Boys and Girls (43 page)

I must, though, talk to them – it's important that they know, now. I said to my boy: I really have to go. The tang of his sweat was sour, and so sweet to me. He told me I was beautiful; I know it to be true – I see it in the eyes of every one of the men I encounter, but no one ever tells me. I have to go … I have to go … I kept on sighing it, feeling no compulsion. I could have stayed in his arms for just ever.

I left, I had to – already yearning for the moment I could return to him. And back at Richmond, it was all so strange: I barely had the door shut behind me and they were there, the two of them, peering at me with eagerness and maybe (or was I imagining it?) a dread anticipation, as if they could have sensed that all was not well. This was more than just my guilt: I felt they knew, and I was thrown. I had not expected instinct.

‘So, Susan,' said Alan too loudly. ‘You're back.'

And then he glanced over to Black for assistance – who, quite suddenly, was as lost as Alan. This was not how it was meant to be: they had worked it all out, how it had to
be handled, and here they were like a couple of wide-eyed, hungry and useless spaniels, superfluous around her feet.

‘When she comes in,' Alan had said, and not half an hour earlier, ‘I think we must be stern.'

‘Stern yes, I see. Sort of brooking no malarkey, type of thing. I've got you.'

‘Tell her we know everything, and that we're just not standing for it. While making it clear that when she stops all this nonsense and comes to her senses, we are prepared to display both compassion and forgiveness. Confront her with the letter, if she tries to wriggle out of it.'

Yes, the letter … well, not much more than a bit of a notelet really, but that's hardly the point. Because just a short while ago, I had been into Susan's room. Had to. Not for any solid reason – was not my intent to rummage, couldn't even think there would be anything to find. It was just the bare fact of the door being locked, that's what I simply couldn't stand. It served as a symbol of the exclusion I was feeling. I think I might just have smashed it in, you know, so powerful was my impulse (do I have a jemmy …? I remember wondering) – but Mr Clearley, he was busy with some or other bit of finishing off in the attic region, I rather thought, and so I raced up there and I said to him Oh there you are, Mr Clearley, afternoon, afternoon – wonder if you can help me out at all: stupidest thing, lost a key, don't want to cause any unnecessary damage … well, the man had the door open in an instant flat with the twisting of some little gizmo or other – and that, I don't know … it certainly makes you think. So I got rid of Clearley, and then I was in. And the scent, just the scent of the room, it had me nearly reeling – so utterly redolent of Susan, and all that I had loved and remembered. There were high-heeled
shoes, pink, one on its side – the bruise on the inside where her toes once had been clustered, it made me gasp, it stroked my very heart. In the sheer of a discarded nightdress, still there was the whisper of her. The unmade bed, that spoke of recent turbulence – buckled-up sheets … fresh, but somehow meaty. And on the dressing table, a gorgeous woman's litter – unclasped pearls and perfumed pots, a lemon tissue smudged by mascara. And a sheet of lilac paper, folded. I had been dreading the glimpse of a diary, for I knew I would have been driven to impale myself upon each and every spearpoint that it doubtless would contain … but the sheet of lilac paper, folded – this was bad enough. I flapped it open – held it away from me in case it might burn.

It did not burn, it froze me. My eyes were tight in a squint, shying away. I came downstairs and, wordlessly, held it out to Blackie; he read, but did not touch it. Said nothing at all. We both sat down and had a drink, then. Blackie smoked a cigarette. I toyed with the idea of a cigar, but couldn't face all the fooling with the thing. And then Blackie, he suddenly said:

‘Bad.'

And Alan nodded to that, whatever its meaning. He decided then that they had to be stern (the other more yielding things too). He thought … Susan, she is in the midst of just loving the very best game that boys and girls can ever play, while Blackie and I, well – we seem to be jointly cast in the role of no more than a caring and disappointed father … Alan thought all that, yes, but he uttered not a word of it. It was also decided that
they would not now rush to ring her on her mobile (which, Alan judged through the cut of pain, would anyway be left to its futile warble while a could-be abandoned Susan was taken and taken over by maybe even rapture) … no, they would not rush to do that, but instead just patiently and with a degree of dignity, they would await her return. She would then go upstairs to change, as was her custom, and soon come down again to possibly make some tea. Then and gradually, the big bold subject would be gently broached. Yes. But as they heard the key in the lock, they each of them and quite independently near bounded into the hall and were gazing at her with hurt and a sort of longing, seemingly eager for the smallest of treats, while at the same time cowering away, cringing in fear of an undeserved slap.

‘Alan. Black. There's something I need to tell you. I think that maybe you already know. Is Amanda here?'

Alan and Black glanced across at one another so terribly briefly, the spark of fright and then the wince of dread being altogether too much to hold for any longer. So – no going upstairs to change, then; no coming down again to possibly make some tea. And the big bold subject, it has thundered down and is already among us, so massive, jagged and looming, and feebly we quake in its shadow.

‘No, she's … no. She's out, Amanda.'

‘Good. It isn't for her ears, this. Shall we go into the room?'

‘Oh no,' said Alan, in as throwaway a manner as he could possibly muster. ‘Don't think that's really necessary. Let's do it here, will we? Shouldn't take long. You just tell us what you need to, and then we'll say what we have to say, and then that I hope will be the end of it all.'

Susan blinked at him.

‘I think … maybe not. You see, the thing is … now I'm aware that you're both going to think me quite horribly awful, you probably do already – and we'll talk, of course we'll talk … about all this. In detail. But later. For now, I think – just the very bare facts. Alan, Black, there's no other way to put this … I want another husband.'

Alan and Black now just openly goggled at one another – Alan very nearly laughing out loud, but no not quite.

‘Well …' he said hesitantly. ‘I think I can speak on behalf of old Blackie here when I say that we are both, um – collectively shocked. Fair to say, Blackie? Mm. Thought so. Now listen, Susan – oh no, oh no, you can't hope now to just barge in and interrupt me at this stage, Susan, no no no. I've got to say
something
before you drive your damn bloody steamroller all over us, haven't I? And what I say is this: it's a big house, yes granted. And it's Blackie's house, of course, and it is he, therefore, who will have the final say … but speaking for myself, at least – well I should have said that two husbands, you know, a pair, it's really quite sufficient. Ample. Is my view. And to add a third, well – it might, I suggest, be somewhat over-egging the pudding. Wouldn't you say?'

‘Hear hear,' said Black quite gruffly. ‘Second that. Jesus, Susie.'

Susan smiled quite sadly. She approached them both – lightly laid a consoling hand on each of their shoulders.

‘I think you maybe don't quite understand … oh dear. You see – I don't mean as well as, no. I mean instead of. Yes.'

Black was silent in the car, while Alan drove the two of them home from that shabby and, to Black's mind, really rather lowering tenement building where they had boldly bearded
and confronted the little bastard. And then he simply could resist no longer expressing his high jubilation.

‘Saw him off, hey Alan? That sort, boys – never too much of a problem. Feelings, not deep-seated. Take what they can get and when they can get it, fundamentally. Knew it wouldn't be too much of a problem.'

Alan could only nod, while the car was idling at a zebra crossing, a stream of uniformed schoolgirls filing in front of their eyes.

‘It did seem to go exceptionally smoothly … Glad, on the whole, we didn't have to throw him down the stairs several times. He was a wiry thing, yes, but he seemed quite strong, I thought. Physically, I mean, Christ curse him. But now, well – it's just a question of whether Susan accepts it. You know Susan.'

‘Got to though, hasn't she really? Got to buckle down. Now she has. Nothing else she can do. I say, Alan – did you see that last one? Blue eyes, plaits? Little gingham thing on her?'

‘Did. Course I did.'

‘Fuckish, hey?'

‘Exceptionally. But listen to me, Blackie – how do you think she's going to react? Just pretend that it all never happened? Carry on as usual? Not in her nature, is it?'

‘Oh I don't know. Time we get back, he will have told her. She might go round there, have it out with him. Tantrum, shouldn't wonder. She'll be difficult with us for a while – but Jesus, when isn't she? The entire idea was always quite perfectly preposterous anyway. Wasn't it? She couldn't have been thinking straight. Fit of, I don't know – passion? It can do that. But getting rid of her home and family – the very ones who love her! Marrying an infant. A penniless child. How long
before that particular novelty would have faded? Susie, well – expensive woman. Expensive tastes. We can only assume that briefly, well – she simply lost her mind. Consumed by … let us just call it the
moment
, shall we? Can't dwell. No no. But now, well … over, isn't it?'

It certainly, thought Alan, would appear that way; the boy's enthusiasm for the offer on the table had been both palpable and nearly immediate, callow little sod. And young! My God, how young. I mean, Amanda had told me exactly how young he was, so it wasn't as if I hadn't been primed – but Jesus, when he opened the door I could barely believe it: that this long-limbed child with the eyelashes of a fawn could really be a rival in love for these two pent-up husbands with a collective age of over a bloody century. Standing there on the doorstep, the lad in jeans and a T-shirt with one arm draped over the door, so very languorously, like a careless and sedated ape … it was all so very shaming. This … thing, this insignificant little shit: he'd fucked her. Repeatedly.

‘Help you?'

‘Harry, is it?' ventured Alan (Alan, it had been agreed on the way over, Alan was to do all the talking). ‘Mind if we have a word? We have someone in common, you see. Susan …?'

‘Susan …? Who's Susan. Oh yeh right –
Susan
, got you. Well what about her?'

‘Well … maybe we could come inside? This might be to your advantage.'

Harry shrugged and stood away from the door.

‘My parents are away at the moment, so the place is a bit of a tip. Who actually are you guys?'

There were odours in the hall that Black for one did not care to identify. And the dark and dampish room where now he
found himself had somehow, how could he say …? The air of having altogether surrendered.

‘Would you mind,' he said, ‘if I smoke?'

And as Harry briefly closed his eyes in complete indifference to that, Black was thinking, hm – and would you mind also not being so damn well fucking insolent by just standing in front of us like a casual clown, you unutterable little dirtbag? And would you mind too making this all as pain-free as so pain-fraught an expedition can possibly be? And would you mind as well making it on the quick side, yes? Because already I need quite badly to go to the lavatory, though maybe not quite badly enough to contemplate using yours.

‘The thing is, Harry … my name is Alan, by the way. I'll make it brief. Best way. I, you see, am Susan's husband. Susan's husband, yes – and this, this is … my very great friend who also has, um – shall we say a vested interest. And so I think—'

‘Hang on. What – you're Amanda's dad. That it? Blimey.'

‘Yes, I – yes. But it is not Amanda we are here to discuss.'

‘Isn't it? Oh.'

‘No. Now, I look at you, Harry, and I don't see a stupid person.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Not stupid at all. And you're – young. Whole life before you. Don't want to mess it up, do you? Get bogged down?'

‘No I bloody don't.'

Alan glanced at Black, quite excitedly.

‘Well exactly. So that's why it's got to end. Here and now.'

‘What the fuck you on about?'

‘Oh God that's
it
,' Black was now fuming impatiently. ‘Sorry, Alan – sorry to, um … but I simply can tolerate his attitude for not a moment longer. Now listen to me, young
man – I'll be plain. In return for never seeing Susie again, I am prepared to give you one thousand pounds.'

Harry just looked at him.

‘What? Never
see
her again …?'

Black exhaled, and was glaring.

‘Very well: two thousand pounds. Here and now. Take it or leave it. Speak up.'

Harry now sat down heavily into a lopsided armchair.

‘Two thousand pounds …' he whispered, as if to himself.

‘It's a good offer,' put in Alan.

Harry's eyes were blinking with energy.

‘What's with you two guys? You are, what—? You are offering – in exchange for, Jesus – never like seeing Susan again … you say you're going to give me two grand. Two grand.'

‘Oh
damn it
, Alan – what's wrong with the fucking little idiot? On drugs, do you suppose? In common with all the rest of them. Right then –
Harry
, or whatever your damn bloody name is: I'll double it.'