Killing Me Softly

that you want to prove something, anything, just so that you can really know. Look…’ She gestured helplessly. ‘People don’t do things like that.’

‘That’s not true,’ I said. I was feeling unexpectedly calm. ‘You of all people know that. But what should I do?’

‘Even if this were true, which it isn’t, there is no evidence and no way of finding any. You’re stuck with what you know now, which is nothing. So that means that you’ve got two choices. The first is to leave Adam.’

‘I couldn’t. I don’t dare to do it. You don’t know him. If you were me, you’d just know that that was impossible.’

‘If you’re going to stay with him, you can’t spend the rest of your life living like a double agent. You’ll poison everything. If you’re going to make a go of it, then you owe it to both of you to tell him about everything. Explain your fears to him.’

I laughed. It wasn’t funny at all but I couldn’t help it.

‘You want to put some ice on it.’

‘Which bit, Bill? All the bits hurt.’

He laughed. ‘But think what a favour you’ve done to your cardiovascular system.’

Bill Levenson may have looked like a retired lifeguard but in fact he was the senior executive from Pittsburgh in charge of our division. He had arrived at the beginning of the week and had been conducting meetings and making assessments. I had expected to be summoned for a grilling in the boardroom but instead he had invited me to meet him at his health club to play a game called racquetball. I told him I’d never heard of it.

‘Have you played squash?’

‘No.’

‘Have you played tennis?’

‘At school.’

‘Same thing.’

I turned up with some rather fetching checked shorts and met him outside what looked like a normal squash court. He handed me an eye-guard and a racquet that looked like a snowshoe. Racquetball turned out not to be at all the same thing as tennis. I had a few distant memories of tennis at school: a bit of pretty scampering up and down the baseline, some delicate swings of the racquet, lots of giggling and flirting with the male coach. Racquetball consisted of desperate sweaty lunges and sprints, which quickly reduced me to a tubercular wheeze while muscles started to nutter and spasm in strange recesses of my thighs and upper arms. It was good for a few minutes to devote myself to an activity that drove all my worries from my mind. If only my body had been able to tolerate the burden.

After twenty minutes of the scheduled half-hour I fell to my knees, mouthed, ‘Enough,’ and Bill led me from the court. At least I was in no condition to observe the response of the other lithe, tanned members of Bill’s club. He led me to the door of the women’s changing room. When I rejoined him in the bar, I was at least looking better, but walking had become something I had to concentrate on, as if I had only just learned.

‘I ordered a bottle of water for us both,’ Bill said, standing to receive me. ‘You need rehydrating.’

What I needed was a double gin and tonic and a lie-down, but I cravenly accepted the water. Bill removed his wristwatch and laid it on the table between us. ‘I read your report and we’re going to deal with it in precisely five minutes.’

I opened my mouth to protest but for once I couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘It was bullshit. As you know. The Drakloop is going into a black hole fast and we’re paying for it. From your, shall I say detached?, tone in the report, I would infer that you are aware of that.’

All I could have said honestly in reply was that the tone of my report was detached because for the last few months my mind had been on other things. So I said nothing.

Bill continued, ‘The new design hasn’t yet worked. I don’t believe it’s going to work. And you don’t believe it’s going to work. What I ought to do is shut the division down. If there’s anything else I should do instead, tell me now.’

I buried my head in my hands and for a second I considered just leaving it there until Bill had gone away. Or maybe I should leave myself. The other bit of my life was now a disaster as well. Then I thought, Oh, fuck it. I raised my head and looked at the slightly surprised face of Bill. Perhaps he thought I had gone to sleep. ‘Well,’ I said, giving myself time to think, ‘the impregnated copper was a waste of time. The benefits weren’t significant and they haven’t managed to make it anyway. The emphasis on ease of fitting was a mistake as well. That makes it less reliable as a contraceptive.’ I took a sip of water. ‘The problem isn’t with the design of the Drak III. The problem is with the design of the cervixes that they are attached to.’

‘So?’ said Bill. ‘What do we do?’

I shrugged. ‘Dump the Drak IV. Give the Drak III a few tweaks and call it the Drak IV. Then spend money on advertisements in women’s magazines. But not with soft-focus pictures of couples watching the sunset on a beach. Give detailed information about the women IUDs are suitable for and those they aren’t. Above all, give them advice on getting them fitted. Competent fitting would achieve a greater improvement than the Drak IV would have managed, even if it had worked.’ A thought struck me. ‘And you could get Giovanna to organize a programme of retraining GPs for fitting it. There you are. I’m done.’

Bill gave a grunt and picked up his watch. ‘The five minutes is up anyway,’ he said, fastening it back on to his wrist. Then he lifted a small leather case from the ground, placed it on the table and snapped it open. I assumed he was going to produce my redundancy papers but instead he had a glossy magazine in his hand. It was called Guy and was evidently for men. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘I know something about you.’ My heart sank but I carried on smiling. I knew what was coming. ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘your husband is incredible.’ He opened the magazine. I saw a flash of mountain peaks, faces in goggles – some familiar ones: Klaus, the elegant snap of Francoise that seemed to be the only one anybody could get hold of, a gorgeous one of Adam caught off- guard talking to Greg.

‘Yes, he’s incredible,’ I said.

‘I used to do some hiking when I was in high school and I do some skiing but those climbers – that is something. That’s what we’d all like to be able to do.’

‘Lots of them died, you know,’ I said.

‘I don’t mean that. I mean what your husband did. You know, Alice, I’d give up everything, my career, everything, to be able to know that about myself, to have proved myself in that way. It’s an amazing article. They’ve interviewed everybody, and he did it. Adam was the man. Look, I don’t know how you’re fixed but I’m flying out on Sunday. Maybe we can all get together.’

‘That would be good,’ I said warily.

‘It would be my privilege,’ Bill said.

‘Can I borrow this?’ I said, pointing at the magazine.

‘Sure,’ said Bill. ‘It’ll be a treat for you.’

Thirty-two

I had obviously woken him up, even though it was past eleven o’clock: he was puffy and squint-eyed with sleep, and was wearing grubby pyjamas, wrongly buttoned up. His hair stood out from his head, making him look even hairier than I had remembered him.

‘Greg?’

‘Yes?’ He stared at me from the doorway, showing no sign of recognition.

‘It’s Alice. I’m sorry to disturb you.’