Games People Play (30 page)

I almost felt sorry for him. There was a pleading tone in his voice that I’d never heard before.

‘Why don’t you finish with Anthea if you’re in love with someone else? It’s hardly fair on her, is it?’

He spread his hands wide on the table and examined them, as if he was about to have a manicure.

I remembered his hands. They were like unformed implements to him – he couldn’t do anything which required delicacy or precision. He held tennis rackets and cutlery in the same way: fisting them with his grip. No wonder he was no good in the sack.

‘I know. But Tasha, well, she won’t make up her mind about what she wants. I only ever see her when she’s playing in the same tournaments as Rachel. She’s pissed off with me for even having another girlfriend.’

‘Is that why Rachel got such bad vibes from her that time, when Rach beat her?’

He nodded miserably. ‘She’s completely threatened by Rachel. She thinks that I should coach her, Tasha, instead – she only wants me if I’ll commit a hundred per cent to her – even though she won’t commit to me either.’

So I was right. ‘And Anthea’s got no idea about all this?’

He looked up. ‘No. Please don’t tell her, Susie. She knows things haven’t been great between us, but I can’t tell her. I don’t want to risk losing her too. I’m already in such shit with all this computer stuff. Although I didn’t do it, you know – it’ll come out that I’m innocent.’

‘Ivan! That is so pathetic, hedging your bets like that! How do you think Anthea would feel, knowing that you’re only staying with her until you find out whether someone else will have you or not? And what about Rachel? It would be terrible for her to find out that you cheated on me when we were married, and even worse for her to think that the only reason you insisted on coming to her tournaments with her was to see Tasha! It’s bad enough for Rachel, knowing that you’re on bail for—’

‘It’s not a barrel of laughs for me, either, you know!’Ivan interrupted querulously. ‘Besides, it’s not true about her tournaments. I come with her because I’m her business manager, not for any other reason. It just happens to be the way I get to see Natasha too.’

‘Convenient,’ I said, walking down the hall and back to release Jackson, who had started to paw and whine at the living room door. ‘OK, buddy, keep your legs crossed. Tea makes me want to pee, too. I have to walk the dog,’ I added coldly to Ivan, unclipping Jackson’s lead from the coat hooks behind the back door. ‘I think you’d better leave now. I need to think about all this stuff.’

‘Right,’ Ivan said, trying to regain his composure. I could see how much he was loathing all this. ‘But please remember, Susie, that there are other people involved here, who stand to get a lot more hurt than you’ve been. Yes, I cheated on you, and I’m sorry. But I’ve got so much on my plate, and besides, it’s ancient history now —’

‘So that makes it OK, does it?’ I flared back at him.

It wasn’t ancient history to me, not right at that moment. I remembered exactly what it felt like to be almost certain that Ivan was lying to me and seeing someone else, but being unable to prove it; the twisted worm of unease which made me hate myself for doubting him, but equally convinced that I had every right to. And now, it seemed, there were a whole lot more reasons to doubt Ivan.

‘I’m not saying that. It was wrong of me. But don’t punish Anthea and Rachel for it. Not to mention Mama – just think what it would do to her...’

That was it. I saw red. I marched over to him and slapped the tabletop hard with my palm, wishing it could be his pouchy, hard-done-by face.

‘How
dare
you bring Gordana into this! If you had any consideration at all for her feelings, you wouldn’t be such a lying, cheating shit to begin with. After everything she’s done for you – she loves you, unconditionally, and you can’t even give her the courtesy of a chat when she needs one! You do nothing for her unless it suits you; nothing...And now you’re trying to worm your way out of this situation by making out it’s Gordana’s feelings you’re trying to spare? You make me sick, Ivan. I am so glad I’m not married to you anymore. Apart from Rach, I consider the whole time we were together as a total waste. You’re nothing. Billy was twenty times the man you’ll ever be.’

Ivan shoved back his chair and stood up, towering over me. I wondered if he was going to hit me, and almost wanted him to. I wanted to wind him up, make him do something which would prove to everyone what a toad he really was.

‘You think you’re so perfect, don’t you, Susie, lecturing everyone else about their faults, but you need to take a long hard look at yourself, wouldn’t you say? I mean, even Saintly Billy couldn’t stand you, could he? And I don’t blame him. No wonder he cheated on you, you bitter old cow. So, you go right ahead and do your worst, then. Ruin Rachel’s life as well as mine and Anthea’s, if that’ll make you happy. Do what the hell you want – I don’t care anymore. But just don’t try and tell me that you know anything about my life, or what I’m going through, because you know jack shit, OK?’

He was breathing heavily into my face, challenging me with his dark eyes, and his breath was as sour as the insults issuing from his mouth. I marvelled at the number of mornings I’d spoiled, waking up with that breath wafting lies across my face as my welcome to the day.

He turned abruptly, yanked open the back door and stormed out. Jackson was so freaked out by the fury crackling in the room that his hair had flattened against his back, and he didn’t even try to escape out into the garden when he had the chance. He backed up against the wall and shivered.

I heard Ivan’s car start up and screech away down the drive, scattering gravel so far that a few stones rattled up against the glass of the conservatory on the side of the house, in a horrible parody of the lover who throws pebbles at his beloved’s window.

Gordana

Now that these chips are down, I suppose I must start being a little more honest about some things. My feelings, I suppose. Honesty doesn’t come that easily to me, although I never realized it before. It’s like something unpleasant you find in your mouthful of food at a dinner party: gristle or a fishbone or something which must be dealt with, in the most discreet way possible, with nobody else noticing. Don’t make big fuss about it, just spit it into your napkin and carry on as normal. I do dislike people who boast about how honest they are. It’s so distasteful.

But even though I have said this, I am not going to be completely honest about my prognosis, apart from to Ted. I have decided that whatever happens, I will pretend everything is A-OK, for as long as I can. I mean, what is the point of letting them all worry so much? There is nothing they can do to change anything, if things are not good. Besides, I believe that if you run around weeping and wailing and gnashing the teeth it does not help. Much better to believe that all will be well. ‘The power of positive thought’: I read an article about this in my
Woman’s Journal
. So I am always going to look forward, and make many plans.

We are going to go on a cruise every year. I am so much looking forward to it. I will wear those funny sweatbands on my wrists to stop me getting seasick. We will of course be asked to dine on the captain’s table. I specifically want to go on one of those cruises which goes to Korčula, to look at Marco Polo’s house.

How funny it will be! I will dress up in my best clothes to get off the ship that day. I’ve seen Marco Polo’s house many times as a child, so I’m not interested in that. All which interests me is to swan ashore, the prodigal daughter returning. I used to dream I’d go back with Ivan a star; but it didn’t happen. Then, in my head, the scenario was of me boasting about my champion granddaughter, but that hasn’t really happened either. Although I will settle for just bringing a few snapshots of our house with me, to show all my old neighbours and cousins and so on. They will gawp in admiration for a while, running their eyes over my beautiful silk suit and my expensive handbag, and then I’ll look at my watch (Tag Heuer, not that it will mean anything to them), and say, ‘Sorry, our cruise ship leaves shortly. We’re off to Greece next. So long!’

But this is all fantasy, and there are more important subjects I must consider too. For one, I think I must be honest with Ted about Ivan. There are a few things that I haven’t ever told him, and he probably needs to know. I tell him everything else, so I must tell him this too.

Susie

After the scene in Gordana’s kitchen, a lot of things were beginning to come back to me from my years with Ivan: doubts confirmed; small mysteries unravelled. There was one party, a smart LTA bash, black tie and five-course dinner. I couldn’t remember what it was in aid of, but I’d been so looking forward to it. I remember it because it was the beginning of the end of our marriage.

Ivan had been coaching at this academy in Budapest, with Rachel training as an up-and-coming Junior, and I had missed both of them, a lot. Of course I was used to Ivan being away from home, but it was the first time Rachel had travelled with him for any length of time, and three months was a very long time for me not to see her.

At the time I’d had a nagging feeling that Ivan would find it a struggle to have sole charge of Rachel – thirteen, hormonal and stroppy – but I hadn’t envisaged him meeting the love of his life out there, a girl not much older than Rachel herself ...I mean, really – how had they begun their courtship? Out for pizza and coke as a threesome? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Anyhow, the invitation to the party had arrived while they were away, for a date about a month after their return. I propped it against a vase on the mantelpiece in the front room, admiring daily its gilt wavy edges and embossed writing. Despite Ivan’s stature in British tennis, I didn’t actually get to go to many parties with him. He usually went on his own.

But this invite was to both of us: Mr and Mrs I. Anderson, and I had already RSVP’d, going to the library especially to consult
Debrett’s
on the correct way to reply to such a formal invitation. The week before Ivan’s return, Gordana took me to a little boutique she knew, where the owner greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks, and where they both helped me buy a beautiful chiffon evening dress. The dress was purple and a dark, dark blue, with spaghetti straps on the shoulders. It fell around my shins in fronds which wafted when I moved, and made me look, I thought years later, rather like a sexy version of one of the Dementors in the Harry Potter film. I couldn’t wait to show Ivan. One of his rare compliments to me had been regarding my shoulders. I never forgot the night he said I had beautiful shoulders, and after that I always used to wear strappy dresses. I bought sexy underwear too, thinking that perhaps if I made more of an effort, we might resurrect our woeful sex life. It could be a new start.

When the two of them got back from Hungary, things did initially seem to be looking up. Rachel was genuinely happy to see me again, and Ivan was making an effort to be nice. He even let me show him the dress, hanging in our wardrobe in clear plastic, waiting for the night of its debut.

But the week before the party, he came back from the club with a frown and a hangdog expression.

‘Susie, listen,’ he’d said. ‘That LTA party.’

‘Yes? Oh, that reminds me. I have to get my nails done for it. Maybe you could run me down to the hairdresser first, my appointment’s at—’

‘There’s a problem,’ he said, holding up an imperious hand.

‘What? It hasn’t been cancelled, has it, because—’

‘It hasn’t been cancelled. But the thing is, do you remember me telling you about Tracy?’

I shook my head, bemused. ‘Who’s Tracy?’

‘My ex,’ he said, rather impatiently. ‘The psycho one I went out with for about six months, and then dumped when I got the scholarship to KU. She never forgave me. Well, you won’t believe this, but she rang me today.’

‘Oh? What’s this got to do with the party?’

‘Um. Well, the thing is, she’s always had it into her head that I dumped her for you.’

I was still confused. ‘But you didn’t know me before you came to Kansas.’

‘I know. But when I came back with you, and you were pregnant, she convinced herself that the whole scholarship thing was an elaborate set-up to enable you and me to start our new life together, away from her.’

‘But that’s crazy!’

‘I know. I told you she was psycho. You must remember me telling you about her.’

I remembered no such thing, other than vague mentions of a girl called Tracy with whom Ivan had gone out for a while when he was at school.

‘I still don’t see what this has to do with the party.’

I had a feeling of unease creeping up my chest and neck, like a blush.

‘I haven’t heard from her for years,’ he said. ‘But she rang me this morning on the mobile. I couldn’t even work out who she was at first – I certainly didn’t recognize her voice. Turns out that she got a job as a sports journalist – she was always pretty sporty. She’d found out that I’m invited to the party—’

‘
We’re
invited to the party,’ I corrected frostily.

‘Sorry,
we’re
,’ he conceded. ‘And then she went all funny, and said, “Is
she
going?” I said who do you mean, and she goes, “Her. The bitch that stole you off me.” I told her, Susie, that you had nothing to do with our break-up, and I said it was fifteen years ago anyway, so what was the big deal,
etc.
etc., but then she said, “We need to talk about this. I’m coming over to your club, now.” ’

‘
What?
She didn’t, surely. After fifteen years?’ I was horrified.

‘She did. She turned up when I was coaching two Juniors. Stood at the side of the court, crying, can you believe it.’

I couldn’t – and didn’t – believe it. ‘Was she on drugs?’

‘Possibly. I had to stop my lesson halfway through to go and talk to her, but then she started screaming at me. It was very embarrassing.’

Ivan looked really upset now, so I put a semi-sympathetic hand on his hard leg.

‘What was she saying?’

He sighed theatrically. ‘She said I’d ruined her life, that she thought we were going to get married, that she’d been waiting for me to break it off with you and come back to her ...All that kind of stuff. I kept saying she couldn’t possibly have waited fifteen years without contacting me until now, but she said she had been married herself for a bit, to someone who she thought would help her get over me – but it hadn’t worked out. Then she started, um, being rather threatening about you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah. She said she was going to this party, and if she saw you there with me, I’d regret it.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know. She’s quite a well-known journalist, apparently. She could make things very awkward for me if she started printing lies. Or worse, she may have meant that she’d do something to hurt you . . .’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that I can’t go to the party because of her?’

‘Well, I’d hate for you to be in any sort of danger. Or for her to cause trouble for me.’

I was outraged. ‘Danger? That’s a bit bloody melodramatic, isn’t it? Who does she work for? I’ll phone them up and get her fired. I’m your wife, for heaven’s sake. She can’t threaten us like that! It’s totally unacceptable, and there’s no way I’m not going to that party.’

Needless to say, Ivan got his way, and I didn’t go to the party. I was so upset about it that I actually cried, burying my face in the soft fabric of the Dementor outfit after Rachel had gone to bed, picturing Ivan having a great time, flirting and drinking and appraising women with that particular hungry expression on his face which he never wore when looking at me.

When he slid into bed beside me in the small hours of that morning, I badgered him to tell me about the party, and if Tracy had given him any grief, but all he managed to mumble was, ‘She didn’t show up’, before rolling over on to his back and snoring, loudly, for the rest of the night. I could tell that he was pretty drunk, though, because I punched him in the side three times to try to get him to turn over, and he didn’t budge at all.

I lay awake all night, my teeth gritted, silent tears of rage falling sideways into the pillow. It wasn’t just the party, of course, it was Ivan. If he’d cared at all about me, he could easily have called me a taxi and got me over there, better late than never. Hell, I’d have called the taxi myself, if he’d only rung me.

His argument later, of course, was that he was afraid she’d show up at any minute, or that perhaps she hadn’t been invited after all but was hanging around outside.

‘I wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid,’ he said. ‘How terrible would we feel if she lost it completely and topped herself?’

Personally, I thought, I’m not sure that I would feel all that terrible. Sad for her, of course, but really, I did not see that I had anything at all to feel guilty about, and I resented the fact that Ivan was implying somehow that I did.

I attempted to find out about Tracy; who she was, who she worked for, but it was 1995, before the Internet was in every household, and I only drew blanks when I rang up all the major daily newspapers’ sports desks to see if anyone knew or employed her.

I asked Gordana if she remembered her, but all she said was, ‘Oh yes, Tracy. Nice girl, I always thought. Very quiet, though. What is that expression: wouldn’t say boo to a pigeon?’

‘Goose,’ I’d replied, thinking that that didn’t sound a bit like the woman Ivan had described. Next time I’d taken Rachel to her tennis practice I’d asked some of the other Juniors’ mothers if they’d witnessed the scene with a strange woman crying and screaming at Ivan, but nobody had.

In fact, the mysterious Tracy appeared to make a miraculous recovery from the terrible loss of a relationship which had apparently obsessed her for fifteen years, and promptly vanished out of Ivan’s life again. But I couldn’t forget her. Something inside me had buckled so far under the weight of my suspicions about Ivan’s liberties with the truth, that I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I hated myself for it, but I became a checker for lipstick on collars, a pocket-rummager, a phone-bill analyser. Nothing concrete came out of it, except the gradual erosion of my self-respect, and trust for Ivan – for he did nothing to assuage my increasing fears.

‘This is not me,’ I thought one morning as I was feeling through the lining of his washbag in search of condoms that we had no need of, since I was on the Pill.

‘I don’t want to be like this,’ I thought later, checking his diary for tiny inexplicable initials or restaurant bookings.

‘I want a divorce,’ I announced quietly a few weeks later, one evening after he’d just got in from squad training. ‘I don’t trust you anymore, and I don’t think I love you, either.’

He was sweaty and stubbly, in his oldest tracksuit and beat-up tennis shoes, but I still had to sit on my hands to stop myself opening his racket bag to see if he had a smart suit in there, the suit he must have worn on the date he had probably just been on. Perhaps he was sweaty from making love all evening to some girl in a hotel bedroom. Perhaps the stubble was a decoy to throw me off the trail.

He had leaned against the doorframe, exhausted, baggy-eyed, filling the doorway with his bulk, just looking at me, a wreck on the sofa. There was no fight left in me. And as I sat there, I remembered good things about him: his face when Rachel was born; the way he cried for joy when she slithered out of me and looked up at us with her own perfect little face. His dedication to so many things – although no longer to me – his enthusiasm and energy and drive. His gorgeous eyes.

I waited for the outraged refusal to accept what I had said. The impassioned pleas for another chance; the protestation of the love he really had for me, but which had become buried under the pressures of competition, travel, and perhaps just the inevitable familiarity of a marriage. The apologies, the tears, the wooing back again.

‘It’s probably for the best,’ was what he said instead.

Then, ‘I’m going for a shower.’

Two days later he moved out. Two months later I moved back to Kansas.

We were divorced within a year, on the grounds of his unreasonable behaviour. He never admitted to his affairs, but I knew he’d had them – at least one. And now, all these years later, I knew that I’d been right.