Close Relations by Deborah Moggach Page B

the kitchen. She dumped down the bowl of artichoke leaves.
    â€˜I’m so glad to meet you at last,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
    â€˜What are you going to do about Pru?’
    â€˜Er – what do you mean?’
    â€˜She’s so unhappy,’ said Maddy. ‘She’s got so thin! I hardly recognised her –’
    â€˜Look –’
    â€˜She’s bloody lonely too. Sitting here, waiting for you to ring –’
    Stephen glanced at the door. ‘Look, I don’t think we should –’
    â€˜Are you going to leave your wife?’
    Stephen paused. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’
    â€˜Not for her it isn’t. She’s the only person I mind about.’
    â€˜It’s all terribly –’
    â€˜She’s too nice. She’s always been too nice –’
    â€˜
I’m
too nice. That’s the problem.’
    Maddy stared at him. ‘Nice?’
    Prudence came in. She stopped and stared at them.
    â€˜Maddy –’ she began.
    â€˜He says he’s too nice.’
    â€˜Please, Maddy! Don’t spoil everything.’
    Maddy picked up the dish of potatoes and went back into the living room. Prudence turned to Stephen.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said.
    â€˜Blimey.’
    â€˜She’s very loyal. Once she got her nose broken fighting for me in the school playground.’ She took his arm. ‘Come and help me dish up the meat. I’ve cooked you some beef.’
    Erin, it turned out, was a vegetarian. Prudence apologised and grated her some cheese. Erin didn’t mind. Later, when Prudence reran that evening – she did so many times, with a fascinated curiosity – she realised how an egocentric person can liberate those around them. Nobody suffers from embarrassment because it is simply not noticed. To a deeply English person such as Prudence it was a relief. She felt absolved from her own hot self-consciousness.
    Erin was telling them about her life. It turned out she had a daughter called Allegra, who was now nine.
    â€˜I wanted one, so I had one,’ she said, munching a potato.
    â€˜Just like that?’ asked Stephen.
    â€˜I had to fuck someone first.’
    â€˜Er, yes,’ he replied. ‘But did he know why?’
    Erin shook her head.
    â€˜Who was he?’ asked Prudence.
    â€˜An architect. Out of work, of course. They all are.’
    Stephen laughed. ‘Well, at least he didn’t have trouble with
one
erection.’
    Prudence burst out laughing. Maddy stared at Stephen. ‘What an appalling joke,’ she said. Prudence sat there, rigid.
    Erin speared some beans. ‘He did have trouble, now you mention it. But then I put on a tape I use.’
    â€˜You use?’ asked Stephen.
    â€˜Just some music,’ said Erin.
    The three of them gazed at her, awe-struck. The flat seemed suddenly constricted and spinsterly. What sort of music? Something only lesbians knew about? None of them dared ask. Prudence carved some more slices of beef; she remembered her only brush with Sapphic pleasures. A girl in her class called Jemima, who had come to stay the night, had inserted a Tampax up her and said, ‘
Now you’ll have an orgasm
.’
    Stephen, though hypotised by Erin, wanted her to leave. He wanted to go to bed with Prudence. He only had a couple of hours before he had to go home. Erin hadn’t laughed at his joke – not a bad one, in the circumstances – and he disliked humourless women. That was the main problem with his wife, but she had her foreignness as an excuse. Now he thought of it, Kaatya and Erin had a certain amount in common – vegetarinism, flamboyant clothes, a high-voltage quality to them. Stephen swabbed his gravy with a piece of bread. He didn’t want to think about his wife.
    â€˜Is this your first novel?’ asked Prudence.
    Erin nodded. ‘I’d always meant to write one but