Shuttlecock

[16]

‘Martin wants to know’ (it’s two days later, a Thursday: Marian and I are in bed) ‘why you went to work at a different time today.’

‘Oh? What’s that to him?’

‘You had breakfast by yourself and went in early, and then you were home about five.’

‘I know.’

‘Martin thinks you’re avoiding him.’

So — he was waiting again for me on the common — but I was early.

‘Look, has Martin said anything about coming to meet me at the station?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Nothing. I thought I saw him a couple of times, coming home.’

‘You flatter yourself. Coming to meet you at the station.’

Marian is lying with her back towards me. Her voice comes to me as if from behind a wall.

‘I don’t see why he shouldn’t from time to time.’

‘Come to think of it, why did you go into work early?’

Marian turns to face me. As she turns, her small breasts turn with her, like another pair of fleshy eyes. We are naked — just for the heat. We haven’t made love for some time now. We seem to have put away our sexual play-kit.

‘I had some extra work to do. I’ve gone in early before, haven’t I?’

‘But you’ve always told me. I didn’t know you weren’t going to have breakfast.’

Marian’s eyes suddenly become limpid and soulful (is that such a dreadful thing — missing breakfast?).

‘You don’t tell me anything these days.’

I thought: Now is the time I could tell her. Marian, I am going to be promoted.

‘It was only for today. I’ll go in at the usual time tomorrow.’

‘You might have told me.’ She frowns. ‘What was this extra work anyway?’

‘Look — enough of all these questions.’ My voice goes up a pitch. For a moment there’s almost a danger of it cracking guiltily. Why should she ask that?

‘Sorry. I only thought —’

She bites her lip. Her eyes are still wide and dreamily fixed on me, but as she looks it is as though she is drifting away. Some anaesthetic is clouding her vision and she can no longer recognize me. I think of Martin turning his back, on the common.

I move towards her and put my hand over her navel. She sighs audibly and goes passive and limp, though, in a way, this is just the same as her body going hard and impenetrable. I run my hand over her as if over some unfamiliar object. Things will go no further; but then I’m not moved by desire so much as by some sense of dreadful loneliness. My wife is afraid of me, she does not know me. I draw closer and put my mouth to her breast (unresisting, unprotected) and very gently peck her nipples.

‘It was only for today. You can tell Martin that if you like … Marian?’

And sure enough, I saw him, tonight (Friday), under the trees, the other side of the bowling green, as I passed. What does he want? All right, so he has seen me, that first time, for what I really am. And he knows that this figure who walks manfully by, for his benefit, and the benefit of who knows what other hidden observers, is no more than a puppet. And he knows that I know he knows that. What more does he want? All right, so he is nearly eleven years old and finding his strength, and I am three times his age and wondering where I mislaid mine; hoping to be propped up by some promotion. All right, I am the one to blame. Does he want me to confess as much to his face? To get down on my knees?

Tonight I stepped off the pavement and walked towards him over the grass. He had already turned and moved off as he saw me change course. He quickened his pace, intuitively, without looking back, as I quickened mine. This was like one of those dreams in which you try to reach the ones you love but you can’t. They’d cut the grass on that part of the common, and hanging in the air was the sweet, sappy smell that makes you know it’s summer. ‘Martin!’ I called. And I wanted to add: ‘Don’t go. Please. I’m sorry.’ Then, when my longer stride began to tell on him, he broke into a run. He ran towards the zebra-crossing on the South Circular Road. The South Circular Road divides one part of the common from the other; on the far side is the duck pond. I remembered the time when the boys were younger but just old enough to go out by themselves, and we lived in dread of their little bodies being smashed by cars. I started to run too but stopped almost at once, suddenly aware of appearing foolish. I wasn’t going to go chasing after my own son.