The Lie of You: I Will Have What Is Mine

by Lythell, Jane

  ‘Have you seen her? Since she’s been in London?’

  Markus stood still and looked out at the sea. He would not look at me.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘I’ve seen her three times. I drove to London yesterday and told her I won’t see her again.’

  ‘Three times since we’ve been together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You bastard!’

  Tears came now, hot seething jealous tears that brought no relief. I forgot all my resolutions. I forgot my own behaviour with Hector. I wanted to wrench every last detail from him about his meetings with her.

  ‘When did you see her?’

  ‘She called me when you were in Lisbon.’

  ‘Oh, yes, perfect timing. And you just fell in with her plans. Did you sleep with her?’

  ‘Don’t demean yourself, Kathy.’

  ‘Why won’t you answer me?’

  ‘Because I won’t let you, or anyone, tyrannize me. We’re not manacled together. I’m with you and you’re with me out of choice. And we’re only going to stay together as long as we both choose to.’

  At that very moment Tina’s image came into my mind. I saw her standing in the park, arguing with Sean with her thin little shoulders hunched and despairing. She knew the way it was. She had no illusions about what was owed to her. I am the naive one, expecting things to be better than they are.

  I’m tired yet I cannot sleep. Markus must have got up even earlier as his side of the bed is cold. Last night, in our own bed, I lay facing his back and thought, How can a back express such hostility? It was as if there was this vast space between us and I couldn’t move my hand to touch his back or stroke his neck. I lay there thinking, If I can only reach out and touch him tenderly on his neck it will be all right and he’ll turn round and hug me and we’ll make love. The sex will be angry at first and passionate and then healing. My arm would not move. I was frozen with my resentment against him. When you’re lying next to someone and you are become like stone, the night is very long and dark and lonely.

  I got up and dressed myself in jeans and a shirt. Markus was working in his room, apparently absorbed in his drawings. I dressed Billy and gave him breakfast and told Markus we were going for a walk in the park. He nodded but said nothing to me. Billy was cheerful, talking in his baby language to the little row of figures I’ve fixed across the front of his buggy and twisting them with his chubby little fingers. One block away from the flat I called her on my mobile. I found myself grimacing as I heard her cut-glass tones.

  ‘Hello...’

  ‘It’s Kathy. I think we need to meet and talk, outside the office.’

  ‘Why? Are you planning to dismiss me?’

  ‘This is not about work.’

  ‘Then I am not obliged to meet with you.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were obliged. I said I think we should meet, before I come back to work on Monday.’

  There was quite a pause and then she said, ‘Very well. I suggest we meet at the Royal Institute of British Architecture. There is a coffee shop there.’

  ‘I know it. I’ll see you there in one hour,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, clicking her phone off.

  Then I called Fran and asked her if she would babysit Billy for the morning.

  ‘I thought you were away till Sunday?’

  ‘We had to come back early.’

  ‘That’s a shame. You needed that break.’

  ‘Something cropped up. Could you look after Billy for a couple of hours?’

  ‘I’ve got the plumber coming to do my overflow. I’ve got to stay in till he comes. Could you bring Billy here? I’d be happy to have him here, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Thanks a million, Fran. I’ll bring him straight over.’

  I used to enjoy going to the RIBA building in Portland Place, it was one of my places. Before I had Billy I would go to the exhibitions there, have a coffee, buy books and postcards. Today as I walked up Portland Place I passed an old man mopping the stone steps of the Institute of Physics. There was steam coming from his bucket and that pungent smell of bleach in soapy water. As I got to the building I saw a young Chinese woman sitting on her own on a mat she had spread on the pavement. She was wearing a yellow sweatshirt that said Truthfulness, Compassion, Forbearance in black letters on the back. She was a Falun Gong supporter and she held her palms open and concentrated her energy on the Chinese Embassy opposite. I looked at the Embassy, which seemed like all the others in this exclusive road, except that it had a huge communications aerial on its roof. The young woman gazed at the building with a determined expression on her face. Her placard told of the torture and death of Falun Gong members. She watched them and were they watching her?

  The glass engraved doors were heavy against my hand and I walked across the marble floor to the stairs, saying, ‘Truthfulness, Compassion, Forbearance’ – I said it like a mantra as I mounted the stairs. Heja was already seated at a table at the far end of the coffee-shop, immaculate as ever and paler than usual. She hardly acknowledged me as I approached the table. I was looking at her differently, imposing the photograph of the radiant young woman on to this older, sophisticated woman. The radiance has gone. She made no greeting as I sat down and I made myself speak calmly to her. I was the editor and she was a member of my team.

  ‘Hello, Heja, thank you for agreeing to meet. This is a difficult situation for us both.’

  Heja looked over my shoulder at the waitress who was coming to our table. I ordered a cappuccino. She ordered lime flower tea.

  ‘I do not see why what happened in my private life some years ago should impact on our professional relationship,’ she said.

  This was so cold. This was so Heja.

  ‘You must see it’s awkward,’ I said. ‘You were involved with Markus and I’m married to him now and we are colleagues.’

  ‘Yes, I was with Markus for nine years.’

  She looked at me with her usual inscrutable expression. The skin under her eyes was almost blue.

  ‘This was in Helsinki?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice level. Nine years was a long time. I had been with Markus just over two years. At this moment the waitress came up with our drinks and placed a little white teapot in front of Heja and a large cup of cappuccino in front of me. Heja was silent until the waitress was out of earshot. Then she spoke.

  ‘I think “childhood sweethearts” is the phrase you English use. It was the first important relationship for us both. You could say we grew up together.’

  She poured her pale tea into her cup. She was saying she had a prior claim on Markus. I knew that she had not ended the relationship. He had left her. What I really wanted to know was why she’d come to my magazine; why she had switched careers so dramatically. It had to be to get near him and me.

  ‘Markus told me you used to present the news on Finnish TV. It’s a big change isn’t it – writing about buildings?’

  Heja shrugged.

  ‘I have a deep interest in architecture.’

  I waited. She offered nothing further and it was a bullshit answer. I tried again.

  ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say, Heja, is that I would like us to have a good working relationship, without any awkwardness about this.’

  ‘If you recall,’ she said, ‘I offered to take on more of your workload back in April.’

  ‘You did, and as it turns out that wasn’t necessary,’ I said crisply.

  She looked quizzically at me then. I put sugar into my coffee and stirred it into the frothy milk. I wondered if she knew about the mess I’d made of the board meeting. Could Philip have said something to her?

  ‘It’s just rather a strange coincidence, isn’t it; us both working on the magazine?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you are saying,’ she replied.

  ‘I’m keen that your former relationship with my husband should not unsettle our working relationship.’

  ‘It makes no difference to me. It is irrele
vant,’ Heja said calmly. ‘It was you who asked for this meeting.’

  Yes, I had asked for the meeting but I felt she had all the power in this exchange and I didn’t believe her, not for a single minute. How could it be irrelevant that she had ended up at my place of work?

  ‘It’s hardly irrelevant,’ I said.

  ‘It is not unreasonable that I wish to keep in touch with the man I was involved with for many years. You do the same.’

  She looked at me directly as she said this and my stomach contracted. She was referring to Eddie, of course. She’d seen him that day when he came to my office and was drunk. She’d seen us hugging. Had she told Markus about Eddie coming to see me? Was that why Markus said I kept some secrets from him? I took a deep breath to steady myself and played my trump card.

  ‘We have a young son now and Markus and I are trying to build a new life together.’

  She smiled coldly and I regretted my use of the word ‘trying’.

  ‘Yes, Markus has a highly developed sense of responsibility.’

  She looked at me now with undisguised contempt. She wanted to wound me with that remark and was saying that Markus was only with me because of Billy. She was so controlled and so full of malice. I wanted to throw the hot liquid in my cup at her contemptuous face. I wanted to see the coffee hit her face and stain her perfect powder-blue jumper.

  ‘He’s the most wonderful father,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, he would be. The pregnancy was unplanned, I believe?’

  She looked at me directly again and I had to drop my eyes. I felt colour rising hotly into my cheeks. How could she have known that? Markus must have told her. Unplanned; she made it sound like something dirty and disreputable. She had told me nothing at all and had just made me feel even more insecure about my life with Markus.

  ‘Sometimes unplanned things are the most wonderful,’ I managed to say. I needed to get away from her fast as I was close to losing control.

  ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

  I stood up abruptly and as I did so I knocked our table. My cup of undrunk coffee splashed all over the table and she had to leap to her feet too. She gasped as some drops of coffee hit her.

  ‘That was an accident,’ I said angrily, as if she was accusing me of something. ‘I’ll pay for your clothes to be cleaned.’

  I rushed out of the café, away from her.

  I ran up the stairs to our flat, unlocked the door and hurled myself into his workroom. He was still sitting there so calmly in front of his drawing desk. His calmness made me even more furious:

  ‘I’ve just met Heja and she implied you’re only with me because of Billy. Is that what you said to her?’

  He stood up. ‘You went to see Heja?’

  ‘Yes. Since you won’t tell me anything...’

  ‘Where’s Billy?’

  ‘Did you tell her my pregnancy was unplanned?’

  ‘Where’s Billy?’ He reached for my wrist.

  ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘Where’s Billy?’

  I pulled my arm away from him.

  ‘He’s with Fran,’ I screamed in torment.

  ‘What did you say to her about us?’

  ‘Look at you. You’re like a madwoman. Control yourself.’

  ‘I can’t stand it! I can’t stand your fucking coldness!’

  I started to pull his books out of the shelves and fling them on the floor with all my strength.

  ‘Leave my books alone!’

  He grabbed me again and we struggled violently until he got me down on the floor, kneeling on me and pinning my arms down by my sides.

  Then he said into my face with the greatest bitterness, ‘Why did you have to go see her? It’s because you want to bring everything to a crisis. You love drama, don’t you? You want to make things even worse than they already are.’

  He stood up.

  ‘I’m going to get Billy. Get a grip on yourself.’

  He walked out of the room and slammed the front door. I curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth on the floor, crying with rage and fear and frustration. I was out of my depth with these two.

  Heja

  AUGUST

  I was holding the photograph of Markus with Billy lying on his stomach. I lay in bed and looked at it. Markus had his hand resting protectively on Billy’s bare back. His eyes were crinkled with laughter. Father and son; Markus with his beloved son... I have lost the will to get out of bed.

  What a transparent and clumsy fool she was at our meeting. She tried to assert her authority. She thought she could defeat me by invoking Billy and by saying that Markus was her husband. I could defeat her but what is the point any more? Markus is like granite. He said he wouldn’t see me any more. And he won’t. I know he will not come near me again, because of Billy. He would leave her tomorrow. He will never leave Billy.

  Our house was full of photographs of Tomas; photographs of Solange with Tomas on her lap, in her arms, on a sledge. He lived for twelve months – 378 days, to be precise. A life completed before it had really started. Yet Tomas was never forgotten. How strongly my mother held on to her grief. I was never good enough. I could never replace the son she adored. When I was a little girl I longed for my mother’s touch. I longed to sit on her lap and have her arms around me. I think back and the only time I can remember her touching me was when she plaited my hair as a child.

  There were two photographs of me in the house. One was a school photograph taken when I was seven years old and had lost my two front teeth. Solange had wound my hair into tight plaits. She put this particular photograph in a cream and gold frame and gave it pride of place on the piano at home. I asked her why she put it there and kept it there all those years. She told me this was her favourite photograph of me ‘because you look such a bright little schoolgirl with your plaits and your blue shirt and tie’. Perhaps she felt affection for me then, when I was seven.

  The other photograph is a studio head and shoulders of me taken by the TV station. The photographer took ages lighting the shot and he made me look hard and glamorous – the enamelled face of Finnish news.

  I have been quite ill for the last two days, drifting in and out of sleep. My dreams have been terrifying. I dreamt that the carrion crow was coming to get me. She was huge and blotted out the sun. Her wings were made of black rags, all shredded and tattered, and her face was a chalk-white mask. I was a little grey mouse hiding in the grass, rooted to the spot. She got me in her sights and swooped down with her talons bared, her mouth stretched back over her teeth. She pierced me with her claws and lifted me into the sky, broken-backed and bleeding.

  From my large window I see that the sun is breaking through the clouds and I remember that Markus and I have a date in Durham. I cannot remember when we are meeting or where we are meeting. I will go there and I will walk through the cathedral looking for him. How difficult it is, it has been such a long, lonely struggle. But look, they are singing in the cathedral. They are singing Bach. Tanya is singing. The cathedral is full of people. Tanya is wearing a full-length velvet dress in the richest shade of royal blue. Her beautiful shoulders rise out of her dress. She opens her arms as she sings. Her voice fills the great barrel vaulted space of the cathedral. I am standing in a side chapel, watching her. She is singing Bach’s Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut: My Heart swims in Blood.

  She sings:

  My heart is swimming in blood,

  For my teeming sins

  Make me a monster

  In God’s holy eyes.

  The cathedral is full of women in coloured dresses and men in black. Their solid faces are turned towards Tanya and they are spellbound by her voice. As she sings the last words of the cantata there is a rapt silence. They long to clap but know they cannot clap in the cathedral. She bows her head once, then walks away from the musicians and sees me standing in the side chapel. She walks over to me with her arms open wide and her face full of love. I run to her and bury my face in her soft perfumed velvet breast.
/>   Kathy

  AUGUST

  Heja has not been at work for the last three days and she’s not phoned in sick either. It’s been such a relief not to see her. I’m dreading seeing her again. Did I cross a line at our meeting on Saturday? Could she make a complaint about my behaviour? My team must not know what’s been going on and somehow I have to appear normal towards her. It’s going to be so difficult to work with her and I’d be happy if I never had to set eyes on her again. Her absence has meant I could get through all the routine questions about did I have a good holiday; yes, it was lovely, thanks, without seeing her hateful gaze contradicting me. And Philip is away for three weeks in Italy with his wife. That is also a relief.

  The atmosphere at home is horrible and tense, and since our fight in his workroom Markus and I are barely speaking. He spends long days at his office. I wonder that I can get up every morning and come into work when I have this pain in my chest of undigested hatred; when my mind keeps rerunning that meeting with Heja, only this time I have the upper hand and I make the point that Markus chose to leave her and to marry me and nothing she says can change that. Then I feel tearful again when I remember how she implied that Markus is only with me because I got pregnant; because he is such a responsible man. Unplanned, she said. You trapped him, she implied. And I know that I will always doubt his feelings for me.

  I realize now that she’s obsessed with him and will not let him go. That’s why she came to England, to London, to this magazine. That’s why she is working a few hundred feet away from me. I’ve never felt hatred like this before, and the truth is that it’s turning me into this ugly, jealous person I hardly recognize.

  Yet the discipline of having to get up, get washed and dressed by a certain time is helpful. Here at the office I have a structure and a role that allows me to feel almost normal. Aisha greets me in the morning and we go through the diary. My team members come to me for advice, as they’ve always done. I work on the articles, trying to improve and polish them. You can go on working even when life at home is subject to intense pressures.