I Could Love You (36 page)

It’s all about trust in the end. Marriage too is a deal, you don’t leave me and I won’t leave you. It’s the assurance you both need to dare to build a home together and to have children, because that home, those children, will be for ever after hostages. Lose them and lose all.

The colours are changing in the sky. The high heavy mass of cloud is now edged with pink, its ribs glowing pink, the shadows between them still a deep grey. The band of clear sky is widening and becoming more blue. A plane crosses, trailing a tail of vapour. The high cloud, the roof of the world, continues to deepen in colour as he watches, the pink darkening to rose. All this so slowly that no change is visible, nothing but the little plane moving, and yet the whole world is being reborn before his eyes.

Now a single cloud the shape of a French loaf sails across the blue band of sky.

Everything changes. All the time. I grow older. The children leave home. Nothing is for ever. A marriage grows, a marriage changes. Is that so terrible?

Don’t take this away from me.

He means his home, his memories, their love, their history, everything they’ve built together. Isn’t this little world of theirs in which they’ve invested so much, isn’t it too substantial, too founded and rooted to be overthrown by so small a thing as a passing office affair?

Except it wasn’t small, was it? Not so much a passing affair as an earthquake. A lifetime’s longing made flesh. Desire in action.

Oh, Meg. I never meant to hurt you. You who’ve given me the most intense joy of my life.

Only sex, they say. Only sex. Jesus, if they only knew.

Santorini, that was the name of the island. The children still small enough then to be in bed before dinner, though you never quite knew when one of them would reappear saying they couldn’t sleep. Usually they were well down by nine. The rooms had no air-conditioning, so they slept under a sheet. By the morning the sheets were kicked off and lay in a white tangle on the floor.

He remembers those warm nights. Belinda naked on the bed beside him in the moonlight.

Sunrise coming. The rim of cloud on the horizon now shining gold. The sky above deep blue. The high cloud roof turning a muddy mauve, its ribs and hollows gone. The French loaf stretching, fragmenting, forming a long broken stripe of cloud that catches the unseen sun and glows, dazzles.

There are forces at work in the world that are beyond my power to control. I can’t soften Belinda’s anger or heal her wounds. What’s done is done. All I can do is tell her again the simple truth.

I still love you as much as ever.

Here comes the sun. The high canopy of cloud burns away. All colour drains from the sky. Only this blinding dominating light that floods the universe.

Dazzled, Tom turns his head away from the window and finds the kitchen raked with brilliance. His coffee mug throws a long sharp-edged shadow over the table. Wine glasses glitter on the sideboard. Hanging copper pans glow with fire. The far wall is luminous with sunshine: this winter dawn in Sussex as radiant as high noon over the Aegean.

Belinda comes down to breakfast fully dressed, and finds Tom sitting in the kitchen in his bathrobe. They’ve hardly talked since the weekend. It’s like they’ve come to this agreement to act as if nothing’s happened. Tom’s been doing long hours at work, she’s hardly seen him. And what is there to say that hasn’t already been said?

I could tell him about Kenny.

She almost laughs aloud. She spent all day yesterday not thinking about Kenny. The very thought of telling Tom makes her feel dizzy with shame.

Then there he is in his stripy bathrobe looking all lost and alone. It’s quite touching in its way. Or it would be if he wasn’t such a tosser.

‘How long have you been down here?’

‘I’ve been watching the sky,’ he says. ‘I saw the whole dawn.’

‘Nice for you.’ But that sounds mean. ‘How was it?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever watched all of a dawn before. It makes you feel, oh, you know. Close to eternity.’

She pads about the sun-filled kitchen putting on the kettle, getting out bread for toast, reaching down the honey. Close to eternity. That’s not the way he talks usually. But once again she feels touched.

‘Do you want some coffee?’ She sees he has a mug. ‘Some more coffee?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘I should get dressed.’

But he doesn’t move. He’s watching her. It’s like he’s waiting for her to tell him about Kenny. Which is ridiculous because he knows nothing, and doesn’t need to know.

‘I did something so stupid,’ she says.

I don’t believe this. I’m going to tell him. Why am I doing this? This is not a good idea.

But on she goes, quite unable to stop herself.

‘Did I ever tell you about Kenny?’

‘Kenny who?’

‘A boy I knew a million years ago. When I was seventeen. Anyway, we got back in touch the other day.’

She’s watching herself, fascinated, horrified.

Just how much am I going to tell? I’m a runaway train. Hold on to your seat belts. Adopt the brace position.

‘He asked me to meet up with him. At the Gatwick Hilton. So I did.’

‘The Gatwick Hilton? That’s a crap hotel.’

‘Oh, Tom.’

She almost laughs. He’s offended because she did it in a crap hotel.

‘Anyway, there he was. Lying on the bed.’

‘In the Gatwick Hilton? Why?’

Slow off the mark, Tom. But you’ll get there.

‘He thought it was a date.’

‘When was this?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday!’

She’s watching his face. He’s putting it together, working out what it all means. Slide over the details, for Christ’s sake. Don’t say too much.

‘How do you know he thought it was a date?’

Because of the details. One of them, at least.

‘Remember I was just so pissed off with you. Which I still am. For being such a fucking fucker.’

‘Yes.’ He concedes the point. ‘I’ve not forgotten.’

‘So I go into the room, and there he is, lying on the bed.’

‘In the Gatwick Hilton.’

She starts laughing, without knowing why. Except that it’s hilarious. And horrible. Tom starts laughing too, and he certainly doesn’t know why. He’s laughing because she’s laughing.

‘He’s lying on the bed,’ he prompts.

‘And he’s naked.’

‘Naked!’

‘And he’s got this great big hard-on.’

‘This great big—!’

Tom explodes with laughter.

‘He’s naked and he’s bald and I hardly even recognize him,’ says Belinda, ‘and he’s lying there with his dick in the air on this bed in the Gatwick Hilton and he says, “Surprise, surprise!”’

She can’t go on. She’s laughing too much.

‘He actually said that? “Surprise, surprise”?’

She nods, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks.

‘He called it Matey.’

‘Matey? No! He couldn’t have!’

‘I swear to you. He’d taken some Viagra. He said, “Matey’s good for hours.”’

Tom rocks back and forth hugging his knees with laughter. They’re laughing together like they laughed in the old days, and somehow everything feels right again. Except he doesn’t know the rest of it.

‘Oh, Tom,’ she says. ‘I’m such a fool.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I don’t want to tell you. You’ll divorce me.’

‘Makes a change from you divorcing me.’

‘It’s a really tricky situation, you know? I mean, you don’t want to be rude.’ She laughs again, hearing herself. ‘I mean, like, impolite.’

‘What on earth had you said to him?’

‘Oh, God, I don’t know. I suppose I had flirted with him in our emails. I just wanted to get back at you for being—’

‘A fucking fucker. Yes, I remember.’

‘But I never said anything about sex. I mean, you don’t, do you? You don’t say in an email, Get ready so we can do it the minute I walk in the door.’

‘Knickers off ready when I come home.’

‘What?’

‘It spells Norwich. You were supposed to put it on the back of the envelope when writing to your girlfriend.’

‘Norwich?’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘Go on. What did you do?’

‘It’s all right for you,’ she says. ‘You’re a man. You can always blame Matey. But if you’re a woman you can go ahead even if you don’t want to. It happens all the time, actually.’

He’s looking at her with such a sweet smile.

‘So you went ahead.’

‘Oh, Tom.’ She feels terrible. ‘I couldn’t work out how not to. It just seemed so – well, so impolite.’

‘Come here.’

She comes to him. He takes her in his arms.

‘You’re a very generous lady. And always polite.’

She feels his arms round her, softly stroking her, and she bends down and gives him a little kiss. It’s going to be all right after all. He doesn’t mind. Actually, he’s quite turned on.

‘So you did it.’

‘I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry. I’m such a fool. It wasn’t any fun at all. I just shut my eyes and let him get on with it.’

‘Not even a tiny bit of fun?’

‘Not really. He’s such a jerk. The only good bit …’

She stops. Don’t say it.

‘What was the only good bit?’

This confessional urge, it’s out of control. He’s stroking her bum and she’s telling him stuff he seriously doesn’t need to know.

‘Well, this great big hard-on. You know, it does a girl good to feel like she’s wanted.’

‘Yes. I can see that.’

‘Though I suppose it was only the little blue pill.’

‘No, it was you. You’re gorgeous.’

‘Don’t you mind?’

‘I’d mind if I thought you were going to go off with him.’

‘Oh, Tom.’

She kisses him again, this time for longer. As their lips touch she feels such a surge of love for him that it makes her giddy. She slips her hand down inside his bathrobe.

‘This doesn’t make us quits,’ she says.

‘No.’

‘You started it. And yours went on longer.’

‘That’s true.’

She has her hand on his cock. It’s getting hard.

‘So you’re far worse than me. And you had more fun.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I’m not going to do any better, at my age. And I’ve got used to you. And I need a husband to pay the bills.’

Now his cock is really hard. She wants to fuck him there and then. How has this happened? There’s something so familiar about his cock. It does a man good to feel like he’s wanted.

Then comes the sound of sleepy footsteps down the stairs.

Chloe’s not usually up early but she’s hardly slept all night and she feels like hell. She’s wearing what she calls her pyjamas but are actually a tiny pair of shorts and a T-shirt. As she comes into the kitchen it’s so bright she has to shut her eyes.

Her mother comes over to her while she’s standing there, blinking, wishing she’d had more sleep, and she gives her this great big hug. Chloe feels her warm arms round her and oh Christ she wants so much to be loved, so of course the next thing you know she’s sobbing her heart out.

‘Darling. Sweetheart. What is it?’

‘Nothing. I’m fine. It’s nothing.’

She cries and cries in her mother’s arms.

‘Boyfriend trouble?’

She nods.

‘Which one this time? I can’t keep up.’

‘Just some man. Just another bloody man.’

‘Oh, a man. I know about them.’

‘Why does it have to be so hard, Mum?’

‘I don’t know, darling. It just is.’

Chloe wipes her eyes and blinks some more in the bright sunlight. What happened to winter? Her mother gets her some juice from the fridge. They all sit at the kitchen table just like a real family. Which maybe they are after all.

‘Could be worse,’ says her father. ‘At least we’re not dead.’

‘I’d rather be dead,’ says Chloe.

‘Life isn’t boring. Things keep on happening.’

‘Too bloody much, thank you very much.’

Her mother starts laughing for no reason.

‘What’s the joke?’

‘Us,’ she says.

‘I don’t see what’s so funny.’

‘Oh, you know. The way we always want what we haven’t got and don’t want what we have got until it’s taken away from us. You’d think we were still five years old.’

‘That’s what wanting something is,’ says Chloe. ‘If you’ve got it, how can you want it?’

‘Ah,’ says her father. ‘That’s the trick.’

‘That’s the tricky trick,’ says her mother.

They both start to laugh. Chloe looks from one to the other, both laughing at nothing at all, and she feels like laughing herself. No reason. But it is a mess, isn’t it? You only really ever love the one who doesn’t love you back. Like, who arranged that?

Her father gets up.

‘Better get dressed, I suppose,’ he says.

He goes upstairs.

A moment or two later her mother gets up too.

‘There’s something I have to talk to Tom about,’ she says.

She goes upstairs too.

Chloe’s left alone in the sun-filled kitchen. She realizes she’s hungry. The Weetabix is all finished which pisses her off until she remembers it was she who finished it. So she has Sugar Puffs, making a high hill in the bowl. She thinks of Guy saying, ‘I don’t do love.’ She thinks of the key ring she got for him. She starts to cry again.

What are you supposed to do? You meet someone who makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and he tells you to fuck off but where do you go? It’s like someone says, Hey, here’s the promised land, take a peek, just enough to know where you’re living is crap. Then they shut the door and you’re on the outside.

Don’t expect too much, they say. Don’t ask for the moon. But what if the moon’s the only thing you want? It’s not like you can control what you want. You can’t say, Oh, goody, I’ve got this spoon. I’ll want this spoon. No, you want what you want.

So fuck him. He’s gone. I’ll find someone else. And when I’ve found him I’ll make him love me so much he’ll never leave me, but if he does I’ll kill him.

Got that? And don’t tell me you don’t do love. You do love or I kill you. You, my future lover, who’s going to make everything be all right.

Or my past lover. That happens too. You go chasing round picking up strangers, waiting for lightning to strike, and all the time your true lover is someone you’ve known for ever.

Maybe it’s Hal. She thinks of him then, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his brooding eyes and his guitar, pinging away at the strings. He asked her to send him a picture of her and she never did.