Striking a Balance

by Curtis, Norma

  Larry put the basket down in the hall. Will you have a coffee?’ he asked her, going into the kitchen.

  ‘Tea. I’ll have a tea, if you don’t mind,’ she said.

  ‘Come and have a seat in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Bill can watch the television and cool off. Or would you prefer to go into the sitting room?’

  ‘I’ll talk to you in here,’ she said, coming into the kitchen and taking a chair. She took her hairband off, captured her hair in it and replaced it.

  Larry heard the Looney Tunes theme music in the background.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, leaning against the cooker, getting the question in before her nervousness could become too contagious for him to want to know the source Of it. Even as he asked, he went through the possibilities in his head. ‘They haven’t reviewed the budget?’

  ‘Oh, the budget. Yes, they’ll pay all the rent and if we have any courses they won’t be subsidised, that’s what we’ve agreed.’ Emma took the band out of her hair again. ‘Look, Larry,’ she wiped her eyes with her hand and blinked at him, ‘Social Services have been in touch about Bill.’

  He almost laughed. ‘And?’

  ‘They’re checking up on a report that he’s suffered non-accidental injuries to his body. Seemed to think we were a nursery school and might be able to shed some light on your home circumstances.’

  Larry squinted as the phrase non-accidental injuries dazzled in his mind’s eye, highlighter yellow. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Apparently he said that you’d caused them,’ Emma said, watching him.

  ‘Bill said I’d caused them?’ He turned and looked at the mugs and the teapot. ‘He hasn’t got any injuries,’ he said. ‘Are you sure they meant Bill?’ And he realised that Emma wanted to be reassured. It was why she had come; not to help him but to find out.

  He scratched the back of his neck. It felt sore. Too much sun, he thought as he poured the tea. Pouring the tea made him seem guilty, he thought. He should be looking at her, straight at her, so she could see the truth. ‘You’ve seen him,’ he said, and his voice sounded frightened.

  Emma was not looking at him, but a little to his left. ‘They specified finger bruising on his legs.’

  Specified, Larry thought.

  He felt himself being squeezed very gradually in a vice of slowly growing terror. They were right, weren’t they? The bruises were there, they were the shade of blue of a stormy sky, and his fingers had made them.

  49

  That evening, Megan was sitting in Lisa’s drawing room, an untouched glass of rose in her hand, staring again into the space that she had asked Larry for.

  When it came down to it, there was nothing quite so empty as space.

  That anger she’d felt — and even now she could feel the heat of it creeping back uneasily — that anger had been the anger of a thwarted search consultant and she wasn’t proud of it. It happened; candidates changed their minds, or were offered better packages by their current employers.

  The other feeling; well, that had much more to do with the marriage. It had been fear. In every marriage there were rules, unwritten but no less solid for that, and Larry had stepped out of the boundary, ready, kitted up, emotionally prepared to play a different game.

  And she had thrown down the bat.

  Given space, and a lonely thing it was, she’d found out that life was not a game, or at least, not one game, but a series of them, all different, in which there was a need for players and groundsmen and managers and supporters. And given the role of supporter, she’d suddenly refused to play.

  Nothing was for ever. Bill would go to school. Zelda would come back to work. Lisa would leave. It was constant movement and change and to survive you couldn’t stand there shouting at it to keep still, you had to go with the flow.

  Lisa came in with a mirror and a pair of eyebrow tweezers and sat by a table, plucking her eyebrows. ‘Is your drink all right?’ she asked, without taking her eyes off her reflection.

  Megan watched her frown, and wipe the condensation of her breath off the mirror with a tissue.

  ‘Meg?’

  ‘Oh, sure, the drink’s fine.’ But she didn’t want a drink. Over the last few, short days, they’d drunk a lot, it seemed; now she wanted reality. She didn’t care if it was painful or easy, she wanted her emotions to be genuine. ‘I think I’ll make a coffee. Do you want one?’

  Lisa was concentrating. Peck, pull. Peck, pull.

  There was a tinny sound as she dropped the tweezers onto the table. ‘You’re restless,’ she said, turning, green eyes holding Megan’s, gaze drifting to the full glass. ‘You miss Bill.’

  ‘I’m grateful to you,’ Megan said. ‘You’ve been a real friend.’

  ‘But.’ Lisa dabbed her little finger into a small jar of cream. ‘There’s a but coming, isn’t there?’ She smoothed a thin film of cream along her eyebrow and turned to look at Megan, waiting.

  ‘No. No buts.’

  Lisa folded her mirror and came and sat on the floor by Megan’s legs.

  Megan looked at her glossy, dark hair, so silky without the gel, and Lisa looked up at her, sensing her attention.

  ‘You’ve got incredible eyes,’ Meg said.

  Lisa got up and sat on the sofa next to her, a strange expression on her face.

  ‘You’re not plucking my eyebrows,’ Megan said warily.

  ‘No. They’re perfect,’ Lisa said, and hooked a strand of fine dark hair around her ear. ‘You’re beautiful,’ Lisa said. ‘I love you. I’m in love with you, you know that, don’t you?

  Megan watched her, the words sounding odd in Lisa’s light, ironic voice. She had a feeling of unreality, as though she was watching it from outside. She felt Lisa’s hand reach for her face, smooth her blonde hair from her eyes. The gentleness of touch...briefly, Lisa leaned forward, touched her lips with hers, barely a touch, almost a breath.

  Green, green eyes, like glacial rivers.

  Her wine taken from her clutching hand and put aside.

  Lisa back now, swift, passionate, her mouth on hers, slowly, wetly forcing it open, as shocking as the first French kiss to a twelve-year-old. Megan pushed her away, scrambling to her feet, wiping her mouth on her hand. Lisa was standing, too, and they were panting, facing each other like fighters.

  ‘Just wait a minute —’ Megan began. Lisa’s lipstick was smudged and she wiped her mouth again. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

  Lisa’s eyes were bright and hard. She was smiling. ‘Admit it, for a moment there you were game-on. You wanted to. There’s nothing wrong with it, Megan. Tell me you wanted to.’

  And yes; she had.

  ‘Come on, Megan. A man for business, but a woman for pleasure.’

  ‘I’m married.’

  ‘But you don’t love him, do you, after he humiliated you? Turned down Triton for some New Age Vegetarian Quiche Eating Man’s Club?’ Lisa grabbed her by the shoulders, and suddenly pushed her hard.

  With Lisa’s whole weight on her, Megan lost her balance and found herself falling, with Lisa on top of her. Megan, with a surge of strength, twisted around so that she was on her knees. She backed away and got to her feet, sobbing for breath.

  She ran to the door and swung it open.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Lisa said, and there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘I have to,’ Megan said. She couldn’t stop her own tears, flowing freely down her cheeks. ‘You shouldn’t have done that. Using force is no different whether it’s a man or a woman.’

  ‘And you think Larry doesn’t use force?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Those bruises on Bill’s leg. Larry did them because Bill had been naughty.’ Lisa wiped her eyes angrily. ‘Bill told me himself. I rang Social Services, you might as well know.’

  Megan stared at her. She could see the arc of grey-blue bruises on Bill’s slender thigh, feel his thin arms around her neck, his leg swinging. ‘He told you?’ she asked, incredulous and sickened and ab
ove all, afraid.

  ‘You can’t blame me for ringing them,’ Lisa said. She was crying.

  ‘I don’t blame you. I blame myself,’ Megan said. She was his mother. She was supposed to protect him from harm, not leave him vulnerable to it. ‘Oh, Bill,’ she said.

  She gave Lisa one last look. There was nothing left to say. She ran out of the house and jumped in the car and headed for home.

  50

  The evening was settling in.

  Larry heard Megan’s car pull up and stop.

  He’d been waiting for this.

  She’s come for Bill, he thought.

  He went into the hallway and stood waiting for her to open the door. He heard her keys jingle loosely, the crunch of her heels on the gravel. Then she stopped. Changed her mind, he thought, and his heart was galloping out of control. The keys jingled again. Silence.

  The shrill ring of the doorbell shocked him to his core. Bill came running to the hall and stopped as he saw his father. ‘There’s someone at the door,’ he said.

  ‘Go back in the living room,’ Larry said, urgently, ‘go on, go back in there. Put the television on.’

  ‘It is on,’ Bill said, and took his hand and kissed it. As Larry walked along the hall, he heard the door close between them. He opened the front door, his pulse thumping in his throat. Megan was biting her lip, looking away, but she turned suddenly as she heard the door open and she put her hand on her heart, startled by his sudden appearance.

  ‘Oh, you frightened me,’ she said.

  He just looked at her, deafened by his drumming heart. ‘Say it,’ he said, seeing the tears gather in her eyes, ‘say what you’ve got to say.’

  And she did. He heard her intake of breath. ‘Larry, Lisa rang Social Services about marks on Bill’s legs.’ She paused.

  The wind was blowing her dress about and she held it down with her hands. ‘She told them they might be non-accidental injuries.’ She frowned.

  He waited.

  She kept her hand on her dress. An angry look on her face. ‘The bloody fool.’

  *

  He got himself back in her arms.

  He got himself back in her arms and stayed there while she told him everything she’d thought, step by step, since she’d left, apologising over and over although he knew she had more to forgive.

  She told him about the game, and the supporters and the managers and what counted was being together, the three of them.

  She was right.

  He wanted to tell her things but the words wouldn’t come. She was back, that was all.

  *

  Bill sat on her feet, to pin her down and keep her there. He was taking no risks. He had his mother back and he wasn’t going to lose her again.

  ‘Who are you now?’ he asked her, holding her legs, just so that he could get it right.

  ‘I’m me, your mother. Mummy,’ she said, looking at him with her blue eyes.

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded, to him, very sure about that. But he had been worried. ‘I thought maybe you’d gone to look after some other kid, like Ruth.’

  For a moment he thought he’d hurt her, because a pain came into her face which looked the same as when he’d hit Damon and had had to leave the playgroup without any lunch.

  ‘I don’t want any other kid,’ she said. ‘I just want you.’

  *

  That evening they ended up in bed at seven o’clock. Bill hadn’t wanted to stay on his own. He wanted to lie between them, afraid to leave them or not trusting them to stay. So they lay either side of him with the bedside light on, which shone as red as a setting sun until he fell asleep.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not much good as a mother,’ she said, after a long silence.

  ‘Bill’s not complaining.’

  ‘Bill never complains.’

  ‘He complained that time I put him in the bath with his slippers on.’

  They began to laugh and Megan suddenly found herself crying, great, wrenching sobs. Larry jumped out of bed, picked Bill up and took him to his own room. Then he got in on her side, right next to her, and took her in his arms. She sniffed a few times and he kissed her, salty and wet, salty and wet and home.

  51

  Win some, lose some, Lisa thought, pouring herself a brandy. She’d known she was taking a risk with Megan, but hell, it was a shame not to try.

  With Megan it could have been love or business — and she could cross love off, now. The house felt very empty without her and she felt pretty empty herself, but it was not like losing Chrissie. There was no pain.

  Lisa brightened up, finished her brandy and decided to take a shower. The evening was young and she had business to think about.

  And this time she would wear a skirt.

  *

  John King came into the ladies’ lounge with his drink in one hand and a fat cigar in the other. He came in smiling and he was still smiling when he sat down, heavily denting the fading chintz. ‘Let you in, did they?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you ask them to stop me?’

  ‘No, but I do wonder whether you qualify as a lady.’

  Lisa smiled at that. ‘Chrissie often wondered if you qualified as a man.’

  The smile went. She saw his tongue probe his broken tooth thoughtfully. ‘You’re not here for fun,’ he said after a moment.

  Lisa put her glass down. ‘I wouldn’t assume that,’ she said, a flicker of a smile returning. ‘You know, of course, that I’ve changed jobs.’

  John King didn’t reply.

  ‘You changed your mind about asking Colgin to find you a group head. Didn’t want anything looked at too deeply, did you? No.’

  John King sucked his cigar and sat in the effluent of blue smoke motionless, hearing her out.

  ‘Better the devil you know, eh?’ Lisa said. ‘Apart from your wife on your Chinese rug, who have I slept with recently that you might know? Ah, yes, I have it.’ She sat back and picked up her drink, as smug with satisfaction as a snake full of mouse. ‘Peter Dawlish! Does that name ring a bell? Or does it merely ring a cash register, to the tune of a grand a time? Pillow talk, see, that’s the secret, John.’

  A sigh, that of the long-suffering male. ‘How much?’

  Lisa shook her head sadly. ‘Oh, dear, money isn’t everything, you know, it’s about time you learned that. There’s such a thing as dignity. You should have thought of mine when you made me walk out of here with my trousers rolling down.’

  His look of astonishment was the first real emotion she’d ever seen him show. ‘All this is because of that?’

  ‘Hell hath no fury and all that, all these little sayings have a grain of truth in them, including the seven-year itch. Where are you taking Chrissie for your anniversary?’

  ‘You’re just playing with me,’ he said, and put his cigar in his mouth.

  ‘And it’s a bit one-sided, isn’t it. Never mind. The bottom line, John, is that I want you to resign from Xylus. And if you don’t jump, you’re going to get pushed.’

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘Larry should have kept his job. Don’t think I’m trying to influence you here, but your job might suit him even better.’

  John King rubbed his thumb against his chipped tooth slowly. ‘Just say I left Xylus, with other fish to fry, this pillow talk —’ he jumped as a section of ash fell onto his knee and brushed it off quickly — I suppose, could be forgotten?’

  ‘I haven’t got a very good memory for that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘I hear too much of it.’

  ‘And is that all you want? For Lawrence to get his job back? It’s very altruistic of you.’

  ‘It’s my nature.’

  ‘Burgess,’ he said, ‘has the killer instinct of a slug. He’d welcome Lawrence back with open arms at my recommendation.’ He looked at her again, puzzled. ‘We’re two of a kind, Lisa. I can’t help wondering — what’s in it for you? Not after his wife, are you?’

  ‘I’m after his wife’s job,’ she said. ‘If he goes back to work, she might giv
e it up. And I can take her place. It’s a good place to ruin reputations from.’ She finished off her drink. ‘Besides, it’s one place I fit in.’

  She saw the flicker of hope in his face, the willingness to believe. He’d never know, would he, whether she would keep her word. Hope was all that he had; he knew a scam on that scale couldn’t easily be overlooked. If it got found out it would finish him. She smiled. That was power for you.

  She put down her glass and got to her feet, feeling suddenly tired in victory. She picked up her bag. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ she said. ‘Oh, John?’

  He looked up.

  She thought of softness, of someone always waiting for her, someone always there, and the loneliness of her empty flat lay agape in front of her.

  She’d loved his wife. Wanted one of her own.

  She swallowed hard. ‘Be nice to Chrissie,’ she said.

  52

  The following morning, Monday, Megan got up early so as to be in work before Lisa arrived.

  ‘Are you coming back?’ Bill asked her as she put on her jacket.

  ‘Yes, I am. I’ll be home by five. Big red hand on the twelve, little red hand on the five.’

  ‘But you’re still like the daddy, aren’t you?’

  Megan smiled. There wasn’t enough time to go into it, but yes, she supposed he was right. Nothing had changed for Bill. She was still like the daddy.

  Before she left, the letter from Social Services arrived saying that they would like to pay a visit. She passed it to Larry. ‘They want to come on Wednesday. I’ll take the day off.’

  She kissed them and left.

  *

  A confrontation with Lisa wasn’t the kind of thing she could plan, but the thought of her malice in ringing the Social Services made a confrontation necessary.

  She was in the kitchen when she heard the hum of the lift and the subsequent jolt and the doors slide open and the click of Lisa’s heels on the pale wood floor.

  Forgetting the coffee, she went into the office.