Her Fearful Symmetry

was ringing; the pain was excruciating. It was Marijke.

“Hallo, sailor, what of the sea?” She sounded quite cheerful.

“Still salty,” he said. “How are you?” He sat up and fumbled for his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” Marijke said. “You sound asleep.”

“Oh…I’ve got toothache.” He felt a little ashamed of himself; he wanted her to feel sorry for him.

“Oh, no.” Marijke was sitting in her flat, having a leisurely Saturday morning in her comfortable chair with a detective novel on her lap and a bowl of crisps to hand. She had decided to call Martin in a mood of magnanimity. Now his toothache groped through the phone and demanded that she attend to it. “Have you done anything for it? Which tooth?”

“One of the upper molars. On the right side. It feels like someone’s kicking my face.”

Neither of them said anything, because there was no obvious remedy. Even if Martin could have gone to the dentist, he had no dentist to go to: Dr. Prescott had left the NHS to practise privately; in the process he had dropped Martin from his patient list. Anyway, it didn’t matter, because Dr. Prescott didn’t do home visits. Finally Marijke said, “Maybe you should call Robert?”

“Why?”

“Maybe he could-no, never mind.”

Martin pressed his hand against his cheek. The tooth was throbbing more relentlessly. “He’s a clever chap, but I don’t think he knows much about dentistry.” Martin climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. Something was different-but he couldn’t think what it was, not with his tooth pulsing whilst he was talking to Marijke and trying to find the bottle of codeine capsules-Ah, there. He swallowed two and wandered back to bed. As he got into bed he realised that he had just walked on the floor in his bare feet without giving it a thought. Hmm. The anxiety wasn’t there; no compulsion urged itself upon him. He turned his attention back to Marijke.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked him.

“Sleep?”

“Shall I call Robert, then?”

“All right-tell him to come up with a pair of pliers.”

“Ugh,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

Later Martin was sitting at his kitchen table in a codeine fog, trying to eat lukewarm porridge. He heard Robert stumbling through the dark flat, calling his name. “Here. The kitchen,” Martin said, with effort.

“Hey,” Robert said softly when he arrived in the kitchen. “Marijke says you’ve fallen afoul of the tooth fairy.”

“Mmm,” Martin said.

“Listen-if I found a dentist-could you leave the flat?”

Martin shook his head very slowly.

“You’re quite sure?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Never mind. I’m going to make some calls. I’ll be back soon, I hope.”

Time passed and Robert did not reappear. Martin put his head on the table and dozed. When he woke again Julia was sitting at the table reading yesterday’s Telegraph. She had washed the dishes.

“Robert sent me,” she told him.

“Time is it?” Martin asked.

“Four-ish,” said Julia. “Can I do anything? Tea?”

“Yes, please,” said Martin. Julia had brought the bag of frozen peas. Martin gratefully held it against his face. She got up and began to make tea.

Julia said, “Robert’s here.” Martin sat up and ran his hands over his hair so that it stood straight up and made him look surprised.

“Martin,” Robert said, “I’ve brought Sebastian.”

Robert’s friend Sebastian Morrow, the funeral director, stood in the kitchen doorway. Martin had always found Sebastian to be rather aloof; now he looked uncertain and reluctant, though resplendent in a beautiful deep-blue suit; his shoes gleamed and he held an ominous leather satchel.

“But I need a dentist,” said Martin, “not an undertaker. Yet.”

Robert said, “Before he became an undertaker Sebastian did the undergraduate course in dentistry at Barts.”

Julia rose from her seat and stood near the back door with her arms folded across her chest. Only Robert would bring an undertaker to pull a tooth.

Martin said, “Why didn’t you carry on with dentistry?”

Sebastian said, “Dead people don’t bite.” He lifted the satchel and asked, “May I?”

“Please,” said Martin.

Robert spread a clean towel on the table, and Sebastian laid out his instruments: a syringe for the novocaine, a bottle of alcohol, wads of cotton and gauze. Robert took a cup and a bowl from the cupboard, and Sebastian put on an immaculate white coverall. He washed his hands and pulled on latex gloves.

As long as he’d been waiting for Robert to come, Martin had devoutly wished for an end to his agony. But now, watching Sebastian prepare, Martin began to feel unendurably anxious. “Wait!” he said, grasping Sebastian’s wrist. “I have to-do something first.”

“Martin,” said Robert, “we can’t wait hours for you to-”

“Here, Martin,” said Julia, suddenly at his side, “I’ll do it for you, okay? You stay here and just tell me what to do, yeah?” She leaned over and put her ear next to Martin’s mouth, expectantly.

Martin hesitated. Is it all right if she does it instead of me? He tried to consult the inner feeling that arbitrated these things. It was mute. At last he whispered to Julia, and she nodded. “Out loud?” Julia asked.

“No, but stand where I can see you.”

Sebastian said, “Let’s try to make you comfortable.” He and Robert rearranged Martin so he was leaning back in his chair with his head supported by telephone directories and towels on the table. Julia stood over him with a torch, shining it down at his face. She began to count, moving her lips silently. Martin fixed his eyes on Julia’s lips and prayed.

“Open, please,” said Sebastian. “Oh dear.”

Martin held Julia’s hand tightly while he waited for the novocaine to work; her other hand shook and the torchlight wavered across his face. Martin had a blessed sensation of pain being lifted away from him. “Steady, please,” Sebastian said. “I’ve almost got it.” The next few minutes were rather bloody. Martin closed his eyes. There was a dull crack, and then some probing. “That’s it, then,” Sebastian said, sounding surprised. Martin smelled clove oil and alcohol. Sebastian packed cotton into the empty gum space. “Bite down, please, gently.” Martin opened his eyes.

“All done,” said Sebastian, beaming. Martin sat up. The tooth lay in the bowl, brownish-grey and bloody-rooted and very much smaller than he’d imagined it. Julia was still counting and Martin put up his hand to tell her she could stop. “Eight hundred and twenty-two,” she said.

“Is that all?” Martin tried to ask her, but his face was numb and she didn’t understand him. The pain was gone, leaving a vacancy where there would be different pain when the anaesthetic wore off. “You’re a genius,” he mumbled to Sebastian.

“Not at all,” Sebastian said, but he looked relieved. “Anyone can extract a tooth. I’m glad it came out in one piece though, it looks awfully fragile.”

“If we’d had proper facilities, could it have been saved?” Robert asked.

“No…but we would have known that before taking it out, instead of afterwards.” Sebastian began to wash up. Julia helped him. He packed his satchel and shook hands with Martin, who tried to pay him for his services. “Certainly not, glad to help. You mustn’t smoke for a couple of days, and keep ice on it, please. I have to run now-I was in the middle of something when Robert rang me.”

Robert saw Sebastian out. When he returned Martin said, “What was he doing when you called him?” Martin imagined Sebastian leaning over an inert form on a steel table, wielding those shiny instruments…

“He was having tea at the Wolseley with a very lovely woman. She’s been waiting in my flat while Sebastian worked on your tooth. That’s one of the reasons it took me so long to bring him. That, and we had a hard time acquiring the novocaine. Which reminds me, we need to somehow get you antibiotics.”

Martin put his fingers to his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you, both. All three of you.” He looked up at Robert. “Must send him a bottle of Scotch. And one for you too.” Martin smiled lopsidedly at Julia. “You too?”

She smiled back. “No, thanks. It tastes like medicine.”

Martin said, “That reminds me, Nurse; I should take my vitamins.”

Julia looked embarrassed. “It’s not time yet.”

“I know, but I’m tired and I’m going to bed early. So be a darling…”

“Okay,” Julia said. She went off to get the pills.

Robert said, “What was that about?”