A Gift of Poison Read online

  ‘Yes, it was pretty bad.’ The words seem quite inadequate for what she and Sally actually endured.

  ‘When was it exactly?’

  ‘Last year, just before she went to Sussex. Look, Elizabeth, I really don’t want to talk about it any more. It was an absolute nightmare but it’s over.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Elizabeth says again. ‘I hope Felix paid.’

  ‘With money, yes.’

  ‘Oh, poor you, poor Sally. It must have been dreadful. But I don’t understand how Richard found out.’

  ‘God, Elizabeth, how much more d’you want? Inge told him. She found a letter from Sally in Felix’s flat. Must have been a big thrill for her. Must have really made her day.’ Helen pours herself another drink without offering Elizabeth one. Wartime camaraderie has vanished and she is hoping Elizabeth will leave soon. But she goes on sitting there, holding her empty glass and looking sad.

  ‘So Felix had an affair with Inge too,’ she says. ‘It just gets worse and worse.’

  ‘I don’t quite see,’ says Helen sharply, ‘how that’s worse than Sally having an abortion.’ Now she has actually said the word and she feels it reverberating between them. But Elizabeth, of course, is only thinking of herself.

  ‘No, of course not, I didn’t mean that, it’s just one more thing I’ve got to take into account… I suppose I knew really but…’ Elizabeth’s voice trails away.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to talk about it any more,’ Helen says. ‘I never did, it makes me feel quite ill.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry.’

  ‘And I really don’t see why you have to bring it up now. It’s over a year ago and you’re still together, what the hell is the point of asking me all these questions now?’ She hears herself becoming strident.

  ‘I couldn’t face it at the time, I panicked,’ Elizabeth says. ‘Felix nearly died, after all, how could I interrogate him as soon as he got home? And then he was doing the book… well, I didn’t want to upset that—’

  ‘Oh, God forbid,’ says Helen, heavily ironic. ‘My daughter could have died too but what a shame if one of Felix’s books got upset by his private life. So why now? Why turn up here on Boxing Day, as if Christmas isn’t bad enough already, and put me through all this?’

  ‘Because I think it’s still going on.’ Elizabeth looks up and very directly at Helen, as if challenging her. ‘Or it’s started again. And I want you to tell me the truth. I can’t face another year like this. I suppose I thought if it had happened, at least it was over and maybe we could put it behind us. But if it’s still going on…’

  ‘Well, it was in the summer,’ Helen says, suddenly almost relieved to have no more pretence. ‘Sally pretty well admitted it when I asked her. I was appalled, of course, but there was nothing I could do. I don’t know how things are right now.’ She closes her eyes for a moment: the conversation has exhausted her.

  ‘I knew it,’ Elizabeth says softly, and then: ‘Oh, Helen, why didn’t you tell me a year ago?’

  ‘Why should I interfere in your marriage? I was having enough trouble with my own. If you didn’t want to know, that was up to you. Anyway, the whole thing made me feel sick, I didn’t want to talk about it. What good would it have done to come running to you? A sort of revenge, to make you unhappy as well? Or more like asking someone to call off their dog. It was easier to say nothing and just not see you very much.’ She wonders if that sounds very insulting.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Elizabeth says, standing up. ‘Thank you for being honest with me at last. I’m sorry I stayed so long.’

  ‘If I wasn’t so tired,’ Helen says, ‘I’d have been more polite.’ And they smile faintly at each other, in some kind of sad recognition of the friendship they used to have.

  * * *

  Elizabeth drives home very slowly and carefully, as if she has been involved in an accident. Felix is still not back and she wonders now if he is with Sally, who was also out today. He had said he was going to work through the holiday to get final revisions of the book done by the end of the year, but that of course could be meaningless as well as true.

  She is past caring; she is glad to be alone. She removes her shoes and has a brandy, then undresses and takes a hot bath before sinking into her dressing-gown. She is treating herself like an invalid. ‘Well, I asked for it, and I got it,’ she says to herself. ‘Now I know everything.’ She is slightly embarrassed to hear her voice aloud in the empty house, more so to recall that she has just made an exhibition of herself in front of Helen. Still, who better than a painter to witness that? The thought actually makes her laugh. She has a headache now and she takes two aspirins with her second drink, sitting by the window and looking out at the wintry river. She reckons she has just a few days in which to make a decision: she can’t face another year like this. If she could, she would not have interrogated Helen at all. Part of her knew what she would hear, but another part, she is shocked to discover, was actually hoping to be told she was wrong.

  It feels like such a huge deception, such a saga of misery, so much worse than any affair he has had before. Sally’s age makes it worse, and the link with Richard and Helen, almost like abusing a member of the family. The abortion makes it worse, the betrayal of Richard’s friendship, and the end of Helen’s marriage. She feels responsible, as if her loving tolerance of Felix has enabled him to create such wreckage and escape unscathed. Is it now up to her to punish him and if so, how can she do it without also punishing herself?

  She thinks it isn’t punishment she wants to achieve so much as peace. Somewhere in the part of her that knew the truth but chose to overlook it, she believed that he had learnt his lesson. That Richard’s violence and her own unspoken forgiveness would impress him so deeply that he would never do anything quite so bad again. She was wrong. The fact that it is still going on makes her feel he is laughing at her, that the enormity of his crime has completely passed him by. She has lived all this time with someone who speaks a different language, whose value system is as alien as if he came from another world. Sitting there at the window, with her third drink in her hand, she watches the river and reflects that she is going to have to do something as painful as cutting off a limb without anaesthetic, and the thought makes her shake with fright.

  But she can’t do it yet. When Felix returns several hours later and finds her still sitting in the dark, she says nothing.

  ‘What’s the matter, darling,’ he asks cheerily, ‘Christmas blues?’

  And she says, ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Never mind,’ he says, ‘it’s nearly over. God, what a day. I hate this stage. You read the bloody thing again and again and each time it looks different.’

  He kisses her and pours them both drinks. He looks so normal: friendly and affectionate. Innocent. She thinks about how much she will be giving up. It is almost as if she has never loved him more, which alarms her. And yet it is also as if a dead person has come into the room.

  * * *

  Helen finds herself strangely affected by Elizabeth’s visit. After years of pitying and despising her for putting up with Felix, she sees what an enormous effort of courage it must have been for Elizabeth to face the truth and she admires her for it. She has no idea what Elizabeth will do with the information, but it seems to have turned her into an active person, going home to take charge of her life in some way, perhaps for the first time. Elizabeth has made Helen feel passive by comparison. Here I sit, Helen thinks, waiting for Richard to come back to me when I’m not even sure I would take him. At least Inge knew she wanted him and she got him. Perhaps he is even happier with her; perhaps he needs that kind of devotion after all. Maybe it’s like warm sunshine after putting up with my moods. He won’t have to cook meals or compete with a career for attention; he won’t have to feel guilty about his children or divided about money. Maybe Inge really is good for him after all.

  It seems a revolutionary thought, almost funny. And why am I sitting here waiting for Richard, she asks herse
lf, when I am lusting after Jordan? I could at least cheer myself up with some sex. No wonder Sally despises me; I can see it in her eyes. She wants me to have more guts. I’ve turned into a spineless wimp and it’s taken Elizabeth to make me see it. There seems to be some irony in that, worthy of hollow laughter, she thinks. If Elizabeth can take action, then surely so can I.

  Time to make something happen. She gets out her address book and looks up Jordan’s number. She goes to pour a drink to give herself courage, but reflects that she is already drinking too much, and stops. She will make this call quite cold. After all, there is no shame in ringing a man who rang her yesterday. There is no shame in contacting an ex-lover and inviting him round. There is even no shame in throwing herself at him if necessary. He has seen it all before. If she is going to take risks, better it should be with Jordan, who is almost like an old friend, than with a stranger. And how would I ever meet a stranger, she asks herself, when I never go anywhere? And besides, I actually want Jordan.

  That is the frightening part, she discovers. Actually wanting someone again. Putting herself at risk once more. Well, it’s only sex, she tells herself, dialling, and Jordan will understand that. He won’t mind. He may even be flattered.

  A woman’s voice says, ‘Hullo?’ She sounds at home.

  Oh God, Helen thinks, his latest mistress, of course, he only rang yesterday to be polite, no wonder he didn’t ask me out. But she forces herself to be resolute. ‘Oh, hullo,’ she says, trying to strike the right casual, confident tone. ‘Is Jordan there?’

  ‘Yes, who’s calling?’ says the woman.

  ‘Helen,’ says Helen, her heart thumping. She feels about five years old. She realises that if losing Richard has not broken her heart it has certainly dented her self-confidence.

  ‘Just a minute,’ says the woman. She goes away and Helen hears her shouting, ‘Dad? Telephone. It’s Helen.’

  Helen waits. She feels relief. She feels a smile beginning to spread over her face. Presently Jordan comes on the line and says, ‘Hullo.’

  ‘Hullo, Jordan,’ Helen says. She has no idea what to say next.

  There’s a pause while they both just breathe. Then Jordan says, ‘Not working today?’

  Helen says rapidly, ‘No, I’m sick of it all, work and Christmas and the whole damn thing, so I rang to invite you to dinner on New Year’s Eve.’ As soon as she hears the words she realises that is what she most wants, to start the year with Jordan, but she has loaded the dice against herself. Almost everyone in the world will be already booked up and that includes Jordan.

  He hesitates. ‘Well, that sounds good but I’m meant to be going to a party.’

  ‘Of course. Never mind.’ Heart dropping like stone to bottom of well. Gut-wrenching disappointment. Worst fears confirmed. I must go to the doctor tomorrow, she thinks, get some pills for this. I’m in a dreadful state. Much worse than I thought.

  ‘Would you like to come with me?’ Jordan says.

  She’s astonished. ‘Yes.’ But she wouldn’t. She hates parties and people hate her at them. She’s no good at small talk and she makes enemies instead of friends. She gives offence easily and has to leave early in a bad mood. The way she remembers it, Jordan used to have a similar problem.

  ‘Or I could get out of it and come to you instead,’ Jordan says suddenly. ‘Would that be better?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says, heart singing. ‘That would be much better. I’m no good at parties.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ says Jordan. ‘Eight o’clock-ish?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  She hangs up, smiling. Ask and ye shall receive, she thinks smugly. She has got what she wanted and she has five whole days to look forward to it with perfect equanimity. She has been rewarded for her daring. How simple life can be if you have a little courage, she thinks.

  * * *

  Elizabeth chooses New Year’s Eve, or perhaps it chooses her. She can’t do it any sooner, but if she waits any longer she is afraid she may not do it at all. They are getting ready for a party, long ago accepted when it seemed easier than being alone with the occasion, but which they now don’t want to attend. Felix comes into the room saying plaintively, ‘Do we really have to go?’ and Elizabeth hears herself saying, ‘No, I don’t think we can, I think we’ll have to talk instead.’

  She is watching his face very carefully and hating herself for doing so. She sees instantly, almost subliminally, something in his eyes showing he knows exactly what she means, and then the look is gone, so quickly that she could almost believe she imagined it. It is replaced by an expression of innocent enquiry. ‘Oh really, what about?’ he says.

  ‘Sally and the abortion,’ she says simply.

  There is utter silence in the room.

  Felix says, frowning, ‘Oh darling, what is this?’

  ‘Please don’t lie to me,’ she says. ‘Please spare me that. I went to see Helen on Boxing Day. But I think I knew anyway. And I’ve been checking the mileage on your car. I’ve sunk pretty low really, though not as low as you, of course. You’ve been to Brighton a lot in term time, haven’t you? Must be a relief now she’s back in town. I know it’s still going on, Felix. And I can’t take it any more. That’s all we have to talk about.’

  She is surprised how quiet and calm her voice sounds. Inside her chest there is a sensation of thudding, pounding adrenalin that nearly deafens her. She can see him thinking fast, almost as if there is a glass screen in his face behind which she glimpses the whirring parts of his brain, as in a surrealist painting. She has suddenly developed a kind of X-ray vision and she finds it unnerving.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘But it’s over. We’ve said goodbye. Darling, I can’t bear to see you hurt like this. I never meant it to happen and I never wanted you to know. Can you ever forgive me?’

  She can see this is meant to be a rhetorical question. She says, ‘No. I don’t think I can.’

  He looks very shocked. She wonders if that means he believes her or if it’s another assumed mask. He doesn’t speak. His face is very blank now, wiped clean of expression. She can see him evaluating the situation, somewhere behind his eyes. She doesn’t like her new clear-sightedness but it’s useful.

  ‘Well, that’s it,’ she says eventually. ‘There we are.’

  He says, ‘Darling, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What can I say? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done but it’s over. Must have been a mid-life crisis.’ He waves his hands about distractedly. ‘How can I ever make it up to you?’

  Denial wouldn’t help him, but the more he grovels, the more powerful and detached she feels. It is a new sensation and she wonders how far she can push it. She is surprised by this sudden deep hunger for vengeance. She doesn’t like what she is learning about herself.

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ she says. ‘I don’t think you can.’ The words frighten her, and he begins to look worried too, for the first time, as if picking up her fear. She notices her old familiar instinct to comfort him but she controls it. He moves towards her, as if to touch her, and she says, ‘No, don’t.’ He stops and they look at each other uncertainly.

  He says, ‘Lizzie?’ with a note of real panic in his voice. ‘I love you. Only you. Only ever you.’

  ‘Whatever that means,’ she says. She feels exhilarated by her own cruelty: she is amazing herself. She realises she would like to injure him: she has terrible images in her mind of cutting him into pieces with a knife. There is blood everywhere in her brain.

  She says, ‘I don’t think I can live with you any more. I think we’ll have to separate.’ She can see from the shock on his face that he believes her and that makes her realise she means it. She is terrified.

  ‘But I can’t…’ he says, and stops. She feels him thinking the words ‘live without you’ and even now, from habit, rejecting the cliché. Suddenly in their grievous state they both laugh. Then his face crumples up and he starts to cry. She takes him in her arms and then holds him, dry-eyed herself, and rocks him like a child to co
mfort him.

  * * *

  Jordan arrives promptly at eight. This is a surprise, although she has been ready since seven thirty, just in case: she does not remember him as a punctual person. He has brought a bottle of chilled vintage champagne, which is also unexpected, and presents it to her solemnly, saying, ‘Happy New Year’.

  She says, ‘Thank you, Jordan. How wonderful.’ She has after a lot of indecision put on her best black dress with silver earrings from Mexico and some rather uncomfortable shoes which make her legs look quite enticing. She is wearing a lot of her favourite scent. She has even put on glamorous underwear in case she gets lucky. She so seldom wears clothes like these that they seem like fancy dress. She feels like a desperate middle-aged woman and a silly teenager at the same time. It is rather a nice feeling: out of control, for a change. And she is glad she has dressed up because she can see that his clothes are very expensive: a camel overcoat over a black cashmere sweater and velvet trousers with suede boots. She has never seen him so formally dressed. Astonishment overrides her nerves and she says without thinking, ‘I’d forgotten how rich you are these days.’

  He smiles. Already he is filling the room: he has a bigger presence than she remembers, too. Surely all her memories can’t be wrong?

  ‘Have I overdone it?’ he says. ‘I wanted to get it right.’ The Welsh undertones are strong in his voice tonight, whereas at his show and on the phone they have been overlaid by his years in New York.

  She says, ‘No, it’s lovely. I really appreciate it. And you look so smart.’ She doesn’t know how else to put it: good enough to eat is the phrase that occurs to her, but that might be too full of innuendo.

  He laughs. ‘Oh, I got to be a sort of dandy in the States. Isn’t that ridiculous? Only they seemed to like it. And they were paying me so much I thought I should give them value for money.’