Her Living Image (30 page)

At tea times the children’s conversation was more entertaining than that of any adults she met – and more particularly enjoyable for being hers alone. While they ate their tea
they told her about everything from black holes to Mozart’s childhood to the life cycle of the praying mantis and what they had for school dinner. Even Cathy, who had been the spoiled baby
(she was so alarmingly beautiful) for far too long, was growing up now she went to nursery every day. The fact that they were all out for at least part of every day lent relish to their tea times
together; and so did the unspoken intimacy created by Alan’s exclusion. Although he was no longer bad-tempered, Carolyn did not consider shifting back to the old system of a family evening
meal. It was impractical anyway; he was late more often than ever.

Now there was space, and calm, Carolyn found herself thinking about another baby. What would she do when Cathy went to school as well? The house would be empty. It would do Cathy the world of
good not to be pretty baby any more. The gaps between the others had been too close; it would be marvellous to have a baby she could spend time on. And Alan would be pleased. He always adored them
when they were babies, and it was fitting that a new baby should spring out of this new happy phase in their relationship. Carolyn did not articulate to herself, as a reason for getting pregnant
again, the fact that on those rare but increasingly frequent occasions when she had to walk down the street alone, without a pushchair to support her or a child holding her hand, she felt as if
everyone was staring at her. She wanted a baby, and the most pressing reason was the physical desire to cup her hand around its round soft head, to see it turn its small face blindly towards her
nipple. She could find any number of logical reasons, to convince herself and Alan. She would talk to him, when the right time came.

She began to be more aware of her own looks. It was partly to do with feeling so ridiculously unconfident when she had to do anything alone, but also because of Alan. Because he was paying
her more attention, she wanted to please him. One morning she tried on all the clothes in her wardrobe, and filled four cardboard boxes for the Oxfam shop. Alan had always given her money for
housekeeping and herself all in one lump; whatever was not spent on food, bills, furnishings or the children, she paid into a building society account. For the first time since the account had been
started she withdrew money to buy herself clothes, a hundred pounds. All her clothes had been bought on the run, in sales, with a child under either arm, or had come as presents from Alan. Her
mother had always kept her in jumpers and cardigans.

Alan’s sweet-tempered phase seemed to coincide with a particularly heavy time at work, unfortunately. He was late almost every night, and often out on Saturdays. That made it very
difficult for her to shop without the children – and she was determined that she would give herself that much time, for once. When he told her that he had to go to a conference next weekend,
she invited Meg down, and, leaving the children in her care, went off in a state of nervous excitement on Saturday morning to spend the whole day buying clothes for herself.

On Sunday she cooked coq au vin, and put the children to bed half an hour early. She was expecting Alan home for dinner. He finally telephoned at half-past eleven, to say the car had broken
down and he had not been able to get to a phone. He would stay in the hotel he was ringing from and get to work somehow from there tomorrow morning. After work he would go back to pick up the car
which the garage were looking at. He would be in late tomorrow night.

“Will you be in to eat tomorrow?” She was so disappointed she felt like crying.

“I don’t know Carolyn – don’t hassle me. I’ve got enough on my plate without that.”

“I’m sorry Alan – I’m sorry, you must have had an awful day. Will the car be expensive?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Bye.”

She ate a few vegetables (which were already mushy and spoiled) but left the coq. It would still be good tomorrow, with any luck.

He came in at ten the following evening. Everything was ready, and Carolyn was wearing some of her new clothes: a silky white shirt, and dark green flowing trousers (the woman in the shop had
called them harem pants).

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“Don’t – don’t you like them? I bought them on Saturday.”

“They look ridiculous. You look like something out of Aladdin’s lamp. Aren’t you a bit old for them?”

She looked down at the thin gold and green stripes, which suddenly reminded her of tinsel, and left-over Christmas decorations.

“They’re the most unflattering garment I’ve ever seen.”

She should have known, of course, she reasoned with herself, that the car breaking down – the delays, the extra travelling – could be guaranteed to ruin his mood again. It was her
own fault for building up expectations. They ate in silence, except for Alan pointing out that the chicken was overcooked. Afterwards he went to have a bath and prepare some work for tomorrow,
while she cleared away the dishes. Then she sat in an armchair reading a book. He poked his nose in the door at twelve and said he was going to bed. When he was lying in bed she could feel him
staring at her as she climbed out of her ridiculous trousers. “Why are you looking so miserable?”

“I’m not.” She shook her head. “I’m just – I’m just a bit disappointed. It’s silly, it’s my own fault. I was so looking forward to you
coming home and talking –”

“I’ve only been away for two days, for Christ’s sake. Why are you so dependent on me? Haven’t you got anyone else to talk to?”

“Mum was here for the weekend.”

“Your mother!” He snorted and turned over, pulling the pillow around his head. He was fast asleep by the time she got into bed.

Alan’s weekend had been stunning; marvellous; exhausting. He and Caro had stayed at a pub in the Lake District. They had talked and argued and made love all weekend
regardless of the hours of day or night. Stumbling downstairs, starving, in the small hours of Sunday morning, they had found bread and cheese and cold roast beef left out for them, with a tactful
little note suggesting that they must have been out for a very long walk, to miss their dinner like that. After they had eaten, half prompted by the note, they let themselves out into the garden.
It was cold and damp out there, the long grass drooping with heavy dew, and the bushes and trees sheltering the garden an indistinct black mass. But overhead the clear blue sky looked almost light
with coming dawn; stars, tiny pinpricks of light, were fading out. In the absolute silence one bird began to call, experimentally, sounding two notes. As they stood there gradually a cacophony of
bird noise built up, filling the air all around them. They walked down the garden and through a gap in the hedge at the bottom, into a field, leaving the centre of the bird noise behind. The field
was empty, rising steeply to a clear skyline. It was as if, Alan thought, the surface of the earth had been cleared for them, and they were in control of the disposition of its sounds and sights.
Time was a different element here, with her: a vast fluid space with variations of light and dark, at their command. At home a weekend was a narrow tunnel, through which he squeezed sightlessly,
opening his eyes to glimpse boredly the fixed stations of children’s clamour, breakfast, shopping, lunch, ritual outing, tea, baths, TV, bed. He was riding through his life like a commuter on
the underground, while up here, on the surface of the earth, there was this freedom. They stayed out all morning, climbing the new hill that grew up behind the field’s skyline as they
ascended. The sun was warm by the time they neared the top of it, and they made love in a hollow of short, sheep-cropped grass. Then they lay basking like seals in the clean sunlight, until Caro,
laughing, began to pick dried rabbit turds off Alan’s back, and hunger drove them down again.

He persuaded her to stay on another night. But she would not agree to going sick on Monday, so they had to drive back in time for work the next morning, leaving the pub with the dawn again.

“What’s happening next weekend?”

“I’m busy, Alan – I can’t see you next weekend.”

“All weekend? What are you doing?”

“Oh – lots of things. The garden’s crying out for my attention. And it’s Clare’s birthday on Sunday. I want to get ready for that and cook a nice meal –
there are lots of people coming. . . .” She broke off.

“What?”

“I wondered if you’d like to come. But it’s not a good idea. You don’t know anyone anyway. You’d be like a – you’d probably feel a bit out of
it.”

There was a silence.

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t want you to come.”

“You don’t want me to meet your friends.”

“What – what’s the point, Alan? Our lives are separate. It’s much simpler if we stick to drinks after work and dirty weekends.”

“Is that all this is to you? A good fuck from time to time?”

She looked at him and laughed. “You don’t fall over them in the street you know.”

“Stop pretending to be tough, and look at me – Caro.”

“I’m driving.”

“Stop then.”

She pressed the accelerator fiercely for a moment, then slowed down abruptly, squealing the brakes. “What?”

“Is that all this is to you?”

Colour flamed up her cheeks. “What – what d’you want me to say, Alan? You’ve been here all weekend as well as me.” She waited in silence for a minute, then started
the engine again.

She would only see him twice that week; that night, they had already agreed, for a drink after work, and on Thursday evening after eight.

“What are you doing till eight?”

“W–Washing my clothes, changing my sheets, having a bath and sitting staring out of the window for half an hour. I have to leave some time in the week for myself, or I’d go
mad. Don’t you?”

“You’re on your own most nights this week.”

“Yes, but I’m asleep, so it doesn’t count.”

“And then you have all your other lovers to entertain, of course . . .”

Two weeks later Alan told Carolyn that he was going fishing with Mike next weekend.

“D’you want to take Chrissy?” she offered. “He would be so excited. I know he’d be good.”

“No. I don’t think so. I mean, we’ll probably end up in the pub on Saturday night, and what would we do with him?”

She nodded quickly. “Where will you go?”

“Mike’s choosing the spot. I just feel as if I need a break.”

She nodded again, smiling at him.

He despised her for being easy to deceive.

He got home fairly late on the Sunday evening. Carolyn was watching television.

“Hello!” He bent over the sofa and kissed her.

“Have a good time?” she asked. Her voice was croaky.

“Oh – yes – yes. Very pleasant. Are you getting a cold?”

She shook her head.

“Is there any food?”

“No.”

“Oh – well, can I have a sandwich or something? I’m starving.”

“Help yourself.”

She always made him food when he came in. He suddenly felt panicky. “What’s the matter? Are you feeling bad? Sore throat?”

She didn’t reply. He walked around the sofa and looked at her. Her face was swollen and blotchy. “What’s the matter? Carolyn.”

She stared fixedly at the television, speaking so low he could hardly catch what she said. “Annie had a
– an accident. She fell off the swing and broke her arm. This
morning. I had to take her to hospital.”

“Annie? Where is she? Is she all right?”

“Yes. They put a plaster on it. She’s in bed upstairs.”

“Oh Christ. Is it all right? What on earth happened?”

“I tried to phone you.”

There was a silence.

“At Mike’s?” he said pointlessly. He had rung Mike twice to tell him but the bastard was always out.

“Yes – I thought Sarah . . . Mike answered the phone. He didn’t know anything about it.”

“No.”

“So I rang your parents.”

“My parents?”

“I thought they might know – if you’d had an accident –”

Alan stood up and went to the window. On television a woman was singing a schmaltzy song. Carolyn got up abruptly and turned it off. The silence lasted a long time. He looked at her. She was
sitting rigidly on the sofa, leaning forwards, her hands clasped between her thighs.

“I went – I had to go – for work, I had to. . . .”

She didn’t move.

He went and knelt down next to her. “Carolyn. Look at me. Look, I didn’t want to upset you – when there was no need.”

She was shaking. He touched her arm. “Carolyn – look at me. It was nothing – nothing serious. All right? I’ve come back – I’m here. . . .”

He stood up again. “I’m sorry, all right. I went away for the weekend with someone else.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

He was astonished by the question. “Yes.”

She began to cry, desperately, as if she had just heard the most terrible news. Alan knelt down awkwardly again, trying to embrace her.

“Stop it – please don’t cry. You must have guessed – you must have realized when you telephoned –”

She gasped for breath. “I couldn’t believe it.”

The night was very unpleasant. Alan was not prepared for the strength of her reaction. For himself, he was sorry she had found out, because now it would all be much more complicated and
difficult. And he was sorry she was upset. But he could not actually feel that there was any need for her to react so extremely.

After sobbing uncontrollably for what seemed like hours, while he paced around, trying futilely to silence her, she raised a hideously blotchy face to gasp, “You – were with her
– that weekend. The car – when you said the car –”