Rachel Cusk - In the Fold

‘I don’t understand why Vivian didn’t come in,’ said Adam, for the third or fourth time. He was still holding the plastic valve in his hand. He had something of the butler about him, the castrated quality of a male given over to a life of service. He seemed to me just then to be completely without what I could only describe as poetry, or heroism; to lack, in any case, the promise or the threat of unpredictability.

‘I tell you, she’s got the blues. The first Mrs Hanbury’s got the hump and the second’s got the blues. What’s your woman like, Michael? Is she cheerful? I hope for your sake that she is.’

‘Sometimes she is.’

‘What does she make of that fur on your face? Does she like it?’

‘She doesn’t mind it,’ I said, although the truth was that Rebecca’s attitude to my beard was entirely ambivalent, and for that reason I maintained it, partly as a sort of doorstop to prevent our relationship swinging shut. For some reason, I felt that as long as I kept this semicircle of dark hair on my face I could never be said to have succumbed: I could not be negated, by love nor by hate.

‘Only doesn’t mind?’ he said. ‘I’d have thought she’d be one way or the other, if the women I know are anything to go by. The women I know like to take a definite position. As a military tactic it doesn’t work, that’s what I’m always telling them. If you take a position you’re open to attack. You’re better off keeping on the move. I always wondered whether women liked a beard,’ he said, consideringly. ‘But I could never get mine to grow. Does it increase sensation? Does she tell you that?’

I smiled in what I hoped was a mysterious fashion.

‘Oh, I see. That’s how it is. That’s how it is, is it?’ Paul looked around the featureless room impatiently. ‘Well, someone’s got to humour a sick old man — where’s Lisa? Why hasn’t she been in to see me?’

‘She doesn’t want to bring Isobel into the hospital,’ said Adam.

‘Why, does she think it’s catching, cancer of the dong? You see what I mean about protective parents,’ he said, to me again. ‘Have you been to their house? You have to take your shoes off before they’ll let you in. I feel like a horse with nothing on its hooves when I’m there. And my socks are always squiffy. That’s why Audrey won’t go there, you know. Her stiletto heels were soldered to her feet at birth. She’d go up in a puff of smoke if she ever took them off. Have you met Lisa? She’s a good girl really. She’s rather a solid girl. Very house-proud, isn’t she, Adam? Her father sells bathtubs.’

‘Jacuzzis,’ said Adam. ‘Don’t pretend you’ve never been in a jacuzzi, dad.’

‘The first Mrs Hanbury was fond of that sort of thing. I couldn’t stand it — it was like being boiled alive. And on the subject of hygiene, they’re an absolute breeding ground for germs — all sorts of people pile into them, you know, all together. You try to stretch your legs out and you find you’re playing footsie with the hairy calves of some overweight middle manager. Still, we’ve all got to earn our living, I suppose. Adam says he does rather well out of it. The problem is, you never know when that sort of craze will pass, do you? He might find himself out on his ear in a year or two, when people find some other way to waste their time and money. Do you see what I mean? It’s not like a farm, is it? You can never say, this is my patch of the earth, my place. This is where I have my being. You can’t say that about a bloody bathtub, can you?’

‘They’ve got a perfectly good patch of the earth,’ said Adam. ‘They own an eight-bedroom house in Northumberland with twenty acres of land.’

‘But it’s all in hock to the bathtubs! If the bathtubs go, so does the land!’

‘That’s how life is, dad. That’s how life is for most people. We’re not all as lucky as you.’

‘Luck has nothing to do with it,’ said Paul. ‘The best luck I’ve had is to be given the good sense not to meddle with what I have. I could have ruined it in a million different ways — look at Don Brice! Look at Si Higham, driving around in that big jalopy with the white leather seats, pleased as punch with himself, and for what? For selling all his land to the highest bidder and turning Doniford into suburbia!’

Paul was becoming quite exercised — his wiry neck and chest were dark red where I could see around the collar of the white hospital garment. I picked up Hamish, who had sat beside him on the bed all this while virtually motionless, looking straight ahead with a superior expression on his face. This time Paul let me take him with an exasperated gesture.

‘I don’t see what’s so wrong with that,’ said Adam. ‘He wasn’t farming the land — he wasn’t using it for anything. Anyway, where are people supposed to live?’

‘If they’ve got nowhere to live then they shouldn’t have been born.’

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ said Adam calmly.

‘You people,’ said Paul, ‘you people don’t understand how to desire what is actually yours — you’re always scheming, the lot of you! Always dissatisfied! Even that layabout Brendon, turning the lodge into a chicken farm when he thinks I’m not looking — a bunch of hangers-on, a pack of vultures is what you are!’

I carried Hamish to the window and together we looked down at the car park, with its symmetrical rows of shiny, unpersoned vehicles.

‘No one’s scheming, dad,’ said Adam behind me. ‘Brendon’s doing the chickens as a way of being more financially independent, that’s all. And Caris is never here — you can hardly call her a vulture.’

‘I’ll call her what I like,’ said Paul morosely. ‘She’s been a great disappointment to me.’

‘As for me, I’m just trying to help you. I’ve taken a week off work to do the lambs — even Michael is here to help you.’

‘Why?’ snapped Paul. ‘Why haven’t you got your own lives to lead? Michael, haven’t you got a family of your own? Parents of your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where are they?’

‘They live in Surrey.’

‘What are they doing there?’ said Paul, as though there were something outlandish about it.

‘They’re doctors,’ I said.

‘Doctors — are they really? Both of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose they don’t need much help then. I suppose they’re quite able to doctor on their own. Are they busy — out a lot? Don’t have time for you?’

‘Something like that,’ I said.

‘And all they’ll be leaving you is their surgical instruments, I suppose, and the house in Surrey. Mind you, that could be worth something.’

‘I don’t expect them to leave me anything.’

‘Well, they probably will, but you’re a good boy anyway. The problem with my brood,’ he said confidentially, ‘is that they’ve come in to land a bit early. They all think I’m going to pop my clogs before I’m seventy — even Caris shelled out the money for the train fare as soon as she heard I was hospitalised.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Adam.

‘She wouldn’t miss it for the world! And nor would Brendon, if he could only work out how to get here. As for the eldest son, he hasn’t let me out of his sight in years — the heir presumptive, if you know what I mean. Mind you, there’s always the jacuzzi salesman to consider. They’re bad for the heart, you know, those things. Eight bedrooms and twenty acres in Northumberland, don’t forget. He could be taking his leave any day.’

In spite of myself, I laughed.

‘Tell me what your mother’s got the hump about, there’s a good boy,’ said Paul to Adam, who was putting his coat on.

‘I’d rather she told you herself. I don’t really understand what the problem is.’