Amy Bird - Yours Is Mine

She bet that things would change now that Kate’s father was actually dead – after all, Kate would no longer have to nurse him. Jane knew that was how some of the other partners saw it, that they’d been trying to convince Peter that they should call her to discuss a date for her to return to work. Peter had protested that Kate was doing good work at home, and that although she wasn’t making money for the firm by doing fee-earning work, she was only on half-pay and that might be translated into profits from the book. Plus the firm had been lucky to get her from London and they wanted to hang on to her, not force her out for personal considerations, Peter had argued. In the end, the compromise had been reached of sending her another chapter to review in a shorter time frame than usual to see how she responded, and if she came back with the chapter in time they would know that she was ready to come back to work. Bit underhand, really. Jane didn’t see why they couldn’t just pick up the phone to her and all talk about it like adults, upfront. They had this inbuilt desire to behave ‘strategically’ and to put everything in writing – even if there had been a phone call it probably would have resulted in a carefully-worded attendance note and a follow-up letter or email that she would have to type.

Anyway, it wasn’t her job to worry about it, she decided, sticking down the lip of the envelope. It was 5.30 on the dot and time for her to be going home to Bill. They were doing chicken lasagne tonight – she’d picked up the ingredients at lunchtime. Glass or two of wine to go with, perhaps early to bed. Very nice.

Poor Kate, Jane thought, as she lobbed the envelope in the post-tray, not being able to have those evenings at home with her husband. Couldn’t be much of a life when Neil was away at sea. She’d tried to ask Kate about it over the kettle, but she’d started chattering on about pizza places or something. They’d bump into Kate in town some weekends, in the cinema or along Gunwharf Quays, her and Bill giggling along, having a fun day out. In the moment before Kate saw them she was always looking glum, fretful. Of course, then Kate’s smile came on, everything was very jolly, and of course she was having a super weekend, she said. But Jane had begun to notice a kind of sadness behind her eyes that never quite went away, even when Neil was actually around to join the office party earlier that year. Masked by smiles of course but undoubtedly still there.

- Anna-

Acting. That’s all that it was. She could do that. She had always been able to, splitting herself in two according to need. Whatever the role was, she was there. This time the role was Kate – good little wife sending emails to distant husband who she thought wanted news of home and would be interested in whether the guttering needed replacing or if she had felt like she might be getting a cold. True, there had been more thrilling roles, but it would be the performance of a lifetime. Once she got going.

Anna was composing her second email to Neil since the exchange, and she wanted to savour the writing of it. She had kept the first email fairly neutral, asking him how everything was going, what he was up to, and signed off with what seemed to be established norm for the number of kisses. She just mimicked Kate.

She had received a similarly bland email in response about what the ship was doing – no locations, she assumed that email wasn’t considered safe enough for that – and lots of strange acronyms which were apparently supposed to denote people or manoeuvres. Either way, quite frankly they did not interest her. These were not the sort of emails that she was in the game for. Neil ought to associate the emails she was sending with lust, desire and longing – surely that was appropriate for one so many miles away that you had not seen for so long. That was where Anna would come in. She could perform this role with her eyes closed. It was time for ‘Kate’ to embark on a new phase of her relationship with Neil, and Anna would take utmost pleasure in ushering it in. That was the aim of the experiment. And its end result. The best sorts of experiments are ones where the outcome is certain.

The rattle and slam of the post coming through the letterbox momentarily distracted her. It wasn’t such a big event though – it could just join the rest of the post on the mat. If someone considered it unimportant enough to send by snail mail, Anna wasn’t about to leap up and grab it the moment it came through the door. Besides, it was Kate’s post. Sure, she was now meant to be Kate, but it did remove that element of excitement. Bills and work are unexciting at the best of times, and someone else’s bills and work are even less enthralling. Anna would get to them in due course. Maybe. She turned her attention back to the computer.

‘My dearest Neil,’ she began.

No, too tame. Too old-married and Jane Austen-like. Kate may start her emails like that, but it was not Kate who was writing. Anna glanced at the picture of Neil beside the computer for inspiration.

‘Hey, sexy,’ she typed. That was better.

‘Longing to be there with you. I know those cabins are small but it would be nice and cosy with me beside you – or perhaps on top of you if that’s the only way to get me to fit in. Or perhaps we should be thinking about how best to fit you in… I’m sorry you’re so busy and have to work so hard – I would love to be there to give you the long, deep massage you deserve. Just think about that to keep you going.

‘Anyway, the bath is waiting for me. I’ve got it just the way I like it – steamy, scented, hot bubbles – can’t wait to feel that water lapping over me while I stretch out and just let the tension of the day flow out of me. It’s a good way to get really *in touch* with myself. I think I may have to stay in there some time, lying back and thinking of… you. XXX’

Anna sat back in the chair and read the words over again. Should she end with ‘The one and only Kate’, like she’d been instructed? Should she fuck! Sweet of Kate to think herself unique, other than uniquely boring. But Anna was all for making things a little different.

Satisfied, she pressed send, biting her lower lip in anticipation of the sort of response her email might elicit. That should start to take the relationship in the direction she wanted it. Kate would want it to go where Anna did too, if she had any sense, if she knew what Anna knew. For now, Anna thought she might just go and take that bath after all. There was no point in lying for the sake of it.

She sauntered to the bathroom and began to run the bath. She lit the candles round the edge. It was no good trying to have a bath with the electric light on. You really couldn’t relax and access full inner contemplation. Plus the avocado colour was more muted in candlelight. It had not been easy to obtain the candles. She had searched high and low for some tea-lights in the cottage the previous evening, but to no avail. Not even a candle for the table. Kate was clearly not a romantic person. Perhaps her father dying around her was a bit of a turn-off. But Neil must have been there occasionally, and Kate really ought to have made more of an effort. Life’s more important than death, though some people don’t act like it. So Anna had ventured out to the ‘local’ shop that morning.

Actually, both local and shop were misnomers. Kate had claimed it was walking distance. Presumably that was what helpful family members had said to Dick Whittington before he set off to London with a spring in his step. Only this seemed further. And it was more of a bartering centre than a shop. In exchange for their goods, it seemed well-established that you had to impart as many intimate details of your life as the proprietor, Betty, deemed necessary and depending on how good the story was, you would be granted access to the goods stowed out of sight behind the counter. Then they would deign to take your money at the end of the transaction, but not necessarily the price that was on the goods (if there was one). If you wanted to be served again in the future, Anna noticed from the customers at the counter – for despite it all, the shop was a popular place – it seemed best practice to say breezily ‘Keep the change’, or ‘And that’s a pack of chocolate Hobnobs for you, Betty’. Usually in shops Anna felt generous if she put one penny change in the charity box next to the till. But if Hobnobs were what was needed to get allegiance from Betty, Hobnobs it would be.