by Mason, Carol
He looks over his shoulder, scowls. ‘No, it’s not a lose wire,’ he says, in that what-d’you-think-I-am?-a monkey? tone.
I go over to the socket and plug it in. The little red light comes on. ‘It’s working Rob.’
‘How?’ he says, like I’m a genius.
‘You just had to switch it on.’
~ * * * ~
Buried but not dead. Despite my best efforts, I spend the week with little else but Andrey on my mind. I am not myself. I am in a permanent, twenty-four-hour-a-day heat. The wacky things I do: bake chicken à la cling-film; take the lead for a walk without the puppy; sprinkle Comet in my knickers instead of talc. The latter stings, and I have to ring Leigh. ‘Ow! What do I do? It’s burning like mad.’
‘Put water on it. But how did you manage to get Comet down your pants?’
I stand beside the bath doing the splits. ‘I’d just been cleaning the toilet. Then I had a bath. Got dried. Reached for the talc…’ I put water on it. ‘Oooh!’ I call her back. ‘It’s foaming green now. I can just see me having to crab-walk up to the doctor’s looking like I’ve had sex with a well-endowed forest of tree trunks.’
She cackles. ‘Make a paste of bicarb of soda. That’s what I do for sunburn. It always works.’ So I do. I paste on a white beard, making down-below look like a Nestle Mint Aero with whipped cream. And I lie there on my back with my legs V’d up the bathroom wall. But even this doesn’t dampen my libido.
It’s been over six months since Rob and I have had sex. I’m trying very hard not to count. If I gave the exact number of days that would make me really sound pathetic so I won’t.
I still have his phone number. I pull it out, stare at his handwriting, every loop and curve. I dial, listen to his voice on the answer machine, hang up, do it again. About ten times. A couple of times I drive over to the beach, camp out in a strategically inconspicuous spot, and stare at him while he does enthralling things like scratch the back of his head, or kick his sandal against a rock to dislodge the sand. You’d think he’d chat up all the girls, but he doesn’t, I’m pleased to see. I stop short of following him when he goes off shift because that’s got stalker written all over it. At work the girls comment that I seem unusually distracted. Then I make two nasty accounting mistakes, either one of which could have landed me the sack had I not noticed in the nick of time. In my bed, as I try to fall asleep, when I have literally nothing else to do except lay there and let my thoughts run wild, I’m the most focussed and wide awake that I’ve been all day. I am a livewire of Andrey. Andrey courses through my red hot-blooded veins, refusing to let me rest. Andrey the boy growing up in Russia, Andrey’s smile, Andrey’s humour, Andrey’s hopes and dreams, the feel of Andrey’s fingers on my bare skin.
Not Rob’s. Lately I’m not imagining anything physical to do with Rob.
By Wednesday I’m exhausted. Wendy rings me at work. She sounds flat. ‘I’m not coming to work out with you tonight,’ she tells me. ‘I’m a little tired. I had a bit of a bad argument with Neil last night so I didn’t get much sleep.’
I have never heard her say she’s had an argument with Neil. ‘Is everything alright, Wend? What was it about?’ I regret asking that the second the words are out.
‘Oh it was nothing. Trivial really.’
Trivial but a bad argument? Sometimes I wonder why she bothers telling me anything at all. ‘Well why don’t you come out anyway? Exercise makes you feel better. Aren’t you always telling me that?’ I realise I want her there for my own selfish reasons—to change the track of my thoughts, and the mood and inevitable conversation between Leigh and me.
‘Erm. No. I think I’ll give it a miss. Leigh was getting on my nerves a bit today at work. I think I need a bit of Leigh-free time.’
She doesn’t sound herself. But, honestly, if she’s not going to tell me then I’m not going to drag it out of her.
In the gym changing room, a static current of sexual frustration crackles around me as I pull off my shirt. Leigh stands there in scarlet bra and panties, swinging her new raven hairdo, jangling her gold double-hoop earrings. She looks exotic, like a flamenco dancer. We claim treadmills beside each other and start pounding it. She’s still seeing him every lunch. It’s been over a month now. The other day he came to her office. Wendy was at a doctor’s appointment and Clifford was out. They did a frenzied grind against a wall by an open window, with Northern Goldsmith’s clock chiming in the distance. ‘The sex is only getting better, if that’s possible Jill,’ she pants. ‘It’s true, women are at their prime in their thirties; I’ve never had such powerful and abundant orgasms. Yesterday, I was so hot for him I made him pull over at a Burger King. He snuck me into the men’s toilets and we did it in a cubicle!’ She cackles. ‘Gives a whole new meaning to the term Big Whopper!’
‘Aren’t you horrified Lawrence’s going to notice how different you’ve become?’ I pound it hard, trying to exorcise something as I do it. The need for a hot sweaty tangle with human flesh runs loose in me, faster than my legs.
‘Look, I do what I do with him then I go home. I don’t sneak out at night. My life goes on as normal. So my mind might be somewhere else. Lawrence doesn’t know that. We always assume people are mind readers Jill, but they’re not. They’ve got enough to think about with their own lives.’ She’s panting heavy. A bead of sweat disappears down the V of her top. ‘Actually,’ she says. ‘Affairs are a lot easier to have than you’d think.’
In the sauna, we lie on opposite benches in our towels, our heads turned to one another. ‘Tell me something bad about it,’ I say to her, realising I’m still thinking about it even when we’re not talking about it. ‘Tell me a downside.’
She seems to think hard. ‘I can’t. Doing this just makes me wonder why I was faithful all these years. And the funny thing is Jill,’ she sits up, her towel falling from her breasts. ‘You know, since I’ve had a lover, I pick on Lawrence so much less. And you can tell that he’s more relaxed because of it. Even his OCD is better.’ She wipes her running mascara. ‘In a peculiar way this affair is saving my marriage. Fucking another man is actually doing Lawrence a favour.’ The door opens and somebody comes in. Our gazes slide apart. In the changing room we dry off. ‘Are you still thinking of going for it with the Russian?’ she asks me. ‘I mean, now that your marriage is back on track.’
I lied the other day and told her it was. I didn’t think she believed me for a second, given that it came about two minutes after the Comet episode. But if this thing that Rob and I are going through turns out to be just a blip on an otherwise happy landscape, I don’t want my marriage remembered by the bad things I’ve said about it, because they have a way of obliterating the good.
‘Well, I’m not sure it’s exactly back on track,’ I say, knowing the only reason I can’t tell her how un-back on track it is, is that she’ll then know I lied. Then she’ll think things are worse than they even are. ‘Besides, he’s not exactly said come on let’s do it. He knows I’m married.’
‘Boring,’ she sings.
‘No, actually, I like that. If he were all over me it’d put me off. At least he’s got class.’
‘A classy lifeguard.’
‘Don’t take the piss.’
‘Well you initiate it then!’
‘I can’t.’ My eyes suddenly brim with tears. ‘Oh God, Leigh, I don’t know what I’m coming to.’ I plonk down on the bench. She stops drying her legs, looks at me, shocked. ‘I thought all I wanted was to fix my marriage. But now… I don’t know what I want. I’m scared I want something I don’t want to want… Another problem, instead of a solution. Maybe I’m just fed up with the whole concept of being only thirty-five and married all this time. Maybe—like you once told me—a part of me is just burning to go out and make up for all the fun I should have had in my twenties.’ When I was taking life too seriously, and settled down too ahead of my time. ‘I’m scared that I’m starting to doubt not just my future with Rob, but my past too.’
‘Look Jill,’ she plonks down beside me. ‘I know you love Rob. He’s a great lad. And I’m certainly not going to encourage you to be unfaithful. But you’re my friend. You’re the one I care most about. And you’ve not judged me. So I’m certainly not judging you, no matter what you do. And I can tell you’re unhappy. You’re starting to wear it like bad weather. So if there’s something you badly need to do, do it. Do it, and to hell with guilt. Guilt is only something invented by people who are too scared to do what they really want.’ She looks at me directly. ‘You’re not going to get your life back once it’s over. I’m convinced you don’t have some burning desire to shag around and make up for lost time—because believe me that’s not the fun it sounds. But maybe you were destined to meet this man for a bit of fun to get you through a very hard time in your marriage. Maybe he’s come along to somehow save you.’ She stands up, starts putting things in her bag. ‘But if you’re not going to go for it, then forget about him or you’re just tormenting yourself. Basically,’ she rolls up her leggings. ‘Piss or get off the pot.’
My very ladylike mother used to use that expression all the time.
At home, I lie in the bath and contemplate my menstruating body. My breasts, which always seem bigger this time of the month, spread and float on the water. Little pieces of my endometrium unfurl into the water like sea anemones, which reminds me what the root cause of all this is. Why couldn’t we have been able to have a baby? Weren’t we allowed to change our minds? Maybe it was wrong of us not to actively want children from the moment we were married. But is this some sort of divine punishment—our marriage biting the dust? I will not let it happen.
So why am I swinging? Why does Leigh’s ‘Elastoplast’ solution sound a little appealing? Why do I wrack my brains to make a mental list of all Rob’s flaws and try to make them add up to enough reason for me to cheat? Why does part of me wish I could find out that he were having an affair, so I could have my own in revenge? It’s terrible and it’s shameful and I hate that I feel this but I do and I just can’t help it. If only I were like Wendy: happy and still in love. Or if I can’t be her, why can’t I be Leigh, and just not give a damn? Good girls, they can’t be true to themselves.
In bed I lie awake next to a mound of snoring husband, thinking about marriage and fidelity, temptation and honest friends. But what was it Leigh said? That being with Nick makes her realise she’ll never enjoy sex with Lawrence again. So she did answer my question. The one thing bad about her affair: when the party’s over she’ll feel like she’s going home with the consolation prize.
I smile to myself in some sort of smug satisfaction about my righteous commitment to my flailing marriage. I glance across at Rob’s back, his heaving barrier of shoulders. Then I shut my eyes, slip my hand under my nightie and take the only course of action I’m left with.
Chapter Nine
‘Something very odd’s happened.’ Wendy’s voice is missing its bubble. I sit on my bed, stuff the phone under my chin while I try to put my socks on. Rob has just come out of the shower with a bath-towel around his waist. ‘You know how Leigh wanted ideas for opening the flagship store at the Metro Centre? Well she’s decided she wants to give away five hundred pound’s worth of merchandise to the first person who comes in the door naked. She thinks half of Newcastle is going to be lined up outside in the buff.’
‘She’s probably right.’
‘Well she wants to invite the national media. She thinks it’s brilliant publicity for the brand. And Clifford happened to ask me my opinion of it.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘So I said well I can certainly see it attracting attention. But I actually have a problem with that on two levels. One: it’s wrong to ridicule people even if they do very stupid things. But two: if this gets on the telly, well, I just don’t think it sends the right signal to the rest of the country about the North East. I mean, I hate it how the few times this region ever gets on the national news they’ll always manage to interview the most toothless, illiterate moron who punctuates everything with ‘man’, ‘why aye’ and ‘like’, and that’s supposed to be representative of people who live up here! It just keeps fuelling those old Andy Cap stereotypes and I get fed up of it. So having a load of silly girls embarrass themselves for a bag of free clothing… I don’t know. I think it’s wrong. And if it were my company, my brand, I’d want to associate it with something with a bit more class than that.’
‘And you told him this?’
‘Well I was a bit less vehement, but yes.’
‘Good God!’ Rob’s doing that thing of dressing where he’ll put his T-shirt on before his underpants so his dangly bits hang there. I used to find it comical. Today it annoys me. ‘So what did he say?’
‘He completely agreed. He really latched onto the point about class.’
‘Well that’s good then!’
‘No it’s not. Because five minutes before that he thought Leigh’s idea was the best one since sliced bread. In fact he thought it was so good that he actually thought it was his idea. And now that he loathes it, he’s coming down very hard on Leigh for ‘leading the brand astray’. And she’s mad and seems to think it’s all my fault.’
Tits up. I tell you I predicted it. Never work for friends. ‘Well what did she say?’
‘She just looked at me like she actually might kill me. Then she said, “Well just because ONE PERSON has no sense of humour…” So I suppose that meant me. Then they had this massive fight. The production manager was on his way in the door and just rolled his eyes and crept away.’ She takes another deep breath. ‘Jill, what do I do?’
‘Nothing, I’m sure it’s over with now. Leigh doesn’t hold grudges.’
‘Doesn’t she? Yesterday morning when I went in, there was a note on my desk. It said, Please phone the Metro Centre and find out the fire hazard policy for crowds outside of stores. FOR MY IDEA YOU TRIED TO SABOTAGE.’
‘Sabotage? She used that word?’
‘She did. She didn’t spell it right but she did. She even put it in blocked capitals.’
‘Well go and tell her that was completely uncalled for!’ As I say this, Rob, who is listening in on the conversation, gives me a curious scowl.
‘I can’t. I’ve mulled this over half the night. There’s going to be a very strange atmosphere if we end up having a big row. I mean, she’s my friend. I can’t just switch her off at five o’clock. And I don’t want her thinking that just because I’ve never worked all these years that I’m too sensitive…’ There’s a pause. ‘Jill I did something really cowardly.’
‘No you didn’t. You gave your opinion. So she didn’t like it. Too bad.’ Rob, who has his underpants on now, gives me the thumbs up.
‘No. I don’t mean that. I mean, when I saw that note. For some reason I just thought, Oh, I can’t face this. I just couldn’t be bothered with the silliness of it. So, as she hadn’t come in, I went in to see Clifford clutching my cheek saying how I had a really bad toothache and I’d just got an emergency appointment at the dentist. So now I’m sat at home nursing a toothache I don’t have, trying to work out how I’m going to go back to a job I’m not even sure I want anymore, and all this feels… beyond childish and ridiculous to say the least.’
‘It is childish. She’s being childish.’
‘I thought about telling her I changed my mind, that the more I think about it, it’s actually a good idea. But why should I do that? Why should I pander like that and take back what I believe in?’
‘I don’t know, Wend. Maybe for an easy life! But what’s Neil say about all this?’
‘Oh he thinks I’m overanalysing. Mind you, I didn’t tell him the toothache part. But he did say I should be on my guard about her—she’s obviously not the person I thought she was. But I thought he was being a little hard on her. I mean, she’s not that bad!’
‘Well I think you should go back in, say your tooth’s fine now, and act like none of this has ever happened. And if it ever happens again, you’ll take her to task then.’
‘But that’s a bit cowardly too, isn’t it? Isn’t she probably testing my mettle here a bit?’
‘Oh I’m sure she’s got better things to do. Who knows, maybe she meant it as a joke.’
‘But when I told you what she wrote you didn’t think it was any joke did you? SABOTAGE is a strong word Jill. It’s not like she just said for my idea you don’t like….’
‘Wendy, you know, maybe Neil’s right. Maybe you are making a bit too much of this.’
She sighs. ‘Maybe I am. But lately I just wonder what I’m doing Jill. Marketing. Exercise pants. I don’t know… all my life I’ve fantasized about standing for something. Just… if I could get into a company where the work is a bit more relevant to something I’m interested in or has some bigger meaning… I wouldn’t mind just being the receptionist. I’d gladly be it.’ She sighs again. ‘Sometimes I think I should go and finish my degree, go get more degrees even, until I’m so degreed that somebody finally takes me seriously. I mean, I have a job that I’m supposed to be grateful for because I can’t find a job anywhere else, yet in many ways I feel too good for this job. So where this leaves me, I’m not quite sure.’
‘Well go do it. Go back and finish your degree.’ I can’t count the number of times we’ve had this conversation.
She pauses. ‘Neil doesn’t think it’s a great idea. But then again, Neil has no respect for education.’
‘Neither does Leigh.’
‘No. Because they did fine without it. But they’re the exception not the rule. And that was then and this is now. Today at the very least you need a degree.’ She sounds all fluffed up. ‘And if you’re my age and trying to get your first job you need a degree and a miracle.’
‘Well nothing’s stopping you. I’m sure if you decided to do it, Neil would support you.’
‘I know. I just don’t know what it is with me. I seem to have this mental block where this topic is concerned. I mean, I am able to finish it. I want to. Yet, for some reason, I’m not. There’s always been Neil or the lads stopping me. Way back it was my A-level grades that prevented me going to read law, which is what I always really, really fancied, when all I had to do was re-sit them instead of taking a job at the Civic Centre. Then it was the job that prevented me from going back to school. Then it was my parents dying, then Nina dying. And now that nothing’s stopping me…. I’m stopping me. I know I’m not afraid of failing, but I don’t know… maybe I’m afraid of succeeding.’
