Nearest Thing to Crazy (10 page)

‘Must be very different, though – going from real people to invented characters.’

‘When I was a journalist I had a knack of getting people to tell me things they wouldn’t tell other people.’ She was staring at me so directly that I felt uncomfortable. ‘I still find uncovering other people’s secrets is a really good skill to have, and it helps give me ideas.’
I shuddered, as though her teeny cowboy boots had just pirouetted over my grave. ‘Sadly we don’t have any secrets for you to uncover.’ My mouth smiled, but my eyes didn’t.

‘Everyone has secrets, it’s just that some are bigger, more interesting, than others.’

‘Well I’m sure you must have loads of experience . . . secrets . . . to draw upon, from your own exciting life . . .’ I was really trying to say: “Watch out, ’cos I know
your
secret”.

‘I can’t imagine you’d get any inspiration round here. We’re a fairly dull lot,’ Dan said.

‘You’re
definitely
not dull,’ she said, staring directly at him.

‘Actually you’re right,’ Dan said, returning her look. ‘Because
I’m a little bit unpredictable . . .’

I swear her cheeks flushed. I felt confused by her, caught off balance and struggling to understand the reason for it. Dan seemed oblivious to what was going on. Like most men, Dan was surprisingly adept at only reading face value, especially when it came to attractive women. Funny really, when you thought it was supposedly his business to work women out. I’d love to be that simple and straightforward, but life’s all about subtexts. And I was beginning to wonder whether Dan was her subtext. Had she targeted my husband for some reason? It’s not a competition, I wanted to say. Dan’s married. To me. But what made it hard was the fact that it was me who felt like the outsider because Dan was obviously being drawn in, lapping up her flattery and attention.

I gathered the dirty plates together and retreated to the kitchen. I could hear their voices through the open French windows. At one point Dan burst out laughing, a really loud, from-the-belly sort of laugh, and the thought struck me that I hadn’t heard him laugh like that in a long time, at least not with me. And I admit I felt jealous. I’d forgotten how he laughed, how
we
used to laugh together. And I could also hear Ellie chatting away as if she’d known him forever. I almost felt guilty about returning to break up the party. Almost.

Apart from the company, it was a perfect afternoon. The sun was still warm on the terrace, washing it in a soft yellow afternoon light. Fat bumblebees buzzed in and out of the lavender like miniature fluffy helicopters, and I could see one of the hens debating whether or not to risk a scavenging foray towards the table. My life: simple and uncomplicated. Okay there were a few lumps and bumps; problems that, if I’m honest, I would rather not have. But we managed. Considering, it was all fairly sorted. There was the garden, which I loved. And I was almost embarrassed to admit that I also loved looking after the house. A home bird, that was me. Not like the swallows who set off on their three thousand-mile adventure twice a year, but I suppose like a little sparrow – a stay-at-home bird. Simple, straightforward, unsophisticated. I loved tending to things. Not remotely glamorous, but I loved it. I really did. I wouldn’t want to swap with
her
. She was the one on her own, living her life – one could argue – vicariously, through the lives of other people.

I sat down and tried to retune in to their conversation. ‘Did you ever fancy writing a novel?’ Ellie was asking Dan as he refilled her glass. He neglected mine and replaced the bottle between them.

‘Yeah. As a matter of fact I did.’
‘Did you?’ I said, reaching across him to get to the bottle and helping myself. ‘You never told me.’

‘Don’t you have to write for work?’ she asked.

‘Not really. I’m an account man, not a copywriter. I’m better with clients and managing other people than being creative. But I still fancied the idea of being a proper writer.’ Dan leaned back in his chair, rocking on the legs, elbows crooked and hands behind his head. I wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him how the chair got broken last time. But that would have made me sound even more boring.

‘You should have a go. You’ll never know until you try.’

‘Yeah. Something for my retirement, maybe. I started one, once .

‘A novel?’ I was so taken aback by this revelation that I wondered if he was actually making it up. I laughed and then noticed he was frowning. ‘Are you serious?’

He ignored me and continued talking to Ellie. ‘When I was at university. You know, the usual angry young man thing. Thought I was going to be the next Salinger.’

‘What sort of things did you write about?’

‘Sex and drugs and rock and roll,’ I said. ‘Those were his major interests.’ I snorted, but they both ignored me.

Dan swung back towards the table and sighed, folding his arms in front of him. Then he leaned across and helped himself to a cigarette from Ellie’s packet and glanced at me as he lit it. His look seemed to say ‘
Tough
if you’ve got a problem
.
’ As he blew out a long stream of smoke, he answered slowly and deliberately. ‘You know that game of chance you play when you’re on the brink of a decision – how you don’t know which fork to take, and all the emotional crap that gets in the way? I was writing about this really sorted guy who’d worked out the formula for getting it right.’

I was holding my breath, wondering where this was going.

Ellie said, ‘Which was?’

‘Never think about anybody else, put yourself first, always. Otherwise if you can’t make yourself happy, how the hell are you going to make anyone else happy? I liked the idea of being free of any emotional baggage – no guilt, no responsibility, just freedom to live life as you want to.’

‘Sounds a pretty selfish way of looking at life,’ I said.

‘Not really. I just wanted to work out how to make the right decision and not worry about hurting other people.’ Dan said.

‘Was it autobiographical?’ Ellie asked.

‘To the extent that I don’t believe we can shake off our own subjectivity.’

‘And you obviously succeeded.’

‘Succeeded?’ Dan asked.
‘In getting your own formula right. I mean, just look around, it’s all perfect.’

Dan looked down at his plate, and then glanced at me before looking directly at Ellie. ‘Not exactly perfect . . .’ Dan said.

‘Dan!’ I blurted. ‘What do you mean?’

His eyes had hardened, but he formed his lips into a parody of a smile. He had drunk too much, I reasoned. It was easiest to blame the wine. And if I blamed the wine, I didn’t have to blame us. He shrugged like a petulant child and took another draw of his cigarette, and then he stubbed it out on to the middle of a blue glass plate.

Ellie had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Listen, I’d better get going. Go and search for that bloody dog.’ She stood up.

Dan stood up too, and so did I. ‘It’s nearly her supper time. I’d better go and waft my scent around so that she can follow it back to the barn. You’ve got my number?’

I nodded. ‘And you’ve got mine. Inside your copy of
Rebecca.
Call us if there’s any news.’

‘Of course. And thank you both so much for lunch . . . and for everything . . . It really has been lovely.’

I was left in my customary place, up to my elbows in hot soapy water, quietly seething. Me and the washing up and a husband I barely seemed to know. Thank God she’d gone. I scrubbed at the roasting tin so hard I could almost see my face in it. I could still hear myself:
‘More lamb? How’s your glass, Ellie? Dan . . . you’ll finish off these potatoes won’t you? Oh, thanks, yes, it is good isn’t it? I picked the rhubarb this morning . . . we’re very lucky. Yes, I
know
it looks just like the rainbow chard I gave you with the lamb . . . Cream? No, really. It’s fine. I’ll manage. Coffee? Mint tea? You just sit there and chat, you two, while I go and do everything.’ Not that they noticed whether I was there or not. No. They’d both succeeded in making me feel like a complete idiot. And most of all I felt deeply hurt by what Dan had said about his life; and about what that said about
our
lives.

I sensed the tension in him as he made a show of reorganizing the dishwasher I’d already stacked.

‘Shame about the dog,’ I said, determined to break the silence, even if it meant edging a step closer to the inevitable confrontation.

‘Yeah. She seemed really upset. She’s had it since it was a puppy, four years . . .’

‘I thought she didn’t want to talk about it.’

‘Well obviously, she talked about it when we were searching for it . . . her.’

‘Ah. Of course. Silly me.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Me? Fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘I dunno. You just seemed . . . well . . . a bit aggressive, that’s all.’

‘Aggressive?’
I’d
been aggressive? That was rich. ‘How?’

‘The way you were talking to her, as if you were being deliberately confrontational.’

‘No way!’

‘Well . . . maybe I’m wrong. But that’s just the way it appeared.’

‘Like asking her what her book was about?’

‘Well you did push it.’

‘Seemed a reasonable question. And thanks, by the way, for making me feel
this
high.’ I pinched my thumb and forefinger together, leaving a two-millimetre gap.

‘What is
wrong
with you?’ He slammed the door on the dishwasher, making the crockery rattle.

‘Me? There’s nothing
bloody
wrong with me. But it sounds as if there’s quite a lot wrong with you.’

‘Meaning?’

‘All that stuff about your novel, and your
sorted
life. How do you suppose that made me feel?’

‘It was a novel, for Christ’s sake. Fiction! Anyway, it’s not about how it’s meant to make
you
feel. Sometimes it’s not all about you. And that was a long time ago. It’s so unimportant.’

‘And I suppose
she
was interested . . . unlike
me
!’

‘You’re seriously overreacting . . .’

I pinched my lips together and concentrated on polishing a fork.
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how much she was flirting with you
. . . and you with her, for that matter.’

‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say. She’s just being friendly.’

‘To you, maybe.’

‘Well from what I saw she was perfectly friendly towards you. You were the one who was acting like the ice maiden.’

‘You just can’t see it, can you?’

‘No. Whatever it is you think I should be able to see –’

‘She’s dangerous.’

‘That’s silly and childish. And nonsense.’

‘Is it?’ To be honest I don’t think I’d framed the thought in my head until it was out of my mouth. Was she dangerous? Did I really think that? Wasn’t she just a bit screwed up? Shouldn’t I be more sympathetic and understanding? Wouldn’t I be a bit weird if I’d been through what she’d been through? Wasn’t I guilty of being insensitive and not making allowances, guilty of being over-protective of my marriage? I just didn’t want her upsetting the status quo like this, just when I hoped we were nurturing the tender shoots of our relationship back to life. And here I was pushing him away, the very last thing I wanted to do. ‘I’m sorry, Dan. Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I’m just being stupid. But it would have been nice if I’d known about your novel.’

He walked over to the doorway. ‘I’m going out.’

CHAPTER

4

He seemed to be gone for an age, and Dan wasn’t a great one for taking himself off for a walk. Not if it involved grass under his feet. And if he ever did venture out into the countryside ‘Mr Kitman’, as I called him, required a Gore-Tex jacket (nothing red or yellow – too many rambler connotations), army-surplus combats and a sturdy pair of hiking boots. He wouldn’t have been seen dead in a Barbour or a tweed cap like the rest of the men in these parts; oh no, that would have been far too
county
for Dan. I think the other husbands viewed Dan’s wardrobe with a modicum of suspicion, not quite
pukka
, I suppose, with that whiff of metropolitanism about him. I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest they thought him effeminate, but I do remember Sally once told me that Patrick reckoned Dan had more outfits than Barbie’s Ken. Frankly I was surprised that Patrick admitted he knew who Ken was, but there you go. No. Going for a walk in his jeans and blue suede loafers was definitely out of character. I suppose I could have called his mobile, but I didn’t really know what I’d say to him.
He’d probably just think I was checking up on him, and I didn’t want him to think that.

Eventually I went upstairs for what I hoped would be a soothing bath. I lay in the tub, letting the water lap over me, occasionally twiddling the hot tap with my toes and letting my thoughts drift over Ellie’s behaviour. If she
was
playing some kind of game it was probably because she was feeling vulnerable and lonely. This relationship, this psychotic man in her life, would be enough to make anyone behave strangely. Perhaps she saw in Dan all the lovely safe masculine qualities that I loved so much. He was so normal and straightforward she’d be bound to feel at ease with him. And here I was behaving like a jealous fishwife. If I’m honest, I also think the reason that I felt calmer had a bit to do with the fact that my alcohol level was dropping. Too much red wine, Dan had often pointed out, sometimes made me aggressive, and I wondered if perhaps I had gone a little over the top, maybe overreacted a teeny bit.