East Fortune (24 page)

‘It's not crap.'

‘It is crap.'

‘Emma…'

‘Don't you “Emma” me.'

She stood up and started pacing the room.

‘Don't you dare use that wheedling tone with me. Don't even
think
you can get out of this. This is it. Just forget that we were ever married or that you ever had a chance or that you ever thought you could ever talk your way out of this.'

‘Don't be like this. Please…'

‘Like what?'

‘So fierce.'

‘Well, I am fierce. If you don't like it you should just carry on and get out.'

‘You really mean it?'

‘Of course I mean it. I've never meant anything more in my life.'

Douglas checked into a Travelodge. He visited a series of pubs, read the newspapers without concentrating, and drank throughout the day.

Perhaps, he thought, he could get a taxi to the airport, catch a flight down to London and see Julia? He could even turn up at her work, surprise her, and tell her that all he wanted to do was to start a new life with her.

Perhaps not.

In an alley behind a restaurant he could see a woman pouring discarded mussel shells from plastic boxes into black bin liners.

‘I'm taking them back to the sea,' she said.

She looked like a younger version of his wife.

Douglas thought back to when they were first married and how contented they had been. Emma used to sing as she moved through the house, unaware that he was listening.

When I last rade down Ettrick
The winds were shifting, the storm was waking,
The snow was drifting, my heart was breaking,
For we never again were to ride thegither,
In sun or storm on the mountain heather,
When I last rade down Ettrick.

Douglas realised, as he walked past the dark-red sandstone tenements, uncertain where he was going or what he was doing, that he had ruined his life.

Emma had warned him that without children they had needed to find an even greater determination to love each other. There was no one else, nor was there going to be. They had to share absolute trust.

He remembered an evening years ago with his brothers, a kitchen supper with red wine and lasagne back in the family home. Angus and Tessa had been at the table with Jack and Maggie. There had been singing and Tessa had said how happy the evening had been, with the Henderson brothers together and at ease in each other's company, and Emma had said yes, she knew it had been a good and rare night. It was that special, she said, and they had to promise to remember it, because such times didn't happen very often.

They had laughed and they had been happy; confident and free to say whatever they wanted. They were protected from the world by family and by companionship.

What a privilege it was, Emma had said, to be cocooned in this way.

But then she had stopped and begun to clear away the plates because even at the time, in the midst of all that happiness, she had known that it was only fleeting and she couldn't bear it.

You can never rely on these moments, she said. They don't come round very often and you can't anticipate them or expect them to last.

They were unexpected gifts, temporary moments of respite, and even then they weren't always enough to sustain you through the bad times; because, as she had said even then, you can never trust a man not to throw away his own happiness.

Jack tried to think what it would have been like if he had done things differently; if he had persuaded Krystyna to stay, or thrown everything in his life to one side and gone wherever she was going.

He called her mobile but it was switched to automatic answer. He tried to work out what he felt:

Fear.
Krystyna had never got on the bus at all but had hitched a lift and been abducted. Perhaps he should report her missing. It seemed a bit melodramatic.

Anger.
She was back in Poland, thinking of no one other than herself. It was thoughtless, ungrateful and selfish.

Jealousy.
There was another person with whom she had been in love all along; not Sandy, not Jack, but someone so secret that he could not be mentioned.

He did not know if he loved her, missed her, or hated her for disrupting his life. Krystyna could do anything and go anywhere, losing herself in the world, whereas Jack had withdrawn into solitude.

He knew that it would be so much easier if he forgot all about her and concentrated on his work. He returned to his desk:

Respice
Look Back

Item quam nil ad nos anteacta vetustas
Temporis aeterni fuerit quam nascimur ante
Hoc igitur speculum nobis natura futuri
Temporis exponit post mortem denique nostram.

The everlasting time before our birth
Has been to us as nothing; this, therefore, is the mirror
Which nature holds up to us, showing the time to come
When we at last must die.

Numquid ibi horribile apparet? Num triste videtur quicquam?
Is there anything terrible in that? Is there anything sad?

Non omni somno secures exstat
Is it not
The safest sleep?

He thought of Krystyna and then of Sandy lying in the road:
the safest sleep.
He turned back a few hundred lines.

Non potius vitae finem facis atque laboris?
Why not rather make an end of life and trouble?

He had avoided the word ‘labour' but was ‘trouble' sufficient? A ‘troubled mind'. Could that really describe Sandy's emotional state? And what about Krystyna? He looked at another translation.

If life is only wretchedness, why try to add more to it?
Why not make a decent end?

He wanted to find words that expressed the fear, the anxiety, and the terror: not of dying but of living. He remembered that Creech, one of the commentators on Lucretius, had once noted on his manuscript,
NB. Must hang myself when I have finished.

He did not know if he would ever see Krystyna again.

A few days later Maggie called to say that she was coming to Edinburgh. She wanted to see him and there were things they needed to talk about. Jack wondered how much he would have to tell her and how long it would take.

He chose a neutral venue, an Indian restaurant, near the university.

Maggie was surprised at the choice.

‘Are you sure? You don't even like Indian food.'

‘I thought it would make a change.'

‘You know how it doesn't agree with you.'

‘It's the only place I know that's quiet.'

‘I thought we might be going somewhere Polish.'

‘Annie's spoken to you?'

‘There's so much you haven't told me, Jack. I'm really shocked. To keep it all from me…'

‘It's over now.'

‘I'm not sure these things are ever over.'

The restaurant was dark and deserted, with red-and-gold-lacquered chairs, painted screens and a ceiling that looked like the dance floor of a 1970s discotheque.

Maggie had lost weight and wore a fitted grey dress with yellow stripes. Jack thought it looked as if it had been made out of curtain material. He noticed that it was cut lower than the clothes she had worn when they were married. He assumed she was going on to something more important later. Perhaps Guy was waiting for her.

She ordered confidently: dosa with dhal, Hyder Abadi, and a glass of lassi. Jack was less familiar with Indian food and plumped for an onion bhaji and marinated chicken tikka masala. He really didn't want to think about this. He was in the wrong restaurant with the wrong person at the wrong time. To make it worse, the waiters were behaving as if it was their wedding anniversary. Yes, he would have a bottle of Cobra.

Maggie spoke brightly. Jack remembered how her voice was always higher when she was trying to pretend not to be nervous.

‘Annie told me what had happened,' she began. ‘I couldn't understand what you were doing until she mentioned the accident. Why didn't you tell me?'

‘It wouldn't have been appropriate. I didn't want to get you involved.'

‘We used to be married to each other.'

‘I didn't want to talk to anyone. And I didn't want to annoy Guy. You know, the ex-husband coming round with a spectacular tragedy just when you were settling down.'

‘That's very considerate of you. But he wouldn't have needed to have known.'

‘You mean you have secrets from each other?'

‘No, that's not what I mean.'

‘What do you mean then?'

‘There's no need to be aggressive.'

‘I'm not being aggressive. I'm being specific.'

‘Well, it's good to see you haven't changed, Jack.'

The starters were served. Maggie was right. It was a mistake to have come to an Indian at lunchtime. Jack wondered if he could escape by two-thirty.

‘How is Guy?' he asked.

‘Do you really want to know?'

Guy was a sculptor in Bristol. He was older than Maggie with grown-up kids and he had inherited enough money to keep them both going. There was some kind of workshop attached to the house and so he spent most of his time at home. When he had first met him Jack had been surprised how similar he had been to himself and almost questioned Maggie about the wisdom of her departure. It was like trading in a Vauxhall Vectra for a Ford Mondeo. There didn't seem to be much point.

‘Actually,' Maggie was saying, ‘this is what I wanted to talk to you about.'

‘Not Krystyna?'

‘Only if you want to. The fact is that Guy has asked me to marry him.'

‘I see.'

‘And I wanted you to know before anyone else. I didn't want anyone else to tell you first.'

‘So you've said yes?'

‘Not quite. I just wanted to make sure you were happy.'

‘You don't need my permission.'

‘I know that. But it would be nice to have your blessing.'

‘Of course.'

‘You don't mind?'

‘How can I mind?' Jack said.

He did not know what he thought. If Maggie hadn't left then everything would have been different. He would not have been out on his own on election night; he would not have killed Sandy; he would not have met Krystyna.

As they ate Jack could hardly remember being married to Maggie at all. Perhaps he had made it all up? His marriage, his children, his life. Sometimes he thought that his past was a dream and his future was carrying on without him.

The waiters asked if everything was satisfactory, but Maggie was still talking about Guy.

‘He keeps referring to “the Third Act”,' she said, ‘as if life is some kind of unfolding drama.'

‘And it's not?'

‘Of course it isn't.'

Jack tried to banter.

‘I suppose I'm still in Act Two.'

‘Well, I'm sure you could move on to Act Three.'

‘I don't think so. I think everyone left at the interval.'

Jack, don't be like that. Is it all over with your friend?'

Friend.

‘I don't know. I'm not sure what it was all about anyway.'

Maggie's Hyder Abadi turned out to be lemon sole with almonds. Jack wished he had asked for something equally simple. He remembered how his life had been so much more ordered when his wife was with him. Now here she was, giving him advice about whatever love life he had left.

‘Why don't you phone her?' she asked.

‘She doesn't answer.'

‘I suppose that is a bad sign. Where is she?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Then why don't you find out?'

‘I'm not sure she wants me to.'

‘Perhaps it's a test.'

‘Maybe it is but I don't really want to be playing games…'

Jack knew that he had to make more of an effort but he was worried about looking desperate.

‘You'll never know unless you try,' said Maggie.

‘I know. It just feels a bit adolescent, that's all.'

‘I wouldn't worry about that. No one's looking.'

‘I don't know. My family certainly seem to have a few opinions.'

‘Stop worrying about them, Jack. It's your life.'

‘And the girls…'

‘I know. The moral superiority can become a little tiring. But I think we have to ignore them. What have you got to lose?'

Jack recognised that he could, at least, look for Krystyna. He tried to recall the names of her friends: Eva, Myra and Magda; Josef, Tadeusz and Jan.

‘You can't throw these things away,' Maggie continued. ‘Especially when you get to our age…'

‘Our age? We're not old. Anyway, you don't seem to have had much difficulty.'

‘That's because I made an effort. Honestly, Jack, if you're keen you should try a bit harder.'

‘I don't know if I am keen.'

‘Elizabeth said you were…'

‘You've spoken to my mother about it?'

‘She phoned. She told me she was concerned about you.'

‘That's all I need.'

‘Honestly, Jack, it's only because we care.'

‘Really?'

'Yes, we do.
God, sometimes I despair of you.'

‘I thought most of the time you despaired of me.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go into all this. I just wanted your blessing.'

‘And you have it.'

‘Isn't it extraordinary how we argue more when we are apart than we ever did when we were married?'

‘It must be another one of life's little ironies,' said Jack.

Outside it had begun to rain. He remembered looking for Krystyna all those months ago, hoping to meet her by chance around Easter Road. It couldn't be that hard to find her again.

The streets were crowded with Hibs fans going to the first game of the season:

We are Hibernian FC
We hate jam tarts and we hate Dundee,
We will fight wherever we may be
Cause we are the mental HFC

A group of Polish men with rucksacks were smoking at the foot of Calton Hill, waiting for friends with beer so that they could all climb up together. He could hear their exchanges:
Ce
ś
ć
– Jak si
masz – dobrze – dzi
kuj
.
Perhaps Krystyna knew them. He tried her phone once more. There was no reply.