Turn Us Again (12 page)

Louise placed a plate of bacon and eggs in the middle of the table, and they all fell to with gusto.

“One egg each, two slices of bacon!” Louise bellowed, deftly retrieving an extra piece of bacon from Greta's plate. “I hate to admit it, Anne, but I agree with Greta. It's strange to change someone's name. It's as though he's taking you over.”

Greta glared across at Anne/Madelyn. “It's not so strange Sam calling you something else. Lots of men do that. What's strange is your going around trying to change it officially. Are you desperate to please him or do you just want to give that impression?”

Anne returned her glare without rancour. She was aware that her morning looks were a constant source of irritation to Greta. Her skin was fresh-looking and her tousled hair looked even better than when she brushed it. Greta had a lovely figure, but had once confided when drunk that a pretty face was more important. Because of this, she dismissed everything that Greta said as biased.

“I don't want to discuss everything endlessly all the time. My name is Madelyn. I would appreciate it if you could call me by my new name, but if the name ‘Anne' is too entrenched in your minds don't worry about it.” Anne lit a cigarette and continued her meal between puffs. Smoking during the meal was unlike her, and Louise changed the subject by claiming Greta always took the largest egg, while Lavinia was always left with the smallest, which meant they were all guilty of indescribable greed. And was that survival of the fittest, or just survival of the greediest?

Sam prepared lunch and we had salad, chicken and frozen strawberries, washed down with sherry. Then Philip and his latest arrived and we went onto the river in a punt, all drunk. I fell in while Philip was punting. I was too exhausted to swim, so I let my clothes and shoes fill with water in order to sink myself. I didn't really want to sink myself, I wanted everybody to jump in and save me. Meanwhile, Philip punted on, presumably imagining that I was enjoying myself. I didn't sink, but I could have, and nobody would have noticed. I began to weep in the water. In the end they came back for me and Sam hauled me out onto the bank and covered me with a blanket. I was led home, still weeping. In the evening I went to a concert.

“I am officially changing my name to Madelyn,” Anne told Sam. They were sitting side by side on the hard leather sofa in his rooms, having just come back from a weak rendition of
Hamlet
. Sam liked to discuss the merits and demerits of all the actors and scenes in detail, and Anne was learning to be discerning too. This had its downside. Once she began to judge the performances, she could not enjoy the entertainment in the light-hearted way she used to.

Sam beamed. “You know, I've always disliked the banality of the name ‘Anne.' and I invested a lot of thought in the perfect name for you — one which would reflect your beauty and pay tribute to the pure simplicity of your unconscious mind. Madelyn is an uncommon name with a touch of foreign glamour, yet it is not pretentious. At first I imagined calling you Madelyn as a term of endearment, using it enough in my own head to oust ‘Anne' as my main mode for addressing you. But my dear Madelyn, I did not imagine you would adopt the name. Doesn't this indicate that the name touched a chord of recognition in you and therefore is appropriate? And more importantly, doesn't it indicate that you take my preferences seriously, that your acceptance of the name is a sign of love?”

“Well Sam, one doesn't change one's name every day at the request of different lovers. I would say it shows your importance and influence in my life.” Anne was pleased that Sam accepted this step as a proof of her love. She knew Sam was always looking for proof that she loved him more than anyone else in her bevy of followers. While she, knowing that Sam loved her, always looked for signs that this love would bear him to the altar. If he encouraged her to take a step that changed a facet of her identity for the rest of her life, didn't it prove that he intended their relationship to last? Only wives changed their names.

She leaned over and kissed him, and slipped her hands under his shirt, fondling the matt of curly hair underneath. He was surprised and stroked her hair tentatively, waiting for her to lead onto the next step. This was annoying, since Anne wanted Sam to intuit that this was the real thing, the seal of their union, and take the lead in the proceedings, as a man should. After what seemed to be, in her opinion, a long kissing session, she finally took his hands and thrust them under her shirt, hoping that this gesture would clarify her acquiescence, thus giving him confidence to take the reins.

It did.

Afterwards, when his heavy body reclined against hers, exhausted after its transports of joy, she tried to get a sense of the enormity of what she had done. She wanted to feel elated, proud, intimately interwoven with this man beside her. But instead the one utterance her mother ever made in reference to sex rolled around and around her head: ‘A much over-rated pastime.'

SEVEN

T
he failure of the world to change profoundly After Sex was disappointing for a brief time, before Madelyn ceased to think about it. No lightning bolts, no rosy hue imbuing the world, no magical changes to their relationship. Sam was invariably tender and loving before and after, but the in-between times remained as fraught with arguments and silly rifts as ever. Sex made no forays in other aspects of life either. Enjoying herself remained the central goal of every free day and as many hours in-between work as she could exploit. Various young men continued to dance attendance on the pretty Madelyn. Even if they recognized Sam's significance, what of that?

At least sex could now be blamed for those periods when she felt unaccountably gloomy.

Felt rotten for several hours in the afternoon. Is it because I have given myself to Sam? I was sitting on the sofa sewing, my gloom was so deep that, try as I might, I could not speak. We went for a walk in the wind among the daffodils and had tea. In the evening the house was full of people and someone brought champagne and we drank and ate chops and eggs. Afterwards Sam made love to me on the bed and cursed virgins, he said he would never marry one, a) because they have false ideas of marriage and themselves, and b) they are inclined to be bourgeois, middle class, underdeveloped and lacking in vitality and individualism.

Madelyn relieved her dissatisfaction by berating the previous generation's absurd attitudes towards sex. “Why did they make such a fuss about it?” she asked Louise. “It's so insignificant. Physically it's minor — one part of the body fitting into another part, like hands clasping. I hope I'm not being too vulgar for you, Louise. Is this embarrassing?”

“I hope you're taking prevention measures.”

“I am a midwife-in-training, thank you Louise. I'm quite aware of that side of things.”

“Great. That means you're using diaphragms and condoms, instead of relying on methods that don't work, like timing, for example.”

“If you understand timing and use it correctly, it works well.”

“Oh God. You're a double fool.”

“You mean I'm both a fool for not using protection and also a fool for making love at all? So underneath you're one of the old class. You think it's wrong to make love to somebody you love, which hinges on the belief that it's a big deal. I can't tell you how unimportant it is. A grossly over-rated pastime. You should know so you won't have any expectations.”

Louise came over and hugged her. She was not given to affectionate gestures and a glaze of tears filmed Madelyn's eyes. She tried to keep them from spilling over. She didn't want Louise to think she was crying for grief at what she had done, because she wasn't, only because it was so insignificant.

“You must be careful. It's much easier to have sex than to bring up a baby. That's not an over-rated pastime!”

Madelyn knew. She visited mothers for several weeks after their deliveries, checking the health of the babies and the mothers. The physical healing could take several days. Difficult labours left the woman's vagina lacerated and swollen. But physical suffering was usually conquered within a week. Even the thirty-hour labourers would be pottering around, assuming their housewifely duties once again. It was the psychological impact of a first baby that surprised Madelyn most, the dazed expression on the faces of new mothers. Drunk with exhaustion, driven half mad with the demands of this new morsel of humanity.

“Feed the baby at four-hour intervals,” Madelyn would tell them, “I know it's hard when she cries, but she'll get used to it. There's no need to feed more often than that.”

Some mothers kept the babies in bed with them, feeding them half guiltily whenever their screams became hysterical. But the four-hour mothers fared worse, lying rigid with misery as their babies cried, incapable of sleeping, battling with their instincts.

Most new mothers were in shock. They held onto Madelyn's visits like a lifeline. She visited once a day for two weeks, and twice a week for another month. Often they stood at the window, gazing in the direction where her bicycle would appear. They bombarded her with questions about the baby, even as she daubed healing ointment on their own lacerations.

“Is he gaining weight? He eats so little. I'm sure he doesn't swallow much when he sucks on the breast.”

“He's a fine, healthy boy. A beautiful baby.”

“He's wonderful when you're here, but he seems to cry so often when I'm alone with him. Do you think he's bored?”

Madelyn would strain not to smile.

“He's just been in your womb for nine months, where there was nothing to see or do. This whole world is incredible to him. How could he be bored? It's normal for infants to cry a lot.”

But their worries would go on and on, as their bloodshot eyes swelled through tears and lack of sleep. It seemed like a horrendous existence.

Oh, Madelyn knew.

Sam and I went to a wonderful picnic on the riverbank during the hottest part of the day. Sam brought crabs, boiled eggs, cherries and a bottle of wine. He puts his whole love into the preparation of meals for me, his entire artistry. After a bathe in the river we returned and had sandwiches and cider on the bridge before going to see Macbeth. When we came home we made love and I was like a stone, cold and dead. I smoke, drink, make love too deeply, my mind is becoming fuddled and my speech slurred and yet … I grow more beautiful.

After a row with Sam he left in a huff and I took an exorbitant amount of sodium amytal, which I had taken from the ward. I was awoken the next day at midday by Sam's large nose beneath the bedclothes
.

Madelyn couldn't wait until she was fully qualified to deliver babies by herself. Working with senior midwives was always difficult, but she especially disliked large, blonde, Scandinavian Helga, who was relaxed to the point of laziness. This might have been a pleasant foil to Madelyn's bustling activity, had Helga chosen to appear before the head of the baby crowned. ‘I might as well be doing the whole thing by myself,' Madelyn thought, marching back to the patient's house after her third phone call from the pay phone down the road.

“It's the mother's fourth baby, Helga, but she's been in labour for hours. I think there might be a problem.”

“Is baby coming head first?” asked Helga.

“I've already told you it is,” Madelyn tried not to scream down the phone. “But there might be other factors which I'm too inexperienced to recognize.”

“Not worry, you very good nurse. Now go back and let Helga sleep, okay? I come in morning.”

Madelyn slammed the phone down and returned to the labouring woman. She had every intention of phoning Helga every hour if necessary, but in fact the woman wasn't in much pain, and the baby's heartbeat was strong.

At nine in the morning, Helga put in an appearance. She did a quick examination, then patted the woman on the head, sunk her bulk into a chair and sucked on a fingernail.

“Well?” Madelyn demanded.

“My dear, you go home. You look so tired.”

“But I've been here for fourteen hours. I want to stay to the end.”

“There is no need, all is fine. You so tired you not help much anyway.”

Madelyn couldn't even appeal to the patient. Her eyes were closed in exhaustion, and it was doubtful if she understood what was happening.

There was nothing more frustrating than missing the excitement and wonder of the birth after attending a difficult labour. ‘Bloody Helga,' Madelyn thought, ‘waltzing in after a good night's sleep and booting me out. The mother had bonded with me. I could smack her fat face!'

The sight of her sweet little house cheered her up, and by the time she had stashed her bicycle and entered the hallway, Madelyn remembered she was off tomorrow and tried to focus on how she would spend the day. She would not even phone to inquire how the birth had ended.

Philip was lying across the couch in their sitting room as if he lived there, conversing with Louise and Lavinia.

“The prettiest nurse in Cambridge, barring the present beauties,” Philip called out gallantly, and Madelyn felt the last dregs of her irritability fade away.

“I hope you weren't waiting for me. I'm going straight to bed.”

Philip wagged a finger rakishly in her direction, “I know your habits well. First you will have breakfast, then a cigarette or four. You will sit chatting away all the time as though you had just risen from a refreshing sleep, as opposed to returning from a grueling night of work. Then you will have a shower. Bedtime is at least two hours away, even on an ordinary day. But today is sunny and hot and you happen to be off tonight. Sleep later, punt now with Philip.”

Madelyn smiled and felt the delicious freedom of having several choices, all of which were pleasurable.

“Bed,” she announced, “hard on the heels of one cup of tea and one cigarette, which will take fifteen minutes to the second.”

The phone rang, and Madelyn recounted the irritations of her night into Sam's sympathetic ear.

“Do you think you'll be able to go to the party tonight? You remember we planned to go together?”

“Of course. I'll sleep all day and be quite fit for tonight.” In fact she was meeting John Drake for drinks in the afternoon, but she disliked mentioning John to Sam, since he had behaved so abominably towards him.

Madelyn's nostrils were assailed by the wonderful smell of frying steak and onions as she hung up the phone. Philip was sitting upright now with a white bib tucked into his shirt and a knife and fork in either hand.

“Wrong decision to go to bed, my dear; we were just about to dine on steak and eggs. Nighty-night.”

Madelyn resolutely went to bed and lay tossing and turning, reluctant to enlist the aid of her pills in case she missed the whole of the summer's day. After three hours she gave up and walked along the river until she found Philip, who was delighted to see her.

“I'm not going to be lively company, Philip. I just want to lie here and rest.”

“Gazing at your beauty is entertainment enough. Go to sleep, and I will try to remember I am a gentleman and avert my eyes from your soft curves.”

“Be quiet, Philip,” Madelyn said, and lay down, convinced that lying in a rocking boat and absorbing the heat and motion of the water was as restful as sleeping anyway.

She skipped off for drinks with John Drake at the appropriate time. He was polite as always, with his unrequited love bubbling harmlessly under the surface. Unlike Sam's love, which seethed and fumed, thought Madelyn to herself. She appreciated John's gentlemanliness and the fact that he never criticized Sam.

Madelyn drank and smoked copiously, wondering why she had not chosen to sleep with John, who would have married her the next day.

She rushed home in good time to prepare for the party and found Sam sitting cross-legged on the rush matting, reading a book of poetry by Walt Whitman. She dropped a kiss on his forehead, confident that she was in excellent time and the night was young and ready to be enjoyed.

“Where have you been?” Sam asked.

Madelyn repressed her irritation with the question.

“It was such a lovely day. I went for a punt on the river with Philip and then met John Drake for a drink.” She imbued John's name with reproach, in revenge for her irritation. Sam did not reply and sat watching her preparations morosely. Madelyn donned a skirt which had once been a black cape worn for a play when she was a schoolgirl. She was proud of her inventiveness with clothes and told Sam the history of the cape while she dressed. She was aware of his glowering brow, but felt it was his own fault. If it had been left up to her she would have made him laugh, but he always insisted on the boring truth. So she had told him. It was ridiculous to get upset.

“Do I look pretty?” she asked him, swirling around in her cape/skirt.

He got to his feet with difficulty, stiff and sore from sitting cross-legged on the floor, and looked down at her with contempt. “You want to enjoy life too much.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Madelyn looked in the mirror for a minute before following him. ‘And you shan't stop me!' she thought. Then, ‘Is it true?'

She sat beside Sam at the party, trying to absorb his statement. ‘Sam never speaks without thinking,' she thought, ‘every word he says is weighted with thought and meaning. Unlike me. I do want to enjoy life. My greediness destroys my happiness. I flit mindlessly from one pleasure to another, filling every free moment with
frivolity
.'

Lavinia was washing the dishes when Madelyn came downstairs the next morning. She put the kettle on.

Madelyn threw herself in a chair and leaned back, closing her eyes. “I'm going back to bed. I have to work tonight and I feel terrible.”

“Ah, but did you enjoy yourself at the party last night?”

“I want to enjoy life too much!”

“Why shouldn't you?”

Madelyn squinted at Lavinia, smiling and crying from her wandering eye as she took tea bags from her own rations. She was not the type of person Madelyn paid much attention to. She liked her helpful, comfortable presence, but she would never ask her advice about anything. How interesting that she thought Madelyn should enjoy life.