Pat Barker - Double Vision

‘ Kate .’

‘We-ell… I thought, in the end, what’s the point of having a confrontation? And when I look back, I think my own reaction was pretty odd. Mad. I must have been very low in confidence or something because I really felt that dressing-up thing was saying something about me . And, of course, it wasn’t — it was entirely about him.’

‘You think you overreacted? I don’t think you did.’

‘No, I think I was right to get rid of him. It’d… It was really peculiar. It’d turned into a kind of battle…’ She raised her hands. ‘Anyway, it’s over now, and my shoulder’s better, and… It’s great, just to be able to put on a sweater and not get stuck halfway.’

Faced with the mental image of Kate pulling on a sweater, Stephen became aware of her perfume, her closeness. Sunlight gilded the lines of her throat and neck where Ben’s amulet caught the light and glittered. She asked how he was getting on with the book, and he told her quite well. He was two thirds of the way through the final draft, though he might have to break off and go down to London for a few days to sort things out down there. ‘The money’s come through on the house. So we ought to be able to get the divorce settlement sorted out, and then…’

‘Will you move back to London?’

‘I don’t know. The obvious thing to do is rent and wait for the market to collapse. And I’m happy here, for the time being. I don’t know what it’s going to be like when the book’s finished and I’m trying to earn my living freelance. I know people say you can do it with just e-mails and faxes, but I’m not sure. I don’t know to what extent you really need to be a face on the scene.’

‘You won’t go back full time?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Congratulations. You’ve actually done what Ben always said he would do.’ Her fingers strayed to the amulet round her neck. ‘And never did.’

Stephen said quickly, ‘Anyway, all that’s in the future. At the moment I feel everything’s on hold till the book’s finished. It’s ridiculous. I know I shouldn’t be doing it.’

‘What?’

‘Sacrificing life to work.’

She laughed. ‘Tell me about it.’

She seemed genuinely interested in his plans, and that meant a lot. If he only came away from his time in the north with Kate’s friendship, it would have been time well spent. Meanwhile, he really ought to cut back on the drinking. Robert, who was a generous host, kept replenishing his glass, which made it difficult to keep track. He was slightly drunk, not incapacitated, but floating on a golden cloud two or three inches above the carpet. He’d reached the stage of being in love with all the women in the room: the glint of down on Angela’s cheek, Justine’s ferocious blue-eyed stare — she seemed to be glaring at him, he couldn’t think why — Kate’s hands, which she was so ashamed of. Even with make-up on, and jewellery, she did nothing to draw attention to them, no nail varnish, no rings, except her wedding ring, and he wanted to say, ‘You’re wrong about them. They’re beautiful.’ Justine’s mouth was up to its usual trick of erasing lipstick. He found that incredibly erotic: the body rejecting artifice, so much sexier than any of the obvious things. He was trying to remember a time — he couldn’t even recall where, let alone when — he and Ben had been at some kind of lap-dancing club. God knows why, it wasn’t the kind of thing they went in for, but somehow there they were. Crowded room, smoke, drink, blue berets everywhere. Wherever two or three peace-keepers are gathered together in the UN’s name, there is a lap-dancer in the midst of them — not always voluntarily either. And despite knowing that many of these women were victims, he’d had a glimpse of why some men hate women. It’s demeaning to find yourself salivating like one of Pavlov’s bloody dogs just because some woman you don’t even fancy pushes her arse into your face. How much sexier the glimpse of a nipple under a white shirt blouse, especially when the girl doesn’t even know she’s showing it. Justine was now positively glaring, but when he raised his eyebrows and mouthed ‘What?’ she turned away and focused her whole attention on Mark, who was gazing at her like a love-sick calf.

When the time came to clear the table, Justine did it with such a startling bang and clatter he feared for the plates. Alec looked at her, reflectively, and then at Stephen. Stephen found it surprisingly difficult to meet his gaze. Are your intentions towards my daughter honourable? Somewhere, in the air above their heads, the ridiculous Victorian question hovered, and could not, despite the modern world with all its changes and complexities, be entirely discounted. No, not honourable, Stephen said, looking at the flicker of sunlight on the table cloth, but, at least, I hope, kind.

They went into the drawing room for coffee, and Stephen sat by Angela, who answered his remarks almost at random, her eyes never leaving Alec’s face. There were two hectic spots on her cheeks, she had a general air of recklessness and abandon. She’d grown tired, he could tell, of being the person she was, this silly menopausal woman who kept rams as pets and arranged flowers in the church and fell obviously, humiliatingly, in love with the vicar. What an identity to cart about in the twenty-first century. She had no possible grounds for believing in her own existence. Yet here she was, and he could sense her summoning up the courage to change or ruin her life.

Alec was talking to Robert about the ethics committee they both served on. Oh, God, Stephen thought, blastocysts again. Robert was unfailingly courteous, but he was off duty. Alec, of course, was not.

After a while Stephen became aware that Justine had not joined them. He went down to the kitchen to find her beginning to wash the dishes. Beth, he knew from previous visits, never trusted this particular service to the dishwasher. Justine squirted washing-up liquid at the bowl as if she were wielding a flame-thrower. A huge foaming monster drooped and glooped over the edges of the sink, and when she turned round to face him, shaking her hands, great blobs of foam flew off into the air, one landing on his cheek where it popped stinging bubbles into his eye.

‘Leave that. Come on upstairs.’

‘It won’t take a minute.’ Tight-lipped. ‘Anyway, I’m surprised you noticed I wasn’t there.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You know what I mean.’

He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Justine.’

‘Sober up, Stephen, you’re pathetic.’

‘What?’ He tried a cooler approach. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Your bloody sister-in-law, for one thing. She should concentrate on her own marriage, not go poking her nose into other people’s lives. I suppose you know Robert’s screwing around?’

‘I think he might have a girlfriend.’

‘A girlfrien d ? He fucks his way round the conference circuit like a rabbit on amphetamines.’

He was shocked. ‘Has he tried it on with you?’

‘Oh, come on. Do you really think your brother’s stupid enough to shit on his own doorstep? I don’t think so. Anyway, he’s never here. And neither of them’ — she jerked her thumb at the window — ‘pay anything like enough attention to that .’

Adam had slipped away from the table as soon after the pudding as he reasonably could and was now mooching about in the garden, poking a long stick into the pond.

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Getting dead leaves out.’

‘She wasn’t really interfering. She just invited a few people for lunch. That’s all she’s done.’

‘Bollocks.’ Another plate banged down on to the draining board. ‘She knows exactly what she’s doing. It’s bad enough having Romeo and bloody Juliet up there, without you slobbering over Kate as well.’