by Rosie Thomas
No.
And then she looked at the stripped boards of the kitchen floor, which Martin had sanded and waxed.
No, nor in any of the other corners of the house that they had created and shared.
Annie lifted her head, and with her fingers entwined in Steve’s hair she made him look up at her. ‘Not here,’ she whispered.
Steve held her for another moment, and then his arms dropped stiffly to his sides. They were both looking at the dresser with its blue plates and framed photographs.
Steve made a little, apologetic gesture. ‘Of course not here.’
They turned away, not looking at each other.
Annie put her hand on the coffee pot to feel if it was still hot enough. She poured each of them a cup and they sat down at the table. But it was painful to see Steve sitting in Martin’s chair, and so she stood up again almost immediately. She carried her cup across the room and stood drinking the tepid coffee by the kitchen window, looking out at the garden.
Steve said in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.’
Annie slammed her cup down on to the draining board and went to him. She stood behind the chair and put her arms over his shoulders, resting her cheek against his head. He grasped her wrists, holding her there.
‘Of course you should, if you needed to. I needed you to. I didn’t realize how much.’ After a moment she added quietly, ‘It won’t be very easy. Doing … what we’ve agreed.’
We haven’t even begun to talk about what it will mean in pain and unhappiness for all of us, Annie thought.
‘Do you think I expect it to be easy, Annie? I thought about it, all those weeks in hospital. I wouldn’t have dared to come here and ask you, if I didn’t believe it was …’ There was a pause, and then he brought the word out, painfully, ‘… inescapable. Because we belong to one another, good or bad.’
There was another silence. Annie rubbed her cheek against his hair, moving it so that her mouth touched the thin skin at his temple. She felt a tiny pulse flickering there and was reminded of their pathetic, physical frailty under the mounds of rubble. But they had survived. Perhaps they were more resilient, all of them, than she gave them credit for. They would survive.
Would Benjamin? And Thomas?
She straightened up abruptly and began to walk around the kitchen, touching a spoon and a silver-plated toast-rack that Barbara had given to her, straightening the glass jars that held coffee and tea.
‘What would you like to do now?’ Steve asked her gently.
Annie looked at the oven clock.
‘I collect Benjy from his nursery at twelve,’ she said. ‘Before that, perhaps we could go for a walk?’
He smiled at her. ‘All right. A walk it is.’
‘A very short, gentle one, because of your leg.’
His smile broadened. ‘I’m faster than you think.’
They went out together into the March sunshine.
Steve’s car was a big grey BMW, parked at the kerb at the opposite end of the road.
‘I wasn’t sure which was your house,’ he said. He unlocked the passenger door and helped Annie into the plush interior. She was interpreting his words inside her head. It was tactful to park a car like this a little way away. Someone might see it, and wonder who you are.
As they purred out of the quiet street Annie stared straight ahead through the windshield. She knew that her face was pink and that her expression was unnatural enough to make anyone who knew her, and who might be watching, look just a little harder. She thought back to the moments of happiness that she had felt with Steve in the hospital, and wondered at her own naïveté in letting herself believe, however briefly, that loving him as she did was simple and natural.
Steve drove smoothly away from Annie’s immediate neighbourhood. As they left the streets behind she began to relax. She let her head fall back against her seat, passively watching the shop windows as they rolled by. She felt somehow that now she had left the house and come with Steve, the first of a long chain of decisions had been made, irrevocably, and that was a kind of comfort.
It was a short drive to the north side of Hampstead Heath. Annie noticed that Steve seemed well-acquainted with the belt of expensive housing immediately surrounding the Heath. He turned briskly into an unmarked side-road that led directly to the open space. He raised his eyebrows at her and she nodded her assent. Steve took his stick from the back of the car and they crossed on to the grass, walking slowly, shoulder to shoulder.
Annie glanced back at the large houses standing half-hidden behind their high fences. ‘Are you a regular in places like this?’
Steve shrugged and laughed. ‘Here? Film-producer country? Not exactly. I’ve been asked to one or two private functions in houses around and about. And they are functions, believe me. There was a very stiff party, I remember, in one of those houses over there. The green-tiled one, I think. I walked across here afterwards, in the very early hours of the morning, talking to someone. It was so quiet,’ he recalled. ‘Like somewhere very remote, an island or a stretch of moorland. Not London at all.’
Annie wondered whether he had been with Cass, or Vicky, or someone else altogether. She knew that her retrospective jealousy was inappropriate, but it took a moment to overcome it. She put her hands in the pockets of her jeans, dismissing the image of some film woman in a Dynasty dress. She concentrated on their path over the short, tussocky grass.
‘Are you all right to walk like this?’
‘Perfectly, if we don’t go too far or too fast. If we do, I shall have to lean on your arm.’
‘My pleasure,’ she whispered.
They smiled at each other, suddenly warmed by happiness that was stronger than the sunshine, and Annie forgot her jealousy again.
‘Why do you come to film-producer functions?’ Annie asked. ‘I don’t know anything about what you do, do I?’
‘I can tell you, if you really want.’
The open heath dipping in front of them was deserted except for stray joggers in their tracksuits and one or two solitary walkers whose dogs sniffed at the dead leaves still lying in the hollows: for Steve and Annie their isolation here in the empty space under the blue sky was comforting.
‘I do want. Tell me everything.’
They walked on, absorbed in one another, talking about little things as they had done in the long hours in hospital.
It was Steve who looked at his watch and reminded Annie at last that they must turn back to the car. Their steps were heavier as they retraced them, and they drove back through the streets towards Annie’s home in deepening silence.
Two streets away from the nursery Annie said abruptly, ‘Could you let me out here?’
‘Of course not,’ Steve answered, unthinking. ‘I’ll take you right to the door.’
‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I …’ She was thinking of the group of mothers on the church hall steps, watching her.
Steve glanced at her face and then he drew in to the side of the road. His hands stayed gripping the steering wheel.
‘I’m sorry,’ Annie said softly.
Steve was silent, looking out at the suburban street. Annie wanted to whisper his name, to lay her head against his shoulder, but she made herself sit rigid.
‘When will I see you again?’ he asked her.
‘I don’t know. As soon as I possibly can. Will … the daytime be all right?’
‘Come at any time you want, my darling.’
‘I’ll … come to you, this time.’ She said the words very quietly, almost with distaste. She was thinking, then we’ll be committed to the lies. Or else to making all the hurtful steps towards the truth.
Oh, Steve, don’t go and leave me.
Go now, why don’t you, and leave us in peace?
She felt herself torn, the pain from all the ragged pieces as severe as any of the physical hurt she had felt in the darkness.
‘All right, then,’ Annie said wearily.
Steve took a little square of past
eboard from his wallet and gave it to her.
‘That’s my address. And my number. You can always reach me there.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She opened her handbag and slipped the card without looking at it through a tear in the lining, where it could lie safely hidden.
She lifted her head to look at him then. His face was soft, and his eyes were clouded with sympathy. Not a despoiler at all, Annie thought. Why was I thinking that of him? She leant forward very slowly and touched the corner of his mouth with her own. For a second they held together, burning, motionless. Then, as stiffly as an old woman, she sat back again.
‘Goodbye,’ Annie said.
He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face.
Annie fumbled for the door catch and stepped out on to the kerb. She raised her arm in an awkward wave and then she began to walk, too fast, heading for the church hall nursery.
Steve watched her until she was out of sight, but she never turned to look back.
‘Can I do this puzzle?’ Benjy asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, already tipping the pieces out of their box.
Annie glanced briefly over her shoulder. She was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.
‘All right. Remember that there isn’t much time before bed.’
‘I want to.’
‘I said yes, Ben. Just don’t get cross if it isn’t finished before you have to go upstairs.’ Annie’s response was patient, automatic. She wasn’t listening, because her thoughts were busy elsewhere. Benjy spread the pieces out over the table and stared fiercely at them.
‘I want you to help me.’
‘I can’t, love. I’m busy now. You do it.’
Benjy reached out across the table and with a lazy sweep of his arm he tipped the puzzle pieces over the edge and on to the floor. They fell with a satisfying clatter.
Annie threw down her potato peeler, the second clatter like an echo. ‘What did you do that for, Ben?’
The little boy gazed at her, his face a pucker of defiance. Then he asked, ‘Why are you always busy?’
Annie stood still, holding on to the sink edge, staring at her children.
Thomas lifted his head from his drawing. He said, as if he were stating the obvious for his brother’s benefit, ‘Because she’s a grown-up.’
They watched her, the two of them, accusing and vulnerable at the same time, their uncertainty clear for her to see.
‘Oh, Thomas,’ she said.
Annie went to them. Benjy slid off his chair and wrapped his arms around her legs. Thomas stood up awkwardly, his shoulders hunched, feeling that he was too old to run into his mother’s arms. She held them out to him and then she hugged them both, burying their faces against her so that they wouldn’t see her own expression.
‘I’m sorry,’ she managed to say. ‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been very much fun, lately.’
I’m doing this all wrong, Annie thought. I’m thinking about myself, and Steve, every minute of the day. Instead of my kids. It would be better for them if I weren’t here. If I just went, and left them, would they be happier in the end, than if I took them away from their home and their father, to a stranger? Suddenly, she was almost overcome by the physical pull of her love for them. She drew them closer, smelling their warm, grubby scent, her cheek against Thomas’s hair.
I can’t leave them, she thought. If I go, they must come with me.
‘I love you both,’ she whispered. ‘You know that.’
She hugged them one last time, and then let them go. The button on her cuff caught against Thomas’s ear and he clapped his hand to it, yelling, ‘Ow!’
‘Baby,’ Benjamin said sternly and then the three of them were laughing, the tension breaking up like mist.
‘Come on,’ Annie said. ‘It’s bath time.’
Another day negotiated, she thought, as they went up the stairs.
The boys were asleep before Martin came home. He was tired after a meeting with a particularly exigent client, and he came into the kitchen wearily rubbing his hand over his eyes.
‘Was it a bad day, then?’ Annie asked.
Martin pecked her cheek, reaching past her for the wine bottle at the same time. ‘Mmm? Only fairly bad. Dinner smells good. How was your day?’
‘Oh. Usual,’ Annie said carefully.
Martin poured himself a drink and took the evening paper over to the sofa at the far end of the room. He cleared a pile of clean washing out of the way and sank down with a sigh of relief.
‘Thank God for peace and quite,’ Annie heard him murmur.
She stood at the stove, poking unnecessarily at a saucepan with her wooden spoon. She was thinking, If I say something now, will it sound as if I haven’t been able to hold it back? If I don’t mention it till later, will it come out sounding contrived? Annie frowned down into the bubbling casserole. Lying didn’t come easily.
‘Martin?’ she said, too loudly.
‘Yes?’
‘I thought I might go shopping tomorrow. Down to the West End. The boys need some things, and so do I. Benjy’s going out to play for the afternoon, and Audrey will come in at tea-time …’
Martin looked up from the paper. It was a good sign that she felt safe enough to go into crowded stores again. He smiled at her, trying to gauge if it was anxiety or the effort of concealment that made her voice sound strained.
‘Good idea. Look, shall I come with you? I couldn’t manage all day, but I might take a couple of hours after lunch.’
‘There’s no need.’ Look down into the saucepan. Stir in one direction, then the other, take a deep breath. ‘It’s boring things, like a new duffel coat for Tom.’
I hate lying to him.
Martin watched her averted profile for a moment. And then he said lightly, ‘Okay. If you’re sure you’ll be all right. Take the joint account chequebook. There’s a couple of hundred pounds in that account.’
‘Thanks,’ Annie said. And so, she thought, she would have to rush into John Lewis’s on the way home, and buy things to make her husband believe that she had been shopping all day long. Annie realized that the sight of the food was making her feel sick. She wondered bleakly whether it was her love affair itself that was sordid, or whether it was the lying and the subterfuge that made it seem so.
She had telephoned Steve two days ago, when she knew that she couldn’t go any longer without seeing him. Her hands shook as she dialled the number, but they steadied again as soon as he answered. His voice sounded very warm and confident.
‘I can arrange for a whole day. Until the children’s suppertime, that is,’ she said.
‘When?’
‘On Thursday. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it is. I’ll take you to lunch somewhere.’
And so it had been arranged. Annie dropped the wooden spoon into the sink with the rest of the washing up.
‘Dinner’s ready, Martin.’
‘Wonderful.’
Another ordinary evening. Annie slept badly that night, restlessly turning between guilt and happiness.
In the morning, when the house was empty and quiet after the rush of work and school, she walked dreamily through the cluttered rooms. She put the cushions straight on the old chesterfield, and wound up the pretty little French clock that stood on the mantelpiece. Then she went upstairs. She touched the bottle of body lotion on her dressing table, then opened one of the drawers and looked at her underwear neatly folded inside. Annie owned an expensive set of cream lace and silk underthings, but Martin had given them to her for her birthday a year ago. Annie took out her plain, everyday things and slammed the drawer shut again. She lifted a blue corduroy dress off its hanger and put that on too, defiantly not looking at herself in the wardrobe mirror. When she was dressed she went into the bathroom and combed her hair into waves around her face. Almost as an afterthought she took out a pair of jet combs that Tibby had given her, saying, ‘I won’t need these now that my hair’s so thin.’ She pinned the waves of hair back, and
stared into her own eyes. They seemed very bright, and there were spots of colour on her high cheekbones. She looked, Annie thought, as if she were about to do something very dangerous, and desperate.
At midday she put her grey coat on, bought to replace the blue one she had worn to go Christmas shopping, how long ago? She picked up the chequebook that Martin had left for her on the dresser in the kitchen, and put it into her bag. For a moment she stood looking at the telephone, thinking, I could still ring. I could tell him that I can’t come, after all. And then she thought of Steve, waiting in his empty flat for her to come to him. I must go. I can’t not do it, not now.
She left the house. She was going to slam the front door, but in the end she closed it behind her with a tiny, final click.
Steve lived at the top of an anonymous block not far from Harrods. Annie rode up in the mirrored lift, turning away from the unwelcome sight of her repeated reflection. When the doors opened on the top floor she stepped out into a long carpeted corridor. She hesitated, caught a last glimpse of her desperate, defiant expression, turned and marched smartly down the length of deep pile. She rang his bell and he opened the door immediately.
Steve kissed her cheek, his hand briefly lifting her hair from the nape of her neck. ‘Come in.’
She followed him inside. The room was bare, surprisingly high, decorated in shades of grey and cream. The few pieces of furniture were black, or glass and chrome. A long black table at the far end was piled with papers.
‘Have you been working?’ Annie asked. In this environment, Steve suddenly seemed a formidable stranger.
Then he smiled crookedly at her. ‘Trying to,’ he said, acknowledging the longing and the apprehensiveness that they both felt.
‘Would you like a drink?’
Annie remembered the conversation that they had had in hospital. Steve had said, ‘We’ve never met for a clandestine drink. I don’t know whether you like vodka martinis or white wine spritzers.’ This is clandestine enough, she thought. Why didn’t we understand before that it would come to this?
‘Just white wine,’ Annie said. ‘No soda.’
Steve nodded. She knew that he remembered too.
He went into the kitchen and Annie walked across the room to the black sofa, looking at the chic emptiness. He poured her wine and she drank it, tasting the gooseberry richness.
