Her Living Image

by Jane Rogers

  “What our relationship might be. I’m not into wrecking marriages.”

  He downed his beer and went quickly to get another. When he came back she pushed some coins over the table.

  “It was my turn. You were too quick for me.” He pushed the coins back angrily, and they fell on to the gravel.

  They drove back in a silence more oppressive and explosive than any of those they had come home in in the evenings. When he stopped she turned to him. Her face was flame-red.

  “You have a – a filthy temper. Do you ever listen – listen to what p–people say to you?”

  He turned away from her and stared directly ahead, over the wheel. She got out quickly and slammed the door.

  Both Caro and Alan spent the following week in extremely bad tempers. Alan hardly spoke to anyone at all, working grimly through his lunch hours, snapping viciously at Carolyn and the children at home, and watching TV every evening in an irritable trance. On Friday night he went out with Mike and slept on Mike’s floor because he was too drunk to get home. On Sunday he and Carolyn took the children to a wildlife park in order to have a pleasant family afternoon. But he was irritated by Carolyn’s continuous attempts to please and placate him. Her humility grated on him. She asked him on Sunday evening what was wrong.

  “Can’t I be depressed without you being offended by it? It’s nothing to do with you, surely I’m entitled to my own private moods. You don’t own my moods, do you?”

  Caro also worked hard all week, but she spent a fair amount of time in the evenings alone in her room, staring out of the window. He was an impossible, bad-tempered, egocentric man. It enraged her that she had butterflies in her stomach when she went to work, and after avoiding the canteen every day for four days she was compelled to go there, and to sit alone with a book (in order to look unconcerned) making her lunch last an unprecedented thirty-five minutes.

  When she arrived at work the following Monday morning, he was parked next to the car-park attendant’s hut, where she usually left her bike. He leaned out of the window. “Morning.”

  She dismounted and wheeled her bike over to the car. “You’re up early.”

  He nodded once, and grinned. They both started to laugh. When they had stopped they stood and stared at each other in silence for a minute, then started to laugh again.

  “Why’s it funny?” gasped Caro.

  Alan shook his head. “See you in the Rose and Kettle at five-thirty?”

  “Six.”

  “OK. Till then.” He raised his hand in a salute, and accelerated away to park his car nearer to the gate.

  By eight o’clock that evening they were both quite drunk, not so much with alcohol as with each other, and relief that the past week had changed nothing. At the end of the silent ride home, Caro said, “Why don’t you come in?”

  “Into the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  “We – we could go to bed together.”

  Alan hesitated fractionally before saying, “All right.”

  He followed her into the house but dawdled in the hall as she started to go upstairs.

  “May I use the phone?”

  “My room’s at the top, just keep going till there aren’t any more stairs.” She disappeared from view.

  Carefully, he dialled his own number. It rang nine times before she answered it. “Carolyn? It’s me. I’m sorry, were you in the bathroom?”

  “Yes; they’re in the bath. It’s all right, Chrissy’s there. Where are you?”

  “I’m – I’m at Mike’s. We’re just going out for a meal. He’s – a bit – upset, he’s just had a bust up with Sarah. OK? Expect me when you see me.”

  “All right. Alan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t drive home if – if you’ve –”

  “No. I won’t be drinking much, don’t worry. I’ll see you later on.”

  He was astonished at how easy it was. He believed the story himself. Poor old Mike. He moved to the bottom of the stairs, then turned quickly back to the phone and dialled Mike’s number. But there was no reply.

  He ran up the stairs two at a time. The door to her room was open. It was a big shadowy room, there was no light but a small lamp on a box by the bed. She was lighting a candle that stood on a piece of furniture against the wall. He closed the door quietly. She looked up but he could not see her expression. “Well, here we are.”

  He walked over to the window and looked out; beneath the black sky there were houselights and streetlights. “Don’t you ever draw the curtains?”

  “No, not often. I like to look out, at night. No one can see in, we’re too high up.”

  The dark room was large and mysterious, all its detail was hidden. He felt very exposed. There was only one chair. He leaned against the wall by the window, hands in his pockets. She came over to him and put her arms around his waist. He felt frighteningly sober. She raised her face and kissed him.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He laughed uneasily. “Nothing. I didn’t think –”

  Leaning her weight against him she swayed from side to side.

  “Don’t think, kiss me.”

  They kissed again, and gradually, and then very quickly, it began to seem all right.

  Afterwards they lay hugging each other on the floor in silence for a time that neither of them knew the length of. At last Caro said, “Can we lie in the bed? I’ve been imagining you in my bed. . . .”

  In bed they made love again, slowly, with an intensity that each found almost frightening. When they had lain still for a while Caro touched Alan’s face with her fingers. It was wet.

  “Are you all right?”

  His whisper was so low she could hardly catch it. “I don’t know. I’m – hold me.”

  She hugged him, then sat up in a businesslike way and reached for her watch. “It’s after midnight. You’d better go.”

  Obediently he got up and stumbled round the room picking up his clothes. When he was dressed he was able to think more clearly. He walked back over to the bed. “I can’t – I can’t go home like this. I’ll – I’ve got to have a bath – I –”

  “Where are you supposed to be?”

  “At Mike’s. I sometimes stay there. She won’t worry.”

  “Do you want to phone?”

  “No. Better not. I’ll go back in the morning before I go to work.”

  He undressed quickly and got back into bed. He was wrung out like a rag but it was impossible not to touch and stroke her marvellously unfamiliar, private body.

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “No.”

  Her question focused his attention. “Why did you – why last Saturday, wouldn’t you –”

  “I think you misunderstood me. I just – I wasn’t saying let’s not sleep together. I don’t think we could not, anyway. I mean, we were making it worse by not doing. I just wanted us both to know that you were happily married, and I was a bit on the side, before we started.”

  “I – do we both know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. It doesn’t matter. Anything you say. Are you cold? Can I peel back the cover? I want to look at you.”

  He dragged himself from the bed at six in the morning and scrubbed himself vigorously in the bath. It seemed impossible to him that the vapours of sweat and lust and all the secret smells of both their bodies could be removed so perfunctorily; he felt they must follow him, blazing, like the trail of a comet, and that Carolyn would only have to look at him to know where he’d been.

  He let himself into the house silently and crept up to the bedroom. She was asleep. He went down and made them both cups of tea, then took them upstairs. When she woke up she smiled luxuriously.

  “How lovely. I didn’t think you’d be back at all.”

  “I wanted to come back,” he said. “We didn’t have that much to drink actually, but Mike really needed to talk to someone. And then when he finally keeled over I couldn’t
sleep at all – so – here I am. Shall I make a cooked breakfast? You stay here. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

  “Oh, lovely.”

  He kissed her lightly. It was like a dream, it was so easy. He wouldn’t hurt her, he would never hurt her. She would never know about this, and she would never be hurt by it.

  Chapter 19

  Carolyn was brought near to despair by weeks of Alan’s evil and erratic moods. None of his “down” phases had ever lasted so long before. His temper was a factor which had to be added to the planning of every activity and speech, constraining and exhausting her. He always came home at unpredictable times, and there were rows if everyone had eaten without him, or if the children had been kept up late waiting for him. So she started giving the children their tea early regularly, and waiting herself to eat with him. She explained it carefully to him in terms of their being able to have a sane adult meal together when the children were in bed. She did it to save the children from his displays of rage. Its main result was that she herself no longer ate a regular evening meal, but picked at small amounts with the children, had a biscuit to stave off her appetite when he wasn’t home by eight, and was beyond hunger by the time he finally rolled up. She lived through weekends on her nerve ends, juggling the needs and whims of the children with Alan’s, desperately trying to keep the household on an even keel. If Alan went out drinking, or to Mike’s (the two were synonymous) she had failed. But it was getting to the point where the failures were a relief.

  Then suddenly, when she was ready to scream with frustration, he changed. Suddenly there were cups of tea in bed in the morning, and little presents: a bottle of wine, a bunch of roses. It was the first time he had ever given her flowers. He had always claimed that he hated cut flowers in the house, because of Lucy and her endless flowers. Carolyn didn’t remind him, but took the roses gratefully as a symbol of renewed and kinder love. He paid more attention to her when they made love; they even made love in the morning one day, giggling and locking the door against the children.

  As their relationship entered what could almost be described (Carolyn thought to herself) as a second honeymoon, the rest of her life became calmer and more spacious. Suddenly, everything seemed to be going well. Chris and Annie were both enjoying school and at the tops of their classes, and Annie was also displaying signs of unusual musical talent. Lucy had undertaken to pay for piano lessons, and Carolyn was doubly pleased for Alan’s sake, both that his mother had finally shown interest in one of her grandchildren, and also that the talent he had felt a failure for lacking had passed through him, like a river flowing underground, to surface again in his daughter. Chris’s room was a cross between a zoo and a natural science museum. On the window-sill a wormery and cageful of stick insects with an alarming propensity for losing odd legs, vied for space, now it was spring, with endless jars of frog spawn. Geological specimens and rare fossils hidden in lumps of rock (many of them hidden from all eyes but their proud owner’s) cluttered every other surface, interspersed with carefully labelled envelopes containing small dead insects. He was pestering for a microscope. Carolyn intended him to have one for his birthday.

  At tea times the children’s conversation was more entertaining than that of any adults she met – and more particularly enjoyable for being hers alone. While they ate their tea they told her about everything from black holes to Mozart’s childhood to the life cycle of the praying mantis and what they had for school dinner. Even Cathy, who had been the spoiled baby (she was so alarmingly beautiful) for far too long, was growing up now she went to nursery every day. The fact that they were all out for at least part of every day lent relish to their tea times together; and so did the unspoken intimacy created by Alan’s exclusion. Although he was no longer bad-tempered, Carolyn did not consider shifting back to the old system of a family evening meal. It was impractical anyway; he was late more often than ever.

  Now there was space, and calm, Carolyn found herself thinking about another baby. What would she do when Cathy went to school as well? The house would be empty. It would do Cathy the world of good not to be pretty baby any more. The gaps between the others had been too close; it would be marvellous to have a baby she could spend time on. And Alan would be pleased. He always adored them when they were babies, and it was fitting that a new baby should spring out of this new happy phase in their relationship. Carolyn did not articulate to herself, as a reason for getting pregnant again, the fact that on those rare but increasingly frequent occasions when she had to walk down the street alone, without a pushchair to support her or a child holding her hand, she felt as if everyone was staring at her. She wanted a baby, and the most pressing reason was the physical desire to cup her hand around its round soft head, to see it turn its small face blindly towards her nipple. She could find any number of logical reasons, to convince herself and Alan. She would talk to him, when the right time came.

  She began to be more aware of her own looks. It was partly to do with feeling so ridiculously unconfident when she had to do anything alone, but also because of Alan. Because he was paying her more attention, she wanted to please him. One morning she tried on all the clothes in her wardrobe, and filled four cardboard boxes for the Oxfam shop. Alan had always given her money for housekeeping and herself all in one lump; whatever was not spent on food, bills, furnishings or the children, she paid into a building society account. For the first time since the account had been started she withdrew money to buy herself clothes, a hundred pounds. All her clothes had been bought on the run, in sales, with a child under either arm, or had come as presents from Alan. Her mother had always kept her in jumpers and cardigans.

  Alan’s sweet-tempered phase seemed to coincide with a particularly heavy time at work, unfortunately. He was late almost every night, and often out on Saturdays. That made it very difficult for her to shop without the children – and she was determined that she would give herself that much time, for once. When he told her that he had to go to a conference next weekend, she invited Meg down, and, leaving the children in her care, went off in a state of nervous excitement on Saturday morning to spend the whole day buying clothes for herself.

  On Sunday she cooked coq au vin, and put the children to bed half an hour early. She was expecting Alan home for dinner. He finally telephoned at half-past eleven, to say the car had broken down and he had not been able to get to a phone. He would stay in the hotel he was ringing from and get to work somehow from there tomorrow morning. After work he would go back to pick up the car which the garage were looking at. He would be in late tomorrow night.

  “Will you be in to eat tomorrow?” She was so disappointed she felt like crying.

  “I don’t know Carolyn – don’t hassle me. I’ve got enough on my plate without that.”

  “I’m sorry Alan – I’m sorry, you must have had an awful day. Will the car be expensive?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Bye.”

  She ate a few vegetables (which were already mushy and spoiled) but left the coq. It would still be good tomorrow, with any luck.

  He came in at ten the following evening. Everything was ready, and Carolyn was wearing some of her new clothes: a silky white shirt, and dark green flowing trousers (the woman in the shop had called them harem pants).

  “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Don’t – don’t you like them? I bought them on Saturday.”

  “They look ridiculous. You look like something out of Aladdin’s lamp. Aren’t you a bit old for them?”

  She looked down at the thin gold and green stripes, which suddenly reminded her of tinsel, and left-over Christmas decorations.

  “They’re the most unflattering garment I’ve ever seen.”

  She should have known, of course, she reasoned with herself, that the car breaking down – the delays, the extra travelling – could be guaranteed to ruin his mood again. It was her own fault for building up expectations. They ate in silence, except for Alan pointing out tha
t the chicken was overcooked. Afterwards he went to have a bath and prepare some work for tomorrow, while she cleared away the dishes. Then she sat in an armchair reading a book. He poked his nose in the door at twelve and said he was going to bed. When he was lying in bed she could feel him staring at her as she climbed out of her ridiculous trousers. “Why are you looking so miserable?”

  “I’m not.” She shook her head. “I’m just – I’m just a bit disappointed. It’s silly, it’s my own fault. I was so looking forward to you coming home and talking –”

  “I’ve only been away for two days, for Christ’s sake. Why are you so dependent on me? Haven’t you got anyone else to talk to?”

  “Mum was here for the weekend.”

  “Your mother!” He snorted and turned over, pulling the pillow around his head. He was fast asleep by the time she got into bed.

  Alan’s weekend had been stunning; marvellous; exhausting. He and Caro had stayed at a pub in the Lake District. They had talked and argued and made love all weekend regardless of the hours of day or night. Stumbling downstairs, starving, in the small hours of Sunday morning, they had found bread and cheese and cold roast beef left out for them, with a tactful little note suggesting that they must have been out for a very long walk, to miss their dinner like that. After they had eaten, half prompted by the note, they let themselves out into the garden. It was cold and damp out there, the long grass drooping with heavy dew, and the bushes and trees sheltering the garden an indistinct black mass. But overhead the clear blue sky looked almost light with coming dawn; stars, tiny pinpricks of light, were fading out. In the absolute silence one bird began to call, experimentally, sounding two notes. As they stood there gradually a cacophony of bird noise built up, filling the air all around them. They walked down the garden and through a gap in the hedge at the bottom, into a field, leaving the centre of the bird noise behind. The field was empty, rising steeply to a clear skyline. It was as if, Alan thought, the surface of the earth had been cleared for them, and they were in control of the disposition of its sounds and sights. Time was a different element here, with her: a vast fluid space with variations of light and dark, at their command. At home a weekend was a narrow tunnel, through which he squeezed sightlessly, opening his eyes to glimpse boredly the fixed stations of children’s clamour, breakfast, shopping, lunch, ritual outing, tea, baths, TV, bed. He was riding through his life like a commuter on the underground, while up here, on the surface of the earth, there was this freedom. They stayed out all morning, climbing the new hill that grew up behind the field’s skyline as they ascended. The sun was warm by the time they neared the top of it, and they made love in a hollow of short, sheep-cropped grass. Then they lay basking like seals in the clean sunlight, until Caro, laughing, began to pick dried rabbit turds off Alan’s back, and hunger drove them down again.