’s African.”
“Oh, Mary and I aren’t frightened by snowstorms,” says Justin, grandly. Yet it keeps getting colder. Zakira has the baby in a soft cocoon of blankets. He and Mary shiver as they pack the car. He does not want to leave his woman, his baby, but he still can’t say so to his mother. Will he ever learn to say ‘No’ to her? One day, he thinks, I shall just be myself.
But it isn’t so easy to be himself. Maybe having a family of his own will help; a new family, to escape the old one.
They had firmly intended to leave before dark, but Justin receives a call from Zakira: her nipples are hurting; she needs something from the chemist. With a stricken expression—she must not be in pain—he shoots out of the house before Mary can take him and does a tour on foot around the three local chemists, who sell him half a dozen useless remedies, and then Mary drives him to Zakira’s. It isn’t easy to leave his new family; Zakira seems fretful, almost reproachful, so by the time they are really on the road, it is sunset.
2005 - My Cleaner Page 24
