Copycat (11 page)

‘Your garden would be better,’ said the neighbours with one voice.

I explained to the small meeting, on a day I knew Jennie was out, that because these were her plans and her original idea I honestly thought it would work.

‘I don’t see why,’ said Hilary Wainwright from number four. ‘I haven’t spoken a word to the woman since we first moved here. Lord knows why, but she seems to resent us. I’m lucky to get a terse nod. Otherwise, I’m ignored. With the best will in the world, why would she expect anyone to join in a scheme like this? It’s so vague – “reasonable use” – knowing her, we’d never get in.’ A silky, sensible woman who more often than not wore beige, Hilary had an enviable job in teaching.

‘What does Sam think about it?’ asked Angie, the builder’s wife from lodge number five, dressed from top to toe in pink denim. Presumably she believed that her Alex, being a builder, would do a better job.

I had to be honest. ‘Sam doesn’t care one way or another. To start with he never believed the project would get off the ground, but that’s Sam, profoundly negative. But as Graham is the expert on water round here, and as this is his plan and he thinks it’s good, we ought to at least think about it.’ I pointed out the man-hours that Graham had calculated would need to be put in in exchange for free swimming. ‘You can see it’s all been well thought out. Graham must have worked very hard.’ Yes, driven by Jennie, I thought.

After a struggle which lasted an hour, they all agreed to think it over and meet at the Gordons’ house to view the site on the following Saturday.

‘But Jennie’s so unstable,’ said Tina, to my surprise, after the rest had gone. Tina was easy to talk to; she was understanding and discreet.

I had to admit, ‘She can be odd.’

‘She behaves very strangely round you.’

So people had noticed? ‘What d’you mean?’

‘She’s so peculiar, you can’t have missed it,’ Tina said. ‘She craves your attention, she stares at you with doggie devotion, she can’t do enough to please you.’

Hell. This was all I needed. I’d have to warn Jennie. This nonsense must stop. ‘Jennie has problems,’ I said defensively, ‘same as we all do round here.’

I wasn’t half so guarded the next time Tina called.

‘Martha, Martha,
what’s happened to
you?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ I sobbed, half undressed and flat on the floor in an effort to pull myself together.
‘Just don’t ask, OK?’

‘You’re ill.’ And yes, I must have looked close to death, with my face so blotched, my hair wild and witchy, while Tina stood there with not a strand out of place, slim and together in her silver shell suit. ‘You’re either ill or you’ve been doing battle.’ Tina stood back and stared down at me, her eyebrows raised like distant seagulls.

‘Battle,’ I muttered, ‘and I lost.’

‘Come on, Martha, have a soak in the bath and come over to my place for a brandy. Where are your kids? Or is that it? You’ve dismembered them and hidden their bodies?’

It was then that I broke down completely, great fat sobs and bubbles streaming from my nose and mouth. I cried out dementedly, ‘Don’t mention the kids to me. I’m no mother.’

‘It can’t be that bad.’ Tina stooped to gather me in her capable arms. Her deck shoes were in a matching silver and so was the sporty band in her hair.

‘
Don’t touch me, don’t touch me
…’

She recoiled in shock. ‘But, Martha, what on earth…?’

I lost control of my face completely. It collapsed in miserable folds like a bloodhound on the scent. ‘There’s no-one to blame but me,’ I sobbed, ‘and that’s the worst thing about it.’

I needed to talk but what words could I use and what about the malicious rumours that might circle round the Close?

I supposed I could try, ‘I’ve just been to bed with another woman…’ Or, ‘My neighbour has just made love to me – she’s devoted to me, by the way…’

And who would believe my pitiful excuse? ‘I never dreamed it would go that far. She got into bed for a cuddle.’ Yes, a cuddle that quickly got out of hand.

I loathed myself for my weakness. I was withered up like a dead leaf.

I started in the simplest way. ‘You’re not going to believe this, Tina.’

‘You’ve got me wrong, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I believe anything.’

‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

‘Go on,’ she said, but she looked jittery.

‘Have you ever been to bed with a woman?’

She began to crow with relieved laughter. ‘My God, Martha, is that all? What d’you want me to say –
how could you?
’

‘It’s not funny. It’s a long way from funny…’ And I picked myself up with some semblance of dignity. I pulled up my socks for a start.

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Tina, ‘let me guess. Jennie. I knew it. I suspected she had lesbian tendencies.’

My eyes might have turned in Tina’s direction, but I concentrated firmly on the wall behind her. This was such personal stuff. ‘Jesus, I’m shaking. I’m still in shock. And Jennie, God knows what she’s thinking now.’

‘But what were you doing down there on the floor?’

‘I reached this far, but my legs gave way.’

‘So what was it like?’ Tina reached for the bottle, the half-empty bottle of wine on the bar.

I refused the glass she offered. ‘No more, never, I’m now teetotal.’

‘Was she good with her hands?’

This wasn’t a joke. ‘This is serious, Tina, if only you knew…’

‘But I don’t, so why don’t you tell me?’

‘Jennie’s at home now, hugging herself, thinking her love is reciprocated. She’s probably convinced herself she’s a dyke, but this is something far deeper than that…’

‘If Jennie thinks you enjoyed yourself, you must have given her that impression.’

I perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, running my hands through my crazy hair and wishing like hell I could take back time. In one way I was grateful for Tina’s light-hearted reaction, but she’d got it so wrong it worried me sick. It wasn’t simply the fact of what had happened, it was the future implications.

Christ, this was hard to talk about. I moved across to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. That was better. Tina sat waiting at the bar, her chin propped up on the wine bottle.

‘We were fed up. We turned on the music, downed a few drinks, made the most of our freedom – you know what it’s like when the kids aren’t around?’ But Tina was childless, so she couldn’t imagine. ‘We were being silly – dancing, shouting, flinging ourselves around the room…’

‘God, I can’t see Jennie Gordon…’

‘
You don’t know Jennie Gordon,’
I reminded her tartly. ‘And suddenly I felt exhausted, what with Lawrence’s teeth and his rash. I was desperate to go and lie down. So I left Jennie down here, went upstairs, tore off my clothes and got under the sheets just as I was. It was gorgeous, just giving in, bed in the afternoon. How degenerate…’ At this point my voice trailed away, as I remembered with shame what happened next.

Could I trust Tina?

Could I trust anyone?

Why worry about that now? But this was a serious humiliation. When Tina yawned her skin didn’t crack and her make-up, I noticed, was perfect. But she showed no shock, so I carried on regardless.

‘Well, she didn’t go any further than touching, but I did nothing to stop her, did I? Shit, shit.’

‘Martha, you enjoyed it.
Admit it.
’

‘Did I? Really?’ I tried to think back. Salty bodies and damp hair, weird in an afternoon. The curtains had thrown sunny shadows and made all movement seem dreamlike, and yet when the ashtray fell off the bed and Jennie said she’d fetch a dustpan, I giggled; I couldn’t stop laughing, even when I was naked against her. I told Tina, ‘You’ve seen the video, well now I’ve got the T-shirt.’

Tina whistled. ‘How fascinating. How very grown up. But it sounds to me like you can’t blame Jennie.’

‘When did I say I blamed her?’ I snapped. ‘Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve been saying? It was my fault for not stopping her and that’s the whole trouble, that’s where it gets dangerous.’ That white world of sheets against Jennie’s green eyes. I had itched to thump her away, but I hadn’t. All I had really craved for was sleep.

‘Well.’ Tina considered my dilemma, staring at me through her wine glass. ‘You’ve broken the rules, but nobody’s hurt. So apart from it being unexpected and unlikely to be repeated, I don’t really see your problem.’

So then I had to say more about Jennie and her manic possession.

Tina said she wasn’t surprised. ‘Quiet types, they’re always the worst.’

‘You’re missing the point. Jennie’s at home thinking all sorts of unlikely thoughts…’

‘You’re going to have to put her right. You’re going to have to explain and be honest.’

‘If you only knew how sick of all this I am. The responsibility for her mental condition. The way this obsession is crushing my life. It’s Jennie, Jennie, always Jennie – trying to avoid saying the wrong thing and causing more scenes, more dramas and more of her sodding suicide threats. I’ve suggested giving our friendship a rest, but no, she won’t have that. And now, dammit, this happens.’

‘It certainly takes the biscuit,’ said Tina.

‘A more enlightened response would be helpful,’ I told her. ‘And if Sam should hear about any of this, there is no doubt he’d divorce me,’ I warned her.

‘What a powerful position I’m in.’ And she gave her languid, most feline smile.

‘He would most probably never believe you.’

‘Don’t worry. Trust me, sweetie, I am as discreet as that proverbial clam.’ And that was true: Tina might jest but I knew I could trust her.

How had it ended?

I must have slipped into a drunken stupor because when I woke up Jennie was gone.

I dragged myself downstairs, trying to remember precisely what had happened and what part I had played in the action.

With that thoughtless and primitive response of mine, I had failed myself and Jennie.

It was time we had a serious talk.

If I could take time back and start all over again, I would.

I
F I COULD TAKE
time back and start all over again, I would.

That cunning Gallagher woman stuck to Martha like a mussel to a rock.
Easy.
She and Carl had no children, she was a materialistic go-getter, and because she worked from home on her state-of-the-art computer, updating holiday brochures for the English Tourist Board, her time was her own.

At first, flying high on the thought that she loved me back, this didn’t worry me too much. She loved me –
she loved me.
OK, her response hadn’t been passionate, but she hadn’t kicked me out in disgust. Mine was a total, ecstatic joy. I made frantic plans in my head: one day we would sail away together and live on some sun-soaked Greek island, run a beach bar, teach English to students, or even get work as couriers if all else failed.

Martha had let me touch her in a way you only allow those you love best.

Her lack of response meant little.
It was what lay behind it that counted.

This was a pure and perfect love, not some freaky manifestation.

I was strong with a boundless energy, like some arthritic on steroids, but no longer would I waste my efforts on scrubbing my house, my kids, my body. There were no bears beneath pavement cracks, nothing was going to leap out and devour me if there was fluff on my carpet, egg on my teaspoons, or butter in the marmalade. My powerful obsession crushed all these others.

Even my urge to see her diminished because of her reciprocal love. I went through the hours in a dream world, sucking up strands of spaghetti with my eyes tightly closed, fantasizing through my Arctic Roll; Martha and I shared this special secret which bound her to me the way nothing else could.

So when she said, ‘Jennie, we’ve got to talk,’ it flayed me to hear her say that the closeness we had shared must not be repeated, that she was appalled by what we had done and if I’d thought it meant something, well, I was wrong, the messages were not intended. She was too confused to analyse her motives, but if I wanted to keep her friendship, she didn’t want that afternoon referred to ever again.

Calamity. I said, ‘Is it Sam?’

She fixed a firm frown to her face. ‘It’s nothing to do with him. This is between you and me. I was tipsy, tired, depressed. Maybe I wanted comfort…’

Hardly able to cope with the nausea, and trembling from head to toe, I started, ‘I suppose you are saying I took advantage…’

Her interruption was brisk, sharp. ‘Don’t you dare start on that self-pitying crap. I’m not blaming you. I could have stopped you but I didn’t. Now it’s over, finished with, and if I misled you I’m sorry. If you use this against me, I will never forgive you.’

I sat at her table, a dejected heap. ‘It sounds like I’m your enemy.’

‘You’re dead right, you are. You’re a threat.’

I winced. ‘I never wanted to be.’

‘I daresay not,’ Martha said, with a hostility that frightened me. ‘But that’s how it is. I never know when you’re going to blow. I’m sick of drama, hysterics and tears between declarations of undying devotion. Of making excuses for your rudeness. I don’t want these things in my life any more. I want it to stop –
right now
!’

‘But how can I stop?’ I wailed, despairing.

‘Jennie, you can,
you must.
For God’s sake, don’t you think it’s time that somebody round here started behaving bloody normally?’

How could I eat? How could I sleep?

I couldn’t confide in Graham, but my world was crashing around me.

‘I’ve fallen out with Martha,’ I told him. I had to give some reason for my swollen eyes, my lack of appetite.

‘What’s new?’ And he turned over to
Newsnight.

I pretended to read as I sat beside him, but my head was spinning in turmoil. The printed words were like soldier ants devouring the page before my eyes – and they came through to my brain with no meaning. I stared at him over the top of the book and, in spite of my own pain, my heart melted. How could I hurt him? Graham, so steadfast, such a sensible man and so contented, wouldn’t have the vaguest understanding of my relationship with Martha. It dismayed me to think about his lot, one relentlessly boring routine as the web of responsibility held him: up early for work, midday sandwich, home at six thirty, sex on a Friday, squash on Saturday, golf on Sunday. Life’s loathsome confining walls. But, for an agonizing while, my passion had carried me over on wings…