Rachel Cusk - Saving Agnes

‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Merlin as he arrived. ‘I’ve been terrorised. Bomb scare.’

He took off his coat and put it on a vacant chair. The smell of damp wool pervaded the air. It reminded Agnes of congested buses and discomfort. He didn’t look very well, she noticed; not exactly ill, but with that pinched, worried look she had begun recently to notice in her own features. She wondered what was wrong with him.

‘Shall I have something with a lime?’ he was mumbling, scanning the menu. ‘Or maybe something with caffeine. Coffee with a lime. What are you drinking?’

Agnes turned her bottle around so that the label showed. She had begun to feel less ingratiating of late, especially towards men. It had occurred to her that emanation generated a certain type of vulnerability. It made one a known quantity, and thus easier to injure. She wanted to be more reserved and hence tougher, like Nina.

‘Does that come with a lime?’ Merlin inquired.

She nodded and then shrugged to suggest that the citrus feature was optional.

‘Will it talk to me?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Agnes allowed.

‘Well, don’t shrug, then. I’ve had a horrible day. I can’t cope with shrugging.’

Agnes realised she had perhaps chosen the wrong moment to experiment with her new style of gender relations. Merlin was staring fixedly at the menu.

‘What time does the film start?’ he said, looking up. ‘Try and answer that with a shrug, baby.’

‘Baby?’ Agnes precipitantly replied, all concessions for the moment abandoned in the light of this new outrage. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Generic term, ironically employed. No offence intended.’

‘None taken,’ she conceded gallantly. ‘Besides, you underestimate me. Eight and a half shrugs, in answer to your question.’

‘Right.’ He tried to flag down a waiter and failed. The sleek-haired, black-clothed minions cut sneeringly through the crowded tables like sharks, unapproachable. ‘These people are the end,’ he sighed. ‘Talk about power-broking. We should have them all deported.’

Agnes was moved by his views on immigration to stare at him.

‘Are you okay?’ she inquired.

‘Apart from being temporarily invisible, yes. How about you? You seem a little — on edge.’ He contemplated her wearily. ‘Hey, what’s happened to your face?’

‘What do you mean?’ Agnes put her hands to her face, searching for hitherto unnoticed deformities.

‘Your mouth is missing,’ he baldly replied.

Agnes glared at him, speechless.

‘Thanks a lot!’ she burst out finally. ‘Thanks a bloody lot, Merlin. I’m just not wearing any make-up, okay? Is that a problem? Look—’ She glanced an old plastic bag fortuitously discarded at her feet and held it aloft. ‘Look, I can wear this over my head if it offends you!’

‘Agnes, hang on a minute, will you?’ he interjected. ‘I was only joking, honestly. I like it. It suits you.’

‘Well, that’s okay, then. As long as the men are happy.’

‘Oh, Agnes, you know I didn’t mean—’

‘Shall we talk about something other than my cosmetic arrangements?’

‘Fine.’ Merlin’s face betrayed an emotion which resembled suppressed laughter. ‘Um — work. How’s work?’

‘It’s fine. Everyone’s in a funny mood, though, especially Jean. She’s got a new boyfriend.’

‘Jean has a boyfriend!’ laughed Merlin with relish. ‘The crone of Finchley Central! The scourge of leisured people everywhere! That’s really funny.’

‘Why?’ said Agnes coldly. ‘Does she have to be young and pretty and submissive to deserve a man?’

‘That’s not—’

‘Let’s just hope she knows how lucky she is, Merlin. Heaven forbid that she should take it for granted that a member of the hallowed sex finds her attractive.’

‘Agnes, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I thought Jean was official material. I was only trying to make you laugh. Come on, tell me about it. Tell me how she met him.’

Unfortunately for Merlin, his wheedling tone reminded Agnes of John, who had used to treat her enraged outbursts with precisely that same indulgent manner, which, in her view, should be reserved for fractious children and pets.

‘Don’t condescend,’ she said.

‘What? I wasn’t! What’s wrong with you?’

‘Does there need to be something “wrong”? Would it make you feel better if I said I was suffering from pre-menstrual tension?’

Merlin looked at her. Other people in the café appeared to be looking at her. If there had been a mirror handy Agnes would have looked at herself, but there wasn’t. The phrase ‘pre-menstrual tension’ appeared to be echoing around the tables.

As the first heroic flush of her blitzkrieg passed, she began to grow rather uncomfortable. Merlin continued to stare at her in amazement. Suddenly he started to laugh. His shoulders shook and tears began pouring from his eyes. After a while, it became clear to Agnes that he was actually crying.

‘I think we’d better leave,’ he gasped.

They waded through the suddenly heavy silence in the café and stumbled out into the rain on Upper Street. Tall buses sped by in ebullient sprays of water. Agnes walked as close to Merlin as she dared without actually touching him. He had stopped crying and in fact seemed quite cheerful.

‘Never in my life,’ she announced as they approached Highbury Corner. ‘Never in my life have I made someone cry.’

This was almost a lie. John had once cried like a crocodile for her — over something she’d conveniently done when he’d already decided to leave her, which action his tears consequently justified — but that didn’t count.

‘Look!’ he had said, pointing to a single drop which crawled down his cheek like a snail, leaving a silvery mark. ‘Look what you’ve done — you’ve made me cry!’

He had seemed rather proud of it, and Agnes had not had the heart to suggest that this effusion might be owing to that summer’s exceptional pollen-count, rather than her own cruelty.

‘Well, I was laughing, really,’ Merlin confessed. ‘But it sort of metamorphosed.’

Agnes decided this was probably not the time to take issue with the laughter, certain as she was that in this case she really had precipitated it, and furthermore that she had done so for reasons which were looking less favourable from her own point of view with every passing moment.

‘Anyway, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I suppose I was rather excessive.’

Merlin laughed.

‘Yes, I had noticed a certain — what shall we say? — a certain defensiveness in your manner these days. Do I take it that the aforementioned hallowed sex are not your favourite gender at the moment?’

‘No,’ she said crossly. ‘And can you blame me?’

‘I suppose not. I’m just being selfish. I like you the way you are — I don’t want you to go changing on me. You were going to be my comfort in old age.’ He took out a tissue and blew his nose. ‘But apart from that minor consideration, you’re free to wield your spear anywhere you want. You didn’t really make me cry, anyway. I’ve got other things on my mind.’

‘Oh,’ said Agnes, trying not to feel offended. ‘So what’s wrong, then?’

‘Woman trouble, I suppose.’

They crossed the road and turned into Highbury Fields. Dark trees dripped heavily around them and the rain grew misty over the grass. Agnes didn’t like the thought of Merlin having woman trouble. It wasn’t the sort of trouble he was supposed to have.

‘So who’s the woman?’

‘What? Oh, my boss, actually.’

‘Your boss? I didn’t know your boss was a woman. That’s really interesting.’

‘Agnes, this is hardly the time for a feminist corporate headcount. I’m trying to bare my soul here.’