Trouble (3 page)

‘That’s beside the point,’ said Annette. ‘And I’m sure it isn’t true.’

‘Perhaps Spicer assumed Ernie Gromback would turn the manuscript down and put you off writing novels for ever.’

‘Well Ernie Gromback didn’t turn it down,’ said Annette, ‘and why on earth should Spicer want to put me off writing novels? It might bring in some money.’

‘Because he’s the kind of man who needs a woman’s full attention,’ said Gilda, ‘money or not.’

‘Sometimes I think you don’t like Spicer very much,’ said Annette.

‘You asked my opinion and I gave it,’ said Gilda. ‘If you didn’t want it, why ask?’

‘Don’t get huffy, please, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘That’s the last thing I need. If anyone should be huffy, it’s me. You telling Steve about me and Spicer in bed, and still discussing it so far as I can see.’

‘Steve and I hate to see you and Spicer having marital problems,’ said Gilda. ‘Of course we discuss it. We couldn’t bear anything to happen to you. Spicer and Annette go together so well. The names fit. You are central to a whole lot of existences round here. I hope you realise that.’

‘Spicer and I are not having marital difficulties, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘We are perfectly happy together. I just don’t like him being in a bad mood and me not knowing why. If I knew why, I could do something about it. That’s all.’

‘Okay, okay, okay,’ said Gilda. ‘Have a good time at the opera.’

‘Scent!’ remarked Spicer, in the foyer of the Coliseum. ‘I’d rather have you natural,’ and he nipped the skin of her neck with his teeth.

‘You bit me!’ said Annette.

‘I am showing my affection,’ said Spicer, ‘in a familiarly uxorious way. I thought you’d like it.’

‘It’s just a little public,’ said Annette. ‘And surprising. And actually, Spicer, I wear scent for me not you.’

‘Surprise,’ said Spicer, ‘is the stuff of life. Why hello Pauline, hello Christopher! Pauline, you look wonderful! How is architecture?’

‘In the doldrums,’ said Pauline and Christopher. ‘How’s the wine business, Spicer?’

‘Just fine,’ said Spicer.

‘How’s the pregnancy, Annette?’ asked Pauline.

‘Just fine,’ said Annette. ‘No sickness, and lots of energy.’

‘That’s because it’s a wanted baby,’ said Pauline. ‘One day we’ll have time and money to have one. Not yet. The future just isn’t certain enough. Everyone we know is redundant or bankrupt. But Mozart will soothe us. Civilisations crumble, art goes on for ever.’

‘Good lord,’ said Annette. ‘There’s Ernie Gromback and Marion. What are they doing at an opera?’

‘Searching for the culture,’ said Spicer, ‘they both crave and need. Do you know who they remind me of? Bob Hoskins and his cartoon lady in
Who Killed Roger Rabbit?.
He short, squat and vulgar, she the dream of his delight. Unreal.’

‘Everyone’s delight,’ said Christopher. ‘But that’s a harsh view of Ernie Gromback. He may be from the people but he’s a decent guy and they say he has a nose for a good novel. Others fail but he prospers.’

‘And besides,’ said Pauline, ‘he’s our guest.’

‘Why hello Ernie, hello Marion!’ cried Spicer. ‘Great to see you both!’

‘Ernie,’ said Annette, ‘and Marion. What a surprise! I didn’t know you were opera goers. Last time I saw you, Ernie, you told me you were a Marxist.’

‘Marx has let us all down,’ said Ernie. ‘Now there’s nothing left but the New Age. Marion drifts into it, and I drift after her. There’s money in it. Didn’t Pauline tell you we were coming, Annette? I asked her to tell you.’

‘I told Spicer,’ said Pauline, ‘and I assumed he’d tell Annette: he’s usually reliable. What else could I do? Chris only got the box at the very last minute: I was expected to fill it out of the blue. I can’t in person keep everyone fully informed. All I can do is delegate. I work too, you know. Why are you all blaming me?’

‘Okay, okay, okay,’ said everyone. ‘Mozart will soothe us.’

‘Gilda!’

‘Good lord, Annette,’ said Gilda, ‘I thought you were at the opera. Are you okay?’

‘I am at the opera,’ said Annette. ‘It’s half-time or whatever they call it. Gilda, I think I might have left the iron on in the bedroom and the kids are both out. You couldn’t possibly go round and make sure I haven’t? The key’s under the rose-pot.’

‘You are impossible,’ said Gilda.

‘Why does everyone think that?’ asked Annette. ‘All of a sudden. Or is it just I haven’t noticed till now?’

‘I mean keeping the key under the rose-pot,’ said Gilda. ‘That’s all. Everyone leaves irons on. Of course I’ll go. What are you wearing?’

‘My yellow silk dress, with a bronze silk sash thing which more or less hides me being pregnant, and my silver earrings. I look okay. In fact I look rather good. Pauline came straight from the office in a grey suit and I felt overdressed but then Ernie’s Marion turned up in red jodhpurs, a white lace blouse, a black riding cap and diamanté earrings so I felt under-dressed. That means I’m probably about right.’

‘Is Spicer being okay?’ asked Gilda.

‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. He said he didn’t like me wearing scent and I was stupid enough to say I wore it for me, not him. It wasn’t even true: I was just surprised. But I think he must have taken offence: he sat as far from me as he could and we usually sit together: you know? If we can. We even hold hands. And then Ernie Gromback annoyed him by talking about books, and falling hardback sales, and paperback deals and so on, and then he started talking about
Lucifette Fallen
which made matters worse.’

‘Started talking about what?’ asked Gilda.

‘Lucifette Fallen,’
said Annette. ‘That’s the book I wrote, goddamn it. Hang on while I put in another coin … They think I’ve gone to the Powder Room. You can take forever in the Powder Room at the opera. It’s because everyone goes in their best clothes. Ernie said he wanted to bring publication forward to be nearer the baby’s birth, say mid-December.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ asked Gilda.

‘I’ve no idea. I said it all sounded unhealthily commercial to me, because I thought that was what Spicer would want me to say, but Spicer said in for a penny, in for a pound—I ought to make as much capital out of the baby as possible and I could always go into labour in the middle of a chat show and so command maximum media attention.’

‘Was he being sarcastic?’ asked Gilda.

‘I don’t know,’ said Annette. ‘I just don’t know. I can’t read him any more. So I can’t tell you if Spicer is being okay or not: I’m just not having a good time, which is why I’m talking to you. It’s all too nervy. Look, I really do have to go to the Powder Room now. I must go. Please check the iron. I’m sure it’s okay. I’d just feel better if you checked.’

‘I know, I know, I know,’ said Gilda. ‘Of course I will, Annette.’

‘Is there a new one-way system or is this taxi taking us the long way home?’ asked Spicer.

‘There’s a new system,’ said Annette.

‘You haven’t the faintest idea whether there’s a new system or not,’ said Spicer. ‘You just want everything to be easy and pleasant. Well, never mind. Here, give me your hand. You’re quite right: Mozart is very soothing. Did you see they were advertising a concert of Indian music? No, you wouldn’t have noticed. I expect you prefer the familiar tonic scale: Eastern music would pass you by. But I’ll try and get to it, if I can find the time and you’re prepared to let me out of your sight for an hour or two.’

‘Spicer,’ said Annette, ‘are you sure nothing’s wrong?’

‘It is really irritating,’ said Spicer, ‘to be asked all the time if something’s wrong. I can’t be laughing and chattering all the time, though I know you’d like me to be. Spicer, life and soul of the party. You don’t notice much, do you? From one-way traffic systems, to Indian music, to changes in me.’

‘What sort of changes?’

‘Everyone changes,’ said Spicer. ‘And it is normal for spouses to notice, unless they are hopelessly self-centred. Then it may indeed come as both a surprise and a threat.’

Two tears ran down Annette’s cheek.

‘Oh dear,’ said Spicer, ‘oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. You do know how to put the pressure on. How many years have I had of this?’

‘It must be something in my stars,’ said Annette, ‘which makes me so impossible.’

‘Many a true word spoken in jest,’ said Spicer.

‘I don’t feel in the least like jesting,’ said Annette. ‘And why this sudden interest in Indian music and astrology? It’s hurtful. It keeps me out.’

‘Good God,’ said Spicer, ‘is a man to have no privacy? No space in his own head for his own interests? His own tastes? Must everything be shared? Common denominated? A very quick way to end a relationship! I hardly think it’s your ambition to do that, Annette. There’s too much at stake. Look, we’ve had a splendid evening out at the opera, your fan Ernie’s talked prattling nonsense to you non-stop, surely you don’t have to be quite so doleful? Sitting in the back of a taxi weeping when you have everything in the world a woman could want? I know you’re pregnant, but you mustn’t take it out on others.’

‘I’m sorry, Spicer,’ said Annette.

‘That’s okay,’ said Spicer. ‘Shall we kiss and make up?’

‘How was the second act?’ asked Gilda. ‘We haven’t spoken for days. Where have you been?’

‘I’ve just been rather busy,’ said Annette. ‘You know how it is. I’m trying to get this thing on the Europa myth done but I keep falling asleep. I really can’t remember much about the opera, Gilda. I was too worried about what Spicer was thinking to take much notice of it.’

‘That seems a waste of an expensive ticket,’ said Gilda.

‘I hate it when Spicer’s angry with me,’ said Annette. ‘I can’t focus on anything.’

‘He does seem to be angry with you rather a lot,’ said Gilda.

‘These days.’

‘He wasn’t very nice in the taxi home,’ said Annette. ‘But we’ve been fine since then. Really. In fact he’s been sweet, in a really good mood. I can almost say what I like without thinking first. Almost. Except—’

‘Except what?’

‘He warned me on Saturday that the moon was full so I had to be extra careful in the traffic’

‘What’s the matter with that? All kinds of people say that kind of thing,’ said Gilda.

‘But not Spicer,’ said Annette, ‘not in normal times. I looked it up in my
Dictionary of Superstitions
and it said there was some justification in the belief that the full moon exacerbated insanity. The moon pulls the tides about, and since the human body is ninety-seven per cent water the full moon may well make minimal changes in water pressure on the brain.’

‘Are you suggesting Spicer’s mad, Annette?’

‘Of course not. But who’s telling him these things? I can see the moon being full could affect the way people drove. Okay. But how can Spicer believe that the planet Saturn, which is 800 million miles away, in relation to a moon which is racing round the earth, be what gives him a good memory? It’s nuts—’

‘You’re not still worrying about that? You’re obsessive,’ said Gilda.’

‘I can’t help it,’ said Annette. ‘I expect it’s being pregnant does it.’

‘Being pregnant makes me happy,’ said Gilda. ‘Not anxious. Did you actually look up how many miles Saturn is from the earth?’

‘Yes.’

‘God help you,’ said Gilda.

‘On the other hand,’ said Annette, ‘Spicer brought me strawberries from the market early on Sunday morning and came back to bed and we had them with cream for breakfast. And he put his hand on my belly and felt Gillian kicking.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Gilda. ‘It can’t be too bad.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ said Annette. ‘Just wonderful to have him in a good mood again.’

‘You won’t miss Clinic on Tuesday,’ said Gilda, ‘just because you’re happy?’

‘Of course I won’t,’ said Annette. ‘See you there if I don’t speak to you before. I expect it’s all nothing.’

‘I thought whatever it was had passed,’ said Annette sadly, to Gilda.

They were at the Tuesday night antenatal class; they lay next to each other on the floor and waited for the relaxation teacher to return from assisting a woman in the Ready-to-Pop class who had gone into premature labour.

‘What’s he done now?’ asked Gilda.

‘Don’t talk of Spicer as “he” like that, Gilda,’ said Annette. ‘I don’t want to be the kind of woman who complains to other women about her husband. I don’t want to get into the what’s-he-done-now mentality. It’s so vulgar.’

‘This is meant to be a relaxation class,’ said Gilda. ‘And listen to you! So uptight! Don’t talk to me about Spicer if you don’t want to. I didn’t ask, you offered. In fact, come to think of it, I’d rather not discuss it either. We can just talk about babies, I suppose, and dishwashers or, better still, not talk about anything at all to each other, ever again.’

‘Sorry, Gilda,’ said Annette, and her hand stretched out to hold her friend’s, as it lay gently upturned on the wooden floor. Gilda’s thick red hair lay, from the angle of Annette’s vision, like a kind of flounced skirt around her head. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I expect I snap at Spicer. I expect that’s the trouble. I’m really difficult and neurotic and I just don’t know it. I suppose we all think we’re perfect and everyone else is to blame: when really we’re the source of the trouble.’ She took her hand away from Gilda’s. ‘I shouldn’t hold your hand, I suppose. Spicer thinks we’re having a lesbian relationship.’ Gilda snatched her hand away and lifted her head from the floor the better to turn and stare at Annette.

‘I was joking,’ explained Annette. ‘So was he. Oh God, I keep putting my foot in it. Spicer’s right. I’m impossible.’

‘Perhaps you should have some kind of anti-stress treatment,’ said Gilda, ‘for your head as well as your body. I wish Dr Elsie Spanner would return. This floor is very draughty. And I wish they wouldn’t call the other class the “Ready-to-Pop”. I’m sure it’s calling it that which keeps sending women into premature labour. Pop they think and pop they go.’

‘You mean me see a therapist?’ asked Annette. ‘Spicer and I don’t believe in therapy. It’s one of the core beliefs of the marriage. Therapists make people self-preoccupied, selfish and destructive. Spicer’s first marriage broke up because his wife Aileen went into therapy. He said he thought they had just an ordinary happy marriage, but she started seeing this man and the next thing Spicer knew Aileen told him she was unhappy and Spicer was the cause of it, and she left him.’