Telling Lies to Alice (7 page)

I was trying to read—Harold Robbins—but it was useless because I wanted to lie on my back and anyway, I’m so slow with books that by the time I’ve got halfway through I’ve forgotten what happened at the beginning, so I gave up and thought about how it would be if my life had gone in a different direction . . . not just with Lenny, but if I’d been any good at school and stayed on and taken exams. I’d like to have been a veterinary nurse, or . . . I don’t know, something to do with animals. I might have been quite good, but I went to a secondary modern and there wasn’t much encouragement. It never occurred to me at the time about needing exams and anyway, my marks were always so bad that the teachers would have thought I’d got a screw loose if I’d asked to stay on.

But I don’t mind, really. Like I said, I may look like something I’m not, but I don’t mind being what I am, if that makes sense. That was something I could never understand about Lenny: He made millions of people laugh and they all adored him, but he didn’t want to be the person he was. He was very . . . what’s the word? . . . Inward-looking. Introspective, that’s it. Much more than Jack—about the act, as well as himself. I mean, Jack would just go on, do his stuff and come off, and that was it. Lenny never thought anything was good enough. He was always jotting things down—how to improve it—and Jack just let him get on with it. If he thought it was a good idea he’d say, “Fine, let’s do it,” but he never really got involved. Lenny always felt he had to
test
everything, as if—I don’t know—as if he was trying to make sure it was real, somehow. I used to say to him, “Don’t be stupid, I love you
because
you’re you,” and he’d say, “How can you?” Some of the things he did almost made me think he was behaving that way so I’d get fed up and leave him and then he’d be able to turn round and say, “I knew you didn’t love me really.” But I always thought it must be my fault, so there I was trying to be the perfect girlfriend, and the harder I tried, the worse he got. I gave up in the end. Looking back, I think what it comes down to is, either you’re the type of person who can be happy, or you’re not, and if you’re not, then you can have the whole country roaring with laughter at your jokes and it won’t make a blind bit of difference. So there you are. Hop on the couch, Dr. Alice will see you now.

But that’s how people like comedians to be, isn’t it? Miserable underneath. When Tony Hancock died, that really got to Lenny. “Poor bastard,” he kept saying, “poor bastard.” Then he waved the paper at me and said, “That’s how they want us to die.”

I thought I’d better make up for the afternoon by spending the evening cleaning the horses’ tack in the kitchen. It’s where I do everything—that and the bathroom are the only rooms I use downstairs, unless I’ve got people to stay. I don’t need the others because the kitchen’s so big it’s got a table and a sofa as well as all the normal stuff.

I’d been putting off cleaning the tack for over a week, but actually it was really satisfying. I’d got the radio on and Eustace was snoring away on the rug, and I was just putting the second bridle back together when the front doorbell rang. Eustace leapt to his feet and shot out into the hall, skidding on the runner like he always does. I grabbed his collar before I opened the door—most people’s idea of a warm welcome doesn’t include a pint of dog slobber—so I was bending down and the first thing I saw was a suitcase and next to it, feet and legs. Male. “It’s all right, he doesn’t bite,” I said automatically, as Eustace lunged forward to sniff the shoes. I couldn’t stand straight because that would have meant letting go of him, so I squinted up at the man through my hair and saw—legs—crotch—chest—neck—and then—“Hello, Bunny Alice.”

It was Jack. Standing on my porch under the light, holding a bunch of roses.

W
hat are
you
doing here?”

“Admiring your tan.” Totally deadpan. A few more lines on his face, perhaps, but he was as handsome as ever. More, if anything. It threw me completely—I couldn’t think what to say.

“Just hang on a sec . . .” Eustace had started making huffy little woofing noises, which is what he does when he’s not sure whether he ought to bark or not, so I bundled him back into the kitchen and shut the door before he could make up his mind.

“What was
that
?”

“My dog. Why . . . I mean, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see
you,
of course. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

I heard myself say, “Oh, yes, sorry . . . please, come in,” and I stood back and let him bring his suitcase into the hall. “Are you . . .”

“I thought I’d stay a few days, if that’s all right with you.” He looked straight at me. I dropped my eyes first. It was pathetic. I was totally flustered, and he could see it.

“I don’t recall inviting you,” I said, trying to pull myself together.

Jack held out the flowers as if I hadn’t spoken. “I bought you these.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said automatically.

“Now then. Where do I go?”

I watched Jack look round the kitchen and saw it through his eyes—the dirty lino, the dishes in the sink, the saddle in the armchair, the dog shedding hairs on the sofa, and me with my bare feet, grubby T-shirt, and jeans cut off at the knee. A drip from the drying rack landed on his head. He looked up. “What’s that thing hanging down?”

“A girth.”

“Oh. What’s a girth?”

“Keeps the saddle on the horse. How did you get here?”

“Train. The taxi dropped me at the gate. I thought I’d stay a few days—I’m sure you could use a bit of company. I’ve been worried about you, out here by yourself.”

I stared at him.

“Jack, I haven’t seen you since Lenny’s funeral.”

“You haven’t thought about me at all, have you?” he asked aggressively.

“Yes, of course I’ve thought about you,” I said, taken back. “Actually, I was thinking about you the other day, wondering if—”

“You don’t have to pretend, Alice. There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“What are you talking about, someone else?”

“Another man.”

“What do you mean,
another
man? Even if there was, I don’t see—”

“It was a
joke,
darling.”

“It didn’t sound like one.”

“Well, it was. You never did like hurting people’s feelings, did you? Was that why you went to bed with me, all those years ago?”

“No! Jack, stop it! I don’t understand what—”

Jack interrupted. “Lenny bought this place, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” To my dismay, my eyes filled with tears. I turned my head away, but not quickly enough.

“Never mind, darling. I’m here now.” As if I’d begged him to come. Before I could reply, Jack said, “Does he always do that?”

“Who?”

“Your dog. Does he always fall asleep with his arse hanging off the sofa like that?”

“All the time. Jack, I still don’t—”

“You’d think he’d slip off, wouldn’t you? I don’t see how it can be comfortable. What’s his name?”

“Eustace. Jack, why are you here, actually?”

“I’m here because I wanted to see you, actually. And London’s like a bloody furnace. Anyway, now you’ve got me, you might offer me a drink. I wouldn’t mind something to eat, either. Actually.”

“I can make you a cheese sandwich, and I think there’s some scotch . . .” I put the roses in the sink and started pulling things out of the fridge. “Cheddar?”

“Anything. This is a nice old place.” He went over to the table and picked up a snaffle bit while I concentrated on cutting bread. “Wouldn’t fancy that in my mouth. Have you got a horse of your own?”

“Two. Pickle?”

“Why not? Where’s the booze?”

“Oh, sorry. Try the cupboard in the corner.” Jack stuck his head in and reappeared holding an elderly bottle of Johnnie Walker. I was hoping he’d go and sit down but he leant against the worktop and watched me. “You’re still gorgeous. Dishevelled, but gorgeous.”

“Thanks. By the way, does Val know you’re here?”

“Still cynical, as well. You haven’t given me a kiss yet.”

“So I haven’t.” I said it as flippantly as I could and kept my eyes on the breadboard.

“I’ve thought about you a lot.” Jack put his hand on my arm. I jumped. I couldn’t help it. He let go and blew on his fingertips as if they were on fire. “Whoa! You’ve been on your own too long, I can see that.”

“Sorry. It’s just—”

“You never used to react like that. Rather the reverse, from what I remember.”

I took a deep breath. “Jack, please don’t.”

“All right.” He gestured towards the loaf. “What’s that, a dog biscuit?”

“Bread. I made it.”

“Made it? What do you think shops are for?”

He looked at the oozing slab I’d prepared. “Not exactly gourmet fare, is it?”

“Sorry. The bread falls apart if I cut it any thinner.”

Jack pulled a piece off the top slice, chewed it, and looked surprised. “Not bad. It certainly tastes
brown,
anyway.”

“
Does
Val know you’re here?” I continued, ignoring him.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Which manner would that be?”

“Well, she knows I’m not at home, so I must be somewhere else, but she’s not too bothered where.”

“I bet she
is
bothered. Did you have an argument?”

He shook his head. “Not really . . . The thing is, she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment. It’s Rosalie, she’s doing another degree—art, this time. She and her boyfriend have cooked up this so-called project where they have to buy one thing from every page of one issue of the
Exchange & Mart
and take photographs of them and the places they came from and the people who sold them . . . there’s stuff all over the place, prams and bedsteads and ski boots and all sorts of junk. We might as well be living on the set of
Steptoe & Son
. . . . There’s a car, too. Filthy old rust bucket, broken down in the middle of the drive. Val’s livid. Not with Rosalie, mind you—she says it’s my fault for lending her the money.”

“Why did you?”

“I thought it was for paints and things. I said to Rosie, this isn’t art, it’s shopping, and she said, yes, that’s the point. At the end they’re going to put all this crap on a conveyor belt somewhere and film it so it looks like prizes on a game show. I said to Val, who’s going to want to see that? I’d rather look at the test pattern . . . I only lent Rosalie the money in the first place because I wanted her home for the summer, not hitchhiking to Christ knows where with her revolting boyfriend.
Covered
in pustules, you’ve never seen anything like it. And he dresses like a raving poof.”

“She’s old enough to know her own mind, surely?”

“Yes, but she’s my daughter and I’m not letting that . . .
troll
. . . maul her about.”

“All women are somebody’s daughter, Jack. Even me. Believe it or not. Why don’t you sit down?”

“In a minute.”

I began stripping the bottom leaves off the roses and arranging them in a vase. Jack moved behind me—too close. I could feel his breath. I bent over the flowers and tried to ignore him. He kissed my neck. This time, I was prepared. I didn’t jump or move away, just stood there and let him do it. I didn’t mind—in fact, it was rather nice to have someone touch me again, and I’d always been fond of Jack—it was good, reassuring, to have someone around, even if I wasn’t sure why he was here yet . . . “It’s good to see you again,” he murmured, “so good to see you . . .” He put his hands on my shoulders. I put my head back and closed my eyes and suddenly, I saw Lenny’s face in my mind, his eyes looking down into mine, as if he was on top of me, about to—

“Don’t tense up, Alice.”

“I’m not, it’s just—”

Before I could stop him Jack’s hands shot down my arms and he grabbed my hands in his and yanked them behind my back. “Are you ever going to relax?”

“Jack, you’re hurting me.”

“You’re resisting.” He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.

“Of course I’m bloody resisting,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“Jack,
don’t.
”

“Say you’re pleased to see me.”

“I’m pleased to see you,” I gasped. “Now please—let go.”

He dropped my hands and stepped back. I turned round to face him, rubbing my wrists. “What did you think you were doing? That hurt.”

“Sorry,” he said. He didn’t look it. His voice was mechanical, his eyes blank. I pushed past him to the dresser. “You need a glass.”

Jack took the whisky and the sandwich over to the table and sat down as if nothing had happened. I followed him with a glass and then returned to the roses.

“What’s up?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as shaken as I felt.

“Well . . . I’ve been trying to learn lines for this play I’m supposed to be doing, but what with all the banging and crashing, and being persona non grata with Val, I thought it would be best for everyone if I decamped. So I said to myself, I’ll go and see my old friend Alice, she’ll be lonely all on her own.”

“It was a kind thought but I’m fine. Honestly.”

“You know I’ve always been fond of you, sweetheart. I felt sorry for you. I heard about What’s’isname—your husband.”

“Jeff Jones. What about him?”

“Are you going back to him?”

I sighed. “We’re divorced.”

“Sensible girl. Once a Welshman, always a cunt, in my book.”

“Jack! That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“Sorry. It’s only because I’m so fond of you, darling. I won’t be in your way. I can sit in the garden. And I can help you bringing in the sheaves or whatever it is you do. It’ll be nice to spend some time in the country.”

I gave up. “Look, I’m tired. You can stay the night and we’ll discuss it in the morning. There’s a spare room. Why don’t you finish that while I get some sheets?”

Jack pushed the half-eaten sandwich away. “I’ll come with you. I’m not used to this level of mastication.”

“Okay.” Without thinking, I leant forward to pick up the scotch and put it back in the cupboard, but Jack was there. Our eyes met above the bottle.