Photographic (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

J
ANE
SAT
IN
the bay window of what she now thought of as her flat, thinking about what Vaughn had told her. The silence in the room loomed up, heavy; she drew a deep breath. It was painful. To breathe deeply was to feel. She dropped herself against the chair facing the window, where she had moved it to capture the light, dimming now, as if it might rain. She wondered if her life was in ruins, or if it only felt that way in the wake of such an interview. Was this a punishment, meted out in consequence of some failure of her own? As despairing, as self-blaming as that view was, it had its resonances. In the past six years, she had dedicated herself to Tam. As motherhood wrought changes in her, it affected their marriage in ways she hadn’t always paid attention to. Her world became more and more circumscribed and she hadn’t fought it. That was rather a benefit to her, not to have to venture into the wider world and risk herself or her child to those unnamed fears that grew in size and number outside her dictated circle of safety. She closed her eyes.

Yet now here she was. Burst past the lines she had drawn. Ian’s act provoked something she could never have anticipated. Here she was, out in the world again, with Tam, trying to find the answers. What did she expect to find? By cross-examining the people involved, would it get her any closer to understanding what had gone wrong in her marriage, to make this possible in the first place? Ah, there it was. If everything had been right, he never would have done it. Wasn’t that true? Her eyes flicked back and forth behind her closed lids as she searched her mind for an answer to this question. 

Even if she had some part of the responsibility, she had not chosen to break trust with him. He had acted, without talking to her beforehand. That was not treating her like his partner, like his wife. It was a betrayal of trust.

From her deepest feelings, a kind of vibration emanated from within, a note rising to the surface. Love. She could feel their love for each other, still present. She had been numb since he told her. To feel something real was like the clear tolling of a bell, after the relentless fuzz of static. If she could feel it, was there something there, to be dug for and brought up as a prize, after all this mess was cleared away? 

The images in her head. She pressed her fists to her head. Now all the more explicit, since she had met Vaughn. 

Tam wasn’t due back with the sitter for another hour. It was really raining now, after the brilliant morning. 

Grabbing a raincoat hanging on a peg in the hall, she went out. Jane walked up the empty, dead end of their flat’s street, toward Edgware Road, her steps getting faster and faster, spray hitting the backs of her bare, booted legs, and she wondered, what is this fury? The Furies, the Greeks named them: personifying rage, other emotions she didn’t know. Keeping emotions outside themselves; so clever of them, she thought, so clever and such a lie. Yet the Furies pursued her, so closely their breath on her neck was her own breath. She had escaped to this place just as she left it, one step behind. If she turned quickly enough she might see her own self, the one she couldn’t escape. Trying to figure it out gave her a headache. The rage grew and grew, until she felt her face distorting into an unrecognizable lump, misshapen clay, remodeled by careless, toying gods. Betrayal, she thought. Lies. Not telling the whole truth. There was the heart of it. Where is the beautiful confidence that existed between us? His beauty was my trust reflected in his eyes, as was mine. Now splashed to ruins like the muddy puddles beneath her feet. I’ll never be the same again, she thought. Tears streamed down her face in the rain, the hood not doing its job, selfish tears for her lost trust, their lost confidence, the loss of a remaining innocence she hadn’t known she had. 

The door opened and Tam ran inside, followed by the young woman Jane had hired from a nanny service to watch her for the afternoon. 

“We rode the pirate ship, just like Daddy!”

“Oh, my.”

“We were pirates and they stealed our gold and we chased them and caught them and they were our prisoners!”

“You don’t say.”

Jane tipped the nanny, Marie-Renée: a tall, auburn-haired young woman, with rectangular glasses, a relaxing North American sensibility, and charming French-Canadian accent. Jane asked her about how everything went and saw her out, all while responding to Tam’s thrilled description of a high seas battle that took place in Kensington Gardens. 

They settled on the couch, Tam in Jane’s lap, and she got the whole tale start to finish again. Tam ran her fingers through the ends of Jane’s hair, while Jane ran hers through Tam’s, a motion that comforted both of them. No one had walked the plank, although it had been threatened. It all ended with Tam’s desire for gold earrings and a parrot. 

“Why do you want gold earrings?”

“That’s what Da has.”

Jane reared her head back from Tam. “You didn’t see him in a movie over at Jess’s house, did you?”

“Just one part,” Tam wrapped a piece of Jane’s hair in a curl on her finger, over and over like a bandage.

“Oh, Tam.” Jane rested her head on top of Tam’s. “Da won’t like that. That’s for when you’re older. That film is made for much older kids and adults. You know that.”

“Jess watched it. They showed it on television.” Tam was sans guilt.

“On cable? We don’t even have ca…”

“Jess’s mom said she could see it. They knew it was Da and told me to come look because it was him.”

“Oh. All right. I guess it would be hard to resist.”

“It was Da. I wanted to see him.” 

“So what did you think about what you saw?” Jane stroked Tam’s hair.

“It was really cool. There was this lady pretending to be a boy and she was on the pirate ship and they didn’t know she was a lady. And then there was a fight and lots of people got thrown in the ocean and cut up and shooted and the lady got hurt. And the doctor was looking at her and he knew she was a lady because he took her clothes off. So he took her to Da and then they kissed a lot and then Jess’s mom said I couldn’t watch anymore.” Tam told the story with a heated, potboiler fervor. Jane was impressed she remembered so much of the plot. Thank goodness Jess’s mom had some sense, Jane thought, remembering what the kissing had led to. 

“Wow. You saw quite a bit. Did any of it…bother you at all?”

“It was great.”

“What about the fighting? It showed a lot of people getting hurt.”

“It’s just pretend, Mom.” Jane could somehow hear her roll her eyes.

“When Daddy kissed the lady, you knew that was pretend, too?”

“’Course. Daddy told me about that when I was four.”

“Well, good. I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I would rather you wait to see the rest of the films until you’re a little older. Maybe he’ll make one for younger kids sometime. Think you can wait on the others?”

“I guess.” Tam sounded put out. “I’m not a baby. I’m almost seven. I know what’s going on."

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I know about how babies are made. You’ve read me that book since I was four. So I don’t see why I can’t see the movies if it’s just about that.”

“Tam.” Jane hesitated. “There’s more to an adult movie than how babies are made. There’s violence. I don’t even like to see the violence in some of Da’s movies. It might give you nightmares, or put pictures in your head you don’t want there. Adults are better at dealing with violence. They’ve seen a lot more of life, I guess, so it doesn’t bother them as much. Most of them, anyway. And the making babies part, there’s more to that, too, you’ll find out about as you get older. Some parts of life are for kids, others are for adults. There’s something nice about being a kid. You get to play, and have fantasies and play dress-up, all day long, lots of days. Most adults don’t do that. They work and pay bills and have responsibilities. So enjoy the kid parts while you have them.”

“Da dresses up and plays for his work every day.”

Jane pressed her lips together, repressing the somewhat hysterical mirth she felt bubbling up. “You’ve got me there. But very few people do that for a living. Your Da was lucky. I guess. Now that’s all for now about that. No more movies with Da until we say so, do you hear? At home or at someone else’s house. You tell them you’re not allowed. Got it?

"Got it.” She was grouchy. 

“Okay. Good girl.”

Jane gave her a smooch, which Tam endured. When Jane got up from the couch to go to the kitchen to fix lunch, Tam ran after her, grabbing onto her hand. Tam didn’t say anything. Tam’s apologies were actions, not words, but it didn’t make them any less sweet. 

Late that night, curled up in bed, sleep eluded Jane. Tam had learned the trick of falling asleep in her own room and no longer sought comfort in Mom’s bed. Groping for the light, she turned it on and looked at the time. It was still evening in the U.S. She picked up the phone and dialed. A woman answered. Jane forced herself to speak. 

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Jana, what’s wrong?” Her mother’s voice sounded the same, rich and vibrant, resonating over the ocean.

The words came rushing out of her. “I don’t think I want to know anymore. I wanted to know everything. I thought it would help. But I don’t know what I’m doing…I think it’s just making things worse.”

“What happened, darling?”

Jane’s mind reeled with possible responses but she stifled herself, knowing her mother. Her mother was an enthusiastic advice-giver, but she had never been Jane’s ideal of wifehood. Particularly as she had never been married. Say ideal of partnerhood. She had lived her own life. There hadn’t been much room for a man, unless he followed her whimsical path where it led. Only Paulo had been able to keep up with her. Paulo was the closest thing Jane had to a father figure in person, because he was the only one who was around. He’d fathered her brother Lucius. Although Paulo was a wanderer like her mother, he came home, too. He was there for the important things. He didn’t get used up by her mother, who could quench her thirst with people like they were a satisfying drink and leave them on the side of the road, mere husks of their former selves, sitting stunned, wondering what happened.

“I’ve hit one of those trouble spots. In marriage.”

“Oh. I see. Have you consulted anyone?” By this her mother meant a reputable psychic, astrologer, or runeswoman.

“No, Mama. I’m figuring it out myself.”

“You don’t sound so good.”

“I feel alone.”

“You’re not alone. Think of the people who love you. You’re in England, aren’t you?” Her mother always knew where she was. It was part of her mother’s mystery she had never been able to figure out. Maybe she just had good sources. Like Marta.

“Yes.”

“Go to the Henge. You’re close to a most powerful center of energy. They won’t let you in among the Stones anymore, unless you’re with a special group, but you could at least get near them. Come to think of it, I might know someone who could help you get to the center. Let the power reorient you. Heal you.”

Jane sniffed. “Thanks anyway, Ma. I’m in London. I don’t know how far away that is. We’re based here.”

She heard her mother chuckle. She knew Magdalena was laughing at her daughter’s stubbornness, legendary when it came to Magda’s suggestions.

“How’s Tamsin?”

“She’s great. She’s doing great.”

“Ian?”

“He’s good, I think.” Her voice got huskier, as if her vocal chords were drying out. “Listen, I have to go now. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before her mother could say anything else.

Sitting up in bed, she wondered whether it had done any good to relieve some of her feelings by telling them in small part to someone else. On the whole, she did feel a bit better. On the other hand, who knew the whole truth? No one. She only had herself. That left a lonely feeling, deep in the gut. After flicking off the light, she scrunched down under the duvet and went to sleep, exhausted in mind and spirit.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

B
EEZER
PAWED
WITH
careful attention through Jane’s red leather train case in the bathroom. Its contents were on the whole rather disappointing. The ordinary toiletries, boring boring…oh ho, wait a moment…a pill container: a prescription for Xanax. There was only one pill in the container. He checked the quantity on the label. Two. Two? Who got a prescription for two Xanax? She’d taken one. Flight over, perhaps? What else, what else…she was on the Pill…he might make something of them not trying for another…yes. Maybe he wanted another one, a son, and she didn’t? Keep digging. Nail file, nail buffer, cotton swabs, blah blah, a ring; hold on. He slipped the ring on, down to the knuckle of his pinky finger. It was a sparkler. Brushed platinum and diamonds: it was a thick, rounded band, with tiny bezel-set diamonds sprinkled all the way around it. Almost like the diamonds were little stars. Quite pretty. Wedding ring? He adjusted his pinky to catch the light, causing the diamonds to throw beads of light around the room, random and numerous as confetti. He looked up at the walls and ceiling, distracted. He rotated the ring to see the lights shift, stars moving in a time warp, millennia into seconds as they circled his head.

He should get a pinky ring, really. It would snazz up his whole look. Sliding the ring off with a sigh, he slid it back in the pocket of the case. Staring down at her belongings scattered over the counter, he paused to consider. Where did this woman hide her secrets? He placed her possessions all back in the case, arranging them as they had been when he plowed into it in the first place. When he slammed the lid closed something occurred to him. Why hadn’t she unpacked? She was staying here for several weeks, surely. Everything she needed, her everyday requirements were still stashed in the case. He itched for a smoke to think this over. With a grimace he pulled out his pacifier, as he thought of it, and took a pull. The little plastic tube was no substitute for a smoke, but it was better than nothing. That bird on
Odysseus
had got him to quit with her. A good-looking woman could get him to try anything. This was a hollow substitute, as he liked to joke, but at least it was something in his mouth to satisfy the oral fixation. And Missy would be so pleased if he really did quit. He took a long, unsatisfying drag, then chewed on it as if it were a cigar. Time to get personal.