Alan Goodwin - Gravity's Chain

I poured a tequila and reread Mary’s letter. The sour taste of the drink turned my stomach and sent a shiver through my body. I almost pined for the chance to vomit and rid my body of the accumulated poisons of the past days. Such vomit would carry an awful taste of old alcohol and maybe a taste never to be forgotten. For long seconds I teetered on the edge of a future abstinence. The room felt more oppressive than at any time during the heat wave and I felt sweat trickle down my trunk and between my thighs. I squirmed as the threadbare patch of the sofa chafed the undersides of my legs. What mischief had this sofa seen over the years of student tenants? The mere thought of what might have lived here before added to my discomfort, but I lacked the energy to move. I continued to sit and suffer. Caroline’s breathing sounded raucous in the quiet of the room, so raucous I almost begrudged her the air she breathed. It was too hot even for the birds to sing. My stomach continued to rebel at the thought of the drink I still held in my hand. I raised it to my lips. The smell was almost enough to make me retch, but I forced the glass up and drained the liquid. The revulsion in my stomach calmed and I poured another drink, swallowing it more greedily than the first.

‘There.’ Caroline’s voice contained a heady note of triumph. ‘You read this, Jack. I’m going to get dressed and then I’m going straight out to post it.’

After reading her letter I let out a long heavy sigh. I don’t think I could have written such words to my most hated enemy. Everything Caroline had said to me was there, plus much, much more. Sister told sister that she’d never loved her and that she’d vowed to take what was most precious to her. That, of course, had proved to be me. Was that all I was to Caroline—a prize with which to wound her sister, or were they just words to ensure there was no chance of reconciliation between them? I didn’t know how much of this was true. I imagined poor Mary reading the words. What had she ever done to deserve this?

I heard the closing of a drawer and swearing from the space behind the screen where Caroline had gone to get changed. Quickly I grabbed a pen from the table and wrote at the bottom of the page: I’m sorry, Mary. Keep strong. Before Caroline returned I put the pages in the envelope she’d already addressed and sealed the flap.

‘Thanks,’ she said without suspicion. She took the envelope and left the flat. I poured another drink and returned to the sofa. I’d committed my crime against Caroline—I’d broken ranks, I’d left a crack. I don’t think I could really have done anything worse. How strange, I’d never thought how Mary might have felt for what I’d done to her, but I felt the pain from what her sister was saying. Was I in some way immune to my own wrongs, but not others’?

Four years later

Dear Jack,

How are you? Well, I hope. Thank you for your last letter. I don’t suppose I’m surprised that you and Caroline are married. When I told Mum and Dad they rolled their eyes in mock wonder but it couldn’t hide their pain. They’re still so confused about the whole thing; they just don’t understand how it has happened. They see no reason for Caroline’s hostility and why she won’t speak to them. For Dad it’s become a principle and I think he would reject her if she ever tried to contact him. But Mum’s different; she thinks about it every day and now she’s missed her daughter’s wedding. I don’t think anything will make up for that loss. Mum deflects the whole thing by blaming you. There will never be much of a welcome for you in the Roberts family I’m afraid, but then I’m sure you wouldn’t ever expect one.

I have started my first teaching job. It is all a bit scary—28 seven-year-olds and me. Still, I think it’s going OK. The kids are great and there are no complaints so far. I think I made the right choice going into teaching. I feel I have something to offer.

I saw Mike last week; he avoided talking about you until I raised the subject. He’s still such a politician. Anyway, he said to say hello if I wrote. He is still with Helen and in fact they live together now. Jo is going to spend some time in Sydney on some exchange with her job. She came for a quick drink when I caught up with Mike (he is very good at keeping in contact with everyone). She seemed quite triumphant about hearing you’d married Caroline.

So you’re in London now. You never said why you left Cambridge. I thought you were on a good thing as a research fellow there—what happened?

Anyway, I must be off. Write soon. Love,

Dear Mary,

Thanks for your last letter. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply. Now I’ve left Cambridge, I’m working at home and it’s difficult to find the time to write to you undetected. In fact I had just started this letter to you the other day, thinking Caroline was going out, when she returned five minutes later because she’d left her diary in the flat. I must have looked as though I’d been caught having sex with the dog and she came over to see what I was doing. My God, imagine if she found out that we’d been writing to each other—it would be curtains for me. I dread to think how she would react. The other night I had a dream that she found out and opened a drawer where I kept your letters. I woke up just as she was about to pick the letters up. I think the consequences were too much, even for a dream.

Now for the big news. I’m not sure how you will feel about this, so brace yourself: we’ve decided to return to New Zealand…

Picked yourself off the floor yet? I know! How about that for a bloody shock. There I was saying that we would never go back to NZ and now…well, I suppose sometimes things never turn out the way we expect them. Christ, we should know that better than anyone. Why? I hear you ask. The truth is we’re finding it hard to make ends meet over here, especially in London. I mean, it’s great here, it’s such a wonderful city, but my God it’s so bloody expensive. I could try and get a job teaching at one of the universities, but Caroline thinks that to work properly I need to have the time by myself and be free of any distractions. I think she’s probably right. The work I’m doing is going so slowly. I feel close to a major breakthrough, but I just seem to spend my time circling without ever being able to nail it down. Once I thought I glimpsed it, but it just slipped away. However, I’m confident that with some really concentrated attention I might crack it, so I suggested we go back and go to the beach house for a while and then I might have the time to get to the heart of my search.

Enough of me. It was good to hear your news. I’m sure you’ll make a great teacher. It’s funny, you know, I’ve been around universities all my life, but I’ve never taught a class. Sometimes I think how good it would be to just drop all this theoretical nonsense and teach. It is a wonderful thing to be able to help others to learn. It’s really the most important thing a society can do: educate its young, to give them the tools to do whatever they want with their lives. So good on you, I admire you for taking on the responsibility.

There’s one more thing. I would like to try and broker a peace between Caroline and you and the family. I’m not sure how to go about it, but I’m hoping that the mere fact we’re returning to NZ may make it easier to see if that’s possible. What do you think?

Dear Jack,

Well, I have picked myself off the floor. It has taken me some time to digest this news and work out what it all means.

I have to admit, my first thoughts were entirely selfish. Did I want to see you? Would you want to see me? What would it be like to see each other again? I know it’s been so many years, but I can never quite forget that the last time we actually saw each other we were lovers and we had a future. Then it was all gone, but there was never any contact between us. I don’t want us to get together again—I know that’s impossible and that you love Caroline—but how do you feel about seeing me? Can we meet? Can we sit down over a coffee and be normal? I would really like that.