Sally (10 page)

But Sally never mentioned the ‘L' word. Sally didn't know anything about it. ‘L' for what? Yet Diana, gifted with some intrinsic insight, could see it. She quietly made notes of their body language, the way that Sally so comfortably welded to Richard on the sofa. She observed how attentive Sally became when Richard was speaking, how she laughed more strongly if Richard laughed, how she watched him and not Diana when the other two spoke. And Diana saw how Sally would touch Richard somewhere, anywhere, if he got up. And how she'd slip her hand around the top of his thigh as he led her out at the end of an evening, his arm about her waist. And Diana felt Sally glower when, on one occasion, she called her Sal. Richard witnessed this and his head buzzed.

Though the pair of them now shared themselves with their trusted friends, they spent much time locked into each other. They walked and they talked, they sat together in communicative silence; they enjoyed each other's company as normal couples do. The Heath or Holland Park were favourite stamping grounds. Sometimes they visited briefly just to feed the ducks; at other times they marched round these urban swathes of green, lost and deep in intimate conversation. When Richard spoke of his late father, of his childhood, Sally brimmed with tenderness and support. When he talked of his work, she concentrated hard. Now when she was out and about she didn't restrict her sight to eye-level but conscientiously looked up and around and noted pediments and architraves, Corinthian capitals and original window glass in the most unlikely of buildings. Sally talked, too, but carefully. Richard understood her childhood to have been happy, her previous relationships to have been few, fairly short-term and unsuccessful.

‘Why unsuccessful? In what way? Have you been hurt?'

‘I have never been in love.'

Her love was her work, he decided, for on that subject she became animated and spoke so descriptively about her pupils, past and present, that Richard formed a clear picture of each. She spoke with great fondness of her friends, who were few but to whom she was devoted though they lived as far afield as Ireland and South Africa. She talked of her passion for ballet and what she deemed to be her failure – weak knees. She danced for him on Hampstead Heath in her wellingtons, quickly, lightly, and, he believed, perfectly.

But such walks, talks and insights always finished with passionate love-making, more often than not at Sally's instigation. For Richard, this sealed such days, for Sally it was a necessity. Just in case.

Just in case he loses sight of what I am, the extraordinary lover I must be.

You mean, just in case this mere rampant fling should dare to transmute into something quite other.

And hasn't it?

Their love-making was as exciting and as satisfying as it had ever been. The physical peaks that they reached were a revelation, and an exquisite one. But a spiritual element crept in, silently, unannounced and uninvited. It was inevitable. And it was welcome. They looked at each other more while they were making love. They were able to penetrate deeper. And though Sally did not necessarily look at and into Richard with love, she did look at him as Sally, as herself. And he saw that. She liked to gaze at him. She wasn't entirely sure why.

Maybe my funny old shyness has gone.

Maybe, Sally, maybe. But perhaps there's something else you ought to consider. When you're ready.

O
n New Year's Eve, when Richard told Sally that he loved her, her world fell apart. It crashed about her feet in a deluge of shattered hopes and splintered desires. Ruined ambition lay smattered about her.

‘Merry Christmas, Miss Lomax!'

‘Merry Christmas, everyone. Now remember, the coach leaves for Paris from school at five in the morning on January the fourth. Remember too that we will be away for five days so bring enough underwear and any medication. And I want you all to prepare a piece on one figure of French History – painter, King or Emperor, whoever. Oh, and no hand-held computer games.'

‘Mi-iss!'

‘
Is
that understood?' she bellowed. Grudgingly, it was understood. The girls placed Miss Lomax's presents in front of her with a smile, some with a kiss, and skipped merrily out of the classroom and into their Christmas holidays. Most of the boys shuffled up to the desk and reluctantly dumped their gifts, furiously avoiding eye-contact, before swaggering to the door and defiantly beeping into life their electronic games.

‘Oh, Diana!'

‘My, what a pile of goodies you've amassed! Now, have yourself a
won
derful Christmas and make sure you take snaps of your outfit for the Thingies' masked ball. Call me before Paris – I must have
all
the intricacies of the Stonehill-saga before you go! Oh! I read something about cold macaroni cheese and the libido but I can't remember if you
eat
it or
use
it. I'll be sure to let you know! Merry Christmas! Mmwah! Mmwah!' With a pair of vivid scarlet lip marks on either cheek, Sally gathered her things together and left school for Christmas.

Christmas was Christmas. Sally being Sally did not overeat nor did she drink too much. She bought thoughtful presents for her family and sent charity cards to everyone she knew, including Bob and Catherine with a PS: ‘Outfit-making, Highgate, 27th'. She bought Richard two truffles and a pasta dish; he gave her a vibrator. Momentarily she was taken aback but quickly asserted a knowing smirk for him.

But his doesn't look like that at all. And what an odd colour.

She tried it in private but the noise was like a shaver and its mechanical quivers reminded her of her car starting; giggles quashed any glimmer of sexual connotation and Sally's first and last vibrator was banished to the back of her socks drawer. She went to Lincoln where she was a priceless mother's help. Richard spent a dutiful Christmas Eve with his mother and then returned to London and shared Christmas and Boxing Days with Bob and Catherine.

He thought about Sally and he missed her. He was surprised that he missed her but inwardly it pleased him.

You can only miss what you know, and like.

Love.

Sally, surrounded and swamped by the mundanities and trivialities of her mother's Lincoln set, the sagas of her sisters' lives and the monotony of being good and courteous, longed for Richard.

For sex
, she persuaded herself.

On Boxing Day evening, their coming together, in every sense of the word, was urgent and passionate. It was delicious, like a favourite food not tasted for many months.

Sally was pleased, Richard had exchanged his customary ‘Omigod o goddos' for ‘Oh Sally, oh Sal, oSallio'. But she sent him home to his own bed that night, relishing her power and his disappointment, and really quite looking forward to playing seamstress with Catherine the next morning.

‘And I also found this piece with black sequins. How's Richard?'

‘Oh, fine, fine.'

Fingers picked at buttons, the bobbin hurtled merrily, the needle pumped incessantly. Eyes were cast down, scrutinizing, measuring; the atmosphere was one of committed and creative labour. There was, however, space enough to chatter and to allow the occasional dip into one of the many end-of-term chocolate boxes.

‘Yuk, strawberry fondant!'

‘Pass it over then, I'll swap you a caramel. Bob thinks he may just don his goggles. Any idea what Richard's planning?'

‘Nope.'

‘Everything all right between you two?'

‘Yes, why?'

‘Oh, nothing really. I don't know, it's just whenever I bring him into the conversation, you never really linger.'

‘That's because I'm a doer, not a talker!'

‘So what do you do?'

‘Bonk superlatively.'

‘Good gracious! Sally Lomax, was that you?'

‘'Fraid so!'

But that was all that Catherine was given. She tried, she pried, but Sally smiled sweetly and kept her secrets tucked into her thimble.

‘I've done something bad, Sally. Can I tell you? In confidence?' Sally laid down the feathers and tipped the diamanté bits back into their little pot. She was flattered.

‘Of course you can.'

‘I've stopped taking the Pill. Bob doesn't know. I take one out of the packet each night and I tip it down the sink.'

‘But why?'

‘Why? Because I want to have a baby, thickie.'

‘Yes, yes, but why mustn't Bob know?'

‘Because he feels too young to be a father and he says I'm too young to be a mother. But, you know, I feel ready … I don't know,
ripe
. Nougat? I think there comes a time when you just have to look inward and see how old or ready you
feel
. Not go by all this media bullshit dictating that couples ought now to breed only well into their thirties when they have a combined salary of “X”. I'm not even that gooey or broody. Quite simply, I feel it is the right time to get pregnant. I looked inward, and that's what I saw.'

Sally sucked on the nougat thoughtfully. She was quite stunned by Catherine's frankness but was moved too by her wisdom. A closeness and warmth and camaraderie now existed between the two women. Sally had heard that elusive click, the bonding that ties women together as soul friends. She had it with Diana and with Daph. Not with her mother, nor Aunt Martha. But with Aunt Celia, yes. And now Catherine too. After that, they rarely talked about their menfolk but about themselves, about women they knew and others they admired, about vices they had and virtues they longed for. It made for a great working atmosphere and by the end of the afternoon, feathers and sequins and brocade and frogging had been coaxed into masks of supreme beauty and formidable workmanship. Catherine had also been afforded snippets of Sally.

‘So after James at Bristol Uni, there was …?'

‘Jim.'

‘Not one and the same?'

‘No! But funnily enough, after Jim came Jamie.'

‘You obviously go for Jims.'

‘Actually, I prefer Dicks.'

‘What was wrong with Jim?'

‘Jim was okay, but boring. He used the “L” word halfway through our first date. And then frequently thereafter. He was a fair bit older than me and kept saying how I needed someone to watch over me and take care of me and pamper me. Meaning him. Thank you but no thank you. I sent him packing.'

‘Ooh, you're a cruel woman! How?'

‘He told me he loved me and I said “But I don't love you” and he said “But you will, you know, you will” and I said “I won't, you know, I won't”. That didn't work so I told him, without beating about the metaphorical bush, that I found him physically unappetizing. But in truth, the greatest turn-off had been to declare his undying love.'

‘And that worked?'

‘Obviously – enter Jamie.'

‘Jamie.'

‘Scottish, a cab driver.'

‘Is that how you met? In the back of his cab?'

‘Well, yes, actually.'

‘But did you ever do it in the back of his cab?'

‘No.'

‘Have you with Richard?'

‘Yes.'

‘In your car or his?'

‘Mine.'

‘In a
Mini
? Wait up, I've got to work this one out!'

‘Well, I'll ramble on about Jamie while you do. Jamie was such fun at first, always cracking jokes in his glorious accent and bringing me little treats. He was dark and swarthy but gentle too. At first.' Sally trailed off and Catherine observed her turn to her sewing with a near-desperate application. She waited and as she waited she could see the pain.

‘Sally?'

‘Mmm?'

‘Talk to me.' Sally laid down the feathers and bows and sighed. It was as if the memory had worn her out and aged her visibly. She looked Catherine in the eye and was comforted by a smile of sympathy and support. She focused at some point over Catherine's shoulder and her eyes glazed, her speech became dull and flat.

‘Jamie had a temper. He broke my crockery and he smashed my nose. Here, feel.'

Sally guided Catherine's forefinger over the bridge of her nose. They felt the bump and dent together and Catherine allowed her finger to linger, letting it stroke Sally in a gentle whisper of comfort. Sally allowed her eyes to close under Catherine's touch while she worked hard to shut the memory back out.

On opening her eyes, the matter was closed. And would remain so. Catherine knew Sally had taken her into her confidence and that in itself had been a difficult and generous decision. She was grateful and flattered. It felt good to have a part of Sally that Bob and Richard didn't have. Catherine felt her first wave of love for Sally and was half-tempted to embrace her fully. Instinctively, however, she knew that her job was to lessen the load and lighten the atmosphere.

‘James, Jim, Scumbag and now Richard. And I think you've scored at last there, Ms Lomax.'

‘Yes, Richard. Richard is––' Sally paused, fiddling with a line of red sequins before concluding ‘––nice.'

Bob, meanwhile, plundered the impeccably dressed Christmas tree and strung his booty in glorious abandon over his old diving mask.

Richard went to the local toyshop and bought a Lone Ranger mask. And then he went to Dunn and Co. and bought an extremely expensive Stetson.

‘Sal?'

‘Hey, Richie!'

‘So you didn't need me to thread your needles?'

‘No, I just about managed.'

‘Will you come?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Over? Now?'

‘But I'm in bed!'

‘Hasn't stopped you in the past.'

‘But I'm tired!'

‘Ditto.'

‘Beaumes de Venise?'

‘It's in the fridge.'

‘I'm there!'

‘'Bye.'

‘'Bye.'

‘Sal? Sally?'

‘Yes?'

‘Nothing.'