by Tony Salter
'You're a sweetie,' I said with a smile. 'But, don't worry, I'll be fine. I've checked the email confirmation and I even called yesterday to confirm the time.' I held up a pink Post It note. 'Look, I've written it down, just in case.'
'Sounds like you've got it covered,' he said. 'Try and get some more rest when Sam goes down.'
'I will. I promise.'
He finished his tea with a gulp and got ready to leave, but the sleeve of his jacket had twisted up on itself. He had several abortive tries to ram his arm in, before tearing the jacket off to unravel it, muttering curses under his breath. I'd never seen Rupert like this. He was usually so relaxed about everything.
I put my hand on his arm, took the jacket and untangled the sleeve.
'I'm fine, darling. Really,' I said.
'I hope so,' he said. 'But ...'
'What?'
'I think you should go and see your GP. Will you do that? For me?'
'I'll think about it. Give me a few days though. Is that OK?'
'Of course,' said Rupert. He held my face in both hands and kissed me. 'Good luck with the interview. I'll see you later.'
I was feeling much better by the time Virginia arrived. Excited, energised and, though I said it myself, looking pretty sharp. I wasn't going to let a couple of stupid overreactions get in the way of my interview. As Rupert said, I was probably just overtired.
The Oxford University Press offices were on Great Clarendon Street which was only fifteen minutes walk, so I had time for a cup of tea with Sam and Virginia before I left.
'Rupert says you've been finding everything a bit stressful recently,' said Virginia. 'Do let me know if there's anything I can do.'
God, that woman had a way about her. Even an ostensibly kind offer of help could come across as a snide and superior put-down.
'Oh, did he say that?' I replied with a smile. 'Well, you know what a worrier he is. I'm a little tired maybe, but that's not so surprising.'
'But are you sure you're ready to go back to work?' Virginia always had an agenda. 'He's still so little. And it's not as though you need the money.'
'Well, actually we do need the money, Virginia. We've got a big mortgage and things are tight on only one salary.'
'Come Fabiola, you know John and I have offered to help out financially while you've got young children. It would be our pleasure.'
'Yes, I know you have, and it's extremely generous of you both, but Rupert and I want to stand on our own two feet. I'm sure you understand.'
'I do, of course. But it seems a shame to create this additional pressure. Especially if you're still feeling fragile after the birth.'
'I'm fine.'
'I hope so. You need to take care of yourself and, in any case, you appear to have enough money to go gallivanting off to Italy at the drop of a hat.'
I had no intention of dignifying that little, barbed comment with a response. She was getting worse rather than better as we got to know each other. What had Rupert been saying to her? He was such a mummy's boy and she could twist him around her little finger.
In any case, I needed to get out of there. Virginia was doing nothing to enhance my positive interview attitude.
'I'm sure we'll be OK Virginia. The job doesn't start for three months, and it's only part-time.' I picked up my bag and coat and opened the door. 'Thanks for looking after Sam. I'll be back about six-thirty, but Rupert should be back well before then anyway.'
As I left the house, I found myself thinking about my years with Jax. It all seemed so long ago and so far away. I was annoyed with Rupert and his mum and amused myself by imagining what Virginia would say if she found out about my relationship with Jax.
Rupert had promised not to say anything and had kept his word as far as I knew. I couldn't stop myself smiling as I thought about dropping it into conversation at Christmas dinner or some other family gathering, 'Oh Virginia, did I mention that my previous partner was a woman?'. She would blow a fuse.
When I'd eventually got around to telling Rupert, I'd been quickly reminded of why I'd been avoiding the conversation for so long.
I hadn't give him any warning and it hadn't gone down well.
'Jax always hated The Clash,' I said, late one evening. It was a few weeks after Rupert and I moved in together, but before we got engaged. 'She said they sold out.'
'Sounds pretty typical of Jax as you've described him,' said Rupert. 'Contrary for the sake of it ... Hang on a sec. What do you mean she said they sold out?'
'I mean that she said they sold out.'
'Are you telling me Jax is a woman? You never told me Jax is a woman.'
'Well, to be fair, you never asked.'
By now, Rupert had his hands and fingers out in front of him as though he was trying to milk a cow and was clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. He'd also pitched his voice a couple of octaves higher. 'But I thought the two of you were in a relationship?'
'We were. The fact she was a woman was one of the things which never came up when we talked about her.'
'How could something like that not come up, for Christ's sake?'
'We didn't talk about her much anyway and I guess I didn't want to do anything to screw up things up between us.' I attempted a sheepish grin. 'Sorry.'
'So you're telling me you're gay? Or bi-, or something?' The sheepish grin hadn't worked and Rupert looked very distressed.
'No, caro mio. I'm not gay. It's just ... Well, Jax was different. It was a craziness that turned into a thing, that turned into a longer thing, and after a while I couldn't figure out how to go back.'
I thought about those first moments at Rostock and the years which followed. Looking back from the outside, I could now see the cracks and the brooding darkness, but from the inside, it had been amazing – a wonderful, perfect dream.
'Actually, I said, 'for the first few years, I didn't want to go back anyway. We were soul mates. I was besotted with her.'
'Bloody hell,' said Rupert. 'I never wanted to know too much about Jax because I knew you were in with a fairly edgy crowd. But Jax being a girl, and you being a lesbian. I didn't see that coming.'
'I wasn't a lesbian. I'm still not. I don't know how I can get it through to you.'
'Easy to say.' Rupert had been almost shouting by this stage. 'But I still don't see how that works. Five years in a same-sex relationship sounds pretty close to a slam dunk to me.'
'What I mean is that I've always fancied men, before, after and during my time with Jax and she's the only exception in my life.' I could see I wasn't getting close to convincing Rupert and began to worry that I'd made a huge mistake by telling him. 'I can't explain why it happened with her, but I think that, if you'd met her, you might understand.'
'Really? And why's that?'
'There was something about her, a kind of strength, which attracted me. I suppose it also frightened and excited me; she wasn't only strong, she was reckless and a bit crazy as well.'
'... And that's supposed to be attractive?'
'Yes, but I don't understand why any more. I suppose I was going through a phase where that was what I thought I needed.'
'Shit, I have no idea what to say. Let's park this for now, I need to think about it and more talk won't help.' Rupert had managed a half laugh. 'I suppose I should find it hot, but I don't.'
Things had been awkward for over a month, but after many long conversations and explanations, it had all settled down. I actually realised he'd probably become proud of it in a warped male fashion. He'd managed to convert me. I was happy enough to humour him – some fights aren't worth having.
I was early and wandered around the shops on Great Clarendon Street before strolling down to the OUP head office. I was looking forward to the interview. Spending some time out of the house would make all of the difference.
Rupert was in the living room with his mother when I walked in. He leapt up and ran over, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tight. 'Christ, Fabiola, are you OK? We've been so wor
ried. It's almost ten o'clock.'
I held him closely, burying my face into his warm neck, sobbing quietly. Words didn't want to come.
I didn't hear Virginia approach until she spoke, pulling Rupert's arms gently away from me. 'Go and make yourself useful,' she told him. 'Make us all a nice cup of tea.'
'And you,' she continued once he was in the kitchen. 'You come and sit yourself down. You're not hurt, are you?'
I shook my head.
'Good,' she said. 'Then there's no rush is there? Let's have a cup of tea and maybe you'll feel like telling us what happened in a bit.'
I nodded and sat down on the sofa next to Virginia. Her nearness reminded me of what the empty black hole in my stomach was telling me. I wanted my mother. I felt as alone and helpless as I had after my first day of secondary school. Mum always knew what to do and what to say. That's what mothers do. They understand. But, although she was being kind, Virginia wasn't that sort of mother.
Half a cup of tea later, I felt calm enough to start to tell them what had happened.
'I got there bang on time. After walking up and down Great Clarendon Street for ten minutes, I rang the bell at twenty-five past. I was totally thrown when a fireman answered the office door and told me the offices were closed for a fire inspection.'
I looked at Virginia. 'I suppose Rupert's told you what's been happening with me recently?'
'Yes.' she said. 'He's worried you're overtired and I suspect he's right.'
So the Blackwell diagnosis was agreed. That was all sorted then. I would have time to worry about that later. First I had to finish my story, which wasn't going to do much for my defence.
'Well, I started to panic straight away. It was too much to take in and I was struggling to breathe.'
Both Virginia and Rupert were perched on the edges of their chairs by this time.
'The fireman was very kind,' I went on. 'I guess they're trained to deal with panicking people, and he calmed me down quite quickly. I then tried calling the number I had from the email but got no reply. After trying it again and again, I found the number on the web and got through to Mr Byatt's assistant, who told me I was supposed to be at their other offices, behind the book shop on the High.'
'And they didn't bloody tell you?' said Rupert.
'I'll get to that,' I said. 'It was already five o'clock but she said that, if I went straight there, Mr Byatt would still be around for another hour or so and would see me.'
'So did you go?' Virginia asked in a soft voice.
'Yes, I ran all the way. I must have looked a complete mess by the time I arrived. I probably spent more time catching my breath, apologising and trying to explain, than I did actually talking about the job.'
'And you found out what happened? How the mix up occurred?' said Rupert. I could see from the looks on both of their faces that they had a good idea of what might be coming next.
'Yes. I spoke to Mr Byatt's assistant afterwards. She told me she'd emailed me to confirm that the job interview wouldn't be at their normal offices because of the fire inspection. She was quite defensive as though she thought I was accusing her of something. She said she'd even sent a second email to be sure.'
'Well, did she?' said Rupert.
'What do you think?' I said, a black curtain falling as I watched Rupert draw his own conclusions.
'I was sure she hadn't of course,' I continued. 'I wouldn't have missed something like that and I'd even cut and pasted the email into my calendar. By this time I was talking nine to the dozen like Carrie from Homeland when she's off her medication.'
'So, what happened?' said Virginia.
'What, apart from me terrifying a poor twenty-year-old secretary?'
'Yes. Had she sent the emails?'
'It was exactly the same as the other times. I'm certain I'm right, but when I go back and check, it's just as they say and I look like a crazy, disorganised idiot. I even went to check the note in my calendar and there it was, clear as day.'
I picked up my phone and showed them.
Please note that the interview will not take place at our main offices on Great Clarendon Street as they are closed for a fire inspection. The interview will take place at our retail shop at 118 High Street and we look forward to seeing you there at 16:30. Please ask any member of staff to direct you to Jason Byatt's office.
'There's no way I'm getting the job now,' I said. 'Why would anyone want to employ someone who can't even get to their interview?'
'How dreadful!' I had the impression Virginia was in full agreement about my suitability for employment. 'But that must have been hours ago. Where have you been?'
'I walked. I must admit that I went to Brown's for a large glass of Pinot Grigio first, but afterwards, I just walked. I couldn't face coming home.' I looked at Rupert, trying to choke back my emotions. 'I couldn't face looking at you and telling you what had happened. I couldn't bear to see that look in your eyes.'
Virginia didn't look at all happy and it was clear Rupert had no idea what to say. There is a special look which people have when they're in the presence of someone who has a mental illness. I worked in a nursing home for a couple of years in my teens and could spot it a mile off. Seeing it in the eyes of someone you love is bad enough but then you realise they're about to bring out the special 'slow, calming voice' as well. It was unbearable.
This couldn't be happening. And I hadn't even asked about Sam since I'd come in. What was wrong with me?
Giving in
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It took me a few days to calm down after the disastrous job interview. I didn't get the job, but there were no surprises there and it seemed to be the least of my problems. I couldn't get over the fact that I'd only been thinking about myself and hadn't worried about Sam at all. Not the behaviour of a good mother by any stretch of the imagination.
Did I love him properly? I thought I did, it certainly felt like it, but then how could I be so self-absorbed and neglectful?
Rupert continued to be a perfect husband on the surface but he must have been terrified and I was sure he was checking up on me all the time. When we'd talked about getting an au pair, he'd suggested we might get a nanny-cam to keep an eye on her. Had he already installed one to keep an eye on me?
Then again, when I tried to imagine how I would react if the tables were turned, I couldn't see myself behaving as well as he was. He was strong, calm, loving and positive, reassuring me continuously that this was only a short blip and everything would be fine.
I suppose his attitude helped him to keep his own fear and worry under control as well; he was like a colonial army officer standing in the middle of a riot, a battle, a thunderstorm or a plague of locusts. Standing firm, speaking clearly and calmly and spreading confidence to everyone around. All will be well.
I wondered sometimes whether there might be too much of the oak tree in his approach rather than the blade of grass. If the winds continued to blow stronger and stronger, was there room to bend and flex, or would he reach a point and suddenly snap? I hoped I'd never need to find out.
Rupert had clearly learnt his practical positivity at the feet of a master and I don't know how we'd have managed without Virginia's help. She came over for three or four hours every day and took charge. Although she was often sharp and bossy and I didn't feel comfortable in the role of patient or invalid, her presence gave me the chance to have more sleep. The doctor had also given me some mild sedatives.
I had promised Rupert I would talk to someone and we had gone to the surgery together, the day after the abortive interview. I got
on well with my GP who had two young children of her own and, although she took the situation seriously, she suggested that my issues might simply be driven by exhaustion, and that we start by trying to get me properly rested and take it from there. Hence the sedatives and Virginia.
It didn't take long for me to start to feel much better, helped by the rest and the fact I'd agreed not to leave the house at all or to use my phone or any other electronic device. This meant I was unnaturally cocooned and wrapped in cotton wool. While it was wonderful to feel my mind becoming my own again, I couldn't imagine enduring this level of house arrest for long.
Combine that with the over-cautious, over-caring behaviour of Rupert and Virginia and it wasn't so different from what I imagined life in a mental hospital would be like. Everyone speaking slowly and softly, nothing to make the patient excited. Gentle classical music, nice cups of tea and calming drugs. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest comes to North Oxford!
Fortunately Sam wasn't signed up to the Nurse Ratchett 'patronise the patient' programme and he carried on as normal, happy and smiling some of the time but blasting the cotton wool to all corners of the room when he wasn't getting what he wanted. A welcome breath of normality in what was, in many ways, more like a waking dream than real life.
After five long days, I declared I was feeling much better, was well rested and needed to engage with the world outside our small house. I started by checking my emails and social media; there were no unexplained, unattributable emails, only the normal mix of spam and trivia and a Facebook message from an old friend from university, Charlie Taylor, saying she was in Oxford for a few days and would love to meet up.
I wasn't surprised there weren't any strange emails as I was certain Rupert was now checking my accounts regularly and he would have said something. A bit creepy to be spied on like that, but I had nothing to hide; my secret thoughts and worries were confined to my handwritten diary in any case.
