Now You See Me (21 page)

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Diana watches through half-open eyes as Tom gets dressed. She is sitting in the armchair next to the bed, still in her white lacy bra and suspenders, her legs apart, revealing the moist gap in her divided, black-ribboned panties. Tonight she is wearing vinyl thigh-length boots and there are red score-marks down his flanks from the sharp heels.

‘This is the last time, Tom,’ she says. ‘I’m giving up the flat. I won’t be here any more.’

‘What?’ He has one arm in his shirt and turns to her clumsily, shock on his face.

‘You heard,’ she says, calm and cool. ‘It’s over, Tommy. No more. Kaput.’

‘But ... you can’t. What will I do? Where will I go?’ He pulls the rest of the shirt on and gestures around the room. ‘Diana, I need you. I need this.’ His features are sharp with anxiety.

‘It’s run its course, Tom. You can go back to Rosa, try to remake your life. Or you could go to Carly.’

‘Carly? But you’re the one ...

‘No, I’m not.’ She interrupts, angry. ‘Not any more. Carly used to indulge your little habits, didn’t she? She still loves you, you know that.’ She crosses her legs and watches him.

‘I can’t believe this.’ He stands with his hands loose at his sides, shaking his head. ‘Why?’

‘No particular reason. Except I’ve had enough. It’s stopped being fun, that’s all.’

‘Diana, this isn’
t
fu
n
for me. It’s what keeps me going as a man.’ He gives a slight laugh. ‘Or as a woman, take your pick.’

‘I’m sorry, Tom. I’ve given notice. As of tomorrow.’ Her voice is hard, unyielding. She stands up and peels off her costume. She puts on a thick towelling bathrobe and sits down again, her feet tucked beneath her. She runs her fingers round the rim of her wig and removes it, letting her own hair fall around her shoulders. She scrubs at her eyes with a tissue until she is devoid of make-up. ‘See. Magic,’ she says. ‘No more Diana.’

‘No more Diana,’ he repeats, softly. ‘Is it the money? I could pay the rent of the flat ...’

‘Why don’t you listen, Tom? It’s not the money. Anyway, with what you give Rosa, I doubt if you could afford it. This is the posh end of town, you know.’

He sits on the crumpled peach satin sheets of the bed with his head in his hands. ‘So that’s it. What about all the ... stuff?’

‘The dress-ups? You can take them. Throw them away, or take them to Carly.’

‘Carly ...

‘Go. Now, Tom. I need to clean the place up. Take what you want or I’ll throw it out.’ She collects some plastic bags and helps him cram wigs and negligees and other paraphernalia into them. At the door she laughs before she kisses him goodbye. ‘Don’t have an accident with all that in your car.’ He is still shaking his head as he trudges down the stairs. She watches him until he has crossed the street, then goes inside to run a bath.

*

Carly runs to the phone from the shower with a towel wrapped around her; water dribbles down her leg onto the rug.

‘Tom? Is that you? Sorry, I only just caught the message. No, I’m not doing anything today. It’s Saturday. No, I’m not needed apparently. Of course. I’ll make something for lunch, come then.’

She puts the phone back on its rest and rubs the towel through her hair and down her body. She trails it behind her as she walks to her bedroom, where she stands in front of the full-length mirror and examines herself critically
.
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, she thinks. She wonders what to wear — jeans and a shirt, she thinks, something neutral. She’ll have to shop for food, buy flowers, do a quick clean through the house, make the spare room look keenly attractive to someone living out of a suitcase in a motel.

‘Calm down,’ she tells herself, putting on a bra and underpants. ‘Take this very, very slowly.’ But she can’t help humming to herself as she dresses; some half-remembered pop song, the only line of which she knows the words is ‘... The first day of the rest of your life’.

She brushes her hair and applies very light mascara to her eyelashes. ‘OK. You’ll do,’ she tells her reflection, and goes out to find her purse.

*

She does take it very slowly at first, letting Tom pour out his anxieties over lunch, making sympathetic comments but no physical gestures of comfort. She mentions her spare room. ‘It seems silly, Tom, for you to have nowhere to live when you could come here. We don’t need to make major decisions about whether it’s permanent, or what it means. Let’s see how it works out.’

He puts his hand out to touch her arm. She’s gratified that he has made the first move. ‘Carly, I can’t believe that you really want me here, in any manifestation. How are women so forgiving? It amazes me.’

‘It’s not forgiveness, it’s that I love you. I’ve always loved you and wanted you back in my life. You’re the only man I’ve ever felt like that about.’ She stands then and comes round to sit next to him, taking his hand and stroking it.

‘There’s been this huge hole in my world since you left me,’ she says. ‘Why wouldn’t I be eager to have it filled again?’

He stares at her, recognising again how very beautiful she is, suppressing his memories of the bitterness and anger that had been between them, the cold, implacable side of her which she had shown him more and more often as their relationship dried up. The way she could always make him feel in the wrong, that his arguments were weak and futile against her clear hard logic. He had never been physically impotent with her, which is why he is here now, he knows that, that he needs her sexual reassurance; he needs someone to replace Diana. He faintly despises himself for his complete self-interest.

He watches her hand smoothing his and remembers the sensual currents there had been between them, the way she would stroke him for hours, gently, before and after they’d made love, as if she could never get enough of touching him. How cherished that had made him feel, as if she could almost compensate the neglected, forlorn child inside him for the caresses he’d never been given.

‘You amaze me,’ he said again. ‘I’m such a weak reed, you know that. Why do you want me?’

She laughs and kisses him gently on the corner of his mouth. ‘I don’t know. Pheromones, I suppose. Or fate.’

‘Carly, I don’t even know if I’m up to it,’ he says. ‘I haven’t been able to do it without dressing for ages.’

‘That’s all right. You know I never minded that.’ He has talked to her at length about what seeing Diana has meant to him, how dependent he has become on that secret life.

She stands and begins to clear the table. ‘There’s nothing threatening about it to me, Tom,’ she says. ‘And we don’t have to rush at things. I won’t put any pressure on you.’ She laughs again slightly. ‘Remember that Dusty Springfield record we had, that we played over and over? “You don’t have to say you love me/ Just be close at hand ... ” You used to say it was one of the great lies in song.’

He smiles. ‘Yes and it goes on with two more of them — “You don’t have to stay forever/ I will understand.’’’ She half sings the words as he says them. She puts the plates in the dishwasher and turns on the coffee maker with a rising feeling of exultation.

By the time he leaves they have more or less decided that he will move in the next day, on a temporary basis.

‘Jesus, I’m not looking forward to telling Rosa,’ he says.

‘Better do it quickly, then, before she finds out some other way.’ She kisses him goodbye and closes the door after him, then sags against it, her eyes closing with relief and triumphant gladness.

Sharon is just about to turn off the lights when the doorbell rings. Mick is already in bed.

‘Rosa,’ she says, astonished when she sees who it is. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

‘Is Mick here?’ Rosa pushes past her without saying hello. She looks washed out, eroded, as if she might have been weeping non-stop for days.

‘I’ll get him. Sit down. Would you like something to drink? Tea?’

Rosa nods and Sharon puts the kettle on. She goes into the bedroom, where she bullies Mick into jeans and a T-shirt, whispering furiously, and follows him to the living room. Then she hesitates before turning back into the passage and shutting the door behind her. She cleans her teeth and gets into bed with a book. It takes a while before she looks at the page in front of her.

‘He’s gone back to Carly. Did you know?’ Rosa hurls it at Mick as if he is responsible. Her lips are trembling, she is shaking all over. He switches on the heater and sits beside her on the couch.

‘No. I didn’t know. I haven’t seen him for weeks.’ He puts an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him, shuddering.

‘Mick, I know you’r
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hi
s
friend, more than mine. I sometimes don’t think I’v
e
go
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any friends ...’ She gives a wavering laugh. ‘I thought ... Oh, God. I’m sorry. I must be mad, coming here. Putting this on you.’

‘Rosa, of course I’m your friend. For Christ’s sake, we’ve known each other since we were kids, almost.’ He grins. ‘I’ll even give you a discount on the divorce, if it comes to that.’ She smiles slightly, to his relief. He hears the kettle switch off and carefully extricates himself from her embrace. He goes into the kitchen, pouring water into the cup Sharon has left with a teabag. He gets another cup from the shelf and another teabag from the jar and makes himself a drink as well. When he comes back he sits and puts his arm back across her shoulder. ‘All right, Rosa, me old darling. Spill it out. He’s gone back to the wicked witch of the west, has he? Well, that won’t last.’

‘It might. Oh, shit. Mick, the worst thing is, I’ve been seeing a bit of her. Carly. I’ve been pouring out my woes to her. All my whinges about Tom, all that intimate stuff we women go in for. I thought she was my friend.’ She pulls a wry face. ‘God, I sound pathetic.’

He scowls and moves slightly away from her. ‘Rosa, you’re a dumb bitch. Everyone knows Carly can’t be trusted. She’s out for herself, no-one else.’

She sits up and pushes her fingers through her hair. It’s a characteristic gesture, Mick realises, he remembers it from years ago, and he’s filled with nostalgia for all of them when they were young.

‘Well,’ she says, considering. ‘That’s not really true. She does that job, and in her own time she works at some women’s refuge or counselling clinic or something as a volunteer. Gives up her evenings and her weekends, often.’

‘Yeah, I know. She’s Mother Teresa in some ways — a fanatic. But in her personal life she’s got the morals of a ferret. Come on, Rosa, show a bit of healthy malice.’ But there’s no malice in Rosa, he remembers. She finds excuses for everyone.

She takes a long swallow of her tea and crouches back inside his arm. She has stopped shaking. ‘What am I going to do, Mick?’

‘Nothing,’ he says flatly. ‘There’s nothing you can do except wait for him to come to his senses.’

‘I wonder if he’s got any senses left to come back to.’ She mutters it, wondering if Tom has confided any of his real problems to Mick. He doesn’t reply, waiting, but she shrugs and waves a dismissive hand. She finishes her drink.

‘I’m OK now. I’m really sorry about this. Sharon must think I’m a nutter.’

‘Nah — she works with real nutters. Do you want to stay here? We’ve got a spare room.’ He’s relieved that she doesn’t seem to want to go on about Tom.

‘I can’t. I left the kids alone in the house. Can you believe that?’ She stares at him. ‘I’ve never done that before in my life. I just got in the car and drove over here. I’ve been stewing all night.’

‘Well ...’ He stands when she does, uncomfortable now, wishing he could say something that would help her. ‘We’re here, Rosa. Any time.’

‘Thanks.’ She picks up her bag and walks towards the door. ‘Mick ... please don’t tell Tom I did this.’ Her face reddens, she is humiliated at asking.

‘Of course not.’ He opens the door for her and kisses her on the cheek.

‘I think ...’ she has turned back, surprising him. I think I really came over here so you’d be o
n
m
y
side. Isn’t that childish?’

‘You’re too scrupulous for your own good. You’ll never make a lawyer with that attitude.’

‘Oh, I won’t finish the degree now.’ She gives his arm a squeeze. ‘Thanks, Mick. I feel better, though you didn’t do a thing.’ They both laugh.

Just before he shuts the door he calls out to her. ‘Rosa — would you like to bring the kids up to my sister’s place one weekend? They liked it, last time. We’ll take a gang, OK?’

‘That’d be great,’ her voice floats back to him from the entry hall.

*

At home, Rosa checks on the children in a flutter of anxiety. They are both peacefully asleep. She gets an open bottle from the fridge and a glass and sits in the unlit living room. For a while she just sits, the uncorked bottle and the empty glass held in her lap, then she pours some wine and sips at it, her eyes closed. It must be about two a.m., she thinks, wincing as she remembers the surprise on Sharon’s face when she opened the door, and her tactful retreat afterwards. They’d have been discussing her after she left. Then they’d probably have made love. She feels the tears overflow as she tries to recall how long it is since she has had any sexual affection. Mick’s arm around her was the first physical comfort she’d felt in ages. She’s surprised at an angry pang of jealousy towards Sharon. Jesus, she thinks, I’d better buy a vibrator, or I’ll be offering myself to strange men on the street.

In the years she and Tom were separated she’d had several affairs, but without love she found them unsatisfactory. Now she thinks with what seems a terminal clarity that it’s time to let Tom go, to let the fantasy of them together go. She stares into the room, at the shadows and the irregular pools of blackness where furniture occupies the space, and wonders if she can face life at all. She thinks of Sylvia Plath and knows she can’t do that to her children. For a while she toys with ways of making suicide seem like an accident so that the kids wouldn’t know, but they seem too elaborate. She realises she’d find the whole thing absurd before she’d carried it through.

‘I don’t think you can kill yourself if you can see the funny side,’ she says aloud to the empty room, which is gradually becoming lighter as her eyes adjust. ‘I must be going mad, talking to myself all the time.’ She wonders if everyone does this when alone. ‘How little we know of each other,’ she says to the cat, who has woken up and lies blinking at her from the bookshelf. It seems, suddenly, appalling, the gulf between people. She gasps as she tries to hold on to the perception that this chasm lies between her and everyone, her children included. She deliberately lets it go. She won’t believe it.

‘I’m pissed, Sorry,’ she says to the cat, and feels the tears run again, remembering the fat cheeky tabby kitten, named Soren by Tom, after Kierkegaard, for his moments of staring intent stillness when he seemed to be contemplating the secrets of the universe. The cat has gone back to sleep. She leans forward and prods its soft belly. ‘I’m pissed and maudlin. You don’t care. No-one cares.’ But she can’t help smiling at the offended look and the fastidious curling of the tail around his legs and the way he keeps one eye open for a few moments in case she pokes him again. She pours herself another glass of wine. She thinks she will stay up all night. ‘I’ll be rooted tomorrow, but who cares?’ She can sleep while the children are at school; it’s not one of her work days and she has stopped going to her university classes. She sits on, drinking, until the bottle is empty, then she curls up on the couch and sleeps. The cat joins her some time in the night and the children find them both there in the morning.