Old Sins (39 page)

‘Dean, what is it? Whatever is the matter?’

‘Oh,’ he said, speaking rather slowly. ‘I think you know really, don’t you? You know what the matter is.’

‘Dean, you’re talking in riddles. Of course I don’t.’

‘I think you do. I had a sperm count three days ago. You know what the result is, of course?’

‘Of course I don’t. Don’t be so ridiculous. Why should Doctor Burgess tell me? What did it say anyway? What was it?’

‘Don’t play games with me, Lee. You know what it was. It was nix, wasn’t it? Zero. Negative. Zilcho. I have no sperms. Doctor Burgess said I was absolutely sterile.’

‘Well, probably that was being so overweight – so unwell for so long.’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘What else can I think?’

‘I’ll tell you. You can think the truth. That I’ve always been sterile. That I could never have fathered a child. That’s what Doctor Burgess said.’

‘Well, clearly,’ said Lee, ‘Doctor Burgess doesn’t know too much what he’s talking about. What about Miles?’

‘Yes, Lee, what about Miles?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean who did father him?’

‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous. You know perfectly well you fathered him. He looks just like you.’

‘No, he doesn’t. He looks just like you. Lucky that, wasn’t it? Supposing he’d had red hair? Brown eyes?’

Lee shivered. ‘Dean, this is ridiculous. I’m going to call Doctor Burgess. I just don’t believe any doctor would have said you – any man – could never have fathered a child. Is that really what he said?’

Dean suddenly broke down, sobbing like a baby. ‘No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know. He said I was very very lucky I had managed to father a child. Because the sperm count was so low. I said what would he have said the chances were. He said he couldn’t say. I said what was the count. He said I wouldn’t understand. But that it was very low. He was clearly very embarrassed. Lee, I’m not a fool. I can see when I’m being lied to. Now will you for Christ’s sake tell me who Miles’ father is? Who you were fucking then. Who you’ve been fucking since. Come on, Lee, I need to know. We’re not leaving this room until you tell me.’

Lee rallied. She took a deep breath, sat down on the couch beside him. ‘I haven’t been fucking anybody. Anybody at all. Not even you very often. Until just recently.’

She sounded bitter.

‘Don’t try to change the subject.’

‘I’m not. It’s the truth.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You don’t have to.’

Dean’s eyes suddenly filled with tears again. He gripped her small, thin hand with his huge one. It hurt. Lee winced.

‘I do have to, though. I do have to believe you.’

‘Well, for Christ’s sake then, Dean, do believe me. Please. I’m telling you the truth. You are Miles’ father.’

He looked at her for a long time. She did not falter.

Please, please God she thought, please let him believe me.

‘I can’t,’ Dean said at last. ‘I can’t. I want to but I can’t. Lee, you simply have to tell me. Who was it?’

Lee stood up abruptly. ‘This is getting ridiculous. I’m going to fix you some lunch. Maybe you’ll feel calmer then.’

‘I don’t want any lunch. Sit down.’

‘No.’

‘Lee, will you for fuck’s sake sit down. Jesus, I swear to God I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me the truth.’

‘Dean, I don’t think I can stand this much longer.’

‘
You
can’t stand it.’ He laughed shortly, a harsh, cracked sound. ‘You can’t stand it. That’s rich. How sad for you. How painful. I am so sorry.’

He crossed to the bar and poured himself a huge slug of bourbon. Lee looked at it.

‘Dean, you shouldn’t be drinking that. You know you shouldn’t.’

‘Don’t you tell me what I should do. You have absolutely
no
right. No right at all. I’ll do what I like.’

‘OK.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral.’

She was to remember saying that for a long time.

They sat in silence, scarcely moving for nearly an hour. It was very hot in the living room; Dean wouldn’t let her open a window. Most of the time they were silent; just sitting there. Dean drank; Lee watched him.

Every so often he would say, ‘Who was it, Lee?’

‘Nobody,’ she would say. ‘Nobody. Let me go.’

‘No. You’re staying here.’

Once she tried to walk out, but he stood in front of the door, barring her way. He was very drunk now, red in the face, sweating heavily. He had stopped crying, or even shouting at her; he was simply waiting, watching her, willing her to crack.

She asked him if she could go out to the toilet; he accompanied her, stood outside the door. Then they went back to the living room. It smelt, stale, sweaty, alcoholic. Lee began to feel ill. She sat down on the couch.

‘Dean, I feel sick. Could you get me a glass of water?’

‘Sure.’ As he went out, he unplugged the phone, took the set
with him. When he came back he handed her the glass, tipped up her chin and looked down into her face.

‘You may as well tell me. I’ll get it out of you in the end.’

She drank the water. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not.’

It was exactly like all her nightmares.

At half past three Miles came home, banging on the door, calling out, ‘Mom, Mom,’ when she didn’t answer.

She looked at Dean. ‘You’ll have to let him in.’

‘OK.’ He suddenly gripped her wrist, twisting it round. ‘Now you just keep your goddamned mouth shut. Or I swear to God I’ll tell him as well.’

He went out to the door. ‘Oh, hi, Dad,’ she heard Miles say, ‘where’s Mom?’

‘She isn’t too well. She’s lying down upstairs. Listen, can you go play with someone for a bit?’

‘Sure. I’ll go to Freddy’s. His mom’s real nice. She’ll understand. Can I take my bike?’

‘Sure.’

‘Bye, Dad.’

‘Goodbye, Miles.’

He came back into the living room.

‘You gonna tell me?’

‘No.’

Suddenly he raised his fist and struck her across the face, she felt an explosion of searing aching pain across one eye, and tasted the sweet salty flavour of blood trickling from her mouth. For the first time she was seriously frightened.

If only, if only Amy would come, she thought, she would know, she would guess something was wrong. She would get help. But Amy was away staying with her mother.

‘It’s no use thinking I’m going to get tired,’ he said. ‘That I’ll let you go. We’re staying here till you tell me.’ He looked at her shrewdly, thoughtfully, ‘What was it like?’ he said. ‘Fucking someone else? Was it as good as doing it with me? Did you think about me?’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said. ‘Stop asking me these questions. I can’t answer them. You know I can’t.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘you’re wrong. I know you can. What was it like, Lee? Was his dick bigger than mine? Did you come? How many times? You always were a sexpot.’ He poured himself another glass of bourbon. It had emptied the bottle. He looked down at her, angry, contemptuous. ‘You whore,’ he said, and all that was in his voice was disgust. ‘You fucking, fucking whore.’

Lee sat quite still, on the couch, curled up, her head buried in her hands. Some time, surely to God someone would come.

Later, goodness knows how much later, she heard footsteps on the front steps. The bell went. She stood up.

‘Shut up,’ said Dean, pushing her down. It went again and again. Then she heard Freddy’s mother’s voice.

‘Mrs Wilburn! Mr Wilburn! Are you there?’

‘You’ll have to go,’ she said to Dean. ‘She won’t go away. She’ll call the police if she doesn’t get an answer.’

Dean went to the door. He didn’t open it, just called through it.

‘Yes? Who is it?’

‘It’s Molly Wainwright. Is everything all right?’

Lee heard him open it a crack. Maybe Molly Wainwright would smell the bourbon on his breath, guess something was wrong.

‘It’s fine. My wife’s just gone to sleep.’

‘Well, I just called to say would you like Miles to stay over? Then Lee can sleep through till morning, and she won’t have to worry about taking care of him or getting him off to school.’

Dean cleared his throat. Lee could hear him making an intense effort to speak normally. ‘Thank you, Mrs Wainwright. That’d be fine.’

‘Could I have his things, do you think?’

‘Er – what things?’

‘His pyjamas and so on.’

‘Well – I – that is – I’d rather I didn’t disturb my wife right now. She – only she would know where they are, you see. Could you lend Miles something, do you think?’

There was a long silence. Surely she’ll think that’s odd, thought Lee. She wondered, if she made a dash into the hall, Mrs Wainwright would hear her. But some strange lethargy
gripped her; her legs felt weak, her eyes were half closed. She knew she couldn’t make the effort.

‘Oh – well, all right.’ Mrs Wainwright sounded slightly dubious. ‘Is there anything I can do, Mr Wilburn? Fix Mrs Wilburn some soup or something?’

‘No. No thank you,’ said Dean. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me I must get back to my wife.’

‘Is she very sick?’

‘No, no, she just has a migraine.’

‘Well, if you need me you know where I am.’

‘Sure.’

Lee heard the door slam; Dean walked back into the room.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now we have plenty of time. I’m certainly in no hurry. I’ll just open this other bottle of bourbon and then I’ll come and sit beside you.’ He poured two glasses and offered her one.

‘Here.’

‘No thank you.’

‘Take it.’

‘I said no thank you.’

‘And I said take it. Now take it, for Christ’s sake. And drink it. I don’t like drinking alone.’

She took a swig. It was strangely comforting, burning warm in her throat, numbing the pain of her cut mouth.

Dean suddenly put down his glass, and touched her face. ‘You’re a pretty woman, Lee,’ he said. ‘Very pretty. You’re still pretty. I still get the hots when I look at you.’

Dear God, she thought, how do I handle this one? She smiled at him, trying to lighten his mood. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘That’s really nice.’

She took another gulp of the bourbon. ‘So is this. I’m beginning to feel better.’

It was a mistake. He knocked the glass out of her hand, his face suddenly crumpled unrecognizably in rage. ‘I don’t want you to feel better. Not one bit. I want you to feel worse. Terribly, dreadfully worse. You filthy, lying bitch. Fucking with other men. Having another man’s baby. Making me think it was mine. Whose was it, Lee? Whose was it?’

‘Dean, I can’t go on with this much longer. It was your baby. Miles is your baby.’

‘Make me believe you then,’ he said, coming closer to her, grabbing hold of both her wrists, searching her face. ‘Was this how he was conceived? Was it? Like this?’

He kissed her suddenly, hard on the mouth, then threw her back on the couch; he held her down with one hand, ripping her pants off with the other. ‘Come on, Lee, show me. Show me how you did it. Show me how you did it with him.’

He smelt disgusting; of drink and sweat; Lee turned her head away from him, shutting her eyes. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’

‘Oh, but I want to. I will. Let’s see what you can do.’

And then it was total horror; he unzipped his fly, and fell on top of her, stabbing at her with his penis; clawing at her thighs, her buttocks with his hands, kissing her again and again, pausing gasping for breath, he entered her clumsily, impatiently, and began to thrust into her, harshly, heavily. She could hardly breathe, she was crushed beneath his huge weight, she seemed to be drowning in the darkness, the pain and the foul smell. He pulled out suddenly and drew back from her, looking at her, a hideous smile on his face. ‘Is this how you like it, Lee? Is this how you did it? Tell me, tell me you like it. Tell me, Lee, I want to know.’

She was so afraid she couldn’t speak; lay looking up at him, her eyes huge, desperately trying to say something, anything; no words would come.

‘You silly, silly bitch,’ he said, ‘why won’t you tell me?’ And then he entered her again, brutally, hopelessly, and it seemed to go on for ever, and she lay there, hanging on somehow to her sanity, her courage, willing it just to be over. And when finally it was, he lay there, weeping again, and saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ and she stroked his head and said, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ and they stayed there for a long time.

Finally he said he would get her a drink, some tea or something; yes, she said, tea would be nice, and sat there trembling, not knowing what to do while he went to the kitchen. She drank the tea, and persuaded him to have some; he seemed calmer, she was beginning to think she might be able to move from the room. Then:

‘I haven’t given up,’ he said softly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I won’t let you go. Not until you tell me. I have to know.’

‘Dean, please believe me. There is nothing to tell.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, perfectly normally, quite quietly, and then crossing to the bar, he took a bottle of beer out. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

‘No.’

‘You are,’ he said, and suddenly smashed the beer bottle on the edge of the bar, knocking two glasses off at the same time, and came at her with the jagged edge. ‘Tell me, Lee. You have to tell me.’

Lee felt suddenly calm. She saw quite clearly that she was going to have to tell him something; otherwise she would be dead by morning; but she also saw that if she did it right now, he would probably kill her anyway. She faced him, steady-eyed.

‘Dean, don’t. You’ll be up for assault, possibly murder. I won’t tell you anything until you’re behaving rationally. Put that down.’

He did put it down, as she had known he would, and sat down suddenly again, looking around him in a slightly puzzled remorseful way, surveying the mess, the beer over everything, the broken bottle, the smashed glasses.

‘Sorry,’ he said as if he had just knocked a cup of coffee over. ‘Sorry about that. Now, you were saying?’

‘Have some more tea, Dean.’

‘No thank you.’

‘It’ll make you feel better.’

‘All right.’

He picked up his tea cup. ‘I’m ready. For anything.’

Lee took a deep breath.