A Bouquet of Barbed Wire (27 page)

She opened the door. He did not seem surprised to see her up and dressed, merely relieved. ‘I hope I’m not too early,’ he said, and waited.

She looked at him. Far too dark and angular and attractive, he was the other son she might have had, but had not. He was unbearably familiar, and yet only last night she had wanted, really wanted, to kill him. She said, ‘Come in, Gavin,’ and held the door open for him. The past flooded back and suddenly it did not matter that she had a daughter in hospital because of him: she understood. She did not know if it was the effect of too little sleep, or the drinks of the night before, or what, but he was suddenly a person in distress and she knew him.

He came in. He looked around, as if the hall, the whole house, was strange to him, and said, ‘Mrs. Manson, I guess you hate my guts but I had to see you.’

She had the feeling that he was offering himself, freely, as a victim, that she could do anything. If she should scream abuse or attack him with a knife he would not defend himself. She wanted, illogically, to hold out her arms, but that would be too much. She said, ‘No, that was last night. I’ve been expecting you.’ And as she said it she realised that it was true.

He followed her into the kitchen. She said, ‘I’ve got the kettle on. Would you like tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee, please. Black.’ He slumped against the wall and watched her make it. She realised in that moment that she had never been alone with him before, and knew at the same moment, understood exactly, why Prue had married him. All the old clichés about animal magnetism, sheer vitality, dangerous unleashed power swarmed in her brain. And yet he seemed defenceless, like a child. He said, ‘You must think I’m the all-time shit and you’re right, but I owe you an explanation. No, that’s the wrong word. Christ, you can’t explain these things, but I had to come.’

She said, ‘I know,’ and actually smiled at him. She put the coffee things on a tray and said, ‘Come in the sitting-room; you must be worn out.’

He followed her, saying nervously, ‘Is your husband awake yet?’

She shook her head. ‘He left last night. We … needed a breathing space.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. I understand that. But about Prue…. D’you want to get the cops? Maybe you have already. I shan’t blame you.’

‘No.’ She poured his coffee and handed it to him. ‘I’ve done nothing. I think I was waiting to hear from you.’

He drank the coffee, hot as it was, wiped his lips, and lit a cigarette, offering her one. She accepted, and he lit it for her. ‘Christ,’ he said again, ‘I think you understand. I think
you’re the most together person I’ve ever met. I wish we’d talked before.’

She smiled, to her own surprise. ‘We haven’t talked yet. Don’t stop.’

He made a wry face. ‘You’re right; I haven’t even begun. Look, it’s pointless to say I’m sorry. You can’t
apologise
for beating up your wife, especially to her mother. What
can
you say?’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘Look, I’m not here to make excuses for myself, that’s not my scene, and no one, but no one, could make excuses for what I did. I’m responsible for Prue being in that hospital, no one but me. And I’ve got to live with that. Believe me, it won’t be easy. But there are reasons. Not excuses. Just reasons.’

She said gently, ‘Tell me.’

There was a long silence. He drank more coffee, dragged on the cigarette. She felt her life was suspended by a thread. Eventually he said, ‘I don’t know where to start.’

‘Just start. Anywhere you like.’ She was amazed at her own tolerance. Perhaps it was partly due to the early morning light. She felt they were alone in the world.

He said, ‘In a
way
it’s all my fault. I mean I told Prue. That girl friend of hers who walked in when your husband and his secretary were in our flat, she told her boy friend and he told me. Then I told Prue. As a joke. Now you’re going to think that pretty sick; bear with me, please. I knew Prue had a thing about her father, I guess I was jealous, well, not jealous exactly, but it got me on the raw. I couldn’t resist telling her when I had something on him. I didn’t even think of you at the time: can you forgive that? I guess I thought it was just between Prue and me.’ He wiped his forehead. ‘I must have a pretty simple mind. I mean, I knew it wasn’t important, these things happen all the time, but I had to tell her, I simply couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Now you can say what you like and I won’t blame you, but believe me, I
didn’t mean any harm, it was private, it was a family matter.’

She said, ‘Go on.’

‘I don’t know what I expected. To fix things between us, I guess. Oh, not that they weren’t okay before, but—oh, I’ll come to that. Anyway, I told her and she flipped. She went out of her mind. I tell you I was scared. It had
literally
—’ he stressed the word—’never struck me she might want to tell you. But never. Not in my wildest dreams. She said she did. She went mad. We both hit the roof. She was very upset and I argued with her, and when that didn’t do any good I said if she told you I’d knock her head off. Those were the actual words I used.’

He paused and she was transported years, to a studio, to wood shavings and slabs of bronze, and broken plaster. She was young again, young for the last time, and the memories that came flooding back made her reel. She said to herself, I thought I was over all this, and here it is. She said aloud to him, ‘And?’

He poured himself another cup of coffee. ‘I forgot all about it. I honestly did. Then yesterday on the train she was kind of funny. In a crazy mood. I knew something was brewing. We had a kind of crazy argument in the train, about the Goddamned colour supplement. I didn’t want to give it to her because it had pictures in it, you know, babies before they’re born, that kind of stuff. I thought it might upset her. But she insisted. Then I knew we were in for trouble; that’s why I called you the way I did. But I still didn’t know what. I still couldn’t believe she’d actually … blow her top.’

He was silent. Finally he said, ‘Anyway she did. I don’t need to tell you the rest. I still haven’t explained the rest; I don’t know that I can, I don’t know that you’ll accept it. But I have to try.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘Look, I love Prue, I really do. She’s … fantastic. But she has this thing—this need, I don’t know, this urge for violence. Now you’re not
going to believe this, you’re going to say I’m just making shitty excuses for beating her up, but I’m not. Honest to God. I’m talking now about months ago. Look, you can blame me as much as you like, I’m not trying to get off the hook. I know I should never have hit her. But
way
back, before any of this jazz about your husband and his secretary, she made me hit her. She wanted me to.’ He buried his face in his hands and the words came out muffled. ‘Oh, you’re not going to believe this. But it was as if it wasn’t enough that we did the usual things, made love, you know. She wanted something more. She’d pick arguments. I didn’t understand at first, I thought it was just a game. But she went on and on. Finally, one row we had, I hit her. I blacked her eye. Now I don’t know how to explain this. It was before we went away. We had a row about her job; she wanted to quit. But she made me hit her. She went on and on till I did.’

Cassie said, ‘How did you feel?’

‘I don’t know. God, you’re fantastic. Do you actually understand any of this? You’re acting as if you did. What I want to make clear is, I’m not blaming Prue, she can’t help the way she is. It was up to me not to play along. But I did. So that’s my fault. The point is …’ he paused, frowning. ‘I’ve thought a lot about this, I’ve tried to get it clear. But I’ve never discussed it with Prue. Maybe I should’ve. But I think
she’s
got it all clear, she doesn’t mind. Oh, I don’t mean last night, that went too far, but before. I think it’s all part of some crazy scheme in her head. Whereas to me, afterwards, it’s ridiculous; I can’t believe I’ve done what I’ve done. If it’s in me, and God knows it seems to be and she brings it out, then Christ, it’s something I’d rather repress. I guess it just doesn’t bother her but it sure bothers me. I don’t want to know. You just can’t imagine how hideous it is.’

Cassie said, ‘What you’re saying is, Prue is a masochist and she makes you into a sadist, only you’re not really one. Or if you are you’d rather not be. Is that about it?’

He frowned; he seemed suddenly embarrassed. ‘I guess so.’

‘Can’t you just accept her the way she is?’ She felt she was making a fervent personal plea, but of course he did not know that.

‘What? So I buy this whole crazy set-up and one day I kill her. I nearly did last night. Is that what you want? Good God, you’re her mother, are you out of your mind?’

Cassie said gently, ‘I’m sorry; of course I don’t want that. I’m just trying to understand.’

‘Yeah.’ He brooded. ‘Well, maybe you understand too well. Honestly, I don’t get this whole scene—you mean you actually want me to beat up your daughter?’

Cassie felt the weight of years as she had never done before. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, as tangible as lipstick. She said, ‘These things aren’t simple. Of
course
I don’t want you to beat up Prue; last night I wanted to kill you for what you did. But that doesn’t mean I can’t understand. There’s—’ she hesitated, but knew she had to go on—’a bit of this thing in me too; maybe Prue’s got it from me.’

The sun rose palely over distant trees. A little warm light began to fill the garden. Gavin said, very young, the authentic note of horror, ‘You mean your old man beats you up?’

Cassie almost laughed at the horror and the ludicrously improbable picture; she also wanted to cry. ‘No—I don’t mean that. That’s the last thing he would ever do. But there was a time when I would have liked him to be … well, more aggressive. Look, it’s really very simple. Most women like a man to be masterful. Maybe even a little bit rough. You only have to push this a stage further and you’ve got real pain, real violence. The problem is where to stop it. How to provide enough to satisfy the person’s needs without letting it all get out of control, like last night.’

He stared at her. ‘Yeah. But that shouldn’t be too difficult, not if it’s a sex thing. This thing with Prue, oh, it started with
sex, that was fine, but I think it’s gone beyond that now. I kind of feel she wants me to punish her for something; like it’s not a game any more.’ He frowned. ‘D’you think—gee, I don’t know how to put this—but this thing between her and her father, well, they feel pretty strongly about each other, don’t they? D’you think maybe Prue feels guilty about that and that’s why she wants me to punish her? Say, if I’m right, that’s pretty sick, isn’t it? But I guess we’ll never know; it’s not something I could ask Prue and I don’t think she knows herself. If it’s true then it’s buried. It has to be.’

Cassie, depressed by the plausibility of his argument, said as much to convince herself as him, ‘It could also be that we just didn’t give her enough discipline as a child. Have you ever thought about that?’

He brooded for a moment, then looked up, suddenly flashing her the wide, candid smile of a child. ‘Yeah, let’s believe that.’

S
ARAH SAID
, ‘Do you want to telephone her?’

He looked up; he looked guilty. Caught. ‘No. No. You mean Cassie?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, I don’t want to phone. That’s up to her, when she feels ready to talk. She’s the injured party after all.’ He held out his arms. ‘Apart from you. You’re having a rotten time, aren’t you? Shut up with me all day at the office and all night here and I’m as miserable as sin. It’s not much fun for you, is it?’

Sarah managed a smile. ‘It’s just ironic. Wishing for time together and now we’ve got it, only we can’t enjoy it because of
how
we got it.’ She held his hand, not wanting his arm round her. It was not that she loved him less but that she had never felt so alone as now, when he was with her. Far more thoroughly alone than when she had waited for him. She felt that she was a refuge, not a person; all the feeling of security she had built up was flowing away, like bath water, when someone pulls out the plug. She said, ‘Why do you think Prue did it?’

‘God knows. I’ve been asking myself that all day.’ He had done virtually no work, while Sarah sought refuge in typing and had got through enough to occupy two normal days, by five o’clock being reduced to tidying the filing-cabinet. At this point, in a rage of guilt and helplessness he had telephoned Prue’s flat to demand explanation, justification, redress; but
there was no reply. ‘I suppose she was shocked and when she started drinking it all came out. She must have wanted to punish me for letting her down.’

‘And punish her mother too?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe it was the only way she
could
punish me. Properly. Maybe she didn’t think it would be enough to tell me in private that she despised me.’

Sarah thought this over. ‘And would it have been?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, how much do you value her good opinion?’

His face darkened; he said, ‘About as much as she values mine. Or as little. That’s not the point.’

‘Isn’t it?’ She felt so sad; she looked round the smart white room and thought what a waste of paint it all was. Someone had tried so hard to make it nice and they were not appreciating it. ‘You love her; of
course
it matters what she thinks.
And
your wife. You love her too.’

‘And I love
you,’
he said, seriously, intensely, holding tight to her hand. He looked as if he meant it. But she did not believe him. She said, ‘Yes, you love all three of us, you said so before, but it doesn’t work, does it? You’ve always loved them best; there’s never been a place for me. Maybe Prue was only trying to bring you to your senses; maybe she did you a favour.’

He said sharply, ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ But he had never felt more involved and alive than when Prue said those fatal words, ‘Do you know Daddy’s been fucking his secretary in our flat while we were away?’ The words in all their cruelty dropping one by one into the social atmosphere of a family party, Cassie’s face turning as white as her plate, Prue trembling with spite; he himself and Gavin quite immobile, and for a moment silent, with horror. It was as if all the drama he had perpetually been on the fringe of had finally washed over him, like a wave that you stand and wait for. It was not the monopoly of the young after all. But it hurt and
he did not know how to deal with it, any more than he had known how to deal with Prue’s hysterical sobs as Gavin dragged her from the house, or Cassie’s silence when they were left alone. Finally she had said, ‘Was all that true?’ and he had said, ‘Yes.’ And really it had all been said, though they analysed the details for an hour or more, using words like jealousy and incest and revenge as if they did not belong in an Elizabethan drama but in everyday life, and discussing youth and middle-age as if they were actually not afraid to face their implications. It was all very fine and brave but it left them empty and wanting to be alone, apart from each other. They had admitted too much.