The image of you, p.26
The Image of You, page 26
She saw him walk towards her. Jacketless—left behind, no doubt, tossed over the back of his chair in the office. His sleeves were folded up to reveal his strong forearms however the relaxed, informal sartorial choices were negated by the stormy look on his face.
Anna took a deep breath.
Thirty-Six
Nick
He wasn’t sure what his intentions were when he called her this morning and insisted on meeting up, he’d acted on impulse—he rarely did anything else nowadays. He knew he had to see her, talk to her, although he suspected a full and frank confession was beyond him; he wasn’t up to it. Over many years, he’d noted that in these sorts of situations two-timing women were far more likely than two-timing men ever were to own up to being in love with someone else and no longer able to carry on with the deception. Men never wanted to admit to themselves, or anyone else, how faithless they were. They generally fell back on platitudes. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ ‘I need some space.’ ‘I love you, I’m just not in love with you.’ He’d used them all, to his shame. Awkwardly, not especially convincingly, he hadn’t really cared. By the time the time came when the phrases were necessary, he just wanted out. As fast and far as possible.
He’d never imagined he’d have to use any one of the inadequate, weary platitudes on Anna.
But then nor could he imagine telling her the truth. God, no. That would be impossible.
The air was clammy and he was as damp as if he’d been caught in rain. He didn’t like the feeling. He didn’t see himself as a nervous, sweaty man. He spotted her when he was about ten metres away from the park entrance. Slim and graceful, pretty in a summer dress. She looked slightly hot and anxious too. She moved her weight from one foot to the other; possibly her summer sandals had caused a blister, possibly she was worried. Anna was a brilliantly clever woman; he knew that academically she was his superior, but it was a fact that she was more than a little naive. Too trusting, some might say. Even so, she had to know something wasn’t right between them. Their sex life had never roared and now it barely spluttered; she must know that wasn’t normal for a newly engaged couple. He’d imagined taking his time with her, listening to what she wanted, suggesting things that might please, teaching her, reaching her, but that sort of thing demanded honesty. He’d detonated any chance of that. They weren’t even talking to one another properly. Of course not; what could he tell her, other than lies?
He felt dreadful.
The clean and clear division between both women, both lives, was inevitably blurring, smudging, bleeding. He found, to his profound dismay, that he loved them both. Another cliché, one he had never believed in until now. He loved them both, not more or less, just differently. He cared for one, was enthralled by the other. He wanted to cherish Anna, he wanted to devour Zoe. Both women spoke to different parts of his masculinity. It was a depressing thought but it meant he was only half a man, whichever woman he was with.
He didn’t fully understand either woman. Intellectually, Anna left him behind. She saw deep and serious meaning in just about everything, whereas sometimes he simply wanted to laugh and call something bollocks. For example, they had gone to an experimental theatre production in Somerset House last week. Throughout the play (and he used that word loosely), the actors spoke in different foreign languages, there was a lot of shouting and then they stripped off their clothes. They just stood about, with their breasts, vaginas and penises on show, arguing in Chinese, Italian and Swedish. It was comical, but Anna looked at him in a slightly pitying way when he struggled to silence a snort of derision.
‘It’s about the Tower of Babel, right?’ he’d asked, trying to recover some ground.
She shook her head in a way that neither confirmed nor denied.
Later, he told Zoe about the experience. By coincidence, she’d been to see the play too. Of course she had, it was getting such widespread reviews, it was that week’s hot ticket in London.
‘Bollocks, wasn’t it? Literally. There’s no way I would have gone if I’d known Anna rated it. Her recommendations, other than yourself, are the kiss of death.’ She’d shrieked with laughter and then said something complimentary about how favourably he was hung, compared to all the naked men in the play.
It had made him feel a lot better. Zoe seemed to make it her business to shock, surprise, mystify and confound, yet he understood her more than she might imagine; he was more like her than he was like Anna, he supposed. Other times, of course, she was simply aggravating in her unpredictability, frightening. For example, she sometimes insisted on making calls to Anna whilst they were in bed, just after they’d had sex. It left him feeling despicable. He always felt compelled to leave the room. He didn’t understand why she did that. To shame him? To scare him? It was risky. It was cruel.
He watched as Anna spotted him; he waved lazily. She turned her smiling face in his direction, stood, ever so slightly, on her tiptoes and leaned towards him for a kiss. So chaste was their relationship becoming, she offered up her cheek. Without thinking, he ducked and gave in to the impulse of kissing her on the lips. Startled, gratified, she kept her eyes open; he did too as he continued kissing her, staring at her. People had to weave around them, and they did so, smiling, because everyone loves a lover.
Anna broke away first. ‘I’ve brought a picnic,’ she said, beaming. She held up the brown paper bag, made greasy in patches by something or other.
He took it off her, carried it effortlessly in one hand, and they headed off to hunt down a couple of available deckchairs. Once settled, Anna delved into the deli bag. He was aware that she’d bought all the things he most liked to eat but, even so, he found it hard to chew and swallow; he looked hopefully for alcohol, unfortunately there wasn’t any. She chattered about something or other. The elevating, motivational and interesting tone of yesterday evening’s lecture; the problems she was having trying to get a response out of a North London landlord for someone she was representing at the centre; a new and important study that the Government were commissioning about the links between mental health issues and homelessness. Everything she said was valuable, worthy, important. He couldn’t hear her.
He was thinking about the fact he hadn’t been able to let Zoe walk away last night. She had been perfectly willing and able to leave him. He’d made her stay. The thought that he cared more than she did caused deep panic and anger. His brain was being hijacked as his senses recreated Zoe. Visions of her limbs and his, entangled; the smell of her, warm, musty, heavily perfumed; the salty taste of her—it all tumbled about his head.
He had to let Anna go.
It was a terrible thing, not what anyone would call the honourable thing, but it was the only thing he could do now. He would be with Zoe. Then what? Well, they would not make a life together, as such—as he had been hoping to do with Anna—that wasn’t Zoe’s thing. He couldn’t imagine any sort of longevity with Zoe, but then nor could he manage to call a halt to it. He would burn with her, roll with her, see what happened. It was all he could do, all that was available. It had to be enough. His previous objection—what might Anna’s family make of their affair?—was irrelevant. Zoe didn’t belong to a world of families. Their approval wasn’t necessary. Mr and Mrs Turner, David and Alexia, apparently wanted nothing to do with Zoe—and they had little to do with him or Anna, come to that. He had never met them; he didn’t owe them anything. A few, frankly, stiff and formal Skype conversations didn’t count for anything.
‘I spoke to your mum today,’ said Anna.
‘Sorry?’
‘Hey, daydreamer, what were you thinking about?’ Anna asked, with a patient smile.
‘Work stuff,’ he lied. Oh yes, his mum. Anna did belong to a world of families and she was firmly ensconced within his.
‘Oh, you poor love. You’re working too hard at the moment.’
He moved his head, not quite a nod, he couldn’t bring himself to absolutely hoover up her unwarranted sympathy, but he didn’t dare reject it and put her straight either. Hal would probably say he didn’t have the balls. ‘So, you talked to my mum?’
‘Yes, I just wanted to check in with her because I knew she was seeing a new physiotherapist yesterday and she was a tad apprehensive about it.’
‘Oh.’ He felt a twinge. He’d forgotten. Damn, just another thing to feel guilty about.
‘Don’t look so worried, it all went brilliantly. They say she’s making great progress. Your lovely mum said that was thanks to me arguing for the correct care and asking all the right questions on those early visits. Bless her.’
‘She’s probably right.’
Anna smiled modestly and demurred, ‘Not at all. It’s her commitment and the wonderful work of the medical staff that’s making a difference.’
Their deckchairs were side by side, they weren’t facing one another. Nick was glad. It was easier to busy himself with watching others than face Anna. Mothers with small children and babies had obviously arrived at the park mid-morning and had secured larger areas of space; they’d spread out colourful picnic blankets that were now littered with plastic toys and sippy beakers. The mothers’ chatter was, from time to time, interrupted by the demand for an ice cream. He thought of his trips to parks with his mother and Rachel when he was a little boy. Careless, carefree. His mother who loved Anna. There were couples too. Lying on the grass and in each other’s arms. He tried not to look at them. Instead, he focused on office workers who scurried by, grabbed a sandwich then found a patch of grass, determined to snatch some sunshine in their lunch breaks. Silently, he and Anna munched their way through the picnic with much less enthusiasm than the goodies deserved.
‘Anna—’
‘Oh, I’ve some good news,’ she interrupted. ‘I know that traditionally the groom sorts out the cars for the wedding.’
‘Does he?’
‘Yes, I told you so. It’s on your list. You remember the list I gave you?’
Vaguely.
‘You still have that, don’t you?’
Probably, somewhere. Anna had spent a lot of her time over the last few weeks with her nose in various bridal magazines or visiting online sites, all of which offered information on wedding etiquette and seemed to generate endless lists. He’d never imagined he’d be the sort of man who would go along to cake-tasting sessions, but it was more than a bit sad that he now felt nothing other than panic and self-disgust when he thought about the wedding plans.
‘Anyway,’ continued Anna, seemingly oblivious to his disinterest, ‘cars are supposed to be organized by the groom, that saidI know you’ve been really busy recently so I’ve sorted them out.’
‘Oh.’
‘Aren’t you excited? Can you guess what I’ve booked?’
Apollo 13 for all he cared. ‘No.’
She playfully took a half-hearted swipe at his arm. ‘Well, to take me to the church and then to take us to the reception, would you believe me if I said I’d booked a 1930 Pierce-Arrow white limousine that was actually used by President Hoover?’
‘Lovely.’ He forced himself to smile appreciatively.
It was odd this wedding business. Because whilst it was undoubtedly interesting that they were going to sit in a car that a president had once ridden in, he couldn’t believe any little girl, even Anna, dreamed that one day they’d drive to church in a car that a president’s arse had graced. It just didn’t ring true. If he put a halt to this wedding, would he really be crushing dreams? Or just squashing cleverly marketed ideas that had recently been manufactured into something Anna was prepared to mistake for dreams?
‘Yes, but wait for it.’ She was slightly breathless, gabbling her words. ‘It was a bit extravagant but, what the heck, it’s our big day.’
Money wasn’t really an issue for them. He earned enough to make sure they could guarantee a stylish and memorable day, yet Anna baulked at spending every last penny. She had an admirable social conscience about inequality and privilege, and she had clear views on what was value for money. Therefore, he was all the more surprised when she announced:
‘I’ve booked a Lamborghini Veneno to take us on honeymoon.’
He gasped, ‘You’re kidding me.’
‘I’ve honestly never seen a less bridal car in my life but, you know.’ She shrugged and beamed.
A Lamborghini Veneno, his favourite ever type of car. And yes, he had actually dreamed of owning one, one day. Unlikely, since he wasn’t a sheikh. Those things cost a national debt. But it would be amazing just being able to drive one, even for a short time.
‘Wow, I don’t know what to say.’
‘The insurance cost almost as much as my dress,’ she laughed. ‘Although it’s worth it, hey?’ Suddenly she looked serious. ‘I know that I’ve made most of the decisions about the wedding, and you’ve let me have all my own way, I just wanted there to be something special for you too.’
He knew that if everything had been as it was before Zoe had sashayed on to the scene, he would have leapt in and said something like, he had her, that was all that mattered, that he couldn’t imagine anything more special, that she could do what she wanted on the day, whatever made her happy. He wanted to say something great like that. After all, she’d rung his mum this morning, she’d booked his dream car, she was special. Just lovely.
He stayed silent.
She let the air beat and then added, ‘That is, providing you’ve booked a honeymoon for us to go on. You have, haven’t you, Nick?’
He had not.
‘You’re running out of time, you know. You’ve got barely a month to go.’
Now, now he should tell her. Tell her to cancel the venue, the choir, the caterers, the car; to call up their friends and family; to return her dress. There could be no wedding. He was not the man she thought he was. Worse, he was not sure what sort of man he was any more. His head was thick and hazy. The heat pushed its way up his nose and down his throat, choking him. His shirt was wet with sweat at the base of his back. He should tell her now. Had to. Instead, he said, ‘Shall we stretch our legs, find an ice-cream van?’
Nick was not one for soul-searching and he felt miserable being in the wrong. He preferred it when he was the hero in his own story, not the villain. As they queued for ice cream he wondered whether Anna was to blame for his predicament; at least in part. After all, she had been the one who rushed to fix their wedding date. Was he, on some subconscious level, reeling against the unnecessary speed and haste with which they were rushing towards this monumental commitment? Plus, she had been the one who pushed for him to meet Zoe in the first place. They should have postponed that first get-together until Anna was available. Then perhaps things would have started differently between him and Zoe, never reached such a complicated place. Anna had known Zoe was trouble, she’d warned him, but she hadn’t protected him.
He was being childish; flailing around, looking for someone to blame. He knew as much, and that didn’t make him feel any happier either. Just sulky, stuck.
He thought of what Zoe had said last night, that Anna had been married before. Rubbish, of course, but he hadn’t been able to cast the thought from his mind, not completely. Because the truth was, he couldn’t swear on it. An intrepid gambler by nature, he would not bet his flat on the fact that Anna had never been married before because, as improbable as it was, it was possible. He didn’t know her, not completely. The thought bothered him.
Finding himself at the front of the queue, he asked for a Magnum. The vendor said they didn’t have any left, sold out, so he was offered an alternative. Nick didn’t care, really; he nodded and took something or other. She chose a ninety-nine; her long pointy tongue darted out, neatly scooping up the ice cream. On their very first date Nick had noted that she ate in the same way as she did everything else: carefully, precisely, with purpose. Zoe ate with energy and a show of great appetite. He liked to watch Zoe’s lips move and thought of them now. She often let sauce spill down her chin, provoking him, waiting for him to lick it away.
They began to aimlessly stroll, avoiding the skateboarders, the cyclists and the runners. Anna made a joke about it being like attending the Grand Prix in Monaco rather than taking a lunchtime stroll in a park.
‘Anna, I have to ask you something. It’s probably ridiculous but I have to ask,’ he blurted.
She turned to him, eyes wide and expectant. Her expression open and willing.
He felt ludicrous. ‘You haven’t been married before, have you?’
She froze for a moment.
For an infinitesimal amount of time, he thought panic sluiced across her face. No, no, it couldn’t be panic. It had to be confusion. She must be wondering why he’d ask something so crazy.
She continued to lick her ice cream, carefully. ‘Did Zoe tell you that?’
‘Well, yes.’ Why wasn’t she denying it?
‘When you met up?’
For a second he was freaked, then he realized she meant when they met up for dinner, the dinner date she was supposed to have attended too, the only time Anna was aware of him and Zoe ever having met.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s why you’ve been behaving so peculiarly of late.’
So she had noticed. Of course she had. She wasn’t stupid. He didn’t know what to say. He murmured a non-committal, ‘Well.’ Neither confirming nor denying that he had been behaving peculiarly. It wasn’t in his interest to admit anything.
‘I’ve been so worried. I thought you were going off me or having second thoughts.’ She giggled, self-consciously. ‘I see now you’ve just been concerned about this. Why didn’t you just ask me straight out?’
Her reasonable tone made him feel a bit flighty and daft. More than a bit wrong. He couldn’t very well defend himself by saying, I am asking you straight out, I only found out last night, right after having sex with your twin sister.
