The Night Watch (52 page)

She would never again, she thought, cross a floor, never switch on a wireless, never put a poker to the fire-never do anything at all-without thinking of the lovers who might be embracing in rooms close by.

She moved her hand to Julia's collarbone-not to the skin itself, but to a place in the air about an inch above it.

'What are you doing?' asked Julia, without opening her eyes.

'I'm divining you,' said Helen. 'I can feel the heat of you, rising up. I can feel the life of you. I can tell where your skin is pale, and where it's sallower. I can tell where it's clear and where there are freckles.'

Julia caught hold of her fingers. 'You're unhinged,' she said.

'Unhinged,' said Helen, 'by love.'

'That sounds like a book. One by Elinor Glyn or Ethel M. Dell.'

'Don't you feel a little crazy, Julia?'

Julia thought about it. 'I feel shot at by an arrow,' she said.

'Only by an arrow? I feel harpooned. Or- No, a harpoon's too brutal. I feel as if a small sort of hook had been plunged into my breast-'

'A small sort of hook?'

'A crochet hook, or something even finer.'

'A button hook?'

'A button hook, exactly.' Helen laughed. For at Julia's words a very clear image had sprung into her mind-something from her childhood, probably-a tarnished silver button hook with a slightly chipped mother-of-pearl handle. She put her hand across the place where she imagined her heart to sit. 'I feel,' she said, 'exactly as though a button hook had been plunged into my breast, and my heart were being drawn from me, fibre by fibre.'

'That sounds frightful,' said Julia. 'What a morbid girl you are.' She took Helen's fingers to her mouth and kissed them, then held them to examine their tips. 'And what little nails you have,' she said vaguely. 'Little nails, and little teeth.'

Helen grew self-conscious, though the light was so dim. 'Don't look at me,' she said, pulling her hand away.

'Why not?'

'I- I'm not worth it.'

Julia laughed. 'You mutt,' she said.

They closed their eyes, after that; and Helen, in time, must have fallen into a light sort of sleep. She was vaguely aware of Julia getting up again, putting on a dressing-gown and going down the hall to the lavatory; but she was in the midst of some absurd dream, and only came properly awake at the closing of the door, on Julia's return.

'What time is it?' she asked. She picked up Julia's alarm clock. 'God, it's quarter to one! I have to go.' She rubbed her face, then lay back down.

'Stay until one,' said Julia.

'Fifteen minutes. What's the good of that?'

'Let me come with you, then. I'll walk you to the flat.'

Helen shook her head.

'Let me,' said Julia. 'I'd rather walk than be left here, you know I would.'

She began to dress. Her clothes lay tangled on the floor: she stooped and caught up a bra and knickers, stepped into trousers and drew on a blouse-tucking in her chin and frowning while she fastened up its buttons. She stood at the mirror and smoothed her face.

Helen lay and watched her, as she had before. It seemed extraordinary, that she should be able to-incredible, that Julia should offer up her own beauty like this, to Helen's gaze. It was marvellous and almost frightening that, an hour before, Julia had lain in her arms, had opened her mouth, parted her legs, to Helen's lips and tongue and fingers. It seemed an impossible thing that she would, if Helen rose and went to her now, let herself be kissed…

Julia caught her eye, and smiled in pretend exasperation.

'Don't you get tired of looking at me?'

Helen lowered her gaze. 'I wasn't looking, really.'

'If you were a man, I'd say you ought to leave the room while I dressed. I'd want to stay a mystery to you.'

'I don't want you to be a mystery,' said Helen. 'I want to know every part of you.' Then she grew slightly sick. 'Why did you say that, Julia? You wouldn't rather a man, would you?'

Julia shook her head. She was leaning closer to the mirror, pushing out her mouth, putting lipstick on. 'It's no good for me, with men,' she said absently. She worked her lips together. 'It doesn't work for me, with men.'

'Only with women?' asked Helen.

Only with you
, she wanted Julia to say. But Julia said nothing: she was tugging a comb through her hair now, looking critically at her own face… Helen turned away. She thought,
What the hell's the matter with me?
For she found she was jealous of Julia's reflection. She was jealous of Julia's clothes. She was jealous of the powder on Julia's face!

Then she thought of something else. She thought:
Is this how Kay feels, about me?

The thought must have shown in her expression. When she turned back to Julia she saw that Julia was watching her, through the mirror. She'd stopped the comb in her hair, but her hands were still raised. She said, 'OK?'

Helen nodded; then shook her head. Julia put the comb down, came to her, and put an arm across her shoulders.

Helen closed her eyes. She said quietly, 'This is dreadfully wrong, isn't it?'

'Everything's dreadfully wrong, just now,' Julia answered, after a moment.

'But this is worse, because we might put it right.'

'Might we?'

'We might-stop. We might-go back.'

'Could you stop?'

'Perhaps,' said Helen, with an effort. 'For Kay's sake.'

'But then,' said Julia, 'the dreadfully wrong thing would still have been done. It was done, before this. It was done, almost, before we did anything at all. It was done- When was it done?'

Helen looked up. 'It was done the day you took me to that house in Bryanston Square,' she said. 'Or even, the time before that, when you bought me tea. We stood in the sun, and you closed your eyes and I looked at your face… I think it was done then, Julia.'

They held each other's gaze, in silence; then moved together and kissed. Helen was still not quite used to the difference between Julia's kisses, and Kay's-to the relative strangeness of Julia's mouth, the softness of it, the dry pull of her lipstick, the tentative pressures of her tongue. But the strangeness was exciting. The kiss, being inexact, quickly became wet. They moved closer together. Julia put her fingers to Helen's bare breast-touched, then drew the fingers back; touched again, drew back again-and again-until Helen felt her flesh seem to rise, to strain after Julia's hand.

They let themselves sink back, awkwardly, on to the bunched-up blankets. Julia moved her hand between Helen's legs and, 'Christ!' she said softly. 'You're so wet. I can't- I can't feel you.'

'Put your fingers inside me!' whispered Helen. 'Push inside me, Julia!'

Julia pushed. Helen lifted her hips, to meet the movement with a movement of her own. Her breath caught. 'Do you feel me now?'

'Yes, now I feel you,' said Julia. 'I can feel you gripping me. It's amazing-'

She had what must have been her four fingers inside Helen, up to the knuckle; but her thumb, outside, was rubbing at Helen's swollen flesh. Helen raised and lowered her hips, to keep pushing against her. The blankets were rough against her bare back, and as well as the pressure between her legs she could feel Julia's dry, trousered thigh bearing down on her own naked, damp one; she could make out separate points of discomfort-the chafing against her of the buckle of Julia's belt, the buttons on her blouse, the strap of her wristwatch… She stretched out her hands behind her head, wishing with some part of herself that Julia had bound her, fastened her down: she wanted to give herself up to Julia, have Julia cover her with bruises and marks. Julia began to push almost painfully inside her, and she liked it. She was aware of herself growing rigid, as if really pulled by tightening ropes.

She lifted her head and put her mouth to Julia's again, and when she started to cry out, she cried into Julia's mouth and against her lips and cheek.

'Shush!' said Julia, even as she still pushed frantically at her. She was thinking of the people in the neighbouring flats. 'Shush, Helen! Shush!'

'I'm sorry,' said Helen breathlessly; and cried out again.

It wasn't like their leisurely lovemaking from before. Afterwards Helen lay shaken, chastened, as if from an argument. When she stood, she found she was trembling. She went to the mirror: she had Julia's lipstick all around her mouth, and her lips were swollen as though she'd been hit. Then she moved into the firelight and saw that her thighs and breasts were marked, as if with rashes, from the rubbing of Julia's clothes. It was what she'd wanted, while Julia was pushing at her; now the marks upset her, absurdly. She moved blindly about the room, picking things up, putting them down-feeling the gathering inside her of a sort of hysteria.

Julia had gone through to the kitchen to wash her hands and mouth. When she came back, Helen stood before her and said unsteadily, 'Look at the state of me, Julia! How the hell will I hide this from Kay?'

Julia frowned. 'What's the matter with you? Keep your voice down, can't you?'

The words were like a slap. Helen sat, and put her head in her hands.

'What have you done to me, Julia?' she said at last, still shakily. 'What have you done? I don't know myself. I used to loathe the sort of people who did the kind of thing we're doing. I used to think they must be cruel, or careless, or cowardly. But I don't want to be cruel to Kay. It seems to me I'm doing this, because I care too much!-too much, I mean, for her, and for you. Can that be true, Julia?'

Julia didn't answer. Helen looked up once, then lowered her head again. She pressed at her eyes with the heels of her hands-conscious that she mustn't let herself cry, because crying would only make more marks… 'And the worst thing is,' she went on. 'Do you know what the worst thing of all is? It's that when I'm with Kay I'm wretched, because she isn't you; and she's sees that I'm wretched, and doesn't know why; and she comforts me! She comforts me, and I let her! I let her console me, for wanting you!'

She laughed. The laugh sounded horrible. She put down her hands. 'I can't keep doing it,' she said, more steadily. 'I have to tell her, Julia. But I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of how she'll be. That it should be you, Julia! That it should be you! That she loved you, before, and now-' She shook her head and couldn't finish.

She reached to the pocket of her skirt for a handkerchief, and blew her nose. She felt exhausted-limp, like a doll. Julia had moved across the room to shovel ash on to the coke in the grate; but she had risen, and was standing at the mantelpiece, without having turned around. She didn't come to Helen's side, as she had before. She stood as if gazing down at the fire, brooding over the smothered coals. And when she spoke at last, her voice seemed distant.

She said, 'It wasn't like that, you know.'

Helen was blowing her nose again, and hardly heard. 'Like what?' she asked, not understanding.

'With Kay and me,' said Julia, still without turning her head. 'It wasn't the way you think it was. Kay let you imagine it, I suppose. It's awfully like her.'

'What do you mean?'

Julia hesitated. Then, 'She was never in love with me,' she said. She said it almost casually, putting down her hand to flick a piece of ash from her trouser-leg. 'I was the one. I was in love with Kay for years. She tried to love me back, but-it never took. I'm just not her type, I suppose. We're too similar; that's all it is…' She straightened up, and started picking at the paint on the mantelpiece. 'Kay wants a wife, you see. I said that once before, didn't I? She wants a wife-someone good, I mean; someone kind, untarnished. Someone to keep things in order for her, hold things in place… I could never do that. I used to tell her, she wouldn't be happy until she'd found herself some nice blue-eyed girl-some girl who'd need rescuing, or fussing over, or something like that…' She turned her head, and met Helen's gaze at last. She said, with a sort of infinite sadness, 'That was rather a joke on me, wasn't it?'

Helen stared at her, until she blinked and looked away. She went back to picking at the mantelpiece. 'Does it matter, either way?' she asked, in the same low, casual way as before.

It mattered terribly, Helen knew. At Julia's words, something inside her had dropped, or shrunk. She felt as though she'd been tricked, made a fool of-

That was silly, for Julia hadn't tricked her. Julia hadn't lied, or anything like that. But still, Helen felt betrayed. She became aware, suddenly, of her own nakedness. She didn't want to be naked in front of Julia any more! She quickly pulled on her skirt and her blouse. She said, as she did it, 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I don't know.'

'You knew what I thought.'

'Yes.'

'You knew it, three weeks ago!'

'It was the surprise of hearing you say it,' said Julia. 'It was thinking of Kay- You know what she's like, she's such a bloody gentleman. She more of a gentleman than any real man I ever knew… I asked her, you see, not to tell. I never imagined-' She lifted a hand, and rubbed her eye. She went on tiredly, 'And then, I was proud. That's all it was. I was proud; and I was lonely. I was fucking lonely, if you want to know the truth.'

She blew out her breath in a rough sort of sigh; and looked back again, over her shoulder. 'Does it make a difference, what I've told you? It doesn't make any difference to me. But if you want, you know, to call the whole show off-'

'No,' said Helen. She didn't want that. And she was frightened by Julia's having raised, so casually, the possibility of their parting. For one terrible moment she saw herself completely alone-abandoned by Julia, as well as by Kay.

She put on the rest of her clothes without speaking. Julia kept her pose at the fireplace. When, at last, Helen went to her and put her arms around her, she moved into Helen's embrace with something like relief. But they held one another awkwardly. Julia said, 'After all, what's changed? Nothing's changed, has it?'-and Helen shook her head and said, No, nothing had changed… 'I love you, Julia,' she said.

But there was that shrinking or dropping inside her, still-as if her heart, that before had seemed to yearn after Julia, to swell and expand, was drawing in its muscles, closing its valves.