Love Rules (31 page)

‘Thea, it's gone lunchtime now – can you please phone me as soon as you get this message? Love you.’

‘Alice? It's Saul. Yes – I'll be in around three-ish. Listen, I don't suppose you've heard from Thea, have you? No? No – no reason – I think she may have lost her mobile, that's all – daft thing. OK, I'll see you later – yes, I'll bring them in with me.’

‘Thea, it's Saul – if you're there can you pick up, please. I popped into the Being Well but you're not there and they don't know where you are either. Can you phone me as soon as you get this? Or text. I'm at home – but the mobile is on, too. Speak soon. Love you.’

‘Hi, Alice – it's Saul again. Listen, do you mind if I cancel the meeting – Thea's not at work, there's no answer on her mobile or at home and I'm worried now. Pardon? I saw her two nights ago – I spoke to her yesterday morning and told her about the offer being accepted. She was giggling on the bus. I haven't heard from her since. What? Yes – the offer on the place we like, it's all going ahead. Listen, I think I'm going to go up to Crouch End – I have keys. Is that OK about the meeting then? Cool. Yes. Tomorrow's fine.’

Shit. Thea's text late last night. Alice grabs her phone and fires off a message.

u ok?

After two minutes too long, she sends another.

u ok? Axx

Thea could cry with relief. Help is at hand. Alice is there. no. Tx

u at home? Axxx

yes – can u come?? need u, v v much Txx

k. on my way – so is Saul

Saul? Coming here? No no no! Shit. I don't want to see him. I've got to go.

When Headfuck Boy had dumped Thea, her heart had been broken and the pain had been terrible and exquisite but in a cathartically Brontë-like way. However, Saul hadn't broken her heart. If he'd wilfully broken her heart, at least she could hurl herself into a romantic vortex of grieving, sobbing and deluded hope. Instead, Thea was lumbered with his insidious secret and it was asphyxiating. A broken heart was a walk in the park compared to this. All she'd been able to do for twenty-four hours was pace her flat and hyperventilate, rush to the toilet trying to throw up something other than bile-bitter emptiness. She'd been incapable of rationally assessing what she'd seen, the black-and-white facts had been too mammoth for her mind. So, of course she'd ignored Saul's calls. Of course she'd deleted his goodnight and good-morning and Thea sweetie, where ARE you messages. And of course she is rushing out of her flat, knowing he is on his way over.

Today, she feels even worse than yesterday; at least yesterday she'd had something to throw up and too much to think about. Today, she feels hollow and doomed and exhausted. There cannot be any explanation, any escape from what she'd seen. The bare facts are emblazoned, as harsh as a neon strip-light; but she can't close her eyes to them, she
can't flinch away – they are imprinted on her mind's eye anyway. She feels wretched; beyond distraught. Horror, disbelief, anger and hurt collide cataclysmically. Saul had done something unbelievable but she has to believe it because she saw it with her own eyes. She finds herself alternately repulsed by him yet somehow scared of him too; she swings from yelling out loud that she never wants to see him again, to sobbing silently at the terrifying notion of a future without him.

He isn't who I thought he was. He is someone else. My Saul is gone. Who is this other Saul? Who is this person? A man who does terrible things.

Yesterday Thea reeled from the shock. However, the surges of adrenalin, the unremitting need to throw up, offered a bizarre respite, a temporary distraction, from deciphering the facts and admitting to the meaning. Today, she is consumed by the deceit, mangled by the hideousness of it all. Reality looms large and there is no escape from the truth.

Saul – do that?

Yes.

Him – with them?

Yes.

How dare he claim love and affection for me while paying for sex elsewhere. Youcannotdo the one and also the other. It is ethically impossible. It is morallyreprehensible. Either love has lost its meaning or he never loved me in the first place. You simply cannot have sex with prostitutes and love your partner. And that's a fact. And thefactis that yesterday, at lunchtime, when I fancied a sandwich, Saul fancied a fuck.

Thea stumbles out from her flat. She shivers spasmodically despite the day being even more beautiful than yesterday. With shoulders hunched, she walks clutching her hollow,
aching stomach. Her face is ashen, she's wearing slippers and an agitated expression and people stare as if they know what has befallen her, as if she is indelibly branded, stigmatized. Poor wretch – she's just found out her boyfriend uses hookers. Look at the state of her, staggering down Topsfield Parade – she's walking in the road! Is she mad? Is she drunk? Is she ill? No, she's discovered her boyfriend pays for sex. God, how awful.

‘Alice?’

‘Thea,’ Alice answers immediately, ‘are you OK? What's going on? I'm on my way, I'm in a cab, in Dartmouth Park – but the traffic is a nightmare. Is Saul there yet?’

‘But Alice – I don't want to see Saul.’

Alice is stunned into silence. The thought ‘not in a million years did I consider that’ scorches her. What has he done, the bastard? She'll kill him. ‘Where are you?’

‘Outside.’

‘Outside where?’

‘Outside down a side street.’

‘Are you still in Crouch End? Walk to one end of the street and tell me the name. Don't hang up.’

The taxi costs a fortune. The driver doesn't know Crouch End so he's fine with Alice rifling through his A–Z and directing him.

‘Left – leftleftleft!’ Alice barks. ‘There! There she is. Slow down. Just stop, will you? Just stop and wait a sec – well, put your bloody hazard lights on, then. I'm coming back.’

Thea is pacing ten yards one way, then ten yards the other. She looks up at the sound of Alice's footsteps and stands still.

‘Come on,’ Alice says with calm kindness, her arm around Thea's shoulder, as if assisting a little old lady or a very small child across the road, ‘I'm here.’

It was a little like knowing exactly what to do in an emergency. Outside of a dire situation, one fears one will lose the presence of mind to think straight, act on intelligence and do the right thing. However, when such circumstances arise, suddenly one reacts sagaciously and efficiently. And so it was with Alice.

‘Alice, is Saul writing something on prostitutes? Are you publishing something in
Adam
about buying sex?’

‘No.’

‘I saw him go into a brothel yesterday, Alice. I waited for him to come out again. He did.’

Alice knew instinctively not to let the shock show. She knew not to rubbish what Thea claimed, neither to attack or defend Saul just yet, nor to raise or dash Thea's hopes. The recovery position she needed to put Thea in was to calm her down, make her feel safe and listen without prejudice and with minimal comment. Just then, it didn't matter whether Saul had or hadn't, whether he was a bastard deserving castration or a maligned man, whether Thea should go to an STD clinic, whether Thea should confront Saul, whether or not their relationship could survive this. Instead, there were practical measures to be taken which were far more pressing. Alice knew Thea had to eat, needed to sleep, must not be on her own and that Saul had to be fobbed off, temporarily at least. If Alice phoned him on Thea's behalf, he'd know there was a crisis and he would afford them no peace.

‘Do you see?’ Alice asked Thea, whom she'd taken back to Hampstead, made a hot-water bottle for and made drink flat Coca-Cola. ‘It makes sense. You need to call him. And quickly.’

Thea looked at her phone for some time. And then she dialled because Alice kept telling her to.

‘Hiya!’ she acted for all her worth, contriving to sound as
breezy as anything, glancing at Alice for bolstering, hating his stupid lovely voice.

‘Thea, thank Christ!’ Saul exclaimed. ‘Jesus, where have you been?’

‘I lost my phone yesterday,’ Thea claimed convincingly, ‘when I was shopping. And I went to collect it and decided to take the day off.’

‘But no one knew where you were!’ Saul protested. ‘But I phoned work,’ Thea lied, ‘and left a message on the machine.’

‘I couldn't reach you,’ Saul said softly, ‘I was worried.’

And all those times I couldn't reach you, Saul? Were you really in meetings and up against deadlines? Or are mobiles not allowed in brothels? Perhaps they interfere with the equipment? Put you off your pace?

‘I even went over to yours,’ Saul was saying. ‘I tell you, if you're selling it in three weeks' time, you ought to start having a sort-through. It was a pigsty, young lady.’

Oh, God. My flat goes in three weeks.

Thea had gone cold and shuddered violently at the realization. Alice draped her luxurious shahtoosh around Thea's shoulders.

‘Are you coming to mine tonight?’ Saul carried on.

‘I'm tired,’ Thea said truthfully, ‘and I do have lots of sorting out to do.’

‘I'll phone you later,’ Saul said with such warmth in his voice Thea found it difficult not to believe that he really loved her.

At ten o'clock, half an hour after Mark had arrived home and, on raised eyebrow from Alice, had greeted Thea as if her presence was the most normal and expected thing, Thea phoned Saul and said she'd be over shortly.

‘Do you think that's wise?’ Alice asked her, worried by
the distracted glaze to her eyes. She'd rather Thea had another light snack, an aromatherapy bath and an early night as planned.

‘I just need to see him,’ Thea said. She wasn't going to confide to Alice that actually she'd suddenly been subsumed by an urgent fear that if Saul was alone he might pop out for a quick cash shag. Was that what he did? Those occasions when they stayed in their respective flats, when she phoned late to say goodnight and he explained he was just out buying biscuits or somesuch from the corner shop?

‘Tread carefully,’ Alice warned her caringly. ‘You're fragile – I wouldn't say anything tonight. You really need to sleep. Would you like a valium?’ Thea shook her head. ‘We'll work this out, Thea,’ Alice told her, ‘we'll figure out what to do.’

Alice wasn't in the mood for a furtive text session with Paul. She needed to keep her phone open for Thea. In fact, for the first time, she resented Paul's messages arriving and left them unread. Mark had gone to bed early, with the diaries of Winston Churchill. Alice felt traumatized. How could Saul have done this to Thea? How could it be that Saul was that kind of man? Normal, nice blokes don't do that. Whoever heard of such a thing? And anyway, Saul has Thea, for Christ's sake – could he really abuse her so? Alice felt shaken. And the one person who could soothe her was the one upstairs reading Winston Churchill. Thank God for Mark. Thank God Mark was Mark, straight and steady and there for her. She cuddled up against him, sinking fast into the safety net he provided.

‘Is Thea OK?’ Mark asked, using his finger for a book-mark in case Alice wanted to talk or there again didn't. ‘She looked a fright.’

Alice sighed, grateful for Mark's intuitive care but burdened at the secret she had to guard. ‘She'll be fine,’ Alice said. She let Mark return to his book for a while. ‘Mark?’

‘Yes?’ he said, his finger bookmark at the ready.

‘Nothing.’

‘Are you OK, Alice?’ he asked, closing the book and laying it down. ‘You look a little out of sorts.’

‘I feel a little low,’ Alice confided in a whisper, the threat of tears a flint-edged pebble catching her voice.

Mark switched off the light and took her in his arms. ‘It's OK,’ he said, ‘there there. Get some sleep. Everything passes.’

It wasn't Mark's simplistic optimism that raised a small smile from Alice, it was that he knew precisely what to do for her just then. He knew not to probe, not to reason. He just had to hold her close and soothingly and so he did just that. It was just right. And she loved him for it. And for the first time she felt searing guilt at her own transgression and profound regret.

To Thea, it seemed glaringly bizarre that Saul should carry on as if nothing had happened. In his eyes, however, nothing
had
happened. Why wouldn't he want to chat about the new place? Why shouldn't he twirl her in his arms and place celebratory kisses on her face? Naturally, he'd want to express the anxiety her disappearance had caused him. And of course he was eager to discuss mortgage minutiae. Of course he was going to ask her if she was all right. Of course he was going to comment that she looked pale and tired and of course he'd automatically place his palm tenderly on her forehead to assess her temperature. And of course Thea wanted to scream you evil deviant sod what the fuck do you think you are doing screwing hookers when you have me?

But she didn't. Not because Alice had told her to bite it back but because suddenly she found herself obsessed with a perverse mission of sorts. When they went to bed, she instigated sex: athletic, urgent, ravenous sex. She had a point, not love, to make. She had to feel him overcome with hunger
for her. She needed to sense that his passion for her could send him to the verge of frenzy. So she writhed and gasped and twisted herself in mock abandon. She faked the pleasure of every thrust and grind. She let her voice lie most convincingly. What she sought was to analyse Saul's every move and groan. She needed to assess his response. Was he loving it? Did fucking her absorb and sate him utterly? She scrutinized his every hump and groan, evaluated the length and intensity of his climax and studied his breathing pattern and facial expressions throughout.

There was absolutely no doubt about it, she drove the man wild. Why the hell, then, was he paying for sex elsewhere?

‘Christ, that was good,’ Saul declared, post-coital triumph softening into affectionate gratitude. He rolled towards Thea, his hand gently cupping her breast while he kissed the tip of her nose.

And do you say that to all the women?
Thea wondered, turning away from him, gulping against the swell of nausea.