Trouble (17 page)

‘I hit Rhea Marks on the chest. She told me Spicer was leaving me to go on a spiritual journey: she told me there were just a few material details left to clear up: God knows what Spicer’s told her: they chat twin souls, I suppose, and mutual creativity. She’s just the kind of woman who longs to write a novel. She always had the last word: you know how therapists do. If you’re angry they say they understand your anger: if you do anything at all, they tell you to stop acting out. I found myself saying dreadful things to her. I accused her of procuring, God knows what. When Herman came in, I hit her. I pummelled her chest; she said stop acting out, you are no longer a child: and he came from behind me and said “Daddy’s here—stop hitting Mommy!”, and put his arms round me and pulled me away, and his fingers dug into my breasts for longer than he need have, and he just held me at a distance from her, and she smiled at me sweetly and forgivingly. I’d have a fuller, happier life once Spicer was gone, she said; I was now a media personality and a successful writer, and I must stand on my own feet; that I wasn’t the woman Spicer had married: that people’s life paths sometimes split and went in different ways, and some more guff about Lilith and Saturn. So I swore and spat a bit more, and they turned me out and thank God you were still waiting in the car.’

‘Annette?’ said Gilda.

‘Yes, Gilda?’

‘Do you really want to go to the Fire Station to get the bracelets off?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Annette. ‘They hurt like hell.’

‘I’m not sure you handled the session very well,’ said Gilda.

‘Why not?’ asked Annette. ‘Why shouldn’t I call her names? And him. They’re filth.’

‘Because you don’t want them telling Spicer about Ernie Gromback, etcetera, do you?’

‘I’d just deny it,’ said Annette. ‘Look at these weals coming up on my wrist. Not just are the bangles cutting into the flesh, I’m sensitive to the metal. Spicer probably got them from her and they’ve been soaking in some magic potion. Her husband’s piss, probably. Or hers. I bet they’re into Golden Showers.’

‘Calm down, Annette. This can’t be good for the baby. Shouldn’t I take you to Spicer?’

‘No. The Fire Station. At once.’

‘I just don’t like the feel of this,’ said Gilda. ‘Not at all. You don’t want people like the Markses as enemies.’

‘They’re not much cop as friends,’ said Annette. ‘What do I care? What can they do?’

‘You remember what I said about Spicer asking me to join him and Marion?’ said Gilda.

‘Yes, I do, Gilda,’ said Annette.

‘I’ll swear there was a Fire Station somewhere down here,’ said Gilda. ‘Where’s it gone? Well, I did.’

‘Oh, did you,’ said Annette.

‘Don’t sound so dull and drear, darling,’ said Gilda. ‘It was a long time ago. Spicer and I, well, sometimes when you were out, or at a party when you were in the kitchen, we’d have a quickie under the coats; it just got to be a habit. Actually, Annette, it was always a quickie because that’s how Spicer is. I hate the way you think you’re so bad in bed, Annette, because actually it’s Spicer. He has no natural instinct for sex. If you lie there thinking about what’s for breakfast, it’s because he’s trying to remember the sex manual. It was Spicer and me asked Marion in: not Spicer and Marion asking me. When Steve and I got together that was the end of it: and by that time Spicer had got more interested in Marion than in me. That’s the problem with threesomes: they end up with a different twosome: so that was the end between me and Spicer. I won’t say I was hurt, but I took offence.’

‘They’ve closed the Fire Station,’ said Annette. ‘Look, it’s a garden centre now. Perhaps it’s just as well or I’d have asked them to cut my throat.’

‘Mrs Horrocks?’

‘Yes? Who’s that?’

‘I’m sorry, have I disturbed you?’

‘No. I’m just a bit sleepy. A friend gave me some stuff to take called Easy Night. I took rather a lot. Who am I talking to?’

‘I’m so sorry, didn’t I say? This is Amelia Hardy of the Oprah Winfrey Show. I’m the researcher. I wondered if we could have a brief conversation about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow? I thought it was months ahead.’

‘We did write to you.’

‘I haven’t been opening all my letters lately.’

‘That’s your privilege as a creative artist,’ said Amelia Hardy. ‘Never mind, tomorrow it is, your publisher okayed it, and we’re all set up and ready to go, if I can just have this brief conversation with you first.’

‘Actually, could I call you back in half an hour?’ asked Annette.

‘I’ll call you at—what’s the time now; three-fifteen? In the afternoon. At four o’clock precisely. Will you be there?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Amelia Hardy. ‘I’ll wait for your call.’

‘Just fine! I expect the Easy Night will have worn off a little by then,’ Annette said.

‘Shall we make it four-thirty? I take Easy Night sometimes myself. I swear by it, but it is quite strong.’

‘Wendy, can I speak to Spicer? It’s urgent.’

‘He’s in a meeting, Mrs Horrocks.’

‘Can you get him out of it?’

‘I don’t think I’d better try. The meeting’s with British Rail,’ said Wendy. ‘You know we have this great big deal going through: it’s really saved our bacon. I’ve got Jason and Susan here. Susan, do you want to talk to Mum?’

‘Hi, Mum!’

‘What are you doing in the office?’ asked Annette. ‘I thought you were both upstairs in your rooms.’

‘Dad’s taking us to a puppet show in Islington,’ said Susan. ‘Jason wanted to go to London Dungeon and I wanted to go to the zoo, but Dad said scenes of torture were unsuitable and the zoo was an abomination, so there’s only puppets left. If we’d known, we’d have stayed home.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘We tried to but you were asleep,’ said Susan. ‘Dad just rang and said hi, let’s go, so we went.’

‘Why are you calling him Dad all of a sudden, not Spicer?’

‘He says he wants me to. It makes us feel like more of a family. But I keep forgetting. Spicer—I mean, Dad—said it would get us out from under your feet, give you time to rest if you needed rest. Was that okay? It didn’t seem right leaving you but you were so fast asleep. You looked so pretty and peaceful. You hadn’t been crying or anything?’

‘No.’

‘I wondered,’ said Susan. ‘I suppose when you’re pregnant you’re meant to get puffy all over. You looked like a kind of mushroom.’

‘Thank you, Susan,’ said Annette. ‘I reckon I’m okay. What sort of puppet theatre?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Susan. ‘Rainbow Childline something or other. I’m not looking forward to it. It’ll be meant for much younger kids: it will be full of tree spirits and stuff; understanding each other and what to do when your parents start touching you up. Jason will make puking sounds all the way through. But it’s always nice going out with Dad. Doesn’t often happen.’

‘We all went to
Buddy
the other day,’ said Annette.

‘Buddy Holly’s stone age,’ observed Susan. ‘We’re more back into Angry Medieval, Sounds of the Suburbs stuff. But it was a nice try. Thanks, parent.’

‘Can I speak to Jason?’ asked Annette.

‘Probably not,’ said Susan. ‘He’s trying out the graphics on Wendy’s PC.’

‘Give him my love.’

‘He sends it back,’ said Susan. ‘You don’t have to worry, Mum. Jason isn’t withdrawn. He just likes computers. Why, hi, Dr Marks. Dad’s still busy with British Rail, but he shouldn’t be a minute. Bye, Mum, must go now.’

‘Wendy!’

‘Yes, Mrs Horrocks.’

‘Who exactly have you got in your office?’

‘Susan, Jason and this other lady who’s just come in,’ said Wendy, sotto voce. ‘I haven’t seen her before. She looks harmless enough.’

‘I want to speak to her,’ said Annette.

‘Are you sure you want to?’ asked Wendy. ‘You sound a bit strange. Hang on, I’ll go through to the other office.’

‘Are you there, Mrs Horrocks?’

‘Yes, I am, Wendy.’

‘I’ve been a bit worried,’ said Wendy, ‘because I think it’s the woman he keeps speaking to on the phone, and meeting for lunch, and what with you being pregnant it doesn’t seem fair: and now if he’s taking the kids out mid-afternoon, and he actually cancelled a meeting, and she’s turned up in person—well, I don’t like it, Mrs Horrocks. I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve always been really nice to me. I’m sure there’s nothing to it: she looks really quiet and perfectly sweet and very serious, and she’s a doctor so she must be responsible. Your kids are yawning already, but even so—here comes Mr Horrocks, out of his meeting. Mr Horrocks, please speak to Mrs Horrocks. No, don’t make faces at me, do it now.’

‘Hi, Annette—’

‘Hello, Spicer,’ said Annette. ‘So, you’re taking the kids out?’

‘You were too fast asleep to even answer the phone.’

‘And Dr Rhea Marks is going too?’

‘My, what a lot you seem to know, sitting up there in the safety of Bella Crescent. Yes, Annette, Dr Rhea Marks is coming with us. She wants to observe the children a little: see if there are signs of precocious behaviour, that kind of thing: we thought just an ordinary family outing would be a good background for it.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Annette.

‘Let’s face it,’ said Spicer. ‘You have become rather seriously disturbed, Annette. The Markses practically had to get the police today, to have you removed from their offices. You were violent. You really can’t go on behaving like that. But I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I for one don’t want the kids to overhear.’

‘So you, Dr Rhea Marks and the children are going to the theatre together,’ said Annette, ‘leaving me behind at home, that’s what it amounts to?’

‘You are such a child, Annette,’ said Spicer. ‘You don’t seem to understand the seriousness of your own situation. Dr Herman Marks thinks it’s unwise for you to be alone with the children too much. In his judgement your fantasy life is too strong to be ignored; it might slip, might already have slipped, over into real life, particularly in relation to Jason, who’s your stepchild. Annette, none of this is your fault; don’t think I blame you. But Jason’s obsession with video games and 18-rated films just isn’t natural. I have to protect the children.’

‘By leaving them?’ asked Annette. ‘Dr Rhea Marks says you plan to leave us to pursue your spiritual journey, so what is this sudden concern for the children? It sounds rather hypocritical to me.’

‘You have obviously misinterpreted what Dr Rhea said,’ said Spicer. ‘It’s part of the negative pattern. You’re having a very difficult pregnancy, which means that we all are. Most certainly I see the way ahead to the light, but I could hardly leave my family in the state it is: I love you, Annette, in spite of everything. What kind of man would I be if I just abandoned you? Not much cop on the wheel of life. I’d fall right off, right through to the cockroaches. Laughing?’

‘Trying to,’ said Annette.

‘Take another slug of Easy Night. Gilda rang me. She was really worried about you. Go back to sleep, sweetheart. See you later. We’ll bring back fish and chips.’

‘And Dr Rhea Marks? Will she come over too for fish and chips?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Spicer. ‘You’ve terrified her out of her wits. Annette, I’m not exactly looking forward to Rainbow Puppeteers. Don’t make matters even worse than you’ve made them already.’

‘Sorry, Spicer. Is this call being broadcast through the office?’

‘Yes,’ said Spicer, ‘come to think of it. But you’re a media personality. It shouldn’t worry you.’

‘Mrs Horrocks?’

‘Yes?’

‘This is the Oprah Winfrey Show. Amelia speaking.’

‘Oh, hi.’

‘We mean to record tomorrow and hold over and screen for our New Year show. We like to do things live but even Oprah has to have a holiday sometimes. Can I just say how much I loved
Lucifette Fallen?
Of course the timing is good for you—Ernie Gromback tells me he’s scheduled publication to fit in with our transmission. Isn’t he a charmer?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Annette.

‘We’re building the programme around the domestic row,’ said Amelia. ‘We reckon God and Lucifer had the first one: brilliant of you to have seen that Lucifer was female. After that it was Jupiter and Juno. What can the rest of us poor mortals do in the face of the archetype? We have our pet psychotherapist to help us see through the dark to the light. That’s the bit we’d like you to read from
Lucifette Fallen:
on page eight of the proof copy. I must say your publisher whizzed it round to us. The para beginning “Where darkness becomes light”—down to “What can a child do but repeat the experience?” And then sit next to Oprah and chat a bit about your own experiences and what drove you to write the novel.’

‘I’m sorry—I’ve lost you. I’m still a bit sleepy—’

‘You are very central to the show, Mrs Horrocks,’ said Amelia.

‘Have you had experience of TV before?’

‘No,’ said Annette.

‘Welcome to the real world,’ said Amelia.

‘Gilda, hi. What is going on here? I’m not taking any of that stuff of yours ever again. I’m only just beginning to wake up. First there was you saying you had an affair with Spicer—I must have dreamt that: then there was the thing about Spicer taking the kids out with Dr Rhea Marks, that’s completely unbelievable. And then there was this conversation about archetypes and
Lucifette Fallen
with a TV company. It can’t be true. TV is the antithesis of the archetype. What’s the time, Gilda? I feel too languid to get up and look at the clock.’

‘It’s nine twenty-one,’ said Gilda, ‘in the evening. Steve and I have just had supper and are settling in to watch TV. Careful what you say. He’s in the next room. He likes me to watch the News with him.’

‘Nine twenty-one? In the evening? Then where are Spicer and the kids?’

‘Probably still out with Dr Rhea Marks,’ said Gilda.

‘Are you trying to tell me,’ asked Annette, ‘that those conversations actually happened?’

‘Yes,’ said Gilda. ‘Well, the one with me certainly did.’

‘And you used to go to bed with Spicer?’

‘It wasn’t often the bed, it was usually the sofa,’ said Gilda.

‘The sofa I’m lying on now?’ asked Annette.

‘You’ve had it covered since,’ said Gilda. ‘I was glad when you did. It made me feel better. Shall we just forget that and get on to what’s important?’