Boys and Girls (49 page)

And I remember that night, remember it utterly – will remember it for ever, as well as all that came after. So impatient was I for him to awake, my mouth formed into an ‘O' and I blew with care on to that slightest shimmer of blue on the twitch of his sleeping eyelid, so that at first I could be gently anointing his stirring consciousness with the merest whiff and
then a smudge of unction – a tiny brilliant speck of love – and then when he embraced me, we both would be engulfed by the full great weight of it: it would fill us up and we could laugh at our own amazement.

He awoke, and I kissed him. His eyes were lit with a lazy ease. I breathed the words … I love you. He smiled and touched my hair. I breathed the words … I love you. He sat up then and stroked my arm. My glance was urgent and I whispered the words … I love you. He swung his legs away from the bed, picked his shirt from a tangle on the floor and said to me, ‘Susan.' I pulled off the shirt he now had half on and I said to his face that I loved him. He tugged the shirt back over his shoulder and stood, detaching my hand from whatever escaping part of him I could quickly catch a hold of. Doing up trousers, he walked to the bathroom. I called out the words – I
love
you …! He closed the door behind him and I was left alone, and in a different amazement, one not of our own, but only mine. And when he came out and jangled his keys – I rushed to him, rushed, and in a voice now cracking I just failed to scream at him all of my passion … and his eyes were lit with a lazy ease, he touched my hair and stroked my arm: Have to go. Why? Why, I said – why do you have to? It's late, he said, and looked at the floor. It's been late before – it's been later than this, so why? Why? Why do you have to? I
love
you …! Before he slipped away and out of the door and into the dark he said quite simply, Because I do.

Disappointed, so let down – but no more than hurt: here was not a devastation … I had maybe, simply, been too premature. Men are like boys – they will shy away. And yet … I have endured a lifetime of gangs, dozens and scores – bustling throngs of hopeful hopeless men, all of them battering with
crudeness and determination against my strong defences, the towering limit of me, just for the sight of a glimmer of light. Here the gates were flung their widest – the flooding beams were dazzling. But, he said, he had to go. I tried to write him a poem, and couldn't. So on my special lilac paper, I wrote him a note instead, saying simply, ‘I love you'. But because of what came after, I never did give it to him. Forgotten it till now. Don't know what became of it, where it might be, and nor do I really mind.

He came again the next day, with not good champagne. He knew I liked champagne, but did he know I would not care for this one? He is ignorant of champagne. He brought as well some truly tawdry flowers. He knew I liked them, flowers, and well he knew I would not care for these: he is an expert on flowers. He said, Mellors is come, my Lady – a joke, I suppose it is a joke, that he had made before, and not just the once, and each time I had asked him not to again. We made love soon and quickly, and I remember with wonder that I barely even was aware: my mind was elsewhere and onward. After, he drank the not-good champagne – I held my glass, and didn't. And then I told him – my voice was steady – that it was not just, did he see, that I
loved
him (was that a wince? Did he slightly turn away?) but that I needed to give myself to him quite utterly: the bestowal of my body (which always made him grunt and gasp and fill up his hands) … my red and eager heart, only tinged with bruising … and then my very soul – still close, at least, to the core of me. I need, I said, to be his wife. He drank a good bit more of the not-good champagne. And then he said Susan, you've got a husband: at least. He, I said – they – must go: I need to be your wife – and yes, exclusively. Well … he said. Well? Well what? (I think I quelled most of it,
my rising anger, my lowering shame, the quiver of impending terror.) Answer me, please: well what? Well you see, he said – scratching, now, at the back of his head, his eyes alive and darting, seeking out snipers on every rooftop – well you see, Susan … I have one of those, a wife. You see. And one, he said, is quite enough. Very quickly I had to wall up the vastness of all that would soon crash down and crush me – because for now the vital point had rapidly to be pursued.
One
wife, yes – I agree, I agree: and that one wife … will be
me
! His eyes were lit by an active unease – his hand came up to my hair, and then towards my arm. He looked away and shook his head.

He did not come the next day (following my tears, and then the shrieking – after I hit him with a chair, I was not too surprised) and so I set myself hard to plotting his recapture … which for me was a new game, very. His, oh God –
wife
 … what could she be? Nothing. Nothing much at all. Or else why would he … do what he does? Well no – that didn't quite follow. Didn't, did it? Because with me, what man wouldn't? You see? This is not an average situation. But whatever she was – his, oh God,
wife
 – she could be just snuffed out. Guttered. Like the old flame she was destined to become. And suddenly, I hated her, this woman, whoever and wherever she was – hated her with violence. And then, later … it was he whom I hated, for betraying her: for reneging on his contract. And then, I suppose inevitably, I came to hate me, myself, for just understanding everything so horribly clearly … and even for being around. So, I thought – that is that then, really. There will be no plot after all, no scheme – and no recapture either. Let the fugitive flee. And me? I must smother the flaming of shame, damp it down to a smoulder, and then embrace regret. Reparation, now, is all I can think of. But through all
of this – it was long, yes long, and so terribly lonely – I would keep coming back to this one and stark marvel: the love that had filled me, that had impelled me to be drastic, that had opened my eyes and set my sensuality ablaze – the love that was to have fuelled me for the whole of the rest of my life … was gone. Done with. My eyes were deadened, and I felt only lassitude … just so terribly empty: outrage, then, and a barely simmering fury. And so this, I thought – well it does, it changes everything. And had Amanda asked me then: what's left to change? I should have answered, well – just one more thing: to get back, to get back – I have to change it back. But in the light now of what she tells me … Black with Amanda … his and Alan's belief that I had simply had something so casual as a fling with a
boy
 … and now even the glimmer of the thought of their –
girls
 … oh, can it ever be possible? Well yes – because they want me, you see. They must do. Well of course they do – they always did: they paid out money to get me back. And so – get back, get back … we all just have to get back. It's what I want.

And Amanda – was she in love, as I was? Did she feel all that I did? I doubt. She is no sensualist – so never ablaze. Although whatever she was feeling, it had impelled her to be drastic – it had certainly opened her eyes. And now, poor girl, she is done with. Her eyes are deadened, and she feels only lassitude … just so terribly empty: outrage, then? And a barely simmering fury? Well. So we must all, now – just get back. I have, after all, always done everything for them – Alan, Black, Amanda. Haven't I? And who is to say I cannot again? But the boys, the taste they have had … the flavour of the two young girls. Because it is always true – even if ultimately you do just everything for a man, he can and will find another –
one who is willing to do anything at all, the distinction being clear.

‘All I have, Amanda, for us both … is a hastily devised possibility of escape. A bandage over a seeping wound. A hopeful attempt at salvation.'

Amanda just gazed at her mother and shook her head so slowly.

‘Jesus. Jesus … OK – look. I'm like – out of here, yeh? And you, Mum: listen to me – you just so have to get
over
yourself. You know?'

Susan nodded sadly. I know. I know. But it's hard. And it's going to be harder. Because I'm lying. Getting back? I don't want it at all. It's just … necessary. And my love? It is not done with – it has simply done with me. I cannot think of it as only a loss along the way. It's just … necessary. And yet, she's right. I do – I just so have to get over myself. I know. I know. But it's hard. And it's going to be harder. Because me, you see – I'm so very steep as to be practically unconquerable.

Black was enjoying a cigarette – enjoying too the deftness displayed by Alan as he trussed up a bulging plastic rubbish sack.

‘I must say, dear boy – you really are so very adept. So good at all these little jobs around the house. I could watch you for hours. Often do.'

‘Never used to be. Susan – she did all this sort of thing. And very much more efficiently. The rubbish, she used to separate everything. Very diligent. Damned if I can be bothered. You know – recycling.'

‘Ah yes – heard of it. Saving the planet. Lord, you know – it's all one can do to save oneself, never mind the bloody planet. Why are you doing all of this now though, Alan? It's late.'

‘Well they come in the morning, you see. Bin people. Best not to have it all hanging around. So the planet can just look after itself – that the way you see it?'

‘Got to be, hasn't it really? Go mad otherwise. I can only think it's all, well – faddism, really. Like the latest food scare, or what have you. Soon, you know, people will be dying of
vitamins. Or else malnutrition, because they just don't dare eat
anything
any more. And as to fucking units of
alcohol
 – well Jesus. You either drink or you don't, and there's an end on't. Johnson.'

‘Who's he? I'll just drag this out, and then maybe a nightcap, hey?'

‘You really are rather illiterate, Alan. I think we're going to have to see to that. Johnson. Sam. Dictionary man, yes? Good God.'

‘Oh him – oh yes I know him. He wouldn't have had a lot of time for it all, would he? Food scares and units.'

‘No well – a man was
meant
to be a man, in those days. Now, you hardly dare. Well –
I
do,
we
do … but people, I mean. Oh bloody
hell
, Alan – this is my very last cigarette. I don't believe it. Thought I'd just started the packet. Oh Christ – this is going to be a difficult evening, I must say.'

‘Don't worry, old chap. I'll nip down to the place on the corner. Open all night.'

‘Oh
no
, Alan – no no. Wouldn't hear of it. I'll be fine. I'll just drink myself into a stupor and take a slug of Night Nurse. I'll be fine.'

‘No honestly – won't take a jiffy. I'll be back before you're into your second jigger.'

‘You really are too kind. What would I do without you?'

‘Same as before. Like me. Muddle along. Right then – I'll dump the rubbish, and then I'll be off. Two minutes. Suck a stub while I'm gone.'

Watched him toddle away. Warm night it was, yet still he was pulling on that wretched Harris tweed of his. Habit, I suppose. I always feel, I don't know – somewhat
fond
, really, whenever he wears it. So much a part of
Alan
, if you know
what I mean. We had it invisibly mended not too long ago, semi-successfully, and leather on the cuffs. Looks perfectly ghastly, of course, but in some ways I'm quite as attached to it as Alan is.

Yes … all this, I remember it perfectly clearly. And then I went into the drawing room – I'm quite sure about this stage of the events – poured a Scotch, another one, grunted down into the chair and yearned for a cigarette. And then I … I don't know … almost certainly had another whisky or so, because why would I not, and then … Christ, don't ask me … some time thereafter, the nightmare began. How will I ever begin to forgive myself? Next thing I knew – well I was being pushed about, roughly handled, and someone was shouting at me, hoarsely. I opened an eye in fear and astonishment – my mind was still in fractures. Amazed – couldn't speak – when I registered lamplight and the appallingly distorted features of
Susie
, dear God – and she was bearing down on me, spitting and shrieking at me all sorts of clamour, wild and incoherent things – and then she started hitting me, hitting me yes … palm of her hand, and then she punched me and there was blood in my mouth, yes I could taste it, and I slithered off the chair and I must have been roaring at her now, my hands getting slammed as I tried quite vainly to deflect this quite maddened flurry of all her kicks and lunges.

‘Wake up! Get up, you pig and villain! How
could
you? How
dare
you? Get
up
, Black! Get up because I'm going to
kill
you …!'

‘Jesus, Susie! Christ's sake! Stop it! Stop! Stop kicking me, Christ's sake! Let me up! I'll get up, I'll get up! Stop, Christ –
kicking
me …!'

His hands now were over his eyes, the whole of his battered body in the utmost turmoil. No extra pain now seemed to be coming just yet, and he dared to peer through the lattice of his juddering fingers – her two defiant legs astride … and then on up to the snorting flare of her reddened nostrils – those blazing and lunatic eyes. He stretched up and towards her a pleading arm and she hauled on it, but then he screamed and fell back down to the floor: the agony at the centre of him was biting down and he could not move. Susan knelt down to him.

‘What's wrong? What's wrong with you, Black?'

Black's eyes were both tight closed.

‘What's …
wrong
with me?
Jesus
, Susie …! What's
wrong
with me …?!'