by Rosie Thomas
Poor women, she thought. Why should men do this to them? Why should we let them?
With boozy, sodden ferocity she had lurched to her feet, swiping at the singer and connecting with him so forcibly that he had almost fallen off his chair. Then she stumbled to the front of Monty’s dim cavern and shouted something. Something like, ‘You won’t enjoy this as much as girls’ tits, but you can bloody well listen.’
Sitting at her table with her mug of tea, Mattie put her hands up to hide her face, remembering what she had done.
She had declaimed Juliet’s death speech.
… I will kiss thy lips.
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them
To make me die with a restorative …
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Mattie murmured. ‘I wish I really was dead.’
Monty had rescued her. He had swept her away, bundled her into a taxi, and she had managed to convey herself from the taxi and into bed.
Mattie lifted her head again, very slowly, and peered round the room. At least there was no one here to witness her shame. Then the corners of her mouth twitched, and she began to laugh. She laughed until she had to gasp for breath, the thought of declaiming Shakespeare in the Showbox was so irresistibly funny. When she had finished laughing she rubbed her eyes and poured herself some more tea.
‘I know one thing for sure,’ she said aloud. ‘I’m never going to touch another drop. Never. Not ever.’
The resolution lasted all the way through what was left of the morning, and until she set off for rehearsal. Then she was just passing the pub opposite the Museum, on her way to the bus stop, when it occurred to her that she had had nothing to eat. She went in and bought herself a cheese sandwich, and one drink to go with it. There was no harm in just one, Mattie thought. Afterwards, feeling suitably virtuous, she caught the bus to the rehearsal room.
The afternoon was the usual round of bickering and recrimination, and they managed to work their way through barely two scenes.
Mattie had only just reached the sanctuary of her rooms in Bloomsbury when Julia arrived.
Looking at her, it struck Mattie that Julia looked exactly as she had done on the day they ran away from home. Hungry and defiant, yet also glowing with anticipation. Ready to be set alight, Mattie thought bleakly. What was that like?
For two or three seconds they confronted each other. Then they swooped together, hugging and exclaiming. ‘I miss you, Mat.’
‘I miss you, too.’ Then they held one another at arm’s length.
Julia shrugged, a little awkwardly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I know this is different from the old days. I wouldn’t have asked you to cover for me, if it wasn’t so important. But it is, you see …’ She broke off and turned away. It was unlike Julia not to finish what she wanted to say.
‘Is it so important?’ Mattie whispered. ‘Is he?’
Julia turned back then and looked full at her. Mattie saw luminous happiness in her eyes.
Very deliberately, Julia answered, ‘Oh, yes. I haven’t seen him for a long time. But I know exactly what he’s like, I know him so well it’s as if he’s just gone out of this room. Because he’s always been with me, even when I’ve tried to pretend I’ve forgotten. I know the shape of his head and the sound of his voice and the smell of his skin, and I love every part of him. It’s not an illusion, Mattie. I know what’s wrong with him, as well as I know everything else.’ Julia lifted her head and spread her hands out. ‘The existence of Josh, for me, makes the light seem brighter. It’s the difference between being alive, shivering and trembling with it, and being a machine. And I’m going to see him tonight. In an hour.’ As if it explained everything she finished, in a soft voice, ‘You know what being in love is like.’
‘No,’ Mattie said flatly. ‘I don’t.’
Julia glanced curiously at her. ‘Not even Jimmy Proffitt?’
‘No, I didn’t love Jimmy Proffitt. I wanted to, tried to. But he wasn’t very lovable. I love you, and Bliss, and Lily, and Felix. Rozzie, and the others. Not men. Men happen to you, that’s all.’ Seeing Julia’s face, she tried to shrug her confession off with some kind of humour. ‘It’s all right, darling, I’m not a lezzy. I’d have had a go at you by now, wouldn’t I? But you must tell me what it’s like, some time. Being in love.’
‘Mattie.’
But Mattie saw her glance flicker to the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Not now, you haven’t got time. Do you want a drink, before you go?’
Julia had already picked up her little suitcase, was on the way to the bathroom to change. ‘No, thanks. Don’t think I could force anything down.’
Mattie unscrewed the half-bottle of whisky that she had firmly put away this morning. Then, half listening to Julia in the bathroom, she slammed the bottle down again and went to look out of the window. The bookseller’s awning had been rolled up again, the closed sign hung idly inside the glass door. The view of the street was soothing because of its monotony. Mattie watched some pigeons pecking around a dustbin that had been put out for the morning’s collection.
Julia came out of the bathroom within five minutes. She had changed into a simple polka-dot summer dress.
Her face looked clean and malleable, ready to take the fresh impressions. She put her fingers up to her cheeks, explaining, ‘I tried some make-up on but it looked as if I was trying too hard, so I took it off again.’
‘You don’t need it tonight,’ Mattie said truthfully.
‘Well, then.’ Julia was standing by the door, not wanting to seem to rush away and leave Mattie alone.
‘Go on,’ Mattie said. ‘Have a good time. Will you be coming back tonight?’
Julia looked almost frightened. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything, except that I’ve got to go to him now, and I’ll do whatever he asks me.’
What must it be like? Mattie wondered again. ‘If Bliss rings I’ll make up some reason why you’re not here.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
The door was already open when Mattie asked her, ‘What about Bliss?’
Julia’s eyes were wide and blank. For some reason Mattie remembered the fire. ‘I don’t know,’ Julia murmured. ‘I told you, didn’t I? I just don’t know.’ She turned, the door clicked, and she was gone.
Mattie sat down at the table. You do know, she thought. This will hurt him, you must know that much. She was afraid, then, that this evening had come between herself and Julia. The suspicion made her feel lonely and cold. Julia was her friend, after all, and Bliss and the aviator and Jimmy Proffitt and the rest were just men who had happened to them. Even Bliss. Abruptly, Mattie reached for the whisky bottle and poured herself a deep measure.
Josh had been waiting for almost an hour. He had known that he was ridiculously early, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from sitting down in the most conspicuous place, watching the big doors every time they revolved. At exactly seven o’clock, he saw Julia.
She stepped into the cool, lofty space, glancing quickly upwards and then around her, faintly impressed in spite of herself, reminding Josh of years ago when they had arrived in Wengen and Julia had stared upwards at the Eiger and the Jungfrau. He didn’t know quite why he had chosen the Palm Court at the Ritz for their meeting. Perhaps to acknowledge that they weren’t kids, and they didn’t need to improvise any more. Josh had changed from a ski-bum into a ski-entrepreneur, and Julia, he reminded himself, Julia was Lady Bliss, a wife and a mother, and what else? The idea seemed laughable when he first saw her, all the way across the room. She looked seventeen, exactly the same as when he had first known her. It was impossible to imagine that she had a child of her own.
Then she saw him, and came quickly towards him. There were waiters, and women in cocktail dresses, all obstacles in their way. Josh had stood up when he saw her and the spindly table rocked in front of him. He held out his hands as she reached him at last.
They didn’t speak. They stood looking at each other, their hands clasped. The hum of conversation and the clink
of glasses, even the splash of the absurd fountain and the clamour of the rococo gilt decor, faded into silence for Josh and Julia. Josh leaned forward very slowly and kissed the vulnerable point of her jaw. It was at once more intimate than any brash kiss on the lips could have been.
She had changed, Josh saw that now.
It was as if the years had intervened to define her face. The bones had set under the thin skin, to form more noticeable smooth plateaux and shadowed hollows. Josh recognised that the shadows were real, not transitory. She looked older, more graceful, self-possessed, and beautiful rather than wilfully pretty.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ Josh said at last.
Julia sat down rather quickly, not letting go of his hands.
‘I don’t think I really believed, until I saw you at this table, that you were going to be here. I sat in the taxi on the way, looking at the trees in the park, thinking, If he’s not there I’ll order a bottle of champagne. I’ll sit and drink it and remember every single day we ever spent together.’
Reluctantly taking his eyes off her face, Josh realised that someone was standing beside their table. It took him a second to grasp that it was the waiter.
‘Sir?’
‘A bottle of champagne,’ Josh said.
When it came they raised their glasses to each other.
‘To you, Julia,’ Josh said, but she shook her head, smiling.
‘I don’t deserve a toast. Let’s drink to understanding.’
He echoed her serious tone, ‘To understanding,’ and they drank.
It was hard to know where to begin. Now that they were here, isolated in the sociable splendour, they were almost shy. The champagne helped. It prickled on Julia’s tongue, loosening it, and slowly, picking their way around the dangerous corners, they started to talk.
The tables around them emptied as people drifted away to dinner, the ice melted in the champagne bucket, but Julia and Josh didn’t notice. Julia told him about Ladyhill, and the fire, and Johnny Flowers and his girl.
‘I’m sorry,’ Josh said simply. He understood the hollows in her face. He took her hand again and they both looked down at the four diamonds set in a gold band and the thin, plain wedding ring that Alexander had given her. When Julia asked him, he told her about the new trails that were being cleared, the ski-lodges he had borrowed a frightening amount of money to build, that were bringing the skiers into Vail at last.
‘Are you happy?’ Julia asked him, but she thought the question answered itself. Josh was alive, as vibrant with energy and determination as he had always been. She was almost painfully conscious of his closeness to her, of the way his thumb moved over the thin skin on the back of her hand. Josh generated his own happiness and she felt the reflected warmth of it within herself, melting her bones.
‘I’m happy with what I do,’ Josh answered. ‘It’s a good life.’
But he was thinking, I’m so careful about keeping it all, just as it is. I have to be most careful of all with you, Julia. Looking at you now …
He didn’t ask her about Alexander. Instead, he returned her own question. ‘Are you happy?’
She tilted her head. Reflections of the shaded lights glinted off the gilt scrollwork and the fountain water splashed softly behind her. Suddenly it seemed that she understood everything with perfect clarity. Infinitesimal structures and complex motivations were laid bare for her inspection, and the simplicity of it all was dazzling. She was here, now, in the midst of her life, with Josh.
She smiled at him. ‘I’m happy at this minute.’ That was enough. It had to be enough.
The last of the champagne had gone flat in their glasses.
‘Would you like to go somewhere for dinner?’ he asked her formally.
Julia looked straight back at him, seeing the colour of his eyes, her heart beating high in her throat. ‘I don’t think I could eat anything,’ she said.
He stood up, holding her chair for her, his hand under her arm.
‘Come home with me, then,’ he said.
Out in Piccadilly the sky was royal blue over the street lamps. Josh whistled for a taxi and they sat with the width of the seat separating them, not touching, not even looking at each other, but the acknowledgement of what they were doing leapt and burned between them. Julia watched the shop mannequins under the display lights, and the tiers of curtained and uncurtained windows in the tall buildings, thinking of the lives behind them, and of her own and Josh’s, threads crossing and knotting again. They stopped outside a little mews house in Kensington. Josh unlocked the door and she followed him inside.
The house was almost empty, and in the process of being decorated. It smelt of new carpet and wallpaper paste. Everything was white, even the sofa still swathed in its wrappings. Julia walked through the small rooms, touching the new white laminate in the kitchen, raising one eyebrow at Josh. It seemed too permanent to belong to him.
‘It’s owned by some friends of mine. They’re on their honeymoon right now. It’s mine until they come back and enter into married bliss.’ His face changed. ‘I’m sorry …’ He was going to say, Of course you’re married too.
Julia turned away again, closing her mind, walking back into the living room. She remembered the cottage at the edge of the woods and the way that Josh had touched down in it, hardly disturbing its arrangement, and then taken off again. And his friends. So many of them. Everyone loved Josh. Her happiness was less potent for an instant but she moved quickly, stalking it.
On the low white table there was a large rectangular box, wrapped in bright paper. Josh picked it up and presented it to her. ‘I told you, I had a gift for Lily.’
Julia studied the shape of it, weighing it in her hands. Then she looked into Josh’s eyes. He was smiling, anticipating the unwrapping.
‘Go on. Open it.’
‘Josh. Were you so sure I’d come back here with you?’
It was important to know. If it was inevitable, or if he had calculated it. But his expression disarmed her at once. He was honest, she knew that.
‘I hoped you would. I wouldn’t dare to be sure of anything, with you.’ He moved awkwardly, wanting to hold her, but she evaded him.
‘Let me open the present first.’
It was a doll, almost as big as Lily herself. It opened and closed its eyes and mouth, cried and talked and walked, drank water, and the label threatened that it would wet itself too.
‘Isn’t it great?’ Josh beamed. ‘All the things it can do.’
Julia spluttered, ‘It’s wonderfully hideous. Look at its face.’
They took one look at each other and started to laugh. The laughter was cleansing and uncomplicated and it reminded them of other times they had shared, blotting out some of the shadows and some of the other memories.
When it was over they faced each other again, aware of the silence, and the anonymity of the white house enclosing them. Josh stepped forward and took her by the elbows. He bent his face to hers and kissed her eyelids and her cheek and the corners of her mouth, and when she turned her head, suddenly demanding, he kissed her throat and her neck under the warm weight of her hair. Julia’s fingers tightened on his arms. ‘I knew I would come back here with you.’
He lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles. They went up the stairs, slowly, holding on to each other.
The bedroom was white with a low white bed. The white-painted cupboard doors were closed on the strangers’ possessions. Josh’s friends. There was one suitcase in the middle of the floor, a pair of jeans over the back of a chair, no other evidence of Josh at all. Stupidly, Julia realised, she had expected skis and ski-bindings, books and records and clothes to confirm his solidity. This shadowiness, thrown into even sharper relief by the white rooms, frightened her. She wanted to take hold of him, fix him, as she had wanted to in the Pensione Flora with the gold and brown landscape spread under their windows.
Now, in the strange house, her longing translated itself into physical need. A wave of intense desire washed all t
hrough her body. She pressed herself against him, her mouth searching for his, and her wide-open eyes saw the pores in his skin, the tiny, sun-bleached hairs, an enlarged freckle at the angle of his jaw.
Love me. She didn’t know whether she said the words or not. Josh undid the red and white dress, tearing the buttons. Her fingers felt limp and thick as they fumbled with his. Their clothes dropped, tangled together, and their skin burned as it glued them. She heard Josh gasp, once. He pushed her blindly back on to the bed and dropped on top of her. Their mouths met, ravenous, but they were too desperate for touch or exploration. She lifted herself, aching with need, and Josh was almost brutal as he plunged straight into her. And at once, the violent waves rose silently, gathering into a single peak that swept her up and then broke all through her body. Julia screamed, a tearing noise that she had never heard before, and then Josh’s cry echoed her own and they twisted together, caught, blinded, and then fell back, their bodies wound together. They were bruised, breathing in shuddering gasps, their faces and their eyelids stuck with sweat and tears.
At last, when the pounding that shook her had become just her heartbeat again, Julia opened her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks, and she saw the darkness of Josh’s eyes, looking into her head.
