Close Relations (41 page)

Kaatya turned and curled herself around Prudence. She stretched her arm across Prudence's breast and stroked Stephen. ‘You love us both, don't you?'

Stephen nodded; his cheek grazed Prudence's face.

‘Love us both, then,' murmured Kaatya. She kissed Prudence's shoulder. ‘Kiss her,' she said.

Stephen's finger turned Prudence's face towards his. He kissed her on the mouth. As he did so, Kaatya ran her hand down Prudence's back. With one hand Stephen pulled down his pyjama bottoms. Kaatya guided Prudence's hand down to his penis.

‘Don't hide from us,' murmured Kaatya. ‘Don't be shy.' She cupped Prudence's hand, with hers, under his balls. ‘Don't you know us both?'

His breathing quickened. So did hers, or was it Kaatya's? Prudence could no longer tell whose body was whose . . . where did she end and they begin? Stephen's penis pressed against her pubic hair. Fingers guided it into her. He moved on top of Prudence. His buttons rubbed against her chest as he thrust in and out. Prudence spread her legs wide; she felt the heat, spreading up her body. Was it she who was moaning? She turned her head; Kaatya's lips were on hers, Kaatya's wide, soft mouth. Stephen's arm pulled Kaatya
against them; she moved with them.

‘Isn't she wonderful?' Kaatya gasped. ‘What a woman, no wonder you wanted her.' She took Prudence's hand and pressed it between her own legs – how wiry and damp her hair was! Prudence didn't dare move her hand but now Kaatya was moving it for her, rubbing it against her wet inner flesh, against the knob of her clitoris. She came almost immediately, gripping Prudence's hand between her thighs. She cried out – a high, strangled cry. Stephen was still thrusting inside Prudence but now Kaatya's hand was helping him. Stephen grew frenzied; he made a loud, moaning sound Prudence had never heard before. She held his buttocks but Kaatya's hand was already there, flat against him. Her finger was inserted into his anus, pushing in and out. So that was what did it! Prudence had never done that; it seemed to drive Stephen into a paroxysm of pleasure. She left Kaatya to it and tried to concentrate on her own satisfaction but it was too awkward, with the two bodies, and now Stephen, with a loud, shuddering cry, ejaculated inside her.

He lay there, trembling, his face buried in the pillow. Kaatya murmured: ‘Men, they don't understand do they?' She pushed down her hand between their bodies. Stephen moved aside a little for her; his penis slipped out. Her fingers rubbed Prudence so expertly that within a moment Prudence cried out, half-sobbing. She twisted her head away from Stephen and rested it against Kaatya's shoulder. Kaatya's hand remained there, cupping Prudence's bush; her secret pulse throbbed against Kaatya's fingers. A tick-tick, like a car when the engine has been switched off.

Stephen shifted slightly. His hand joined Kaatya's between Prudence's thighs. It lay there, heavy and male. ‘Isn't she amazing?' he murmured sleepily.

Prudence thought: which
she
does he mean?

It took Jamie two hours to walk from Clapham to Hackney. He walked through Saturday night into Sunday morning. His
boots leaked; his feet were soaking, he was soaked to the marrow. The areas of London through which he walked were unknown to him until he reached Parliament Square. He made his way to Trafalgar Square, along the Strand and down Fleet Street. Then again he entered unknown territory.

He walked north. He knew a little about orienteering because, for one brief, embarrassing year, he had joined the scouts. He walked along the main roads because there were traffic signs to guide him, looming up above his head:
SHOREDITCH 1 MILE, HACKNEY 2 MILES.
He felt himself dwindling. He was just a speck, floating alone in the world. He had left his life behind, he had lost his own self. He had walked through the barrier of loneliness; with each jolting footstep he was passing further into an existential nothingworld that possessed no signposts.

HACKNEY
½
MILE
. He walked past shuttered shops, past derelict premises. Lorries splashed him as they passed.
SAINSBURY'S; WHERE GOOD FOOD COSTS LESS
. . . Once he had stacked shelves, wasn't that quaint?

He saw a lit window.
BeeGee Cars: Drivers Wanted.
He opened the door and went into a minicab office. Under the strip light, two men sat smoking behind a desk. The room smelled of a million dead cigarettes. He asked them the way to Romilly Street. One of the men gave him directions.
Left here . . . right there . . .
‘You all right, mate?' The man seemed to be swaying backwards and forwards, like a cardboard cut-out anchored by his feet. Soon he would fold over entirely.

Jamie was outside now, walking the last few streets. Left and then right . . . right and then left?. . . And now he saw the sign: Romilly Street.

He walked up the road. It was 2.20. The houses were dark; it looked as if nobody had ever lived in them. Behind a front door a dog barked two short barks and was silent. Jamie had no idea of Maddy's number; it was a miracle that he had remembered the name of the street. He gazed at the houses, shabby in the sodium light. If he couldn't find Maddy he would die.

And then he saw the van:
Fox Gardening Services.
His aunt was here, somewhere. He thought: my aunts are the only people who can save me. Parents are useless. He inspected the houses. Window-boxes, wouldn't hers have window-boxes, seeing as she lived with a gardener? But several had window-boxes; even a trellis. The front doors danced up and down, they were performing a musical routine.

He shouted, ‘Maddy!' His voice felt hoarse with disuse.
‘MADDY
!' he bellowed.

The sound echoed down the street. He was disintegrating into pieces. He would either lie down in the road or float away.

‘MADDY
!' So this was what happened when you went mad.

Lights were switched on. Windows slid open. The street of the dead came to life.

‘Jamie!' Maddy leaned out of an upstairs window. He had never been so pleased to see anyone in his life. ‘Jamie, what's happened?'

A moment later the front door opened. Maddy opened her arms – Maddy, who never hugged. She put her arms around him. He laid his head against her dressing-gown.

The phone rang. Louise, sitting in the living room, grabbed it.

Maddy's voice said: ‘Don't worry, he's here.'

‘What?'

‘Jamie. He's soaked through but he's all right.'

Jamie? Didn't she mean Imogen?

‘He's walked miles,' said Maddy. ‘Pru wasn't in and he couldn't remember where Mum lived but he's fine –'

‘But where's Imogen?'

‘I've tucked him up in bed,' said Maddy. ‘Didn't you know he was in London? I think he's upset about his dad. We had a good talk about fathers. I told him I didn't always get on with ours either –'

Louise wasn't listening. Her ears had picked up another sound. It was so faint she must be imagining it.

‘. . . I tried to explain about Robert,' Maddy was saying. ‘I wanted to say what a shit he was but I suppose he
is
Jamie's dad. Anyway, he's fine. I'll put him on the train in the morning . . .'

It was the sound of horse's hooves. Louise flung down the phone, rushed to the window and flung open the curtains.

The outdoor light was on, illuminating the gravel drive. Monty barked. The clop-clop grew more distinct.

Louise stood there, frozen. The sound grew louder. Skylark appeared, a grey shape in the dark. She trotted up to the front door and stood there, snorting. She shook herself.

Her saddle had swung around; it hung upside down on her belly. The horse stood there, riderless, in the rain.

APRIL HAD WANTED
a man to take care of her. She had got tired of bailing men out, of mopping them up – she had enough mopping up at work. She had got tired of their anger and remorse, of telling herself lies: he'll be different with me, I can change him.
I'll
be different with
him.
Dennis had been the last in a line of men she could now see in perspective. Some radar had attracted her towards the hopeless cases, and them to her.

Then along had come Gordon. He had swept her up; she had been powerless to resist. He had bulldozed through her guilt, he had bulldozed through her desire for independence. He had bulldozed through the disapproval of her family and friends, for he was an unexpected object of her affection. Her mother was no longer speaking to her. She had, however, spoken the truth to Jamie that night: she was simply devoted to him. She should have felt worse about what she had done, but, like many people who spend their time caring for others, April was ruthless in her personal life and, besides, Gordon had insisted that his marriage was dead. She was a robust person who lived for the moment; Gordon was, too: they answered this in each other.

And now he had bulldozed her into giving up her flat and moving in with him, and she had agreed with only token resistance. He was going to take care of her, this balding, stubborn, endearing man, and she sloughed off her past life just as he did his. She had even given up her job.

If it all felt unreal, she blamed it on the move. She knew
nobody in Wandsworth; nor did he. Maybe that was the reason why he had wanted to move there. The house was enormous. She walked from room to room, her footsteps echoing. Neither Gordon nor she had many belongings; he had relinquished most of his possessions. Their packing-cases barely filled the dining room.

Gordon had bought the house on impulse. He had rushed through the whole business – contracts, completion – in a couple of weeks. She had rented out her flat. The speed of it all made her feel rocky. This place needed a lot of work but he had fallen in love with it, he had plans.
Only a palace is good enough for you, my love.
This bossy, selfish generosity was Gordon through and through.

She couldn't, however, picture their life here yet. That first morning, Sunday, she dumped a bag of rubbish in the front garden. It had rained during the night but now it was a beautiful morning, fresh and green, and the neighbours were out in force. They vacuumed their cars and painted their front doors. She felt as if she had arrived in Nobody's Toytown, a place of primary colours and innocent activity. It was utterly alien to her. A child, walking past, stared at her until its mother pulled it away.

Gordon was in the kitchen, making coffee in her espresso machine. He enjoyed this; it was his ritual to make their breakfast. Outside, the overgrown lawn was surrounded by bushes whose names she didn't know. Some of them were flowering in the sunshine. She and Gordon were isolated in a sea of alien bushes and neighbours; they clung to their small rituals as they began their life together.

Later, she remembered her feeling of dislocation. She had come on a long journey; Gordon didn't know the half of it. He didn't ask her questions about herself, he wasn't interested in her past, anybody's past, in fact; he wasn't a curious man. She watched him plugging in her toaster for the first time, for their first breakfast in their new kitchen. She wondered if he had been the one who had made breakfast in his old life; she had never asked him. Was it because it was too painful to
think about those years he had spent with his wife, or was she simply as incurious as he was? She knew nothing; she had lost sight of herself.

Later that morning, they drove down to Buckinghamshire. Louise had asked them to lunch. April was pleased about this, of course; his daughters seemed to be thawing towards her. Maybe this was simply due to the passage of time and the fact that, from what she had heard, their mother seemed to be sorting out a new life for herself. Maybe, now that Louise's marriage was breaking up, she herself felt adrift and needed her family around her.

Whatever the reason, April was curious to visit the Old Vicarage. She wanted to see Jamie again, whom she had liked. She had dreaded this first visit but the fact that Louise's life was now in a mess made it easier. She had never met Louise – she had missed her when she had visited Gordon in hospital – but by all accounts Louise was the least intimidating of Gordon's daughters.

She was unprepared, therefore, for Louise's horror when she opened her front door. ‘My God, I'd forgotten you were coming,' she said. ‘I'm sorry.' For a moment April thought she was going to close the door in their faces. ‘The place is a pigsty . . .' Louise began, and burst into tears.

They went into the kitchen and sat down. Louise wore an old tracksuit; her hair was pulled back in a rubber band. April passed her a Kleenex.

‘I've been up all night,' sobbed Louise. ‘I'm sorry. You see, Imogen's only just come home.'

‘What's happened?' asked Gordon. ‘She's been at one of her parties?'

Louise shook her head. Joltingly, the story came out. How Robert had left home the day before, and how Imogen had ridden off nobody knew where and had been thrown from her horse in the middle of the night.

‘It took her, oh, hours to walk home. She's gone to bed. She's all right – a bit bruised . . . exhausted of course.' Louise said that the doctor should be dropping in later that day to
check her over.

‘Shall I just pop upstairs?' asked April. ‘Shall I look at her, would you like me to?'

When April came downstairs, thoughtfully, twenty minutes later, Jamie had arrived from London. He too had had an eventful night, tramping across the city in the pouring rain. Gordon seemed put out that all this had been happening and nobody had told him.

‘You've got your own life now,' said Louise. ‘Anyway, what could you have done?'

‘I rang your bell in Brixton,' said Jamie, ‘but you'd moved away.'

April thought: Gordon has detached himself from his family now, he has cut adrift. Doesn't he realise? She looked at the three of them, slumped around the kitchen table. She said: ‘Why don't you go into the other room and I'll rustle up some lunch?'