Games People Play (33 page)

She hesitates. ‘Well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t know. Your father was cheating on me. Probably the entire time we were together. As far as I’m concerned, he deserves everything he gets. He’s a —’ She checks herself. ‘Did you not notice, Rachel? I mean, he was seeing her whenever you two went away for tournaments. I would hope you’d have had enough respect for me to have told me, if you had known.’

I am flabbergasted; angry and shocked, but somehow not surprised. I draw myself up to my full height – not easy, on crutches. I feel like putting my hands on my hips, but I can’t. Bloody crutches.

‘Anthea,’ I say. ‘Firstly, no, I had no idea. Secondly, if I had, I wouldn’t have told you anyway. It’s nothing to do with respect for you; it’s none of my business! Dad’s no saint, but of course I’d be loyal to him if it came down to a conflict of interests.’

‘Of course you would,’ she says stiffly. ‘Silly me.’

I don’t want to ask, but I just can’t help myself. ‘Who is she?’

Anthea looks as if she doesn’t want to tell me, and then obviously realizes it will cause more trouble for Ivan if she does. ‘Natasha Horvath.’

‘Natasha,’ I say flatly, remembering the hard-fought victory of our match in Zurich. It all clicked into place then: Natasha’s aggression – perhaps it had all ended badly between her and Dad. The way Dad looked at her – he clearly still had feelings for her, even if the affair was over. The card she’d sent me, probably just to annoy Dad (I felt a moment’s appreciation for her then, for knowing exactly how to wind him up. She obviously wasn’t a pushover). I bet Dad would never have given me that card if it hadn’t fallen out of his pocket.

‘One of your little friends, is she?’ Anthea asks sarcastically.

I tut with irritation. ‘No, Anthea, I don’t have any “little” friends, and if I did, she wouldn’t be one of them. I only played her once. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t say I’d ever met her before.’

Anger is simmering between us now, building up and up like steam in a pressure cooker. I have a vision of it suddenly beginning to hiss out into the room, so loudly that neither of us can hear our ‘s’s when we speak.

I look down at the bundle of newspaper-wrapped silk flowers, and a word jumps out at me: “
Porn
”. That horrible word again. Wait a second. I look more closely. “
Ivan Anderson
”. It’s a report of Dad’s arrest, from a different newspaper to the one Pops brought home; a tabloid, but the same story. Why has she kept it?

‘Why have you still got this?’ I ask, pointing at it.

Without at all meaning it, I add sarcastically, ‘Wasn’t you who leaked the story to the press, was it?’

Her reaction gives her away immediately. She blushes puce and is visibly rattled. The rage drains out of her and shame flickers over her made-up features.

‘You
did
!’ I say incredulously. ‘How could you do that? As if things weren’t bad enough already, you compound his misery and ruin his reputation by letting everyone know about it? You Judas! How much did they pay you? You’re despicable!’

‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ she snaps, her composure back again. ‘Like you said, Rachel, it’s none of your business. It was wrong of me, I know, but like
I
said, I was very upset with your father. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think we have anything left to say to one another at all.’

‘I’d like my Swiss ball back, if you don’t mind,’ I say, glaring at her.

‘Your...? Oh yes. I beg your pardon, Rachel, I forgot that it was yours. I wasn’t trying to steal it.’

‘No, no, of course you weren’t,’ I say, over-politely, wishing she’d tried to appropriate the hair straightening device instead of the Swiss ball – I’d have let that go without comment. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such dislike for someone. Why had she leaked the story ages ago, and then only left him now, if she’d known about Natasha Horvath for that length of time?

‘I’m going to use the loo, if you don’t mind, then I’ll get some stuff out of my bedroom, and then I’ll be off.’
And I hope I never see you again, you horrible woman
.

‘I’ll get the ball first,’ I add, hobbling out into the garden, before Fat Bob packs it into the van.

I stoop slowly and pick up the Swiss ball off the grass, holding it awkwardly under my arm, before turning back into the house. It’s difficult to
manoeuvre
with the crutches. Leaving the ball by the suitcases in the hall, I climb slowly up to the bathroom, lock the door and immediately text Dad: ‘
COME HOME NOW, ANTHEA LEAVING YOU!!
’ I resist the urge to add, ‘
SHE’S THE ONE WHO TOLD THE PRESS, THE EVIL COW.’

I sit on the closed toilet lid, idly taking in the brown sticky rings of different sizes left on the shelf by the bath where Anthea’s numerous pots of unguents and jars of cosmetics had stood in regimented rows. Neat and tidy, but never cleaned underneath. This under-the-surface grubbiness was another reason I enjoy living with Gordana and Pops: their house is always spotless. This place seems doubly filthy now, the air tainted with what Dad might have been up to on his computer, or with Natasha Horvath. I was finding it very difficult to imagine the two of them together.

You just never know what’s around the corner, do you? You think you’ve got it all mapped out – I mean, I knew I wouldn’t be playing professionally forever, but I really thought I had a few more years in me, and now ...well, I just don’t know. Mum thought she and Billy would grow old together. Gordana thought she had plenty of time yet – and hopefully she still does – and Dad thought he’d be building his little empire, not watching it crumble and vanish like a washed-away sandcastle. The best-laid plans, and all that. Presumably Anthea thought she and Dad had a future, too. It’s distressing, to see how relationships unravel. And then there’s Mark and I...

I get up and hop from the bathroom to my bedroom.

My leg is really hurting now. I swear stress makes it worse.

I retrieve an assortment of creased clothes from my drawers, pack them into the empty backpack I brought with me for the purpose, and get out of there as quickly as I can. After all that, I leave the Swiss ball by the front door. I’d like to deflate it and take it with me, but I don’t know where the pump is to re-inflate it at the other end, and I don’t want to stick around to search for it. I don’t want to be here when Dad gets home – it’s between him and Anthea. I can’t help him with this, or with anything else.

As I close the front door behind me and hoist the backpack on to my shoulders, Anthea is nowhere to be seen. At least I’ve escaped without having to endure a final one of those horrendously awkward hugs, which are the only ones she knows how to do – all elbows and bony shoulder blades, and too much space between our heads. I wonder where she’s going. I don’t really care.

It doesn’t really hit me, not until much later on. My dad is a cheating two-timer. But instead of thinking ‘poor Anthea’, I find myself thinking ‘poor Dad’.

Gordana

I must confess I am in a poor state of mind today. I do not want to complain, or worry anybody, but it’s so hard to be positive when I feel so sick. It is not a nice feeling. I’m not sure if it’s the chemo, or the cancer, but I feel terrible. It is a little bit like the feeling I had when Ted and I went to Malaga last year, and we went out on a three-hour cruise to do the dolphin-watching. Five minutes after leaving the harbour I began to feel nauseous. Ten minutes later I was vomiting discreetly into sick bag. Fifteen minutes later I couldn’t even be discreet about it anymore; I was chucking up over the rail of the boat, while everyone was on the other side
oohing
and
aahing
at the grey shiny dolphins curving through the water.

I did not care at all about the dolphins; in fact when Ted took my arm and tried to get me to come and look, I shook it off and said something very rude indeed about the damn dolphins. I just wanted to get back on dry land, but I knew there was another two hours and forty-five minutes to roll around the deck before it ended.

It’s so horrible, feeling like this and knowing that it won’t stop. With the dolphins, it was only three hours, and they didn’t make my hair get so thin. With this chemo, it’s another five months and almost certain baldness. And then five weeks of radiotherapy every day. And then what? Still the cancer? I could go through all this and, at the end, nothing has changed.

Mr Babish says he got it all out in the operation, but just one tiny speck, and it’s back, spreading through me again like mould on cottage cheese. At least with the dolphins, I was not afraid, just sick. With this, I am scared stiff. I am terrified of dying. I look at Ted’s face, and see this fear for me in him too. The only time he look relaxed is when he sleep. So, I’m enjoying watching him sleep, even with all the snoring and dribbling what is going on. I am taking pleasures where I can, and eating a lot of ginger root in syrup, to try and make the nausea go away. But I keep crying, in private, which is not at all like me.

I have been trying so hard to Think Positive. But sometimes this is not so easy. I will keep trying, though, and I will not tell anyone how afraid I am. I must think of poor Ivan and these terrible charges. It is vitally important that I get better to see him through it all. And I must also be there for Rachel, to encourage her through her recovery. I have things to do! I must pull myself together, like the curtains.

I went to a yoga class the other week. The teacher was a pregnant but very bendy young woman in a leotard which disappear right up her bottom, and she told us that we must imagine our bodies are full of golden sparkly light travelling around it, booting out all illness and so on. It is a nice idea, although I could see her bottom in the big mirror on the wall behind her, and her thong leotard bother me so much it made me itchy and then I couldn’t think about the golden light, only about how she might get a yeast infection unless she start to wear less invasive clothing. It surely could not be good for the baby.

I wish Ted and I could have had a child together.

Susie says the same thing about her and Billy. She and I have a lot in common. I feel so sorry for her. I still have my Ted, and I know she loved that strange Billy with his vests and his baseball caps round the wrong way. I only met him once and, I must say, I didn’t really see what the appeal was. He was not nearly as handsome as my Ivan, and he had no social skills that I could see. Although perhaps she just wanted an easy life. I know how hard it is, trying to keep Ivan in line.

Ivan should have realized how good Susie was for him. It would be so wonderful to see them back together again. Although not very likely, I think.

Speaking of Ivan, I must remind him that it’s his turn to give me a lift to chemo tomorrow. The time since the last bout has gone so slowly, because of the feeling sick all the time. And now I must do it all over again and probably feel more sick...Oh well.

I ring him up, but there is no answer from his home; no point in calling him at the club, and his mobile phone is switched off. So I leave a message telling him to ring me back, but not between three and four-thirty, because the nice aromatherapist is coming then. Of course what does he do but ring me back at four. When I come downstairs after my massage, on woolly legs, smelling beautiful and miraculously not feeling sick, I press PLAY on the answerphone.

‘Mama, it’s me,’ he says. His voice sounds tight, like he doesn’t want to waste it. ‘I hope you’re OK. I can’t give you a lift tomorrow, sorry, but something’s come up. I need to see Susie, though, it’s urgent. Please let me know when she will next be at your place.’

This is alarming, at the way he spits out the word ‘urgent’. Uh-oh, I think. Here is trouble. For Susie, and probably for all of us. I must find out what’s going on.

I pay the nice aromatherapist, and she packs up her towels and oils and the big table she carries with her, telling me she’ll be back in a fortnight. Then as soon as she’s gone, I ring Ivan back on his mobile. It still goes straight to the voicemail.

‘Darling, it’s me. I’m afraid I really do need you to give me a lift tomorrow. Ted is out all day at a Rotary meeting. Susie is still at Corinna’s, and Rachel’s got physio at that time – not that she’d be able to take me anyway, of course. Otherwise I will have to take a taxi. You wouldn’t make me take a cab to chemo, would you, darling...? I thought not. It won’t take long. So I’ll see you at eight-thirty then? Thank you, Ivan, you are a sweetheart. Bye bye.’

Sometimes, I reflect, it is best to be firm, to treat him like a seven-year-old again. Seven-year-olds don’t like to have too many choices; they need boundaries. Ivan, too, need boundaries in his life.

I am quite afraid that he won’t turn up, and I really will have to get a taxi, but at eight-thirty-five the next morning I hear his car roaring up the drive. Even from the front door I can see that his face is like thunderclouds. I brace myself as he gets out of the car to meet me, pressing myself slightly against the wet ivy which grows up the side of the porch wall. It leaves dark patches on the shoulder of my cream Burberry mackintosh.

‘Hello, my baby,’ I say, kissing his stubbly cheek.

‘Mama,’ he replies curtly. ‘Ready?’

He looks more tired than ever, with pouches under his eyes, but he holds the passenger door open for me, and waits to close it until I have arranged my skirt and handbag on my lap. For some reason I feel like the Queen. Perhaps it is the Burberry, and the headscarf I have started to wear outside the house now. I’m not bald yet, but I’m anticipating it. They said I wouldn’t necessarily lose my hair, but I don’t want any nasty surprises. I have already looked at wigs, and found a nice chestnut one not unlike my own hair at its best.

I am gearing up for our usual game of Twenty Questions, to try and discover what is going on his life from just yes and no answers, but to my surprise he begins talking first, as soon as the car has pulled away.

It is like he is accelerating himself into conversation.

‘OK, Mama, listen. I may as well tell you now because if I don’t, Rachel or Susie will – in fact I’m surprised they haven’t already. Anthea’s left me. She’s packed all her things and buggered off abroad somewhere, I don’t even know where. But what I do know is that I think Susie’s been stirring things. She couldn’t bear to see me happy and settled, so she put the boot in to get her own back for ...well, things that happened between us in the past. I have to say, I feel very strongly that I don’t want you and Ted to make her welcome her any longer. She’s outstayed her welcome. She’s broken up my relationship for her own selfish reasons, and I think it’s completely intolerable. Just because she’s been dumped by that hippie, she’s—’

‘Stop!’ I put up my hand, trying to quell the flow of words. I am shocked at what he is saying, and struggle to take it in. ‘Anthea’s gone?’

I hadn’t really ever warmed up to Anthea, but this is big change for Ivan. They seemed settled.

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Oh darling, I’m so sorry. Perhaps if you talked to her . . .’

‘I told you, Mama, she’s left the country. I don’t know where she is. Portugal, probably, at her mother’s.’ He shifts in the beige leather seat and scratches his head. I reach out and stroke his leg.

‘But how do you know it was anything to do with Susie? She’s not like that, Ivan, I’m sure she wouldn’t have—’

‘She did,’ he says curtly. ‘She must have done. Anthea left me a note, mentioning ...that she knows about ...Well, there’s this other woman, you see, and... Oh, it doesn’t matter. The thing is that she found out.’

‘Oh, Ivan.’ You silly, silly, boy, I think. Aren’t you in enough trouble? I know that he used to sometimes not be so faithful to poor Susie, but I thought he had grown out of that by now.

‘And frankly,’ he adds, spitting out the words, ‘what use am I to Anthea now? I can’t afford to buy her anything anymore. I’m stressed all the time, worried about the court case, my debts . . .’

I glance at him sideways. I hope he is not blaming me for that.

We have slowed down to a crawl in the rush-hour traffic on the Kingston Bypass, and I look at my watch. I don’t want to be late for chemo because it is done on a first-come first-served basis and there are only so many of the old
Hello!
magazines I can read without them getting blurry if I don’t get there when they open at nine.

‘Who is this other woman? Some little fling, or somebody you want to be with?’

Ivan sighs. ‘Not a fling. Someone I’ve got a lot of history with, if you must know. Her name is Natasha, and I really like her ...But she doesn’t want me either, Mama. She’s grown out of me. Who can blame her? Not exactly a catch any more, am I?’

‘Calm down, Ivan darling,’ I say soothingly. ‘This will not do your blood pressure any good.’

‘There’s one more thing I wanted to tell you ...I mean, well, confess, actually,’ he mutters. I can tell it feels like having his teeth tugged out to admit it, and my heart sinks even lower down. It feel like a balloon with water inside. I close my eyes with terror that he will confess to computer stuff.

‘What is it, Sonny Jim?’

‘The money I owe you.’

‘Yes? You have been paying it back; there is no problem.’

‘Well, no, there is. A problem, I mean. The thing is—’

We have eventually got to the hospital, and I interrupt him to point out an empty parking space. He scowls at me.

‘As I was saying, I was wondering if I could defer the rest of the payments for a while? At least until after the hearing?’

‘Of course, Ivan. I am sure things are difficult for you at the moment, with not being able to work and so on.’

‘It’s not just that,’ he says, and he looks so ashamed that I am surprised. ‘I haven’t been able to afford to pay you back for some time now.’

‘But you
have
been paying us back?’

‘Yes. But I ...Oh, this is hard to tell you...But I...had to get the money from elsewhere.’

‘Elsewhere? Where else?’

An ambulance screeches up to the doors of the A&E department, and two men unload a body on a stretcher bed. It makes me shiver.

‘I owe money to loads of people. The builders who renovated the club. The people who laid the new courts. Even the kitchen suppliers, and the brewery. I can’t even pay the bar bill! I’ve been getting threatening letters – I’m sure it’s one of these bastards who set me up with the porn. I told the police about it at my initial interview, so they’re investigating all that now too. I’m going to be declared bankrupt, whatever else happens. So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a disappointment to you, and a failure. I didn’t download that porn, but I did carry on paying you back when I ought to have been paying back other people. I just couldn’t bear you to think of me as the loser that I am.’

What can a mother say to that? What sort of a bad mother was I, that Ivan worry more about paying me back than about getting so much into debts that he will be bankrupt?

‘I go for my chemo now,’ I say, in a big daze.

‘I’ll wait out here,’ Ivan replies, not looking at me.

I get out of the car very slowly. It would be so nice for him to offer to come with me, just a little chit-chat while I lie there, to take my mind off it. But I guess it doesn’t occur to him.

The needle into my vein hurts more and more with each visit, but this time I barely notice it for worrying about what will become of my boy. At least with Anthea he had a bit of stability in his life – although it did not stop him getting into big money troubles. Oh Lord, how could he let such a thing happen? Now it really will be the end of his dreams of the clubs.

I don’t believe Susie would do anything to spoil things between Ivan and Anthea, though. Whatever Ivan says, it’s just not like her.

Ivan has managed to spoil everything all by himself.