Pat Barker - Double Vision

Robert turned. Stephen became aware of a very tall, red-haired youth, all angst and acne, hesitating in the doorway. The doorbell hadn’t rung, so he must have been in the bathroom or somewhere else in the house. Robert waved to him and he came across, head down, taking his time.

‘Mark, this is my brother, Stephen. Stephen, Mark Callender. I’m supervising Mark’s Ph.D., which’ — a broad smile — ‘is going very well.’

Mark was so shy he needed all the boosts Robert could give him. Unless he had something dreadfully wrong with his bladder, he must have been hiding in the bathroom rather than visiting it. Watching Robert with him, turning the full force of his attention on Mark, making him feel at ease and eventually even risk a smile, Stephen saw what only a few days before he’d tried to see, and failed: Robert as he might appear to a stranger meeting him for the first time. Charismatic was the word that sprang to mind, not because he made a parade of charm and intelligence, or tried in any way to attract attention to himself, but because he didn’t. His whole attention was focused outwards. At the moment, this awkward young man felt himself to be the centre of the universe, and he blossomed. With women, the technique would be devastating.

Beth appeared, presumably leaving Justine to put the finishing touches to the meal. She looked tired, and again he had the sense of somebody who was being gently and persistently erased. She and Angela were evidently close and were soon deep in conversation, leaving him to talk to Alec.

‘I met a friend of yours in Newcastle the other day. Peter Wingrave.’

‘Ah, Peter, yes.’

‘I gather he’s been in prison?’

Alec blinked rapidly. ‘Did he tell you that?’

‘No, I —’

‘Ah. Justine.’

‘No, not Justine. I guessed. It wasn’t particularly difficult — he gave me two stories to read, one of which could only have been written by somebody who’d been inside.’

‘I suppose he might have worked in one?’

‘He might.’

‘What did you think of the stories?’

‘Very good. Very disturbing. And both of them — it’s only just struck me — were about stalking.’

‘Yes, he’s interested in that. Because it’s a pattern of behaviour that’s been known about for centuries and has only quite recently been declared pathological. He’s interested in the way psychiatry’s expanded and laid claim to previously… neutral, or… anyway non-pathological areas of human behaviour.’

‘There was nothing “neutral” about the behaviour in his stories. Torture. Mental and physical. Murder.’

Another sip of the sherry, another blink of the mild but far from stupid blue eyes.

‘What did he do?’ Stephen asked.

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘No, you don’t know, or no, you won’t tell me?’

‘No, I can’t tell you.’

‘Stalking?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

Stephen stayed silent, and, as he’d rather expected, Alec cracked. ‘I doubt if he’d use his personal experiences in his stories.’

‘Why not? People do. He certainly used the setting.’

‘I just don’t think he would.’

Beth was looking in their direction, aware of some exchange going on that went well beyond pre-Sunday lunch chat.

‘You won’t mention Peter’s prison record to anybody else, will you? I mean, it could be very damaging, and’ — a deep sigh caught and held — ‘I do think he deserves some credit for the way he’s rebuilt his life.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I won’t go round blabbing.’

‘Good.’

‘Of course, you’re committed to the idea that people can change. I mean…’ Stephen’s gaze lingered almost insultingly on the dog collar. ‘Professionally.’

‘Can be changed. As an act of individual will, no, I’m not sure I do believe it. I think that’s actually quite a secular belief. Therapy. Self-help books… It’s an industry, isn’t it?’ A pause. ‘And what about you? Do you believe people can change — or be changed?’

‘I think they can learn to manage themselves better.’

‘Sounds a bit bleak.’

It was strange to be forced to delineate his beliefs in this way. A taboo was being broken. ‘I believe people can heal themselves.’

‘Themselves?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘How?’

‘Ye-es. How?’

Stephen spread his hands. ‘Create something. Almost anything. Get your body moving. Have sex.’

‘Sex? Not love?’

‘Love’s a bonus.’ He’d forgotten, as he spoke, that he was having this therapeutic sex with Alec’s teenage daughter, and that in the nature of things Alec was unlikely to be pleased.

Beth appeared at his elbow and he turned to her with some relief. ‘I hear you’re off to Paris.’

‘Yes.’ She flushed and looked sideways at Robert, who was chatting to Mark and Angela. ‘I just hope things’ll be all right here.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ Stephen said. ‘Justine’s very competent. You’re a lucky man,’ he added to Alec, raising his glass.

The doorbell rang again. So that’s what they’d been waiting for. Another guest.

Robert went this time, and came back into the room with Kate Frobisher, almost unrecognizable, to Stephen at any rate, in a smart dress, earrings and make-up. She looked around the room as Robert gave her a drink, and her eye lighted first on Stephen. He moved towards her and, aware of being the focus of all eyes in the room, kissed her on the cheek. When he looked round, he saw Justine standing inside the doorway watching him.

A couple of minutes later Beth announced that lunch was ready and they all trooped along to the dining room.

So that’s it, Stephen thought, looking around the group. Beth and Robert, Alec and Angela, Justine and Mark, Kate and himself. The animals went in two by two, the elephant and the kangaroo. It wasn’t, to be fair, easy to see what else Beth could have done, but it had made Justine very angry. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it himself. Ah, well, two hours, three at the most, and they could all go back home.

He’d have to watch what he drank, though. Three whiskies on an empty stomach had already loosened his tongue, and in retrospect he regretted the conversation with Alec.

*

Lunch was surprisingly pleasant, given that two of the guests were thinking of murdering their hostess. Beth appeared relaxed, though she listened more than she spoke. Stephen, observing her, thought that he’d never seen her properly before. He was still struck by that curiously blurred quality of her features, but he also noticed now a certain steeliness, even aggression. Robert, at the other end of the table, though he radiated energy, would be no match for her. Or at least not in this domestic setting, but then, like so many workaholic men, Robert was passive in his own home, content to leave everything to his wife, to be physically present and emotionally absent at the same time. He wouldn’t leave her. It would take too much time away from his precious research.

Kate was charming, and he spoke mainly to her. She looked ten years younger, and not merely because of the make-up. Her shoulder was better. The manipulation under a general anaesthetic had worked brilliantly. Even if it hadn’t been for the problems with Peter — here she lowered her voice — she’d have been able to manage on her own now.

‘Did Peter get back to you?’

‘Yes, he sent me a very nice letter saying how pleased he was I was better and thanking me —’

‘What was he thanking you for?’

‘The experience — he said it had been very important to him, and…’ A self-deprecating smile. ‘I gave him a month’s wages in lieu of notice.’