She did not reply. A small smile played on her lips. It took six hours, but well worth it.
‘I said,’ in a slow patronising tone, ‘you know what I mean.’
She coughed, in a fake way, and yawned. Also in a fake way.
Then she calculated how long it had been since she last urinated. It was almost seven hours, back in the airport. She could feel her bladder like a hard balloon. The collapsible cane Jack made her bring was under her seat. She’d been watching people walk back and forth to the bathroom, and imagining the journey herself. A few times she got up the courage, but then the plane juddered and her determination failed her. This was her first flight. So far, she was more daunted by prospect of falling in the bathroom than the plane falling to the earth.
‘Milly, I am asking you a question.’
‘Are you? What is it?’
‘Well, not exactly a question. But I want you to quit this.’
‘Yes, Jack.’
‘I’m getting tired of it now. You win.’
‘Are you saying you apologise for blaming me for the accident?’
‘Goddammit, Milly, you always go too far.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘When will it be your turn to apologise? Everything is always my fault.’
‘Fine! I love you, goodnight,’ she said, flicking her hands in a dismissive gesture. As if she’d now washed Jack out of the seat next to her, and he was not there. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to fall asleep, afraid of peeing herself. Aside from that, flying was a piece of cake.
‘Oh great. Typical. Good to know you haven’t changed since you were…three.’
‘I am tired,’ she said with eyes closed.
‘Why exactly are you tired?’ He finished his drink and signalled to the stewardess for another. ‘What do you do all day, every day?’
Since Billy left home, about three years ago, he was always thinking this, often asking this, so did not expect an answer now. She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling.
‘Well, since you ask, for one thing, aside from the grocery shopping, cooking, doing the laundry, vacuuming, mopping, and making sure there’s always milk and toilet paper, I buy presents and cards for the kids. And the grandkids. And your sister, even though we never see her. And my sister too, even though we never see her either. And Ernie. And Bernice. I even remember the birthdates of your cousins. I choose gifts, gifts that show I know them. I wrap them and send them. You think that’s easy?’ She counted on her fingers, three times. ‘That’s twenty-nine birthdays. Not to mention Christmas, anniversaries, Easter, Halloween, July 4th, New Years.’
‘You are joking. You call that work?’ He snorted.
‘I also fret. I worry about everyone. That takes time and energy too. Did you know that since Easter, Elisabeth has been getting headaches that make her throw up? Her son was diagnosed with asthma and she’s not sure if it’s allergies or just him. And Donald refuses to pay those parking fines, so he has to go to court now. Billy’s Maria is pregnant again, and her youngest is only three months. Danny has another interview next week, and if they don’t give him this job, I honestly think he might go back on the bottle. Sam is smoking too much grass, isn’t he supposed to be outgrowing that now? He seems more addicted and spacier every time I talk to him. And August, well! Where do I start? I phone him every day now. Just to make sure he’s still on this planet.’
‘I know. Colette said.’
‘Was she complaining?’ She turned to look at Jack now. ‘She doesn’t have a leg to stand on, in that department.’
‘No, just mentioned it. I think she likes it that you worry about Augie.’
‘Good. She doesn’t deserve such a nice kid. All the kids are nice. I like to talk to them every week. See how they are. Make sure they know I’m interested.’
‘Jesus, Milly. I bet they love that.’
‘And there’s the dogs. I worry about Scout and Mackie a lot. San Pedro Road is getting so busy, and you know they have zero road sense.’
‘That’s easy. Let’s get rid of them.’
‘Ha ha.’
Jack laughed.
‘You think worrying is fun,’ accused Milly, ending the conversation by closing her eyes again.
Jack turned to look out the window. This trip to Spain to visit their son already felt like hell. He thought of the expense, the unlikelihood of there being any pleasure in it for himself. The likelihood that they would somehow manage to get lost, get sick, argue, not get on with his son’s Spanish in-laws. Oh God – all the artificial smiling and small talk in a foreign language. The murderous boredom of pretending to have fun. All Milly’s idea, this trip. These days it felt like every day was just one compromise after another. An endless exhausting delay of his own gratifications. The thought running through his mind most often was: As soon as I finish blahblahblah, I will get to do what I want finally. Alone! Some days he felt like he was cracking up, and the only thing holding him together was the routine of work and the morally doubtful hope for widowerhood. He was sixty-five and should be selling the business soon. It didn’t look like the kids wanted it.
And then he thought of some of his colleagues who’d already had heart attacks. This made his heart pound till he remembered what a pounding heart could cause and he calmed himself down. Ernie just had a pacemaker put in. Lucky bastard, still married to Bernice – who was not ageing well, not like Milly who still looked about thirty-five. But by God Bernice could cook, and talk too. Very good at conversation, old Bernice. Maybe at the end of the day, that mattered more.
Then Jack started to think of Rachel, as was his current habit, but she’d recently turned nasty, so even this source of consolation had been spoiled. Hell. What were Rachel’s parting words?
‘You’re a first-class prick, Jack MacAlister.’ She’d looked at him like he was dirt. Worse than dirt. Dirty dirt, just because he’d stood firm about not leaving Milly for her. Oh, and there’d been other words too. Once shy Rachel got up her steam, she’d been like a demented duchess, lording over him. He’d been shocked and hurt. None of it felt deserved. He’d treated her well and been honest from the start. He’d told her he’d never leave Milly. That had not seemed to trouble her at first. In fact, the impossibility of their dalliance becoming more added to the romance. Till last week.
‘And you know what else?’ she’d said. ‘You’re a crap lover. Your back pimples are like…like, like purple mountain ranges, you look unbelievably ridiculous naked. I always try to avoid looking at your body. And oral sex! Slurp, slurp, slurp, but in the wrong places. You wouldn’t know a clitoris if it looked you in the face.’
She’d lisped clitoris as if it was one syllable. Clthrs. Of course, all her accusations were humiliating and untrue, but mostly he’d wanted to defend his back, which was certainly not pimply. It had started out such a promising evening. He’d told Milly it was a late work meeting, and he might even need to stay overnight. While showering and dressing earlier, he’d anticipated hours of fun. And loving words too, of course. Rachel was always so gratifying in that respect. A lover who was not in love with him was hardly worth the trouble, and in reality, he was a little in love with her too. She was pretty and extremely well read. Such a relief to talk to someone who was not trying to write a novel about their childhood or coming of age.
‘You are adorable,’ he’d assured her, after the dinner and wine, when they were back in her apartment with the wonderful view of the bay. Secretly, Jack liked single women’s apartments as much as the women themselves. Their beds were always freshly made, and their bathrooms had fresh towels. Yes, his deepest secret might be that it was their apartments entirely, and the sex itself was…initially sexy, but ultimately disappointing. Depressing. Boring. In fact, he had no idea why on earth he still did it; it pretty much drove him crazy. In his teens, he’d spent years fearing girls’ rejections, but these days it seemed the world was heaving with welcoming vaginas. It made him yawn.
To make matters worse, Milly had given him a hard time the next day. So ironic! He’d gotten away with dozens of liaisons previously, and then she punished him for a sexless event, because bitter Rachel had phoned Milly and told her everything. Then she’d phoned him, to say she’d told Milly everything, because she respected other women enough to warn them about the deceptions of wankers like himself. She’d said this in a prim voice, like she was informing him of his cancelled dentist appointment or an overdue library book.
And weirdly, since that few days of two women ranting at him, peace had reigned. No more calls from Rachel, and Milly had seemed content. Happy, in a busy, secretive way. The lousier he felt the happier she seemed. It was as if happiness was an actual substance travelling between them – and some glitch prevented it from residing in both places simultaneously.
