I want you to move out.’
‘He what?’ cried Susannah.
‘Just like that?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘Yes, just like that.’
Her interlocutors sat there, stunned and appalled.
‘I mean,’ said Susannah, ‘had you no suspicion beforehand—’
‘No, none. I mean, absolutely none.’
‘He must be round the twist.’
‘He seemed perfectly rational.’
‘That’s when they’re at their worst.’
‘Ho hum,’ said Geoffrey.
‘You shut up, you,’ said Susannah.
He ignored this. ‘What happened then?’ he asked.
‘Well—’ said Nicola; and at some length she managed to relate the rest of the conversation and to describe the sensations which it had induced in her.
Her friends were still appalled but they were no longer stunned.
‘He’s a complete and utter rat,’ said Susannah. ‘It’s a merciful release.’
‘Do you really think so?’ said Nicola unhappily. The relating of the tale had left her shaken.
‘Absolutely,’ said Susannah. ‘He’s a rat.’
‘Well, perhaps not exactly a rat,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But certainly a prat. A prat, definitely. But that was always obvious. I mean, just look at the guy. You’re better off without him, much.’
‘But I love him,’ said Nicola, and burst into tears. Susannah slid her chair around until it was beside Nicola’s, and put her arm around her friend’s shaking shoulders. ‘There, have a good cry, darling,’ she said. ‘Susannah’s here.’ She continued to hold her as close as she could, patting her back from time to time, and meanwhile she turned her head and shot a withering look at her husband. ‘Piss off,’ she mouthed at him, and after raising his eyebrows he muttered an excuse and got up and left the room.
‘There,’ said Susannah, ‘there, there. Have a good cry. Stupid men. There, there.’
Nicola at last dried her tears, and sat silent and desolate while Susannah made some tea. She looked down at her teacup. ‘Jonathan may be a rat,’ she said. ‘That is, he is acting like a rat, at the moment. And he might go on being a rat now for good. But he isn’t a prat. Truly he isn’t. I know you think so, but really he isn’t.’
‘That was Geoff’s word, not mine,’ said Susannah.
‘But I suppose you agree,’ said Nicola.
‘Well, every rat is ipso facto a prat,’ Susannah pointed out.
Nicola had on reflection to concur. ‘Alright then,’ she said. ‘Let’s say he’s a prat. But he’s the prat I love.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I’ve never been absolutely sure what prat means, exactly.’
‘I’ve never been absolutely sure what love means, exactly.’
‘It means, that even when someone acts like a rat, and/or a prat, you still want to stay with them.’
‘Some people would call that masochism.’
‘Oh.’
The abyss opened up before her. Who knew what anything meant, exactly? How far into that darkness would one have to fall, or painstakingly climb, before one discovered meaning and truth – even assuming that they were, ultimately, there to be found? She scrambled as far away from the edge as she presently could.
‘The trouble is,’ she said, ‘that one goes on fancying a person. No matter how badly they might behave.’
‘Yes, that is the trouble, alright,’ said Susannah. ‘That’s all the trouble.’
‘It must be a sort of trick,’ said Nicola, wondering. ‘To make sure that we go on reproducing, no matter what. Not that sex these days has anything to do with reproduction; but still.’
‘We’re hooked up to the old mechanism, nevertheless. It’s a mean old trick alright.’
They were both silent for a while. Susannah at last very tentatively spoke. ‘Did this thing last night,’ she said, ‘really come out of the blue? Had you really no idea that it might be in his mind?’
Nicola didn’t answer immediately She was trying to collect her memories and her thoughts. ‘There have been a few rat-like moments,’ she said. ‘But nothing like this. Nothing suggesting this.’ She paused again, and sat, thinking. ‘Perhaps I’ve been simply obtuse,’ she said slowly.
‘I always think it’s better to be obtuse than paranoid,’ said Susannah.
Nicola smiled wanly. ‘At least the paranoid are always prepared,’ she said. ‘For the worst, I mean.’
‘Were you prepared for the best?’ asked her friend. There, at last, clearly, it was. ‘Yes,’ said Nicola. ‘I thought it was only a matter of time, I mean, not very much time, before we’d decide to marry.’
‘Marriage being “the best”, eh?’
‘It must be, mustn’t it?’
‘Until we think of something even better.’
‘What could that be?’
‘Ah, if we only knew.’
Guy entered the room. ‘Tell us,’ said Susannah, ‘what could be better than marriage, Guy?’ ‘Salvation,’ he replied. His elders howled. ‘Where do you learn these words?’ asked Susannah. ‘I learned that in RE,’ said Guy. ‘I’m not sure exactly what it means, but it’s meant to be very good, so it might be better than marriage.’
‘Can’t you have both?’
‘Well, I suppose so, but salvation is still probably the better of the two.’
‘The better of the two,’ repeated Susannah. ‘Very good, Guy. Very good.’ ‘OK,’ he said. He now remembered what he had come in for. ‘Can I have another caramel?’
‘What’s your dad doing?’
‘Watching telly.’
‘Take him a caramel then.’
The
