Any good? Vince felt more relaxed now; she doesn’t know.
He told me I’d chosen a dangerous way to cry for help.
Is that all?
Michela sighed. I didn’t really talk to him. I’ve seen counsellors before. They work for money. My mother’s seen millions of counsellors.
Did they get in touch with your mother?
I wouldn’t give them her number. Michela lifted her face in a wry smile. Can you imagine? Another hysterical loser is the last thing we need.
You’re not a loser.
Oh please, the girl said abruptly.
Vince breathed deeply. So what are you going to do when they discharge you?
I’ll have to see through this summer. There are the canoes to be paid for. We owe the bank.
Vince said: I’ve been thinking about that.
What?
I’ve been thinking about your business. Frankly, you need to do a few sums again.
In what sense?
You’re not charging enough for what you’re giving, for the investment you’ve made. I picked up a couple of papers off the floor, in the chalet, and couldn’t help but see some of the figures. I hope you don’t mind. If you want, I could work out the right price to ask.
Clive did all of that, she said. Talk to him when he gets back.
I will. The fact that she was so convinced that Clive was coming back made his melodramatic suspicions about Berlin seem ridiculous. Again they fell silent. The heat in the little courtyard was oppressive, yet neither of them mentioned it. Finally Vince took a piece of card from his pocket. Tom asked me to give you his e — mail.
Who?
Tom. Tom.
Right! Oh God, she put her face in her hands, shaking her head. He watched her. Was she laughing or crying? I am drawn to this unpredictability. Without looking up, Michela reached out an open hand for him to put the card in, took it and shredded it into little pieces. They sifted down onto the gravel. Tom, she sighed. She was still shaking her head.
Vince said, So why don’t you tell me about you and Clive?
After a moment she threw her head back rather dramatically. Took you a while to ask, didn’t it?
Vince held steady. She is wishing I would go. She doesn’t want me here. Yet for some reason, even if it was only the merest social inertia, Michela began to talk. They had met in London, she said, at a peace rally. She began to tell Vince the story of herself and Clive, how she had liked him at once, how enthusiastic he had been, how full of projects. They went for long walks across the city, talking about everything they saw, kissing, hugging. They liked to walk in the rain, roll cigarettes under bus shelters. Clive really cared about things, about mountains and rivers, got so upset at the state of the world. He looked after me in every possible way, she said. When she glanced up at Vince there were tears in her eyes. They had made love so much. They started living together only a couple of days after they met. Nottingham. Carlisle. I’d never lived with a man before. Clive had been teaching an outdoor survival course. He taught me how to paddle. He’s a great teacher. When he wants to be. But sometimes he sort of loses interest. He hates bullshit and hypocrisy so much. He’s sort of obsessed by the way people just go on and on consuming. Then we went to the French Alps. He was teaching courses on the Durance. I worked in a restaurant to build up some money. It was wonderful.
So you should be happy, Vince said.
Don’t pretend to be stupid! She glared. I hate that!
What I meant—
What you want to ask is why I kissed you under that waterfall, why I went after Tom like that.
Again he felt that flutter of excitement. Actually I was thinking more of your tossing away your paddle at the top of the rapid.
The kiss meant nothing, she said. It was a joke.
Vince watched her. She smiled now. As always there was a sardonic twist to the lips. The fact is I’m not good enough for Clive. That’s the truth of the matter.
Rubbish.
Perhaps I know things you don’t. She was biting the inside of her lip now. Tell me.
You wouldn’t understand.
Vince waited. Michela had put her feet on the ground and was sitting forward now, her hands on her chin. She turned her face to him rather brashly.
A couple of weeks ago he said he wouldn’t fuck me anymore because I was no good in bed.
I don’t believe you.
Oh well then, if he doesn’t believe me! If the banker doesn’t believe me!
Clive doesn’t seem to me the kind of man who would talk like that.
She had begun to breathe very deeply. She pushed her head down, between her legs almost, breathing hard. For a moment he thought she might be sick. Instead of leaving be, he asked. Why don’t you just tell me the truth? It can’t be that bad.
Sounds like you didn’t believe your wife was the kind of person who did the stuff she did.
Vince let it pass. I’m sorry, she said. She spoke softly, half laughed. I just can’t believe you haven’t gone and left me alone. You should have gone. I can be really awful.
Still Vince said nothing. He has ceased to ask himself why he is bothering. Two griefs are calling to each other. Tell me, he says.
What’s the point, he’ll be back tomorrow.
There was a clatter and a young woman appeared, stepping backwards between the swing doors, pulling a wheelchair. She forced down the handles to turn it on its back wheels and pushed its occupant into the shade against the wall. It was a young man, his head lolling on one side, his tongue pushed out between his teeth at the corner of the mouth. Michela watched. The nurse squatted down and began to do something with the young man’s hands. Almost before Vince was aware of it, Michela began speaking very slowly and softly. He told me this world was such shit that it was pointless our being together. Okay? He said it isn’t a place for love. This isn’t the right world, this isn’t the right world. He must have said it a million times. This isn’t the right world for love, Michela. For us. She was crying now, Vince saw. Not sobbing, just letting tears run. Her voice was still steady. That’s why I can’t watch the news, the atrocities, the wars, the elections you know? I can’t read the papers, I can’t listen to the radio. I’ll just hear his voice telling me I can’t love him. I mustn’t love him. I see a fire, smoke, and it’s Clive telling me it’s not the right world. I see a truck with filthy exhaust, the same. I see a cripple on a wheelchair and it’s Clive saying we mustn’t have sex, we mustn’t have children in an ugly world. Oh God! She put her face in her hands and sobbed. Vince sat still. He made no move to touch her. Deliberately coarse, she sucked up hard through her nose, then wiped her face on her sleeve. Her lips quivered. The eyes were miserable and defiant. Satisfied?
I believe you now, Vince said.
Oh, well, thank God for that. What a relief!
He hesitated. What I don’t understand, though … I mean, he didn’t leave you. You were still together. And now he’s coming back and you’ll be together again. I don’t understand that.
You don’t understand! I wish he had left me. I wish he had done something cruel and left me. He could have kicked me out when I went off with Tom. Everybody must have seen. He should have told me to get lost.
You could always leave him.
She tried to smile. I thought that was what I was doing on the river the other day. There must be easier ways.
Not that I can think of! Then she was laughing and snuffling. No, don’t worry. Don’t worry, Mr Banker, I haven’t the energy to try again. She shook her head. You can’t imagine the energy it took. Actually, come to think of it, I can’t believe my mother’s tried so often. That must be why she’s so wiped out all the time.