Darcy's Utopia (27 page)

‘Yes, you are a villain,’ said Eleanor. ‘You seduced your best friend’s wife.’

‘You seduced me,’ he said. ‘You were bored.’

‘And Brenda?’

‘She asked me to. She was inquisitive.’

‘And Nerina?’

‘She wanted a little excitement before she settled down. It was not my idea.’

‘She was a student. You were her teacher.’

‘Quite so. I taught her and her friends what they wanted to know. All anyone really wants to know about is sex. Information is second best.’

He undid the buttons of her blouse. She stayed where she was, for once indecisive.

‘Same shape,’ he said, ‘same size. I have good tactile memory.’

‘And poor Prune. What about poor Prune?’

‘Sex is the great energizer,’ he said. ‘I wish poor Prune could understand that. She only gets pregnant so we can’t have sex: she’s liable to miscarriage, you know. I see it as an act of vengeance. It is not a happy marriage. But I can’t just ditch her, can I? Where would she go? What would she do? Poor Prune. She loves me.’

‘Poor Prune,’ said Eleanor. ‘Was she always poor Prune?’

‘When I married her,’ said Jed, ‘she was a lovely, lively Prunella. Her name was a joke; her life was a joke: that was why I married her. Marriage is a fearful institution. What it does to people! Take off your clothes, Ellen. Poor Prune won’t come in. She’s hurt her ankle. She can’t get up the stairs. She won’t mind. She just wants me to be happy. She thinks if I’m happy I won’t leave her. She thinks it’s unhappiness breaks up homes.’

‘But it isn’t,’ said Eleanor, ‘it’s sheer surplus of energy.’

She took off her jacket, belt, her scarf, her jeans, her blouse. She wore a red bra, red pants and red suspenders to keep up her black stockings.

‘That is nice,’ said Jed. ‘Prune wears washed cotton, whitish grey. It’s so sensible. It stretches. And you wear red and black and end up with a poor withered old stick of a Vice Chancellor. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘He is not so,’ said Eleanor, refastening her bra as fast as Jed undid it. ‘He’s a fine man and I’m proud of him. In fact I love him.’

‘Nerina’s curse strikes again,’ said Jed. ‘How’s he keeping?’

‘A little heart palpitation,’ said Eleanor.

‘I should watch that,’ said Jed. ‘How’s Bernard? I heard he was back in the faith. I heard he had a bad back. I heard all kinds of things and none of them good.’

‘Don’t you see him at all?’

‘He’s a loser,’ said Jed. ‘I don’t.’ Eleanor put her jeans on.

‘What a pity,’ said Jed. ‘I seem to have said the wrong thing. Suspenders under jeans. Prune would never do a thing like that.’

‘You’ve kept in remarkably good health.’ said Eleanor, putting on her blouse. ‘Considering.’

‘I have my punishment,’ said Jed. ‘I have poor Prune. I’m sorry you’re leaving. Can’t I persuade you to stay?’

‘Not with Prune downstairs making lunch,’ said Eleanor. ‘I really shouldn’t.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ said Jed. ‘As you see, I’m no villain. Just another victim. Personally, I blame Philip Horrocks, Head of Faculty. He panicked and disbanded my mass hysteria group overnight. They’d used the college library to try to castrate a goat. I would have stopped it had I known. There was blood splashed over the walls—it got away, mid-slice. Tender-hearted vegetarians, most of our students. No idea how to deal with animals. Have they, Rufus?’ He stirred the dog with his sandalled toe. Rufus sighed. ‘You won’t change your mind, Ellen? No? Pity. Academia lost a very promising student in Nerina: that’s my main quarrel with Horrocks. One more little balls-up: one more contribution to the drop-out rate. Another young person turns their back on education. Yes, I blame Horrocks. Why don’t you go and see Nerina? She and I are still in touch, of course.’

‘She scares me.’

‘Nothing scares you, Ellen.’

‘I don’t like Julian’s heart jumping about. Where will it end?’

‘Go and ask Nerina. She’s quite safe, at the moment. She’s de-energized. Married, covered in black, with a nose mask and pregnant. Her mother lives with them.’

‘Is it your baby?’

He looked helpless, but flattered.

‘How would I know?’ He shook his head sagely, sat back in his armchair and attended to his pipe. He was not the man he was, but hadn’t noticed.

‘Once they’d castrated the goat, what would they have done?’ asked Eleanor.

‘God knows what their fantasy was. Boiled its balls for dinner and served them up to Satan. They’d left me way behind.’

‘Lunchtime, darling,’ called poor Prune from down below.

Nerina had set up house with Sharif above a betting shop and next to a fish-and-chip takeaway, as if to underline her determination to be ordinary. Eleanor felt Nerina had somewhat overdone it and was not reassured. The door was opened by a young man in his mid twenties, dark-eyed, olive-skinned, hook-nosed, broad of shoulder; in general handsome in mien and appearance. He was both smooth and fierce. Lucky Nerina, thought Eleanor, and lowered her eyes from the brilliance of his countenance, as she could see she was expected to do.

‘Well?’ He wore a white shirt, open-necked, and dark trousers. He had a heavy gold bracelet on his wrist and rings on his fingers. He was tall. His feet were long: his shoes were clean, but not pointed, as Julian’s were. She felt dissatisfied with Julian and with herself for not having been dissatisfied with him in the past.

‘I came to call on Nerina’s mother,’ said Eleanor. And she explained how she and Mrs Khalid had worked together at the poly: she wished to renew an old acquaintance.

Sharif yelled over his shoulder, ‘Ma-in-law!’ and Mrs Khalid came clatter-clatter downstairs wearing a sari and solid black walking shoes.

‘Oh, it’s Ellen! Ellen can come in. She’s okay,’ she told Sharif, and Sharif moved aside, though he seemed doubtful as to whether it was wise. Eleanor walked in, brushing past him, conscious of the mere breath of the air that stood between her flesh and his: the hairs on her arms stood up to make the distance less. But he had no interest in her. She was beneath him—it showed in his expression: naked-faced, naked-armed, green-eyed and indecorous female that she was.

The room was small and cosy, stuffed with sofas and chairs and little tables, and the telephone was a prostrate Mickey Mouse with his legs in the air, yellow-booted. Mrs Khalid served tea and sticky cakes and asked about Ellen’s life. She herself was no longer working, Mrs Khalid said. Her son-in-law Sharif didn’t want her to. Nerina was pregnant and needed her at home. Sharif, satisfied as to the tenor of their conversation, left the room. Presently Nerina came down, in black robes and nose shield, and with only her eyes showing. Her face was plumper than before: her figure could scarcely be observed. She took off her mask and her skin had a clear and rather attractive pallor. Then Nerina smiled, and Eleanor wondered why she had told Jed she was scared. Who could be scared of this sweet, bright, pretty girl? ‘Don’t ask,’ Nerina said.

‘Just don’t ask! But I’ll tell you—yes, fancy dress is worth it.’

‘But supposing,’ said Eleanor, ‘he brings in another three wives?’

Mrs Khalid laughed a little curtly.

‘He couldn’t afford it,’ she said. ‘He can only just afford us. Look at it like this,’ said Nerina,’ ‘a quarter of my husband is worth one of any other man.’ Her hands came out from beneath the black robes and they were long-fingered and red-nailed. They moved with a kind of nervous energy. ‘Look,’ she said to Eleanor, ‘I tried it out there in the western world. I really did. I just got myself and everyone into trouble. I like it like this. Doing nothing, just being. Honour the Prophet and keep
his
laws: nothing to it. It gets quite boring, but presently you just slow down to keep pace with life.’

‘She’s having twins,’ said Mrs Khalid. ‘That slows anyone down.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Eleanor.

‘You don’t want babies yourself?’ enquired Nerina politely.

‘My husband already has grown-up children,’ replied Eleanor, even more politely. ‘We have decided not to have more.’

Mrs Khalid went out to boil water for another pot of tea.

‘I was always surprised that worked,’ said Nerina. ‘You and Julian Darcy. Not just worked but stuck. I thought it was going to be quite a problem. Part of the curse on Bernard, of course, was losing you. He was to have a faithless wife, but that involved two other people, you and Mr X. We used a photograph of you at a meeting: it was Jed’s idea of a joke to pick the Vice Chancellor. If you can get two people on paper you circle them and dance around a bit and whip up the vibes and you can get them into bed together pretty quick, which we did. We didn’t mean it to last, but then the college made a stink and we couldn’t get back into the library. We were banned, because of one stupid, smelly goat. Anyway you can’t put spells on guiltless people. They don’t work. So I thought you probably all deserved whatever was happening. Then it had all got tacky and I wanted out.’

‘What was Bernard guilty of?’

‘He and Jed tossed up as to who would have me, and I found out, too late. Jed won, as you know.’

‘Oh.’ She felt like crying. Bernard! ‘Too late for what?’ she asked.

‘For my virginity, stupid,’ said Nerina, and her black robe heaved as her babies kicked and churned.

‘Nerina,’ said Eleanor, ‘Julian’s heart isn’t too good.’

‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Nerina. ‘I expect you just wear him out. I expect that’s his punishment for leaving his wife.’

‘But,’ said Eleanor, ‘you just said it was all your doing—’

‘Always twisting and turning,’ said Nerina, crossly, ‘looking for someone to blame. Why choose me? Why not blame yourself?’

Mrs Khalid came back with a teapot and some shortbread.

‘And I don’t want any of anything mentioned in front of Sharif. If Sharif found out he’d kill me.’

‘Twins are always premature,’ observed Mrs Khalid. ‘Just as well.’

Sharif came back and walked around the room to make sure nothing untoward was happening, high cheekbones glistening, bony hand through dark hair in anxiety. Nerina replaced her mask. Sharif clearly felt better. He nodded his approval. He almost smiled. He loved her. She was his most precious object. He wanted no part of her harmed. He went out again. The black bundle that was Nerina glowed with self-congratulation. Ellen thought of Bernard, thought of Prune, thought of Jed, thought of herself, transmuted from Ellen to a goat-inflicted fantasy that was Eleanor. Eleanor laughed and said, ‘Twins! Twins with orangy yellow elbows!’

Nerina stopped being a cosy black bundle and turned into a thin black wraith, by virtue, Eleanor thought, of standing straight, still and offended. Her metal nose mask caught the light from a dancing-girl lamp.

Mrs Khalid said, rather sharply, ‘I don’t think much of your idea of damage containment, Ellen.’

Nerina relaxed and said, ‘That’s okay, Mum. I don’t think it was anything too bad. I’ll go and lie down a bit. They aren’t half kicking about inside.’ And she smiled at Eleanor. Mrs Khalid relaxed too.

Mrs Khalid said as Eleanor went, ‘Lovely to see you again, dear. Such a pity Nerina didn’t stay on at college. But you know what love is.’

‘I do,’ said Eleanor.

Mrs Khalid’s nails were worn to the quick. When she’d been working they’d been long and polished. Eleanor had admired them.

‘I hope everything goes well for you,’ said Mrs Khalid at the front door. ‘I really do. As for me, I just try and keep Nerina happy.’

She shut the door, and it seemed to Eleanor that everything was safe and cosy inside, and noisy and dangerous outside. On the wide pavement in front of her, people of all shapes and sizes and ages crossed and criss-crossed, frenetic in their activity, like ants; yet dull in expression, apathetic of mien. No one was beautiful. Most were in some way distorted or deformed. It was not a good area. A vent at her feet gusted steam from the processes of frying fish in what smelt like everlasting oil, and whirled discarded wrapping paper about her ankles. What was everyone doing? They seemed to understand their own purposes but perhaps they didn’t, any more than she did. A mini-whirlwind lifted a polystyrene dish—large chips, large fish—and it hit her midriff. It didn’t hurt but she was quite afraid.

H
AD MY RELATIONSHIP WITH
Hugo been like any other in the world, and not so very special, I might have thought he was what the columns of
Aura
refer to as ‘cooling off’. He arrived at the hotel room which was our home apparently exhausted and just a little offhand. Instead of instant lovemaking he sat in the armchair and asked me to ring room service for coffee. There are no coffee-making facilities in the Holiday Inn; if you want any you have to ask them to bring it up, and however hard the staff try to look disinterested, professional and enigmatic, I have no doubt but they return to the kitchens and have the most animated conversations about myself and Hugo. Especially since Stef, on leaving, apparently shouted at the unfortunate girls in reception, ‘There are a pair of adulterers living it up in Room 301, and like as not paying only the single rate. I suggest you look into it!’ Or so the bellboy, trying to be helpful, told me. He is a pleasant lad, Jack, who brings up and takes down the many faxes that travelled between myself and
Aura
, Hugo and the
Independent
.

Hugo then took out a packet of cigarettes and smoked one. The entire third floor was designated as a non-smoking area. They ask at reception when you book in. ‘You haven’t started smoking again!’ I said in surprise.

‘The first one for six years,’ he said. ‘The strain of all this is getting to me.’

Now this disappointed me. Naturally I wanted to be a source of happiness to him, not strain. Sensing my reaction, he put out his free hand and stroked mine. I didn’t remind him about the third floor being a smoke-free zone. Stef, I have no doubt, would have done exactly that. It’s all too easy to fall into a maternal role in any relationship—being either the good mother, or the bad mother—and it doesn’t do. (I write for
Aura
—I read
Aura.
I know these things. I have no choice.)

I told Hugo about Belinda’s visit, but not about Brenda’s letter; the burning of which now seemed to me a rather pointless exercise in deceit. Hugo’s actual presence dampened the smouldering mixture of anxiety and jealousy which I was learning to live with. Soon, I supposed, I would be so used to it I would hardly notice my changed state. Valerie-with-Lou and Valerie-with-Hugo would feel the same, though they were not. But just to have him sitting there, long-legged, loose-limbed, the two of us engaged in a common purpose, enfolded in a cloud of intimacy that now seemed as real out of bed as in it, gave me great pleasure.