Maggie Gee - The Ice People

I saw Sarah looking at Polly one morning from our bedroom doorway, her expression thoughtful. There was something avid in her blue eyes.

‘A tenner for them,’ I said, walking past her. Ash was in the kitchen, making two banana toasts.

‘Oh, nothing … What a goodlooking child Polly is. I bet — well, I bet she wasn’t techfix.’

‘Lucky them,’ I said. ‘We weren’t so lucky.’

‘I sometimes think I’d like another child.’

My heart lifted. ‘I’m ready when you are!’

But she twisted her watchstrap, avoiding my eyes. ‘It would just be the same old story with us,’ she said quietly.

‘You can’t be sure.’

‘You’re a dreamer, Saul.’

Lying awake at two am, I thought about the conversation. I realised she’d given up on me. If Sarah tried to get pregnant again she was going to look for another father.

In the morning, I dismissed it as night thoughts.

*

A few days later, I came in from work to find Luke and Polly in the bathroom, Polly pink and naked and laughing.

Luke was dressed up in her flowered skirt, with the matching top tucked up as a bra.

‘He’s a girl,’ said Polly, laughing.

‘I’m a girl, Daddy,’ said Luke, excited.

I felt upset, but knew I mustn’t show it. ‘Have you seen what they’re doing?’ I called through to Ash, who was taking out the washing in the utility room.

‘Yes, aren’t they having fun?’ he replied. ‘Wow, you look tired … Are you all right? Where have you been slaving today?’

I mentioned the name of the Nanocorp.

Ash’s face lit up. ‘You must know my friend — Riswan Manao.’

‘Goodgod, yes — he’s a friend of mine.’

‘I’ll be seeing him in about an hour — we go to the same club.’

I remembered the club to which Riswan had invited me. ‘The Scientists?’

‘Yes, the Scientists. .’ Ash smiled a little mischievously, stroking the wet washing. ‘Its full name is the Gay Scientists. From Nietzsche, you know. Gaia Scienzia.’

‘Ah. Sounds like, um, fun.’ I backed away. I was embarrassed, and a tiny bit excited. Was it possible that Riswan …? Yes, of course.

I was cheered to think anyone might desire me.

After Ash had left with Polly, when Sarah came home, I told her about the Gay Scientists. I was hoping she would be slightly jealous. ‘It’s a gay club. I never really realised that Riswan … Things were awful between us at the time, remember, and I probably confided too much in him … I thought they were just screen junkies.’

She was only half-listening, riffling through her diary. ‘Oh they’re all gay, machine junkies. Why shouldn’t you go to a club with Riswan? You don’t really think …’ She looked up, amused. ‘Of course he doesn’t fancy you, don’t be ridiculous. Did I tell you what’s happening tomorrow, Saul?’

‘What in particular?’ I felt frustrated. Men had to listen, but women didn’t bother.

‘It’s Polly’s birthday. She’s five, bless her heart. And so I’ve asked her round for the day.’

‘But she comes every day, doesn’t she? With Ash.’

‘Yes, but tomorrow’s Ash’s day off. I asked her round with her father instead. I thought I would do a picnic for the kids.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, I have to go to work —’

‘Yes. Jack and I and the kids will be fine.’

‘You’re taking a day off? Wonders will never cease. By the way, who’s Jack?’ I felt at sea.

‘He’s Polly’s dad. He’s very nice.’

Which seemed irrelevant then, but not later. I had something else upon my mind.

‘Look, Sarah, Luke was wearing Polly’s dress.’

‘Damn! That reminds me, I’ve got nothing to wear tomorrow, my linen dress is being cleaned.’

‘Sarah, will you please listen to me? Luke was wearing Polly’s dress. ’

‘And?’

‘Well …’

‘Yes?’ She was annoyed. ‘You’re not going to tell me that worries you?’

‘Well, yes, it did slightly, as a matter of fact.’ Yet it wasn’t just that; it was everything, the fact that Riswan was probably gay, that I’d known him for years and noticed nothing, the Gay Scientists Club I had nearly gone to, my sense that everything was changing, crumbling, and nothing was what I thought it was. ‘Am I very old-fashioned? Am I just thick?’

‘Both, darling. Did you never watch my programmes? Gendersense was all about things like that.’

I felt aggrieved, and isolated. Luke had come in and stood there looking worried, clutching his willy in his spotted underpants.

‘Are you cross, Mummy?’ he asked, gravely.

Which made her crosser. ‘No, Daddy is cross.’

Luke backed away. He didn’t like crossness. But he wanted to charm her out of her mood. ‘Luke was a girl today,’ he said.

‘Very good, darling. Very nice,’ she said.

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Her automatic smile, her encouraging voice — it occurred to me, they had all gone mad.

Or else I was mad, which was what Sarah thought.

‘You’ve got a problem,’ she snapped at me. ‘Why shouldn’t the child wear a fucking dress? I’m tired out. I’ll sleep next door.’

And she vanished, as she did when she wanted to annoy me, leaving me to put Luke to bed.

But he knew something was in the air.

‘Can I wear a dress tomorrow, Daddy?’

‘You haven’t got one,’ I pointed out. ‘You can’t keep taking Polly’s, can you?’

‘Mummy’s got dresses,’ Luke said after a moment.

‘Yes. Well. You’d better ask Mummy.’

But could I trust Mummy to give the right answer? I thought about it, and tried again. ‘Boys usually wear trousers, like Daddy. Wouldn’t you like to dress like Daddy?’

‘Dress like Mummy,’ said Luke, unperturbed.

‘Good night, Lukey.’

‘I love you, Daddy.’ I was tiptoeing out, ready for a giant drink, when Luke’s small bright voice began again. ‘Will you and Mummy be cross tomorrow?’

‘No,’ I said, after a small pause. ‘I won’t be. I can’t promise for Mummy.’

I could sense the child thinking. Soon he offered: ‘I won’t wear a dress if she won’t be cross.’

‘Deal,’ I said swiftly, but I felt dishonest.

Next day, however, all seemed to be forgotten, Luke wore trousers, there were eggs for breakfast, Sarah had slept well, and was friendly, if distant, and told me not to bother with the breakfast washing-up. ‘Oh leave it, darling, go to work,’ she said, and kissed me, kindly, and waved goodbye.

Then before I knew it she was off with Jack.

She was fucking him, actually, the bitch, the tart …

This time I really wanted her dead. She was Luke’s mother, but I wanted her dead. Shaved. Shamed. Torn apart.

Whereas Sarah just wanted a baby, of course. Let me try to be reasonable — that’s all she wanted. And she wanted one the natural way. She thought Polly’s dad could do that for her — give her a child as healthy as Polly. Disloyal to Luke, disloyal to me.

For a bit, I started to hate all women. I stopped caring about myself. Why should it matter what I did? I didn’t wash, I smoked, I drank. Sarah came and went, and acknowledged no guilt. She slept with me when she felt like it, ignoring my nasty remarks about paternity.

(One day she left a book in the loo called The Sperm Race, describing the positive effect on conception of competition between males. So my poor knackered sperm had been entered for a race, brokenkneed in that woman’s vile Sperm Derby.)

She still acted as if the flat belonged to her, cleaning it silently, manically, whenever she arrived. And I admit I let things get dirtier than usual, I admit that in my anger I let things slide.