Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

Chapter Eight

On Monday morning I prepared myself to go into work. I sat down at the dressing-table, and smoothed layer after layer of cream into my face. It was dry and sore from weeping, and the skin under my fingertips felt like cracked tissue paper.

The sunlight in the bedroom spared me nothing: a startlingly blue vein on my leg, the dark, troubled circles under my eyes, a toe that had once been unblemished. Hang on. This is not the right woman in the mirror. The right one is the young, happy one.

I chose a sea-island T-shirt, a linen trouser suit and flat black pumps. I put on mascara, a slash of red lipstick and brushed my hair into shiny obedience. Then, with Parsley colonizing my lap, I painted my nails bright battle red. This was my armoury, the best I could summon, but when I levered myself to my feet, and Parsley slid protesting to the floor, I discovered cat hairs trapped in the wet varnish. ‘You wretch, Parsley’

The green eyes turned in my direction. You fool, Rose.

I picked the cat hair off my nails and went downstairs to the kitchen. I tapped the coffee pot, but decided against it and tried to eat a banana, but abandoned it.

Outside, it looked as though it was going to be fine again and, concierge and custodian, I went from room to room, drawing back curtains, plumping up a cushion, wiping away a smear of dust, seeking comfort from the intimacies and familiarities of my routines. The clock’s tick in the sitting room seemed abnormally loud in the still, silent air.

The contents of my book bag remained where I had left them. I checked them over. A piece I should have edited. A couple of memos I should have read. The novel, the cookery book and the biography, which, in the normal course, I would have dipped into before sending them out for review.

Bag over my shoulder, I closed the door on the house, the cool sitting room and its ticking clock, on the garden, and the drift of a light rain on the grass, on the double bedroom where, deep in the past, Nathan had whispered to me that he was so lucky, so lucky, to have me and, in reply, I had breathed thankfulness into the night.

The strap of my bag had made a groove in my finger – I was clasping it so hard – by the time I stepped out of the lift at the office. Jenny from Human Resources was waiting to get in. When she saw me, her expression turned to mild panic and I thought, So soon. Not that I had imagined Nathan and I would be immune from gossip. To give Jenny a chance to collect her wits, I made a play of swapping my heavy bag from hand to hand. ‘Morning, Jenny.’

‘Look,’ she muttered, ‘I want you to know…’

It was the cruel office joke that, despite being a paper expert on human resources, Jenny was no good at them in the flesh, and she could not finish whatever she wanted to say. Instead, she bolted for the lift. The doors clacked shut.

It was not a good start, and as I made for my desk, I summoned every ounce of the control and wit I would need to negotiate the long hours. Then, with a shock, I realized I was not very interested in getting through the long hours. Feeling sick and shaky, I sank into my chair and the photograph caught my eye.

Nathan’s face smiled out at me, and I tried to think of something else. Ianthe maintained we were on this earth to be tested. I always laughed when she said this, and told her she was being old-fashioned, New Testament-ish. I said it even though I knew she was right.

The coffee machine clicked and gushed. The photocopier disgorged hot, acrid shanks of paper. The clack and bustle of office life closed in, insulating the occupants of the building with thick, polystyrene walls of habit.

The phone rang. It was an author whose novel had received a bad review. I listened politely to an outpouring of rage, which finished, ‘You were out to get me.’

‘No, not at all. The piece made the point that you would sell magnificently. I’m sorry my reviewer did not like it.’

He snapped back, ‘You don’t like the fact that I’ve made a lot of money.’

‘How very nice for you.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Nathan… in his grey suit, heading for Timon’s office and disappearing inside. He looked neither to right nor left. Caught off-guard, I dropped the phone and buried my face in my hands.

‘Rose,’ Maeve Otley limped over, ‘you don’t look so good. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.’ She edged it on to my desk with her lumpy, painful hands. Tut some sugar in it. Go on, you’ll need it.’

Maeve was far shrewder than she ever let on. She touched my shoulder briefly. Her sympathy was easy, but I had never imagined it would be so hard to accept. ‘Thank you,’ I managed.

Maeve favoured long sleeves to hide her hands, and she fussed with the cuffs of her purple dress. I think she was making a judgement about how much I could, or could not, take on board. ‘Don’t let them beat you,’ she said at last, and returned to her desk.

I had neither the energy nor the focus to consider what she might have meant, and I reached for something, anything, from the nearest basket on the desk. As it happened, it was the discarded review of Hal’s book. ‘This man is a fraud…’ wrote the critic happily. I held it between fingers that had grown cold with the shock of seeing Nathan. Hal was too good and too stringent a writer to have an easy ride. Anyway, he always maintained that a gene had been implanted in the English that triggered the worst. Quality and brilliance reacted with envy to produce acid.

My rule had been never to look at Hal’s books and I had kept to it religiously. But now I picked up A Thousand Olive Trees from the June pile. Once upon a time, I had imagined that Hal’s face would remain in my memory for ever. It had not. The details and sharp outlines had faded, leaving an impression, the blurred recollection – like all the other so-called ineradicable memories. Like old stone weathering and fading. Like sand shifting in dunes. I turned to the back flap of the jacket, and there he was, leaner, older, fair hair bleached and battered by the sun, looking much as I would have expected.

Nathan was carving the chicken. The kitchen was steamy and fragrant with cooking and herbs; the radio played in the background. I chopped carrots into matchsticks. Having been dragged out of bed at midday, the seventeen-year-old Sam and fifteen-year-old Poppy were in their rooms, reluctantly getting dressed. Sartorially they were at the stage of toned-down anarchic punk. Sam offered us a variety of paint-sprayed T-shirts, incorporating the word ‘kill’. Poppy favoured jeans with the waistbands cut off.

‘The book of the week,’ said the announcer, ‘is an account of a journey through the North African desert. Desert and Go by Hal Thorne will begin on Monday at nine forty-five…’

In the saucepan the water hissed and foamed as the carrots hit its surface. ‘Lunch will be in a moment,’ I said. ‘Can you chivvy the children?’ Since Nathan did not move I went and shouted to them up the stairs. ‘Thanks,’ I snapped at him on my return.

‘Have you read it?’ Nathan carved a slice of moist white flesh.

The question had been sprung with the quiet of the hunter. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because…’ I moved over to the sink and tipped the carrots into a colander. The steam batted me in the face.

‘Because,’ Nathan finished the carving, and arranged the chicken on an oval plate, ‘he is still with you. Or the idea of him.’

‘This is the one o’clock news,’ interposed the newscaster.

I transferred the carrots to a dish and put it in the oven to keep warm. Nathan and I had being going through a bad patch, but nothing too significant. We were tired and far too busy, that was all. The truth was that Nathan’s job was getting in the way of our family life, which was changing anyway, and my job was pretty demanding, but I reckoned we could weather the irritants. Even so, I did not consider the subject of Hal a good one to pursue. I said lightly, ‘That’s not true, Nathan. I don’t read his books because they don’t interest me.’

‘But it’s your business to read what you don’t necessarily like.’

I busied myself with chopping parsley. ‘Not always.’

‘Oh, Rosie, you’re such a bad liar.’

No, I’m not, I thought. I’m a brilliant, accomplished liar. But I have always lied for a good cause, the best of reasons. When Nathan moved towards me in the bed and I, having twisted and turned through a day of children’s cries, work’s demands and husband-soothing, thought, Sleep, sleep, peace. And he said something like, It’s been a long time, Rose. And I replied, still aching for sleep, Far, far too long. That was one of my best lies.

‘Why are you bringing all this up now, Nathan? It’s gone, finished. I married you, remember? We’re happy.’ I moved back to the stove and gave the gravy a quick whisk. ‘I couldn’t be happier.’

Nathan continued, as if I had not said anything, ‘Weren’t you going to travel through the desert with him?’

‘There was talk of it at one point, but it came to nothing. It was a very long time ago. Please, go and call the children again or lunch will get cold.’

Nathan dropped the carving knife and fork with a clatter that cut through the mutter of the radio. ‘Call them yourself.’ He swung on his heel and left the kitchen.

I knew where to find him: in his study. Hands folded in his lap, he was sitting at the desk, staring at the neat pile of bills and family documents. There were tears in his eyes, tears that were almost certainly my fault but I did not know what they were for.

I stood with my hands on my hips. ‘Nathan, you’re making more of Hal than I ever have. It’s become a habit, an excuse. You know perfectly well that as a subject Hal could not be more dead.’

Nathan shrugged. It was a gesture that begged for the balm of reassurance and comfort. I knelt beside him, took his hands in mine and kissed them. ‘Nathan, you could not be more wrong.’

A sixth sense prompted me to look up. Minty was walking towards me, as purposefully as her kitten heels would permit. She came to a halt by my chair.

At first, I refused to look at her. Then I did.

She was sleek with triumph and secret pleasure, or so it seemed to me, the Rose with new vision. Cowering was not Minty’s style, and I had always admired her courage. That, and the slender body under the white tank top and tiny black skirt. Her beauty and promise were handled… how? With the confidence of a woman whose generation did not understand why feminism had been necessary.

‘Please leave,’ I said. ‘I’ve asked for you to be transferred, if not sacked. Didn’t Timon phone you?’

‘Yes, he did.’ She moved across to her desk and flipped on the screen. ‘I considered not showing, but I thought I owed it to you to face you, and you can call me any name you like. So now I have, and I’m getting out for the time being, but just before I quit the battlefield, I’ll check my e-mails.’ Cool and efficient, she typed in her password.

‘Why?’ I asked her. ‘We were friends.’

‘Of course.’ She executed a couple of commands, peered at the screen, then signed off.

‘I gave you your break.’

‘And I’ve thanked you for it, Rose, more than once. Do I have to be grateful for the rest of my life?’ She opened her drawer and took out her contacts book and diary, which she dropped into her bag. ‘Why don’t we talk about the real subject of this conversation? Nathan was there for the taking, Rose. Ask him.’

‘Nathan was perfectly happy.’

Her dark eyes did not blink. ‘He says not He says he needs some attention. I give it to him.’

Suddenly I was fearful for Minty. And you believed him? I thought you were so sharp.’

Minty got to her feet. ‘You can say what you like, Rose, but it won’t change anything.’

I wanted the words to cease, and craved the mercy of silence. I wanted to give in to despair, to crawl away, lie down and die, like a diseased pie-dog in the sun. But if I did that, I would be yielding every advantage to Minty. It was not as if Nathan and I had grown miles apart and there was nothing left. It was not like that at all. I had memories, joyous and nourishing, of a good, happy family that Nathan and I had built brick by brick. Good, strong achievements, for which it was worth fighting.

I pushed myself upright wearily. ‘You’re interfering in something you don’t understand. You don’t know the truth about our marriage, whatever Nathan may have told you.’ Minty leant back on the desk and transcribed a circle on the carpet with a slender foot. It infuriated and terrified me. I added, ‘He only says that for the obvious reason.’

‘He could get that anyway. No lies necessary’

‘Oh, God.’ I dropped back into the chair.

The hope that this episode was a minor one, through which Nathan and I would struggle, vanished and with it the flare of hope that I could mastermind this… test. If Nathan had lied through his teeth to gain occupancy of Minty’s body then I would have wept, burned and forgiven him. But this. No lies necessary.

‘Was it you… or him?’ I looked down at my naked hand. ‘Who?’

She understood. ‘It was me, Rose. I’ve always liked Nathan. He’s a nice man, a wonderful man, a pussy-cat, who happens to be rather powerful. It was a fling at first, nothing for you to worry about and I wasn’t ever going to let you know. Then it became more… complicated and I’m afraid you had to be told.’

‘He is wonderful,’ I said.

‘What a pity you didn’t tell him,’ Minty reflected. ‘But I shall.’

Her arrogance was astonishing. I concentrated on the one aspect of this cold little history with which I felt I could cope. ‘And you carried on working with me?’

‘It never does to mix things up. It’s a bad habit.’ She checked the contents of her bag and picked it up. Tor what it’s worth, Rose, I’m sorry it was you. I wish it had been anybody else.’

At eleven thirty sharp I knocked on Timon’s door -editors were allowed doors – and was told to enter.

Timon watched me cross the carpet towards his over-sized desk. ‘You don’t look well, Rose.’ He brushed aside my apologies for ringing him on a Sunday and told me to sit down.

‘Nathan came to see you. How was he?’ I asked.

Timon rearranged his papers, which, on the vast desktop, appeared like postage stamps. ‘It’s not easy for anyone. However, I have now had a chance to appraise the situation.’

‘I’m sure you agree that I cannot work with Minty’

Timon picked up a pen and drew a large circle on a notepad with a bright pink cover. ‘I want to get this sorted out quickly’

‘OK.’ I was riveted by the bright colour, which fragmented in front of my tired eyes.

Timon drew a second, less perfect circle. ‘I am sorry you have run against rocks in your private life. Believe me, we have all been there.’ He looked up, and his scrutiny was modulated neither by pity nor understanding. ‘The fact is, we have been taking a good, hard look at the books pages. They need a revamp. As you know, if I had my way we would probably dump them as they have no advertising pull.’

This was not the conversation for which I had nerved myself, but if that was what Timon wanted, I would summon my energy and play ball. I had facts and figures at my fingertips and I launched into them, but Timon cut me off: ‘I don’t think you get the point. Change is happening faster than ever and we must harness all our energies to keep up. No,’ he held up a finger, ‘not to keep up but to be ahead.’

It was the rhetoric spouted all over the industrialized world and I was used to responding to it. ‘Fine.’

Timon was not listening. ‘The pages need to be sharper, sexier. More celebrities. We need radical change.’

‘I can do that. Tell me the budgets.’

‘Of course you can do it. But the fact is I want someone else to take an absolutely fresh approach, which means that we’re letting you go, Rose. Ten years… it’s a long time in one job. Jenny in Human Resources is cobbling together a package. We’ll treat you properly. No need to call on our learned friends, Rose.’ He drew a third and final circle. ‘You must clear your desk, of course, but I would like you out by lunchtime.’

‘I don’t think you can do that.’

His expression did not alter. ‘Have you checked your contract lately?’

I held my voice steady. ‘I’m not going to abandon the pages while we’re getting everything ready for press, Timon.’

‘Sure, sure, admirable, but Minty will deal with them.’

‘I don’t wish her to do so.’

Timon rose heavily to his feet. ‘Believe me, this is not an easy decision, but the change in your circumstances decided me. I called Nathan in this morning to tell him what was going to happen. I’m afraid I’ve asked Minty to take over your job.’

I cornered Nathan in his office. ‘Give me five minutes,’ I muttered to Jean, his secretary, as I went past. ‘Private.’

Ashen-faced, Nathan got to his feet as I wrenched open his door and walked in. ‘Did you know?’ I asked.

He went over and shut the door. ‘No, I didn’t. You can’t imagine that I wouldn’t have told you if I knew anything. I wouldn’t do that to you, Rose.’

No, he wouldn’t, but rage streamed through me and I grasped at it with relief. Rage was better than anguish. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t sack me at work, but you’ve sacked me at home.’

He flinched and said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

There was a silence as my rage cooled and I struggled to put things right, to untangle the snarled strands of this situation. I said tiredly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you were so unhappy? We could have done something about it. Talked. Gone to see someone. Something. Even, even -’ I beat my fist on his desk ‘- you could have had your affair, if you had to, Nathan, if you absolutely had to, and come back.’

‘It doesn’t work like that.’

‘It does. It can. If you make up your mind. A good marriage is flexible. Why didn’t you come to me and say, “Rose, I don’t think I’m getting what I need from you.” Or “Rose, you’ve taken me too much for granted, can we change this?” Or…’

‘Or “I’ve been measured against another man for a long, long time…”’

This was a Nathan who had folded himself up and travelled a long, long way away. ‘Please don’t give me that excuse again, Nathan. It’s tired, and not the real one. You’re using it as a convenience for something else.’

Nathan shook his head and did not reply.

Surprise winded me – that clever, thoughtful Nathan could make such decision on so little evidence. And so deceive himself. ‘All that was such a long time ago, Nathan. I thought we were over it. Do I ever go on about your love affairs in this way? No, of course not. I thought I’d persuaded you. Don’t our years together mean anything in the way of proof?’ I placed my hands on the desk and leant towards him. ‘Is the real reason that you… don’t find me attractive any more and you’re trying to spare me by dressing it up?’

Had we shared the bathroom once too often, eaten in silence once too often, heard the other repeat a favourite gripe once too often?

There was no response and I tried again: ‘Is it because as we grow older we grow less confident? More nervous that we’re horrible to look at, too set in our ways? And we need to re-establish ourselves all over again? Is that it, Nathan? Because if I know one thing, it cannot be your vague anxiety over a long-ago affair that has brought this about. It’s something, perhaps, that you can’t describe or understand, but at least be honest and say so.’

Either this was too near the bone for Nathan, or he did not understand what I had said, but it was clear that I would get nothing more out of him. ‘I’m tired, Rose. I want a fresh start. I’ve fallen in love with Minty. The children are old enough to take it.’

I walked over to the window and looked out. Traffic clotted the street, and the shop windows were bright with neon light and spring fashions. I followed the progress of a police vehicle weaving in and out of the queues. Suddenly I realized what had happened. How a shadow had become substance. And an excuse. A convenient mental lay-by. ‘Hal means more to you than he does to me,’ I said slowly. ‘He’s become a fantasy’

Behind me, Nathan shuffled papers. My anger stirred, ignited, flamed. I swivelled round to face him. ‘Do you know what made Timon decide to sack me? Apparently, it was you and Minty deciding to set up house that gave him the out.’

‘Don’t,’ he said, and looked quite grey.

‘I’m sure you didn’t mean it to happen but it has.’

‘Rose… if you want help on the details, the package…’

I looked at him helplessly ‘The only details I want to go over with you, Nathan, are our details, the ones we should be discussing.’

For a second he stared at me with the old tenderness, and there was a hint that we were making progress, that we were going to talk. Properly. Painfully. Honestly.

‘Nathan, please, let us think again -’

Jean opened the door and cut us off. ‘Nathan, red alert in the board room. Now.’

Nathan’s eyes did not leave my face. ‘Five minutes, Jean.’

She shook her highlighted blonde head. ‘Now. The minister’s wife has killed herself.’