Rachel Cusk - In the Fold

‘I was the third woman Sam got pregnant,’ Charlie said, to me. ‘He kept the identity bracelets the others were given when they went into hospital. He had them in a little box. When I came back from the clinic he showed them to me.’

Rebecca laughed. Charlie looked at her quizzically.

‘I’m not joking,’ she said severely. ‘It’s true. Do you remember that flat I lived in after I left Sam?’

Rebecca laughed again. ‘Oh God, I do remember that flat.’

‘The door wouldn’t lock properly and the armchair looked like someone had died in it and on the wall beside the bed there was this funny shaped stain, and one day I was looking at it and I realised the shape was human, that it was the outline of a person who had sat on the bed leaning against the wall for so long that he’d left a sort of imprint there.’

‘Please,’ said Rebecca, putting her hands in front of her face.

‘Anyway, I used to have these dreams when I was there and in the dreams I was always where I actually was, in that bed, in the dark, with the mark on the wall next to me. And then I’d wake up and I’d be there, in the same room. There was no difference between my dreams and reality, do you see what I mean? That was hell,’ she said consideringly. ‘I found it in that funny room.’

Out in the street, on the far side of the house, the sounds of several car doors closing came into the sedate room like a muffled volley of gunshots.

I said: ‘I don’t think you can say that you haven’t suffered.’

‘Oh, I’m just making you feel sorry for me,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s all part of my routine. This is why no one’s ever dared to hold me to account.’

‘But what have you actually done ?’ Rebecca exclaimed. She looked prepared to be amused.

‘At least you’ve resisted the temptation to be honest,’ I said.

‘I’m not sure I can resist it,’ Charlie said.

‘Is it infidelity ?’ interposed Rebecca, making quotation marks with her fingers around the word “infidelity”.

I was arrested by her tone, as well as by the quotation marks.

‘Why do people make such a fuss about “ infidelity ”?’ she repeated. She examined her nails. I noticed her hand was shaking. ‘Rick and Ali positively use it as a sex aid.’

‘Do they have a — what’s it called? An open marriage?’ said Charlie, wide-eyed.

‘They like to speculate about other people,’ I said. ‘It’s not quite the same thing.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Rebecca. Presently I realised that she was speaking to me.

‘It’s completely harmless,’ I said.

‘It’s not an open marriage,’ Rebecca said to Charlie, ‘it’s a bloody bazaar. It’s an end of season sale. Don’t tell me Rick’s never come on to you.’

Charlie shook her head. ‘Should I feel insulted?’

‘Come to think of it, you’re probably too old for him. He hasn’t slept with one of my friends for years. He’s got all Marco’s girlfriends to distract him now.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said. I wanted to put Hamish down but he had locked his legs tenaciously around the backs of my knees. ‘That is a complete misrepresentation of the facts.’

‘Don’t use that language against me!’ shrieked Rebecca, gripping the edge of the table. ‘I’m not asking for your judgement! I don’t need you to authorise my conversation!’

‘I’m only pointing out that saying things isn’t the same as doing them.’

‘Isn’t it? Isn’t it?’ Rebecca cried. ‘No, come to think of it, it’s worse! At least there’s some honesty in doing it — at least there’s some fucking implication! They’re so fucking frightened of it happening that they can’t stop talking about it!’

‘Becca,’ said Charlie, reaching out to take Rebecca’s hand.

‘I don’t understand your shame,’ Rebecca said to her in a jagged voice. A tear sped down her cheek. ‘I just can’t understand it. I wish I’d done things I couldn’t account for. I wish I had the guts. I’d tell everyone about it — I’d shout it from the fucking rooftops!’

She put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook so that the little frilled sleeves of her dress trembled.

‘I wish I had the guts to tell them all to go to hell,’ she wept.

‘Mummy,’ said Hamish.

Rebecca sat and cried into her white hands.

‘I wish I could send them all to hell!’

Charlie gave me a look of enquiry which Rebecca raised her tear-streaked face in time to notice.

‘Oh, don’t expect him to care!’ she cried. ‘We’re all sinners in his book, you know! Don’t expect him to lift a finger — he let me go a long time ago!’

‘Mummy mummy,’ said Hamish.

‘He never stood up to them. You ask him, you see if he did! He never judged them on my account!’

‘You wouldn’t have wanted me to,’ I said.

‘I wanted you to fight for me!’ she shrieked.

‘I love you,’ said Hamish.

Rebecca put her face in her hands again and the tears dripped through the grille of her fingers.

‘I’m tired of being good,’ she sobbed. ‘I should have gone crazy — I should have gone completely crazy. I should have told them just to go to hell!’

‘I love you, mummy,’ said Hamish.

‘I want to find out what will happen if I stop being good,’ wept Rebecca wildly. ‘I want to stop being good!’

Hamish got off my lap. Charlie was leaning across the table in the gloom with her hands outstretched, her prominent features casting little blocks of shadow over her face. My wife sat weeping in her chair. The pale silky material of her dress and her light-toned skin and hair gave her a formless, undulating appearance in the unlit room: she glimmered like some unearthly creature and water streamed from her eyes. She folded herself over so that her face rested on her knee and her back shook as the long tremor of each sob passed strenuously through her. Hamish stepped around the table to where she sat and spread himself carefully over her. He laid his chest over her back and wrapped his arms around her quaking sides so that his feet were almost lifted off the ground. He pressed his cheek into the back of her neck. He covered her unresponsive body with as much of himself as he could, as though in preparation for the great indifference of the latitudes towards which he saw himself now embarking; like some creature, a barnacle, an anemone, that knows only how to adhere, to cling on for dear life.

I phoned Adam at The Meadows. He said:

‘You’ll never guess what’s happened.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Vivian’s done a bunk,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s gone.’ I heard him take a drink of something. ‘Packed up her things and gone.’

‘When did that happen?’

‘Yesterday. I brought dad back from the hospital and she was nowhere to be found.’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘We do now,’ he said. ‘She’s in Spain. She called Jilly from the airport. Said she was going to those friends of hers, the ones with the ranch.’

‘Oh well,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she’ll come back.’

There was a pause. The ice in Adam’s drink made pebbly sounds in the receiver.

‘I don’t think she can,’ he said. ‘Dad says he’ll have her arrested if she sets foot on Egypt again.’

‘That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘She killed the dogs,’ Adam said.

‘She didn’t.’

‘She did. She put rat poison in their feed. We found them locked in the stables. They were lying there in the straw as stiff as a pair of boards.’

I pictured their silent, rough-haired bodies clearly.