Rachel Cusk - The Temporary

‘Well, I wasn’t, not to begin with. But then we had a sort of — arranged marriage.’

‘What do you mean?’ She wondered why Stephen could never say anything in a normal way.

‘Oh God, it was so long ago now.’ He waited, as if he had changed his mind, but when she didn’t speak either he continued. ‘Well, I got into a spot of trouble, as it were, and as a punishment they made me look after Ralph.’ He laughed. ‘Not much of a compliment to him, I suppose.’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you? Well, it was just a bit of, um, high spirits. Public school, you know, hothouses of impropriety. Actually, it wasn’t really my fault. We all got caught by one of the masters, but they pinned the whole thing on me.’

‘Caught doing what?’

‘Don’t ask.’ He laughed delightedly.

‘I want to know,’ said Francine irritably.

‘Well, we were — how can I put it?’ He laughed again. ‘We were engaged in an initiation ritual, I suppose. It happened to most of the new boys, sort of to break them in. It was all pretty harmless, just sticking their heads in the bog or something.’

‘Oh.’

‘Except it all got a bit silly and the poor chap ended up strung up by his ankles with his face in the pan. No wonder he’s such a miserable bastard. Scarred him for life, probably.’

‘It was Ralph!’ said Francine triumphantly.

‘Clever girl.’ Stephen refilled their glasses. ‘So there you have it. That’s how we got lumbered with each other. Quite touching.’

‘Didn’t he have any other friends, then?’

‘Not really. Scholarship boy. His parents didn’t pay for him to go to the school,’ he explained when he saw that Francine didn’t understand. ‘And all of us nascent little snobs looked down our noses at him because he emanated from a council house. He was having rather a rough time of it. Shameful, really.’

As the words reached her ears with a muffled thud, Francine understood that she was witnessing the sudden, utter reversal of everything she had thought to be true. She sat in silence, her thoughts erased.

‘His father came to the school once to see him. Looked like a bloody tramp.’ He shook his head. ‘Then he died. They found him in some god-awful hotel room up in the north, rotting away. Horrible. I never met the mother, she was gone a long time ago. Cancer, apparently.’ He drank swiftly from his glass. ‘Poor chap’s a bit of a sad case.’

As quickly as she could accommodate each blow, another rained down on her, and as the images grew in her head she felt their contamination. She imagined his house, drawing vaguely on the topography of her old town to depict a bleak box wreathed in grubby washing, and then thought of Ralph’s father, a filthy tramp, lying in a hotel room. She had been cheated! How could he have lied to her, with his books and his educated voice and his pathetic exhibitions! How dared he make her feel inferior, as if there were something wrong with her, when he was just a common kid from a council house, the sort of person she had been taught never even to associate with! ‘Might as well get another,’ said Stephen, cheerful again suddenly as he emptied the last of the bottle into her glass.

And she had actually thought that he was posh, like Stephen — Stephen’s father was a lord, Ralph had told her — but he was just a pathetic nobody, a — what had Stephen called him? — a ‘sad case’ for whom people like Stephen felt sorry.

‘Yes, let’s,’ she said. She waited while he went to the bar, her mind churning up new outrages with every passing second. ‘So how did he get into university, then?’ she asked when he got back.

‘Ralph? Because he’s clever, of course. You don’t get into university for being rich, you idiot.’

‘I was only asking,’ said Francine bitterly. An urge to keep his alliance sweetened her tone. ‘I was just interested, that’s all. He never told me any of the things you just told me.’

‘Oh, he didn’t, did he?’ Stephen’s smile broadened. ‘Well, perhaps he doesn’t like to talk about it. It’s not all that surprising, is it?’

‘No,’ said Francine. Seeing that Stephen was defending Ralph, she dropped her eyes, drawing his attention to her own victimized feelings. ‘It’s just that I feel as if he’s lied to me.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Well, he pretended that he was — you know—’ Francine writhed her hands in distress and saw a look of comprehension dawn across Stephen’s face.

‘Thought you’d landed something out of the top drawer, eh?’ He laughed loudly, throwing back his head. ‘You little bitch! If the old dingbat had known that would make you jump ship, he’d have told you himself!’ He laughed again, wiping hilarious tears from his eyes.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Francine furiously.

‘Oh, calm down, Francine,’ said Stephen. ‘You’re a nice girl. Just go easy on Ralph. He deserves better.’

‘What, like you?’ she spat.

‘Oh, I’m no bargain, I know. God knows why he puts up with me.’ He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, and then all at once impaled her with hard, frightening eyes. ‘I should have had you myself, saved him the trouble.’

‘So why didn’t you?’ she threw back.

‘Couldn’t be bothered.’ He shrugged. ‘For Christ’s sake, what does it matter?’

‘It’s what I wanted anyway.’

‘Did you now?’ He laughed.

‘I still want it.’ Francine felt wild with drink and daring. She thought of Ralph, of the loathsome thing that was inside her. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re scared!’

‘There is the small matter of Ralph. ’

‘I don’t care about Ralph,’ smiled Francine. Exhilaration sharpened her, and she felt keenly, deliciously herself. ‘Anyway, he doesn’t need to know.’

‘You’re not such a nice girl, are you?’ Stephen sat back in his seat, amused, and shook his head. ‘Sorry, Francine, can’t do it, not again. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. Although I have to say, we’re made for each other.’

‘Why not? Just tell me why not?’

‘Ralph would kill me.’

‘I told you, he won’t find out.’

‘Of course he will. You’ll tell him. You won’t be able to resist it. I’ve been here before, believe me.’ She looked at him, not understanding, and he laughed. ‘So he didn’t tell you that, either? My, he has been discreet.’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Oh, just a little past naughtiness. It was a long time ago.’

He fiddled shamefacedly with a beer mat, and Francine suddenly saw it.

‘With his girlfriend?’ she said deliriously. ‘With — what was she called — with Belinda?’

‘Clever girl’ He smiled. ‘I fucked the love of Ralph’s life and he still goes to the pub with me. That’s friendship for you.’

‘Does he know?’ said Francine, victorious with information.

‘I told you, of course he does. First sign of a quarrel and out it came, whack over the head. And that was the end of that.’

‘What was she like?’

‘Ah, lovely,’ said Stephen wistfully. ‘But she was a bitch to Ralph. And so are you.’

‘Ralph and I are finished,’ said Francine. ‘I finished it last night.’

‘So you’ve finally freed the poor creature from your clutches?’ Stephen laughed. ‘About time too. Was he pleased?’

‘So there’s nothing to stop us.’

Through a fog of drunkenness she heard the shrill music of her voice. Stephen drew back slightly at the sound. She tried to soften herself, smiling and leaning towards him.

‘Look,’ he sighed, picking up his glass. ‘You’re a beautiful girl, Francine, but at the moment I need you like I need — look, I don’t want to get involved, OK? It’s too late for all that. So just drop it.’ He looked at the wine bottle. ‘This is empty. We might as well go.’