The Betrayal (18 page)

I
t’s
after one in the morning when my mobile phone rings.
The number is unfamiliar, the female voice clipped with authority.
She’s calling from Emergency in the Mater Hospital.
Eleanor Saunders has been admitted by ambulance after suffering ‘a sudden turn.’
The nurse is unable to contact Jake and I’m second on the list of Eleanor’s next of kin.

I’ve never known Eleanor to be ill.
Her redoubtable nature is capable of scaring off the most persistent germs.
What does ‘a sudden turn’ imply?
And where is Jake?
His van is missing…as usual.
I leave a message on his mobile and drive to the hospital.
Eleanor is still on a trolley in Emergency, ashen-faced, her voice muffled behind an oxygen mask.

‘Such a fuss about nothing.’
She pulls the mask aside and squints at me.
Her lips are drained of colour.
‘It’s a total overreaction.
Where’s Jake?’

‘I don’t know.
What happened to you?’

‘A touch of indigestion.
I called my doctor.
Before I knew what he was doing there was an ambulance outside.
I’m furious with him.’

‘He wouldn’t have called an ambulance unless he was worried about you.
What are your symptoms – ’

‘Ah!
At last you’re here.’
She looks beyond me and flaps her hands outwards, exasperated palms exposed.
‘About time, too.
Where were you until this hour?’

Jake’s hair is ruffled, the collar of his shirt turned in on one side.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘I came as soon as I got the message.’

‘But
where
were you?’
Eleanor repeats.
‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?
I had to depend on Nadine to leave her bed to come here.
With all the free time you have these days I thought I could depend on you to look after me.’

‘I was with friends.’
He’s tight-lipped, embarrassed, avoiding my eyes.

He came from her bed.
That much is clear.
She might as well have scrawled her lipstick across his forehead, attached strands of tumbleweed hair to his jacket.
Not my business… not my business… it’s highly inappropriate to be wondering whose bed my husband occupied, and if it’s still warm, when his mother could be dying in front of our eyes from ‘a sudden turn.’
But, unlike behaviour, our thoughts are not controlled by a moral code and I search for signs that will betray him.
Nothing except a shirt collar turned in and the buttons out of kilter.
He looks around for a doctor to consult.
A nurse arrives and fixes Eleanor’s oxygen mask back into position.

‘Please don’t touch this again, Eleanor,’ she warns.
‘This mask has a function and should not be treated like a snorkel.’

Eleanor heaves with impatience and Jake follows the nurse, who is hurrying towards an elderly man about to fall from his trolley.

‘They’re monitoring your blood pressure,’ Jake says when he returns.
‘It’s on the high side but your ECG is okay.
They’re waiting for the results of blood tests.’

‘How soon can I be discharged?’

‘First they need to discover the reason you’re here.’

Two hours later we’re still waiting in Emergency.
The ward fizzes with bad temper, exhaustion and lack of space.
An elderly woman in the next cubicle yells ‘Nurse… Nurse…
Nurse
’ with agonising repetitiveness.

I find a coffee dispenser and return with two cartons for myself and Jake.

‘Overcrowding in our hospitals.
You should make that the main issue for debate at your party conference,’ says Jake.
‘

Eleanor snatches the oxygen mask from her face.
‘We’re a one-issue party, Jake, as you very well know.
Tell one of those children I want to be discharged immediately.’
She points to a line of young doctors standing before a bank of computers.
Steam hisses from the mask when she places it back into position.

‘I certainly will not,’ Jake replies.
‘You heard the nurse.
You must wait until your blood results come back.’

Eventually, when the results have been checked and Eleanor is on her feet again, we’re called into a consulting room by a doctor with gritty eyes and the ashen pallor of an insomniac.
He looks younger than Sam.

‘I’m Doctor Noonan.’
He waits until we’re seated in front of his desk before continuing.
‘All your tests are clear, Eleanor, except for your blood pressure, which is elevated.
We’re organising a blood pressure monitor over a twenty-four hour period.
Have you been acutely worried about anything in the recent past?’

‘Acute is an understatement, Doctor.’

‘My mother is actively involved in politics,’ Jake explains.
‘That creates its own tensions.’

‘Allow me to speak for myself, Jake.’
Eleanor turns back to the doctor.
‘Politics is child’s play compared to my family life but that is neither here nor there.
What exactly is the matter with me?’

‘We intend booking you in for some further tests but it seems clear that you’re displaying classic symptoms of panic and anxiety.
Do you have a previous history of stress?’

‘She thrives on stress,’ says Jake, before Eleanor can reply.
‘It’s embedded in her psyche.’

‘The dangers of stress cannot be undermined.’
Dr Noonan frowns at Jake’s flippancy.
‘I’m aware of your political background, Eleanor.
You’ve reached an age when it’s advisable to take things easier…’ He falters when he sees my mother-in-law’s expression.
‘I’m thinking of your health, Eleanor.’

‘
Mrs
Saunders, if you don’t mind.
I’d appreciate some gravitas if you insist on discussing my advancing years.’

‘
Mrs
Saunders, I urge you not to ignore my advice.’
He glances nervously at his notes and draws courage from the written word.
‘I’m going to prescribe blood pressure tablets and a mild sedative to alleviate your immediate symptoms.
This is just a short-term measure but the overriding issue that brought about this episode needs to be addressed.
Otherwise, you’ll be prone to another attack and that could have more serious consequences.’

‘Thank you for your advice, Doctor.’
She glances from Jake to me and nods.
‘I’m sure my son and his wife will do everything in their power to ensure that my life, political and personal, is kept free from stress from now on.’

P
rotecting
Marriage in a Dysfunctional Society
was written in red on a banner above the stage in the Orbit Hotel.
Cora Reynolds, whom Jake had known since he was a boy, escorted him and Nadine to the front row.

‘This weekend has been amazing,’ she whispered as she removed two Reserved signs.
‘We’ve had wonderful speeches from our international guests and the workshops have been so energising.
We’re zapped up and ready to rock.’

‘You always were a rocker,’ said Jake.
He liked Cora, who used to bring him sweets whenever she came to his house for First Affiliation meetings.
She was different to the other activists, the women with sanctified faces and intractable hearts and the colourless men in dark suits that draw any remaining vitality deep into the seams.
Did she know the truth about his marriage?
If so, she was the only member of the party who did.

‘I’m so glad you could both make it.’
Cora continued her furtive whispering.
‘Eleanor has prepared an inspiring speech.
She’s going to knock the socks off that lot.’
She rolled her eyes towards a group of smartly dressed younger members seated a few rows back.

These days First Affiliation had a new dynamic.
He had noticed it at Rosanna’s funeral where the younger members formed a separate group from the older ones still surrounding Eleanor.
Their leader-in-waiting, Lorna Mason, with her swinging pelmet of brown hair and modulated tones, would project a softer, more media-friendly image than his mother’s usual combative approach.

‘Are they giving her a hard time?’
Jake whispered back.

Cora nodded.
‘Let’s just say Eleanor knows how to keep them in their place.’

‘What does she use?’
he asked.
‘Rubber bullets or water cannon?’

‘Oh, Jake, you
are
a scream.’
Cora stifled a short, sharp giggle.
‘Sit down there now and enjoy the rest of the evening.’

The conference room filled with anticipation as the audience waited for their leader to deliver her keynote address.
Eleanor’s appearance roused them to a standing ovation.
She allowed the applause to reach a certain momentum before silencing them with a graceful wave.

‘Thank you… thank you… my dear friends,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you’ll all agree that the weekend has been an inspiring and stimulating experience for each and every one of us.’
The applause that greeted this statement was again silenced after a suitable interval.
‘Our distinguished panel of speakers left us with much to consider as we go forward into the next stage of our action campaign.
But it is your attendance here, all of you united in our common core values, that has made this conference such an extraordinary success.
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
I also want to thank my family, my son Jake and his beloved wife, Nadine, for their unwavering support over the years and for the years to come.’

‘Cunning, conniving, controlling cow,’ muttered Nadine from the side of her mouth.

Working in
Lustrous
was honing her alliterative skills, Jake thought.
Her feet, slender in red shoes, tapped so rapidly against the floor that he feared she was going to stand and walk out.

He placed his arm across the back of her chair and hissed, ‘Calm down.
We agreed to go through the motions but this is the last time… the
last
time…’ He looked towards the stage and found himself face-to-face with a television camera.
Instinctively, he and Nadine smiled as the camera swamped them in its lens then moved on.

‘We believe that the edifice of marriage is supported by the two sturdy pillars of husband and wife.’
Eleanor’s voice rang with conviction.
‘Marital love is the foundation upon which our edifice stands, but that love brings responsibilities.
Outside forces will try to convince us that marriage, in all its beautiful manifestations, is an old-fashioned custom, quaint and outdated, like foot binding, for instance.’

Nadine stiffened.
‘She’s stealing my lines.’
She sounded more astonished than angry.

‘Shush,’ hissed a voice from behind.

‘Civil partnership or gay marriage – should such a law be introduced – will undermine the core principals of our party,’ Eleanor continued.
‘I don’t have to spell out the consequences that will result from such liaisons.
The demands these people will make on our already fractured, dysfunctional society.
’

‘Bring it on!’
A female voice yelled from the centre of the hall.

‘Bring it on!’
echoed a second voice, male this time.

More voices joined in, each chanting the same slogan.
Eleanor’s mouth opened and closed, her words inaudible in the growing tumult.

‘Is a beloved union between wife and wife not equally blessed in the sight of God?’
This voice had a familiar ring and Jake swallowed convulsively when he recognised it.

Nadine, who had turned to stare at the protestors, swung her head towards Jake.
‘That’s Feral Childe,’ she gasped.
‘What’s she doing here?’

‘She probably came with her wife.’

‘
What
?’

‘Her wife,’ he repeated.
‘Didn’t I tell you Feral was married?’

‘You certainly did not!
Which one is her wife?’

‘Sit down.’
He pulled her arm until she collapsed back into the chair.
‘I don’t want her to see me.
Her wife’s the leader of a gay rights activist group.’

‘Do they know Eleanor is your mother?’

‘What do you think?
It’s not something I’m inclined to boast about.
‘

The members of First Affiliation were on their feet, booing at the group of men and women holding banners that proclaimed
Marriage Equality is Our Right!
and
God Does Not Differentiate!

The protest group was unceremoniously escorted from the hall by four heavy-set security men.
Eventually, when the door slammed behind them, Eleanor continued her speech.
She had lost her audience, who whispered among themselves, their impatience obvious as they waited for her to finish.

‘Let’s go,’ said Nadine as soon as the short standing ovation ended and the audience surged from their seats.

The gay rights activists were continuing to protest outside the hotel.
Journalists shoved microphones towards Maggie Childe-Doyle and demanded to know how she and Feral, as a married couple, felt about being denied the right to participate in the conference.
Without waiting to hear her reply Jake sprinted towards Nadine’s car.
He had been ordered by Eleanor not to bring his band van to the conference.
Once inside the car they stared at each other.

‘Don’t you dare make me laugh,’ Nadine warned.

‘As if I would.’

‘My mascara will run.’

‘Not as fast as I’ll run if Eleanor discovers one of the chief hecklers is the drummer in my band.’

‘Oh, Jake… Eleanor’s face…’ Nadine bent over the steering wheel, her shoulders heaving.
‘I shouldn’t be laughing… I shouldn’t,’ she gasped.
‘And neither should you.
It’s cruel.’

‘You’re right about the mascara,’ he said.

‘I’m like a panda.’
She pulled down the front mirror and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
‘I actually thought you and Feral were… you know…’

‘You
what
?
Are you mad?
She’s a married woman.’
It was good to laugh with her again.
‘Fancy going for a drink?’
he asked.
‘I need one after that shemozzle.’

In The Boot Inn he ordered two glasses of wine and listened, astonished, when she told him about Stuart’s extraordinary invitation.
The conference had banished the tension between them and it was almost like old times when they talked about the children.
Ali had joined a drama group and was waiting tables three afternoons a week in a tapas bar.
The twins, according to Samantha, were cleaning out the student vomitorium.
Roughly translated, this meant tending the student bar in Silver Ridge University.
Jake admitted to his frustration with the slow progress of the band.
Reedy and Feral were professional musicians with other commitments and the date had passed for the come-back launch.
Hart was worried about falling membership at Hartland to Health and Daryl – who once offered to sell his soul to Satan if it helped him play his guitar better than The Edge – had a full-time job and a baby daughter who was turning into a terrorist.
They looked upon the band as a hobby, a light relief from the stresses of the day.
To place Shard in the same category as wood-whittling or plane-spotting was insulting but Jake understood their reluctance to give more time to it.

Nadine had lost weight.
Not a lot but enough to give her figure an added sleekness.

‘Stress is the new liposuction,’ she joked when he commented.

Was she seeing someone?
To imagine her in another man’s bed, her hair riotous on his pillows… those sea-green eyes deepening to the lambent glow of desire.
It was an uncomfortable image, unsettling.
His phone rang.
He checked his watch, surprised at how quickly the time had passed.
He was due in Karin’s apartment in an hour.

‘Why not answer it?’
Nadine said.
‘I won’t eavesdrop.’

‘I’ll take it later.’
He cut the call but the lightness had gone from their conversation.
Nadine, appreciating that the mood had changed, finished her wine and pulled on her jacket.

Outside Sea Aster they hesitated, awkward at parting.

‘See you round,’ she said.
‘You should ring Eleanor and see if she’s okay.
This won’t have helped her stress levels.’

‘Stress levels, my foot.
That was a con job if ever I saw one.’

‘She wasn’t faking, Jake.
Keep in touch with her.’

H
e stopped
for petrol on the way to Karin’s apartment and, on impulse, plucked a bouquet of roses from a bucket beside the pay station.
Every traffic light seemed set at red to deliberately thwart him.
He eyed the roses lying on the passenger seat and recalled a conversation on talk radio in which a women claimed she broke off her relationship with her partner when he presented her with a bouquet of garage roses.
Too tawdry and cheap, she said.
A lazy, thoughtless gift that reflected his view of their relationship.
Afterwards, the phone lines zinged with women who claimed they would have welcomed roses, no matter where they originated, as a sign that their husbands thought about them, even for those brief moments when they filled their cars with petrol.
Should he dump the roses in a refuse bin and arrive empty-handed?
Better keep going.
Karin was ignoring his apologetic texts and he was already forty-five minutes late.

He heard a dog barking when he stepped from the elevator.
High yelps that belonged indoors, probably a small dog with scurrying legs and a puffed-up sense of its own importance.
The yelps rose to a crescendo as he hurried towards Karin’s apartment.

‘You’ve arrived.’
She made this terse, self-evident statement when she opened the door.
‘Thank you for taking the trouble to show up.’

‘Sorry I’m late.
It’s mayhem out there tonight.
You should have seen the traffic on the Eastlink.
There’s a concert on the – ’

‘Why didn’t you answer your phone when I rang earlier?’
She faced him, arms folded.
Her pouting bottom lip, glossily purple, told him roses would not appease her.
She strode ahead of him into the kitchen.
Tonight she had promised to cook her special signature dish.
He had no idea what it was but he had expected the kitchen to be redolent with spices, steamy and warm.
Instead, the chrome fittings glittered coldly and the hob was empty, not a saucepan in sight.
She had been cooking earlier.
The faint smell of turmeric and cumin still lingered, despite the low, determined purr of the air extractor above the hob.

‘I was driving.’
He laid the roses on the counter.
They looked even more wilted now, the petals turning brown on the edges.
‘Didn’t you get my texts telling you I’d been delayed?’