felt another burst of fury. What was she thinking with this bloody soap opera?
Disconnect, old girl, disconnect.
He called her back to give her a piece of his mind.
She picked up the phone. You’re being ridiculous. I know, she replied.
‘I know.’
And the softness of her voice pulled the rug out from under his feet.
‘Everything you’re about to say to me, Charles, I already know. No need to shake me or laugh in my face, I can do it on my own. But who else can I talk to about all this besides you? If I had a decent girlfriend, I’d wake her up, but . . . you’re my best girlfriend.’
‘You didn’t wake me up.’
Silence.
‘Talk to me,’ she murmured.
‘It’s because it’s night-time,’ he continued, hoarsely. ‘Night fears . . . She used to talk about it really well, do you remember? How people would freak out, just lose it completely and drown themselves in their glass of water while she held their hand . . . Things will be better tomorrow. Time to sleep now.’
Long silence.
‘D’you –’
‘I –’
‘D’you remember what you said to me that day? In that shitty café across from the clinic?’
He didn’t reply.
‘You said, “You’ll have other kids.”’
‘Claire . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I’m going to hang up now.’
He sat up. ‘No! That’s the easy way! I’m not going to let you off so easily. Think about it. Think about yourself for once. No, that’s not something you know how to do . . . Okay, think about yourself as if you were a really complicated lawsuit. Look me in the eyes and tell me straight: do you regret your decision? Do you really regret it? Be honest, my learned friend . . .’
‘I’m going to be for—’
‘Shut up. I don’t care. I just want you to answer yes or no.’
‘—ty-one years old,’ she continued, ‘I loved a man I could have died for, and then I worked hard to forget him and I worked so hard that I lost myself along the way.’
She sniggered.
‘It’s bloody stupid, huh?’
‘He wasn’t a good bloke . . .’
She didn’t say anything.
‘The only time he was ever straight with you was when he told you he wanted nothing to do with the pregnancy . . .’
She remained silent.
‘And I said pregnancy on purpose, Claire, so as not to say . . . Because it was nothing. Nothing. Just –’
‘Shut up,’ she spat, ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Nor do you.’
She hung up.
He would not give up.
Got her voicemail. Tried her landline. At the ninth ring, she gave in.
She’d switched her rifle to the other shoulder. Her voice was cheerful. Something she’d learned in court, no doubt. Dissembling in order to save her defence.
‘Yes, this is SOS Pathos, good eeevening. This is Irma here, may I help you?’
Smiling in the dark.
He loved this woman.
‘Having trouble coping, is that it?’ she continued.
‘That’s right . . .’
‘In the old days, we’d have gone to the
Bistro Chez Louis
with your little classmates and we would have drunk so much that we would never have come out with such utter crap . . . And then, you know what? We would have had a
good
night’s sleep . . . A good, good night’s sleep . . . Until noon at least . . .’
‘Or two . . .’
‘You’re right. Two o’clock, quarter past . . . And then we’d be hungry . . .’
‘And there’d be nothing to eat . . .’
‘Yeah . . . and the worst of it is that there weren’t even any Champion supermarkets back then . . .’ she sighed.
I could picture her in her room with her smile, all crooked, her piles of files at the foot of her bed, her cigarette butts drowning in a last swallow of herbal tea and the dreadful flannelette nightgown she called her old maid’s negligee. What’s more, I could hear her blowing her nose in it . . .
‘It’s really bloody stupid, isn’t it?’
‘Bloody stupid indeed,’ I said.
‘Why am I such an idiot?’ she implored.
‘Blame the genes, I reckon. Your sisters got all the
Disconnect, old girl, disconnect.
He called her back to give her a piece of his mind.
She picked up the phone. You’re being ridiculous. I know, she replied.
‘I know.’
And the softness of her voice pulled the rug out from under his feet.
‘Everything you’re about to say to me, Charles, I already know. No need to shake me or laugh in my face, I can do it on my own. But who else can I talk to about all this besides you? If I had a decent girlfriend, I’d wake her up, but . . . you’re my best girlfriend.’
‘You didn’t wake me up.’
Silence.
‘Talk to me,’ she murmured.
‘It’s because it’s night-time,’ he continued, hoarsely. ‘Night fears . . . She used to talk about it really well, do you remember? How people would freak out, just lose it completely and drown themselves in their glass of water while she held their hand . . . Things will be better tomorrow. Time to sleep now.’
Long silence.
‘D’you –’
‘I –’
‘D’you remember what you said to me that day? In that shitty café across from the clinic?’
He didn’t reply.
‘You said, “You’ll have other kids.”’
‘Claire . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I’m going to hang up now.’
He sat up. ‘No! That’s the easy way! I’m not going to let you off so easily. Think about it. Think about yourself for once. No, that’s not something you know how to do . . . Okay, think about yourself as if you were a really complicated lawsuit. Look me in the eyes and tell me straight: do you regret your decision? Do you really regret it? Be honest, my learned friend . . .’
‘I’m going to be for—’
‘Shut up. I don’t care. I just want you to answer yes or no.’
‘—ty-one years old,’ she continued, ‘I loved a man I could have died for, and then I worked hard to forget him and I worked so hard that I lost myself along the way.’
She sniggered.
‘It’s bloody stupid, huh?’
‘He wasn’t a good bloke . . .’
She didn’t say anything.
‘The only time he was ever straight with you was when he told you he wanted nothing to do with the pregnancy . . .’
She remained silent.
‘And I said pregnancy on purpose, Claire, so as not to say . . . Because it was nothing. Nothing. Just –’
‘Shut up,’ she spat, ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Nor do you.’
She hung up.
He would not give up.
Got her voicemail. Tried her landline. At the ninth ring, she gave in.
She’d switched her rifle to the other shoulder. Her voice was cheerful. Something she’d learned in court, no doubt. Dissembling in order to save her defence.
‘Yes, this is SOS Pathos, good eeevening. This is Irma here, may I help you?’
Smiling in the dark.
He loved this woman.
‘Having trouble coping, is that it?’ she continued.
‘That’s right . . .’
‘In the old days, we’d have gone to the
Bistro Chez Louis
with your little classmates and we would have drunk so much that we would never have come out with such utter crap . . . And then, you know what? We would have had a
good
night’s sleep . . . A good, good night’s sleep . . . Until noon at least . . .’
‘Or two . . .’
‘You’re right. Two o’clock, quarter past . . . And then we’d be hungry . . .’
‘And there’d be nothing to eat . . .’
‘Yeah . . . and the worst of it is that there weren’t even any Champion supermarkets back then . . .’ she sighed.
I could picture her in her room with her smile, all crooked, her piles of files at the foot of her bed, her cigarette butts drowning in a last swallow of herbal tea and the dreadful flannelette nightgown she called her old maid’s negligee. What’s more, I could hear her blowing her nose in it . . .
‘It’s really bloody stupid, isn’t it?’
‘Bloody stupid indeed,’ I said.
‘Why am I such an idiot?’ she implored.
‘Blame the genes, I reckon. Your sisters got all the
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