Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
‘Don’t worry,’ Erika says. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You
think I’m not trained to do massage, but I did an evening course ages ago. When I was working for Gregory.’
Just the name makes me want to growl. Erika spent eight years
organising Gregory’s office – he was something very important in
metals – and being in love with him. Gregory was at least single,
and he pretended to love Erika, but he also found time to love at
least three other women in his spare time. Erika thought Gregory was far too good for her – which is why, I assume, she went on a massage course: so that she could pleasure him more thoroughly.
‘OK, OK – I admit it,’ she sighs, seeing my expression. ‘I went
on the course because of Gregory. I didn’t tell you about it
because I knew you’d guess I was doing it for him.’ I don’t
comment. ‘But now it’s coming in really useful. I found the notes
I made and I’ve read some more books on the subject. I’m not an
expert,
of course, but I know the basics. I don’t charge that much,
and people seem to find it comforting. I really enjoy it.’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘That’s really good, Erika.’ Maybe I should mention the spanking business later.
In some ways, it’s amazing that Erika has fallen so madly in
love with Alex. She’s had plenty of romantic disappointments; but
when we were younger, love was just part of her life, and even if
it ended it returned in a flash and hardly gave her time to wash
her hair. She cried and drank too much wine and was dis
appointed for a few days, and then there was someone else. Gregory changed that. He was The One – the big slippery slug. He got into her corners with his silence and into her heart with
his stares. Being unhappy with him was better than being happy
with the others. He was Home. He was the one who Knew and
Saw. He was suddenly living in County Kilkenny with a woman
called Sabine. After Gregory, we really didn’t think she’d open her
heart to another human being ever again; she seemed to have transferred all her passion to her cats. So all this business with
Alex would be wonderful – if only he was single.
We sit for at least three minutes without speaking. We cradle our mugs in the easy manner of old friends and look around us. Bewley’s café is, as usual, very busy, and many of the staff and
customers appear to be foreigners. I like this: it makes me feel I’m
abroad, and I would very much like to be abroad, especially now.
I think of Rio de Janeiro and DeeDee.
Erika starts to put sugar sachets into her bag. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘They keep on running out of sugar in the office kitchen. Lionel
likes some with his tea.’
‘You’ve become rather fond of Lionel, haven’t you?’ I smile.
‘No, of course not!’ Erika says indignantly. ‘He’s far too…’
I wonder if she’s about to say ‘nice’. ‘He’s far too embarrassed.’
‘About what?’
‘About everything. I could hardly get him to take off his socks
for his foot massage.’
‘He sounds very nice to me.’
‘I wonder when Fiona’s going to have her baby,’ Erika says,
when she’s finished with the sugar sachets. ‘Maybe she’ll just get
bigger and bigger. Maybe it will pop out in twenty years as a
perfectly formed second-hand-car salesman.’ She giggles. She still
hasn’t quite forgiven Fiona for saying she shouldn’t see Alex.
‘I doubt that Fiona’s child will ever be a second-hand-car salesman.’ I wish I could tell her the truth about the baby’s
parentage. I’ve even been having dreams about it, in which I keep saying, ‘I’ve never seen a baby who looks so much like… a baby.
Isn’t it amazing how like a baby it looks?’
‘Oh, yes, I know. Fiona’s baby will probably be a quantum
physicist by the time it’s three.’ Erika sighs. ‘And we’ll all have to
sit round her koi pond while she tells us that it will be starting at
Oxford as soon as it’s out of nappies.’
‘This isn’t an easy time for Fiona,’ I say slowly. ‘She may look
very self-contained and… perfect, but she has worries just like everyone else.’
‘Yes, I know – I’m being a bitch,’ Erika says. ‘I’m sorry. I love her.
Of course I do. She’s so kind and beautiful and clever and generous.’
‘
And organised,’ I add.
‘Yes,’ Erika says. ‘What does she actually do in software?’
‘
I don’t know, but she’s frightfully good at it.’
Erika stares dreamily around the café. A sort of golden glow
surrounds the people cosily reading papers or chatting. The smell
of coffee wafts pungently around the room. Bewley’s isn’t your
average café. It is old and knows itself. It is a good place to dream
in, surrounded by people and talk and cakes. I think of Nathaniel, the feel of him sitting next to me, the beautiful stupid nonsense he
talked; the look of his hand on the steering-wheel, the play of
muscles on his arm when he threw the magazines and papers onto
the back seat.
‘What about the one with the nanny who falls in love with a
shepherd in Tuscany? Or the one where that actor, the fellow with
the big lips, almost marries that young actress for a bet?’ Erika is
trying to remember what films are on in town. We want to go to an
early show, but naturally we don’t have a paper we can refer to. She
glances at her watch. ‘It’s nearly half past five. The film’s probably started.’ She grabs her jacket and bag and two large shopping bags;
Erika does not know the meaning of travelling light.
‘What film?’
‘I don’t know, but we’re probably late for it,’ she answers,
bustling towards the exit. ‘And then we’ll have to see something
else we don’t like as much.’
We virtually run towards O’Connell Street. The streets are
crowded with shoppers heading home with their purchases. Then,
as we pass a kebab shop, Erika shouts, ‘Wait!’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s him… it’s Gus!’ Erika whispers excitedly. ‘In the fast-food
place!’
‘Who’s Gus?’
‘Ingrid’s yoga teacher.’
‘Who’s Ingrid?’
‘Alex’s wife, of course.’ Erika darts over to a newsstand and buys a newspaper. She slinks behind a lamppost and peers over the top of the paper.
‘Why are we staring at a man eating a kebab, Erika?’ I demand.
‘We could be watching a film. A really good film.’
‘That we don’t even know the name of,’ Erika hisses. ‘I need to
see what he’s up to. I need to see if… if some woman joins him.’
‘Why? I mean, what if Gus is seeing other women? What difference will that make?’
‘I need to know, that’s all,’ Erika says. ‘If he’s seeing other women, he probably won’t run off with Ingrid.’
‘And why is it so important that he should run off with Ingrid?’
I sort of know the answer already, but I feel I need a proper
explanation, especially now that chunks of tomato are landing on
Gus’s sweatshirt. It’s almost impossible to eat a doner kebab with
any sort of decorum. Gus has his blue yoga mat propped upright
by his chair. He is wearing a beret and sandals and has the slightly
gaunt, though extremely fit, look of someone who doesn’t spend
sufficient time eating cream buns in front of the telly.
‘Because it would be so much simpler,’ Erika hisses. ‘If Alex
runs off with me, it would really compromise his career. He writes
books about trust and fidelity and working on marriages and
being
responsible.
People just don’t expect him to run off in a camper van with another woman.’
‘It probably wouldn’t matter,’ I say, mainly to curtail this daft
obsession. ‘He could write a book about love after love instead. It could be a whole new market. It would be for people who
found they couldn’t live up to their romantic ideals. It could be all a
bout the importance of forgiveness and…’
‘Oh, Sally, please…’ Erika looks decidedly pissed off. ‘Just shut
up about it, OK?’
‘Let’s just go see that film,’ I say desperately.
‘Which film?’
‘Any film. The one about the big slug that tries to eat Los
Angeles.’ I squint. ‘Look, it’s on in that cinema over there. People
are queuing for tickets.’
‘I don’t want to see a film about a slug,’ Erika mutters.
‘Look, it’s late. We can’t be too picky,’ I say, exasperated.
Erika is peering at Gus through a small hole she has made in her
Evening Herald.
‘He’s having chips and Diet Coke, too.’
‘
Erika, I’m sorry, but I’m going to go soon,’ I say. ‘I don’t want t
o spend the whole evening watching a yoga teacher dribbling mayonnaise down his front. You may find it riveting, but it just d
oesn’t float my boat.’
Erika is still peering through the hole in the newspaper. ‘Oh,
look, there’s a man joining him. He’s leaning over him… He’s…’
She gulps.
I look over. ‘He’s collecting his tray, Erika. Get a grip.’
‘Do you think Gus is gay?’ Erika asks, clearly agonised. ‘He might be. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Yes, he probably is, if he let someone clear his tray.’ I sigh. ‘That’s a tell-tale sign. I’m going now.’
‘OK, OK,’ Erika says reluctantly. ‘I’m coming too. You’d think
a yoga teacher would have a better diet.’
‘The slug film could be fun,’ I say. ‘The queue isn’t long now.’
‘
I need some chocolate. If I’m going to watch a film about slugs, I have to have chocolate.’
I get chocolate-coated peanuts and Erika gets Maltesers, and we each buy a packet of fruit gums, because it is a known fact
that if only one person buys a packet of sweets she will spend the
first half of the film trying to get the other person to eat it.
‘I wish we were going to see a romantic film,’ Erika says
mutinously as we leave the shop. She already has four Maltesers
in her mouth.
‘I bet there’s some romance in the slug film,’ I say. ‘I bet some
man saves a woman from being eaten.’ And then I stop.
Nathaniel is in the queue. And he’s standing beside Eloise, the
cabinet-maker he was talking to at the reception – beautiful bossy
Eloise with the purple fringe and big Bambi eyes. They are
laughing, and his hand is on her elbow. I turn sharply away before they can see me. I can’t face meeting him – not like this, not when
he’s with her. My breath catches in my throat. This is ridiculous.
I hardly know him.
‘Sally! Sally, where are you going?’ Erika grabs my sleeve as I
start to walk away.
‘I can’t go to that film, Erika. I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind
about it.’
‘Why?’
she almost shouts. ‘You’re the one who suggested it.’
‘I’ve seen someone – someone I don’t want to meet. I can’t talk
about it here.’ I’m walking quickly away from the cinema,
towards O’Connell Bridge.
‘Who is it?’ she puffs.
‘It’s… it’s someone called Nathaniel.’
Erika studies my face swiftly, keenly. I don’t know what she sees,
but she stops tugging at my sleeve. ‘OK, we’ll do something else.’
‘Maybe we could find another film.’ I look at her guiltily. ‘I
don’t know why I felt we had to go into the first cinema we saw.
I think I was just desperate to get you away from Gus.’