The Secret Intensity of Everyday Life (49 page)

Come round some time after seven. Five past? Ten past? He forces himself not to leave his house until seven o’clock. From Glynde to Lewes is barely three miles and by now the traffic will have eased on the A27 so he’ll be there in no time. He takes a bottle of red wine from his modest store.

The house next door is closed and silent. The police car long gone. Alan drives away with a line from ‘The Lady of Shalott’ running in his head.

All in the blue unclouded weather

I’ll know as soon as I see her face if she’s read it. I’ll know what she thinks of it. She won’t tell me the truth but I’ll know.

Lewes is quiet, the shops long closed. He leaves his car in the half empty car park behind the Cliffe, and walks up past All Saints and the Friends Meeting House. He sees Alice’s face at the downstairs front window of her house, looking out for him. She knows he’ll be punctual. He sees her run to open the door.

‘I’ve had my supper already,’ she tells him. ‘It’s school tomorrow so I have to be in bed by eight.’

‘Quite right.’ He enters the narrow hallway.

Liz appears from the kitchen holding a broad-bladed kitchen knife. She looks pleased to see him. Beyond that, contrary to his expectations, her face tells him absolutely nothing.

‘Come on in. I’m chopping onions. Only pasta.’

‘Great,’ says Alan. He holds out his bottle of wine. ‘A contribution.’

‘I’ll do that,’ says Alice. ‘I’m good at opening wine.’

Liz turns back into the kitchen, saying as she goes, ‘I loved your play. We’ll talk about it after Alice has gone up.’

‘Why?’ says Alice.

‘Because you wouldn’t understand it, and because I say so.’

‘Is it at all like
Friends
?’

‘No, not really,’ says Alan. ‘It’s about a couple breaking up.’

‘That happens in
Friends
. Ross and Rachel broke up.’

‘This isn’t funny.’

‘Ross and Rachel breaking up wasn’t funny. It was awful. I still think they shouldn’t have broken up, they just go so well together. I just know they’ll get back together in the end. They just have to.’

Alan is re-running Liz’s words, trying to discover from her tone of voice the true opinion that lies behind them.
I loved your play.
Once again he finds he can be sure of nothing.

‘A terrible thing,’ he says. ‘My neighbour in Glynde, the woman who lives right next door, took an overdose.’

‘That is so sad,’ says Liz, her eyes stinging from the onions.

‘I didn’t know her. But I still feel terrible that I had so little idea.’

‘You said terrible before,’ says Alice.

‘And the other thing I didn’t know was that she lived alone. She pretended to be married. She used to talk to me about her husband. But he was just made up.’

‘Oh, the poor woman,’ says Liz.

Alice is fascinated.

‘She just made up a husband? And everyone believed her?’

‘Well, I did. I suppose I never really bothered to think much about it. You don’t expect people to invent husbands.’

‘I think that is so cool.’

When Liz goes upstairs to tuck Alice up for the night Alan prowls round the living room looking for the copy of his play. He fails to find it. There’s the latest
Vogue
and last month’s
Harpers
. Then he catches sight of himself reflected in the mirror over the fireplace. Christ what a scarecrow. He pushes down his unruly hair, tucks in his escaping shirt.

Liz appears.

‘Alice says good night.’

He follows her into the kitchen.

‘Your play. It really is something else.’ She busies herself over the pan of now-boiling water. ‘Totally, totally not what I was expecting. It’s fantastically rude, but it’s brilliant. I don’t claim to understand it all, but really, it’s brilliant.’

O sweet Liz, bringer of joy. Comfort of angels, bread of heaven. Don’t stop. Say more. Pour balm on my soul.

‘You think so?’

‘It’s sharp, it’s funny, it’s shocking. God knows if it could ever be put on. Wasn’t there a play not so long ago where a guy had a sex chat online, pretending to be a girl?’

‘Yes. It was called
Closer
.’

‘I like yours better. It’s got such a great climax.’ She giggles. ‘Oh, God. Ending, I mean.’

‘The pun is deliberate. If you can call it a pun.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s a brilliant idea. I’ve never heard of a play that ends with an orgasm.’

She turns round to smile at him as he sits by the table, rolling his wine glass between his hands.

‘And you a school teacher, too.’

‘I know. I’m a disgrace.’

The bottle of red wine is now finished so she produces one of her own. Alan needs no more alcohol to be intoxicated.

‘Have you shown it to anyone else?’ she asks him.

‘Not in this form, no. I sent an earlier version to Radio Four, but they didn’t want it.’

‘Radio Four! You must be off your rocker!’

‘It didn’t have all the sex phone call stuff. I added that.’

‘Oh, okay. That would make quite a difference.’

‘So you like it?’

‘I am trying to give you that impression, Alan. But maybe I’m not making myself clear when I use words like brilliant.’

‘You could try saying it all again.’

He grins at her, filled with a great and perfect love.

‘It’s brilliant,’ she says. ‘Your play’s fucking brilliant. And let me tell you, I do not use that word lightly.’

‘Brilliant?’

‘Fucking.’

O sweet Liz fuck me now. I love you for ever.

‘The thing is,’ he says, ‘so few people have read anything of mine. What you say is really rather important.’

‘Just as well I like it then, isn’t it?’

‘So you do like it?’

‘It’s fucking brilliant.’

They’re like two little children, conspirators in naughtiness.

She serves out the pasta and they finish the second bottle of wine with the food.

‘I have a question,’ she says, her wide mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. ‘The sex phone call. Is that really what they’re like, or did you make it up?’

‘No, it’s real. I edited it here and there, but mostly it’s just the way I heard it.’

‘So anyone can phone a number and hear all that?’

‘Sure. But it costs a pound a minute.’

‘And people phone these numbers?’

‘It’s big business. There’s a lot of them about.’

‘Where?’ she says, blushing a little. ‘I’ve never seen any. I suppose in men’s porn magazines.’

‘They’re everywhere. Even in local papers.’

He looks round the kitchen and his eyes fall on a copy of
Friday Ad
. He reaches for it, flicks through the pages of flats to rent, cars for sale. There’s an Adult section at the back.

‘See.’

‘
Friday Ad
! My God!’

Liz takes it from him and runs her eyes down the little black-and-white ads. Unzip and relax. Quick relief. Lay back and climax. Sluts at home. Filthy phone sex.

‘It’s a whole other world.’

‘But you knew it was there, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

He can see that she’s really curious.

‘Why not try it? If you don’t mind the cost.’

‘How does it work?’

‘Well, it’s really quite a complex operation. You dial the number, and – er – you listen.’

She smacks his arm.

‘No, I mean, what do you have to say to the person on the other end?’

‘Nothing. There is no person on the other end. It’s a recording.’

‘I wouldn’t know what to say if it was a real person.’

‘There’s no one there. See, it says it here, in the ad. Don’t talk, just listen.’

She looks at him with bright eyes, wanting to be persuaded. He glances round for the phone.

‘I’ll do it. I’ll dial for you.’

‘What if Alice hears?’

‘Does Alice listen in on your phone calls on another extension?’

‘No.’

‘Then she won’t hear.’

He dials the number. The first recording, as ever, is the age and contents warning. He waits for it to end before handing her the cordless phone.

‘Just listen.’

He watches her face as she listens. At first she giggles and her eyes open very wide, but after a few moments she just sits there listening intently. Then she gets up and goes through to the living room, still listening, and sits down on the deep sofa. He follows. She pats the sofa by her side. He sits down beside her. Now her eyes are on him as the phone whispers dirty secrets into her ear. She seems to have forgotten the time.

He raises his watch and turns it towards her, concerned about the mounting cost. She nods, but her mind is elsewhere.

Alan is enchanted.

She likes my play. She loves my play. It’s brilliant, sharp, funny, shocking. That’s more than politeness, she’s not the polite type, look at her, she’s the real thing. Lorraine Jones would never dial up a sex line.

Tread softly, you tread on my dreams. Touch softly. Stroke softly. Kiss softly.

She pulls the phone from her ear at last and hits the end button.

‘Jesus!’ she says. ‘You could end up spending twenty quid on that stuff!’

‘People do.’

‘I never even got to the end.’

‘But it was fun?’

‘She made him lie back on a desk, then she knelt on top of him so that he couldn’t move his arms and made him – I can’t say it. I don’t know you well enough.’

‘I can imagine.’

She wriggles in the deep soft cushions.

‘God help me,’ she says. ‘If Alice wasn’t asleep upstairs I think I’d be taking advantage of your good nature.’

He smiles at her, too brimming with happiness to mind that she’s telling him there’ll be no sex tonight. But she likes his play.

Suddenly she leans towards him, presses her face onto his chest.

‘You shouldn’t have let me do that.’

He puts his arms round her. His right hand rests on her hip. She takes it and puts it between her thighs.

‘Unfinished business,’ she whispers.

‘Then let me get closer.’

She unzips her jeans, pulls down denim and cotton, sinks back onto the sofa. His hand returns, his finger feeling for the soft folds. Her hand joins his, guides his, makes his finger press on the perfect spot. Her pelvis moves, pushing back, chafing. Then it’s her finger alone between her thighs, flying up and down, while she twists and turns silently in his arms.

Just before she comes she goes still. Then she shudders and folds up on herself, and rolls against him. For a long moment she remains like this, clinging to him tightly. Then she lets go.

‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘But it wasn’t.’

She feels the ridge of his cock, hard beneath his trousers.

‘Do you want to do something about it?’

‘I’d rather do it properly.’

‘I can’t. I’d be too worried Alice would hear.’

‘Some other time.’

‘Oh, yes, I think so. I owe you now.’

She cuddles up against him. He bends his head down and kisses her brow. She looks up at him. He kisses her lips.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he says. ‘And sexy. And highly intelligent.’

‘And an excellent judge of contemporary drama.’

‘The best.’

They kiss again.

The phone rings. She reaches about for it, finding it at last on the floor.

‘Yes? Oh, it’s you.’

Alan lets himself sink back into the sofa cushions, feeling his erection soften and dwindle.

All in the blue unclouded weather

‘I can’t, Guy. I just can’t. I’ve got too much on. Tell me your plans for Alice’s birthday. Okay, okay, I’m only asking. Just make sure you call her on the day. No, sorry. Don’t go on about it, Guy. I’ve got company, okay? Just company. Sure. You do that. Bye.’

She puts the phone back down on the floor and zips up her jeans.

‘Alice’s father,’ she says. ‘One of my many errors of judgement.’

He looks at her. He has nothing to say. Nothing would make this time more perfect. Let it go on for ever.

She feels his approval and his happiness.

‘You know what makes you very unusual,’ she says. ‘You write about sex as if you like it.’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘No. Not at all. Most writers make a joke of it, or make it creepy and disgusting, or sad. They don’t want to do pornography and they don’t want to do bodice-rippers so they put on this superior tone about sex, as if they’re not part of it. But they are part of it. We’re all part of it. Well, I am.’