His Other Life. Beth Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ sigh. ‘So even assuming that this actually works and that some stranger has some kind of spiritual communion with his underpants or something and tells us that he’s well. How will that help? What possible good can that do?’

      There’s a moment’s absolute silence. Then, ‘How can you say that?’

      I shrug wearily. ‘Oh it’s simple, Julia. Finding out whether he’s well or otherwise doesn’t make things any easier, does it? We still wouldn’t know where he is or whether he’s coming back.’ I look at her frankly. ‘Or why he left in the first place.’

      She gawps at me in apparent horror and, as flaky as she is, she still manages to make me feel like the worst person in the world. A family trait. I open my mouth to say something soothing, something conciliatory, but as I watch, her face morphs slightly into a harder, less pitiful version of itself. Her eyes narrow, her jaw sets, her lips thin. It’s as if she’s just drunk a potion of some kind.

      ‘You actually think it won’t do any good to find out whether or not he’s well? As if it doesn’t matter in the slightest to you whether he’s alive or dead?’ Her voice is low and quiet now, and much more measured. There’s more than a hint of steel in it. She snorts out a puff of air. ‘Well that just goes to show the absolute difference between a mother and a wife, doesn’t it?’

      ‘Well, yes, it does, Julia! Of course it’s different for both of us.’

      ‘Oh, really? Would you like to explain that to me? Because as far as I knew, we both loved him. Didn’t we? Or maybe you think I didn’t love him as much because he was my son, not my husband? Maybe you think he loved you more, because you were his wife? Or maybe you’ve given up on him?’ She pauses a moment, then adds, ‘Can’t say I’m surprised.’

      ‘Well that’s unnecessary,’ Ginger butts in. I glance at her nervously, then look back at Julia. She’s swivelled her head and is now staring in fury at Ginger.

      ‘You don’t have a flipping clue,’ she says in a voice so low it reminds me weirdly of The Godfather. I expect her to come over all Sicilian suddenly. ‘You’re not a mother and never should be. Us mothers know stuff about life that ordinary people like you can’t dream of.’

      I’m getting chills and have to fight the urge to look over my shoulder defensively. ‘Julia, I’m not in competition with you …’ I say, but I get the sense that what I’m saying is bouncing off her like vodka on wool.

      ‘Anyway,’ she goes on, turning back to me, ‘as the wife, it was you he left, not me. You obviously failed him in some way. And now thanks to you, we all have to suffer.’ She rolls her eyes, then takes a deep swig from her glass. Apparently the venom in her words has dried her mouth up.

      ‘Julia,’ I start to say, a bit quietly, if I’m honest. At this point in my life, I should be raising my voice, taking a step forward, maybe pointing a finger, defending myself. Adam’s not here, I don’t have to worry about upsetting him at this moment. But Julia’s words have sliced into me, drilled directly down into my gigantic reservoir of insecurity, and it’s bubbling up. A geyser of tears is threatening to erupt, and I sidestep towards Ginger. She turns her head, sees my face, and moves towards me too, so that our arms are pressed together. Right now, I feel, yet again, the most enormous gratitude for her presence in my life, and in this room.

      ‘It’s OK, Grace,’ Ginger says between gritted teeth, her eyes locked on Julia’s the whole time. ‘It’s absolutely fine. I’m sure in a moment Julia is going to realise how vile and unpleasant she’s being, and how completely unfair and unjustified that appalling accusation is. Aren’t you, Julia?’

      Julia doesn’t move or speak for a couple of seconds. Then she blinks, her face crumples and she staggers backwards, her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh …’

      Ginger coolly watches her, still without moving, but I step forward and grab her arm. Finally I feel like I’m some use. ‘Come on, Julia, come and sit down.’

      I guide her to the sofa and she sits down heavily, leaning her head back and immediately closing her eyes. ‘I’m so tired,’ she says on a long exhale.

      ‘I know. You’ve been through a lot.’ I hear Ginger ‘pah’-ing behind me, but I ignore it. ‘Why don’t you try and have a little snooze now?’

      Julia opens her eyes and shakes her head. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she says quietly. She searches my face. ‘He is dead, isn’t he? Do you think he’s dead?’

      ‘No, he’s not dead,’ I say with certainty, ‘don’t worry about that. Have they told you they found his car?’ She nods. ‘Well, then, you know that there was nothing in it, no blood, no smashed glass, no vindaloo. His passport is gone. There’s no disturbance at his office, nothing seems to have been taken, although they haven’t finished looking at it all yet. But even before they do, it’s pretty clear to me that …’ I hesitate. I still can’t decide whether Adam going voluntarily is better or worse than him being taken by force. From a wife’s point of view, it’s miles better if he was wrenched roughly away against his will, fighting against his captor, struggling with every part of him, desperate to return to his true love; rather than simply deciding to piss off and please himself. No, that’s wrong, because surely a good, loving wife would selflessly want him to have chosen this? Because she would not be able to stand the idea of him being hurt? I find I kind of like the idea. Which is a paradox because if he has been forced away, and hurt in the process, there’s no need for me to hate him. Is there?

      Julia is still staring at me with desperation in her eyes. I put my hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry, Julia. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that he’s completely well, given all the facts. That he left of his own accord, for reasons unknown.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘And anyway, no body has been found, has it?’

      She gazes at me with liquid eyes, that lost-puppy look back on her face. ‘Yet,’ she says.

      Fifteen minutes later, Ginger and I are back in the car, heading home.

      ‘Well, it’s not substance abuse, is it?’ Ginger says, ending the five-minute silence during which we both absorbed what just happened. ‘The woman is completely off her rocker.’

      ‘Oh, don’t say that, Ginge. I feel sorry for her.’

      Her head snaps round to stare at me. I’m driving again, so I can’t stare back. ‘Do you? Really?’

      ‘Well yeah, course I do. She’s absolutely destroyed.’

      ‘You think?’

      I risk a sideways glance. ‘Don’t you?’

      She shrugs. ‘I think it’s an act. I think she’s faking the whole “I’m-so-upset-about-my-son-going-missing-I’m-turning-into-a-certifiable-dingbat” thing.’ She pauses and I can see she’s staring at me. ‘Don’t tell me you fell for it?’

      ‘Fell for it? Well, if you call believing that she’s genuinely devastated by Adam’s disappearance “falling for it”, then yeah, I guess I did. Why didn’t you?’

      Another shrug. ‘I dunno, really. Just didn’t ring true to me.’

      ‘You think she’s not upset at all? That she couldn’t care less?’

      ‘No, СКАЧАТЬ