The Seduction Page 14

  ‘Oh. How – yes, I’d like to hear you too. That came out wrongly. I’m talking shit.’

  A laugh.

  ‘That reminds me exactly of you! I’m not supposed to see you but … I miss our sessions even. At least then I could see you every week. Was it a mistake to stop?’

  Beth paused. She opened her mouth. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘So let’s make another plan.’

  Fern came quickly through the door.

  ‘You’re going out?’ she said, triumph lifting her voice.

  Beth shook her head and pressed her finger against her ear. There was a pause, silence on the line, Fern circling.

  ‘I was rash, wayward; I put my job on the line. Yet I want to see you.’

  Beth could hear, to her surprise, the wobble of a battle with emotion that Tamara wanted to hide from her.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Go out as long as you want,’ hissed Fern. She shrugged.

  ‘I can see you tonight,’ said Beth. ‘Early?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tamara. ‘Yes, please.’

  Fern was looking up at her, her mouth parted. Her eyes were light hazel circles, freckles pinpoints against the pallor. ‘Only while you’re out,’ said Beth.

  ‘No, no, stay out all evening,’ said Fern.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that!’ said Beth.

  ‘Ah, but you can, Mother, you can.’

  ‘Fern, you’re now sounding extremely odd!’

  ‘The fucks I give are zero.’

  There was a small laugh from Tamara on the phone. ‘The hormones going berserk, the new brain connections haywire, the world grossly unjust.’

  ‘I love you,’ Fern muttered, then left the room.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ said Beth. ‘All over the place. And yet, fool that I am, it makes me instantly happier. Bar at Moro? Seven possible?’

  ‘Yes. Six thirty even.’

  Beth made rapid mental adjustments to her schedule, ended the call and grinned at herself in the mirror, stretched her mouth, pulling faces. Her mind raced through outfits, options for greeting Tamara.

  She found Fern, broke through her teenage force field and put her arm more confidently around her as Sol always did before she left for school.

  ‘I don’t know what all that was about, but I love you more than you can ever know.’

  Fern nodded, her eyes cutting away from Beth. ‘Rehearsal finishes about eight so I will be back by eight thirty. Like you can check with Maia’s mum if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Of course I believe you. No later than eight thirty.’

  As Beth turned, she caught sight of herself in the toaster, in her own kitchen with its known utensils and drawings by Fern, and she realised in a sharp moment of clarity that she had another chance to stop it all. Stop what? Halt some trajectory that was dangerous and keep it all as it was. She could change the course now. She could arrest it.

  ***

  After skipping a meeting, Beth waited inside Moro, the restaurant already full, a queue trailing out of the door. She had let her hair dry in a tumble. She wore a muted pink cashmere over a long tight skirt, red lipstick and her favourite small emerald earrings that Sol had given her years before, in a different life, to set off her hair, he said, her dark eyes. The minutes of waiting, of rearrangement and mirror-checking were there to be played with. Anticipation made her feel mildly queasy. This was what being in love was like. Was she in love? Yes. No. She didn’t care. Tamara washed away the guilt.

  The minutes ticked by. Beth looked round for something amusing to WhatsApp to Fern. Possibly it merely irritated her now. Tamara Bywater appeared in the door before she attached her photo, and she didn’t send it.

  Tamara paused, hovering on one foot, a waiter attending. Was there a way in which she moved – a level of strangeness even, a desirability to her very flaws – that caught the attention? Her manner was more beautiful than she herself was: there was the momentary charge of a Hollywood actress arriving. That shine was switched off in the consulting room,

  She appeared close to Beth and grazed her cheek against hers.

  They stood together in the queue for seats at the bar, jostled by media-employed strangers.

  ‘How are you?’ said Beth uselessly.

  ‘Better for seeing you. Tired. Knackered.’

  There was a small silence.

  ‘How have you been so busy?’ said Beth, awkwardly.

  ‘Oh, I always am,’ she said. ‘Ann Penrose is a slave driver. The thing is, I’m obsessed with my work; but if I give it everything, life gallops by …’

  She addressed a tray-bearing waiter, who paused in all his haste, and within moments they were sitting at the bar ahead of half a dozen queuing people.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tamara absently. ‘I just cared about the poor boy. They’re so underpaid.’

  They sat in a crush on bar stools, and there was a party atmosphere going on, noise and jostling, but they were in a hollow of their own, Tamara’s flimsy gloves appearing like underwear on the counter, the staff placing olives, drinks, carefully around them.

  She gazed at Beth for some off-centre moments. ‘I think I do need you,’ she murmured.

  ‘You do …? Yes. I’m confused? Well. So how are you? Oh, I’m all—’

  ‘Be calm, Beth! You’re jumpy. Are you nervous?’

  Beth’s mouth opened. ‘I— Yes.’

  ‘Of course. So am I.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘You know, don’t you, that I’ll always help you however I can? We don’t need a silly restrictive consulting room for that. You have so much going for you. I don’t think you realise.’

  ‘Thank you. Tell me more about your husband,’ said Beth abruptly.

  Tamara looked away. ‘Angus. He’s – good. To the girls, to me. He’s a good man.’

  ‘Yes? Good.’

  ‘He bores me. Quite a lot.’

  Beth laughed, but Tamara remained still-faced. The journalists chattered among the terracotta.

  Beth threw the questions at her that had always been forbidden, and with prompting, dismissal, the world of Tamara Bywater span in front of her, resetting itself: a colourful, somehow awry existence in which a psychologist’s work seemed to involve multiple challenges with colleagues and patients; a social life that appeared impossible to categorise; but, glimmering between Tamara’s words, there was a sense of some badly behaved netherworld that both excited and unsettled Beth, jealousy gripping her even now.

  Tamara wore a gossamer covering of tights only. The old Dr Bywater was disconcertingly recast. Beth had a long-ago memory of a heel under a desk, dismissed.

  Beth lifted her gaze and a woman was looking at her. She caught her eye and the woman gave the awkward smile that the moment of interaction demanded, then looked down.

  They talked of their daughters, of American politics, of British MPs, of foundation and Brora sales, of artists, of perfectionism and self-doubt, of sibling relationships and work pressures.

  Full absorption of the fact that here was the NHS mental health professional out in the world, was still impossible. Periodically Beth invoked the past, the boundaried doctor listening in her chair, and with it the retrogressive thrill of the taboo. It was as though she, a pupil among many, was out with the headmistress.

  ‘We had this soulmate thing going on,’ said Tamara in an uninflected voice that Beth had to strain to hear.

  ‘How can you tell in a consulting room?’

  ‘I can tell.’

  ‘I hoped, I thought, I didn’t dare be certain,’ said Beth, blushing. ‘Transference—’

  ‘Transference schmanference.’

  Beth laughed. ‘You’re not supposed to be the one saying that.’

  Tamara shrugged.

  ‘What does your supervisor say about you seeing me?’ said Beth suddenly into a silence. She bit her lip.

  ‘I won’t talk about it to my supervisor.’

&nbs
p; ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’ll tell me not to.’

  She leaned over and Beth breathed in her scent. She was tapping out something, a reminder note, on her phone. It reminded Beth of Sol, frequently on his mobile’s Notes. She checked her phone for Fern. Tamara was still writing with one fast nail, making no excuse. Beth glanced at the patch of puckering that formed above her left eyebrow mid-contemplation. She wanted to kiss that mouth.

  ‘Is this all there is?’ said Tamara. ‘In our lives.’

  ‘What do you want?’ said Beth.

  ‘More life? Something, someone.’

  ‘You need someone else?’ Beth laughed, self-consciously. ‘Something else? Travel? Well – what?’

  ‘Yes. Rawness. Risk. As you once said yourself.’ She looked away, picking up a cocktail stick and playing with it, bending it till it pricked her finger and drew a tiny spot of blood. ‘There’s always something. Professional rules to abide by. Other people.’

  ‘Well, yes—’

  ‘None of us should ever be afraid to live a life on the edge,’ she said.

  Beth held her phone tightly. She glanced at her Uber app. There was silence. ‘But – but – what do you mean?’ she said uselessly, to fill it.

  ‘Rules are for little people.’

  Beth laughed. She strained to hear every word, Tamara almost inaudible above the crashing of tapas plates, the scream of the Gaggia.

  ‘I must get back to Fern,’ said Beth. ‘Sorry. It’s too short.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Tamara, and she grabbed Beth’s hands then dropped them.

  Beth took a gulp of alcohol and relaxed her shoulders as it fanned through her. She pushed herself, felt the movement of her arms as she pulled Tamara into them, there at the bar, drawing her to her whoever might see them.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Tamara.

  ‘No?’ said Beth, but it came out as a cough.

  ‘I’m married,’ she said primly. ‘And I’d be struck off.’

  ‘We’re both married. This is very weird.’

  Tamara moved a strand of Beth’s hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Treacle colours,’ she said. She moved her mouth closer to Beth’s ear. ‘I love it that you don’t just do what you’re supposed to do. You’re naughtier than you let on.’

  ‘I think I’m very well behaved.’

  A laugh.

  ‘Too dutiful. I had to be,’ said Beth.

  ‘Shall we run off together?’ said Tamara, whispering, her face close to Beth’s.

  Beth smiled. She opened her mouth.

  ‘We can pretend,’ said Tamara. ‘We can pretend at least,’ she murmured into her hair. ‘Fantasise. That would keep me happy for a little while.’

  Tamara stayed there and Beth held her, felt the intimate indentations of her spine; they pressed their faces together, their mouths talking and brushing each other’s between words, and everything Beth could summon stopped her from kissing her properly. All Tamara’s scents mixed with her hair, and they held each other, a pool of silenced talk around them.

  ‘How many times did I long to do this through those sessions,’ Beth said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Tamara, sinking her head. ‘So much.’

  FIFTEEN

  It was later than Beth had thought. The traffic was heavy, rain falling in sharp streaks on the windscreen and distorting the white Christmas tree lights above the street. She rang Fern, went straight to her voicemail, texted Home soon xxxx.

  She caught sight of herself in the taxi mirror, rose colours, eyes dark with stimulation.

  When you back?xx, she texted Sol. She added a heart. The taxi was piteously slow. She pressed her hand into the seat. The driver had to take a detour. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, and called Fern, but it still went straight to voicemail. She texted again.

  She stopped the taxi early for greater speed and raced up Camden High Street, where she ran straight into Sol, lugging his bag and equipment.

  ‘What?’ she said, her voice high with surprise. ‘Hello!’ She hugged him, pressing her face against his neck and hiding from him. ‘How was it?’

  ‘A date?’ said Sol. He looked her up and down.

  ‘Oh I – don’t be ridiculous! You haven’t even said hello to me!’

  Sol waited.

  ‘How was it?’ she said. ‘I’m so glad to see you back safely.’

  ‘Then what? Who?’

  She opened her mouth. ‘I was seeing the shrink,’ she blurted. ‘I mean I—’

  ‘Like that.’ He nodded at her clothes.

  ‘Yes. A drink.’ She blinked away the rain that fell on to her eyelashes.

  Confusion passed in a wave over Sol’s face. ‘You were also seeing her the night I left. I thought you were seeing her for private sessions.’

  ‘Oh. I was. But we’ve stopped now. We have to hurry back. Fern.’

  Sol looked at her with the assessing expression that made Beth want to push him away. Her face was even hotter, barely cooled by rain. He walked ahead. ‘We must discuss this psychologist at some time.’

  ‘Why?’ snapped Beth, accelerating her pace.

  ‘It’s the feeling of shifting ground that gets to me. It’s becoming clear that all is not, uh, by-the-book with her.’

  ‘You know,’ said Beth, catching her breath. ‘She’s a consultant. NHS mostly, a bit of private.’ She paused. ‘So would you—’ She scrabbled to fill the space. ‘Yes. Listen, my – my taxi was late. I told Fern to be back by half eight.’

  ‘Bet. It’s way after. David’s dropping by after nine. Must be that now.’

  ‘Is it? I know. It’s – oh God.’

  She began to run and walk in turn.

  ‘Just message her you’re late,’ said Sol.

  ‘I have.’

  They ran down the bridge steps. She tried to hold his hand, but he ignored her.

  ‘The water reeks,’ he said. ‘You are dressed up. He—’

  ‘Jesus, Sol. Do you think by repetition …?’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘I told you. The shrink. Well, not my shrink. Therap— Tamara,’ said Beth, as she paced by the canal.

  ‘You don’t normally stop therapy that abruptly. Right?’

  She feigned an ignorant expression.

  ‘David has told me about this,’ he said. ‘When he had a needy patient. You set an agreed future time together to terminate it.’

  ‘Oh, therapese,’ said Beth. ‘I know. Anyway. That’s analysis. Freudian couch wanking. But I’m fine. I don’t feel as though I need any more.’ She swallowed.

  Sol glanced at her sharply as he hurried. ‘You don’t look so certain of that. I’d consider you do. Anyway, she should decide on that. Can you see therapists socially? Seriously unorthodox, right?’

  Beth said nothing, biting her lip.

  ‘OK,’ said Sol, his shoulders lifting as he walked. ‘Go off and see your therapist for a drink. Crazy move. You know what you’re doing.’

  His glasses were on his head as he tapped his phone, still striding, and turned into Little Canal Street. He opened the front door and Beth followed him. Only a low light shone from the floor above. She ran up. There was Fern, sitting cross-legged on a chair, gazing at her through the semi-darkness.

  ‘Oh darling, I’m so sorry I’m late,’ said Beth, pulling her towards her. ‘Why haven’t you put the lights on? It’s cold in here.’ The usual unbending posture, only a head to kiss. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Fern gave a small smile. Her eyes were shining in the gloom.

  ‘I told you,’ she said finally.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told you,’ was all Fern said.

  ***

  The thump of the front door was followed by Sol’s voice, the stairs to the first floor creaking with the bass of two pairs of footsteps. Fern was now ignoring Beth and picking at her nails. Beth’s mobile began to ring from the side table at the entrance to the room, and she ran over to it. Fern followed, throwing herself into her father’s a
rms.

  The phone stopped ringing as Sol reached out and handed it to Beth in silence. 1 missed call. Tamara B.

  Beth feigned disinterest, glanced at David, who was behind Sol, and smiled. She put the mobile in her pocket.

  Sol’s expression was blank. He brought out his own phone. ‘Drink?’ he said to David, and they wandered into the kitchen, Sol tapping.

  Beth took her mobile into the corridor. ‘I just wanted to hear your voice.’ A pause. ‘Love love love,’ echoed straight into her ear.

  ‘Did you call her back?’ said Sol from the doorway.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Well, I’m guessing you’re telling her stuff, confiding in her. If it’s not about some man – the Jackass? – then who … beats me. So maybe you can inform me?’

  ‘Oh, Solomon Brierley, you are so wrong. Shhh, anyway.’

  ‘This is serious. David is concerned about this, says the patient shouldn’t be talking to the therapist at all outside therapy.’

  ‘David’s still in the kitchen …? So keep quiet!’

  ‘Why? This is not boundary-keeping at all – David,’ he called, ‘tell Bet what you—’

  ‘I don’t want to get involved,’ said David in the work mode that Beth could usually pierce by making him laugh.

  Sol’s voice had tightened. ‘Does this woman think she can solve everything?’

  ‘Boundary issues here,’ said David. ‘I’m off.’

  ‘See you Thursday,’ called Sol as David left.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Beth said to Sol. ‘Why did you tell him? Jesus! She could get into real trouble.’

  ‘Then she should not be contacting you. I didn’t need to tell him a damn thing. She did it all herself.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What effect is this woman having?’

  ‘Uh—’

  ‘She is encouraging something in you, outside your regular life. I’m not dumb.’

  ‘Because she is not restrained, she knows how to be free,’ said Beth passionately. ‘So, yes, she improves my life! Because she is kind and wise and knows how to help. So you should be glad. You wanted me to get help. I did. She still helps me. A lot.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘It could affect her job, this, this talk. Please. I mean, yes, she’s aware it’s a bit irregular, but she, but she – she thought it would help me.’