The Essence of the Thing (3 page)

7

Nicola at last dried her tears, and sat silent and desolate while Susannah made some tea. She looked down at her teacup.

‘Jonathan may be a rat,’ she said. ‘That is, he is acting like a rat, at the moment. And he might go on being a rat now for good. But he isn’t a prat. Truly he isn’t. I know you think so, but really he isn’t.’

‘That was Geoff’s word, not mine,’ said Susannah.

‘But I suppose you agree,’ said Nicola.

‘Well, every rat is
ipso facto
a prat,’ Susannah pointed out.

Nicola had on reflection to concur. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘Let’s say he’s a prat. But he’s the prat I love.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I’ve never been absolutely sure what
prat
means, exactly.’

‘I’ve never been absolutely sure what
love
means, exactly.’

‘It means, that even when someone acts like a rat, and/or a prat, you still want to stay with them.’

‘Some people would call that masochism.’

‘Oh.’

The abyss opened up before her. Who knew what anything meant, exactly? How far into that darkness would one have to fall, or painstakingly climb, before one discovered meaning and truth— even assuming that they were, ultimately, there to be found? She scrambled as far away from the edge as she presently could.

‘The trouble is,’ she said, ‘that one goes on fancying a person. No matter how badly they might behave.’

‘Yes, that is the trouble, all right,’ said Susannah. ‘That’s all the trouble.’

‘It must be a sort of trick,’ said Nicola, wondering. ‘To make sure that we go on reproducing, no matter what. Not that sex these days has anything to do with reproduction; but still.’

‘We’re hooked up to the old mechanism, nevertheless. It’s a mean old trick all right.’

They were both silent for a while. Susannah at last very tentatively spoke. ‘Did this thing last night,’ she said, ‘really come out of the blue? Had you really no idea that it might be in his mind?’

Nicola didn’t answer immediately. She was trying to collect her memories and her thoughts.

‘There have been a few rat-like moments,’ she said. ‘But nothing like this. Nothing suggesting this.’ She paused again, and sat, thinking. ‘Perhaps I’ve been simply obtuse,’ she said slowly.

‘I always think it’s better to be obtuse than paranoid,’ said Susannah.

Nicola smiled wanly. ‘At least the paranoid are always prepared,’ she said. ‘For the worst, I mean.’

‘Were you prepared for the best?’ asked her friend.

There, at last, clearly, it was.

‘Yes,’ said Nicola. ‘I thought it was only a matter of time, I mean, not very much time, before we’d decide to marry.’

‘Marriage being “the best”, eh?’

‘It must be, mustn’t it?’

‘Until we think of something even better.’

‘What could that be?’

‘Ah, if we only knew.’

Guy entered the room.

‘Tell us,’ said Susannah, ‘what could be better than marriage, Guy?’

‘Salvation,’ he replied.

His elders howled.

‘Where do you learn these words?’ asked Susannah.

‘I learned that in RE,’ said Guy. ‘I’m not sure exactly what it means, but it’s meant to be very good, so it might be better than marriage.’

‘Can’t you have both?’

‘Well, I suppose so, but salvation is still probably the better of the two.’

‘The better of the two,’ repeated Susannah. ‘Very good, Guy. Very good.’

‘Okay,’ he said.

He now remembered what he had come in for. ‘Can I have another caramel?’

8

‘What’s your dad doing?’

‘Watching telly.’

‘Take him a caramel then.’

The child departed and the two women sat looking at each other for a moment.

‘Lucky you,’ Nicola sighed.

‘Your turn will come,’ said Susannah.

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes, of course I do. As soon as you get shot of that rat.’

Nicola’s face was a portrait of misery. She did not want to get shot of Jonathan; her present situation was so intolerable that it could not truly be pondered, or even admitted: even here, now, with Susannah, she could look only at its edges, not at the excruciating whole.

‘Jonathan isn’t a rat
really
,’ she said, almost wildly. ‘He isn’t— it’s just—something’s gone
wrong
somewhere. I mean, it’s probably my fault. I just haven’t had a chance to
talk
to him properly. I don’t know what’s in his mind. It must be my fault: I must have done something wrong.’

‘He should have told you what it was, then, when you did it, not waited, and then—this.’

‘Yes, well, it’s difficult for him—he’s—you know—perhaps he was too shocked, or confused—I don’t know.’ She broke off, near to tears again.

‘Listen, darling,’ said Susannah, ‘he may or may not be a fully paid-up rat but he’s landed you in it good and proper, causing grief to you and consternation to your friends. As far as I’m concerned, if he doesn’t shape up and talk this through to your mutual satisfaction as soon as he gets back from his cowardly weekend away, then the thing for you to do is to eff off out of the place
immédiatement
and leave him to it. Just pack a bag and
go
. I don’t know what your alternatives may be but you know you’re entirely welcome to come and crash here until you get sorted. But I mean, no pissing about. Either he shapes up and explains himself and makes a most profound apology and a guarantee of no further similar scenes— that is, if you really
do
want as you say to stay with him—
or
you get the fuck out of his rat-like way. You can sleep in my workroom. I’ll even clear some space for your things. I can’t say fairer than that.’

‘You’re an angel,’ said Nicola miserably. ‘But I can only hope that I won’t need to take advantage of your generosity.’

‘Never mind that: just promise me that you won’t hang about. I mean it. I know rats. If there’s one thing they love to do, it’s prolong the agony. Do you promise? You’ll telephone me on Monday evening, all right, at the latest Tuesday,
either
to assure me that the situation’s sorted out,
or
to say that you’re on the way here: is that understood?’

‘You’re an angel.’

‘Yes,’ said Susannah, ‘that’s me, definitely.’

9

Nicola had gone home in a taxi, Guy had gone to bed, Susannah was washing up and Geoffrey was hovering in her vicinity, giving an impression of helpfulness.

‘What’s she going to do, then?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. It’s too soon to decide.’

‘Too
soon
? How long does it take? He’s told her to push off, it doesn’t seem to me that there’s anything to hang about for.’

‘Ah, little do you know.’

‘So tell me.’

‘Well, doesn’t it occur to you that he’s obviously had a rush of blood to the head, or something of the kind? I mean, to suddenly come along and give an order like that, for no evident reason—well, it’s perfectly mad.’

‘Oh—so you think this is just a fit of temporary insanity. Total withdrawal of affection while the balance of his mind was disturbed.’

‘Well, it might be. Something like that, anyway. I mean, it was so awfully sudden, so unforeseen—’

‘We have only Nicola’s word for that.’

‘Well, one has to trust her version in the absence of any others.’

‘All right, for the sake of the argument, it’s totally sudden and unforeseen and therefore possibly irrational. But who wants to go on living with a bloke who can behave like that?’

‘Nicola does.’

‘Then she must be mad too. They’re a dangerous pair.’

‘Then they’re best off staying with each other. Like the Carlyles.’

‘She never struck me as mad before.’

‘As a matter of fact, she isn’t. I wouldn’t have said what I did, but it was just one of those irresistible debating points.’

‘No, I think you must be right. If she wants to stay with him, she must be mad.’

‘No, she is
not mad
.’

‘What then?’

‘She
loves
him.’

‘Oh, God, spare me.’

‘What,
spare
you? Why?’

‘
Love
. For God’s sake. What does it
mean
?’

‘You tell me. I seem to remember being presented with a whole bag of caramels, for my very own, this very afternoon, in token of your
love
for
me
, among other things.’

‘Well, that’s completely different.’

‘How?’

‘The way I feel about you couldn’t possibly be compared to the way Nicola feels about Jonathan.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Well, for God’s sake. You’re being disingenuous, aren’t you?’

‘No, truly not. I genuinely want to know what you mean.’

‘Our situation is totally different from theirs. They couldn’t either of them possibly feel as do either of us. Their situation is completely different, and so are they. Nothing is comparable.’

‘That doesn’t mean she can’t love him, in her way, according to her nature and her situation.’

‘All right, but I can’t take that kind of love seriously.’

‘I think that’s very intolerant of you, not to say arrogant, to say nothing of unimaginative.’

‘Yes, that sounds like me.’

‘So what could you possibly know about love?’

‘Do you have to be tolerant, and humble, and imaginative, to know anything about love?’

‘Yes.’

There was a moment’s silence, and then Geoffrey spoke. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘you’ve just made a serious point. How disconcerting.’

‘Well, we were having a serious conversation, weren’t we?’

‘Were we?’

‘For heaven’s sake. We were talking about love. After all.’

‘And nothing is more serious than love.’

‘No, nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.’

There was another brief silence.

‘Actually,’ said Geoffrey reflectively, ‘I suppose nothing is
as
serious as love.’

‘No, nothing. Nothing whatsoever.’

‘Love, eh?’

‘Yeah. Love.’

‘Listen. Don’t ever tell anyone I said that, will you? About nothing being as serious as love. I’ll never be able to show my face on a squash court again.’

‘When did you ever show your face on a squash court?’

‘Well, you know what I mean. It’s the principle of the thing.’

‘All right. I mean, when all’s said and done, what would I want with a man who had no squash court credibility?’

‘
Exactly
.’

10

‘All the same, I still can’t see how a reasonably intelligent and actually attractive lady like Nicola—’

‘Oh, you think she’s intelligent do you?’

‘Yes, and attractive, yes; how she can—’

‘I didn’t realise you thought she was attractive.’

‘Well, isn’t she?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Right. So I can’t see how she could love a twit like Jonathan.’

‘He’s rather tasty.’

‘
What?
’

‘If you like that sort of thing.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Try me.’

‘How?’

‘That’s your problem.’

‘God. Jonathan.
Tasty
. God.’

‘I think they make quite a good couple, in a way. They look right together.’

‘
Look
right?’

‘Yes, you know. They look good together.’

Geoffrey, still astounded, did his best to consider this proposition. ‘I
suppose
they do,’ he said. ‘I
suppose
they do.’

‘You can generally tell whether people are basically right for each other by whether they look good together, don’t you think?’ said Susannah.

‘The idea never once occurred to me,’ Geoffrey replied. ‘It’s not even occurring to me now. Do
we
look
good
together?’

She laughed. ‘What do you think?’ she said.

He was still in a state of utter perplexity. She laughed again, and flapped the tea towel in his face.

‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.

‘I still don’t see how she can love him,’ he said, ‘however good they may or may not look together. Or however
tasty
he may or may not be. Not that he is.’

‘He can do the
Times
crossword.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘Shall we go to bed?’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do the
Times
crossword?’

‘We’ve only got a
Guardian
.’

‘Won’t that do instead?’

‘For some reason, it doesn’t seem to count the same.’

‘I suppose we’ll just have to go to bed then.’

‘Oh, by the way, I told Nicola she could come and stay here, if this situation doesn’t get sorted out pronto. If she really has to leave.’

‘Well,
by the way
, I think that was rather unilateral of you.’

‘What else could I do?’

Geoffrey heaved a sigh and looked at her. ‘Let’s just assume,’ he said, ‘that the situation
will
get sorted out. After all, they’re basically right for each other, as you pointed out. This is just a storm in a teacup.’

‘Poor Nicola,’ said Susannah sadly.

‘Yes,’ said Geoffrey, quite seriously. ‘One way or another, poor Nicola.’

‘And even poorer Jonathan,’ said Susannah.

‘Sod Jonathan,’ said Geoffrey. He had had enough.

‘Yes, well,’ said Susannah, ‘let’s go to bed, shall we?’

So they did.

11

After all, Nicola told herself, alone under the covers, the fl at silent around her, Jonathan absent in the country: he could not really, not surely, have meant it.

Of course, yes, he
meant
it: but only because he was mistaken. The thing that was wrong was a mistake, and she would, as soon as ever she could, discover this mistake and put it right: and then everything Jonathan had said, and meant, would be rescinded. As soon as ever she could!

He was bound to return on Sunday night, because the house agent was coming at his invitation on Monday morning: so she would see Jonathan again on Sunday night. Everything will be sorted out quite soon, thought Nicola: in just two days from now, this episode will all have become a bad dream, nothing more. Because otherwise, it is too bad to be true.

She dared now, just, to feel her way towards the contemplation of the scene of the previous night as if it might represent all of the truth, as if it might be an irreducible, however ugly, reality: as if Jonathan had not only meant what he had said, but had known what he meant: as if there were no mistake in the matter but her own—her own blindness to, ignorance of, Jonathan’s true and natural feelings.

And now she allowed, she admitted, she was entirely bound to admit, that Jonathan might have meant what he said, might have known what he meant, and so wanted, not only truly, but justifiably, and with all his heart, to separate from her: yes, this unspeakable horror really was a logical possibility. Such events may truly occur. Love can grow cold, and become indifference—even dislike—even hatred.

She saw therefore that, whatever the truth of the matter, whether he meant or did not truly mean what he had said, Jonathan had become an absolute mystery to her. He was no longer the lover, comrade, companion she had known, but a frighteningly unreckonable creature as of faery. There can’t be an awful lot of solicitors who seem like
that
, she thought; and she almost smiled. Susannah would have been proud of her.