Colouring In

by Angela Huth

  Even as she sneered, her scarlet mouth twisting, I remembered how wildly that mouth had kissed me, how sinuous her breasts and hips beneath my hands.

  Quickly I got up to try to defuse an almost tangible awkwardness that had sprung among us. Noisily, like a town crier in a pantomime, I announced I was going to get the cheese. The thought occurred that some sort of similar scene in Act Two would be good: motives in disguise.

  God how I longed to get going: tomorrow morning. I longed equally for Carlotta to disappear, preferably for years.

  CARLOTTA

  Suddenly I couldn’t bear it any longer – Isabel sitting there, so smug in her kitchen, looking from Dan to Bert with that irritating intense concentration that she sometimes rains down on people. She laughed so much at Bert, whose stories weren’t that funny – putting one hand on her throat and tossing back her head, in the way that she does. It was as if she was on some superior kind of cloud – happily married woman, quite talented at making masks, lovely house, enough money, blah blah blah: friendly, but so self-contained she doesn’t really need friends. And above all so sure of Dan, so bloody sure.

  I suppose I’d had too much to drink – amazing claret with the beef. But suddenly fired up with a huge desire to attack my friend, I launched into some rubbish about pop music, knowing this would annoy Isabel: she doesn’t discourage Sylvie in her tastes, but I know she also bangs on about that dreary old music of years ago that she loves. I’m not sure what I was saying, but I hit a target. It all became extremely nasty. Isabel looked at me, white with anger, and Dan tried to diffuse the whole thing by roaring on about cheese in an idiotic manner that I suppose was meant to be funny.

  As he stood moving wedges of Camembert and Dolce Latte about the board, I considered whether I should take my chance, go further: I wanted to shout out loud that Isabel should stop being so bloody smug – would she like to know, I wanted to scream, that Dan and I had stood in that doorway kissing, and, had not Sylvie come down, we’d willingly have gone further?

  But I didn’t. Something about Isabel, bent over the dishwasher, trusting, vulnerable, constant…I couldn’t. But I might one day. – Bert leant towards me with a look I couldn’t quite read. He held a new bottle of wine over my glass. I nodded. He filled it. I drank.

  BERT

  What the hell got into Carlotta? I’d no idea. Until her outburst everything had gone swimmingly. Everyone happy. Delicious dinner and wine. Then her attack on Isabel. Simply a case of too much to drink? I don’t think so.

  Dan stepped in fast, brilliantly, risking his own dignity with some charade about the cheese. Isabel stood up, all the colour vanished from her cheeks, eyes splintered with anger, hurt, various things. I could see a hip bone protruding through her blue silk skirt, the same one she’d been wearing when I followed her upstairs to the studio. She was wearing a white tee-shirt, her small breasts sitting on shadows the shape of two new moons. I wanted to carry her off, take her away from the disagreeable scene – somewhere, anywhere, where I could hold her and kiss her eyes. I loved her so much I had to bend over to ease the physical pain, which I hoped to disguise by pouring more wine for Carlotta who was certainly unwise to accept it.

  When Dan and Isabel had returned to the table I knew that the only effective deflection from the trouble Carlotta had caused would be the breaking of my news. So I spread a slice of cheese over an organic oatcake, and said I had plans I wanted the three of them to be the first to hear. I sensed a perking of interest, a slight relaxing of the wires. – I had decided on my new life, I said: it was to be in Norfolk. – Yes, Norfolk. My affection for London had vanished very quickly and I’d no desire ever to work in a city again. I’d bought Rosie’s lovely house on the marsh, and although I would come to London from time to time, that was going to be where I lived. I felt Isabel’s eyes hard upon me in the silence that followed.

  On the marsh – have you thought about winters? She spoke quietly, brilliantly conveying this was all news to her.

  But what about your London house? Carlotta asked before I could answer Isabel. (I knew that would be her concern) All that effort …

  But not for nothing, I assured her. Her wonderful work on it ensured that I’d get an even better price when I sold it, as soon as possible, and she would certainly be due for a percentage.

  Carlotta sniffed. I don’t know what she was thinking. She seemed put out, deflated, a touch sad – or maybe she was suffering an attack of post-attack remorse. I repeated several times how grateful to her I was for all her efforts, and how lovely the house was, but she took no comfort from these assurances. She shrugged. Blinked very slowly looking down at her plate. For a moment I thought she might cry.

  But her melancholy fled as quickly as it came. She looked up, jaunty, her old teasing self.

  I’ll take a bet you don’t last more than a month on some dreary old marsh, she said.

  Oh, I think he might, said Isabel. I knew she didn’t want to appear too knowing in her understanding. But of course she understood.

  Dan was the practical one. What do you think you’re going to do, stuck out there, old thing? he wanted to know. I began to explain my plans – still a little vague – about putting money and expertise into local causes which would be of benefit to the community. Carlotta briefly raised her eyes to the ceiling. Dan looked equally incredulous. Only Isabel gave me a small nod of approval.

  Feeling I was being hopelessly bad at describing my new ambitions, I fell silent. Perhaps I’d left my announcement too late in the evening. I’d made a real cock-up, I thought: hadn’t done it well. And what did they think, Dan, Isabel, Carlotta? What did they care? I couldn’t be sure, but I don’t think their reaction was as strong as I’d thought it might have been. Isabel was turned from me, busy making coffee. Dan gave an audible sigh. Carlotta, shoulders hunched, head cupped in her hands, appeared to be in deep thought. But whether it concerned my future, or matters of more interest to her, I had no idea.

  ISABEL

  Christ, what an evening. Different kind of tears threatened. I hurried over to the kettle. – Bert really going. I thought he might have changed his mind. Can’t quite believe it. Does he know what he’s doing?

  The room moved. I could feel a sea-swell beneath us: invisible waves rising and falling. A sense of danger. I couldn’t speak for the constriction in my throat. And there was Dan, eyes down, hands on the edge of the table, fingers playing scales. It’s his warning signal. I knew without doubt he was gearing himself up for some announcement, too. – Perhaps to meliorate Bert’s news. Perhaps to relieve himself of something that that been lurking for a long time. Bert passed me the cheese board, kindly eyes. I paid acute attention to slicing a piece of Camembert, trying to deflect a feeling of faintness.

  From a long way off I heard Dan’s voice.

  Well, I have a small piece of news, too, he said. And everyone turned to him.

  DAN

  My overriding feeling was that nobody would be much interested in what I had to say. I had to put it to them in a quiet and modest fashion and hope, at least, it would deflect further speculation about Bert’s future in Norfolk. I was sure he’d had enough of gloomy prognostications.

  My very small piece of news, I said, is that I’ve ditched the play I’ve been struggling with for so long, and I begin a new one tomorrow morning.

  There was an intake of breath from Isabel, but she said nothing. Carlotta turned to me, blinking slowly like an owl in headlights. She, too, said nothing. Bert stirred. I knew I could count on him, at least, for real interest. Tell us more, he said.

  I began to explain. It was to be a play about betrayal. Carlotta quickly laughed. Called Betrayal, suppose? she said. You’ve been rather beaten to it there, haven’t you?

  I turned on her, irritated by her interruption. Not that sort of betrayal, I snapped. Not the full blown kind. – No: what I’m going to try to explore is something far less explicit than full blown adultery – something that scarcely exists. But does exi
st.

  Christ, I thought. I’d only just begun and already I was struggling for words to make myself clear. So foolish of me to have thought I could find them. But it was too late to stop, now

  Like what? asked Carlotta. Sarcastic, sneering, challenging, she was. I’d often seen her in this mood after too much to drink. I decided to be patient. And considering the general reaction to my news was hardly elated, I wouldn’t tell them much more. I pushed my chair away from the table, leant one arm over its back. With my free hand I slowly turned the stem of my wine glass

  Just suppose, I said, there was a very happily married couple: loving, trusting, been together a good many years, no apparent threats. Then along came – let’s say, a man, and he and the woman recognise a kind of…well, you know, a kind of lightness of being, whatever, between them. They never do much about it. Oh no. They’re not potential adulterers, you see. But they feel something mutually unnerving. – They don’t talk about it, either. Don’t need to. And nothing much happens: a single kiss, perhaps. A touching of hands.

  The listening silence had spread thick as fur, stifling. Bert went to put his glass gently on the table. The noise it made switched everybody’s look.

  Now what I’m going to ask, I went on, and try to answer, is this: does this mutual recognition of something count as betrayal? Does it cause permanent guilt, slightly spoiling things for ever? Most important of all, does it impair the solidity of a good marriage? Is it corrosive? And are the two people who share the secret for ever in fear of it being discovered?

  I stopped. In putting to them a fictional idea, had I given a clue to its inspiration? I glanced quickly at Carlotta who was hunting for something in her bag. I could feel the unease of the silence. Carlotta broke it. She waved a lipstick.

  Gosh, what a lot of questions, Dan, she said. Are you sure the answers are up to making a fascinating play? – I mean, honestly, we’re in the twenty-first century, aren’t we? Could anyone on earth think that a mere recognition, or whatever you called it, is going to upset a solid marriage? – She looked from me to Isabel. – Pretty far-fetched, I’d call that. You can’t expect anyone to feel no temptation whatsoever outside a marriage, or a strong bond. Bet you anything God didn’t design us to be attractive only to one person in the world. But if the people concerned don’t do anything about it beyond a sort of…mistletoe kiss, of course they’re not going to suffer guilt, feel they’ve done some harm.

  I just wondered, I said.

  I’m not sure it’s worth wondering about, Carlotta snapped back. Having finished the scarlet re-shine of her lips, she was quieter, now. – Everywhere you look, she said, there’s real adultery, real betrayal. A passing kiss, or fancy, or moment of lust, is hardly going to upset things in this modern world, is it?

  …just wondered, I said again.

  Carlotta was blinking very slowly. I could see she was thinking as clearly as she was able. I still didn’t look at Isabel but was aware her eyes were on my twirling glass. It was time for me to bow out, stop making a fool of myself.

  Pretty difficult subject you’ve got yourself there, said Bert, coming to my rescue as he so often does. Interesting, of course. – Be interesting to see what you do with it. But are you sure you’re doing the right thing, giving up on a play? You’ve never done that before.

  I knew he was trying to change the subject, relieve me from further incoherent stumbling. I knew he was aware of my sense of mortification as I’d tried to put over an idea that seemed to be of little interest to any of them. It was always foolish to try to talk about something you intend to write: I’d learnt that lesson long ago. So why had I tried? Self-aggrandisement? The longing to share with the people you love the excitement of a new beginning? Whatever the reason, I now cursed myself. All I wanted to do was to dismiss the whole thing as quickly as possible. I filled everyone’s glasses.

  I think, said Carlotta, eyes suddenly shooting at me, that despite my reservations, on reflection it’s a perfectly fascinating idea – don’t you Isabel?

  Isabel, turned upon, surprised by Carlotta’s question, laughed to give herself time. She said she wasn’t really sure what I was hunting down. But, she agreed with Carlotta, she thought I might be exaggerating the significance of something very small. – Here she glanced at Bert before, at last, meeting my eyes. She went on to say she agreed with more of what Carlotta had said – that it would be humanly impossible not to entertain a fleeting recognition of attraction to someone beyond the person you loved and were committed to.. And why on earth should that upset the apple cart? Why should that be a threat to some profound bond? There was no reason, as Carlotta had said.

  There was triumph in Carlotta’s eyes, dejection in my heart. I was convinced Isabel would have supported me. I was so sure she would have agreed with my theory.

  I floundered on, trying to explain that what concerned me was the hidden stain on a relationship, should one person secretly embark on some so-called insignificant attraction. Wasn’t this a threat that was not worth risking?

  It was late by now. No one, apparently, was interested in this question. None of them offered an answer. I sensed an acute feeling of failure, cutting as when, each time, a play returns unwanted. I wished more than ever that I’d never embarked on the whole amorphous subject. I heard Bert give a deep sigh. Then he brightened. Tell you what, Dan, he said. I think you’re onto something. If you can sort it all out in your new play… that’ll be quite something. A lot of people are faced with the dilemma you’ve been explaining, and would be glad of an answer. And when you’ve finished the play you could send it to Rosie’s nephew.

  – Thanks, Bert, I said. I might do that.

  Then Carlotta, with the impatience of one who had had enough news for one evening, pushed back her chair and stood up.

  And what are you going to call the play? was her final question.

  I hadn’t thought about that. I answered without thinking.

  Hiding, I said.

  BERT

  When Dan came to the end of his monologue, he looked shattered. I had the uneasy thought that his idea for his new play might have been inspired by real life. But no, surely not: Dan would never betray Isabel in thought, word or deed. I would swear on my life to that. – Besides, as he so often tells me, he never consciously writes from real life. Making it up is so much more interesting, he claims. – But he looked full of regret for having embarked on trying to tell us about it, and he didn’t get much sympathy. Altogether, it wasn’t the evening for news going down well. In fact it was the most peculiar and uncomfortable dinner I could remember for a very long time. And Isabel, my Isabel: she suddenly looked terribly tired, confused. If I couldn’t be the one to comfort her, I wanted to go home. Carlotta, thank God, got up, once Dan had confessed the title of the play, obviously feeling the same.

  CARLOTTA

  Dan’s incoherent ramblings could only mean one thing: he’d had far too much to drink. What on earth had got into him? Some death wish? Some sudden whim to play with fire? Though I don’t think for a moment either of the others imagined he was talking about real life – the real life of the four of us round the table. It was pathetic, the way he was trying to explain, and his explanation was hopeless. I wasn’t listening that hard, being more occupied by the thought of Bert buggering off just as I’d spent all that time getting his house ready for a happy life in London. – So Dan may have been making sense, but it didn’t get through to me. What I wanted to ask was: are you trying to say that because you and I had one, single kiss, your marriage – to you, though not to Isabel, is never going to be the same again?

  But I didn’t, of course. There was enough dangerous stuff whirling in the air. An evening of increasing horror, as far as I was concerned, though the others seemed to be enjoying it – at the beginning, at any rate. I’d had enough. All I wanted was to get home.

  So I stood up, full of purpose. Then I remembered. Hang on a mo, Carlotta, something inside me shrieked – have you forgotten your
own piece of news?

  Have to say, in all the clamour, I had. It was now or never.

  I stood holding on to the back of the chair, for the room was a little wavy, the wine glasses dancing. I smiled like hell. Took my time. The others must have known something was coming, for they remained in their seats.

  I said that – actually, and I was sorry – I had to be going because tomorrow was an important day for me. I was to give in my notice. And shortly – like Bert – there was to be a big change in my life. I was going to live in New York.

  I don’t know what I was expecting by way of response: a modicum of surprise, dismay, interest perhaps. In fact there was a long puzzled silence. I suspected that after all the other announcements of the evening they weren’t able to take in something as huge as mine. After a while – my eyes went from one to another of them, recording their various degrees of bemusement – I heard Isabel’s feeble voice. Oh Carlotta, she said. Why on earth?

  I was brusque, determined not to linger and ramble. Too late for detailed explanations, I said. But there comes a time in a single woman’s life when she wants to try something else. A place, a job, a life, where she will fare better. In other words I’d become increasingly aware I was in a rut and wanted a change. If it didn’t work out, I’d come back. – No, I wouldn’t sell my flat. England would always be home: this would just be an experiment. And, yes, I’d be off as soon as everything could be arranged.

  I’d no intention of waiting for their reactions. I snatched up my coat and made for the door. Dan quickly followed me. In the two seconds we had alone in the hall he asked if I was sure I knew what I was doing. I said I was. He hugged me, dryly. Then Isabel came up and said she wished I wasn’t running off so quickly – though, yes, she agreed, it was well after midnight. She, too, put her arms round me: tense and taut as violin strings. I gave her a friendly smile and said I’d not be gone for a month or so, and I’d miss her once I was in New York. Then Bert took my arm. Close, we descended the steps to the path, and went out into the road. We heard the front door shut very firmly behind us.