He was aware that he walked unsteadily when they left the taxi and moved across the forecourt of the block of flats. In the hall, before they got into the lift, he lit another cigarette, rolling the smoke about his mouth. ‘That poor Japanese man,’ said Deirdre.
He rang the bell, and when Elizabeth opened the door the girls turned to him and thanked him. He took the cigarette from his mouth and kissed them. Elizabeth was smiling: if only she’d ask him in and give him a drink he wouldn’t have to worry about the alcohol on his breath. He swore to himself that she was smiling as she’d smiled three weeks ago. ‘Can I come in?’ he asked, unable to keep the words back.
‘In?’ The smile was still there. She was looking at him quite closely. He released the smoke from his mouth. He tried to remember what it was he’d planned to say, and then it came to him.
‘I’m worried about Susie,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘She talked about death all the time.’
‘Death?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s someone here actually,’ she said, stepping back into the hall. ‘But come in, certainly.’
In the sitting-room she introduced him to Richard who was, as he’d imagined, a dark-haired man. The sitting- room was much the same as it always had been. ‘Have a drink,’ Richard offered.
‘D’you mind if we talk about Susie?’ Elizabeth asked Richard. He said he’d put them to bed if she liked. She nodded. Richard went away.
‘Well?’
He stood with the familiar green glass in his hand, gazing at her. He said:
‘I haven’t had gin and lime-juice since –’
‘Yes. Look, I shouldn’t worry about Susie. Children of that age often say odd things, you know –’
‘I don’t mind about Richard, Elizabeth, I think it’s your due. I worked it out in the taxi. It’s the end of October now –’
‘My due?’
‘Assuming your affair has been going on already for six weeks –’
‘You’re drunk.’
He closed one eye, focusing. He felt his body swaying and he said to himself that he must not fall now, that no matter what his body did his feet must remain firm on the carpet. He sipped from the green glass. She wasn’t, he noticed, smiling any more.
‘I’m actually not drunk,’ he said. ‘I’m actually sober. By the time our birthday comes round, Elizabeth, it’ll all be over. On April the 21st we could have family tea.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘The future, Elizabeth. Of you and me and our children.’
‘How much have you had to drink?’
‘We tried to go to
‘So you drank instead. While the children –’
‘We came here in a taxi-cab. They’ve had their usual tea, they’ve watched a bit of
‘You see them for a few hours and you have to go and get drunk –’
‘I am not drunk, Elizabeth.’
He crossed the room as steadily as he could. He looked aggressively at her. He poured gin and lime-juice. He said:
‘You have a right to your affair with Richard, I recognize that.’
‘A
‘I love you, Elizabeth.’
‘You loved Diana.’
‘I have never not loved you. Diana was nothing – nothing, nothing at all.’
‘She broke our marriage up.’
‘No.’
‘We’re divorced.’
‘I love you, Elizabeth.’
‘Now listen to me –’
‘I live from Sunday to Sunday. We’re a family, Elizabeth; you and me and them. It’s ridiculous, all this. It’s ridiculous making Marmite sandwiches with brown bread and tomato sandwiches with white. It’s ridiculous buying meringues and going five times to
‘You have reasonable access –’
