East Fortune (21 page)

He remembered going to a production of
Les Liaisons Dangereuses
in London. Madame de Tourvel:
I was innocent, at peace with the world: it was meeting you that destroyed me.
And there was Lancelot and Guinevere, even though what he was doing with Julia was never as noble.
Thorow thys same man and me hath all thys warre be wrought, and the dethe of the most noblest knyghtes of the worlde; for thorow oure love that we have loved togydir ys my most noble lord slayne
…

There was no way out or back. He could see that now. There was nothing he could do to right his life.

After four days of rain Krystyna had begun to feel restless.

‘This is mad,' she said. ‘It's August. And it's still cold.'

Jack had persuaded her to come and stay for a week.

‘We can light the fire.'

‘You do know how crazy this is?'

‘It's global warming,' said Jack.

‘No, it isn't,' Krystyna replied. ‘It's Scotland.'

There was a log-and-coal store at the back of the house. As Krystyna collected supplies she remembered what it had been like at home in the past with so little food in the shops and the family gathering as much as they could from the land. Had she left her country only to repeat what had happened? What would it have been like if she had stayed there; never come to Scotland, never been with Sandy, and never met Jack?

She carried the logs in from the store and started to lay the fire. She could not see how their relationship, if that was what it was, could have a future with a child. Every time she walked through Jack's house she tried to picture what it might be like. There would have to be a buggy by the door, toys in the front room, stair gates and changing mats. They would get in Jack's way. He would be irritated and distracted. It didn't seem possible.

Jack could tell that Krystyna was restless. He had tried to ignore it, hoping that her mood would pass with a new day, a walk, or a change in the weather. But the tension persisted.

‘What is it?' he asked.

‘You know I must go tomorrow?'

He tried not to sound relieved.

‘Yes, but you can always return. You can come back whenever you want.'

‘I know that.'

‘Then is it something else?'

‘It is nothing.'

‘Then let's eat.'

They were having a simple supper: omelettes, salad, bread and cheese. On some evenings they listened to music, or even read to each other, but Krystyna didn't want to do any of these things.

‘I worry I'm not good for you,' she said. ‘I am too distracting.'

‘No, you're wrong. You give me great comfort.'

‘You think so?'

‘I know so. It was odd at first but now I think we're used to it. Don't you? It's almost a routine.'

‘Yes. I see that. I am sorry.'

‘Why are you sorry?'

‘I'm sorry because I have to go.'

Krystyna could talk about Sandy, she could tell Jack about her past and even what she wanted to do with her life, but she could not speak about the only thing that mattered.

‘I am not sure it's good for me to be here,' she said.

‘Perhaps we should not think about it too much. Introspection can be dangerous,' said Jack. ‘I know. I do it all the time.' He was trying to cheer her up but could see that it was not working. ‘What is it?' he asked again.

‘It's nothing. I don't know. I am sorry. I do not mean to be like this. Perhaps it's the end of summer. It is not you, I promise. Tomorrow I will leave and then you can work without interruption.'

‘You'll go back to Edinburgh?'

‘At first. And then perhaps somewhere else.'

‘Where?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Back home?'

‘I have no home. But it does not matter. I will make a home. I am used to it.'

‘There's always here…'

‘I know. You are very kind.'

Jack realised that there was nothing he could do. He took the dishes to the sink.

‘You do know that I remember everything about you,' he said.

Krystyna did not answer. Sandy had once said the same thing. The memory was as involuntary as a dream. If only he could retain the hours they had together, he had told her, then they could become an eternal moment, a virtual piece of time that would run in parallel with real life, so that whenever they were troubled or apart they could return to those flashes of happiness and live within them until the separation or the trouble passed.

She didn't want to have to think or explain anything any more. She came over and put her hand on Jack's shoulder.

‘I'm going to read in bed,' she said. ‘Don't work too late.'

‘What else am I going to do?' he asked.

The next morning Annie let herself in with her own key.

‘Hello?' she called. ‘Are you there? Dad?'

Jack came downstairs in his dressing gown and found his daughter looking at his work.

Be on guard,
As I have taught you, don't be taken in.
It's easier to avoid the snares of love
Than to escape once you are in that net
Whose cords and knots are strong…

‘Not like you to lie in bed,' she said.

‘I didn't know you were coming.'

‘Well, I thought I'd just look in.'

Jack had kept Annie's bedroom as it was before she left for university. All the remnants of her adolescence remained: star cushions, belts and school photographs; a Wallace and Gromit alarm clock, an article ripped out of a magazine:
I Don't Need a Man to Be Happy.

‘How have you been?' he asked.

Annie leaned against the sideboard and began to describe the corporate hotel she had just assessed in Italy: Americans ordering egg-white omelettes, worrying their muscles had shrunk from a lack of working-out.

Jack was surprised by her confidence. For a moment he couldn't remember how she had ever come to be his daughter.

‘Were they all very rich?'

‘Put it this way, Dad, not many of them were wearing
Make poverty history
bracelets.'

‘They probably want to keep ‘em poor.'

Annie told her father about the hotel's state-of-the-art spa and handed him its posh brochure with the Latin tag,
Salus per aquam.
The cosmos in a water drop.

‘That's not a proper translation, of course.'

‘I thought you'd say that…'

Looking through the expensively produced pages, Jack sat down and read about balneotherapy, and algae reducing-compresses, of passive exercise machines and thalassotherapy for mental and physical fatigue.

‘What's wrong with a swim?' he asked.

Annie began to laugh but stopped when Krystyna walked into the kitchen. She was barefoot. She picked up the kettle to fill it with water.

Then she looked up.

‘Sorry.'

Jack stood.

‘No, it's all right.'

‘I'll go upstairs. I didn't know you had company.'

Jack had neglected to tell his children that Krystyna was staying.

‘This is my daughter, Annie.'

Krystyna turned back upstairs.

‘I'm sorry, I don't want to interrupt.'

Jack said, ‘No, stay.'

‘I must go.'

Annie waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded.

‘Jesus, Dad…'

‘It's not what you think…'

‘It is what I think. How long has she been staying?'

Jack began to defend himself.

‘Only a few days.'

‘And what is she doing here?'

‘She needed help.'

‘You're the one that needs the help, Dad. It was bad enough you listening to my music. Now you're dating people my age.'

Jack hoped Annie was not going to lose her temper. When she was two years old she would deliberately stop breathing, her face scrunched up against the world. People would tell her to stop but she couldn't, and there would inevitably follow the fall to the ground and the rush to the hospital.

He looked at his daughter.

‘She's not your age and we're not “dating”.'

‘Can't be for want of trying. How long has she been here?'

‘Krystyna needs company.'

‘And you think you're the person to give it?'

Jack reached up for the pot in the cupboard. He assumed that his daughter wanted the coffee he was making.

Krystyna appeared, dressed and in the doorway.

‘I must go,' she said.

‘No. Stay. We haven't talked.'

‘We have. Now I must go.'

‘Don't.'

‘Oh,' said Annie. ‘I'm sorry. Am I in the way?'

‘Yes.'

‘Jesus, Dad. Are you telling me to leave my own house?'

It occurred to Jack that Krystyna was far easier to live with than his daughter; and that if people had a choice of who to share their home with then they wouldn't necessarily choose their own children.

‘It's not a good time, Annie.'

‘I can see that. Perhaps you'd like to tell me when it
is
a good time; when you can fit me in.'

‘Don't be angry with me.'

‘You don't give me much choice.'

She turned away and slammed the door of the kitchen, the front door of the house, and the door of her car.

Jack walked to the porch to check that his daughter had left. He wished he had been able to avoid such a confrontation, but it was too late now.

He remembered the way Annie held his hand as a little girl, crossing the road on the way to a party, red ribbons in her long black hair.

He could still see her as a small child, holding on to the end of a brass bed, jumping up and down and laughing. He remembered how she used to time everything with her first watch; how long it took to eat a boiled egg, to clear away the plate, to climb the stairs, to clean her teeth, to organise her model farm and say goodnight to all the animals. How quickly her childhood had disappeared.

He walked back into the kitchen. Krystyna had packed her shoulder bag.

‘You know that now I must go too,' she said.

‘I wish you wouldn't.'

‘I can't stay for ever,' Krystyna said. ‘It is not right.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘About your daughter? Don't worry.'

‘No, it's not that. I was just trying … I don't know … I wish you wouldn't go.'

‘Please don't make it so hard.'

‘I just wanted to help you,' Jack was saying.

‘You did. You have done.'

‘You sound as if it has finished. Whatever “it” is.'

Krystyna looked down at her bare feet, inspecting her right sole.

‘I'm sorry. You must think I am ungrateful.'

‘Stay a bit longer.'

‘I can't.'

‘Why not?'

Krystyna lit a cigarette. Jack wondered why, when she said that she was going, she was prolonging her departure. Was this to give him time for one last appeal? He wished she wouldn't smoke in the house.
Smoking can cause a slow and painful death.
They could hardly make it more obvious.

He tried to think how he could explain the difference she had made to his life. He looked down, trying to think what else he could say, and noticed his work.

Surely delight comes in a purer form
To sensible men than to your love-struck wretches
Who, on the very verge of consummation,
Can't make their minds up, thrash about, uncertain
Which they should pleasure first?

‘You don't have to decide everything now,' he said.

‘I don't think I'm well enough to make decisions. I can't think any more.'

‘Then stay.'

Krystyna looked down at the translation in front of him. She could see that Jack had crossed out the word ‘delight'.

‘I am stopping you working.'

‘It's all right.'

She finished her cigarette.

‘I'm sorry. It's my fault. Perhaps you wish you had not invited me.'

‘No,' Jack said. ‘I don't think that at all.'

She put on her shoes and her linen jacket and lifted her bag on to her shoulder.

After so much rain the bright light of a still summer day was unfamiliar and oppressive. Scarps of white cloud were stationary in the sky.

Jack offered to walk Krystyna to the bus stop but she told him it would only make it worse.

‘You know I could not stay for ever.'

‘You could.'

‘Don't be crazy.'

‘Are you sure this is what you want to do?' Jack asked.

‘I am not sure.' Krystyna put on her sunglasses. ‘But if I do not go now perhaps I never will.'

‘Isn't that a good thing?'

‘I don't think so. But I am sorry. I will miss you. Thank you for everything.'

Jack walked over and held her. His left arm was round her waist, his right arm covered her shoulders. He tried not to hold her too tightly. He listened to the rain die away in the distance. The church bell struck the half-hour.

He felt her hand against his hair and decided to wait until she broke the moment. They stood without moving. At last Krystyna stepped back. She did not meet his eye and pushed a strand of hair away from her face.

When she was further away she looked at him once more.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘It's best if I go. Please don't make it difficult. I'm sorry.'

Jack stood by the front door and watched her leave.

‘Goodbye then.'

It was as if she was going for a walk, up into the hills or out into the woods. Jack realised that his life now consisted of people walking away from him rather than towards him.

He thought of the times when it had all been so different; of his daughters, running out of school or across the beach, pleased, even delighted, to see him.

He remembered Maggie smiling at him with her head tilted to one side and the light in her hair. At the time he had not been able to believe his luck in finding her.
My wife.