Full Stop (12 page)

A single word leapt out at her from the first page, ‘Darlingest,' and the moral problem evaporated. She was hooked.

‘Darlingest,' she read again, deliberately keeping her face averted from the slumbering figure on the sofa,
‘another
whole day without a letter or phone call. Perhaps you've written and the letter's gone astray or you've been travelling and haven't had a chance to pop it in the postbox — I
know
you said you might have to go to Arkansas, darling. I'm sure Pete, you remember Pete the postman, I'm sure he thinks I've taken leave of my senses, waiting at the door every morning and
snatching
the letters from his hand! Pretending, of course, that I just
happen
to be taking in the milk — but who cares what he thinks? I'm not ashamed, it's been
a whole week
since you phoned — yes, darling, I
am
counting the days and no letter either! You would –'

Loretta reached the bottom of the first page. On the sofa John Tracey stirred, muttered, and threw an arm free of the blanket. The pink halo was still there on his forearm, a little more faded now, and Loretta averted her eyes, not wanting to think about it. She turned the page.

— tell me if something was wrong, if you were having doubts? I understand, I truly
understand
what a big step it must seem, getting married again, especially after such a
rotten
experience first time round —

‘What?' Loretta's hand flew to her mouth and she looked fearfully at Tracey. He did not seem to have heard her exclamation and she turned back a page, reading the sentence again from the beginning, wondering just what exactly Tracey had told this M Stephenson person about their marriage. It hadn't been
that
bad.

— first time round, but remember, darling, we're in this
together!
We're both older, and wiser
(you
are, at any rate, I can't speak for me!) and I just
know
we wouldn't make the same mistakes. Trust me! I was too young when I married Tim and then the children came so fast (Susie sends her love, by the way, and keeps asking when Uncle John's coming home — yes,
home,
isn't that sweet of her? And a bit of self-interest, of course, she's
longing
to be a bridesmaid! I suppose it was a blessing in a way, you and Loretta not having children, but I know how
miserable
it must have been for you. A man
needs a
son, that's what I've always thought, and I'm not too old! Look at that woman in Italy, twins at 59 and I'm
years
younger than her!

A bracket seemed to be missing somewhere in the paragraph, emphasising M Stephenson's agitation. Loretta read on, the handwriting becoming steadily more difficult to decipher although she was able to make out a sentence about
career women
and their
selfishness.
From here the letter digressed abruptly into local news, recorded in a much more legible hand: Rufus had decided to give up German next year, he'd struggled with it for so long and they were just going to have to face the fact that he wasn't a linguist. Susie was looking forward to the school holidays because she'd been invited to go to France for a week with Tamara, which meant that if John could get a week off, they'd only have Rufus to think about. Finally the letter returned to Tracey's failure to phone or write:

Darling John, I know I'm not exactly Cinderella but you really have come into my life like Prince Charming and I just
can't
bear the thought — I
won't
bear it! I know I'm an old silly, doubting you like this, but you've no idea how
lonely
it is without you! When I come back from taking Susie to school in the morning, I'd go absolutely mad if I didn't have the rabbits to see to, never mind all the orders for the shop. I know —

Tracey's new friend kept rabbits? Loretta remembered that
her house was called The Warren and pulled a face, scenting whimsy. He had had a series of unsuitable girlfriends in recent years, including a married gym teacher he had met in a launderette in Brixton and a Greek student half his age, but the fevered tone of M Stephenson's letter made Loretta wonder if she knew him as well as she thought she did. The phrase ‘male menopause' came into her head and she read on:

— we haven't known each other for long, it seems like so much more than five months. I keep thinking about that day I sat down and wrote you a letter,
never
thinking — not in a million years did I imagine you'd write back. I thought someone as famous and important as you was bound to have a secretary and I was so
touched
when I saw the envelope with the
Sunday Herald
postmark and your writing — I didn't recognise it then of course, I'd only ever seen the photo at the top of your columns. I don't know if I ever told you but it was the photo that made me write. Your articles are so brilliant, I used to cry when I read about the poor children in Sarajevo —

Sorry, darling, I'm rambling! That's the effect you have on me you see. Lord, I was so nervous that day, I could hardly dial the number you'd put in your letter. And then you very sweetly invited me to lunch and on the tube from Waterloo I had the feeling my life was about to change. And I couldn't bear — no, I
won't
bear the thought of — I can't even write it.

Loretta stopped reading, hastily collated the pages and shoved them back into the envelope. She put the letter on the coffee table and nibbled at a fingernail she'd broken on the journey back from the restaurant, wondering distractedly if Toni had an emery board. No wonder John Tracey was hanging round Washington, she thought, but how had he got in so deep in such a short time? She was about to put the flimsy blue envelope back in his wallet when she realised she had no idea what the initial M stood for. Mary, Marilyn, Maureen, Martha? Reluctantly
Loretta reached for the envelope, drew out the letter and went straight to the last page.

‘Yours forever and always, darling — Mo,' she read, and slid the folded sheets back inside. Mo for Maureen? She thrust the envelope into Tracey's wallet, along with the air ticket and all his other paraphernalia, and slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Going down to interrogate the porter no longer seemed so urgent but she was less sleepy than ever; slightly shamefaced, Loretta pulled her jeans from her weekend case, slipped into them and stood up to fasten the button fly. She crossed the room to switch off the bedside lamp and gazed for a long moment at the grey dawn light which had begun to leak through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Then she picked up Toni's spare keys and, without looking at Tracey, let herself quietly out of the flat.

Growling, snarling, shouting: Loretta awoke to mayhem. ‘What's going on?' she heard herself say, almost before she was out of bed, but the racket was too great for either of the combatants to hear. John Tracey was standing on the sofa, rearing back out of the dog's reach, his hands tangled in the blanket which he was using as a flimsy shield. ‘Get away,' she heard him bellow, ‘get
away,
but the dog merely barked more ferociously, her front paws on the sofa, angrier than Loretta had ever seen her.

‘Stop it,
' Loretta bellowed, unsure whether she was addressing the man or the dog. ‘Stop it
at once.
Honey!' she added menacingly, advancing on her from behind. The dog was so intent on hauling her stubby backlegs on to the sofa and finding a tender part of Tracey's anatomy to bite that she failed to hear Loretta's approach. Loretta seized her by the collar, pulled with all her strength and fell back against the coffee table, taking the dog with her.

‘Christ,
' exclaimed Tracey, crumpled and furious, ‘where'd it come from? Where am I? What the fuck's going on? Loretta?'

‘Shut up,' she said, struggling into a sitting position and hanging on to the dog. ‘Honey, stop it. Don't you
dare
bite me.
Sit,
I said.' She was mildly astonished and very relieved when the dog obeyed.

Tracey climbed down off the sofa, adjusting the open neck of his shirt and looking highly disgruntled. ‘Loretta, would you please tell me what's going on?'

‘What did you do to her? She's not normally aggressive.' Except with other dogs, Loretta thought, but she didn't mention that. ‘I mean, just look at her. She's terribly upset.'

The dog was panting and shaking, her cavernous jaw hanging open and her thick pink tongue fully extended. Loretta hugged her, crooning — to her own surprise –' there, there, it's all right. He won't hurt you.'

‘She's upset? What about me? I wake up God knows where, in a totally strange flat, with this hound from hell slobbering all over my face. How'd you think I feel?' Tracey sat on the sofa and put his head in his hands.

‘I'll put her in the kitchen,' Loretta said diplomatically. ‘It's time she was fed. Honey, this way.' She used her foot to herd the dog through the doorway and spooned food from a can on to a plate, enough to pacify her for the next few minutes, switched on the electric kettle and returned to the living-room. ‘Tea or coffee?'

Tracey said grumpily: ‘What I'd like is a civil explanation of what I'm doing here. And why's it so bloody hot? Doesn't this place have air conditioning? Where are we?'

‘Toni's flat,' Loretta said shortly, going to the window and pulling up the blinds. She turned various knobs on the control panel of the air conditioning unit and cold air began to blow. ‘I can't seem to get this thing right, I woke up in the night and it was actually quite chilly so I turned it off.' She turned back to Tracey. ‘After you passed out last night –'

‘Is that what happened?' Tracey looked puzzled. ‘I don't remember anything after — I mean, I remember a bar. And noses. Why do I remember noses?'

‘There was a mural in the restaurant. Or a picture, I can't remember which. Famous people's noses.'

Tracey scowled. ‘No wonder I feel peculiar.'

‘You were sitting at the bar when I got to the restaurant. You didn't
seem
drunk but you were in a bad mood right from the start, you complained about our table and you wanted to send the wine back. You drank it, though.'

‘It's beginning to come back. You say I passed out?' Tracey rubbed the back of his neck, methodically massaging the muscles.

Loretta nodded. ‘We'd just finished the main course when you went very pale. Next thing I knew, you'd more or less keeled over.' She pulled the chair closer to the coffee table and sat down, leaning towards him, and said earnestly: ‘John, are you
on
anything?'

He stopped rubbing and looked at her, completely blank. ‘On what? What d'you mean?'

She rolled her eyes upwards, cross that he was making her spell it out. ‘You know. Drugs. You can
trust
me,' she added, a bitter note entering her voice. The remarks about her in Mo Stephenson's letter, and career women in general, were fresh in her memory.

‘I haven't got the faintest idea what you're talking about.' He leaned back and stretched out his arms. ‘God, I'm stiff. Why on earth did you bring me back here?' Suddenly he looked embarrassed. ‘You weren't — we didn't –'

‘What?'

‘You
know.' It was her turn to look blank and relief flickered in his eyes. ‘Obviously we didn't. Look, I'm sorry about last night –'

‘John,
you haven't answered my question.'

‘I told you, I've no idea what you're talking about.'

‘That,'
she said, leaning forward and jabbing his forearm. ‘What was it?' She hesitated and added tentatively: ‘Heroin?'

‘Heroin?' Tracey looked down at the puncture mark and began to laugh.

Loretta sat back in her chair. ‘What's so funny?'

‘You are. Honestly, Loretta, do you have to be so melodramatic? You really want to know what this is?' He touched the pink dot with his finger and winced. ‘Christ, it's still sore.'

She said nothing.

‘A wasp sting,' he said, grinning in anticipation of her reaction. ‘I was taking my jacket off before I got into the taxi and the little bugger got me. At the airport, this is. LaGuardia.'

‘You were stung by a wasp?'

‘Well done, Loretta, full marks for comprehension. You know
I'm allergic? I mean, I haven't been stung since I was a kid but you can't take risks. Some people go into what's-it-called, anaphylactic shock. Soon as I got to the hotel I asked the receptionist and she gave me the address of a doctor, some bloke they have an arrangement with. He gave me some tablets, he said not to mix them with alcohol but I forgot.' Tracey saw Loretta's expression and added: ‘All right, that's not strictly true, I thought he was being over-cautious. Obviously he wasn't.' He leaned forward and touched her bare knee. ‘Sorry, love, did I give you a fright?'

She said stiffly: ‘Only in so far as I didn't have the faintest idea what was wrong with you. And I had to get you out of the restaurant, into a taxi and all the way up here.'

‘What floor are we on?'

‘The fifteenth.'

He grimaced. ‘If it's any consolation, I feel terrible. Like a bad hangover or flu. Did you say something about coffee?'

‘Mmm.' She got up. ‘Black?'

‘Please. I suppose I ought to take another one of those tablets.' He felt in his trouser pocket and brought out a foil-covered strip.

Loretta said: ‘Should you? I mean, you've survived the night.'

Tracey shrugged and put them away. ‘You're probably right. By the way — why didn't you put me in a taxi and send me back to my hotel?'

‘I didn't... I don't know where you're staying.'

‘The Gramercy Park. Right at the bottom of Lexington.'