Michael Ridpath - Amnesia

I walked down to the loch. And then I heard movement. A figure emerged from beside a rhododendron bush.

It was her.

‘I knew you’d come,’ she said.

‘How long were you waiting?’

‘Only five minutes. I nipped out after I’d heard the staff finishing in the kitchen.’

We were too close to the house; someone could easily see us. ‘Shall we walk along the loch?’

‘Good idea,’ said Sophie, and she slipped her hand in mine.

We walked down the short drive and along the track that ran beside the loch. We could see quite clearly in the moonlight, reflected off the flat grey water. Sophie was a little drunk, but only a little. I could feel the excitement through her fingers.

‘What we really need is a Scottish Villa Fersen,’ said Sophie.

‘And there it is,’ I said, pointing to the wooden boathouse.

‘Do you think it has an opium den?’

‘Bound to,’ I said. ‘Let’s just hope it isn’t locked.’

It wasn’t. And if we left the door wide open, just enough light entered the shed for us to see inside. A tall rack rose from the floor to the ceiling, on which we could just make out three rowing boats.

‘I think these are cushions!’ Sophie said. ‘Yes, they are!’

She spread them out on the wooden floor of the boathouse. Then she turned to me. I was desperate to grab her, to tear all her clothes off, but I forced myself just to stand and stare at her. My eyes were adjusting to the greater gloom. I could make out her hair, her chin, her upper lip and a glimmer from one of her eyes. She reached up and kissed me.

The self-control went. From both of us. In seconds we were naked and writhing on the cushions in the floor of the boathouse.

‘Whew!’ said Sophie, laughing, as I rolled off her. ‘That was quick!’

‘It was rather,’ I said. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘That’s OK,’ Sophie laughed. ‘As long as you promise not to start snoring in thirty seconds.’

‘I promise,’ I said, propping myself up on my elbow and running my finger over Sophie’s body. There was no chance I was going to sleep and miss this.

‘I know it’s dark, but I can see your smile,’ said Sophie.

‘Good,’ I said. I started tracing complicated patterns over her skin with my finger. She giggled, and then she gasped.

I felt confident. More than confident. Supreme. ‘You have to come with me.’

‘Come with you?’ said Sophie. ‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. Anywhere. I’m a doctor. I can be a doctor anywhere.’

‘You mean leave Stephen?’

‘Of course I mean leave Stephen. We have to be together. I know it. You know it. Tell me you don’t feel it.’

Sophie sat up on her knees. ‘Don’t spoil it all, Angus.’

My supreme confidence faltered. ‘You don’t mean you’re going to stay with him? Not after this?’

‘Yes. Yes!’ she said more loudly. ‘We’ve talked about all this before. I can’t leave my husband. I can’t destroy my family. It’s a sin. I believe it’s a sin.’

‘Look, I understand that. We don’t have to get married. You can remain married to Stephen. But you would live with me.’

‘And the children?’

‘They would live with me also. Or I with them.’

‘You’ve never met them.’

‘I’m sure I will like them.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘Because they are your children. Of course, I will like them. I’ll probably grow to love them.’

‘No. No, Angus!’ I could make out Sophie’s head shaking in the darkness. ‘We said before, just the once. And you respected that.’

‘And now we’ve done it again! Is this “just the once” again?’

‘Yes,’ said Sophie. ‘No. Oh, I don’t know! Can’t you just make this easy, Angus?’

I lay on my back. Anger was seeping into my soul, leaking out of the love that had filled my heart a few minutes before and enveloping it, drowning it.

‘You have been part of me my whole adult life, Sophie. Since I first saw you. Or maybe not then, maybe when we spent that afternoon in Honfleur.’

‘I was lusting after Stephen then.’

Her comment irritated me, and I ignored it. ‘Yes. And that first time we spent in Capri, I behaved badly. That didn’t work. So then, the next time, I behaved well. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I didn’t come and see you in Twickenham. I respected your request to leave your marriage undisturbed.’

‘You did. Thank you.’

‘But that didn’t work either! It might have worked for you, but I’m not convinced of that. I think you wanted me to come and rescue you from Stephen and Twickenham. I don’t know. But I know I can’t live without you. That sounds corny, but I’ve tried it, and I know it’s true. I can exist, I can have odd moments of happiness, I can make sick people better, but I can’t live , truly live.’

‘Oh, Angus.’

‘No. Listen! You were dead right when you feared that the reason I couldn’t get married is you. I deny it, but I’m only deceiving myself. It’s you. It’s always you. It’s only you!’

Sophie sat in silence.

‘Whew,’ she said eventually.

‘So will you come with me?’

She took a long, shaky, breath in. ‘No. No, I’m sorry, Angus. I won’t destroy my marriage. This was a big mistake.’

‘It wasn’t a big mistake! It was one of the most important nights of my life. And yours! Tell me it wasn’t important to you!’

‘Yes,’ said Sophie. She was beginning to sob now. ‘Yes. But you’re sounding like Nathan now. Pressurizing me to do something wrong.’

‘It’s nothing like Nathan!’ I said, the fury spilling over. ‘And it’s not wrong, it’s right. That’s the whole point. It is the right thing to do.’

‘It’s not,’ said Sophie. ‘I would like it to be, but my conscience tells me it’s not.’

I jumped to my feet and pulled on my clothes as quickly as I could, ignoring buttons and buckles. ‘Then go to Stephen, Sophie! You don’t want me to see you again, fine, I won’t. But don’t try and claim coming with me is wrong, when we both know it’s the only right thing to do.’

I stumbled out of the boathouse, leaving Sophie sobbing naked behind me. For a moment I thought of turning back towards Wyvis Lodge, but I wanted to get away. Away. So I turned left and strode along the shore of loch, tucking myself in as I went.

Woods tumbled down the slope to the edge of the water. On an impulse I struck uphill along the path through the trees we had followed that morning. An owl mocked my progress. But as I climbed, my anger abated. Perhaps I should go back. Apologize. Work out how I could see Sophie again, without necessarily touching her. See how I could live on her terms. Because I sure as hell couldn’t live without her.

I came to the cottage in the clearing, shut up for the night. I stopped at the edge of the woods. A thought wormed its way into my brain, an evil, malicious thought that found purchase and swelled.

Sophie had dominated my life. But more than that, she had ruined it. She had taken advantage of me the whole time. Everything was always done on her terms. Yes, she liked me, that was obvious, but I clearly wasn’t as important to her as she was to me. Sometimes her self-control slipped, and she helped herself to me, like a forbidden chocolate, but most of the time she lived a perfectly normal bourgeois life without me. She had a husband and children and she wasn’t prepared to give them up for me. She had taken from me. Taken, taken, taken! And never given, unless you counted giving me a little of what I wanted once every ten years, and that didn’t sound to me like giving. She had taken consistent, cynical advantage of me.

I turned on my heel, the anger burning. I would tell her that. If she was in the boathouse, I would tell her. If she had gone back to Stephen’s bedroom I would tell her there. I didn’t care. I had never felt so angry in my life before. Part of me wondered at the anger: it must have something to do with all that desire repressed for so long. And now she expected me to repress it again. For how long this time? Ten years? Twenty? Until Stephen drank himself to death at the age of seventy-five?