Moderate Violence

by Veronica Bennett

  “You sound well pissed off,” observed Ed, with something between admiration and trepidation.

  “Pissed off?” The whining had become a screech. “I wish they were both dead!”

  She could hear his hesitation – an intake of breath, a moment’s decision-making, the application, perhaps, of more logic. “But you were telling me yesterday,” he said, “how much you love Holly, and you were in Reception with her and all that. You don’t really wish she was dead, you just need to sort this out.”

  Jo’s throat closed up. She couldn’t speak.

  “Look,” he said, “forget trying to work out what they’re doing for a minute. When will you see him again?”

  “Thursday.” The word emerged squeakily, as if she had to force it out.

  “Well, it’s only Monday today,” said Ed. “Anything can happen by Thursday. You know Holly, she’s so bloody moral, she’s probably emailing you a full confession right now. If there’s anything to confess,” he added reasonably.

  Jo was sure there was. Ed hadn’t seen the looks that had passed between Toby and Holly, or felt the shock-waves coming from them when she – harmless little Jo – had lost her temper and pushed Toby over.

  “OK,” she said meekly. She might as well let Ed think he was right.

  He picked up the meekness. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I mean, I’m not trying to, you know, dismiss this like it’s nothing. I just think it might be more innocent than you think, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “Thanks,” said Jo. “I’ll try not to.”

  “And you don’t have to worry about fixing a double date with me and Pascale any more, either,” he added. “I’ll deal with her.”

  He was right. The discovery of Toby’s little liaison with Holly, innocent or not, had changed the plan. Jo recovered a nearly-normal voice. “What are you going to do?”

  “Short of murdering her?” Ed gave a little laugh. “I’ll think of something. It’ll give me something to occupy my mind when I’m on my three hundredth burger-flip.”

  * * * * * *

  After work the following evening, Jo opened the list of DVD labels. It had to change, obviously, after recent events. Pascale was leaning more towards horror than sex. And Ed’s honesty had complicated him. He wasn’t Pascale’s drooling poodle any more. In fact, Jo had begun to realize this at the Summer Ball, though she’d left his label as ‘Strong sex references’ for other reasons then. There was more to him than that. But did it have a label?

  That was the problem with DVD guidance labels. The pithy, direct phrases appealed to her because they were so simple. Yet they were too simple for subtlety, and Ed had turned out to be a bit more complex. Equally, how could Holly go on being ‘Fairly adult’? ‘Extremely puerile’ just about summed up her behaviour last night. But that wasn’t a phrase you were likely to find on a DVD case, even Jackass – The Movie.

  And what about Toby? ‘Suitable for all’ couldn’t appear on the same DVD as ‘Scenes of sex and violence’, but they nestled together convincingly in Toby. Jo wished there was a label to show you that the film contained barefaced, criminal betrayal. A sort of heartbreak indicator. Instead of three stars, three broken hearts.

  She went back to Ed’s name and deleted ‘Strong sex references’ from beside it. She searched the pile of DVDs, first with her eyes then with her hands. Then she went downstairs and pulled out every DVD Trevor had left and every one Tess had brought. Sleepless in Seattle – romance between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. You’ve Got Mail – romance between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. Proof of Life – romance between Meg Ryan and Russell Crowe. Maybe Tess wished she was Meg Ryan. But none of Meg’s films turned up a suitable label for Ed.

  Jo looked at the clock above the mantelpiece. It was fourteen minutes to eight. Tess had been upstairs getting ready to go out, and was now bustling in the kitchen. The smell of her perfume filled the sitting-room even though the French windows were open. Discontentedly, Jo returned to the DVDs.

  Trevor’s little collection of left-behinds looked more promising. She turned over The Deer Hunter, Patriot Games and Casino Royale. Nothing. Then Enemy of the State caught her eye. Rated 15, nothing new there. But its Theme/Content listing was ‘Conspiracy’.

  The word stunned her. That was exactly what the Toby-Pascale-Holly thing was. An anti-Jo conspiracy. Her heart constricted, like a fist clenching. Why would they want to conspire against her? What had she ever done to them?

  “Jo-oh! Where are you?” called Tess.

  “Sitting room!”

  Tess opened the door and swung it a little as she spoke. She had her car keys in her hand. “I’m just off, darling. There’s some cold chicken and a pack of salad in the fridge for your dinner. I won’t be late.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Erica’s having a little gathering.” She held up a bottle of wine. “This is my contribution, but I promise I won’t drink too much to drive home.”

  Jo smiled weakly, unsure if this was a dig at Trevor. She imagined Tess’s friends with their blonde highlights and crimson claws, nodding sympathetically as they listened to Tess’s account of the hell of living with a teenager, ready to cap her stories with stories of their own. “See you, then. Have fun.”

  “Don’t forget to lock up with the mortice key when you go to bed,” said Tess. This, Jo knew, was code for, “I’ll be very, very late.”

  The front door closed, and Jo heard the over-revving that was Tess’s method of starting a car. She was hungry; chicken and salad sounded good. But just as she reached the kitchen door, the front doorbell rang, and she swerved back to answer it. Through the decorated glass she saw the blurred dark shape of Pascale’s tumbling hair.

  Pascale?

  When she opened the door the sight of her friend’s inscrutable smile disturbed her. Pascale was so smooth, so knowledgeable and confident, it seemed impossible that she could deceive Jo. She had, though. And she still was. Clearly, Ed hadn’t yet done anything.

  “Hey, little Jo!” Pascale held up a bottle of wine, cheaper and bigger than Tess’s. “God, the lads in Marbella! You and me and Hol have got to go there next year, on our own. Strictly no parents.”

  She strode into the hall, put her jacket over the banister post and turned to Jo with a can-you-believe-it face. “What about Holly and Toby, then? I nearly wet my pants when Ed told me. Jeez, how much scent are you wearing? It smells like a bloody brothel in here.”

  So Ed had done something. He’d told her about Toby and Holly, in the hope of extracting both outrage and a confession from Pascale. But he hadn’t succeeded. Bewilderingly, Pascale didn’t even suspect them. “Must be Tess’s,” said Jo weakly. “She’s just gone out.”

  Pascale flopped down on the sofa. Jo didn’t sit beside her, but took Trevor’s armchair instead, with her feet drawn up underneath her.

  “I sometimes think Holly’s a sandwich short of a picnic,” declared Pascale. She blew out some air between pursed lips. “I mean, you’d think she’d tell you if she’s been having jolly little get-togethers with your boyfriend. And how could she keep it from me?”

  Keeping it from Pascale would constitute mental instability, certainly. Faint with astonishment, Jo tried to process what she was hearing. Pascale was surely scaling new heights of shamelessness. To arrive uninvited at Jo’s ready to gossip about Holly’s questionable behaviour, when all the time she was guilty too, was beyond belief.

  Jo tried to take control. She decided to make Pacale sweat a little. “You don’t think they’re…you know…”

  “Toby and Holly?” snorted Pascale. “For God’s sake, Jo, Doctor Pascale can smell a two-timer a mile off, and believe me, Toby’s fine. And you know what Saint Holly’s like.”

  Jo’s astonishment increased. She looked at Pascale carefully, noticing how beautifully her newly-tanned skin glowed, and how glossy her hair was. “But it is weird,” she persevered, “Holly being in his house like that. You just said, you nearly wet yo
ur pants when Ed told you.”

  “I was so amazed at Holly going round there without you! She’s not exactly the world subterfuge champion. Ooh!” Suddenly, her face brightened, and she sat forward eagerly. “Maybe they were planning something to do for you!” Her face fell again. “It’s not your birthday till April, though, is it?”

  “Pascale…” Jo had come to the end of her patience. “It’s obvious that Toby’s cheating on me with Holly. Why can’t you see that?”

  Pascale’s brown eyes focused sharply on Jo’s face. “Because it isn’t happening. Holly doesn’t do things like that.” Her expression became sympathetic. “Oh, Jo, if you suspect he’s cheating on you, it must be with some other girl!”

  Jo didn’t trust herself to reply. Hearing Blod mewing on the front windowsill, she went and pulled the window up. “Come on in, you silly old sod. The back door’s open, you know.”

  “Jo…” persisted Pascale. She rested her head on the sofa cushion, looking at Jo from between eyelids half-shut with suspicion. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up,” said Jo, stroking Blod methodically. “Forget it. Maybe I shouldn’t try to work out what Holly’s doing or why she’s doing it. I just mean that…well, you know what Toby’s like. It’s not very easy to trust him.”

  Pascale nodded wisely. “He’s always been a bit slippery, that’s true.”

  “In fact…” said Jo uncertainly. She had suddenly realized that the way to the truth was through Pascale’s self-appointment as resident Agony Aunt. “Toby’s been so peculiar lately, I just don’t know what to do. And you always help.”

  Pascale sighed. “Actually, I’m not sure I can help this time.”

  Jo’s heartbeat quickened. She put Blod down on the carpet. “Why not?”

  “Well…” Pascale looked sheepish. “I can’t seem to sort my own boyfriend out, let alone yours.”

  “Has something gone wrong with Ed?” Jo managed to ask.

  Pascale looked into the middle distance and screwed up her nose. “Not sure, to be honest. I think he’s gone off me.” She smiled knowingly at Jo. “But I’m not going to dump him just yet.”

  “Never throw out dirty water until you’ve got clean?” said Jo. The beating of her heart was actually making her voice shake.

  “You’re learning, little Jo.”

  “Anyone on the horizon?” Surely this would make Pascale blush?

  “Well…” Pascale didn’t blush. She picked up Blod and held the cat on her chest, ready to bury her face in its fur if she needed to hide confusion. Jo almost admired her. She really was a professional. “I shouldn’t really talk about it, but yes, there is someone.”

  Jo felt ill. Pascale’s nerve was more than astonishing; it was nauseating. “Is it anyone I know?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” said Pascale decisively. “I mean, it’s no one at school.” She was still clutching the cat. Jo could hear Blod’s contented purring. “In fact, I think I’ve given up with schoolboys,” added Pascale. “I’m going to go for someone older in future. Ed can be such a tosser sometimes.”

  So can older boys, thought Jo. Her stomach was still trying to climb into her throat.

  Swallowing, she tried to make her tone neutral. “So am I allowed to hear about this other guy you’re interested in? Or am I the person you especially can’t tell?”

  Pascale stared at her. Jo could hear the muffled sound of the radio Tess had left on in the kitchen, and Blod’s purring. “What?” asked Pascale, frowning. “What have you got to do with it?”

  “Stop pretending to be so innocent!”

  “What?” asked Pascale again. She was gazing at Jo in bewilderment, her hair spilling around her suntanned face and her eyelashes spread out. “Jo, are you sure you’re all right?”

  When she thought afterwards about what happened next, which she did often, events always fragmented in Jo’s memory and refused to put themselves into a recognizable order. In fact, the whole episode seemed irrefutably, irredeemably mad.

  She put both her feet against the coffee table and pushed with all her strength. The table slid across the thin carpet and struck Pascale’s shins very hard. Pascale’s face expanded with shock. She let out an eardrum-shattering shriek which sent Blod scurrying for cover behind the curtains.

  Pascale couldn’t move. The edge of the coffee table was pinning her legs against the sofa. With Jo kneeling on it, it was immoveable. She began to cry.

  A tsunami of fury unleashed itself over Jo. She grabbed Pascale by the shoulders, pushing the squashy flesh of her upper arms backwards until her head landed with a thud on the back of the sofa. Pascale tried to defend herself, but rage made Jo strong. The tsunami had been gathering for a long time. It was unstoppable. And that’s when the madness really started.

  Jo’s most vivid memory afterwards was Pascale’s teeth. When Jo demanded the truth, Pascale’s weeping turned to sobbing. She protested that she didn’t know what Jo meant. When Jo, forced to make things plain, said, “Who are you cheating on Ed with?” Pascale seemed to lose control of her face. Her teeth showed white against the squared-off ‘O’ made by her lipsticked mouth, forced open by the paralysing grimace of hysteria. “No one you know,” she gasped, breathing noisily. “I swear, Jo, no one you know. Please, please don’t tell Ed!”

  But Jo didn’t give in. “What about the card tricks?” she demanded without sympathy.

  Pascale’s hair was plastered to her face by tears and spit. She still couldn’t close her mouth, and her nostrils quivered as her lungs tried to draw in enough air. Jo, staring at those teeth and that damp, blotched face, knew she was inflicting a greater punishment than she needed to. But knowing this didn’t make her stop. Now that the usual power balance between her and Pascale was reversed, her superior position intoxicated her. She grabbed Pascale’s chin and tried to push her lower jaw up. She couldn’t stand to look at those white, lipstick-smeared teeth any more. “Just admit it, will you?”

  Pascale’s eyes, wide with fright, rolled back and looked at the ceiling as the pressure of Jo’s hand forced her mouth shut. Her chest heaved. Her features were so swollen with crying that she didn’t look like Pascale any more. Jo let go.

  “Please, Jo, please,” implored Pascale as soon as she could speak. Her voice was croaky. “What have I done?”

  “You know what you’ve done!”

  “No I don’t! Why won’t you believe me?”

  “Because no one ever tells me the truth!”

  The panic drained from Pascale’s eyes. Still tear-filled, they gazed at Jo with tenderness. It was such a familiar expression that it overrode the wreckage of her face and made her look like Pascale again. “How can you say that? I’m always straight with you. You’re my best friend.”

  Suddenly, Jo wanted to cry. She wanted to be a little girl again, who could cry and cry until things got better. But there wasn’t any point. No amount of crying could make this awfulness better.

  She was still kneeling on the coffee table with her T-shirt round her armpits. Pascale must have grasped it during their struggle. Pascale half sat, half lay on the sofa, exhausted, and gazed at Jo with sorrowful eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “How did you turn into someone who can do this?”

  Jo didn’t move to comfort her. Someone who can do this, she thought. Commit violence against Pascale. Commit violence against Toby. And Pascale didn’t even know about the violence against Jo’s own flesh. What would she say if she did? She’d look at Jo with that mock-innocent gaze and say, “You know you’re a whole basket short of a picnic, don’t you?”

  Pascale pushed the coffee table away and stood up. Without looking at Jo she collected her jacket and the bottle of wine, sobbing and sniffing. Then she half-walked, half-stumbled out of the front door and pulled it shut behind her.

  Jo pulled down her T-shirt and looked out of the sitting room window. It was getting dark. Only half way through August, and the summer seemed almost over. She thought about the
results coming out next week. She thought about the sharp nails on her right hand, the short-bladed scissors in their china box and the compass in her pencil case. She must have used these things on purpose, though she didn’t know it at the time, to preserve her secret. If they had been razor blades, people would have found out, because there would have been more blood than she could hide.

  She sat down, closing her eyes against the bright, hammering light in her head. Inside her, intolerable rage stirred again. She clenched her teeth, grinding them into each other, making her jaw hurt. But the rage didn’t go away.

  Her phone said 20:26. Incredibly, it wasn’t even half an hour since Pascale had rung the doorbell. Through the open door she could see Blod in the kitchen. She watched the cat’s tiny pink tongue lapping the water in the bowl. Everything was silent. As Jo walked through the house it was so still that she felt as if she were walking through a painting. The corners were full of shadows; the dusky light made a square of dark blue between the sitting-room curtains; the air bore the heavy scent of lilies from the vase in the hearth. Tess wouldn’t be back for hours.

  She couldn’t stay in this creepy, silent house, with its memory of Pascale’s tears and snot and spit, and her own vicious jealousy. She couldn’t do any more about getting the truth out of Pascale and Holly. But she could get the truth from Toby. Now, tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Toby’s house was dark and blank-faced. Disappointment gnawed at Jo as she approached. But then she saw that the bathroom window at the side of the house was open. Of course, the rooms at the front, where the curtains were open, were the sitting-room and Toby’s mum’s room. Toby’s mum was away, and Toby himself must be in his own bedroom at the back. Jo pressed the bell.

  Nothing happened for a few moments. Jo pressed the bell again. She heard it ring inside the house, but still nothing happened. She cupped her hands around her face and looked through the glass panel. Darkness. All the doors off the hall were closed. It was pathetic, but tears tore at the back of her throat again. Was nothing going to go right, ever again?