Envy Page 4

‘Let me look at you, really look at you,’ he says.

  His arms are behind my back and he is unzipping my dress. I work so hard toning my body, working on almost every muscle, or at least every muscle I know about, so I want to show him, really show him. I am not embarrassed. I am proud of my shape.

  I feel my dress slip over my skin and fall to the floor. I am standing in front of him in my new red silk bra and panties, decorated with Chantilly lace. The room is slipping from side to side, making me feel as if I am on a boat. He is admiring my body. He is smiling. His eyes are caressing me, just like they have always done. I know he thinks I am beautiful. I need to be beautiful tonight.

  17

  Jonah

  You are moaning beneath me, neck stretched in ecstasy. So tight around me I can hardly breathe. I’ve never known a woman who wants me so much. And I cannot believe, after waiting so long, that woman is you. I try to close my mind to all sensation so that I don’t climax too quickly. I pretend I am back at school, standing behind my desk, reciting the alphabet backwards. Before I reach V, you are finished, spent. And I can relax again.

  My crescendo starts gently, slowly, a sweet sensation that feels electric. I pump into you more deeply and it intensifies into a burning heat. Pain and pleasure merge. You are holding me so tight. Your legs and feet push into my back as if you want to force me more deeply inside. It is delicious. Too much. I am not sure how much longer I can bear it. It’s rising, it’s increasing. I am soaring. One last thrust so sweet I feel ready to die in your arms right now. And it’s over. Tangled in your arms I gasp for breath, and wait for my heart to calm.

  18

  Faye

  I wake up, Beethoven pounding in my ears. Mouth parched. Head throbbing. My hair is damp and I am naked, clamped in a stranger’s arms.

  Heavy inside, I untangle myself from him and sit up. No. Not a stranger. Jonah, my husband’s old friend, our architect, who I ran into at the party last night. What have I done? I squint at my watch in the dark: 3:30 a.m. I pull myself up to standing, panic rising inside me.

  My marriage. My children. The babysitter.

  I snap the light on. I look down at Jonah, sleeping like a baby, penis withered into a small crinkled knot. He doesn’t stir. What happened? Jonah has never been my type. The first time I met him he said he thought footballers were overpaid wide boys. I asked him what he thought architects were then, and he gave me a supercilious grin that tightened the knots in my stomach. His long-vowelled voice smacks of superiority, even though he went to a local comprehensive, like me and Phillip. I had a drunken aberration last night, one I will regret for the rest of my life.

  Heavy with remorse, I reach for my clothes. I find them scattered across the sitting room, and pull them on. My coat and handbag are in the hallway. I remember leaving them there. I wrap my coat around my shoulders; its familiarity comforts me a little, as I step outside into a bright moonlit night.

  I pull my iPhone out of my bag. Fifteen missed calls. Thirteen from the babysitter. Two from Phillip. What am I going to say? I need to get used to making up lies. First I text our babysitter.

  On the way home. Sorry. Party went on really late. Got carried away.

  Then I check on Phillip. Only two missed calls, and not too late. Just didn’t hear those because of the noise of the party. Nothing to explain. I exhale with relief.

  We live so close to Jonah it isn’t worth calling a taxi. My footsteps resound across the pavement, as I stride through the solidity of darkness towards home. At least it is so late no one I know will see me. Five minutes later I am walking up the steps to our front door, turning the key. I step straight into our living room and turn on the light. The familiarity of my living room surrounds me like a sanctuary. My behaviour is out of step. But nothing here has changed. My normal world is waiting for me.

  Lucy, our babysitter, stretches her arms in the air from the sofa, and sits up. Her long brown hair is tangled and crumpled. Her eyes blink as she becomes accustomed to the light.

  ‘I was so worried. Are you OK?’ she asks.

  I walk towards her and sit on the sofa next to her. I shake my head slowly, and raise my hands a little.

  ‘Sorry. So sorry. Had too much to drink. Stayed too late. Got carried away.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK? Has something happened?’ she asks, looking shocked at my dishevelled appearance.

  ‘Course not,’ I reply. ‘I fell asleep on the sofa at the end of the party, that’s all. A bit embarrassing but all OK.’

  ‘As long as you’re all right,’ Lucy says, slipping off the sofa and reaching for her bag and coat, which she’s placed on the floor beside her: obviously keen to get away as soon as possible.

  I rummage hurriedly into my handbag and pull out £100 to give to her. I hand it across.

  ‘That’s far too much,’ she complains, trying to hand it back.

  ‘No. Let me give it to you. I want to. I’ve inconvenienced you.’

  ‘Not really,’ she says.

  ‘But I worried you,’ I splutter.

  ‘A bit. But you’re a grown woman. I know you can look after yourself,’ she says, leaving the notes on the coffee table. She smiles at me as she pulls her coat on. ‘Please don’t worry. I’m cool. Everything’s fine.’

  I scoop the notes from the table and press them into her hand.

  ‘I’m not accepting no for an answer. I want you to have this money. You must take it. Otherwise I’ll only send it to you in the post.’

  This time her hand closes reluctantly around the notes. As soon as she has gone, I text Jonah:

  We need to talk.

  19

  Phillip

  Sunday evening. I pull the car into our drive. Lights smoulder down from the top of the house. I have flowers for you, Faye, and a soft toy each for the girls.

  I let myself in and switch on the light. The hallway is filled with its usual clutter. The buggy. A row of shoes. A pile of old clothes to take to the charity shop. This evening the house is eerily quiet. Silence presses against me and the vision I had of you rushing to greet me, smothering me with kisses, echoes towards me making me feel sad.

  Perhaps you are having difficulty settling our offspring. I leave my gifts on the dining table and slowly, quietly, move through our living area, and tiptoe up the stairs. Past Tamsin’s bedroom, past Georgia’s nursery. The lights are dim. I hear the repetitive sound of their gentle breathing. Into our master bedroom with its state-of-the-art bathroom, only recently installed, which I am so pleased to have been able to afford. More dim light. This time I hear electronic music. Pounding and trance-like. You are sitting, back arched, cross-legged on your exercise mat, arms stretched out like a ballet dancer. Not that I am an expert at this, but it’s Pilates I guess.

  As soon as you see me, you snap the music off and slowly unwrap your body.

  ‘The wanderer returns,’ you say as you stand up.

  ‘Not a very exciting wander, I can assure you.’

  ‘It must have been much more exciting than staying at home,’ you say with a grimace.

  ‘Haven’t you had fun then?’

  ‘Depends what you call fun.’

  ‘Well I don’t call sleeping through lectures about computer algorithms fun.’

  ‘And I don’t rate being cold-shouldered by a sanctimonious prick who owns his own modelling agency.’

  Your eyes are wide and glistening with tears. I take you in my arms and pull you against me. You clamp against my chest as if the world is about to end.

  ‘I ran into Jonah at the party,’ you murmur between sobs.

  20

  Erica

  Did you really think no one would see you, Faye? I followed you, hiding in moonlight shadows. How could you disappear behind his shiny front door when you have a husband like yours? Handsome, in a solid way. Supporting you. Helping you with the children. I watch him through my binoculars whenever you leave the curtains open, hugging them and putting them into bed, reading them bedtime s
tories. I’ve seen him so many times walking up your drive with takeaways and flowers. Most women would give their right arm for a man like that.

  How do you think your behaviour will affect your children? Do you know what it is like for children to have a mother go off the rails? Can you imagine what it was like for me?

  And I am back. Remembering. My social worker visiting me in my second foster home. My foster mother flinging plates into the dishwasher, tidying up piles of washing. The social worker had only given us an hour’s notice. I helped her tidy up and by the time he arrived I was already drained and exhausted.

  We sat opposite one another in the dining room. He sat hands together on his knee, mouth in a line. I knew something bad was coming.

  ‘Erica, your mother is dead.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ I spluttered, heart racing in my chest.

  ‘She died of a drugs overdose.’

  There was a pause. ‘She was peaceful, Erica. She is living with God. Happy in Heaven now.’

  Living with God, not with me? I felt empty. Bereft. I had always thought she would come back and care for me. Now I knew I was alone. I was too choked to cry. Bitterness pushed the tears away. Tears would have given me respite. Tears would have helped. But back then, nothing helped.

  21

  Jonah

  I am parked outside your daughter’s school in my lilac Jag, waiting to see you. It smells of leather and money. That is why I like it so much. A present to myself for my thirtieth birthday, with some of the money I had just received from my great-grandmother’s trust fund. Years ago I tried to let you know you would be better off financially if you chose me. Now so many years on, you are beginning to see sense.

  You won’t be long. School starts in ten minutes. I watch other mothers sidling past, looking so grey, so colourless. In comparison to you they all look dumpy and plain. I watch their body language as they talk to their children with a pious air.

  My body sings as you come into sight. Walking past, coated in skin-tight Lycra. I am ready for you, ready and waiting, blood pulsating through my body. Waiting for you to drop Tamsin off. Waiting for you to get in my car and talk.

  22

  Faye

  I slip into the passenger seat of his car, Georgia fast asleep in my arms.

  ‘Jonah, I’m ashamed about what happened on Saturday night. We both made a terrible mistake. I expect you feel the same about our one-night stand. That it was a total one-off.’

  He leans towards me, eyes gleaming. ‘I was rather hoping we could go on seeing each other. When you’ve had a taste of perfection it’s good to make it last as long as possible.’

  I sit looking at his fine-boned face. His slightly effeminate good looks. How much had I had to drink? I have never previously found him attractive, but somehow suddenly he seemed so empathetic on Saturday night. Being with him felt so right.

  ‘Please, Phillip’s your friend too; neither of us want to hurt him. I love him very much. Let’s just forget what happened.’

  His mouth twists. ‘Funny way of showing your feelings, shagging his best friend.’

  ‘I know. I’m appalled by my behaviour.’ Tears fill my eyes. ‘And I don’t want him to know what happened.’

  Brown eyes darken. ‘It’s really not going to be that simple. I can’t just let this drop. I’m in love with you, Faye.’

  23

  Erica

  Where are you going? Why are you turning in the opposite direction to my flat? I need to watch you even more carefully now I know how irresponsible you are. Where are you taking Georgia? She needs stability. She’s used to the crèche at your leisure club.

  I reach for my coat, slam the door, and race down the stairs to follow you. The pedestrian crossing slows me down. The lights take so long. I wait at the crossing and see you walking in the opposite direction, further and further away from me. A car is trailing you. A shiny lilac Jag with a personalised number plate. You stop. The car stops. A blond head of hair leans out of the window. Your boyfriend, the blond guy from the party. Why is he meeting you at school? Is your relationship serious? Are you going to put your children through the trauma of coming from a broken home?

  24

  Faye

  Back in the changing room, after my spinning class, reaching into my locker, I hear my iPhone buzzing. A new message. An electric current burns through me. Not him. Please not him. I told him I didn’t love him. I warned him if he told Phillip I’d deny it, and Phillip would trust me over him. But as I stepped out of the car eyes shining into mine, he said, ‘I like it when you play hard to get.’

  My whole body stiffens when I remember the wolf-like look on his face, his usual veneer of sophistication dissolved away. I take a deep breath. If he causes trouble I’ll just have to deny it. Deny. Deny. Deny. No one can prove that he is right. The phone continues to buzz. I sigh with relief as I reach across and pull it towards me, and press green. The agency.

  Mimi wants to see me.

  As soon as I arrive, she ushers me in. Mimi is dressed down today. Her hair, although still purple, is not gelled into a Mohican. She has forgotten to put the safety pin in her nose. I sit opposite her wondering why she’s taken it out. Does it get in the way when she makes love, when she kisses? She smiles at me, and the skin around her eyes crinkles.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you,’ she says.

  I open my mouth and close it again.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, I do place people sometimes,’ she says.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  She leans back in her chair and folds her arms as her smile widens. ‘An assignment for the local ice-cream company.’

  It’s not a national campaign, but it’s a start. Just the start I needed. A reputable local company. My heart soars.

  ‘What do they have in mind?’ I ask.

  ‘A photoshoot. Two days at most. You walking in the local woods wearing a floaty dress licking one of their ice creams, soft-focus lens. “Dreamy and creamy”, will be the tag line, “Making you feel as if it’s summer all year.” They’re intending to run an ad on the back page of the Richmond Magazine, and make a film advert for local cinema.’

  ‘Dreamy and creamy sounds fine to me. I accept.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know about the money?’

  ‘Of course I do, just didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘Four hundred pounds.’

  Four hundred pounds. Not a lot but a job. Something beginning to happen at last. This is a big step up. Maybe my career will take off at last. Maybe one day, in the scale of things, my problem with Jonah will seem irrelevant.

  25

  Erica

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Mouse asks, as I sit at his breakfast bar sipping a cappuccino. ‘Your lips are curling downwards. Are you in a mood again?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, just tell me what’s wrong. That’s what’s supposed to happen, isn’t it? You worry. Then you tell me about it because I am your friend.’

  ‘It’s just that life’s so unfair,’ I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

  He laughs, his strange laugh, like a braying donkey. ‘There’s nothing new about that.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make it any easier?’ I ask.

  He puts his arm cautiously around my shoulders, as if he wants to be friendly but is not quite sure how to be.

  ‘Please try and explain.’

  ‘It’s the children. Faye’s children. How come she’s been able to have them when she can’t even look after them properly?’

  He looks at me intently and his eyes widen. ‘Is that what’s happening?’ he asks.

  Yes, I think, but don’t reply. It is too painful to speak about. A tear begins to trickle down my face. Yes. These children, who’ve had such a good start in life, will not get the backing they need because Faye has become distracted.

  Look at what happened to me. Did my life start to go wrong, the minute I was born to a mother who couldn’t look after me?
Or was it always a disaster from the start?

  No. My mother loved me. She looked after me as well as she could, for as long as she could. As a young child I remember her sweet scent as she held me. Sitting, snuggled up on the sofa together, watching Disney films.

  ‘Erica,’ she would say, ‘always remember, there is nothing as strong as a mother’s love.’ Then she would pause, and hold me against her more tightly. ‘I want to wrap you in cotton wool and protect you for ever.’

  If only she had.

  Once upon a time, my mother cooked a mean spaghetti bolognaise and knew how to dip strawberries in melted chocolate. I never had a dad. Mum just had lots of boyfriends who came and went. Mike, Steve, Francis, Robert, Sam, Jake and Rod. Rod was my favourite – funnier and kinder than the rest. He built a Morgan car with a kit, and sometimes took me for a ‘spin’ around the block in it.

  I was happy back then. But happiness is a funny word. What does it mean? Is it an idea? A feeling? Is it real? Was it the warm contentment that began in my stomach and radiated through my body, because I had my mother and I knew she loved me? She was the pivot of my life. Maybe she still is, even though she is only a memory now.

  The first day my life began to fragment I was walking home from school with my friend Geoffrey. He lived near me and every afternoon when school had finished we ambled along the road together on our way home until we parted at the third corner. Memory plays tricks. I remember sunny afternoons; frost, wind, and rain, all dissolve into oblivion.

  On one such sun-dappled afternoon, we heard shouting behind us and turned around to see two boys from the year above marching quickly towards us, shouting, ‘Slag. Slag. Slag.’

  Tommy Hall and John Allan. Tommy was large for his age with a broad slack face, always redder than it should have been. Always looking as if he had been running and was out of breath. John was wiry. Petite and mean. Boys to keep away from if you could.