Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

Beside the buffet table, Jeremy’s barrister friend was talking to a tall man in a casual shirt and jeans. ‘Excuse me for butting in. Suzanne, meet David. We worked in Melbourne together, yonks ago. David’s an architect. He’s come back to live in England after fifteen years in Chicago.’

He had silver streaks in his hair and a worn face that dimpled when he smiled.

‘Pleased to meet you, Suzanne.’

There was more than politeness in his voice. She felt keenly aware of her breasts, more exposed than usual. Katherine turned away to the barrister, leaving her alone with David.

‘So,’ Suzanne said quickly, ‘how are you finding life over here?’

‘It’s a refreshing change, to be honest.’ He paused, his grimace just visible before it became a smile. ‘After my marriage ended I needed a change of scene.’

She nodded.

‘I bought this cottage a couple of months ago,’ he went on. ‘It keeps me busy, which is just as well. I spent most of yesterday in the garden trying to decide which plants were weeds.’

‘That can be tricky, can’t it? I’m not much of a gardener either. But I love to sit out on the patio when it’s sunny.’

Glancing towards the mantelpiece, she saw Paul with Jeremy and an older couple she remembered from a previous party. She caught a quick movement of his head away from her.

‘Your husband?’

Suzanne nodded. Paul wouldn’t like her chatting to another man. But she quickly forgot about him as the conversation continued, somehow veering off to ancient Egypt. As David enthused about the Valley of the Kings and how she ought to see it, she warmed to him. She didn’t feel, as she often did at parties, that she ought to justify herself for being a rather ordinary, unaccomplished woman whose children had left home, and who earned an unpredictable income from correcting dull articles in magazines that most people had never heard of. True, she had a degree in English, a passion for classical music, and could play the piano quite well considering her sporadic childhood lessons. But she wasn’t witty or knowledgeable about things in the way some people were – in the way her husband was.

‘Would you like to dance?’ David gestured to some couples dancing to ‘Blue Suede Shoes’.

She glanced over to the mantelpiece again. But Paul wasn’t there.

Before she could protest, David put her into a firm dance hold and propelled her backwards. She tried to keep up with him but her feet couldn’t move as fast as his. He spun her unexpectedly under his arm and she lost her balance. Just in time, he caught her. They tried again, their legs tangling together. She laughed with him, relaxing into the rhythm of the music.

The song ended. They danced the next one, and the next. While she recovered her breath, David stood apart from her, watching her face.

‘It’s about time I was getting home, I’m afraid,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a long drive back.’

‘Goodbye then, David.’ She was disappointed that he was going, and wondered if he could tell. ‘I enjoyed our conversation – and the dancing.’

‘Bye, Suzanne. I hope things go well for you.’

He touched her hand lightly and left the room. For a few moments she felt wistful, then remembered herself with a twinge of guilt. Had Paul noticed them together? And where was he? Usually at the first sign of another man’s interest he’d be over like a shot.

After checking he wasn’t anywhere in the room, she went to the kitchen. Inside, two middle-aged men, with protruding bellies and receding hairlines, swigged from Heineken bottles and argued about politics. Paul was standing at the far end with a young woman – no, not even that, just a girl. She stood very close to him. Long, glossy hair, reaching towards the curve of her back. Her skirt was ultra-short, exposing very long, lightly muscled legs. Sheer tights, little make-up. A trace of concealed acne on her chin. She could be no older than fourteen or fifteen.

Suzanne took a few steps towards them. Neither had noticed her. The girl carried on talking, eagerly, in a low voice. Paul was listening intently. Then the girl rolled up her sleeve and moved a white arm towards him. He inspected something there and touched the flesh, entranced.

The girl saw Suzanne first, and stared back, boldly.

‘Hello, darling, have you met Lindy?’

Paul’s eyes were too bright, his voice too loud. He said something else but she couldn’t hear it. The girl waved a hand at Paul and loped away.

‘What were you doing with that girl?’

‘She was only showing me her tattoo.’ He drank the rest of his wine. ‘What’s the harm in that?’

At that moment, the barrister came in and began to rummage in the fridge.

‘Let’s go back and join the party,’ Paul said.

Suzanne followed him, unsure what to say. She felt unsettled. His expression had been so… intense. But he hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

They rejoined the crowd and were propelled into one conversation after another. As usual at parties, Paul was gregarious, energised by the crowd. After the New Year toasts, he asked her to dance. They danced very well together, she knew. Whatever the dance – rock ’n’ roll, salsa – he was always nimble, sensing her next movement.

They left the party soon after 1am. Paul accepted her offer to drive home. She turned the key in the ignition. Instead of reversing, the Porsche shot forward. She swore, braking hard to stop the car from slamming into the one in front. The thing was impossible to drive at the best of times.

‘Look out! You nearly hit that car.’ Paul’s face was scrunched tight with anger. ‘Do you have to be so damn careless?’

‘If you didn’t have to drink so much, you’d be able to drive the bloody thing yourself!’

‘I drink too much, do I?’

‘You know you do. It always makes you bad tempered and miserable.’ The small amount of alcohol she’d drunk had loosened her tongue too. ‘And, by the way, who was that schoolgirl you were talking to? You were lapping up her every word.’

‘I think you’ve got it the wrong way round.’ His voice was scornful. ‘I was wondering when you’d finally extricate yourself from your new friend.’

‘His name’s David,’ she hissed, finally putting the gear into reverse. ‘Katherine introduced us.’

‘When I saw you two, he practically had his dick out – and you were enjoying it.’

Relief flowed through her. Paul had been jealous, that’s all.

‘There’s nothing to worry about, Suzanne,’ he went on in a conciliatory tone. ‘She’s just a kid, for Christ’s sake – she’s studying for her GCSEs. Do you seriously think I could be interested in a fifteen-year-old?’

They drove the rest of the way in silence. She wondered why she had reacted so strongly to that girl.

Suzanne gave the fruit bowl a final flick with the feather duster and turned to the framed photographs on the sideboard.

The first one was her as a child, aged three or four, on her father’s knee. Bright sunlight making her hair blonde, her face split by the hugest smile. Her father’s hand on her shoulder, his face bearded and weathered by the many afternoons he’d spent sailing, the tip of his nose red. His expression was serious yet happy – and proud, too. In the next, her brother, Richard, was surrounded by friends, holding up a pint glass and laughing. Untidy curls skimmed the collar of his shirt – one of those gaudy, fashionless shirts he loved. It was in the Lamb & Flag on his fortieth birthday, four years before he died.

At the third photograph, she lowered the duster.

Herself and Paul on their wedding day. His unwavering gaze into the camera contrasted with the teary brightness of her eyes and her generous smile, a trace of shyness lingering. She was so young then, much younger than her twenty-five years. You could see it in her face – the face of a girl so hopeful for her future and so inexperienced in the ways of men.