Rachel Cusk - Saving Agnes

‘—utterly unobtainable,’ continued Merlin.

A blast of wind roared around them.

‘But won’t you be in charge?’ said Nina into the sudden quiet of its subsidence.

‘I suppose so. Of the magazine, anyway.’

‘Well, couldn’t you make it exciting?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Change it, you know. Make it what you want.’

‘It’s called Diplomat’s Week, Nina,’ said Merlin, ‘I don’t think the scope is exactly endless.’

‘Whose side are you on?’ demanded Nina.

‘I’m not sure, but I seem to be being left behind,’ said Merlin mildly.

‘Why not?’ said Nina, addressing Agnes. ‘Diplomacy is quite interesting, actually. It’s politics. Also, it’s a weekly, so you could have a news section as well as features. You could give the magazine an opinion. That sort of thing makes you indispensable.’

‘I’m not sure how that would go down,’ said Agnes. ‘All we offer at the moment are restaurant reviews and lists of executive nightclubs. Our readership would probably simultaneously keel over if we mentioned politics.’

‘Get new readers!’ Nina cried. ‘Increase your circulation!’

Agnes’s own circulation had already visibly increased. She felt her heart pounding against her ribcage.

‘Do you think I could?’ she said, ‘I mean, do you honestly think so?’

‘Try,’ Nina replied. ‘And find out.’

‘How much would they pay you?’ Merlin inquired.

Agnes mentioned the sum Jean had proposed.

‘Well, for God’s sake,’ sighed Merlin exasperatedly. He slapped his forehead. ‘Why don’t you just do it for the money?’

‘The weirdest thing happened to me on my way here,’ said Greta, bounding into the office. ‘This guy came up to me and told me he thought I was beautiful. Can you believe it?’

‘What did you do?’ said Agnes fearfully.

‘Nothing. He just said it and then he walked away. I was kind of miffed, actually.’

She seated herself on Agnes’s desk, giving Agnes the opportunity to view at close quarters the physiognomy so admired by her benign assailant.

‘You do look well,’ she commented. ‘You obviously needed a rest.’

‘I feel different,’ Greta agreed. ‘I feel — happy, I guess. I know it may sound stupid, but I’m beginning to think those bad feelings, the ones I told you about, well, that they might have gone away.’

‘Oh!’ said Agnes delightedly. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Yeah. Neat, huh? I wonder if I’m going to meet just nice people from now on. I’ll feel like such a sleaze.’

‘But what do you think caused it?’

‘Who knows? Maybe I faced my fear, like in those encounter groups. Maybe that son of a bitch did me a favour after all. I feel exorcised.’ She grinned. ‘Born again, even. Talking of which, are you taking this goddamned job or not? Have you made up your dumb mind?’

‘Well — yes.’

‘Yes you’ve made up your dumb mind, or yes you—’

‘I’m taking the job.’ Agnes interjected, while Greta leapt and cheered around the office. ‘Although what I’m going to do with all this power I can’t imagine. Make everyone wear orange uniforms to work or something.’

‘Shame,’ said Greta. ‘I look great in orange.’

‘What do you mean?’ Agnes stared at her in horror. ‘Aren’t you going to be here?’

‘Well, no, I guess.’

‘But — but, Greta, you can’t! We’ll do everything equally, I promise. Oh, please stay! I won’t tell you what to do, I promise! Please!’

‘It wouldn’t be right,’ said Greta firmly. ‘Someone has to be boss. Besides, I’ve got other plans. I want to be a gardener.’

‘A gardener?’

‘Sure. I found this place in Highgate where I can learn. I start next month.’

‘But why?’

‘Well, it would be kind of peaceful, don’t you think? All those pretty flowers, and you get to wear overalls, and being outside all day is really good for your complexion as well.’

‘I suppose so.’ Agnes looked at her miserably.

‘Don’t look so glum, honey! You can find some robot to do all the work, and you and me can have a great time going out and getting smashed. It’ll be neat.’

‘Actually,’ Agnes confessed, cheering up, ‘I can see you as a gardener.’

‘I knew you would. And you’ll do a better job here than that Bible-bashing hussy, and things will turn out just fine. Just you wait and see.’

‘Oh, Greta.’ Agnes found herself becoming quite tearful. ‘What will I do without you? I’ll be so lonely here.’

‘You need to have some fun,’ said Greta. ‘You need to find yourself a honey and that way you’ll feel fine.’

‘Oh.’ Agnes put a hand to her own face. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t suppose anyone would be interested in me now.’

She felt a solitary tear roll down her cheek.

‘Stop that sniffling,’ said Greta. ‘Let’s go out and celebrate. Actually, I think I could stand a little action too, while we’re on the subject. Something sensitive for a change. Someone with a little innocence.’

‘Greta,’ said Agnes, ‘I have to introduce you to my friend Merlin.’

AGNES Day packed some clothes in a bag and left the house like someone leading a double life. It was cold and already dark, though she had left the office early so as to complete the commission in hand before the hours of witch and rat approached. The darkness made time uncertain. It floundered about the craven streets of north London like an amateur detective, looking for clues.

She headed towards the Blackstock Road with a furtive air. Only that morning, she and Nina and Merlin had had their modest bid for the house in Elwood Street accepted, and as a newly inaugurated member of the property-owning classes she wondered if her currently charitable behaviour would be deemed appropriate by that mysterious breed. Their purchase of the house was in itself a moderately charitable act. They were, they were agreed, to save it from the jaws of death. They would seal the crack, support the outer wall, and thus prevent their warmth, friendship and security from leaking inadvertently out. Agnes’s parents had been delighted by this news. It was, they assured her, the right time in her life to be making such a move.

She took the bus to Camden. On the high street, the yellow light overlaying the darkness gave it the look of an alien city. Beside the shuttered shop-fronts sacks of rubbish lurked lumpily in the shadows. A man rooted in a bin, tossing unwanted articles over his shoulder and putting others in his pockets. He dug out a half-eaten piece of pizza and raised it to his lips.

Agnes got off the bus and walked back to the doorway where she had loitered that evening several weeks ago, dragging the sack of clothes behind her. A group of smartly dressed people walked past her, laughing noisily. Their perfumes collided behind them like skidding cars, with disastrous results. One of the women’s jewellery clanked as she walked, as if she were made of tin. Agnes saw something on the pavement and she bent down to pick it up. It was a black leather wallet. She opened it and saw it was full of money.

‘Excuse me!’ she cried to the retreating group.

They walked on obliviously. She realised she had reached the doorstep, and she went to inspect it. It was empty. Moments later she guiltily remembered the wallet in her hand.

‘Excuse me!’ she called again, running to catch them up.

One or two of the group heard her cries, and stopped.

‘I think you dropped this,’ she panted, thrusting the wallet into the hands of the bejewelled woman.

‘Oh.’ The woman examined it. ‘No, it’s not mine. Ted!’ she called to one of the men standing ahead. ‘Ted, is this yours?’