She sat in the kitchen, the Guardian appointments page open on her lap. Her attention wandered. She gazed out at the garden. You should do something about it, Prudence had said. It was a small garden, overshadowed by a tree of some sort. The recent storm had wrenched off a branch; it lay on the ground like a severed limb, the torn flesh shockingly white in the gloaming. There were some bramble bushes, a patch of lawn with two rotting footballs on it, and a concrete patio strewn with rubbish. A gas cooker stood outside the back door.
For the first time in her life Maddy saw why people did it; why they turned their backs on the world and dug their little plot. Her experience in Nigeria had defeated her; she felt burned-out. What was the point of it all? She had never felt like this before; it alarmed her. During her first few days in England she had told herself that she needed a holiday; she would have a break, forget about it and start again.
But it was deeper than that. She had told nobody, not even her sisters, about the events of the past few months. Confiding in people had never come easily to her. She felt shamed by what had happened; there seemed no point to the last twenty-one years for her beliefs had been shaken to their foundations. She gazed at the collapsed trellis along the garden wall. No, they had been more than shaken. She had a horrible suspicion that they had evaporated into thin air.
On Tuesday, in her lunch-hour, Prudence walked to Soho. It was a beautiful day. Though it was mid-October the pavement cafés along Old Compton Street were crammed with people leaning back in their chairs and inspecting passers-by through their dark glasses. She felt uncharacteristically skittish. She smiled at a street-sweeper and wiggled her fingers at a taxi that stopped to let her cross the road. She passed the Algerian Coffee Stores, breathing in the aroma. She heard the wind chimes tinkling outside the Thai restaurant; they danced to her dancing heart. She was shopping for Stephen. She was going to cook for him and sit there with him, in the company of other guests, around her dining table. How normal this sounded to normal people: how extraordinary for her! Even her qualms about Maddy had vanished in the sunshine.
Stephen’s wife was a vegetarian. Prudence went to Bifulco and bought a joint of beef. She hadn’t cooked such a thing for years but tonight she was going to be a woman feeding her man. She queued for vegetables in Berwick Street market. How marvellous were the fruits of the earth, heaped up in their diversity! Her guests would leave early; she and Stephen would pounce on each other. Cabbage leaves were arranged around a mound of potatoes; they cradled them like the hands of a woman cupping her sweetheart’s balls. Prudence smiled at the stall-holder. He called her darling.
Prudence bought cheese and artichokes and warm Italian bread from Lina Stores. She walked back towards the office. Everyone cherished their lunch-hour but over the past year she had felt proprietorial about hers; this segment of day belonged to her and Stephen. Unable, except on rare occasions, to see him alone, her hour with him was packed with such emotion it took her most of the afternoon to recover. She imagined a prisoner must feel like this when released into the fresh air for one hour out of the twenty-four.
She and Stephen had their favourite places – a bench in Russell Square, various pubs situated at a discreet distance from the office. Happiness transformed them into tourists, for lovers have nowhere to go and find everything curious. They wandered into art galleries and sniggered at the installations. They browsed in the sort of second-hand bookshops visited by American professors; leafing through the volumes, they caressed each other beneath their coats. They pointed up at buildings – pediments, crenellations – looking upwards as people do in any city but their own. They even gave money to buskers. They didn’t dare hold hands; they walked along so close to each other that when they bumped together, hip to hip – they were the same height – they felt they must give off sparks like dodgem cars. This was their hour.
Tonight, however, she would have him for longer – a whole evening. It was the first time in nearly a month. She walked into the lobby. Muriel greeted her with a conspiratorial smile; surely, after all these months, she must have guessed something was up? Prudence went into her office and dumped down her carrier bags.
Suddenly she was flooded with joy. Something momentous was going to happen that evening, she could feel it. Little did she know that the momentous event would happen not to herself, but to somebody else.
The doorbell rang. Stephen stood there holding a bottle of champagne. Prudence threw her arms around him: ‘Darling! I didn’t think you’d make it.’
It was true; he had let her down so often in the past. He dumped the bottle on the floor; he undid her blouse and slid his hand under her bra.
The doorbell rang. She jumped back and buttoned herself up.
It was Maddy and Erin Fox. Maddy said: ‘We met on the doorstep.’
Prudence, flushed, introduced them. ‘This is my sister Madeleine – Maddy. Erin, this is Stephen Miller, our editorial director.’
Prudence hadn’t seen Erin since the day she had thrust the manuscript into her hands. What a magnificent woman she was – tall, powerful, with a strong nose and hair tied in tiny braids. She wore a long velvet dress and boots. When she moved, her jewellery rattled. Maddy was wearing jeans, as usual.
‘We’re all very excited about Playing with Fire.’ Stephen filled Erin’s glass. ‘Has Liz told you the schedule?’
‘We’re having lunch next week.’ Erin’s voice was deep and forceful. She didn’t seem like a first-time author; she seemed to take the publication of her novel as perfectly natural.
‘And we’d be delighted if you could come to our sales conference,’ said Stephen. ‘You know, meet the publicity people, chat up the reps. Tedious but necessary.’
‘Doesn’t sound tedious,’ said Erin. ‘I want it to sell.’
‘Music to my ears.’ He passed a glass of champagne to Maddy, who shook her head. She didn’t drink. ‘You’d be amazed how many novelists are too precious for the rough and tumble and then start whingeing that their books aren’t on the bestseller lists. Since Unimedia took us over we’ve got a lot more muscle sales-wise. We’re moving into a spanking new building down by the river . . .’
Prudence turned to Maddy. ‘I’ll get you some orange juice,’ she said, and went into the kitchen.
Maddy followed her. Prudence opened the fridge. ‘What do you think of him?’ she whispered.
‘Bit pompous, isn’t he?’ said Maddy.
‘He’s nervous. Oh, do be nice to him!’
They sat down to eat. Prudence had opened out her dining table and lit the candles. However, Erin made the living room seem cramped. She was such a splendid creature, blazing with confidence and tossing back her braids. Behind her, the ornaments on the mantelpiece looked niminy-piminy. During the first course she did most of the talking. She cast a spell over the three of them. Prudence surrendered herself gratefully; it threw the balance of the evening and diverted the spotlight from Stephen and her sister.
‘You seem to be as footloose as Maddy,’ Stephen said, tearing a leaf off his artichoke.
‘I lived in the Himalayas for a while, photographing the Kalash tribe,’ said Erin. ‘The women are wonderful – strong, tall, fierce as tigers.’ She pointed to her necklace. ‘They gave me this. They do all the work while the men sit around playing flutes. The men are utterly irrelevant.’
‘Sounds just like our editorial department,’ said Stephen.
‘Then I came back and started a film co-operative in Hackney, working with Muslim women. I made a documentary about a man who had two wives.’
Prudence stiffened. Was Maddy going to say something tactless?
Stephen said hurriedly: ‘And the gardening business?’
‘I started that with my lover but we split up last year; she went to live in Wales. It’s just something I’m doing at the moment. Next year, who knows?’
‘Who knows?’ said Stephen. ‘I like that.’ How casually she had mentioned a female lover! His life in Dulwich seemed suddenly suburba
n.
‘Our tragedy is that we define ourselves according to a gender, to a skill,’ said Erin. ‘Most people are three-quarters asleep – they neglect so many parts of themselves.’
Prudence carried the dirty plates into the kitchen. Stephen followed her, carrying the bottle of vinaigrette. ‘Just using this neglected part of myself,’ he said, indicating his hands. He put down the bottle and moved close to her. ‘Actually, there’s another bit I’d prefer to use –’
Prudence pushed him away. ‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’
‘Very evangelical. And quite humourless. I can see her filling the Albert Hall.’
Prudence was relieved. For a moment she had thought that he was attracted to Erin. Men were often attracted to strong-minded lesbian women; they had a missionary zeal to convert them. She carried the vegetables into the living room.
Before Stephen could follow her Maddy came into the kitchen. She dumped down the bowl of artichoke leaves.
‘I’m so glad to meet you at last,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘What are you going to do about Pru?’
‘Er – what do you mean?’
‘She’s so unhappy,’ said Maddy. ‘She’s got so thin! I hardly recognised her –’
‘Look –’
‘She’s bloody lonely too. Sitting here, waiting for you to ring –’
Stephen glanced at the door. ‘Look, I don’t think we should –’
‘Are you going to leave your wife?’
Stephen paused. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’
‘Not for her it isn’t. She’s the only person I mind about.’
‘It’s all terribly –’
‘She’s too nice. She’s always been too nice –’
‘I’m too nice. That’s the problem.’
Maddy stared at him. ‘Nice?’
Prudence came in. She stopped and stared at them.
‘Maddy –’ she began.
‘He says he’s too nice.’
‘Please, Maddy! Don’t spoil everything.’
Maddy picked up the dish of potatoes and went back into the living room. Prudence turned to Stephen.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Blimey.’
‘She’s very loyal. Once she got her nose broken fighting for me in the school playground.’ She took his arm. ‘Come and help me dish up the meat. I’ve cooked you some beef.’
Erin, it turned out, was a vegetarian. Prudence apologised and grated her some cheese. Erin didn’t mind. Later, when Prudence reran that evening – she did so many times, with a fascinated curiosity – she realised how an egocentric person can liberate those around them. Nobody suffers from embarrassment because it is simply not noticed. To a deeply English person such as Prudence it was a relief. She felt absolved from her own hot self-consciousness.
Erin was telling them about her life. It turned out she had a daughter called Allegra, who was now nine.
‘I wanted one, so I had one,’ she said, munching a potato.
‘Just like that?’ asked Stephen.
‘I had to fuck someone first.’
‘Er, yes,’ he replied. ‘But did he know why?’
Erin shook her head.
‘Who was he?’ asked Prudence.
‘An architect. Out of work, of course. They all are.’
Stephen laughed. ‘Well, at least he didn’t have trouble with one erection.’
Prudence burst out laughing. Maddy stared at Stephen. ‘What an appalling joke,’ she said. Prudence sat there, rigid.
Erin speared some beans. ‘He did have trouble, now you mention it. But then I put on a tape I use.’
‘You use?’ asked Stephen.
‘Just some music,’ said Erin.
The three of them gazed at her, awe-struck. The flat seemed suddenly constricted and spinsterly. What sort of music? Something only lesbians knew about? None of them dared ask. Prudence carved some more slices of beef; she remembered her only brush with Sapphic pleasures. A girl in her class called Jemima, who had come to stay the night, had inserted a Tampax up her and said, ‘Now you’ll have an orgasm.’
Stephen, though hypotised by Erin, wanted her to leave. He wanted to go to bed with Prudence. He only had a couple of hours before he had to go home. Erin hadn’t laughed at his joke – not a bad one, in the circumstances – and he disliked humourless women. That was the main problem with his wife, but she had her foreignness as an excuse. Now he thought of it, Kaatya and Erin had a certain amount in common – vegetarinism, flamboyant clothes, a high-voltage quality to them. Stephen swabbed his gravy with a piece of bread. He didn’t want to think about his wife.
‘Is this your first novel?’ asked Prudence.
Erin nodded. ‘I’d always meant to write one but I’d never had the time.’ She spoke as if she had fitted it in between breakfast and dinner.
‘Well, I hope it won’t be your last,’ said Stephen. ‘We like our authors to go on producing.’
‘They’re not cows,’ said Maddy.
Stephen laughed. ‘Oh, I could name you one or two.’
Prudence stiffened. Was Maddy going to flare up? It was like being with their father all over again. But Maddy didn’t seem to hear; she was talking to Erin. Prudence gathered up the plates.
She had made a rhubarb fool. Stephen had said it was his favourite pudding. As they ate it she was conscious of a gathering tension in the air. Maddy and Erin were discussing the crippling effect of World Bank loans on developing countries. Prudence wasn’t interested; she felt the wires between the four of them, stretched so tight they hummed. Was it Maddy’s hostility to Stephen? Her sister’s face was flushed; her eyes were bright. This could simply be caused by political zeal. Maybe the tension came from Stephen, who was longing for the guests to leave so that he could tear off her clothes. Twice he had looked at his watch – the adulterer’s nervous tic. She hated him for it; she hated his watch. And, just for a moment, she hated her sister for her fierce and mistimed loyalty. She looked at Maddy and thought: what a ball-breaker my sister is. And then she hated herself for even thinking it.
The trouble was it was true.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Stephen. He rolled off Prudence and lay, gazing up at the ceiling.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she lied.
‘Your sister certainly knows how to –’
‘I know.’
They lay there, miles apart. ‘As evenings go, tumescence-wise, that little scene in the kitchen was on a par with my Aunty Madge telling you about my potty training.’
‘But I’ve never met your Aunty Madge,’ said Prudence.
He got out of bed and picked up his boxer shorts. ‘That’s why.’
‘That’s not why.’
He paused, one leg in and one leg out. ‘You will, one day. I promise.’
Prudence lay there, watching him as he got dressed.
His eyes flicked to her bedside clock. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Sorry I made us leave,’ said Maddy. ‘Thing is, he’s shagging my sister and wants to give her one before he gets back to his wife.’
‘He’d better hurry then,’ said Erin, ‘he looked half-asleep already.’
‘I shouldn’t have told you, I suppose. Seeing as you’re their author now.’
‘Who cares?’ Erin parked outside Maddy’s flat. She switched off the engine. ‘It’s you I’m glad I met.’
There was a silence. The street was empty, as if it lay under a spell. Nothing stirred – not a leaf, not a piece of litter.
‘Really?’
Maddy’s throat closed up.
Erin nodded. Maddy concentrated on the parked car in front. She felt Erin’s hand cupping her face. She turned. Erin kissed her on the mouth. Her lips opened Maddy’s lips; her tongue met Maddy’s tongue. It was a deep kiss, long and warm. Maddy sat there, rigid.
Erin drew back and smiled. ‘Relax,’ she said.
She pushed back Maddy’s hair and kisse
d her again. Maddy felt the strangest sensation. It was as if her body unclosed. It was as if, after a lifetime asleep, she had finally woken up like a princess waking from a spell.
Erin touched her mouth. ‘I’ve been longing to do that all evening,’ she said, her voice low and thrilling.
Maddy opened the door and climbed down from the van. ‘Night,’ she said shakily.
‘You’ve got my number. Ring me.’
Maddy hurried to her basement steps. Behind her, the van revved up and drove away.
Five
‘SHE DIDN’T!’ LOUISE clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Poor Stephen!’
‘It’s not funny.’ Prudence choked back her laughter.
‘Good old Maddy,’ said Louise. ‘Remember Hans, that German boy? She asked him if his father was a Nazi?’
They had reached Russell Square. Prudence grabbed her sister’s wrist.
‘There he is!’
In the distance, Stephen was making his way to the snack bar. They could see him through the trees.
‘Is that where you have lunch?’ asked Louise.
‘Sometimes.’
‘Bit cold, isn’t it?’
Prudence nodded. ‘We freeze to death. Adultery’s bad for the circulation.’
It was Friday. They were meeting Stephen for lunch. Prudence had arranged this, hoping it might defuse Tuesday’s disastrous evening with Maddy. Stephen was bound to be charmed by Louise. Everybody was. This was the reason, in fact, that she had been reluctant to introduce her boyfriends to Louise in the past. Louise wouldn’t have stolen them. Of course not. But it had sometimes seemed prudent not to risk it.
On the other hand, she liked showing her sister off. Today Louise had been shopping. She wore a new blue jacket from the Nicole Farhi shop in New Bond Street. Her hair rose and fell as she walked. Men gazed at her. They seldom wolf-whistled – her beauty was too upmarket for that. After she had passed, however, they found themselves humming. There was a sheen to Louise. She looked like a woman who had been spending her husband’s money, a woman who didn’t have to pay her own parking fines.