Page 79 of Things We Never Said
‘That’s awful, Maggie. I’m really sorry. Is it all definitely—’
‘I went back to the pub to pay the tab afterwards,’ Maggie continues, ‘because ... well, because I’m a sop, I suppose. And I felt bad about it, really. Because it wasn’t the poor barman’s fault, either, was it? He’s ever so cute. And I was worried they’d take it out of his earnings or something, you know, like they do in banks? But I told them not to let Dave know it had been paid and that they should get him to pay it again if he wanted to be un-barred or whatever it’s called.’
‘Mags ...’
‘Anyway, I’m out of it all. Which is probably a good thing, even if it doesn’t feel that way yet.’
‘I’m really sorry. You should have phoned me.’
‘Don’t be. It’s all thanks to you, in a way.’
‘Thanks to me?’ Sean pulls a face at his phone. He’s not entirely comfortable with being responsible for Maggie’s breakup.
‘Yes, you said I deserved someone who was nice to me, and that kept going around my head whenever I was with Dave. Like a sort of mantra, really. And he wasn’t, that’s the thing. He wasn’t very nice to me at all.’
‘Gosh, I hope it’s not my fault,’ Sean says. ‘I really wouldn’t want to think—’
‘Stop, Sean. Dave’s a loser. It just took your friendly nudge for me to see that. So, if anything, I’m grateful. Really. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I bring these things on myself, you know?’
‘Not really. No. I’d be tempted to say that if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Dave’s.’
‘Yeah. But I chose him, didn’t I? I suspect that I do it subconsciously or something. I’ve been thinking about going to see someone, a shrink maybe.’
‘If you think that might help,’ Sean says, ‘then you should do it.’
‘Because ever since ... well ... ever since Ian, really, I’ve believed, I think, that nothing can ever work out. Maybe that’s why I go for these hopeless types. To sort of prove myself right. Does that make any sense?’
‘Sort of. Yes, I think so.’
‘I wonder what he’s doing now? It’s such a shame we never kept in touch.’
‘Dave?’
‘No, Ian, silly. He was so lovely.’
‘I thought you hated Ian more than anyone else on the planet.’
Maggie sighs loudly. ‘Oh, you can’t hate people forever, can you? Sooner or later it always becomes clear that however awful they were to you, they were still trying to do their best. Nobody sets out to be awful, do they? But we’re all this collection of traumas and hurts and dysfunctional mumbo-jumbo trying to be functional and logical and wise. And Ian, well, he never set out to hurt anyone, did he? His true nature just sort of caught up with him, I think. He seemed as shocked as everyone else about it, the poor boy.’
‘Well, that’s a generous way of looking at things,’ Sean says. It crosses his mind that this conversation has relevance for his own life right now, but he can sense, even before he starts to think about it, that it’s a subject which requires time and calm and space, so he mentally files it away for later.
‘Generous?’ Maggie says. ‘Maybe. Or maybe it’s just called survival.’ She pauses for a few seconds before adding, ‘But no. It wasn’t Ian’s fault. It was just bad luck on my part that I met him when I did. He’s still the best husband I never had.’
Sean spends the week feeling strange, confused – more blank, really, than disappointed.
When he tries not to think about Catherine’s affair, he’s aware that it’s there, just out of view, waiting for him. But when he tries to think about it, the overriding emotion is no longer anger, or pain, but emptiness.
It is as if his memory of his wife, once so solid, so certain, so integral to his own being that it was impossible to believe that she was no longer here, has become blurred and confused by her horrific revelations.
She has become, in the space of a ten-minute cassette recording, a different person from the one Sean thought he knew. And in her becoming that different person, he has lost his claim to her – and, perhaps, even his capacity to be surprised, shocked or even angry. For once you accept that you don’t know someone, how can anything they do surprise you?
There is also, Sean realises, a part of him that wants to understand her. And the key to understanding lies within him. For did he not, once upon a time, meet a Swedish girl at a party? Did he not himself acknowledge that sexual attraction could be so powerful as to be quite literally irresistible? But he hadn’t slept with her, had he? Sure, he hadn’t had the opportunity, but he still hadn’t slept with her.
The weather remains cold and damp, but Sean continues to go jogging every evening for the simple reason that it makes him feel less mad. It makes him feel calm and sated, almost as if he has popped a Valium or smoked a joint, and so he runs until he can run no more, before showering and zoning out in front of the television.
When, on Sunday, the bad weather makes running an impossibility, Sean realises that the running thing has become more than a habit, that it really is like a drug. He paces the empty house, peering out at the torrential rain like a frustrated, caged animal, unable to even imagine how to get through the evening without his fix. He repeatedly pulls his running gear on, and once even makes it to the end of the street. But the temperature is hovering in single figures and the rain is icy cold and biblical in its intensity. So he turns and runs straight home.
Without his drug, frustration, boredom and resurfacing anger drive him back inexorably towards the tapes.Perhaps I should just get them over with, he thinks.Then I really can bin them. Then I’ll never have to think about them again.
