Games People Play (29 page)

I stiffened. ‘Natasha?’

‘Yeah. Hungarian. She looked familiar but she certainly wasn’t a friend or anything – but she just seemed to detest me! It was the strangest thing. I mean, normally people are competitive, obviously, and often quite aggressive, but this was something else.’

‘Hungarian ...Natasha who?’ My mind was racing. Could it be the same girl as the one in the photo, Tasha? Surely not; not after all these years.

But Natasha was a Russian name. Were there many Natashas in Hungary?

‘Natasha Horvath. I don’t know what her ranking was. Or what her problem was, come to that.’

‘Maybe she was just being immature; couldn’t handle herself,’ I said as casually as I could, although my heart was thudding. ‘How old was she?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘Dunno. About my age, I think. I don’t think that was any excuse. It probably wasn’t anything personal – I mean, I beat her, so she was never going to be over the moon about that. But the weirdest thing of all was that after my accident, I got a get-well card from her! I mean, I don’t know her from Adam, and she seemed to hate me. Why would she send me a card?’

Oh, crikey. It had to be her. ‘And how did she know your address?’ I could have guessed the answer, and I wasn’t wrong.

‘She didn’t post it. Apparently she bumped into Dad at the club and gave it to him to give to me. Dunno what she was doing down there ...Oh, I think he said a friend of hers trains with him.’

So that was it. It was entirely possible that Ivan was still involved with her. Ten years later! And Ivan with a longterm, live-in girlfriend? That man was outrageous. I quickly did the maths in my head: surely Natasha couldn’t be the same age as Rachel, because Rachel had only been thirteen in summer 1995, when that photograph was taken! Natasha looked young in it, but not that bloody young. If Rach thought they were the same age, though, it was unlikely that she was more than a few years older. Which still made her too young in 1995...

Hang on a moment, though, I told myself. Perhaps it’s innocent. It might not be the same Natasha; and even if it is, it could all have been over years ago.

Maybe she resented Rachel for taking Ivan away from her, through her career? Then why send her a card?

‘Are you OK, Mum? You look very distracted. Is it Billy?’

No, I thought. It’s your father: the other lying, cheating scumbag of a man in my life. The man who’s just been accused of downloading child porn from the Internet.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, managing a smile. ‘We’d better get the bill, don’t you think? I don’t want Ted to get back to an empty house.’

Rachel

It’s a combination of the alcohol in my system, and Mum going all quiet when we leave the restaurant, but as I hop towards the car on my crutches I feel like a sink being unblocked. I can’t stop talking. It’s as if I’ve saved up all the things I needed to say to her since she moved to Kansas, and now the words are pouring out of me. I know that drinking does that to me, but I suppose I get drunk so infrequently that I don’t usually allow myself to reach quite this stage of verbal diarrhoea. Even if I’m not in a tournament, I don’t tend to drink more than one or two, because I know it will affect my training the next day. Mum had stopped after two glasses so she wouldn’t be over the limit; so I ended up polishing off the bottle. And tomorrow there is no training.

So I talk and talk as Mum frowns over the steering wheel, her shoulders hunched forwards, glasses perched on the end of her nose. She has these big tortoiseshell framed specs which I always think are at odds with the rest of her fashion-conscious image. Perhaps they’re very stylish in Lawrence. Or maybe she’s going for the Diane Keaton look.

I tell her about me and Mark, in far more detail than I did when we were in Italy. In Italy I hadn’t been able to confess how much it upset me to think of him meeting somebody else – somebody he’d go to bed with.

‘Why?’ asks Mum. ‘Was that a particular strength of your relationship with him or something? I’d say it’s pretty natural to hate the idea of your ex with another woman. In fact, I know it is.’

She sighs, and I feel bad for making her think about Billy and his new girlfriend.

‘No,’ I say hesitantly. ‘It wasn’t a strength of ours...because we didn’t. Sleep together, I mean.’

‘Oh? Why not?’

I’m half relieved, half horrified that Mum is talking so naturally about it. It’s the sort of full and frank discussion I’d never be able to have with her if I was sober. Talking about sex to your mother! Eurgh.

Although it does kind of help that we’re in the car, driving slowly through empty suburban towns and villages. At least I can look out of the window. It is only nine-thirty at night but there is hardly any traffic on the road.

‘Because, well, actually, I’ve never done it before at all. I’m a virgin,’ I blurt at the side window, blushing furiously, my admission steaming up the glass.

I glance across at her, to see that she is looking shocked. ‘You’re kidding.’

I shake my head, fiddling with my split ends to cover my confusion. Do I really need to tell her this stuff? Although, in a way, it feels good – as if my virginity is a deep dark secret I need to confess. I’ve never even told Kerry. She just assumed that Mark and I slept together, and I expertly fielded her none-too-subtle enquiries as to his prowess.

‘But you must have had offers, surely! And what about Mark?’

‘Well. Yes, I suppose so. But I’d never have a one-night stand, it just doesn’t interest me. And I wouldn’t do it unless I really liked the person; and I’ve never liked anybody enough, until Mark. I thought he was the one . . .’

‘You’d have done it with him?’

I nod. ‘I’m pretty sure I was ready to. I wanted to. I dunno ...I suppose, well, I think, maybe I’ve got a bit of a problem with it. I’ve left it so long that I don’t feel very confident – I mean, what if I get it all wrong? I was so scared of doing it with Mark, because he’s so experienced. But in the end, that’s what made him dump me. I’m sure it was. So now he’s got Sally-Anne Horseface Salkeld to shag to his heart’s content, and I’m still the oldest virgin in town.’

Mum smiles pityingly at me and squeezes my hand, before changing gear to go over a speed bump.

‘Honey, first of all, you won’t get it wrong. It just happens. Some sex is better than other sex, but really it’s all about how you connect emotionally. I know I seemed shocked, but for what it’s worth, I’m really, really proud of you for waiting. For not giving yourself away to the first man who comes along. You’ve obviously broken out of the mould your grandmother and I created, haven’t you; and aren’t you glad for that? Gordana, pregnant with Ivan at eighteen, and me not much older, having already chucked away my degree. At least you’ve got a chance to realize your full potential before you settle down.’

‘If my knee heals, that is,’ I say automatically.

‘It will,’ she replied, nodding to herself as if to reinforce the power of positive thought. ‘I’m sure it will.’

It’s interesting, though. Why is it that my heart sinks when people say that? Surely I should be relieved beyond measure at the prospect of a full recovery?

And of course I am – it would be terrible to be left with a limp, or worse. But when it comes to ‘realizing my full potential’, I find that I’m not thinking about tennis at all.

‘Mum,’ I say, my throat tight.

‘Yes, angel?’

‘Can I tell you something, in private?’

‘Of course. What?’

But I can’t say it. It’s too blasphemous, too frightening to contemplate, to even voice a doubt. I’m not
that
drunk.

‘Oh. Nothing. Just – don’t tell anyone what I told you about me and Mark, will you? It’s so personal.’

‘I won’t,’ she says, smiling at me.

We eventually pull into the long driveway leading to Gordana and Ted’s house. I can see Adele, the cleaner, standing outside, a lit cigarette in one hand and Jackson’s lead in the other, as he bounces around her feet, spotlit under the security lamp.

‘Is that her idea of taking him for a walk?’ I say indignantly, and the discussion is closed. Although when Mum runs round to hand me my crutches and help me out of the car, she gives me one of her giant, hard hugs, and I think she is never going to let me go.

‘Thanks for talking, Rach,’ she whispers in my ear so that the curious Adele can’t overhear. ‘It’s so lovely to talk to you. Everything will be fine, for both of us. Talk to me again, whenever you want to. About anything, OK?’

With a bit of a shock at my selfishness, I realize that I’d almost forgotten what she told me, that Billy had left her. I hug her back. ‘Yeah, Mum, I will. You too.’

She nods, and I feel her clench her jaw against my shoulder before she releases me.

Susie

It was the same Natasha. The writing on Rachel’s get-well-soon card was unmistakably identical to the writing on the back of the photograph I had, now hidden in the inside zip pocket of my suitcase. But I still didn’t know what, if anything, to do about it.

I had managed to avoid Ivan for the entire month I’d been in the UK with Rachel. I was sickened by him. I looked up Natasha Horvath on the Internet on Corinna’s computer, and found her on various tennis sites: current ranking 491; trained 1995–7 in the UK – not with Ivan, although he had obviously succeeded in getting her over here – but now based in Hungary, on the WTA tour. There were pictures, too. She was tall, thin, blonde; beautiful, but tired-looking in all of them. And, more importantly, she was twenty-four years old – which would have made her fifteen when she gave Ivan that photograph. Fifteen years old ...I felt afraid at what the further implications could mean for us all, in Ivan’s current situation. The burden of such knowledge – or at least such strong supposition – was almost too great. I wish I’d never found the damn photograph.

I imagined Ivan running his dark hairy hands over her pale skin in bed, squeezing her muscles appreciatively like a trainer checking a racehorse’s legs. Had he loved her? Did he still? Or had he seen it as protecting an investment ...And if so, how many others had there been? I wanted to know – and yet didn’t, at the same time.

Gordana had begun her chemo. She professed to be fine, but spent whole days in bed, looking out over her garden, listening to Radio Four. She wouldn’t let Rachel do anything for her except read aloud to her (they were two-thirds of the way through
Rebecca
, although Gordana already knew it so well that her lips sometimes moved along in time with the reading). She permitted me to do a little shopping and cooking for us all – but only because I absolutely insisted, and said I would go and stay in a hotel unless she allowed me to.

Ted and Ivan put together a rota for driving her to her chemo appointments. I did volunteer too but was, politely and in the nicest possible way, refused by Ted.

‘She’s using it as an excuse to talk to Ivan,’ he said, tapping his nose knowledgeably. ‘It’s the only way the bugger’s actually ever going to tell her what’s on his mind – and you know she’s desperate to find out. Her theory is that if he’s trapped in a car with her, he’ll have to spill the beans eventually.’

I smiled sympathetically, thinking that I could fill Gordana in with a few salient facts about her precious boy ...but of course I wouldn’t do that. There was no way I was going to make Gordana’s life any more difficult than it already was.

Gordana had another session today, and she and Ted had left a couple of hours earlier than usual, because she wanted to get her nails done first. Rachel had got a lift to Kingston with them – she was going to physio – and Jackson and I were alone in the house, which was quite a relief.

I’d been out with Corinna the night before, and felt hungover. Corinna could drink me under the table, and even a low-key dinner at a restaurant in Richmond had turned into a marathon drinkathon, ending up with me getting the last train and then a cab back to Ted and Gordana’s, very much the worse for wear.

Jackson and I had been dozing on the sofa, his head on my shins, drooling and snoring softly into my knees – more male attention than I’d had for quite some time, I reflected, trying to shift his heavy head to avoid my leg cramping up. I heard a car coming up the drive, and tutted.

‘Oh great,’ I said to Jackson, who jumped up and barked frantically. ‘Company. Just what we didn’t need. Excuse me, buddy, I’d better see who it is.’

Staggering over to the window on wobbly legs, my heart plummeted when I saw Ivan parking his BMW at an untidy angle in the driveway. I caught him glancing over at the house as he climbed out of the car, and I ducked underneath the windowsill, my head pounding from the sudden movement. He looked a lot older than when I last saw him. He looked a lot older than me, come to think of it, although we were nearly the same age. I had to confess that I got a frisson of pleasure at the fact that he hadn’t aged as well as I had – not that I thought that I had, particularly, either.

‘Bother, damn, bother,’ I muttered, crouching on the carpet. ‘What am I going to do?’

I heard his footsteps snarling across the gravel, and the ensuing decisive stab at the doorbell. At least he didn’t appear to have a front door key. I waited, holding my breath, wishing I had some Alka-Seltzer for my churning stomach. Jackson danced around my feet, still barking.

Ivan rang the doorbell again. I considered continuing to ignore it, but conscience got the better of me. I sighed. Typical of him to catch me unawares and hungover, without make-up. I hated the thought that he would look at me and decide that it was I who hadn’t aged well. Still, I guessed he probably had more pressing things on his mind.

I straightened up, smoothed down my hair, and probed the corners of my eyes to remove any stray blobs of sleep. If my makeup bag had been within reach, I’d have been able to make an emergency application of lipstick, but unfortunately it was up in my bedroom. I’d just have to brazen it out.

I bit my lips and pinched my cheeks – which always made me feel like a Jane Austen heroine, but which did work, as a short-term beauty measure – and, shutting Jackson in the living room, went to open the front door.

‘Oh ...it’s you. Hi,’ said Ivan unenthusiastically.

‘Hello, Ivan,’ I replied frostily, standing aside to let him in. ‘Long time no see.’

He nodded, not meeting my eyes. ‘Is Mama ready?’

‘Ready? No ...Gordana left ages ago, with Ted.’

‘What?’ he exploded. ‘We arranged that I’d drive her today – I’ve had to rearrange my whole schedule for this!’

I held up my hands in mock surrender and backed away a couple of steps. Ivan’s tantrums no longer bugged me, I noticed with detachment. In fact, they were rather entertaining, now that they didn’t impact on me. I felt sorry for Anthea.

‘I think you might have the wrong week. Ted mentioned this morning that you were taking her next time – he sounded very certain. In fact – look, come and I’ll show you. It’s on the kitchen calendar. Why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea, since you’ve come all this way?’

I fully expected him to say no and flounce off again, but instead he gazed at me appraisingly for a moment.

‘No reason we can’t be civil to each other,’ he muttered eventually.

That’s what you think, mate, I thought, smiling sweetly. I hadn’t planned to say anything to him about the photograph, especially on top of all his other problems – but this just seemed too much like the perfect opportunity. Surely I had a right to know?

Although I did run the risk of ending up with egg all over my face if there turned out to be an innocent explanation...and even if there wasn’t, he was bound to deny it. But what the hell. I’d know, straight away, from his expression.

He marched past me into the kitchen and examined the calendar on the wall, clearly expecting me, or Ted, or both of us, to have made a mistake. ‘I wish people would be clearer about arrangements,’ was all that he conceded, when he saw
Ted –R.M.
(for Royal Marsden) scrawled next to the day’s date in black marker. I resisted the impulse to comment that it couldn’t really have been much clearer than that.

I put the kettle on. ‘Excuse me. I’m just going to the loo,’ I said, escaping upstairs to retrieve my make-up bag. Answering the door to Ivan
au naturel
was one thing, but I couldn’t countenance an entire conversation with him without the armour of Beauty Flash Balm and lipgloss. It wasn’t that I was trying to impress him – far from it! – but I’d just feel far more confident once I’d powdered my nose.

When I returned, Ivan was looking at Jackson’s bowls on the floor, puzzled. ‘Ted and Mama have bought a
dog
?’ he asked.

‘Jackson? He’s been here for weeks now. Surely you knew that? But they didn’t buy him. He was originally a present for Rachel, from her ex-boyfriend – Mark? She said she couldn’t keep him because Anthea would go ment— um ...Anthea wouldn’t like it. And she hasn’t exactly been able to walk a lively puppy twice a day. So Ted offered to keep him instead. He’s cute. He’s shut in the living room at the moment.’

‘Huh,’ said Ivan, bemused. ‘Maybe she did tell me.’

Rachel probably had, I reflected. Ivan had a very bad habit of not listening to things he was told.

He tutted. ‘So Mark gave her a puppy. What a dickhead. Poor Rach.’ He sounded affectionate, and I smiled at him for the first time, feeling almost fondness – until I remembered the mess he’d made of all our lives.

I made the tea, annoyed with myself for still knowing that he took his black with one sugar.

‘How’ve you been, then?’ he asked gruffly. ‘How’s the old man?’

I hesitated, then thought: Sod it. He had to find out some time. At least I could be the one to tell him. ‘We broke up. He left me for another woman.’

Ivan looked sheepish. ‘Oh. Sorry to hear that, Susie.’

I shrugged. ‘It happens,’ I said in loaded tones.

‘S’pose it does,’ he acknowledged. Natasha’s card was still up on the kitchen windowsill, mixed in with both Gordana’s and Rachel’s other get-well cards. I actually saw his eyes flicker towards it, and away again.

Suddenly I felt angry. Perhaps it was the humiliation of having to tell Ivan about Billy, or perhaps it mattered more to me than I was allowing myself to admit that Ivan had also cheated on me, but I didn’t want him to get away with it.

‘How’s Anthea?’ I asked breezily.

‘OK, under the circumstances, thanks. Working on a new collection.’

I suppressed a shudder at the thought of another of Anthea’s ‘collections’.

‘And how’s Natasha?’ I added slyly, but in just as matter-of-fact a voice.

He was so startled that his hand twitched in the act of bringing his mug to his mouth, slopping tea on to the kitchen table.

‘Natasha ...Natasha who?’ he said, panic flaring in his dark eyes.

‘Natasha Horvath,’ I said, taking a J-cloth from the sink and mopping up the spillage. ‘Elbows, please,’ I added bossily, making him lift his arms from the table so I could wipe underneath them.

‘I recognize the name,’ he stammered.

I stopped wiping the table and stood over him, my arms folded.

‘Ivan. Of course you recognize the name. She’s your bit on the side, isn’t she? Or at least she was, when you were still married to me. And I’m guessing you’re still in touch, otherwise I don’t know how she’d have got that card to you for Rachel. I’m surprised you passed that on – bit careless of you, wasn’t it?’

‘It fell out of my pocket and Rachel found it,’ he admitted, shoulders slumped.

‘So you’re still seeing her – nine years later? That’s quite some fling. Or is it “true love”?’ I made sarcastic quote marks with my fingers. ‘In which case, what are you doing with Anthea? No – on second thoughts, don’t tell me. It’s too sordid. I don’t have any interest in what you’re up to now. It’s what happened when we were still married that interests me.’ I paused.

‘Especially since, nine years ago, she was only fifteen, wasn’t she?’

He buried his head in his arms. I noticed that he was almost completely bald on top.

‘Perhaps she was only one of many,’ I continued, a hard, ruthless streak of pent-up rage flaring within me. ‘All those innocent little Eastern European girls who looked up to you? How many of them did you sleep with and promise to make into superstars?’ I put my mouth close to his ear and hissed into it: ‘How many of them while we were married, Ivan? How many times did you cheat on me, you worthless bastard? This is not a good time for all this to come out, is it? Arrested for downloading obscene photos of children, and then it turns out you’ve had underage sex? You’d lose your club, and your licence. You’d definitely go to jail.’

I had never seen Ivan looking so completely paralysed with fear. He reached out and gripped my forearm hard, his face completely white.

‘Get your hands off me,’ I said, wrenching him away. ‘I asked you a question: how many were there?’

His leg jiggled convulsively under the table, making it jog and the tea spill again. This time I ignored it, and the puddle slid silently to the edge of the table and began to drip in a thin stream on to the floor.

Ivan continued to look at me in terrified appeal.

‘Susie,’ he said urgently, ‘you have to believe me: this has
nothing
to do with the charges, nothing at all, I swear. I didn’t even know she was that young; she told me she was seventeen.’

I snorted. ‘Seventeen – oh well, in that case, that’s fine ...God, Ivan, what were you thinking?’

He didn’t answer. ‘How did you find out?’ he said instead, through gritted teeth.

I put my hands on my hips. ‘Let’s just say I found some pretty compelling evidence,’ I said. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself; a man in your position. You give coaches a bad reputation.’

‘What are you going to do?’

I considered, a finger on my chin. I wouldn’t say I was enjoying this – in fact, I felt sick – but I knew Ivan well enough to know that I had to sound like I meant business, or he’d think he had got away with it.

‘I want you to tell me if it’s still going on.’

‘How do I know you won’t tell Anthea?’

‘You don’t. But if you don’t talk to me now, I definitely will.’

He sighed. ‘You probably won’t believe this, Susie, but I love her – Tasha, I mean. We met when I went over to Hungary for three months to coach, do you remember? Ages ago.’

‘You took Rachel with you,’ I said, appalled. ‘Rachel was only a couple of years younger than Natasha!’

‘I had no idea,’ he replied, rubbing his sleeve over the puddle of tea still dripping off the table. ‘I believed Tasha when she told me she was seventeen. If you must know, it scared me just as much. But we kept in touch. You and I split up. I brought her over and had someone else coach her for a few years, but then her visa ran out and she had to go back. She wrote and told me it was all off, and that’s when I met Anthea. But then about two years ago I bumped into her at a tournament with Rach, and ...well ...it started up again. I’m crazy about her, Susie. I don’t know what to do.’