The Strange Year of Vanessa M Read online

  “Diana do you got any carrots?”

  “Carrots?”

  “Yes, I want to make some vegetable soup and I don't feel like going to the supermarket at this time of day. Can I stop by your house?”

  “Ah! Of course you can.”

  ‘Carrots’ was the code word that Vanessa and Diana had used for ‘cigarettes’ ever since their adolescence. Whenever they wanted to go out for a smoke, they’d call each other up and ask for something beginning with ‘c’: chemistry notes, cartridge pen, a cheat sheet. Then they’d meet in the car park outside the post office and smoke two or three cigarettes one after the other, making up for the hours of abstinence they’d endured at home. A nice carrot soup seemed like a good excuse to give her husband for nipping out of the house for a minute.

  When she got to the car park, Diana was there already. Vanessa felt like she’d gone back in time. Her friend still wore her hair the same way, the same oversize quilted jacket. Even her posture was the same, her weight on her right leg and her arms crossed. The last time they’d met here had been the night before Vanessa’s wedding; or more accurately, the actual morning of the wedding, as it was three in the morning and the ceremony was set for nine hours later.

  Vanessa hadn’t been able to sleep that night. It wasn’t just the stress that’s normally associated with the preparations for a wedding – last-minute adjustments to the dress, flowers that aren’t quite the right colour, broken-down air conditioning in the banqueting room – but a constant difficulty in breathing, nightmares that started as soon as she closed her eyes.

  It was always the same nightmare and she’d been having it for the last two weeks. Vanessa was alone in her room, trying on her wedding dress, her make-up on and her hair in place. All the guests were waiting in the hall for her to come downstairs so they could follow her to the church. It was an enormous room in an enormous house, and in this nightmare it was her house, although it was nothing like the house she really lived in. Vanessa was looking for her shoes. She had everything except her shoes, and she couldn’t find them anywhere. She looked under the bed, in all the drawers and cupboards, under the sheets. Downstairs, her mother was shouting for her and Vanessa was getting more and more flustered, drops of sweat running down her face and ruining her make-up. Just when she was about to burst into tears, Diana arrived to save her, with twelve boxes of shoes stacked in her arms. Vanessa breathed deeply as Diana retouched her make-up and soothed her with a torrent of encouraging words. Getting her breath back, Vanessa began opening the shoeboxes to select the right pair. The first box contained red babouches, those Arab backless slippers with the curled-up tips, the type Aladdin wore. Nice, but totally inappropriate. The second box contained blue babouches. The third box contained yellow babouches. Vanessa began to feel breathless again, the sweat now running down her back too, dampening the silk of her dress. The eleven boxes she’d opened so far all contained babouches, each pair a different colour. It was when she opened the last box, this one containing lilac babouches that Vanessa screamed in horror and awoke from her nightmare.

  “What do you think it means?” Vanessa asked as she lit her second cigarette.

  ”Nothing, it means you’re anxious like any bride is, and what you really need is a good night’s sleep, otherwise tomorrow your skin will be in a state and so will I, when I don't sleep well I get spots and that’s all I need, I want to get some decent photos taken by your photographer, it’s not every day we have a professional photographer at our disposal, and as your bridesmaid I certainly have the right to a quick private session with him before the bride and groom arrive,” answered Diana.

  “Don’t you think it’s a sign? That I shouldn’t get married?”

  “Vanessa don't be silly, do you me? Not get married? Can’t you really imagine how lucky you are finding a husband like that, while most of us are still scrabbling around for a man that’s halfway decent or at least likes us more than he likes beer? A guy with an education, his own house, that your mother adores, that wants to have children right away, that gives you presents? Your problem is lack of sleep; you know that? Go and drink a camomile tea and put some slices of cucumber on your eyes. Your shoes are in your room, and it was you that chose them, everything will be all right, and tomorrow when you’re on your way to the Dominican Republic, all happy and content and married, you’ll laugh at this ridiculous scene you’re making here.”

  Vanessa went home, but didn't sleep; the camomile tea didn’t work, and neither did the cucumber slices. A part of her was telling her to run away, that this wasn’t the right time to marry, that she was just twenty-three and had her whole life ahead of her. Another part of her told her Diana was right, that she shouldn’t be so stupid as to reject something every woman spent years looking for. Why postpone it, if she was going to end up getting married anyway, if not this year then the next, and quite probably to the same man? Marry, work, have children. Wasn’t that what everyone did?

  Ten years had passed since then, and Vanessa was now certain she should have paid more attention to her dream. The twelve pairs of babouches probably symbolized all the opportunities she was giving up by slipping a ring onto her finger too soon. Twelve opportunities for a different life, one that didn't end up with her sneaking out of the house to smoke cigarettes.

  “So what happened to you then you dizzy thing? It wasn’t easy making up that excuse about the retreat. Your mum’s no fool, but don't worry everyone fell for it, except your boss who was absolutely furious with you; you’re going to have to take him a doctor’s note, but don't worry I spoke to your analyst’s secretary and she says at your next session she’ll give you a sick note to hand in at work. It’s all about helping each other out and I sorted out a problem she had with the Social Security and she’s eternally grateful for that and when you need a favour from her all you have to do is ask.”

  “Oh Diana, I can't even explain what happened to me. I was depressed and didn't feel like going home, that’s all. The next thing I knew I was a hundred miles away.”

  “But what were you depressed about, girl? Aren’t you taking your pills? I really don't understand you. You have a fantastic life, a lovely husband and daughter, a mother who’s always there to help you, a stable job, you’ve got your health, what more do you need? Haven’t you seen how most people live with being unemployed, ill, tragedies in their lives? If you could only see the people I have to deal with at the Social Security you’d change your tune. And by the way, when did you start smoking again?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Well that’s something; now I have some company at least; the discrimination’s getting worse all the time, there aren’t even rooms for smokers any more, you have to go outside and we’ll see how long that lasts, one of these days it’ll be banned outside too, the worst time is in winter or those days when it’s wind and rain; you get soaked through and can’t even get your lighter to work. See that you don't go and do anything stupid, Mimi is nearly eight now and these things begin to affect kids. It’s bad enough you getting arrested in front of her.”

  “You think I don't know that? That’s why I’m beginning to think she’d be better off without me.”

  “Don’t say stuff like that, Vanessa! Are you stupid or what? Don’t make me go and make your husband worried. Or you want me to go and tell your doctor to increase your medication? You’re tired and confused, that’s all, why don't you take some time off? We could go away somewhere the two of us, I heard about this fantastic promotion for Cape Verde, one week all-inclusive in a four-star resort; what do you think of that? Just the two of us, together all day long, like it used to be? Sun, sea, cocktails by the pool.”

  Vanessa choked on her cigarette smoke. One week stuck in a resort with Diana, on an island? She’d rather slit her wrists. She decided to cut the conversation off and go home before Diana started getting into the idea. She would have to invent an excuse for coming home without carrots, but she knew her husband never demanded explanations when
she was having one of her crises; he preferred not to talk about things in the hope they’d disappear of their own accord.

  When she got home, her husband was working at the computer and Mimi was sleeping like an angel on the sofa. Children always look like angels when they’re sleeping. She carried her off to bed, tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead, and when she made to say, “Goodnight,” it came out as, “Sorry.”

  5.

  Vanessa was a stranger to the maternal instinct. She had never had it in the past; she didn’t have it now. While other little girls played with dolls, Vanessa preferred riding a bike, playing tag or catching worms in the park. Of course, the opportunities to do these things were rare, as her mother insisted that she played house and dressed in pink, keeping her indoors where she’d have to endure Diana, so she couldn’t go out and do her tomboy things. Which only made her hate the thought of nappy changes, cots, baby food even more.

  When she married, and once that phase of uncertainty and the nightmares of the babouches had passed, she had envisaged a life full of adventure for the two of them. Travel to exotic places, romantic dinners, Saturday mornings spent making love. But her husband wanted children, her mother wanted grandchildren, and society in general didn't understand why a young and healthy and happily married couple hadn’t started procreating yet, as God commanded. Vanessa even got babygrows on their first anniversary that was how bad the pressure was.

  She wasn’t too enthusiastic when she got pregnant; the day she did the test, she’d hoped and hoped she was just late. So many women have problems conceiving, why couldn’t she be one of them? But no, she got pregnant right on the first attempt. Her test showed positive after three seconds. And so did the next five.

  Maybe it was divine punishment that made her feel ill throughout her pregnancy. The more she wished she’d never got pregnant, the more her unborn child seemed to turn her guts inside out: nausea, vomiting, cramps, drowsiness, heartburn, constipation, gagging at certain smells and foods, swellings, headaches, all the stuff the books mention. The birth was difficult too; long, painful and exhausting, and in the end the child they placed in her arms was a girl, not a boy like she’d hoped for. That meant more pink, flounces, ribbons and lace, on top of the inevitable nappies, cots, and baby food.

  Everyone considered her a practical mother because she didn't get anxious every time her baby cried, didn't run after her as soon as she was five yards away, and didn’t mind staying at work until late. They used to congratulate her, saying they wished they were like her. Perhaps that was why Mimi was such a fast learner. Vanessa knew the truth; she was simply disconnected from it all. She had never seen the attraction in motherhood. Even when Mimi was a baby, it was her husband who bathed her, dressed her and gave her a bottle in the middle of the night. Of course she loved her daughter, wanted the best for her and all those things, but at the same time, every new stage in Mimi’s life meant one less possibility of making her dreams come true, one less holiday, one less dance course, one less trip to the cinema, one less opportunity to pursue an international career. So she often simply avoided her daughter. She would pretend to be working at the computer just so she wouldn’t have to put her to bed or play with her. She’d spend hours on the Internet, claiming she had an extremely important report to deliver first thing in the morning. Mimi would shrug, sweetly and with resignation, which made Vanessa feel bad, but not bad enough to change. The only way she knew to compensate for the affection deficit was to inundate her daughter with material things. Maybe it was that, the bad habit that caused the argument that ended with her spending a night in the police station.

  It had happened early in the year, on a grey day in January. Vanessa had woken up in a bad mood, after a sleepless night caused by her husband’s snoring. When he drank, he would snore violently at night, and the previous night he’d had his fill. For Vanessa it had been one more exciting evening at home, tidying up the kitchen, preparing meals for the next day, putting one heap of clothes through the washing machine and folding another heap, helping her daughter with her homework and enduring twenty minutes on the phone with her mother, who always called when her favourite series was on TV.

  When she got to the living room she found he’d left his clothes lying around all over the place (“So I wouldn’t wake you up getting undressed in the room, (Darling”), the bread lying out of its bag, the better to turn stale and go straight to the bin (“I made some toast before going to bed and forgot to put the bread away, sorry,”) crumbs on the floor she’d mopped the day before (“I’ll Hoover everything before leaving the house, I promise”). And he hadn’t even taken the rubbish downstairs, which was his task.

  Later, at the office, her boss was in an especially irascible mood. He was a profoundly irritating creature. A mediocrity that risen to a managerial position by bootlicking and servility. Vanessa could still remember the day the new vice-chairman had taken up his position. Her boss was all smiles, all ‘your slave at your disposal’, orchestrating meetings with the new man in the silliest places, like the lift or the toilets, so he wouldn’t forget his face. When it came to getting some work done that was for the others; although people who didn't know him considered him an excellent employee. His secret was always leaving the computer switched on and his suit jacket on the back of his chair. When he wanted to leave, he would say, “I’m just going downstairs to the café.” The worst thing was none of his colleagues could catch him out at his tricks, because he re-routed his office calls to his mobile phone and always answered, wherever he was out of his office. If he had to, he’d return to the office, just to avoid being found out. He would even answer calls during his golf classes, saying he’d been in the lift on his way to the office and had no signal on his mobile. These classes were extremely important, as he’d told his superiors he was an excellent golfer and knew he might be invited to a management golf tournament at any time. So for a man who’d never held a golf club before in his life, these classes were a matter of life or death, professionally speaking.

  It may seem strange that someone can progress in his career simply by bootlicking and barefaced cheek. The truth, at least in Vanessa’s professional experience, was that it worked. Her boss did actually have a degree from a decent university, although not with the excellent grade he claimed to have. He did actually have successful international experience behind him, although the merit lay with his team, who’d done all the work in exchange for his petrol vouchers. He did actually carry a pile of papers around with him wherever he went, even the bathroom, although these papers were in fact print-outs of pages from the sports rags, which he read from cover to cover with a cocked eyebrow, as if perusing an extremely important document. The problem, Vanessa concluded, came from above. Most of the directors, chairmen and vice-chairmen she’d met over the course of her career were vain types who always wanted to look the best. So they needed to surround themselves with mediocrities like her boss, people who would never say no or steal the limelight in a decisive meeting. Functionaries, essential for maintaining the status quo. They weren’t expected to be brilliant; merely grateful would do. And giving them minor managerial roles was the best way to keep them grateful.

  So, that morning, the directors had taken her boss to task, and that meant trouble for everyone. This was one more feature of his brand of management. Since he constantly had his tail between his legs when he was dealing with his superiors, he took out his frustration on those beneath him, instilling a culture of fear that works wonderfully when a recession is raging and families are up to their necks in debt. Vanessa hadn’t even put down her coat when he came out with his first smarmy comment of the morning.

  “Good afternoon, Vanessa, when you have a moment, if it’s not too much trouble for you, would you mind coming into my office to do a little work?”

  It was 9:36 in the morning, for the love of God!

  In the canteen, she also had to put up with ‘the Hellcat’, a co-worker that everyone hated because she liked to p
ut people in difficult situations just to look more competent in the eyes of management.

  “Vanessa, Darling, you look awful! You should put some blush on or something. Ah, another thing! As you hadn’t arrived yet, I wrote that e-mail to Mr. Sousa for you. You know he hates waiting and it was twenty past nine.”

  The rest of the day was no better. Between having her boss tear three months work to shreds, hearing she wouldn’t be getting a pay rise this year and her cleaning lady calling her to say she wouldn’t be coming this week – exactly the week Vanessa had a heap of ironing that reached to the ceiling – she wondered what else could go wrong. She looked at her inbox and saw three e-mails from her husband with ‘Answer the phone’ in the subject line. Vanessa called him up and vented her frustration.

  “Sorry, I was trying to stop myself from throwing a chair at my boss, who as usual doesn’t approve of any idea that isn't his own and stares at the floor for ten minutes without saying a word and when he opens his mouth it’s to talk shit and tear everything we present to pieces. Then seeing as he won’t back down and admit that our solutions were actually quite valid and sensible, he asks us to re-do the whole job based on the ‘brilliant’ idea he’s just had. It’s if we, a team of six who’ve been working on this for three months, were so useless that nothing we do is good enough! But anyway, what did you want?’

  “It was just to say I can't take Mimi to the doctor’s. I have an emergency meeting with some clients at exactly the same time.”

  “Now you tell me?” Vanessa shouted, ignoring the looks of her co-workers.

  “I’m sorry Honey; they just arranged it and I really can't miss it. If you can’t go, don't worry, I’ll reschedule the appointment for another day.”

  Vanessa took three deep breaths, trying to calm down. Of course she wasn’t going to reschedule their daughter’s appointment. Of course she would leave work early, with that cynical smile of her boss that said, ‘And you still wonder why you’re not getting a pay raise,’ to collect her daughter from school on the other side of town and drive all the way back across town to get to the doctor’s office. Wasn’t that what mothers did? Give up everything for their children? Body, sleep, career, identity?