Being Committed

by Anna Maxted

  ‘Grissom is so cool,’ I remarked, after my hero had said – with imperious disdain – of a killer, ‘Why do they think they can trick us?’

  Ollie had replied, ‘Yes, but, you do realise, he is a nerd.’

  The ensuing debate lasted the length of the programme. When he’d gone, I realised that while I could have done a master’s degree on Ollie’s beliefs and analysis of Grissom’s personality, I had no idea what jobs he had coming up, if he and Gabrielle had plans (more Judes? Italy excursions? loft extensions?), or what he thought of his son’s latest development. He hadn’t mentioned Jude, let alone Jude’s latest development, and I wondered if he even knew. I hadn’t bothered to ask if he was carrying any photos.

  That said, Gabrielle didn’t carry photos of Jude either. I asked her once why, and she replied, ‘If people genuinely care, rather than being merely curious or polite, they’ll come round to see him.’

  That blew me away. Not only did she protect Jude from actual harm, she protected him from theoretical harm floating round in people’s heads. Her emotional sensibilities were so overdeveloped, she had every possible nuance of human psychology covered. She balanced Ollie’s weak emotional radar nicely. She was largely responsible for what they had today: a warm, welcoming home that made people want to linger. I thought of the stern formal aura of my childhood home and I was proud of Ollie for what he had created. Naturally, I never told him.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘you don’t need a motive, Ollie. It’s just that, in the nicest possible way, you always do.’

  Ollie squeezed his temples as if pain could be popped like a spot. His sideburns were flecked with grey hairs. ‘Gab’s gone to visit her mother for the weekend. She’s taken Jude.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. He’s a bit young to house-sit.’ I frowned. ‘For the weekend. But her mother only lives in Miw Hiw. That’s about twenty minutes from you.’

  Ollie looked irritable. ‘It’s nice for her to see her mother. They chat about, you know, girls’ things.’

  ‘Girls’ things, Ollie?’ I said. ‘You mean … periods?’ I waggled my fingers by the sides of my head in the approximation of a scary ghost.

  ‘Don’t say that word,’ said my brother, and cracked open a can.

  It was four hours, three episodes of The Shield, and two Madras curries later, as I set off to continue the charade of staking out Charlie’s house, that my suspicions were confirmed.

  ‘All right if I sleep on your sofa?’ said Ollie.

  ‘No. Why would you even want to when this is a poky one-bed flat and you own a palatial home of your own?’

  I hated overnight guests. Talk about an imposition. They expected proper food (not pesto on toast), clean towels, hot water, phone privileges, they acted as if they were in a hotel, they wondered if you might have a hot-water bottle, if they could borrow your hairdryer, had you serfing around after them like a Hampstead Garden Suburb Filipino maid, they snooped around your things, peered into cupboards, wandered into your bedroom when you were still in your Snoopy T-shirt, quaffing fresh coffee from your last coffee filter from your favourite mug and munching the stale Danish pastry you’d earmarked for your own breakfast. Martine had slept over once and so enraged me I’d had to avoid her for three months.

  Ollie stared at the writing on his Coke can.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ he muttered. ‘Change of scene.’

  ‘Ollie?’ I said.

  ‘Ah Jesus,’ he said. ‘I’ve left Gabrielle.’

  Chapter 29

  I screamed it. ‘What?’

  Ollie sunk his head into his shoulders like a child about to be hit. ‘It just all got too much.’

  ‘What!’ I screamed again. ‘What got too much? Having all your clothes cleaned and dried for you?’

  Ollie lifted his head, and said in a whisper, ‘Stop shouting.’

  He seemed to be thinking and moving in slow motion, so I snatched an empty glass and smashed it on the floor.

  ‘Hannah!’ He stared at me. ‘That was your glass. What’s your problem?’

  ‘What’s my problem?’ I screamed. ‘What do you think my problem is? My problem is you’ve left your wife and child for no reason, you fucking fuckwit.’

  ‘Hannah, Hannah, calm down. Jesus! Why are you reacting like this? You’re my sister.’

  I felt like a bull that just walked into an abattoir. ‘That means NOTHING,’ I screeched. ‘Since when has family meant close to you? I’ll tell you since when. Since you met Gabrielle Goldstein from Mill bloody Hill! Before then you were like a human oasis! That girl has made you, Oliver! And she’s my sister-in-law, and Jude is my nephew! They are your family, you are nothing without them, your life is pointless!’

  ‘Hannah, shut up, I’m not hearing this!’ Ollie banged a hand on the table.

  I gave him my most evil look.

  ‘Hannah, you don’t understand. There’s a lot going on. Work’s bad.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It’s been bad for a year. I’m lucky if I get one job a month. I haven’t worked in six weeks. I go out … I wander round parks. The economic climate. And I’m disposable. Even if a story’s cheap, magazines are all sending staffers, or calling in agency shots.’

  ‘And what has this to do with Gabrielle?’

  ‘She’s such a nag, she was driving me nuts.’

  ‘Really?’

  Ollie gargoyled his face ugly and assumed a whiny voice. ‘You should have taken that advertising job, you should put yourself out there more, you should be taking round your book to picture editors, you shouldn’t have done so much work for Wild Things, you should have worked for a wider range of publications, yak yak yak.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘And how do you deal with that?’

  Ollie reverted to his own voice. ‘Sometimes I just waggle my fingers over her face, and say, “Sleeeeep!”’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Or I zone out. I let her talk, but all I hear is ‘blah blah blah’. It makes it easier to deal with.’

  ‘Genius.’

  Ollie sighed. ‘You understand, right? You must deal with this sort of thing all the time – husbands sick of their nagging wives. Not that I’d cheat on her, because apart from anything else, who’s got the energy? But you get where I’m coming from?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I think you’ve made it pretty clear where you’re coming from. Kindergarten. You selfish, selfish pig!’ My voice, once again, had risen to a scream. ‘She’s not “nagging” you, Oliver, why is it “nagging” if she voices her opinion? She’s right! Why are you so picky? You’re not Marion Testino—’

  ‘Mario.’

  ‘I don’t care. You’re not a world-famous artiste, you don’t have the luxury of rejecting work just because it’s not Kate Moss in a bikini or an indigenous person wielding a blowpipe! So what if it’s the in-house magazine for a firm that sells lawnmowers? You’re a father who needs to help feed his family! It’s not like all the pressure’s on you. Gabrielle works too! As well as running the house and Jude and secretarying after you! She’s right! Everything she says is right!’

  ‘Look,’ said Ollie. ‘I’ve been a snapper for ten years—’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You feel, after your glorious decade in the business, that you’ve earned the right to stop trying. You’re going to sulk now, till all the lovely glamorous high-paying jobs come to you. My God. Gabrielle’s grandfather worked for the same firm as a glazier for fifty years before they made him redundant a year before he was due to retire. He didn’t complain. He went freelance because he had no choice. Within six months he was earning five times what the firm had paid him, because of his reputation. Every time a kid kicked a ball through a window, every time someone had a break-in, their neighbours recommended Mr Gol—’

  ‘And the point of this story, which I’ve heard before …?’

  ‘The work ethic, Oliver.’

  ‘That, coming from you.’

  I ignored this. ‘So,’ I said, ‘to sum up. You’re having a fe
w problems with laziness. Sorry, lack of work. Gabrielle is anxious about this. So, I don’t get it. Why have you left her?’

  A little Coke had spilt on the table. My brother drew patterns in it, with one finger, turning a Coke blob into a Coke octopus. ‘She’s impossible,’ he said. ‘It’s not just the work.’ He laughed. ‘Having a kid – it’s changed everything. There is no spare time, no time for us. Don’t get me wrong – I love Jude, he’s the bollocks, that kid. When he smiles, I tell you—’

  ‘And when he doesn’t smile?’

  Oliver looked to the sky and blew upwards, so his fringe fluttered in the breeze. ‘A crying baby … when a baby cries and cries … you feel your head could crack like two halves of a walnut. It drives you insane—’

  ‘I would have thought,’ I said, ‘that that’s the point. An alarm bell that parents can’t ignore.’

  ‘Well, Gab can’t ignore it. She’s basically trained him to cry.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Oliver, what am I missing here? Because I’m still not seeing why you’ve left your wife.’

  ‘She’s so up and down, Hannah. She’s irrational. She freaked out the other day because I threw Jude in the air and caught him. He was laughing his head off – he loved it.’

  ‘Yes, but what if you’d dropped him?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to drop him.’

  ‘Oliver. People make mistakes.’

  ‘Jesus. Look. I’ll come into my own when he’s a bit older, when he can talk. He’s so … demanding of you, so intense. It’s like, if he could, he’d suck out your soul through your eyes. It’s exhausting, it’s too much. He’s so … powerful.’

  Ollie paused and shook his head. He was strange, my brother. He was literate, well read, intelligent. And yet he’d chosen to assume the guise of a neanderthal.

  ‘Right now, he’s a mummy’s boy. Yeah, he loves his dad, but she’s what he really needs. She’s better with him than I am. She’s the one who gets him up, makes his breakfast—’

  ‘What, she has to wake him up?’

  ‘Are you joking? The kid’s up at six. If a cat walks past the house that kid is up. He’s a bat. Gab goes in there.’

  ‘I see. And what does Jude’ – I said it ‘Jooode’ – ‘have for breakfast?’

  ‘What? Toast and peanut butter. Bacon and eggs. I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know what Jude eats for breakfast?’

  ‘Ner, get off my back. Look. Gabrielle works from home. She’s got a nanny—’

  ‘The woman quit, remember? Gab is doing everything there is to do, apart from wiping your bottom. Maybe you’d like her to do that too?’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. I do lots of stuff. Gabrielle doesn’t see that. She’s always so angry, so hostile, so—’

  ‘Tired?’

  ‘Yes, she’s tired, but everyone’s tired. I don’t know. She keeps saying she thinks she’s … low.’

  I squashed a flicker of guilt. ‘Right, and what do you say?’

  ‘I tell her she just needs a good night’s sleep and she’ll feel better in the morning. But, I’m sick of saying it, she doesn’t listen and she always goes to bed at midnight. She won’t listen to advice, she’s taking everything out on me, and I can’t stand it any more. I need some space. She needs to get a grip. If I’m not there, maybe she will.’ Ollie sighed. ‘So what do you say, Ner? Can I stay the night? It’ll only be for a week or so. I’ve left her a note to say where I am.’

  ‘You mean … she knows you’re here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No you cannot stay the night. Just get out, get out, get the fuck out and go home, how dare you come to me, how dare you, and how dare you leave Gab a note, as if we were in this together, I am speechless at the sheer cheek of you, my God, it’s fucking obvious, Gab needs you to be an equal partner, you should be helping her, with the baby and the house, you’ve got to kindly encourage her to get more rest, instead of waving your hand over her face and going “Sleeeeep”, you selfish, stupid patronising prick!’

  Then, to my surprise, I burst into tears.

  Ollie jumped up like a man in a horror movie and started shuffling towards the door. ‘Er, Ner, look it’s OK, I’m leaving—’

  ‘Get OUT of here,’ I shrieked. ‘How dare you? You have responsibilities, stop moaning, go home to your family, get out, get out, get OUT!’

  After he’d gone I sat on the sofa shaking. I’d had no idea I was so upset.

  I drove to Charlie’s, but I couldn’t even concentrate on pretending to do my job. The rage pulsed through me like a strobe light, and I kept bursting into short fits of tears. I called Ollie’s mobile but it was turned off. Maybe men shouldn’t be given mobiles until they’ve proven they can use them responsibly. Then my phone rang. I blushed in the darkness. Greg has a big sign pasted on the back of the main office door: ‘PHONE ON DIVERT.’ It was the first time I’d forgotten to divert my calls on a job.

  ‘Martine. I’m on a job.’

  ‘You’re on the job! Bit rude to answer your phone, innit?’

  ‘A job, a job, not the job, what are you, deaf?’

  ‘Just because you don’t have a sex life don’t take it out on me.’

  ‘Martine. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Just rang to see how it was going. How you were feeling, what with everything.’

  It had taken me a long time to realise that Martine kept nothing confidential. I suppose I always told her stuff because she never looked that eager to know. Jesus. She could have learnt that off me. It’s a rule, when you’re trying to get information out of someone, don’t push. You tell me something, I tell you something, or we’re not equal and we’re not friends. Greg’s always said it helps in this business if you’ve been a waitress or a barman because you’re used to chatting, making people feel good. You have to show interest, without being aggressive. If someone starts to tell you something about himself and you push too hard, he clams up. People like to talk about themselves but you have to give as well.

  Martine, I realised, gave everything and nothing. She’d spill supposedly privileged personal details, and yet, if you thought about it, there was nothing of what she thought of the situation. She was like a news reporter based somewhere horrible. CSI Miami, perhaps. The last anecdote she’d thrown my way related to a sore bursting on one of her mother’s varicose veins, and blood spurting up the lounge walls. You could see why we were friends, but she was devious. I wasn’t going to mention Oliver coming round or she’d extract the whole story like Marvin extracting a tooth.

  ‘If everything refers to Jason, I am feeling fine, thanks. You?’

  ‘Yeah, good, thanks. I called Roger, like you said, told him you’d done the deed. He’s thrilled for you, mate, thrilled. He said he’d call you, soon as. He’s been busy. What with your grandmother dying, and the play.’

  Despite myself – and despite the weirdness of Martine having an independent phone relationship with my father – I felt a flicker of joy.

  ‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘You’d better get off the phone.’

  I waited for an hour, rubbing my eyes. No one rang. The reception came and went with this phone anyway. Maybe he was trying the flat. I decided to go home. The scenic route, via Belsize Park. I drove, slow, down Gab and Ollie’s road, then back again, and again. A slow curl of anger uncoiled in my chest. Ollie’s car (a metallic purple Mercedes hatchback) was absent. I knew he wouldn’t go home. I just knew it. Everything I told him, it was as much use as talking to a cat. That was my family – we were runners – away from trouble.

  Chapter 30

  The next day I called in sick and went to see Gabrielle. She hadn’t gone to visit her mother, Ollie had lied. Who else in my family had lied? It was so easy to lie – try it once, try it twice, it was a habit that slipped over you like a warm coat. Lies soothed people. I held this as private belief; was disappointed to find it was in the genes. Was I now obliged by honour to dig out the truth? I hoped not. I felt like a woman who’d been t
ricked into seeing the World’s Longest Domino Line and accidentally knocked over the first domino.

  ‘It’s not a good time,’ said Gabrielle, and shut the door. I wedged a foot in the gap, but I was wearing flipflops and having a heavy door slammed repeatedly on my bare toes was too painful. I withdrew, and rang the bell instead. I also shouted through the letter box.

  ‘Gab! Please! Listen to me. I’m worried about you. I spoke to Ollie, he—’

  The door was wrenched open. Gabrielle appeared, furious. The skin around her eyes was puffy under her ‘cover-up’ stick.

  ‘Shut up,’ she hissed. ‘A new client just walked in – do you think I want her to hear this?’

  ‘No, but I—’

  ‘Hannah, just leave. What do you care anyway?’

  ‘I’m not going away,’ I said. ‘There are things we need to discuss. Hello!’ Seeing my chance, I waved at the plump dark-haired woman bobbing around in the hallway behind Gabrielle. ‘Sorry to interrupt – I’m Hannah, Gabrielle’s sister-in-law. Can I say if you’re after a beautiful wedding dress, you’ve come to the right person.’

  Gabrielle scowled. The woman beamed. ‘Oh! I’m sure I have. My cousin got her dress from Gabrielle, and she looked amazing.’ She paused. ‘Although she is thinner than me. Are you staying? You can come and watch, if you like. My friend Amy was meant to come, but her dog died.’ She dipped her head in apology for implied callousness towards the dog.

  ‘I’d be honoured,’ I trilled, and stepped into the house.

  Gab raised a toned arm and barred my way. ‘Jennifer, are you sure?’ she said.

  I smiled encouragingly at Jennifer, trying not to look like Red Riding Hood’s wolf.

  She nodded. ‘I never know how I look. It’ll be nice to have an unbiased opinion.’

  ‘Well, how lovely,’ I said, and gently barged past my sister-in-law. I knew Gab didn’t think too highly of her brides being chaperoned by interested parties. She said that few people could look at a girl in a wedding dress objectively. Unmarried friends, for instance, would sit there and see how they looked. Mother-in-laws could not be trusted, even some mothers. Once Gab had told me how a beautiful bride invited her mother in to see the final dress rehearsal, for her to react in what Gab had described as ‘stony silence’. The bride had said, ‘Don’t you like it?’ and her chin had wobbled. Gab reckoned either she’d got it wrong or the woman was jealous, and she thought she knew which. But the bride, said Gab, was ‘dissolved’.