Boys and Girls (17 page)

Well now, I had better prepare for what I do hope will prove to be a, well, shall we say – momentous evening? I don't want to drag my heels on this one. I feel urgency. I feel it surge. People must cooperate now in doing what I want. The setting for tonight, the aura – it must be quite perfect, though not in the way that someone who knew me might I think imagine I would see it. To begin with, I have decided not to cook. No no. I must not appear as the aproned little wifelet, breathless and eager to delight the men next door – busy amid the steam of a clattered batterie, casting back a flop of hair with the back of my hand, while urging with a wooden spoon a sulking sauce to thicken. Nor, though, do I wish to come across as way on high and in total command (although that is how it will be). More I would like it that the three of us come easily to feel that we are each an equal party, on the verge of a lasting and natural ménage (however unnatural it at first might strike one). So we're having a Chinese takeaway and a great deal of alcohol; this, believe me, will work. I'm sorry if all of this makes me out to be, oh – so cold and unforgiving, so very scientific, unflinching in my approach – because this would be to misunderstand and severely underrate me. You must trust me when I tell you that I have the good of everyone at heart. I feel the warmth of the potential, you see: I am a sensualist, not a machine.

My chink of weakness is maybe betrayed by what I now have done, in the face of my absolute determination throughout to tell no one of my plan, and in particular Maria – a good friend in many ways (we have often fed quite hungrily upon the very meat of one another while feigning a sisterly concern, a profound rapport, as women are wont to; exchanging the one secret for another quite as shocking – condoning any sort
of recklessness, indulgence, or even quite blatant insanity, and uniting over the difficulties that men and children will present one with). So yes – in particular Maria, who I knew would pronounce my patient scheming to be thoroughly delicious (one of her words) while really gloating, loving that it doesn't concern her, and then drawing out of me more and more of the purest essence under the twin guises of encouragement and understanding – while even at the moment rehearsing with glee the dripping out of gobbets of the very marrow to unconsidered others. And yet I had phoned her, and suggested we meet. I do not want her to know, I have no compulsion to, oh God –
share
in this … I just need to ease myself from under the worst of its weight.

She hates all the coffee shop chains, Maria, and of course so do I. This one is a throwback – comfortably overstuffed and flitting with grim and broken-arched waitresses, seemingly born to it, or else the young and fretful. Trimmed and elegant finger sandwiches are a reassuring feature (I remarked upon them on one occasion to Alan, the finger sandwiches, and he said he'd just as soon have cheese … but then, depressingly, that's just so very Alan, isn't it really?) as are the multi-tiered cakestands, pretty with Battenberg, tartlets and Ladurée macaroons. Maria will sometimes enjoy peering through the masking of a steaming mint infusion or else something rare and oriental, while I am true to a succession of espressi, a little jug of just-warm milk alongside. Clustered around our corner table beneath the mirrored panels there is often a slither of rope-handled carriers, the stiff and glossy spoils of her very latest sortie. Today there seems to be even more of them than usual.

‘Well I wasn't going to get the navy as
well
as the yellow one, honestly I wasn't. Even I'm not
that
bad. Mm – I say yellow,
though it's not one of those ghastly yellows. It's much more … it's difficult to … I would get it out and show you, Susan, but they do them up so terribly gorgeously – ribbons and everything. But at those prices I just couldn't bear to leave one of them behind. I really saved a fortune. But God, you know – I don't even know where I'm going to
put
the things. Isn't it awful? I had these – did I tell you this, Susan? I had these rather special sort of –
shelves
, really, put up in the dressing room, just solely for all my handbags – but they're already completely full. I'd filled them before the little man had even finished putting them up. So I don't know what I'm going to do. My tea's gone cold. Miss! Oh excuse me – miss! Yes – hallo, thank you. Do you think you could be an absolute angel and bring me another pot of …? Yes. Thank you so much. Very kind.
Now
then, Susan. Do tell. What on earth have you been up to? Haven't seen you in simply ages. Did you want another coffee? I should have asked you when the girl was here. These macaroons, honestly … I do wish you'd have one, Susan, or else I'll end up eating the whole bloody lot. They really are too delicious, pink ones especially. Well, Susan?
Talk
to me, heaven's sake. How's work? You make me feel so terribly guilty, you having a job. And how's Alan? Same, I suppose. And Amanda? Is it still term time? I'm so out of touch with all those sorts of things. But it's
you
, Susan, I really want to hear about. Have you got some gorgeous and delicious secret that you're just dying to tell me about?'

Susan sipped coffee, and she just had to smile.

‘Well I have as a matter of fact, Maria. I have.'

Maria put down her half macaroon, forced her mouth into a moue and dabbed its edges with a napkin, her eyes inquisitive and alive.

‘Well goodness, Susan! Of all the things I might have expected you to say …! Well how utterly delicious – and I didn't even have to coax it out of you. Wonderful. Oh I
am
pleased I came. Well come on, then. Don't keep me in suspense.
Tell
me.'

‘Well … it's just that I'm getting another husband.'

Maria's eyes were narrow and then so wide as she slapped the tablecloth with the flats of her hands.

‘
Ah
! I knew it. I've seen it – I've seen this coming for a long time, you know. I'm amazed quite frankly, my dear – and I can say this now, can't tell you how often I've thought it – but I'm amazed, I really am, that you haven't done it before. I mean – well look at him! Not for you, never was. Never really pulled his weight, has he? I mean I don't
dislike
him, Alan – he's nice enough, course he is – but honestly, Susan. Not what a man is
for
really, is it? I have to say – if my John had carried on like that, well … he would've been out of the door just years ago. I mean it. As it is, he earns an absolute fortune doing whatever it is he does – he started to explain it all in detail to me once, the lamb, until I had to just beg him to stop. And his bonus last Christmas … well! But
Alan
 … what has he ever done for you? Nothing that I can see. Well well
done
, Susan, that's what I say. You're well out of it. Now tell me – who's the new man? Is he delicious? When can I meet him? Oh Susan I'm
so
happy for you! It'll be a new lease of life. I've been worried about you, you know. Looked so terribly tired, lately.'

‘That's what Alan thought, when I told him. That I was leaving him.'

Maria now was caught in hesitation. She blinked.

‘What did you say? I'm sorry, I'm … didn't you just say—?'

Susan smiled and wagged her head.

‘No. Not leaving him. Couldn't. Wouldn't be right. No – you see, what I'm doing is – and I know it sounds … but I'm getting another husband. As well as. Not instead of.'

‘You mean you're taking a lover. Well we've all done
that
 …'

‘No. No no. That's not what I mean.'

‘Well what else can you mean? You're not about to commit, um – what-is-it, are you?
Bigamy
, for God's sake?'

Susan now was agitated, and she leaned across the table.

‘It won't be that, of course – I can't get married again properly, I do know that. I'm not out to get people into trouble. But in all the real senses it'll be proper – a second and parallel marriage. Proper. Sharing one's life. I thought of two separate households, but it's much too complicated. And also, it wouldn't be real. Would it? You can't be with one husband and not with the other. And everyone has to know what's going on. Share it. You think I'm mad, don't you …?'

‘Well at the moment I do, yes Susan I do. Frankly. Oh but look you can't be
serious
about all this, can you? I mean how are you going to … you know, um—?'

‘There's this priest I've got to know. Irish. Quite nice. Name's Johnnie Flynn. Drinks a bit. Lot, actually. Why in the main I think they got rid of him. That and pretty parishioners. Not choirboys, at least. They used not to mind any of that sort of thing, the Catholics, but it's all over the papers now, so they've … I don't know – got to be seen to do something about it, I suppose. Anyway – Father Flynn, he says he'll see to it. Service.'

Maria was stirring a slow and thoughtful cup.

‘It's gone cold again … Can't really be bothered to order any more. But tell me, Susan – this Father Finn …'

‘Flynn. It's Flynn he's called. I think you'd like him.'

‘Flynn, then. But he's – what do they call it – unclothed …?'

‘Defrocked. Yes he is. That's why it won't be a legal marriage, but in every other way it will be …
right
. In the eyes of God.'

‘My dear Susan – I don't think God will even be
looking
. I don't think He could bear it! Well tell me about the new … oh Jesus:
husband
. Delicious? Rich, I'm assuming. You haven't
quite
lost all reason, have you?'

‘Oh he's got money all right. That's the whole point.'

‘Well
good
. So you don't … you're not in love with him?'

‘Well no. It's a bit like Alan. I love them both, in a way. Hard to explain. But apart from money … I'm
doing
it out of love.'

‘Mm. And him – what's his name?'

‘Black. It's a nickname. Black. Because his surname is Leather. See? It's not very clever.'

‘Kinky, though. And
talking
of which …?'

‘No. We haven't. It's not like that.'

‘No. Like John and me. That's not like that either, more's the pity. He saves all that for his bloody PA …'

‘Really? John does? I never knew.'

‘No. I didn't either until very recently.'

‘Oh God Maria, I'm so sorry. How did you—?'

‘Usual ways. Snooping, lying, bribery, internet fraud. All the things a good wife does. Anyway – never mind John.

That'll blow over. It always does. Tell me – what does
Alan
think of all this? And the new person. Black? What a perfectly silly thing to call him. What does
he
think?'

‘Alan thinks I'm crazy – at the moment he's hurt, I think he's hurt – but he won't be soon. When it's all done, he'll be fine. I'm sure of it. Black … well Black doesn't actually
know
. Not yet. I mean he knows I want to marry him, because I told
him so – just last night, matter of fact. He hasn't said yes yet, but he will, he's got to. But he doesn't know anything about
Alan
, is what I mean. Even that he exists. I've told him about Amanda, though. I thought I should.'

‘Uh-huh. But you didn't think to mention that you live with a husband who you've no intention of leaving, and he's going to be imported as Husband Number Two.'

‘He won't be husband number
two
 … well he will in that there'll be two of them, but I'm not putting them in
order
, Christ's sake.'

‘Does Alan get points for long service?'

‘Oh look, Maria – it's easy to laugh – I know it's a bit—'

‘Lunatic?'

‘—
different
, but I just know it's going to work. I feel it. Anyway – he's coming round tonight. Black is. Get the ball rolling.'

‘Oh my
God
, Susan – can I come too? I'd pay really big money for a ticket to this.'

‘Absolutely not. Even Amanda's not going to be there. It's just …'

‘The husbands and the wife?'

Susan was suddenly coy.

‘If you like. If you want to put it like that – yes, that's exactly what it'll be. Shall we go now, Maria? Do you mind? Hundred things to do. Um – you don't
have
to tell everyone about this, you know …'

‘Susan! I'm shocked. As if I would. It's our little secret. Isn't it? It's just for us. But you will, won't you? You promise you'll keep me
informed
 …? Oh my God, but how perfectly
delicious
. Something to
live
for, darling.'

Susan smiled, her eyes uncertain, relieved by her own
articulation. But displeased to have made the disclosure. On her way back home in the back of a taxi, she seriously re-examined these new and altruistic aspects of her growing grand design – benevolence to others, not an element she was even aware of until she had heard herself protesting her own goodness to Maria … though she was glad to discover that on balance they were trueish. Because Alan, he very rarely goes out, you know – or at least so far as I am aware. Always just stuck up in that room of his, idling away the day. He's never been … what do they say? Clubbable, is it? Not a man's man, so to speak. And hardly, I think we may agree, the other type either. So no sort of a man at all then, if one were to take the more broad and uncharitable view. So he needs someone, really. Doesn't he? A mate, if you like. Someone to talk to. Because I'm no good to him, not in that way, well of course I do see that. All I do is snap and carp, firing a salvo either in earnest warning and barely over his head, or else from close quarters and aiming to wound; thoroughly belittle whatever he does, or else just ignore him completely. And he then breathes in deeply and returns the volley as well as he is able, and so it goes on, around and around. Once, our exchanges – they had been vibrant and gleeful, almost a sporting contest. Now it's just sour, and wholly automatic.