You Left Early. Louisa Young

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ foot. We were sorry for it, and picked it up to cuddle it. ‘What should we do with it?’ I wondered.

      ‘Take it to your mum,’ Lola said.

      The next morning I told Lola about the dream. She was fascinated. ‘I know who made you cut it off,’ she said, rather importantly. ‘It was a robber.’

      ‘Robert?’ I said.

      ‘Not Robert. Robber. But Robert is a robber,’ she said.

      Well of course, to the infant, Robert was a robber. Stole the mother’s time and affections, stole into her mother’s bed, stole peace of mind, stole sleep, stole the heart from the mother and the mother from the child.

      ‘Why’s Robert a robber?’ I asked.

      ‘Oh you know,’ she said, going back to her colouring book.

      I told my friends about the dream, and what she had said. One suggested a Viking burial – put the foot on a model ship and set fire to it, launched out on the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens. Or put it away in a box? No, it would moulder, and smell.

      They all knew that Robert was getting married.

      Yeah, he was getting married.

      I knew the foot was the love I still carried for Robert. I wondered why I was denigrating it. Because I had denigrated it all along. If I could make it small enough and non enough, then it wasn’t even happening, and then no one could mock me for loving such an unfaithful man (There was nothing to be faithful to! It wasn’t like that!) and I wouldn’t be sad when it ended.

      The foot floated around behind me all day, as if tied by a string. Of course I was glad not to marry him. The night he came to tell me he was engaged he drank half a bottle of gin, neat, and smoked up a storm; he put on John Coltrane and talked rubbish of the highest order. He was holding my feet, and clutching at me; and the ex-lover in me was saying get off, get off, and the friend was thinking, Jesus. It was a bravura presentation of pre-wedding nerves. I got him as far as the door three times but he stood facing me, still talking, and I couldn’t shut the door in his face. Three times he came back in the house. I said no. Please, he said. No. Please. He leaned against the kitchen door, propped up, his head back, looking about seventeen.

      ‘You deserve,’ he said, ‘to love and be loved on a regular basis.’ I thought, So do you. Go on. Do it.

      The next day I was due to sit for a painter friend who was trying to do an oil-sketch portrait every day for six weeks. I thought I looked OK, despite having cried all night. He painted me wild-haired, bleak-eyed, mad.

      ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘How could you tell?’

      ‘It’s my job,’ he said kindly.

      I thought: ‘Some men look at women, and understand us.’

      Robert used to. But he’d lost it. He was losing himself. I’d lost him.

      *

      I went round to my mother’s and told her about the dream and the foot.

      ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you can leave it with me if that would help.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think it would.’

      That evening my father rang. ‘Your mother told me about the foot,’ he said. ‘We’re looking after it. We thought we might plant it in the garden, see if it might grow?’

      The child thought that was a good idea. ‘It could grow a tree with little new feet on it. Then we’d have lots of feet if we needed them.’

      *

      The wedding was in August. He invited me the night before; I didn’t go. The wedding albums are under the piano. I don’t look at them. I’ve been told it started well and they were happy. At the time, of course he didn’t confide in me. He was busy elsewhere.

      I went to dinner once. Robert showed me round: his music room, his family grandfather clock in the hall. I felt like a pair of sticks walking, dry and pointless and about to snap. In 1998 their son was born. Robert brought him over sometimes, in his buggy. He adored his child; absolutely adored him. He’d be jiggling the buggy with his foot, chatting and joking with him while trying to smoke in the opposite direction. He was working hard and, the times I did see him, drinking a lot. His wife always looked great.

      Once I went into our local Nepalese restaurant to pick up a takeaway. It was known as the Office, for the time Robert spent working in there – and there he was, working, at a back table. I hadn’t seen him for perhaps a year or more. He looked up, gestured to a beer on the table, and said: ‘You took yer time. That’s for you—’

      If I don’t say much about the marriage, I mean no disrespect – quite the contrary. I’m not ignoring it, denigrating it, or writing it out of history. But I wasn’t there. I don’t know about it, and it’s not my business. They married; they had a child. This story jumps three years while they are doing that.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4QAYRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP/sABFEdWNreQABAAQAAABQAAD/4QN1aHR0cDov L25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wLwA8P3hwYWNrZXQgYmVnaW49Iu+7vyIgaWQ9Ilc1TTBNcENl aGlIenJlU3pOVGN6a2M5ZCI/PiA8eDp4bXBtZXRhIHhtbG5zOng9ImFkb2JlOm5zOm1ldGEvIiB4 OnhtcHRrPSJBZG9iZSBYTVAgQ29yZSA1LjAtYzA2MSA2NC4xNDA5NDksIDIwMTAvMTIvMDctMTA6 NTc6MDEgICAgICAgICI+IDxyZGY6UkRGIHhtbG5zOnJkZj0iaHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMTk5 OS8wMi8yMi1yZGYtc3ludGF4LW5zIyI+IDxyZGY6RGVzY3JpcHRpb24gcmRmOmFib3V0PSIiIHht bG5zOnhtcE1NPSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvbW0vIiB4bWxuczpzdFJlZj0i aHR0cDovL25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wL3NUeXBlL1Jlc291cmNlUmVmIyIgeG1sbnM6eG1w PSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvIiB4bXBNTTpPcmlnaW5hbERvY3VtZW50SUQ9 InhtcC5kaWQ6MGIwZTNkYmMtMDA3NS00MGNiLTllMzYtYmI1M2VlYzhmOThmIiB4bXBNTTpEb2N1 bWVudElEPSJ4bXAuZGlkOjcyRTFFQTQ3QzY1QzExRThCNTE3ODQ5MzUxQ0VENTBFIiB4bXBNTTpJ bnN0YW5jZUlEPSJ4bXAuaWlkOjcyRTFFQTQ2QzY1QzExRThCNTE3ODQ5MzUxQ0VENTBFIiB4bXA6 Q3JlYXRvclRvb2w9IkFkb2JlIFBob3Rvc2hvcCBDUzUuMSBNYWNpbnRvc2giPiA8eG1wTU06RGVy aXZlZEZyb20gc3RSZWY6aW5zdGFuY2VJRD0ieG1wLmlpZDo2MTczMjg5NUVFMjA2ODExOTdBNUU3 NUZDNzU0NTNENCIgc3RSZWY6ZG9jdW1lbnRJRD0ieG1wLmRpZDpBNUNGMkE2QUVFMjA2ODExOTdB NUU3NUZDNzU0NTNENCIvPiA8L3JkZjpEZXNjcmlwdGlvbj4gPC9yZGY6UkRGPiA8L3g6eG1wbWV0 YT4gPD94cGFja2V0IGVuZD0iciI/Pv/iDFhJQ0NfUFJPRklMRQABAQAADEhMaW5vAhAAAG1udHJS R0IgWFlaIAfOAAIACQAGADEAAGFjc3BNU0ZUAAAAAElFQyBzUkdCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABAAD21gAB AAAAANMtSFAgIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA EWNwcnQAAAFQAAAAM2Rlc2MAAAGEAAAAbHd0cHQAAAHwAAAAFGJrcHQAAAIEAAAAFHJYWVoAAAIY AAAAFGdYWVoAAAIsAAAAFGJYWVoAAAJAAAAAFGRtbmQAAAJUAAAAcGRtZGQAAALEAAAAiHZ1ZWQA AA СКАЧАТЬ