The Strange Year of Vanessa M Read online

  2.

  The following Monday, Vanessa had a smile on her face as she arrived at the office. She would adopt a new attitude, be more sociable and outgoing, especially because she’d finally realized, with a degree of shame and amazement, that in ten years’ working here she’d never made a single friend.

  There were the people she had lunch with in the office pantry, the people she’d join in a restaurant on the days she didn't bring her Tupperware with a packed lunch, the people she drank a coffee with on a mid-afternoon break, but she hadn't actually struck up a friendship with anyone. Some of the women were too gossipy, mini-Dianas in waiting, the type you get along with just out of good manners and on days when you need some good office scandal to keep yourself amused. Others were too staid, the type that live for their job and can’t talk about anything else. Some were too young and spoke about music, gadgets and fashions she knew nothing about. And then there were the übermothers, the ones whose offspring was the only thing that mattered in life. They were the group that was hardest to avoid, as they knew of Mimi and were always inviting her to motherly events like sewing classes, music for babies and crochet. They had no idea Vanessa would sooner stick a fork in her eye than show up at any of them.

  But now she was more available and was in no hurry to get home, she felt a certain envy about how her co-workers got along together, healthy and normal interaction between people who spend eight hours together every day, every month, every year. Exchanging e-mails, sharing holiday snaps, making arrangements for weekend lunches. Vanessa had a fairly good idea about the lives of her co-workers, who was single and who was married, who had kids and step kids, who lived in the city and who lived in the suburbs, which people left early to go to the doctor or the gym, but that was all. She’d been so clammed up all these years, and now she felt like a student joining a new class in the middle of term.

  She tried to understand what had brought her to this point. Was it fear of revealing things too personal in a professional environment, the risk of damaging her career at some point? Family and domestic obligations? Some days she used to leave in a hurry because she had to get to the supermarket or the chemist’s or the laundry. Others she had to make dinner or make a costume for the school Christmas party. There was always an excuse for avoiding contact. An excuse that later, on her way home, turned into regret. Maybe I should have said yes. The worst thing was, she'd been the same with the few friends she’d had over the course of her life. She never went to their birthday parties, camping weekends, and class reunions. She’d let Diana, and then her husband, organize her social life, to the point that now, when her time was hers and hers alone, she had no one even to talk to.

  Now she’d decided to change this aspect of her life, Vanessa began to pay attention to the conversation that circulated, especially when it came from the unmarried contingent, which was the one she felt most comfortable with. She still hadn’t told anyone she was separated. It had been difficult enough containing the scandal about her night in the cells, and she didn’t want to be the target of more water-cooler gossip. At the time she’d been lucky enough that her boss, challenged as he was in terms of character, wasn’t the type to encourage talk about the private lives of those working beneath him. For him no one had a private life anyway, and if they did they were expected to keep it well out of sight and office hours.

  Vanessa felt more and more curious about these people. They were her age or a little younger, but they could just as well have been from another planet. They weren’t married, had no kids, some of them still lived with their parents. They went out at night even during the week, went backpacking to India and Costa Rica, went to the cinema to watch documentaries and spent their money on things for themselves. Vanessa was fascinated. She found out they had a habit of taking an early-evening drink in an Irish pub at the bottom of the street and one day she decided to put in an appearance there.

  She’d spent hours planning it. She would have loved to have the courage simply to go up to them during a coffee break and ask if she could join their group. But she hadn’t. So the best she could think of was to stride confidently into the pub, pretending she hadn't even noticed they were there, and casually order a burger. Then, noticing them sitting at their table, pretend to be surprised to see them and hope they’d be polite enough to ask her to sit down beside them. Then she’d explain her presence there with a road accident that was going to take hours to clear up, so she thought she better eat something before getting back on the road.

  Nothing ever goes as it’s planned with these things, of course. Vanessa could never have planned that when she burst through the door she’d bump into a passing barman who was carrying a tray with eight pint glasses of beer destined for none other than her co-workers’ table. Vanessa froze as a sea of beer washed over the floor and the eyes of the whole place fell on her.

  “That’s what you call a flying entrance,” said one of the young men in the group. He was new in the company, about twenty-five, but unlike Vanessa he had the gift of integrating quickly. Everyone already called him Johnny, as if he was an old friend.

  “Sorry, I…”

  “Vanessa! What are you doing here?” asked another co-worker. “Don’t tell me you’re finally going to honour us with your presence?”

  And that was how Vanessa found herself sitting in their easy-going company without having to justify or invent reasons for drinking a beer with a colleague after a long day at work. It was also how Vanessa set off on a crazy night that included a stop for snacks in a seedy hole-in-the-wall bar, drinks in a part of town she didn't even know, electronic dance music in a club with purple walls and mixed bathrooms, breakfast from a greasy roadside food trailer and two hours’ sleep in the car, which was still parked in the company garage.

  She woke up with someone knocking on the window, which was where, she now realized, her cheek was resting. A string of saliva was running down her chin and an unusually bad headache had suddenly appeared. And the person knocking insistently was none other than the Hellcat’. Only the boss could be worse.

  “Vanessa! What happened to you?” she shouted, loud enough to attract the attention of the people making for the lifts.

  “Em, I think I…”

  “Ah! Say no more! That alcohol on your breath’s a dead giveaway, isn't it? I didn’t know you’d become a drunk now as well.”

  And off she flounced with a triumphant smile on her face, like someone who’s just scored points off an opponent. Vanessa knew she’d exploit this episode as soon as she could. Like in an important meeting where she had to shine. This is going to be a long day, she thought.

  She washed her face with some dried-up wipes she had in the glove compartment, straightened her hair, touched up her makeup and drank the rest of the water from a bottle that had been rolling around on the back seat for over a week. As soon as she got out of the car and stood up, her stomach turned over and she vomited on the spot, in the middle of the garage, under the reproachful gaze of a passing director.

  After her embarrassment had passed, and several visits to the bathroom on accounts that were like scenes out of The Exorcist, she spent the day swilling Alka-Seltzer and Coca-Cola in an effort to hide her condition from her boss, and swapping knowing looks with her fellow-accomplices, who were equally hung over but managed, maybe from force of habit, to disguise it much better. As she tried to concentrate on the Excel file open in front of her, she couldn’t help smiling. She felt in a surprisingly good mood, a little euphoric, even. Just one night of excess had been enough to make her feel alive. To wanted to quit hiding and stop feeling sorry for herself. She was just Vanessa now, and that was no longer scary. She wanted more. She wanted to rediscover everything she’d buried inside herself for so many years. Now she was beginning to understand what her aunt’s words really meant. Live the world that’s inside you. That was exactly what she aimed to do.

  3.

  Approaching the house that was once hers, Vanessa suddenly felt anxio
us. What if Mimi changed her mind about spending the weekend with her? What if she threw a tantrum and went clinging to her father? Her anxiety turned to irritation as soon as she saw Diana there in the house. She stopped the car and sat there observing the scene. What was she doing, brushing Mimi’s hair? They two of them were talking happily, with the complicity of mother and daughter. Now her husband went up to them. He was bringing her a mug of tea. They clinked mugs, smiling. Mimi sat happily, her legs swinging from the chair.

  Vanessa couldn't breathe. Watching this scene was like seeing her life from the outside. Like those dreams where we don't know we’re dead and don't understand why everyone is ignoring us. When she’d made the decision to leave home, she’d thought about something like this happening. But it was one thing to think about it happening and another thing to see it, right in front of her, someone taking her place and Diana of all people.

  Diana envied Vanessa’s life. Her parents to begin with, who where more educated then hers. Her husband, who wasn't a truck driver like hers. Her house, that wasn't decaying with ugly furniture like hers. Her job, which was much more sophisticated than hers. Diana could only see the material goods that embellished the lives of others, and constantly expressed her resentment at everything she’d never had in her life with ‘You don't know how lucky you are’. Vanessa could only feel all these things as a burden. And now she was beginning to get free of them, Diana shows up to take them, like a starving woman rummaging in a bag of rubbish.

  Deep down, Vanessa knew Diana could never take her place. Not that she didn't want to, but simply because her husband found her really annoying. Diana was already married, true, but Vanessa was sure she wouldn't hesitate to trade in her old husband for a new one if it meant a social upgrade. She’d done much worse already, like sleeping with the manager of a shop to get discounts on luxury brands, or with a doorman to get into a trendy club. And it was this certainty that made Vanessa unable to breathe.

  She gathered her composure, stuck her chin out and walked up to the door, feigning bulletproof confidence. It was Diana who opened.

  “Hi! Here already? You’re early today, aren’t you?” She was finishing putting pleats in Mimi’s hair. “You know how it is, men don't understand these things, they couldn’t tell the difference between a pleat and a ponytail, and our little girl wants to be all pretty for Mummy, don't you, Darling? Isn’t she lovely? She chose the dress herself.”

  “Yes, Diana, she’s lovely, thank you. Now if you don't mind, I’d like to be alone with my family.”

  “Of course, of course, I was just leaving, I just stopped by to see if I could see you as your mother told me you were coming today and I haven't seen you for so long, see if you visit or call me, the number’s the same, you know? Right then, I’ll be off, I still have to pick up the bread or Victor will kill me, if he doesn’t have his bread and butter first thing in the morning he gets unbearable. Bye now!”

  And off she went, leaving a brutal silence behind her as usual, as if someone had suddenly switched off very loud music.

  Vanessa’s husband greeted her from a distance and went back to the kitchen, avoiding all but the most essential eye contact. Mimi waited for her mother to approach and only when Vanessa kneeled down to kiss her did she break into a smile and become her usual bubbly self. She helped her daughter get packed and carry everything out to the car. When they were ready, she went back into the house to arrange with her husband what time she’d bring back Mimi on Sunday.

  “I put some boxes with your stuff in the store room,” he said, coldly. “They can stay there as long as you like, but you better take a look to see if there’s anything you want to take.”

  Ah, thanks, I’ll look on Sunday. I’ll be here around nine, is that okay? I’ll give her dinner and a bath, you don't need to worry about anything.”

  “Fine. Have a good weekend.” And at this he closed the door in her face.

  Vanessa shivered. She couldn't help feeling an enormous tenderness for him, and it pained her heart to see how much he was suffering. She knew him too well. All she could do was wait for time to lessen his rage. And even, who knows, to allow him to forgive her.

  She’d planned a weekend that revolved around Mimi, with a walk on the beach, ice cream on the esplanade, films with popcorn and a home beauty session with yoghurt face masks complete with slices of cucumber. All at the suggestion of her aunt, who had no children of her own but still knew better than Vanessa how to keep a child happy without having to spend money on toys. Mimi was fascinated by her aunt’s house. She’d never imagined adults could live in houses like that full of bright colours and disorder. It was difficult to tear her away to go for their walk on the beach.

  The sand was warm in the spring sunshine and Mimi ran barefoot after the seagulls, built sandcastles and gathered seashells to show her father. For the first time in years, Vanessa felt she was enjoying the time she was spending with her daughter. Like that day on that other beach, in that other time, when she’d been happy. She smiled to see Mimi happily jumping and darting around, playing like an eight-year-old child ought to play, even if that meant getting her dress wet and sand in her pleats. How had she let so much time pass without enjoying moments like this? How could she have been so detached from these little things? Was it because she’d missed them? Because she knew she had less than forty-eight hours to spend with her daughter?

  She was shaken out of these existential reveries by a form, which blocked out the sun. She looked up and saw the muscular form of a surfer, silhouetted against the light, making his way up the beach. His wet suit was unzipped down to the waist, revealing his iliac crest and some very well defined lower abdominals. He was holding his surfboard in muscular arms. Vanessa felt a wave of intense heat invade her. And she froze as she realized the surfer was her co-worker Johnny, the new kid. It was one thing to fantasize for a few seconds about hot sex with an unknown surfer. It was another thing altogether when the surfer had a face she knew and was a co-worker ten years her junior, someone she had to interact with on a daily basis. But wasn't he cute...

  “Well, well, if it isn't Vanessa! I didn't know you liked surfing,” he said, flashing a smile that gave her palpitations.

  “Me, surfing? It’s not my thing at all. I’m out for a walk with my daughter. Mimi, come here, Darling,” said Vanessa, calling her daughter to disguise her discomfort.

  “Wow, I had no idea you had such a grown-up daughter! How old are you anyway?”

  “That’s not a question you ask a lady, but I’ll have you know I was a mother at a very young age.”

  Mimi was squirming with excitement. So this was what they looked like, those men that did those impossible stunts on crashing waves, the type she wasn't allowed to go up to. Her questions tumbled out in cascades, like any child of her age, and Vanessa could breathe easier now that Johnny was explaining the principles of surfing to her daughter. She knew this would end with Mimi asking for surf classes. They said goodbye cordially, not before Johnny had winked flirtatiously at her and suggested he could give lessons to Mimi’s mum too. Vanessa smiled, flustered. She hated getting flustered over a man. Even worse was getting flustered over a man ten years younger than her. As he walked away, she tried not to look too hard at his firm, well-toned bottom.

  This was the first story Mimi told her father when she got home on the Sunday evening. Vanessa noticed the profound displeasure in the look her husband gave her, not because of their daughter’s enthusiasm for surfing but because Vanessa had already made new friends, male friends, and surfers at that. She escaped his reproachful look with the excuse of the boxes in the store cupboard. As she was making her way out she heard Mimi excitedly telling her father how Vanessa’s aunt had made a vegetarian lasagne and smoked a water pipe that smelled of apples, just like the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.

  The boxes contained what Vanessa had expected: her notebooks, clothes she hadn't worn for years and others she’d meant to leave behind, framed photographs
of her or the two of them, creams, perfumes, brushes, the coffee mug he’d given her on one of the many Valentine’s Days they’d shared, books, even the set of satin bed sheets she’d bought to spice up their relationship but which her husband said were terribly cold and uncomfortable. At the bottom of one of the boxes, however, was one thing she hadn't expected to find, their wedding photo album. The discovery hit her with the force of a punch. As if her husband was standing in front of her telling her to take all these memories away with her. That he didn’t want them, that they were as worthless as all the other workaday stuff he’d collected in the boxes.

  She swallowed with difficulty, grabbed the album and the sheets and went back upstairs to say goodbye to her daughter, leaving the boxes where they were. Her husband pretended not to see what Vanessa was carrying under her arm, although she made no attempt to hide it, as if to affirm that unlike him she had no intention of wiping out her memories and pretending that all these years they’d spent together meant nothing.

  She was hurt. So hurt that the same night she made up her bed with the satin sheets, opened the album on a page with a portrait of her husband, and masturbated while she fantasized about Johnny, as if all three of them were together in the room. She wanted to cheat on him with all the rage she knew he felt towards her. She had to bite her pillow so the neighbours wouldn’t hear as she writhed sweating and panting. She’d never managed to reach orgasm on her own before. But like everything else in her life at the moment, this was a time of new experiences.

  4.

  “Obviously I knew he wasn't going to react well, but to disrespect me like that... As if I’d planned all of this, as if I’d chosen for it to be this way…”