How to be a Good Veronica. Michael K Freundt

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СКАЧАТЬ as well. The little boy is a little taller, seems a little more content with just smiling and waiting and looking as if he thinks the photographer is a dingbat. There is mischief in his smile, a glimmer of rebellion in his eye. The family looks like ... a family; an image of something Veronica knows about and usually scoffs at a little as if her family is more modern, more progressive, freer and more relevant. However, she has to admit her impression now has a forlorn taint to it: this is something someone else has and she doesn't. It speaks to her of stability, niggly warmth, and normality. The little boy reminds her of Jack, but Jack with a father; and does the wife remind her of herself; of Veronica with a husband? She suddenly has an image of life as a semi-transparent dome, smeared in some places, clear in others, that surrounds, limits our boundaries but keeps us safe, but she, now, is outside looking in, not looking out like the rest of humanity wishing about that ‘one day’ but looking in and seeing what she doesn’t have. She feels suddenly very alone. She looks away immediately and stares at the doctor's shoes peeking from under the curtain. He is taking an awfully long time to compose himself. But then he speaks!

      “Susan. Susan.” His voice is low, worried and almost breathless. Veronica thinks something is wrong so she moves towards the curtain, and the chair squeaks as she gets up. “No no! Stay there! Please!” She can hear his breathing. “I feel so ... free after your visits; you can’t imagine how comforting it is for me to know that I can actually get an erection again; that everything still works. But I have this wave of nausea, of disgust even, at what I am putting you through; at what I’m doing. ”

      “Please you don’t ha...”

      “Don’t talk! Don’t talk!

      Veronica waits.

      “I just want you to know I appreciate your attention to detail, your commitment. Commitment to ... me.” She can hear noises from his throat, through his breathy words and knows he is crying. “I feel so lost sometimes, less of a ... man - oh, if you only knew how hard it is for me to say that word. Man. I am a ... man. You make me feel like a man again. Oha ... Oha.” And then only the breathing remains. “I just wanted to say,” with hardly any breath at all, just breathing, breathing, and then nothing. Silence. The toes of his shoes are all she sees under the hem of the curtain. Finally the doctor emerges. He clothes are fully restored. He walks to his seat, sits and attends to his keyboard never once looking at her. The on-line transactions are confirmed and he remains silent as he tends to these little formalities. She continues to glance at the photo and she becomes aware of a little pain in her temples. She recognises it as envy and worry: envious of what he has and worry at what he may be fucking up. She takes a deep breath and straightens her back as if to shed herself of something annoying. Whatever she is reading into the photo the fact remains that they are a family, something Jack doesn’t completely have. His softness, reticence and shyness worry her and especially at times like this when she sees evidence of an alternative, and more conventional, relationship but one that she would not fuck up. Her intelligence, education and common sense tell her that. Jack is not only the reason but also the excuse, she knows this: she also needs a man in her life.

      “Thank you Susan,” says the doctor calmly, “very satisfactory.”

      “Thank you, Charles,” says Veronica, her Mrs. Abbott voice is no longer needed.

      “OK. Transfer completed, with a little bonus. Very satisfactory indeed.”

      “I’m glad you’re pleased,” says Veronica with a smile.

      “Now, present this slip to my receptionist and I will email you as usual with details of our next appointment.”

      “Fine,” says Veronica as she takes the proffered piece of paper. “Have a nice day.” She stands.

      “And you too,” says the doctor and still without looking directly at her. He has never once looked into her eyes. This, now, annoys her.

      “Charles,” she says softly.

      “Yes?” He replies only half turning towards her.

      “Charles,” she repeats a little more forcefully.

      “Yes?" He says again and, this time, he turns to face her. Veronica holds his gaze for a moment and she can see the vulnerability, the hurt and humiliation in his eyes. He looks away.

      “Remember that any changes you would like to make, for any reason, just include them in your email. The session is yours, Charles; you are the one in control.” She knows this is not true but she feels he needs to hear it. There’s more to work on with this man than a long lost love. Veronica leaves the room and closes the door quietly. She stops off at the toilet, washes her hands thoroughly, checks herself in the mirror, avoiding her own gaze, and returns to the waiting room.

      Back at the receptionist’s desk, she handed the piece of paper to the receptionist, who politely took it and referred to her screen. Veronica tried to imagine the man in this woman’s life. She assessed the woman’s features, small chin, pinched mouth, hair tending to oiliness and decided that her man is someone very busy and not much at home. The three rings, engagement, wedding and eternity, an old-fashioned cipher, seemed to suggest otherwise. She then handed back Veronica’s Medicare card and politely wished her a good afternoon. Veronica smiled in reply and left the suite.

      It took her only half an hour this time to get back to her office; the traffic was unusually sparse, a good omen? She allowed herself a little self-indulgence: a calm feeling of a job well done, a satisfied customer, and a little lift to her growing reputation. Back in her office, she turned on her laptop and disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower. As she dressed in her house clothes, she logged onto internet banking to check her account; the doctor’s transfer wouldn’t be there until tomorrow but she got a little buzz to see her bank balance and its reflection of her enterprise, her self-confidence and her firm grasp on the future. She had done this on her own. She was earning a living, supporting her son, and living, not extravagantly, but she had few money worries and if an emergency arrived she could deal with it. She then clicked on the Google icon and searched for dating websites. She was not surprised by the incredibly large number of possibilities but decided that she needed more time to deal with this properly. If each of these websites could supply twenty possible male-matches to her profile it indicated that there were thousands of male possibilities, why then did she think that finding one was not going to be easy? She closed down her computer.

      Instead she studied her work clothes and decided to hang them back in the wardrobe but she put the wig in a plastic bag in her shoulder bag: it needed a wash.

      As she locked her front door, her mobile phone rang its distinctive tone: “Knowing me, knowing you, ha-hah.....” Mother. And walked with it to the stairs, avoiding the lift.

      “How are you?”

      “I’m fine but you sound like you’re in a drum.”

      “I’m walking down the fire escape.”

      “Why? Have you stopped going to the gym?”

      “No, but I was walking to the lift when you called, so, in order to take your call, I decided on the stairs: there’s no reception in lifts. Aren’t I considerate?”

      “Yes, I suppose you are. The days, since we last spoke have been exactly the same as each other so there’s been nothing really to ring you about. Until now.”

      “What’s happened?”

      “I’ll tell you when you’re here.”

      “OK. СКАЧАТЬ