Breaking and Entering

by Wendy Perriam

  She shook her head.

  Stalemate.

  ‘Well, why don’t you get into bed? You’ll be warmer under the covers.’

  Another shake of the head.

  In desperation, he picked up Peter Rabbit. ‘Would you like me to read you your story?’

  ‘No. I want Mummy to read it.’

  ‘She will in just a second. But I could start it, couldn’t I? And look – tuck these blankets round you. You must be freezing cold!’ He was terrified she’d shriek again, so he scooped the covers over her, perched on the edge of the bed and opened the book before she had time to object.

  ‘ “Once upon a time,” ’ he read, feeling slightly ridiculous in this unfamiliar role, ‘ “there were four little rabbits and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and …” ’

  ‘No, you don’t say it like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You say it like this.’ She plucked the book from his hand, repeated the passage by heart in a slow and singsong voice, pausing on each name, and ending with a triumphant cadence for ‘PE-TER!’ as her mother slipped back into the room.

  ‘Sorry,’ Penny murmured, avoiding his eyes. Her own eyes were inflamed.

  ‘Ssh, Mummy, I’m reading.’

  Daniel stood up, started edging towards the door. ‘Look, I … I really must get back. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘You’re not a nuisance at all.’ Penny sounded agitated, still not that far from tears. ‘Please stay. I’d like you to. Just let me get Pippa settled, then we can sit and talk.’

  He subsided on the bed again, watched her rummage under the pillow, pull out a crumpled tee-shirt – adult size.

  ‘We left in such a rush, I forgot to pack half our things, so the poor kid’s been sleeping in this.’ She pulled it over Pippa’s head, tucked the blankets round her again, then retrieved the book and began to read. He listened to the opening words – third time. Penny’s intonation was identical to Pippa’s: rhythmic, lulling, strangely comforting.

  ‘ “ ‘Now, my dears,’ said old Mrs Rabbit one morning …” ’ (Mrs Rabbit’s voice was different – fusspotty and clucking.) ‘ “You may go into the fields or down the lane, but don’t go into Mr McGregor’s garden.” ’

  He found himself utterly absorbed, hanging on to every word. He had never heard the story before. In fact, it occurred to him that he’d probably missed out on all the classic children’s books: he certainly couldn’t remember his own mother ever reading to him. All he could recall was his black nanny: a bolster of a woman with polished shiny skin, whose white teeth seemed to split her face every time she laughed. She had laughed a lot, a huge happy wobbling laugh, and would sometimes hug him close to her, so he’d become part of the wobble himself.

  ‘ “Then old Mrs Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through the wood to the baker’s. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns …” ’

  Listening to the homely words, he felt unaccountably moved; felt himself changing into Penny’s second child – a normal English child who hadn’t grown up in a warm indulgent land, then been banished to another country; a cold and punitive place, where he’d never so much as glimpsed a currant bun.

  ‘ “Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears …” ’

  Daniel glanced at Penny as her voice became a sob, but saw with relief that the tears were only in the text this time. The child was enacting them too, wiping her eyes on the sheet. The pair were accomplished performers, milking every ounce of emotion from the tale, Pippa mouthing the words in time with her mother’s voice. That voice continued hypnotically as Penny turned each page. He was reluctant for the story to end, wished he could demand ‘More, more!’, the way Pippa had when he’d pushed her on the swings. Though the child said nothing as her mother closed the book. Her eyes were shut already, and she gave only a brief murmur in reply to Penny’s ‘Goodnight, pet.’ He watched the goodnight kiss, irrationally jealous.

  ‘She’s dead to the world,’ Penny whispered, moving from Pippa’s bed to her own, and patting its tattered counterpane. ‘Come and sit down here, Dan. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a drink or anything. Even the water in the bathroom comes out brown and murky!’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ve drunk quite enough for one day.’ He found he was also speaking in a whisper, constrained not just by the sleeping child, but by the strangeness of the situation. He would have felt less nervous sitting in a proper chair, or ensconced in another restaurant, protected by the noise and bustle, the general bonhomie. The bed was hard and lumpy, and he was so close to Penny now, he could see the pattern of the freckles on her skin. If anyone had asked him, he’d have said that he disliked freckles, but hers were somehow attractive, gave her face a certain childlike charm.

  ‘Actually I don’t know why we’re whispering. Once Pippa’s asleep, I doubt even a bomb would wake her. I’m much the same myself. I set three alarm clocks last month, when Phil was away and I had to go to a wedding at the other end of England, and I slept through the whole damned lot!’

  He suppressed a stab of envy. Sleep wasn’t his strong point. He cleared his throat to tell her how he’d never needed an alarm clock in his life, not even when he’d been working in Tanzania and had to be up at five A. M. But she was speaking again herself, and in a very different tone from the jokey one she’d used for the alarm clocks.

  ‘Look, I … I’m sorry I got upset, but I keep thinking about Phil, and what will happen to Pippa if he doesn’t’ – she swallowed – ‘come back. It’s been weighing on my mind, especially this last hour or so. In fact, the longer I was with you, the worse it seemed to get. I eventually decided I shouldn’t see you any more, just say goodbye and thank you, and leave it at that. I’m sorry,’ she repeated, pulling at a strand of hair, which sprang back to its wiry curl the minute she let go of it. ‘You must have thought me really grouchy, but I was feeling so screwed up, you see, and though we’d had a super day, that only made things …’

  The sentence petered out, leaving Daniel grappling with new guilt, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done. He tried to steer the conversation from himself to Phil again, having a hunch it would be safer. ‘Was your husband very fond of Pippa?’ he asked, cursing himself for using the past tense, which sounded as if he’d already written Phil off. It was a stupid question anyway. Penny was obviously upset about the breaking of the closest kind of bond.

  ‘Well, no, he’s actually rather cool. He puts up with her, but not much more than that. You certainly couldn’t call him the proud and doting father. Mind you, I don’t think Phil is very fond of anyone – except himself, of course.’ She gave a bitter laugh, which jolted Daniel as much as her words.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying he’s all bad. And to be fair to him, he never wanted a kid at all. That was the whole trouble. You see, we only got married because I … I discovered I was pregnant, and I panicked.’ She reached out for the furry frog and sat it on her lap, began twiddling its limp legs. ‘Lots of girls would have … you know … got rid of the baby, or maybe had it and stayed single. But I didn’t have the guts to do either. It was crazy, in a way. I was only just eighteen and about to start at art school, but I chucked up everything and got hitched to a man who’d planned to sail round the world on a trimaran, not settle down with a wife and kid. We were both resentful, naturally. We’d both lost out on our dreams, and got landed instead with a load of dirty nappies and a whopping great down-payment on a Hoover Keymatic.’

  She laughed again, unconvincingly. ‘I’m afraid it’s not a very original story. It must happen to hundreds of couples, and maybe some of them are lucky and live happily ever after. I was even stupid enough to imagine that Phil and I were happy in our way. I mean, he’s got a reasonable job now, so money’s not so tight, and though he’s away a hell of a lot, and not exactly the world’s best father, I’ve got masses of my own friends, and my sisters all live near, and …’ She broke off, turned
the frog the wrong way up and stroked its green-striped stomach. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, except I feel so … muddled. All afternoon I’ve been watching you with Pippa, and you’re absolutely brilliant with her. It sort of churned me up, made me realize how Phil never gets involved with her like that, yet he’s her father, for God’s sake.’

  Daniel said nothing. Absolutely brilliant? Penny must be joking. He was only too aware that what he shared with Phil was the fact he’d never wanted children either. The relationship between parent and child was too dangerous, too precarious. Supposing your own flesh and blood hated or resented you? And was it fair to pass on genes which might land the kid with problems – not illness necessarily, but fears, inadequacies?

  Penny’s hands seemed unable to keep still. She had abandoned the frog, but was now fiddling with the bedcover, poking her finger through one of the small rips and pulling the loose threads. ‘I sometimes used to think he had doubts about being her father. He hinted at that once, though there’s not a shred of truth in it. But he’s the suspicious type – maybe because he was having affairs himself – ones I never knew about, long before this Arab girl. And I suppose part of the trouble is that Pippa looks nothing like him at all. I mean, she’s not just got my hair, but my eyes, my type of skin, even the same shaped nose. Phil’s entirely different – he’s dark with brown eyes, and much brawnier altogether. Wait a sec – I’ll show you!’

  She scrabbled in the suitcase, finally came up with a snapshot wrapped in clingfilm, pressed it into his hand. ‘That’s him! My other half.’

  He could hardly bring himself to look, and when he did he felt still more confused. He had somehow been imagining a crude and hardened man, but Phil looked harmless, even sensitive, and quite astonishingly young – not a man, a boy. He was smiling in the photograph, a shy apologetic smile, and his big brown spaniel-eyes seemed to plead for kindness, not invite contempt.

  ‘You know, there is a resemblance to Pippa,’ he managed to say at last. ‘Something about the eyes. They may be a different colour, but the expression’s rather the same, and their mouths are similar too. See the shape of that top lip?’

  Penny wasn’t looking. Her head was in her hands, her shoulders shaking silently. ‘Don’t cry,’ he muttered desperately. ‘Look, tomorrow I’ll ring the embassy and see if there’s anything they can suggest, any way of tracking him down.’ Even as he said it, he knew that it was hopeless; tried another tack. ‘He can’t simply walk out on you, Penny, not if you’re married. You have rights in law, and …’

  ‘I … I don’t want him back,’ she blurted out, with another burst of tears. ‘That’s why I’m so upset. It’s only just dawned on me, this minute – I’ve been kidding myself all through our so-called marriage. I’ve always made excuses for him – to myself, I suppose, as much as other people. When I got fed up because he was away again, or out, I’d fill the house with my sisters’ kids or invite my friends and neighbours round. But all I was really doing was running away from the fact that he and I had nothing much in common and couldn’t even communicate. Actually, it’s you who’ve made me see it. You’ve got this way of listening – really listening seriously, as if what I say’s important. Phil’s always interrupting. Sometimes he even wanders out of the room when I’m in the middle of a sentence. I hadn’t realized till now that it makes me feel like shit. I’m not worth five seconds of his time – and nor is Pippa.’

  Daniel sat in silence, indignant at Phil’s rudeness, yet wary of getting too involved himself, or being seen as something he wasn’t. He didn’t want Penny putting him on a pedestal, or trying to come too close – not until he’d made some sense of his own contradictory feelings. He was already conscious at some level that she’d been acting on him all afternoon like a powerful sort of magnet, making him behave completely out of character.

  Again, he used his cigarettes as a convenient excuse, fumbling for the packet, edging down the bed. It would be dangerous to light one until he’d shifted a safe distance from the tinderbox of her hair.

  ‘Please don’t smoke so much, Dan. I’m beginning to worry about your lungs.’ She leaned over and removed the cigarette, so teasingly and graciously, he couldn’t bring himself to object.

  ‘And I do care about your lungs, you know. In fact, I care about all of you. You’re such a lovely person. Phil’s friends are only interested in making money, or buying themselves new office toys, but you’re different altogether – someone with ideals. I could see that when you talked about your work – the way you’re so concerned about those African kids, and get all steamed up about the unfairness in the world, when most people couldn’t give a damn. And I love the way you treat Pippa like an equal, instead of talking down to her.’ He wanted to break in, cut short this tide of adulation, but the thought of Phil and his constant interruptions made him hesitate. And, anyway, such praise was rather gratifying. Jean-Claude might compliment his work (occasionally, untypically), but no one had ever told him before that they cared about the whole of him.

  ‘Put your arms round me, Dan. I’m feeling really down tonight, and horribly alone. If I’ve got to accept that it’s all over between me and Phil, then it means I’ve got to start again from scratch, and frankly I’m scared stiff.’

  He was terrified himself, thrown by her request. He placed one tentative arm on her shoulders, noticing his hand was sweating. She responded instantly, turning towards him as if hungry for some comfort, and looping both her arms around his neck. He allowed her to cling on to him, hoping he was soothing away her problems, making her forget the squalid ill-lit room: the dark shadows in the corners, the damp-stains on the wall. It was comfort for him, too, in fact: the warmth of her, the softness, the way she was nuzzling against him with an eager childlike trust. She had called Phil ‘her other half’ (and the term had stuck in his gorge), but wasn’t he in that position now as their two bodies seemed to merge?

  ‘That’s nice,’ she whispered. ‘Cosy.’

  No, he thought with alarm – cosy was no longer the right word. Her breasts were pressed so close he was becoming sexually aroused, overwhelmed by their solidity and fullness. He longed to see them naked, to cup them in his hands and feel their marvellous weight. He tried to imagine the nipples – small and pink like those little cone-shaped sweets he had eaten as a child, or maybe longer, darker, already standing up. It was all he could do not to move his hands from the safety of her waist and let them creep inside her top, touch her bare warm flesh.

  ‘Relax, Dan, you’re so tense. Isn’t it nice to cuddle up, and just let go of all the hassles for a while?’

  He daren’t let go – not of anything. She was still using words like ‘cuddle’, affectionate and childish words, while his obstreperous erection was growing more and more insistent. He must control himself, for Christ’s sake! She had asked for help and comfort, not some sordid grope. He removed his jacket and placed it on the bed, ran a nervous finger round the collar of his shirt. He needed more than just a collar – something tight, relentless, which would cover his whole body, keep everything in check. She was looking at him anxiously, so he put his arms round her again; let her rest her head against his own.

  Her cheek felt wonderfully soft, and he could smell almonds on her breath – a faint relic of their tea. He remembered how she’d licked cream from his thumb, once they’d both abandoned their cake-forks; the way she’d scavenged crumbs from her plate with one greedy moistened finger. Her mouth had been distracting him all day: that deft pink tongue flicking out at lunchtime, to retrieve a swirl of sauce, or to first-aid Pippa’s hand when she’d grazed it in the park. Would it really hurt to kiss her? – just one brief and gentle kiss, a child’s kiss on the cheek.

  There was a muffled grunt from Pippa, turning over in her sleep. He sprang away from Penny as if her cheek were blistering hot. He had forgotten all about the child – deliberately, perhaps. ‘I doubt even a bomb would wake her,’ Penny had assured him, but could he really take the risk
? A kid of four might be terribly disturbed if she woke to see her mother in a clinch. He glanced at her with something close to fury, tempted to haul her out of bed and deposit her on Phil’s doorstep, let the bloody man look after her himself.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Penny asked. ‘You keep bobbing around like a jack-in-the-box.’

  ‘I … think I’ve got something in my eye.’ He started rubbing it and blinking, to convince himself it was true. He was utterly confused: ashamed of his spiteful reaction towards an innocent child, yet still struggling with both anger and frustration.

  ‘Here, let me have a look.’ She gently pulled the eyelid down and peered into his pupil; he sitting on the bed, she standing over him, with that enticing, troubling cleavage displayed to him again.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ she said, stooping even closer. ‘But I’ll palm it for a moment.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Just hold my palm across the eye, so you can’t see out of it. That often helps to soothe tired eyes, and I suspect yours are simply tired. You told me yourself you’ve been working all hours, and didn’t get much sleep last night.’

  He made a heroic effort to relax, expelled his breath in a protracted sigh. Her palm was hot and moist, and pressed so firmly over his eye that his lashes fluttered against it every time he blinked, which he was doing far too often – nervousness again.

  After a few moments, she took her hand away. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Fine,’ he mumbled, more concerned about concealing his erection. He crossed his legs, studied a burn-hole in the carpet.

  ‘Or shall I kiss it better now?’ She laughed, made a moue with her lips, kissing the empty air. ‘I always do that for Pippa, and d’you know, our doctor said it works. I mean, it’s not just psychological, apparently, but has an actual physical effect on the nerve-endings or something.’