Under My Skin (14 page)

“Not necessarily. We don’t always bother.”

And, thanks to Olivia’s generosity, Lola’s reference had, of course, been just fine. I made a note to myself to dig out her file sometime, just for interest’s sake. But not now. Now I needed a cup of coffee. I was still making it when the phone rang again. My, my, aren’t I the world’s most popular private eye?

“Did Amy just call you?” And her voice was flat, small, like a steamroller had just run over it.

“Yes, she did.”

“What did she say?”

I sighed. “Let me see … She said she wanted to go to the pictures, that you had a toothache, that you needed some flowers. Oh, and that Colin went out early and you’d been crying.”

“Oh God.”

“But of course I’m just your sister, so I couldn’t really help her with what was going on.”

On the other end of the line there was a long silence. Then she said, “I think I’d better see you, Hannah.”

And the way she said it nearly broke my heart. “Any time, Kate, any time.”

“How about this morning?”

“What about the kids?”

“Millie’s next door. I can leave them with her for an hour.”

I drank two cups of coffee fast, then tidied the flat. You’ll probably find that pathetic, but even with kids Kate lives in less chaos than I do and I wanted her to feel at home.

I looked around. I know that some people (my mother for one) wouldn’t think it much to shout about after thirty years as a potential consumer. Kate had done much better there. But I like to see it as my contribution to the eco-consciousness: if I don’t consume, maybe someone in Vladivostok can. I also think it’ll be easier when I die. I still remember my grandmother sliding off into that last goodnight, leaving behind her a council flat in Hammersmith stacked floor to ceiling with bits of collected detritus that nobody could possibly want; my mother had to spend six painful weeks sorting it out. I was twelve at the time and I still recall how oppressed I felt, sitting in the spare bedroom with the smell of decaying memories all around. At least my descendants will be grateful—if I ever get around to having any.

The doorbell rang. I buzzed her up. She looked like shit. But maybe it was too little sleep rather than too much life. God, she used to be so lovely. That’s my first real memory of her, really: sitting on my father’s lap with those great dark blue eyes, a mane of black hair cascading down her back and dinky little white ankle socks with a frilly trim. She must have been what—four, four and a half? Which would have made me around three. I remember she looked
so proud and possessive up there that I tried to push her off. She yelled, but in the end made room for me. Which is what she’s always done, really. I’ve heard enough stories of sibling rivalry since to know how lucky I was. Maybe being pretty made her more secure. No doubt Olivia Marchant would have had something to say about that. Whatever it was, we just became friends. Even the age gap didn’t seem to matter. Eighteen months. For the longest time I simply assumed I would catch up. Thought it was only a matter of time till I became as old as her. I realize now that I probably never will. Although sometimes I think she feels the same about me. Today was definitely one of those times.

She asked for coffee, then sat for the longest time stirring it, even though she doesn’t take sugar.

“Thanks for the vouchers,” she said at last. “I was going to call earlier, but … I didn’t get a chance. You didn’t have to pay for them, did you?”

I shook my head. “Perk of the job.”

“It looks wonderful.”

“Only if you go,” I replied.

“And what would I do with the kids?”

A week ago I would have told her to give them to Colin, let him take some time off for once. But today I said nothing. She was busy with the spoon again. We sat and listened to the sound of it scraping its way round the bottom of the mug. I know better than to push Kate.

“We’re in trouble,” she said at last. “Colin and me. It’s been going on for a while.” Another long pause. “And now I think he’s having an affair.” And although my imagination had been working overtime, it had still not got to within a million miles of the right answer.

“Colin?”

My manifest astonishment made her laugh despite herself. “Oh, Hannah. I know you don’t like him, but …” She bit at her lip. “I didn’t mean to tell you. Not that bit.

“Sounds to me like you have to tell someone. Better me than the milkman.” And I realized I was just a little offended. “Was that what that row was about?”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. He doesn’t know I know.”

“Know what exactly?”

But she was having trouble with her spoon again. I thought if I talked for a bit it might help. “I … I didn’t realize things were so bad. I mean …” What did I mean? I thought about it. “I mean you guys always seem so … so involved with it all—the babies, the house, family life. As if it may be hard work, but it’s exactly what you decided and wanted. Both of you.”

“Yes, well, I thought it was.” She put her hand up to her face and rubbed her forehead. “Hannah, I don’t know how to talk about this with you. You don’t have kids …”

“That doesn’t make me emotionally illiterate,” I said firmly. “And I’m not so prejudiced against Colin that I can’t take him seriously.” Though that may not have been entirely true.

She nodded and swallowed, then closed her eyes tight. “I don’t know where to begin. I can’t even remember when it started…. Maybe when Ben was little. He was such hard work, always crying, needing attention. And Amy was jealous. I just didn’t have any energy left for anyone else. They were both so demanding. And Colin was busy. The company was expanding. He and John had just borrowed that money from the bank and then the interest rates went sky-high, and they had to make sure they could make it work. I hardly ever saw him. I suppose I thought it’d get better of its own accord. That there’d be more time—the kids would get easier, we’d be together more and we’d sort it out then….” She stopped.

“But you haven’t?”

“No.” And she gave the longest sigh. “No, we haven’t.”

“Exactly how bad is bad, Kate?” I said, desperately trying to think of myself as someone more qualified.

She shook her head. “We don’t really communicate anymore. The only thing we ever talk about is the kids. We don’t … Oh, I don’t know.” And she made an angry little gesture, as if even thinking about it was too painful.

“Is this about sex?” I ventured, but only when it was clear she wouldn’t.

She was staring at her spoon as if it contained the meaning of life. Her face was so rigid I thought it was going to crack under the strain. Then she said carefully, “I didn’t think it was sex at the time, but I suppose it is really. Some of it.” She paused. “Christ, Hannah, this must be like me talking Russian to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, thinking of Nick and what I had finally felt to be his unbearable compassion and tenderness. “You’d be surprised.” Do you need my confession, I thought, to make it easier to go on with yours? “Why do you think I stopped seeing Nick?” I said at last.

“Oh, Hannah, I’m sorry,” she replied, realizing the implication of what I’d just told her. Smart lady, Kate. And not the only one who kept things to herself. Must run in the family.

“It’s no big deal. In my case I think I just haven’t found the right way back into it.” And despite myself I thought of Martha’s hands and that look on her face. “Maybe it’s the same for you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know … I’m really not interested.”

“You’re tired.”

“No. Not that tired,” she said quietly. “Although I’ve spent rather a lot of time pretending I am. Sometimes I think I’ve just given it all to the kids.”

“So maybe that’s how it is for a while. What does Jessie say about it?”

Jessie was Kate’s closest friend. So close that for a while I had had trouble not feeling jealous. She shook her head. “I don’t see Jessie much since she and Peter moved away. Anyway, she’s pregnant again. This wouldn’t mean anything to her.”

Yet, I thought. Not that it meant that much to me. Across the great divide. What did I know of the sensuality of child-rearing? Sure, I had done my share of cuddling Amy and Ben, had even had Amy to stay for the odd night or two, curled up next to me, warm and clinging. But she had never felt like a substitute for sex. On the other hand, I hadn’t been getting into bed with Colin for the best part of eight years.

Time to talk about the man. “How about him?” I asked. And as I did, I remembered a conversation that Kate and I once had, sitting on the staircase of her house while a party went on down beneath us, a conversation about how she’d married Colin partly because he was more a father and a husband than a lover. Because in the end lovers only bring you grief. It was the nearest we’d ever come to talking sex. Apart, that is, from the teenage fantasies. And we were a long way from the Bay City Rollers now.

“I can’t say. For a while I thought it might have been the same for him. I thought that he might have been using work as a substitute. But not recently.”

Oh, Kate. I’d been bound up in my own traumas for so long now that I hadn’t noticed, had misread signs of tension as just the chaos of normal family life. “So what makes you think he’s sleeping with someone else?”

She gave another big sigh. “He’s taken to going out early, three times a week. Gets up around seven and goes to the local gym for a workout, and from there straight into the office. It’s been going on for almost two months now. He says he doesn’t get any exercise and it makes him feel better.”

Colin exercising. I had to beat down a certain aesthetic gag reflex. Bastard. As if he didn’t spend enough time out of the house leaving Kate to look after the kids. Just as well nobody told me about this earlier. I could have got a couple of good shots in over the dinner table.

“And?”

“And last week he was going on to a conference afterward. Some really important thing that he was delivering a paper for. And when I went upstairs after breakfast I found the paper he was supposed to be giving lying on the bed. He’d left it. So I piled the kids into the car and drove to the gym to give it to him. Imagine. I’m feeling so guilty about not sleeping with him that I have to act as his secretary. Anyway. He wasn’t there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Not a sign.”

“Did you tell him?”

“I was going to, but then I thought I’d let him mention it. So when he got back that night, I asked him how the conference had gone and if the workout beforehand had helped. And he said yes, it had.”

“Umm. What about his paper?”

“Oh, he had another copy in his case all along. I needn’t have bothered.”

“Kate, you know this is all just circumstantial. It doesn’t need to be a woman.”

“No. I know. But there’s something else.”

“What?”

“He’s been spending extra money on something.”

Hmmm. Not just an affair, but a mistress. Oh, Colin, have I been guilty of seriously underestimating you! “How much?”

“About three hundred pounds every month. I wouldn’t have noticed it, only we suddenly went seriously overdrawn while he was away this week. The bank bounced a 118 Sarah Dunant
couple of checks and I had to go back to the statements to check them. I spotted it then. It’s been going on for at least eight weeks.”

The same length of time as the early exercise. “Cash or check?” I said, and there was no doubt the professional in me was muscling in on the sister.

“Cash. Some here, some there, but it adds up.”

“And that’s what the row was about on Saturday?” I said.

She nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He completely overreacted. That’s what made me so certain it was something else. He told me to mind my own business. He said he had expenses through work and that I had no right to go snooping into his personal finances. God, Hannah, we have a joint account. What did he expect me to do?”

“What else did he say?” I said, thinking of his face in the doorway. But she shook her head. Obviously there are some things between a husband and wife that a sister can’t share. I was relieved, really. “And since then?”

“We haven’t discussed it.” She paused. “We haven’t discussed anything.”

I looked at her. And I think I knew then that we were talking domestic apocalypse here. And I tell you I was scared. Dear Kate. For so long it’s been easy. For so long I’ve been able to be the footloose, “don’t give a damn” one, because she’s always been there, grabbing at all the security, doing all the things I was supposed to do but couldn’t face. The idea of all that changing brought a tremor to my soul. Maybe the fact was I needed her to be stable so that I could be crazy.

“Do you have any idea who she might be?” I said after a while.

“No,” she said softly. Then she looked up at me.
“Though he’s had a new assistant at work for a while. He talked about her quite a bit when she first arrived. But not so much now.”

“What’s her name?”

“Gillian somebody … Peters, I think.”

“You could always ask him, you know,” I said gently.

She shook her head. “Not now. Not yet.”

“But it would help to know?”

“Well …” And the shudder changed to an earthquake, opening up a great hole in the middle of my stomach. “Well, I thought perhaps—”

“Oh, Kate,” I said quietly. “Please, don’t even ask …”

B
y the time she left, I was seriously late. I flung myself into the car and dodged traffic jams all the way to Chelsea. But it didn’t stop me thinking. As I sat waiting for the traffic lights to change, I was imagining myself in surveillance outside some basement flat in Notting Hill Gate, Polaroid at the ready, waiting for Colin and a bit of fluff to come out of the front door. Snap, snap, snap. Pictures in a brown envelope on the client’s desk first thing next morning.

I’d done it before. Cleaning round the U-bend. That’s what Frank calls it. In the old days most agencies couldn’t do without it. There was a lot of money in those old divorce laws. By the time I joined, it was already more the exception than the rule. But Frank gave me a few cases anyway. I think he was trying to test how serious I was. I didn’t mind as much as I had expected. I didn’t know who they were, and from what I saw their husbands or wives were probably well shot of them. Looking back on it now, I think I was so phlegmatic because I’d somehow always regarded adultery as unavoidable, a kind of inbuilt structural defect of marriage—like a need to eat out after too much home cooking. And nothing to do with me. But it didn’t feel quite like that when it came to Colin.