Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

Suzanne made a gap in the curtains and looked out. A white van passed, then a woman on a bicycle. She came away from the window.

‘How did it go at work today?’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.

‘Not great. Too many meetings, too much hassle. Usual story.’

She smelled beer on his breath. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be late. Did you go to the pub?’

He dropped his coat on the banister and walked towards the kitchen. ‘A few of us stopped for a drink in the Red Lion. It was Tim’s last day.’

‘Oh Paul, hang on a sec. There’s something I need to ask you.’

Is there someone else? Another woman?

But she couldn’t say it. Not here, not now.

Paul frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s a dead spider in the lounge, under the dictionary. You couldn’t…’

He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of it.’

As so often happened after a day at work, Paul was half asleep soon after they had finished eating. They went to bed early.

‘Suze, darling,’ he began, coming up behind her as she took off her make-up. ‘I want to apologise for being so grizzly. Things are frantic at work right now.’ He unbuttoned his shirt. ‘I’ve had to call a meeting for tomorrow morning to sort out what we’re going to put in this new release. The customer is putting the screws on us, big time. They want us to put a stack of changes in the software or they’re going to take us to court. Our guys say it’s too much work. I’ve been running around like a maniac trying to deal with all this shit.’

‘I know it’s been hard for you at work,’ she said. ‘But you’ve been so distant lately. And when I saw you and that girl at the party—’

‘Suzy, Suzy.’ He kissed the back of her neck. ‘I know I’m not the husband I should be. I know I behave like a fucking idiot sometimes. You’re a wonderful woman, I don’t deserve you. But, darling.’ She turned to face him. ‘There’s no room for anyone else. I love you, Suze. Don’t you know? I couldn’t bear to be without you.’

They lay in bed, in the dark. Despite the rational, sceptical part of herself, she was reassured by Paul’s words. She closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth and the gentle pressure of his arms wrapped around her.

‘Hello, long time no see.’ Jane greeted him with a pallid smile. ‘Come on in.’

Her hair was tied back severely. Her once attractive face was pale, almost haggard. Dark shadows hung around her eyes. She wore an unflattering sweatshirt and baggy tracksuit pants. She was still slim, though.

Paul stepped into the hall. Music bleated in his ears from behind a closed door, the banal repetitive beat thankfully muffled.

‘It’s so good of you to do this, Paul. I felt bad about asking, but I thought… Honestly, I didn’t know who else to turn to. My friends are fed up with me asking for favours.’

‘It’s absolutely no problem at all, my dear.’ He gave her his most dazzling smile. ‘I’m at the pool most Saturdays, it’s the least I can do. It’s a pleasure to help.’

‘I just hope Emma will be better behaved with you.’ A slow heave of the shoulders. Jane’s sigh conveyed all the miseries of single motherhood. ‘She’s had a fight with Toby already this morning and she’s refused to tidy her room or do anything I ask. I’m at my wits’ end with her.’

He followed her into the living room. There was barely any space left on the carpet for the agglomeration of toy dumper trucks, Glamour magazines, Blu-ray cases and sheets of crayon-streaked paper.

Emma was strewn across the sofa, watching TV. Beside her, a cheap beaded necklace and an empty bottle of Fanta lemonade. She wore faded jeans, white Nikes, and a sweatshirt with GAP emblazoned across the front.

‘Paul’s here, Emma. For God’s sake, turn that thing down.’

He hadn’t seen her for at least a year, so he’d expected a few changes. But this girl he hardly recognised. He knew she was only twelve, yet she could have been fourteen. Her skin was flawless. Her hair shimmied down her back, thick and glossy brown like a model’s in a L’Oréal advert. Gone was the awkward, gangly girl he remembered from Jane’s dinner parties, back when Neil was around. Something else had emerged, poised and self-aware.

‘Hi, Emma.’

‘Hi.’ She turned her head to him, smiled reluctantly and turned back to the TV.

Jane checked her watch. ‘Have you got your swimming things ready, Emma?’

‘They’re upstairs. Can I just watch the end of this programme? There’s only a few minutes to go.’

‘No, Emma! Please turn the TV off now and get your things.’ Jane’s voice sounded infinitely weary.

Emma glared at her mother, dragged herself off the sofa and flounced out of the room.

Jane bent to pick up a glass from the floor. ‘I hope she won’t be any trouble, Paul. If she is, let me know.’

‘Don’t worry, I don’t think Emma will act up with me. Anyway, I’ve had my own stroppy teenage daughter to deal with, remember.’

A paper-thin smile didn’t erase the weariness from Jane’s face.

‘I can’t thank you enough for your help,’ she said. ‘She’d be stuck in her room all day if you weren’t taking her out.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ he repeated. ‘Believe me.’

Two minutes later Emma reappeared with a faux-fur trimmed jacket over her jeans, and a pink and silver striped bag hanging from her shoulder. The three of them clustered at the front door.

‘Bye, Em. Have a good swim, won’t you?’

Emma ignored her mother. She leaned against the wall, examining her nails with a bored expression. Her bottom lip stuck out sulkily.

‘See you later, Jane.’ He opened the front door. ‘Come on, you. Let’s go swim.’

Emma climbed into the Porsche, put on her seat belt and yawned.

‘How long are we going to swim for?’

‘It depends.’ He started the engine. ‘Usually I swim for three quarters of an hour. How long do you want to swim for?’

She shrugged.

He smiled. She could be as difficult as she wanted. He could handle anything this girl could throw at him.

‘Do you want to choose a CD?’

‘Mmm.’ She scanned the titles without interest.

‘How about the Rolling Stones? Or Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, Stevie Winwood?’

She wrinkled her nose.

He turned on the radio. Billy Joel was singing ‘Uptown Girl’. She probably wouldn’t like that either, but it was too bad.

They inched their way through congested Putney, past thicker than usual crowds of Saturday shoppers. A week into January, the sales were pulling nicely.

‘How far can you swim?’ he asked after he’d parked at the health club.

Emma shrugged again. ‘Not far. I’m not very good at swimming. I hate water in my ears.’

‘That’ll change when you get more confident in the water. I’ll have you swimming up and down the pool in no time, I bet.’

She looked at him, stony faced, and reached for her bag.

He signed her in at reception without trouble – fortunately they relaxed their ‘no under 16s’ rule at weekends. Emma said nothing as they walked to the changing rooms. He could understand her lack of enthusiasm, it didn’t bother him. The girl knew him only as a friend of her mother’s, another adult on the fringes of her world. She probably wished it could be her father taking her swimming instead.

Paul waited for Emma at the tiled entrance to the pool, just past the shower and the foot bath. He glanced down at his belly, dented the skin with his fingers.

Good enough, he thought. Not quite as flat and firm as it used to be, but overall, he was in good shape. He had no excess fat and his muscles were strong from his weekly workouts. Emma would see he looked after himself – he wasn’t one of that crowd of lard-arses, at the wrong end of middle-age, who came here to splash around and hang out in the steam room, kidding themselves they were still twenty-five.