Unless Eddie told her, when she visited him in prison. If Eddie knows, that is.
Does Eddie know? No, of course not. Eddie is the main man Harry was undercover from, for god’s sake.
Oh, fuck the lot of them. I only want a quiet life.
Not a helpful declaration. I am one of them. In my quiet way.
‘Why, Chrissie?’ I asked.
‘Oh!’ She has this slightly breathy squeak. She must be going on fifty but she still wears what Fergus the crime correspondent calls her heyday hairdo, which is sub-Bardot, and very high heels. ‘I can tell you. You know I was drunk – well I was. Now I’m not. My name is Chrissie and I’m an alcoholic. And I’m not a criminal’s wife any more. I’m – something else. I don’t know what yet.’
‘So?’ I said, not quite so unkindly.
‘Do you want to know? No, of course not. I’ll give you the short version. You probably know about it. It’s the twelve steps. One of the steps is that you apologize to everybody you did wrong to while you were drunk. You were quite high up my list actually. I had to go through people a lot because I kept thinking I should be apologizing for stuff which was Eddie’s. Couldn’t tell whose was whose, if you see what I mean. But with you it was quite clear, and recent, and so you were a good person to start with. I did my mother first. But I’m going to have to go back to her. Several times, actually, I should think. But I thought I could get you under my belt – sorry! I know that sounds rather … because of course you don’t want to have anything to do with me, and that’s absolutely fair and right. But you know it’s terribly embarrassing. Thank you for not, you know, laughing or anything.’
‘That’s OK,’ I found myself saying.
‘So that’s what I’m doing and thank you for listening and … if you wanted to talk about any of it I’m here. I know that might sound rather mad. But you see I’m trying to think of myself as a normal person now and that’s the kind of thing I would want to say if I was a normal person – you know, if Eddie hadn’t hijacked me and I hadn’t turned to the booze to protect myself from him. If I’d just met some nice man. Or if Eddie had been ugly or something, or poor, then I wouldn’t have fallen for him. Because I wouldn’t have, I don’t think. I was so stupid when I was young. But I’m not going to be any more. And it’s quite a challenge. Anyway I don’t want to go on and bore you. Well I do, but I don’t want you to be bored. I want you to forgive me, and if you do, you know, in your own time, I’d really like it if you could let me know, because it will just make all the difference. It will be like fuel for my redemption rocket, you know? And it would be awfully good karma for you. Not that I mean to try to bribe you or anything. But forgiveness is good, isn’t it? And I know my husband caused you grief, and while I know that’s not my fault, if I had been a different woman, not so weak, everything might have been different, even that, so I don’t feel responsible for you but I do feel for you. I’m sorry, they do feed us an awful lot of rubbish at this place but it’s terribly good. I do hope I’m not talking like a Californian. Oh look. I’m peeing in your ear and you’ve got better things to do – but I would like to talk to you. Any time. You’ve got my number, haven’t you. Here it is again. Or e-mail me – [email protected]. Are you on e-mail? It is fabulous … sorry I’m going on. Look. Any time.’
‘Chrissie,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘A word.’
‘Yes?’
‘While reinventing yourself, it might be worth putting in the gene that lets other people get a word in edgeways.’
‘Nervous,’ she said. ‘Very nervous. Not a drop for six weeks. Sorry.’
‘OK. Listen. I am all for redemption. I wish you well. I hope you succeed but I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘It would be a wonderful bonus for me if you did, very good for my recovery,’ she said, ‘though of course I know that recovery is within the individual, you can’t look to anyone else to do it for you.’
‘I owe you no bonus,’ I said.
‘No, nor any £100,000!’ she cried. ‘I’m living off what he left me because I have to eat but I tell you, this is genuine. I’m going to be redeeming left right and centre. I won’t bother you. If you wish me luck that’s all I need. Thank you. But if you forgive me, let me know. God bless you.’
God bless me.
Blimey.
And that was it.
I sat back, rather exhausted, after she rang off. I didn’t know what to make of it so I left it lying on the side of my mind like an unanswered letter. At least Preston Oliver hadn’t rung me. Nor anybody else.
*
Harry came round that night to put Lily to bed. He’d rung during the day to say was it all right. And to say maybe I might like to go out, or something – should he babysit? I was pleased, but I didn’t want to go out. I watched the news, amazed to have the hours between six and eight to myself. There were TV programmes I’d never heard of that had presumably been going on all this time between six and eight, never watched by mothers of young children.
I must get a job. I don’t know anything about the real world any more. I just sit here and pretend things aren’t happening.
I could hear them giggling in Lily’s bedroom. He was telling her the wide-mouth frog joke. Doing voices. It squeezed my heart.
Lily dismissed Harry, and I went to read to her. Climbed into bed with her.
‘Does he stay forever?’ she asked.
‘Who, Paddington Bear?’ I asked, because that was who I was reading about.
‘No. Daddy.’
‘He’s your dad forever, yes,’ I said.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘When are you getting married?’
Blank. Help!
‘We’re not,’ I said. Have I led her to believe that we were?
‘Oh, all right,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I thought you were. I thought that’s what parents did. Adjoa’s parents are going to get married. She’s going to be a bridesmaid. And lots of parents are already married. You know. Like yours. Were you a bridesmaid for them? You and Mummy? Dead mummy? Not you and you. You couldn’t be two bridesmaids. And anyway Mummy would have felt left out. Dead mummy.’ She was asleep.
Dead mummy. She accepts stuff now. How will we explain Harry having shagged Janie though?
Well we will.
We. That is such an alarming word.
*
Harry had waited for me. He wanted to talk about Eddie. I stopped him.
‘Do babysit,’ I said. ‘For an hour or so. I want to clear my head.’
And I jumped in my car and went down to Hammersmith, where I bought half a pint of cider from the Blue Anchor and climbed over the river wall on to the pontoon, stranded on the mud at low tide, and sat, looking across to the playing fields in Barnes, down river to the bridge, spangled with lights, and up river towards Brentford where the gryphon lives, and the herons, past the curve of Chiswick, as Turner a view as you can find now in London, over the roofs of the house boats, their paint tins and geranium pots wonky as their hulls settled diagonally on the Thames sludge, their little portholes throwing gleaming coins of yellow electricity out on to the dark slimy mud surface. It was shiveringly cold, and I sat huddled in my coat. Artificial light and natural dark, water and late birds. You get more night on the river than anywhere else in the city. The largest expanse of dark without a light of its own. In Upper Egypt the trees are full of egrets, who hang at dusk like handkerchiefs, and say buggle buggle da, buggle da, burbling like shishas.