I dont want to talk about Jack!
What would Jack think, huh? What would Jack actually think if he knew what you were doing?
Carrie stood up, covered her cheeks with her hands, bolted out of the sauna, through the changing rooms and into the showers. There she turned the tap to cold, ripped off her towel and pushed her burning face into the jet.
Sydney crossed her llama legs at the knee and then dialled Jacks number.
Hi Jack. Its Sydney.
Sydney? Well, hello. What can I do for you?
I want to see you. Its about Carrie.
After Jack had put down the phone, he picked up his duffel coat and brushed it off. He was keenly looking forward to a cold snap.
It was a nightmare. Just as shed imagined. Heinz wore his toupee and his turd-coloured tie. He kept regaling them with terrible stories about his late wifes beloved red setter which had died following several years of chronic incontinence after swallowing a cricket ball. Carrie supposed that he must be nervous. Poor lamb.
Sydney was horribly polite. She kept staring at Heinzs stomach as she spoke to him, like she expected, at any minute, that something might explode out of it.
When Carrie drove her home, she didnt talk for the first ten minutes of the journey. She merely said, Carrie. Leave me. I have to digest.
Carrie left her. Eventually, after shed digested sufficiently, Sydney said, He belched throughout the ballet. It was like sitting next to an old pair of bellows. Christ, the orchestra should recruit him for the wind section.
Carries heart sank. He wasnt belching. He swallowed a toffee too quickly. It went down the wrong way. He kept apologizing.
And that fucking dog! His dead wifes dead fucking dog! Does he really think Im interested in how they fed it a diet of fresh chicken to try and quell its chronic flatulence? Are you interested, Carrie? Huh?
No.
Pardon?
No! No, Im not interested. Im not.
And I just cant believe. .
What? Carrie tried to keep her eyes on the road, but Sydneys expression. . What?!
The two of you. .
What?
Sydneys eyes were glued to the road ahead. It was starting to rain. Carrie turned on the windscreen wipers just in time with Sydneys next pronouncement.
Fucking.
Carrie said nothing. They both stared at the road. Eventually Sydney turned her eyes towards Carrie. Well?
Carrie said nothing. She focused on the road and the wipers and the rain and the way that the light from the streetlamps reflected in the drops of water on the windscreen before each harsh stroke brushed it away. Where do they go? She wondered. Where do those moments go? The rain falling in just such a way, the light, the wiper. Something there and then something gone.
Sydney found she was boiling. Not hot, but something inside. What else could she do? What else could she say? Carrie had closed down, shut up, like a clam. Sydney cursed herself. She was too impetuous. Too quick to judge. If only shed tried to be nice, to be supportive. Maybe then Carrie might have provided her with some details. Something to ponder, to mull over, fat to chew on. Damn! Sydney crossed her arms, stared at the road, boiled.
I got your number from the book, Heinz said.
Didnt I give it you?
No.
I shouldve.
She didnt like me.
No. Actually, I think she really hated you.
Sometimes I can be overwhelming. Its a fault of mine. I know that. But I am simply myself. When you get old. .
You tried your best.
But did I? One tends to forget how it is to. . uh. . to play the game.
Never mind.
Can I see you?
Pardon?
Tonight?
Carrie rubbed her eyes with her spare hand. I only just got in. Its raining outside. .
Tomorrow?
Sydney lay on her stomach and rested the weight of her head on her hands. What was wrong? It was just. . she couldnt imagine. Carrie and that fat old man. My God! She just couldnt picture it. Not properly. Not graphically. She rolled on to her back. Couldnt imagine. But my Lord, my Lord, how she longed to!
Sydney stared at Jacks buttons. Jack pretended not to notice. Sydney sighed.
Jack, she said, you havent a hope in hell of winning me over with that old three button trick.
Jacks eyes blinked and then widened. What do you mean, maam?
Nor that Courtly American Gentleman shite.
Jack scowled. Whats the axe youve got to grind, Sydney? he asked, not charming any longer.
No axe, Sydney said. I just thought you should know
. .She paused. What did she want to say, exactly? Would she tell Jack about Heinz? She looked into Jacks face and knew that the notion of an eighty-odd-year-old man sleeping with his wife was hardly going to incite him to jealousy.
Is it Carrie? Jack asked.
Yep. Sydney rubbed the corner of her eyes.
You look washed out, he said.
Tired. Havent been sleeping.
Really?
Sydney uncrossed her legs. Carries got someone new.
Jack looked surprised. Already?
Yeah.
Who?
Sydney cleared her throat. Someone shes known for a while.
She met them at the gym? Who is it? Do I know them?
Sydney shrugged. Thats not the point.
So I do know them?
I didnt say you knew them.
Are they younger than me?
Sydney squirmed. I just thought. .
Why are you telling me this?
Sydney picked up her briefcase. Not for any reason, really. She frowned and then asked out loud. Why am I telling you? I dont know. She stood up. That three button thing you do, she said finally, I just wanted to tell you that its a real cheap trick.
Half a bottle of Jim Beam later, it finally clicked. The only thing that made sense. Carrie was having an affair with Sydney. And Sydney was terrified of what exactly his response might be. She was intimidated by him. She was threatened. Naturally. And shed really wanted to tell him too, to throw it in his face, debilitate him. Only then. . only then she just didnt have the nerve. That was it! Had to be. Carrie and Sydney. Sydney and Carrie. Wow.
You wont believe this, Sydney. Something so odd happened. . They were pulling on their leotards and tying up their laces.
Try me.
Jack rang. He left a message on the machine. He wants to drop by. On Wednesday.
Sydney pulled the bow stiff on her lace. She straightened up.
But Wednesday! she exclaimed. Isnt that ballet night?
Carrie looked uneasy, momentarily, like she didnt know quite what Sydney was getting at. Uh, yes. .
So you wont be needing your tickets?
I suppose not, unless. .
So I could have them both, maybe?
You?
Yeah. I quite got a taste for it the other night. How about it, huh?
Heinz started when he saw her. He wondered whether Carrie had come with her but had popped to the Ladies for some reason, or to the bar. He squeezed his way over to his seat.
Hello there.
Sydney looked up. Oh, hi. How are you?
Not too bad. Not too bad at all.
He sat down, adjusted his position, pulled at his little bow tie which constricted him, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled from its depths a Cadburys Chocolate Orange. He unwrapped the foil and offered the orange to Sydney.
Dark chocolate, he said.
Sydney tried to pull off a slice but it wouldnt come loose. Heinz intervened, knocked at the chocolate orange with the centre of his palm and then offered it her again.
Thanks, Sydney said, smiling, showing him what fine, straight teeth she had and just how sweet and obliging she could be.
Jack had brought flowers. Lilies. Her favourites.
Look, Carrie, I met up with Sydney the other day.
Carrie was putting the flowers in water, but preparing each stem first by slicing an inch off the bottom at a sharp angle. That way, she knew, the flower could drink so much more.
Sydney?
Yeah.
She didnt mention it.
No?
Jack was actually relieved. Hed been worried in case Sydney might have blotted his copybook with Carrie by suggesting things about him, by exaggerating or maligning. Sydney could bitch with the best when she felt the urge. She was dangerous.
Let me tell you something, Jack said, leaning his back up against one of the kitchen cupboards.
What? Carrie was wide-eyed and restless. What had Sydney said? Had she been indiscreet? Had she mentioned Heinz?
I know whats been going on, Jack said, and Im here to tell you that I dont care. Ive given it some thought. .
What do you know?
About you and Sydney.
What about us?
He put out both his hands. Just tell me, he said, that its over. Because my suitcase, he couldnt hide his smile, my suitcase, darling, is lying packed in the boot of my car.
Ill tell you something else, Sydney said, lounging on Heinzs sofa and drinking her fourth martini.
What?
Heinz was sitting on his comfy chair sipping a cup of tea.
I went and saw Jack the other day, right? A private tête à tête, and he came into the café where wed arranged to meet with the buttons on his coat done up all. . Sydney made a higgledy-piggledy movement with her hands, like so. .
Hes missing her? Heinz interjected, almost sympathetic.
No. Not at all. Thats my point. Its the three button trick.
The what?
Men do it. Some men. To make them look. . she burped, vul-ner-a-ble. And this is the best bit. . She put her hand over her mouth. Pardon me.
The best bit?
Yeah. Turns out, he only pulled that trick the very first time he ever spoke to Carrie. 1972. Outside the National Portrait Gallery. Took her in completely. Beguiled her, absolutely. And there he was, large as life, trying it on with me!
Did you tell her?
Sydney knocked back the rest of her drink. Who?
Carrie.
Nope. Seemed a shame.
Heinz nodded.
Nice flat, Sydney said, looking around her.
It suits me well enough.
Come and sit over here. Sydney patted the sofa to her left. Come on.
Heinz smiled. I am perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you.
Sydney stared at him, balefully. Whats wrong?
Outside the sound of a faint car horn was just audible.
Nothing is wrong, Heinz said, pushing his great bulk up from his comfy chair and walking over to the window. While his back was turned, Sydney unbuttoned the grey silk shirt she was wearing and took it off. Heinz turned and said, I think thats your cab.
Huh?
Outside.
What cab?
I called for one a little while back.
A cab? Cant I stay here?
What for?
Sydney started grinning but only half her mouth worked properly. Sex, stupid.
Heinz picked up Sydneys pale silk shirt from the arm of the sofa and handed it to her. Im eighty-three years old, he said gently, and entirely impotent.