Michael Ridpath - Amnesia

They had benefitted from the war; the conflict had accelerated their careers, and at thirty both men were already successful, yet I had not yet even qualified in mine. That was another difference between us.

‘What about you, Tony?’ Stephen said. ‘You must have seen some action.’

‘I learned to play poker real well for my country. Shall we play now?’

‘I’m not bad at poker,’ said Nathan.

‘I bet you’re not,’ I said.

‘You’re a coward, Nathan,’ said Stephen, glaring at him.

‘Oh, come on, Stephen! This is absurd,’ Sophie said. ‘Especially coming from you.’

‘Oh, be quiet, you stupid woman! I’ve played heroes. I know exactly what it’s like to fight for your country.’

‘Let’s go to bed,’ I said.

Stephen pushed himself to his feet. ‘I said you are a coward! What do you say?’ He was swaying unsteadily. Nathan was alarmed.

I looked at Stephen. I looked at Nathan. I knew what to do. I swung and landed Stephen a clean blow on the chin, sending him crumpling to the ground.

‘Sorry, old man,’ I said to Stephen’s moaning body. I rubbed my knuckles. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

Tony and I carried Stephen up to bed, with Sophie hovering over us. We got him undressed and lay him down.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sophie. ‘That was awful behaviour.’

‘Dangerous drink, limoncello,’ said Tony.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

Sophie nodded. ‘I’ll look after him.’

Tony and I tidied up the worst of the debris of empty glasses and bottles outside and then went to bed ourselves. I, as the only single in the group, had a bed made up in a tiny box room on the ground floor.

I undressed and lay on my back, listening to the noises of a Mediterranean night outside my open window.

Then I heard footsteps. And a quiet sob.

I listened. Nothing.

Then another sob.

I swung off the little bed, put on a shirt and trousers and let myself out into the garden.

Sophie was sitting on the floor of the terrace, her back resting against the stone pillars of the balustrade, a tear smearing her left cheek.

She looked up at me and smiled. ‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Hello.’ I sat down next to her.

‘Did I wake you?’

‘No. I wasn’t asleep.’

‘But you heard me?’

‘Only just.’

‘I’m sorry. I just can’t bear to be in the room with him.’

‘That’s not good,’ I said.

They sat in silence for a while. A long while.

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ said Sophie.

‘Now?’

‘It’s a lovely night. And we can’t just sit here. I’d like to move.’

‘All right. Let me fetch some shoes.’

I sneaked noiselessly back into the house and put on my shoes. We crept around the side of the house and out of the gate into the little road.

‘Uphill or downhill?’ I asked.

‘Uphill.’ And so we set off up the hill, towards the peak at the end of the island and the Villa Jovis.

It was a lovely night. A tiny cloud dallied in front of the moon, which was almost full, scattering its reflection on the sea. The cliff face of Monte Solaro glimmered light grey, its fissures dark slashes. Cypress trees rose tall, black and twisted. The varied unseen scents of blossom from the gardens on either side swirled around us. We were alone, apart from an occasional cat startled on its night hunt.

‘I’m glad you came out to find me,’ said Sophie.

‘You sounded sad.’

‘I am. I wish he hadn’t done that. Bait Nathan. It was so unreasonable. I mean both of them did their stuff for the war effort. We needed oil and we needed morale.’

‘He’s drunk,’ I said. ‘Really drunk.’

‘Did he get like that at Oxford?’ Sophie asked. ‘When you got drunk? Somehow I suspect that you did get drunk every now and then.’

‘We did,’ I said, smiling. ‘And no, not really. He would usually talk, ramble on. I remember he did get in a fight with an idiot called Richardson once. But that was Richardson’s fault. I broke it up.’

‘Is that what you do? Break fights up.’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘That was quite a blow. When you hit Stephen.’

‘I know.’ I shook my hand. ‘It hurts a bit, to be honest.’ We walked in silence for a few moments. ‘Is he often that aggressive now when he’s drunk?’

‘Yes. Yes, he is. I don’t like it.’

‘I’m sure you don’t. He doesn’t hit you, does he?’

‘No! Oh, no,’ said Sophie quickly. ‘But...’

I waited.

‘But sometimes these days I think he might. And he does get drunk rather often.’

‘You mustn’t let him!’ I said. ‘Hit you, I mean.’

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Sophie. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’

‘’Fraid not. I’ve got my pipe?’

Sophie laughed. ‘No thanks.’

A cat missing half of its tail darted out of the shadows in front of us, and squeezed itself under a gate into a garden.

‘Stephen was very good when we were first married,’ Sophie said. ‘He wanted to be a good husband and then a good father. He tried really hard. I knew he was tempted. When I visited him on set I could see the way the girls looked at him, but he only had eyes for me.’

‘Stephen’s ambition is to be a reliable man with a reliable job, a reliable wife and two reliable children,’ I said.

‘Yes. That’s why he likes you so much. He talks about you a lot, you know.’

‘I didn’t know,’ I said, but I was pleased to hear it. ‘I have to say I haven’t quite managed the reliable bit yet.’

‘You will, though. You will become the local GP that everyone loves.’

‘Like my father,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I will. I hope I will.’

‘But not like Stephen,’ said Sophie. ‘He tried, he really tried, but he couldn’t do it.’

‘Has he had any affairs?’ I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

But Sophie heard the unspoken question. ‘I know he has been seeing other women. It started when Beatrice was born. One of the make-up ladies, for God’s sake! Then there was an actress on one of the war films he was in. Played his sister. That’s incest, isn’t it? Should be banned.’

‘Have you caught him at it?’

‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘I don’t want to catch him at it. I don’t want to know.’ She sighed. ‘But I do.’

‘I’m sorry.’

We walked on. We were approaching the little drinking fountain halfway up to the Villa Jovis. A cloud covered the moon, and the road became suddenly darker.

‘When he goes to Hollywood for this new film, I know he’s going to start an affair. He won’t be able to help himself.’

‘Should you go with him?’

‘Maybe,’ said Sophie. ‘The idea is that if it’s a success we all move out there. But I don’t want to follow him thousands of miles just to keep an eye on him. That’s not how marriage should be.’

‘I suppose not.’

Sophie laughed.

‘What is it?’

‘I was remembering your warning. I have to say that homosexuality has never been a problem with Stephen.’

I winced. ‘I was rather hoping you had forgotten that.’

‘That’s a difficult one to forget.’ She touched my hand. ‘But I can forgive you.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

They reached the little fountain and paused for breath. ‘Which way now?’ I said. But I knew what her answer would be.

‘Do you think we can get in to the Villa Fersen?’

‘You mean break in?’

Sophie nodded.

‘We can try.’

It was difficult making our way along the lane through the darkness, especially the last stretch through the pine wood. Sophie took my hand. In a few minutes we reached the big iron gate, which had a big steel padlock on it. To the right, the high garden wall ran steeply upwards: it had deteriorated significantly since our last visit. Sophie peered up and spied a tree growing just a foot or so away from it. ‘Let’s try that.’