Trouble
by
Fay Weldon

Betrayal and manipulation loom menacingly as pregnant writer Annette
Horrocks tries to deal with her husband, who may be having an affair
and who is suddenly dabbling in New Age psychobabble, claiming that
Annette is killing his inner child.

Penguin USA;

ISBN: 0140159169

Copyright 1994

Prologue.

Who was that knocking at your front door?"  asked Annette, as Spicer
got back into bed and entwined his legs through hers "Only a gypsy
woman," he said.  "Dirty and fat and old."

This was in London, ten years ago.

"What did she want?"  asked Annette, who was clean, slim, and young.

"She wanted to tell my fortune," said Spicer.  "For a fee."

"Did you let her?"  asked Annette.

Spicer looked down at her from above.  His eyes were brown and intense,
his hair was thick and blond.

"Of course I didn't," Spicer said.  "Superstitious nonsense!  I told
her to go away at once."

"She can't have liked that," observed Annette.

"She didn't," said Spicer, "but I wanted to get back to you.  She said
as she went, I'll go, but the bad luck will stay."  She had an angry
heart in the first place.  Nothing to do with me."

His mouth descended upon Annette's, his hand parted her legs, and she
forgot all about the gypsy woman.

"I shall give you half the house for your birthday," said Spicer, eight
days later.  "I shall give it to you out of my natural love and
affection, as it says in legal documents.  We will share this house as
we share our lives.  I will see my lawyer as soon as I can."

"Spicer," warned Annette, "aren't you being precipitate?  We've known
each other for only seven weeks, and most of that has been spent in
bed."

Spicer laughed.

"I'm a precipitate person," he said.  "An all-or-nothing guy."

Annette was leaning against an oak tree and Spicer was leaning into
her, holding her fast, at the end of the overgrown garden.  A little
distance away Spicer's son, Jason, by his wife, Aileen, and Annette's
daughter, Susan, by her husband, Paddy, played together quietly in the
long grasses.  Jason had been in the world for two years and Susan for
three.

"You know as well as I do, Annette," said Spicer, "that we're going to
be married and live happily ever after."

He kissed her on the lips and then drew away from her, but only because
he could hear the children coming.  Both felt the loss of touch as
pain, and moaned.  Up above, the green oak leaves shivered in
witness.

"But, Annette," said Annette's mother, Judy, on the phone, three months
later, "this all comes so soon after your break with Paddy.  I'm glad
for you, because you've had such a wretched time, but please tell me
more about this Spicer."

Annette lay on the bed and Spicer lay beside her.

"He's so beautiful," said Annette, "you've no idea.  And he lives in a
lovely big house."

"Don't be silly, Annette," said Judy.  "And don't say I'm being
patronizing and put the phone down.  Where and how did you meet him?"

"I met him at a party," said Annette, "and we've hardly been apart
since."

"He must go to work," observed Judy.

"It's his own work, his own business, I can go with him.  He is heir to
Horrocks Wine Imports, established 1793, though there's very little
left to inherit."

"Wine's not a good business to be in, in a time of recession," said
Judy.  "But I expect he had a good education."

"Better than mine," said Annette.  "Do you want references for the man
I love, is that it?"

"It might be a good idea," said Judy, "and from his first wife too,
since you say he's been married before."

"She made him unhappy," said Annette.  "Okay?  She's depressive,
manipulative, and greedy, and tried to turn his little boy against
him."

"So now you can look after his little boy and he can give you and
little Susan a home," observed Judy.

"Well, yes," said Annette, after a pause.  "Isn't that wonderful!  Not
just that we've found true love but we each answer the other's
problems.  Please be happy for me, Mother."

"I'll try," said Judy.  "I expect I'll manage."

Annette brought the call to an end and with one hand lifted the phone
from the bed and half-dropped it onto the floor.  The receiver fell off
its hook and lay neglected and buzzing at Spicer and Annette while they
made love.  This was before the advent of the new technology which cuts
out the buzz after thirty seconds and instructs the user to redial.

( verything moves faster now," said Annette, some six months after her
phone call to her mother.  "Do you think it's because there are more
and more people in the world, and time has to be shared out amongst
them?"

"I am not as fanciful as you," said Spicer.  "I'm just a wine
merchant."

They sat on the living-room floor watching television.  The room had
been redecorated, the carpet was thick and clean, all trace of the
miserable Aileen removed.  Jason and Susan sprawled beside them.

"Shall we have a baby between us?"  Spicer asked.  "That's one for you,
one for me, one for us.  That makes a real family."

"I must think about that," said Annette.

"Make me a bacon sandwich while you think about it," said Spicer.

"No better food in all the world than the bacon sandwiches you make for
me.  White, soft bread, thinly spread butter, crisp brown bacon."

"Too much cholesterol, too much salt," warned Annette, but she rose to
do Spicer's bidding.

"I shall live forever in perfect health," said Spicer, "because I love
you."

When Annette came back from the kitchen, she said, "We must have a baby
between us, Spicer, there has to be something to sop up this
abundance."

But it was all of ten years before she conceived.

Annett," said Spicer to his wife ten years and some months later, "I
won't be able to come with you to the Maternity Clinic this evening."

"But, Spicer darling," said Annette, "why not?  It's Father's Night
Extra."

"Because I have matters to attend to that are more important."

"What could be more important than the baby?"

"I could," said Spicer, and he left the rest of his breakfast and went
to work straightaway without even calling goodbye to Susan or Jason.

Nor did Spicer kiss Annette goodbye, as was his custom.

The habit of years had been broken: the gears of the relationship
shifted and changed.

Annette set about her household duties and after an hour called Spicer
at his office.

"Mr. Horrocks," said Spicer's secretary, Wendy.  "I have your wife on
the phone."

Wendy was kind and efficient.  She was in her thirties, plain, and a
hockey player.  She lived with her mother.

"Spicer," said Annette.  "How could you speak to me like that?  If you
knew how it upset me, you wouldn't do it.  You being bad-tempered isn't
good for the baby."

"Annette," said Spicer, "I am in a meeting," and he put the receiver
down his end so that the one in Annette's hand buzzed.

Annette and Spicer had been the first in their road to own a mobile
phone: now their neighbors possessed newer, lighter, cheaper models.

There can be a penalty for being first, especially in technological
matters.  Annette called Spicer's office again.

"Wendy," asked Annette, "is Spicer really in a meeting or is he just
saying that?"

"Mr. Horrocks is just saying it," said Wendy, "but in fact he's very
busy.  The auditors are due."

"Wendy," said Annette, "has Spicer been a little, well, on edge
lately?"

"No," said Wendy.  "He's been just fine.  Happy as a sandboy, in fact,
as usual.  Very chatty.  We're all so looking forward to the baby.  If
she's born in November she'll be a little Scorpio."

"I don't know about things like that," said Annette.

"Nor do I," said Wendy, "it's Mr. Horrocks tells me she'll be a little
Scorpio.  A little stinger."

"Oh," said Annette.  "Well, I'll try and get used to the idea."

Wendy said, "When he's got a moment I'll say you called, shall I?"  And
Annette said, "No, don't worry.  It can wait till this evening," and
put the phone down, but not before she heard, or thought she heard,
Wendy say, "Sometimes I'm really glad I'm not married."  Annett called
her friend Gilda.  Gilda was seven months pregnant to Annette's five.

Annette and Gilda lived parallel lives.  They'd been to school and
college together.  Now they lived down the road from one another and
went to antenatal class together.  Annette and Gilda liked to see this
as destiny, but their husbands said no, propinquity merely breeds
propinquity.  If now Annette and Gilda both worked in the same TV
production company it was not fate, but because Gilda had got Annette
the job.  Gilda's current task was an investigation into the history of
heraldic beasts, and Annette's into the myth of Europa, ravished by
Jupiter in the form of a bull.  People likened Gilda to Ginger Rogers,
and indeed Gilda had red hair and had once been a dancer.  But, then,
people likened Annette to Meryl Streep for no better reason than that
she had a fair skin and small, straight nose, and a vulnerable air.

"Hello, Gilda," said Annette.

"What's the matter?"  asked Gilda.  "I can tell from your voice
something's wrong.  Is the baby all right?"

"The baby's just fine," said Annette, "but Spicer won't come to
Father's Night Extra at the Clinic and he seems angry with me and I
don't know why."

"He was all right when we saw you at dinner on Tuesday," said Gilda.

"In fact, he was being very attentive and kind.  Perhaps he has
troubles at work?"

"His secretary said something about having the auditors in, but so far
as I know everything's okay.  Profits are down, but aren't
everyone's?"

"It depends how far down," said Gilda, whose journalist husband, Steve,
was short, thin, and pop-eyed, but kind and intelligent.  "Spicer's
very protective of you, Annette, especially now you're pregnant.

Perhaps he's trying to save you from bad financial news but taking it
out on you at the same time.  Men do that kind of thing."

"It doesn't feel like that," said Annette.  "It feels worse."

"Spicer doesn't have a new secretary?  He's still got Wendy?"

"Yes," said Annette.  "And I don't think it's anything like that.

The sex is still fine between us.  It's just that we used always to
speak a lot when we made love--each offer the other a running
commentary--but for the last few weeks he hasn't liked me to speak.  In
fact, if I say anything at all he covers my mouth with his hand.  This
isn't being recorded by the answerphone, I hope?"

"No," said Gilda.

"Because," said Annette, "I don't like talking about things as personal
as this in the first place: it feels disloyal.  Supposing your Steve
ran the answerphone tape and heard me talking about my sex life with
Spicer."

"I'm your best friend," said Gilda.  "You're allowed to talk to me.

Think of the things I've told you!"

"In fact," said Annette, "it's rather as if Spicer were plunging about
in the dark, in the silence, and it was nothing at all to do with me.

I can't explain it exactly.  I don't mind, I quite like it, it's just
different.  It's mindless.  So long as it doesn't go on like this too
long."

"Perhaps the baby is the problem," said Gilda.

"But Spicer was the one who always wanted me to be pregnant," said
Annette.  "One of yours, he said, one of mine, one of ours.

And I don't think time has changed that."

"Perhaps Spicer wanted a boy?  Men tend to."

"I don't think so.  I was the one who so wanted to be told in advance
whether it was a girl or boy, Spicer said no, it wasn't natural: he
preferred the element of surprise.  But to me it always seems peculiar
if the hospital know the gender and don't tell the parents, as if
everyone were playing some kind of cute game."

"It seems to me," said Gilda, "you're just paying the fetus more
attention than you are Spicer, and he doesn't like it.  I'll have to
go, Annette.  My other phone's going."  Annett prepared a special
supper for Spicer that evening and put scent behind her ears.  Spicer
liked Annette to wear scent.  Of recent months, Annette realized, she
had neglected so to do.

Spicer returned at seven-fifty-one instead of six o'clock, his
customary time.  Annette took care not to reproach Spicer or ask him
where he had been.  Nor did he offer any apologies for, let alone any
information about, his lateness.

"I'm sorry I called you at the office, Spicer," said Annette.  "I know
you like to ring me but not me to ring you.  I just sometimes get a
little upset if you go off in a mood in the morning."

"Um," Spicer said.  "I see you have opened the 1985 St.Estephe."

"I made a rather special dinner," she said.  "Beef olives.  I know you
like those.  So I thought we'd treat ourselves and open our best
wine."

They were in the drawing room.  Annette had found some

candles and polished the candlesticks.  Their light made the heavy
gray curtains shimmer agreeably.  She had arranged roses in the vases:
red and white.  The room seemed delightful.

"I thought pregnant women weren't supposed to drink alcohol," said
Spicer.

"Just a glass or so doesn't hurt," she said.

"I thought you'd be at the Clinic," he said.  "Weren't you supposed to
go?"

"It was Father's Night Extra," she said, "so, if you couldn't be there,
there wasn't much point in my going.  Steve went with Gilda, though.

So I had time to cook us something special.  And since Susan and Jason
have gone to the cinema, we can have some time to ourselves.  Shall we
eat now?"

"I don't know why you cooked beef," he said.  "I don't eat red meat.

It goes against the grain."

"Since when?"  she asked.  "And what grain?"  But he didn't reply.

He was not in a jokey mood.

"I'm afraid that, without the meat," Annette apologized, serving her
husband's food, "the mange-tout and the new potatoes look a little
bleak."

"It takes very little food to keep me going," Spicer said.  "Fruit and
vegetables, pulses occasionally.  In fact, Annette, if you would keep
the fruit bowl full, I could help myself when my appetite dictated and
then we could do without the formality of the family meals which nobody
wants, let alone the dinners a deux.

They must be as trying for you as they are for me."

And Spicer smiled at Annette politely and rose and went to the living
room and, instead of opening the newspaper as was his custom in the
evening after dinner, opened a book entitled The Search for the Father,
which had a whirled pattern of oranges and reds upon the cover, and
began to read intently.

Annette cleared the table.  The baby kicked.  Annette hurled a plate
across the room.  It broke.  Annette went into the living room and
snatched the book from Spicer's hand and flung it in the fire.

"For fuck's sake, Spicer," Annette shrieked, "what is the matter?"

Spicer regarded his wife calmly, only occasionally looking away from
her into the fireplace to watch the book burn.  He could have saved it
had he wished, but he did not so wish.

"Look at you!"  said Spicer.  "Take a look at yourself in the mirror,
ask yourself what the matter is, and try to calm down.

You are quite insane."

"But what have I done?"

"It isn't your fault," said Spicer.  "You can't help yourself, I
realize that.  But shall we go through today's performance?  First you
call me at my office and try to disturb my peace there, you cannot bear
me to escape from you, even for an hour or two, you then call my
secretary and try to turn her against me.  You spend the morning
talking to Gilda on the phone about our sex life--I had lunch with
Stephen: it looks as if he's being made redundant, by the way.  You're
totally self-centered and without loyalty.  I do not take kindly to
you discussing our intimate life with your lesbian friend.  I wonder
what hold she has over you?  When I come home late you're not even
interested enough to ask me where I've been.  You're wearing scent, so
I know that in your calculating way you have sex with me planned for
tonight.  You do apologize for calling me at the office, which is
something, but then you follow it up with a remark designed to make me
feel bad, about how much I upset you.  You open a bottle of St.-Estephe
85 without consulting me--you are so competitive it extends even into
the world of wine!--and, worse, do so without the slightest concern for
the health of our baby.  You have so much ambivalence about poor little
Gillian, I'll be surprised if you manage to bring her to term.  You
don't go to your antenatal class--cutting off your nose to spite my
face, because making me responsible for your actions is another way of
controlling me, and you can't resist a little extra dig, mentioning
that Steve went with Gilda.  Poor Steve: he seems to have no will of
his own.  You must have me all to yourself, so you send the poor kids
off to the cinema, regardless of what they want, let alone the fact
that I might want to see them.  You cook beef although you know
perfectly well the only protein I can eat these days is white
meat--chicken or a little fish--and you overcook the mange-tout in a
way that can only be deliberate.  Then you break some plates, follow me
in here, where I am peacefully reading, snatch the book from my hand,
and fling it in the fire.  Is that enough about what the matter is?

Now, for God's sake, don't start crying or you'll upset the children.

They'll notice your eyes when they get back from the cinema.  They're
upset enough already.  Okay?"  Gilda," said Annette on the phone early
next morning, "I am so miserable."

"What's the matter now?"  asked Gilda.  "What's the time?"

"It's well past nine," said Annette.  "I'm sorry.  But I have to speak
to someone."

"The baby kept me awake kicking all night," said Gilda.  "I've only
just got to sleep."

"Well, I didn't sleep at all," said Annette.  "I was suffering from
terror.  That's the only way I can describe it."

"Tell me more," said Gilda.  "Here's Steve with my cup of tea.

Thank you, Steve.  You are so good to me.  Okay, Annette, go on.

Forgive me if I slurp."

"It's a kind of black pit within the periphery of myself," said
Annette.  "It's as black and empty as outer space, and everything spins
down into it and is lost."

"A black hole," said Gilda.  "I used to feel that when Jackson, my
first husband, left me and I didn't know how to pay the rent.  I think
you're describing anxiety, not terror.  What's making you anxious?"

"The thought of me without Spicer," said Annette.  "He said such
terrible things to me last night, and I love him and I'm having his
baby.  How could he?  Then he just went and slept all night in the
spare room.  He said he was frightened to sleep next to me in case I
did him some terrible damage.  He said I was a madwoman, and eaten up
with hatred of men."

"What had you done?"

"I broke some plates," said Annette, "and threw the book he was reading
into the fire."

"Well," said Gilda, "you ought to expect some reaction.  If you behave
like a madwoman you get called a madwoman."

"He drove me to it," said Annette.  "He wouldn't eat the dinner I
cooked.  And he was late home and wouldn't say why.  And I lay alone on
the bed all night with a headache and a black hole in my chest, and I
must have dozed off, because when I woke Spicer had left the house and
gone to work, and without a word, without a note."

"You told me you didn't sleep at all," said Gilda.

"Gilda, this is serious.  There was a difference in tone.  I can't
explain it.  I'm terrified."

"It doesn't sound serious to me," said Gilda.  "He'll ring later in the
morning and apologize."  t ten-thirty precisely the phone rang.  Wendy
put Spicer through.

"Annette," said Spicer, "I hope you're okay.  I left you sleeping.

You look lovely asleep: I didn't want to wake you.  I hope I didn't
upset you last night.  I seem to get these moods these days."

"You upset me quite a lot," she said.

"But you're better now?  It's all forgotten?"

"Yes," she said.

"I love you very much," he said.  "None of it's your fault.  You can't
help being what you are any more than I can."

"Well, thank you," said Annette.

"Pauline just called.  She and Christopher want us to join them at the
opera tonight.  I said yes.  That's okay, isn't it?  It's Figaro."

"That's wonderful," said Annette.  "Mozart is always soothing."

There was a slight pause-"That's not a dig, is it?"  asked Spicer.

"Of course it isn't," replied Annette.  "How could it be?"

"It could suggest you needed soothing, which means you're not going to
let bygones be bygones.  Well, never mind either way.

We'll meet up at the Coliseum at seven-thirty, then: eat afterwards.

Wear something lovely, especially for me."

"Of course," said Annette.  "Don't I always?  Spicer, you know you have
a really remarkable memory?  Last night you went through every single
thing I said, in order, finding fault.  After I'd stopped being
appalled, I was impressed."

"I don't have time to talk now, darling," said Spicer.  "Though I'd
love to.  I have a meeting.  But, yes, I do have a good memory.

That's Saturn's doing, sextile my moon but, alas, also quincunx your
sun."

"What are you talking about?"

"Never mind," said Spicer.  "Not your world.  Must go.  Kiss you."

"Kiss you," said Annette.

Gilda," said Annette, "you were quite right.  Spicer phoned.  The
black-hole feeling has gone.  Last night was incidental, accidental.

Put it like this: it was a little bit of emotional flotsam, washed up
by the tides of togetherness.  In ten years there'd be quite a lot to
wash up."

"How poetical," said Gilda.

"Thank you.  I'm so relieved," said Annette.  "And we're going to the
opera.  I don't know what Spicer was upset about and I suppose I'll
never know, and it doesn't matter."

"I know what it may have been," said Gilda, "and all I can say is I'm
sorry.  I was about to phone you.  I told Steve a bit about what you
told me about Spicer and you in bed, and he talked to Spicer about it
over lunch, he now tells me.  I'm not speaking to Steve, it doesn't
matter how many cups of tea he brings me.  It was a confidence."

"I knew that," said Annette.  "I didn't bring it up.  Spicer did
mention it.  I expect Steve was only trying to help."

"Steve likes everyone to be happy," said Gilda.  "That's his
trouble."

"It's over now anyway," said Annette.  "It did upset Spicer.  But all
kinds of things seem to upset him nowadays."

"What do you mean by nowadays?  How long has this nowadays been going
on?"  asked Gilda.

"Two, three weeks.  I don't know," said Annette.  "Two or three years,
for all I know.  How would I know?  Spicer keeps complaining I'm
unperceptive.  But how can I perceive things he doesn't tell me?"

"Steve expects me to read his mind and tell him what he's feeling,"
said Gilda.

"If I tell Spicer what he feels he goes berserk," said Annette.

"He says he doesn't like to think of me inside his head, so I try to
keep out of it.  I take nothing for granted.  Gilda, have you heard of
the word quincunx'?  Spicer's just used it."

"No."

"Neither have I. I felt stupid.  I looked it up.  It's a term used in
astrology to denote a hundred-and-fifty-degree separation of the
planets in orbit: a stressful aspect, particularly in a compatibility
chart."

"Nobody could be expected to know that," said Gilda.

"It was a funny kind of word for him to use in a general conversation,"
said Annette.  "And then there was sextile.  That's a good aspect, but
it applied only to him, not to him and me."

"Don't get paranoid, Annette," said Gilda.  "If you worry about every
little thing you'll wear yourself out.  Perhaps Spicer's just getting
you a his-and-hers chart for your birthday."

"Spicer would never do anything like that," said Annette.  "He hates
all that kind of gobbledygook.  The religion of weak minds.

Squelchy.  So do I. And another thing--" "Yes?"

"I wish Spicer hadn't called at ten-thirty precisely.  It's as if he
had it worked out, and was clock-watching.  I'll let her stew till
ten-thirty, then I'll call.  He didn't phone when he first arrived, he
didn't wait till after lunch.  Those are the times he usually calls.

But this wasn't even any old time, it was on the dot."

"Annette, that's insane," said Gilda.  "Ten-thirty is as much any old
time as any other.  It just happened to be on the dot."

"I suppose so," said Annette.  "Now I'm feeling uneasy again.

There's a subtext I don't understand.  Well, I expect whatever it is
will emerge: push itself out like the alien in the film, bursting out
of the rib cage."

"What a horrid image," said Gilda.  "It can't be good for the baby."

Annett lay down on the marital bed and put Optrex pads on her eyes.

"Mum?"  rators."

"Hello, Susan."

"Are you okay?  I've brought you a cup of tea."

"Thanks."

"You haven't been crying?"

"Of course not.  Being pregnant makes your eyes puffy."

"Yuk.  It's time you had new wallpaper in here.  This lot's dingy."

"It's how Spicer and I like it," said Annette.

"Why?  It's early-eighties drear.  Browny dinge."

"Because Spicer and I put it up together the week I moved in with him,"
said Annette.  "There was no money for deco

"That's why the pattern's slipped," said Susan.  "None of the little
flowers match up.  It's a mess, and always has been."

"If it's a mess it's because you and Jason were running round our
ankles," said Annette, "and tripping us up.  Well, you were running:
Jason was toddling.  We like it the way it is.  It's our keepsake: our
memento of the beginning."

"That's nice," said Susan.

"And if we tried to take it down," said Annette, "the whole wall would
come down with it.  We'd have to replaster the room.  That wallpaper
was too heavy when it went up ten years ago and it's heavier still
today."

"That isn't scientifically possible," said Susan.

"Yes it is," said Annette.  "It has sopped up pleasure, uxorious
bliss."

"What does that mean?"  asked Susan.  "Never mind," said Annette.

"I'll look it up," said Susan.  "Look away," said Annette.

Gilda.

phone rang.  Annette stretched out her hand.  It was "Annette?  Did I
disturb you?"

"No.  Not really," said Annette.

"I think I know what the matter is," said Gilda.

"What?"

"Your novel," said Gilda.  "He's jealous because you're publishing a
novel."

"Why should Spicer be jealous of a novel?"  asked Annette.  "It isn't
even a proper novel.  It's a novella.  I only wrote it for fun.  The
children were growing up, and work was drying up, and I had some time
left over.  And it isn't coming out for months and months.  No, that
can't be the matter."

"Steve says it might be," said Gilda.  "Steve says perhaps it's about
Spicer."

"Of course it isn't about Spicer," said Annette.  "If it's about anyone
it's about my parents, and not even them, really.  No, that's a silly
idea.  It was Spicer who gave the manuscript to Ernie Gromback.  It was
Spicer who wanted it to see the light of day.  I wanted to just put it
in a drawer and forget it.  Do you know Ernie Gromback the
publisher?"

"Everyone knows Ernie Gromback," said Gilda.  "He's given herpes to at
least a dozen people I know."

"That's beside the point," said Annette.  "And I'm sure it isn't
true."

"Perhaps Spicer assumed Ernie Gromback would turn the manuscript down
and put you off writing novels forever."

"Well, Ernie Gromback didn't turn it down," said Annette, "and why on
earth should Spicer want to put me off writing novels?  It might bring
in some money."

"Because he's the kind of man who needs a woman's full attention," said
Gilda, "money or not."

"Sometimes I think you don't like Spicer very much," said Annette.

"You asked my opinion and I gave it," said Gilda.  "If you didn't want
it, why ask?"

"Don't get hurry, please, Gilda," said Annette.  "That's the last thing
I need.  If anyone should be hurry, it's me.  You telling Steve about
me and Spicer in bed, and still discussing it, so far as I can see."

"Steve and I hate to see you and Spicer having marital problems," said
Gilda.  "Of course we discuss it.  We couldn't bear anything to happen
to you.  Spicer and Annette go together so well.  The names fit.  You
are central to a whole lot of existences round here.  I hope you
realize that."

"Spicer and I are not having marital difficulties, Gilda," said
Annette.  "We are perfectly happy together.  I just don't like him
being in a bad mood and me not knowing why.  If I knew why, I could do
something about it.  That's all."

"Okay, okay, okay," said Gilda.  "Have a good time at the opera."

no!"  remarked Spicer, in the foyer of the Coliseum.  "I'd rather have
you natural."  And he nipped the skin of her shoulder with his teeth.

"You bit me!"  said Annette.

"I am showing my affection," said Spicer, "in a familiarly uxorious
way.  I thought you'd like it."

"It's just a little public," said Annette.  "And surprising.  And
actually, Spicer, I wear scent for me, not you."

"Surprise," said Spicer, "is the stuff of life.  Why, hello, Pauline,
hello, Christopher!  Pauline, you look wonderful!  How is
architecture?"

"In the doldrums," said Pauline and Christopher.  "How's the wine
business, Spicer?"

"Just fine," said Spicer.

"How's the pregnancy, Annette?"  asked Pauline.

"Just fine," said Annette.  "No sickness, and lots of energy."

"That's because it's a wanted baby," said Pauline.  "One day we'll have
time and money to have one.  Not yet.  The future just isn't certain
enough.  Everyone we know is redundant or bankrupt.  But Mozart will
soothe us.  Civilizations crumble, art goes on forever."

"Good Lord," said Annette.  "There's Ernie Gromback and Marion.

What are they doing at an opera?"

"Searching for the culture," said Spicer, "they both crave and need.

Do you know who they remind me of ?  Bob Hoskins and his cartoon lady
in Who Killed Roger Rabbit?  He short, squat, and vulgar, she the dream
of his delight.  Unreal."

"Everyone's delight," said Christopher.  "But that's a harsh view of
Ernie Gromback.  He may be from the people but he's a

decent guy and they say he has a nose for a good novel.  Others fail
but he prospers."

"And besides," said Pauline, "he's our guest."

"Why, hello, Ernie, hello, Marion!"  cried Spicer.  "Great to see you
both!"

"Ernie," said Annette, "and Marion.  What a surprise!  I didn't know
you were operagoers.  Last time I saw you, Ernie, you told me you were
a Marxist."

"Marx has let us all down," said Ernie.  "Now there's nothing left but
the New Age.  Marion drifts into it, and I drift after her.

There's money in it.  Didn't Pauline tell you we were coming,
Annette?

I asked her to tell you."

"I told Spicer," said Pauline, "and I assumed he'd tell Annette: he's
usually reliable.  What else could I do?  Chris only got the box at the
very last minute: I was expected to fill it out of the blue.  I can't
in person keep everyone fully informed.  All I can do is delegate.  I
work too, you know.  Why are you all blaming me?"

"Okay, okay, okay," said everyone.  "Mozart will soothe us."  tilda!"

"Good Lord, Annette," said Gilda, "I thought you were at the opera.

Are you okay?"

"I am at the opera," said Annette.  "It's half-time or whatever they
call it.  Gilda, I think I might have left the iron on in the bedroom,
and the kids are both out.  You couldn't possibly go round and make
sure I haven't?  The key's under the rose pot."

"You are impossible," said Gilda.

"Why does everyone think that?"  asked Annette.  "All of a sudden.

Or is it just I haven't noticed till now?"

"I mean keeping the key under the rose pot," said Gilda.  "That's
all.

Everyone leaves irons on.  Of course I'll go.  What are you wearing?"

"My yellow silk dress, with a bronze silk sash thing which more or less
hides me being pregnant, and my silver earrings.  I look okay.  In
fact, I look rather good.  Pauline came straight from the office in a
gray suit and I felt overdressed, but then Ernie's Marion turned up in
red jodhpurs, a white lace blouse, a black riding cap, and diamante
earrings, so I felt underdressed.  That means I'm probably about
right."

"Is Spicer being okay?"  asked Gilda.

"I don't know.  I just don't know.  He said he didn't like me wearing
scent and I was stupid enough to say I wore it for me, not him.  It
wasn't even true: I was just surprised.  But I think e must have taken
offense: he sat as far from me as he could, and we usually sit
together--you know?--if we can.  We even hold hands.  And then Ernie
Gromback annoyed him by talking about books, and falling hardback
sales, and paperback deals, and so on, and then Ernie started talking
about my novel, which made matters worse."

"What did you call it in the end?"  asked Gilda.  "Lucifette Fallen,
wasn't it?"

"Lucifette Fallerl,'' said Annette.  "That's its title, goddamn it.

Hang on while I put in another coin.... They think I've gone to the
powder room.  You can take forever in the powder room at the opera.

It's because everyone goes in their best clothes.  Ernie said he wanted
to bring publication forward to be nearer the baby's birth."

"Is that good or bad?"  asked Gilda.

"I've no idea.  I said it all sounded unhealthily commercial to me,
because I thought that was what Spicer would want me to say, but Spicer
said in for a penny, in for a pound--I ought to make as much capital
out of the baby as possible, and I could always go into labor in the
middle of a chat show and so command maximum media attention."

"Was he being sarcastic?"  asked Gilda.

"I don't know," said Annette.  "I just don't know.  I can't read him
any more.  So I can't tell you if Spicer is being okay or not: I'm just
not having a good time, which is why I'm talking to you.

It's all too nervy.  Look, I really do have to go to the powder room
now.  I must go.  Please check the iron.  I'm sure it's okay.

I'd just feel better if you checked."

"I know, I know, I know," said Gilda.  "Of course I will, Annette."

"G Js there a new one-way system or is this taxi taking us the long way
home?"  asked Spicer.

"There's a new system," said Annette.

"You haven't the faintest idea whether there's a new system or not,"
said Spicer.  "You just want everything to be easy and pleasant.  Well,
never mind.  Here, give me your hand.  You're quite right: Mozart is
very soothing.  Did you see they were advertising a concert of Indian
music?  No, you wouldn't have noticed.  I expect you prefer the
familiar tonic scale: Eastern music would pass you by.  But I'll try
and get to it, if I can find the time and you're prepared to let me out
of your sight for an hour or two."

"Spicer," said Annette, "are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"It is really irritating," said Spicer, "to be asked all the time if
something's wrong.  I can't be laughing and chattering all the time,
though I know you'd like me to be.  Spicer, life and soul of the
party.

You don't notice much, do you?  From one-way traffic systems, to Indian
music, to changes in me."

"What sort of changes?"

"Everyone changes," said Spicer.  "And it is normal for spouses to
notice, unless they are hopelessly self-centered.  Then it may indeed
come as both a surprise and a threat."

Two tears ran down Annette's cheek.

"Oh dear," said Spicer, "oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.  You do know how to
put the pressure on.  How many years have I had of this?"

"It must be something in my stars," said Annette, "which makes me so
impossible."

"Many a true word spoken in jest," said Spicer.

"I don't feel in the least like jesting," said Annette.  "And why this
sudden interest in Indian music and astrology?  It's hurtful.

It keeps me out."

"Good God," said Spicer, "is a man to have no privacy?  No space in his
own head for his own interests?  His own tastes?  Must everything be
shared?  Common-denominated?  A very quick way to end a relationship!

I hardly think it's your ambition to do that, Annette.  There's too
much at stake.  Look, we've had a splendid evening out at the opera,
your fan Ernie's talked prattling nonsense to you nonstop, surely you
don't have to be quite so doleful?  Sitting in the back of a taxi
weeping when you have everything in the world a woman could want?  I
know you're pregnant, but you mustn't take it out on others."

"I'm sorry, Spicer," said Annette.

"That's okay," said Spicer.  "Shall we kiss and make up?"

J(hw was the second act?"  asked Gilda.  "We haven't spoken for
days.

Where have you been?"

"I've just been rather busy," said Annette.  "You know how it is.

I'm trying to get this thing on the Europa myth done, but I keep
falling asleep.  I really can't remember much about the opera, Gilda.

I was too worried about what Spicer was thinking to take much notice of
it."

"That seems a waste of an expensive ticket," said Gilda.

"I hate it when Spicer's angry with me," said Annette.  "I can't focus
on anything."

"He does seem to be angry with you rather a lot," said Gilda.

"These days."

"He wasn't very nice in the taxi home," said Annette.  "But we've been
fine since then.  Really.  In fact, he's been sweet, in a really good
mood.  I can almost say what I like without thinking first.  Almost.

Except--" "Except what?"

"He warned me on Saturday that the moon was full so I had to be extra
careful in the traffic."

"What's the matter with that?  All kinds of people say that kind of
thing," said Gilda.

"But not Spicer," said Annette, "not in normal times.  I looked it up
in my Dictionary of Superstitions and it said there was some
justification in the belief that the full moon exacerbated insanity.

The moon pulls the tides about, and since the human body is
ninety-seven percent water the full moon may well make minimal changes
in water pressure on the brain."

"Are you suggesting Spicer's mad, Annette?"

"Of course not.  But who's telling him these things?  I can see the
moon being full could affect the way people drive cars.  Okay.

But how can Spicer believe that the planet Saturn, which is eight
hundred million miles away, in relation to a moon which is racing round
the earth, be what gives him a good memory?  It's nuts--" "You're not
still worrying about that?  You're obsessive," said Gilda.

"I can't help it," said Annette.  "I expect it's being pregnant does
it."

"Being pregnant makes me happy," said Gilda.  "Not anxious.  Did you
actually look up how many miles Saturn is from the earth?"

"Yes."

"God help you," said Gilda.

"On the other hand," said Annette, "Spicer brought me strawberries from
the market early on Sunday morning and came back to bed and we had them
with cream for breakfast.  And he put his hand on my belly and felt
Gillian kicking."

"That's nice," said Gilda.  "It can't be too bad."

"It's wonderful," said Annette.  "Just wonderful to have him in a good
mood again."

"You won't miss Clinic on Tuesday," said Gilda, "just because you're
happy?"

"Of course I won't," said Annette.  "See you there if I don't speak to
you before.  I expect it's all nothing."  thought whatever it was had
passed," said Annette sadly, to Gilda.

They were at the Tuesday-night antenatal class, they lay next

to each other on the floor and waited for the relaxation teacher to
return from assisting a woman in the Ready-to-Pop class who had gone
into premature labor.

"What's he done now?"  asked Gilda.

"Don't talk of Spicer as he' like that, Gilda," said Annette.  "I don't
want to be the kind of woman who complains to other women about her
husband.  I don't want to get into the what's-hedone-now mentality.

It's so vulgar."

"This is meant to be a relaxation class," said Gilda.  "And listen to
you!  So uptight!  Don't talk to me about Spicer if you don't want
to.

I didn't ask, you offered.  In fact, come to think of it, I'd rather
not discuss it either.  We can just talk about babies, I suppose, and
dishwashers or, better still, not talk about anything at all to each
other, ever again."

"Sorry, Gilda," said Annette, and her hand stretched out to hold her
friend's, as it lay gently upturned on the wooden floor.

Gilda's thick red hair lay, from the angle of Annette's vision, like a
kind of flounced skirt around her head.  "I didn't mean to snap.  I
expect I snap at Spicer.  I expect that's the trouble.  I'm really
difficult and neurotic and I just don't know it.  I suppose we all
think we're perfect and everyone else is to blame: when really we're
the source of the trouble."  She took her hand away from Gilda's.  "I
shouldn't hold your hand, I suppose.  Spicer thinks we're having a
lesbian relationship."  Gilda snatched her hand away and lifted her
head from the floor, the better to turn and stare at Annette.

"I was joking," explained Annette.  "So was he.  Oh God, I keep putting
my foot in it.  Spicer's right.  I'm impossible."

"Perhaps you should have some kind of antistress treatment," said
Gilda, "for your head as well as your body.  I wish Dr. Elsie Spanner
would return.  This floor is very drafty.  And I wish they wouldn't
call the other class the Ready-to-Pop."  I'm sure it's calling it that
which keeps sending women into premature labor.

Pop they think and pop they go."

"You mean me see a therapist?"  asked Annette.  "Spicer and I don't
believe in therapy.  It's one of the core beliefs of our
relationship.

Therapists make people self-preoccupied, selfish, and destructive.

Spicer's marriage broke up because his wife went into therapy.  He
thought they had just an ordinary happy marriage, but Aileen started
seeing this man, and, the next thing Spicer knew, Aileen told him she
was unhappy and Spicer was the cause of it, and so Aileen left
Spicer."

"Perhaps it was true," said Gilda.

"But Aileen left Jason as well, because the therapist said she couldn't
have a child and be fulfilled at the same time--the child being the
fruit of an unhappy marriage.  It didn't sound responsible to me."

"You should be grateful to this therapist or you wouldn't be married to
Spicer now."

"That's true," said Annette.  "You don't think he married me just
because he needed someone to help with Jason "For God's sake," said
Gilda, "go and see a therapist!  Don't ask me.  Whatever answer I give,
I'll be in trouble."

The class was abandoned, since Dr. Elsie Spanner felt her greater duty
was to accompany the woman in parturition to the hospital and help her
with her breathing rather than to conduct the class.

In the dressing room Gilda said, "Well, so what did Spicer do to upset
you?  Notice I don't say he."" Annette said, "My mother came to
lunch.

It was Monday.  She often visits on Mondays.  Spicer looked in from the
office to see

her and have a cup of coffee.  You know how they get on.  It's a
relief.  She hated my first husband.  He was called Paddy.  She didn't
like that: she said it reminded her of an Irish navvy, and then I'd
have to defend Irish navvies.  You know how it is.  But she and Spicer
get on so well I sometimes get the feeling they gang up on me.

Certainly they refer to me as she' quite a lot.  My mother was talking
about what it had been like giving birth to me and how quick and easy
it had all been.  She'd had me in the ambulance, it had to park in a
lay-by and the back doors were open, it was early autumn and the
morning sun was shining right into her eyes.  She often tells that
story.  And Spicer interrupted and said, Did you say morning sun?  I
thought it was evening."  My mother said, I should know, Spicer, I was
there!"  And Spicer looked at the cup of coffee I was pouring and said
to me very angrily, You know I don't drink coffee any more,' and just
walked out on us both and went back to work.  I made excuses for him to
my mother, I told her Spicer was overworking and me being pregnant made
him edgy--gave him brainstorms.  Poor Spicer, I said, he has so much
responsibility: myself, Susan, Jason, work, the house, a recession, and
only Spicer to look after us all."

"You mean the kind of excuse you make to yourself," said Gilda, "for
the way Spicer behaves."

"It's not an excuse," said Annette.  "It's true.  But my mother stayed
upset and went home with her jaw set and her teeth grinding, which
gives her headaches, and I felt dreadful.  I always feel responsible
for my mother's peace of mind.  So I made Wendy put me through to
Spicer at work and told him he had to call my mother to apologize, and
he just shouted at me down the phone and said I should do the
apologizing--I was a liar, and psychotic.  If I was born in the
morning, why had I told him evening?  Only mad people made up lies to
no purpose."

"Well, why did you tell him wrong?"  asked Gilda.

"I just thought evening sounded nicer, I suppose," said Annette.

"I can't remember either way.  It didn't seem important at the time.  I
think Spicer might be right and I'm going mad.  I really want to see a
therapist, but I don't know how to tell Spicer.  I'm frightened he'd be
angry, he hates people with soggy brains."

"Your brain never used to be soggy," said Gilda.

"I think it's pregnancy," said Annette.

"It might be Spicer," said Gilda.  "We must consider that
possibility.

Spicer confusing you, making you think that what's his fault is your
fault.  Steve says he does that.  Would you like me to ask around about
therapists?"

"Yes, please, Gilda," said Annette.  "Secret therapy.  Find me a man,
please.  I'm sure I could talk to a man easier than a woman."

/Jello, Mum," said Susan, when Annette got home from the Clinic.

"You're early.  I didn't expect you for another hour."

"Why are all the windows open?"  asked Annette.

"I've been smoking," replied Susan.

"What kind of smoking?"

"Just ordinary cigarettes," said Susan.

"How many?"

"Just one.  I still feel sick."

"Good," said Annette.

"Spicer says dope is healthier than tobacco," said Susan.  "If I knew
how to get hold of it I would, to see if it made you any happier."

"When did he say that?"

"At six o'clock this evening," said Susan.

"Where is Spicer?"  asked Annette.  "In the study?"

"No," said Susan.  "Spicer went out at six-fifteen."

"Did he say where?"  asked Annette.

"No," replied Susan.  "He looked very smart.  Not suit-and-tie smart,
leatherjacket-and-Armani-sweater smart.  He was wearing aftersnave.  ou
uv.

"No, I don't, Susan," said Annette.

"I was really shocked when he said that about dope."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Annette.  "So am I shocked.  Could you make
me a cup of tea, Susan?"

"Spicer says tea's bad for you.  Ordinary tea, that is."

"I'll have some all the same," said Annette.

"Okay.  Why was the class canceled?"

"Because everything's collapsing," said Annette, "and it's the end of
the world."

"I hate it when you say that kind of thing, Mum.  I'll go and stay with
my dad if you're not careful."

"Off you go, then."

"No, thanks all the same," said Susan.  "I like it here.  We can eat in
our rooms.  At Paddy and Pat's we have to sit up at table and wear
clothes that fit.  How's your blood pressure?"

"They forgot to take it, in the muddle," said Annette.  "I expect
Spicer's gone to see a client.  To sell them some end-of-bin at a
knockdown price.  Did he say when he'd be back?"

"No," said Susan.

Jpi'cer returned at seven-forty-seven.

"You're home early," he said.  "I thought I'd be back before you."

"The class was canceled," said Annette.  "That's two in a row I've
missed."

"Now, don't start," said Spicer.  "It is these constant nagging
reproaches: the drip, drip, drip into the ear.  No wonder I'm in the
state I am."

Annette apologized and went into the kitchen and made bacon sandwiches
and low-calorie hot chocolate.

"You know I don't like bacon sandwiches," said Spicer.

"No, I didn't know that," said Annette.  "When we first met we ate
bacon sandwiches all the time.  Don't you remember?"

"I'm sorry, Annette," said Spicer.  "I don't."

"Well, we did.  I had just left Paddy, and Aileen had just left you.

Proper cooking seemed a waste of time we could otherwise spend in
bed."

"Then times have certainly changed," said Spicer.  "Annette, I don't
think it does either of us much good to dwell on an unhappy and messy
past.  It's the future which should concern us.  And in the meantime, I
don't eat bacon sandwiches.  Bacon's seductive, but pork is probably
one of the worst meats."

"In what way, Spicer?"

"Pigs are intelligent enough to know what's going on," said Spicer, "so
they suffer more.  On the whole, suffering is always the fate of the
intelligent.

But one can't be party to it, just because it's the way of the world.

What is this drink?"

"It's a kind of cocoa without the calories," said Annette.

"As advertised on TV?"

"Yes," said Annette.  "As it happens."

"Pregnancy seems to have affected your critical faculties," said
Spicer.

"You mean my intelligence?"

"Since you bring the matter up, yes."

"It's quite a problem to know what to give you, Spicer, since you won't
drink coffee or tea any more, and seem to have gone off so many
foods.

Now even bacon."

"These days my system rejects both stimulants and animal foods.  I'm
sorry if it's an inconvenience."

"Spicer, are you seeing someone else?"

"How do you mean seeing'?"

"Having an affair with another woman."

"Annette, you're more than enough for any man to cope with.  I would
hardly have energy for another.  You exhaust me.  First the sniping,
then the nagging, now come the accusations, the jealousy.  I think
we'll find it shows up."

"Shows up where?  In my astrological chart?  The one done for the
morning, not the evening?  Is she working on it even now?  Are you
having an affair with an astrologer?  Is that it?  Because someone
somewhere's trying to turn you against me.  That's all it can be."

Spicer began to laugh.  He ate one square of bacon sandwich, and half
the chocolate drink.  He enjoyed the first, but not the second.  Then
he ate the rest of the sandwich.

"I am so hungry," he explained, "I have to give in.  Dearest Annette,"
he said, "I am not having an affair with anyone.  Are you?"

"Of course not," said Annette.  "I'm pregnant."

"Is that the only reason you're not having an affair with anyone?"

asked Spicer.

"Of course not," said Annette.  "I love you."

"I love you too, very much, Annette," said Spicer.  "And I'd do nothing
to hurt you.  Your suspicions are without a rational base.  I've told
you I'm changing, and in many ways.  Please just try and accept it.

But there are other reasons for a man changing, apart from him having a
mistress!  Perhaps he begins to be open to his own soul.  I am not the
same person you married, any more than you are the same person I
married."

"You keep saying that," said Annette, "and it doesn't sound like you
saying it, although it comes out of your mouth.  Your beautiful mouth I
love so much."

"Where are the children?"  asked Spicer.

"Susan's watching a video and Jason's playing on his computer," said
Annette.

"You're so caught up with yourself and your fantasies," said Spicer.

"You're letting this whole family go to pieces.  I know it's not your
fault.  Do you think perhaps you need treatment?"

"What sort of treatment?"  asked Annette.  "Do you mean for my head?"

"Yes, Annette, I do," said Spicer.

"Therapy?"

"Yes," said Spicer.

"But you're so against therapy," said Annette.

"When did I say that?"

"I don't know, Spicer.  Way back when, I suppose."

"I can't remember ever being against it," said Spicer.  "I think you
must have imagined it, or thought that, because you thought something,
I thought it too.

Somehow we have to get you less innerdirected, more outer-directed:
more separated out from me."

"Who would I go and see?"

"You have to be very careful," said Spicer.  "There are all

kinds of quacks and charlatans about.  And we have to keep you away
from the psychiatrists: we don't want you filled up with pills when
you're expecting a baby."

"We're expecting a baby, Spicer, not just me."

"Please don't start, Annette," said Spicer.

"Sorry," said Annette.

"That's okay," said Spicer.  "I know you do your best.  I'll have a
word with Marion.  She's in therapy."

"Marion?  Ernie's girlfriend?  But she seems so balanced."

"That's because she's in therapy," said Spicer, "I expect."

"How do you know she's in therapy?"

"Annette, for God's sake--" "I only asked how you knew, Spicer.  I
wasn't suggesting anything."

"I should hope not," said Spicer.  "Marion, of all people!  Marion is
more than happy with your publisher friend.  He has all the money
anyone could want, and provides her with the life she needs.  She and I
were talking about it at the opera, while you were chattering about
dust jackets with Ernie.  But there is an area of Marion's life which
she's had to suppress, she goes to therapy in order to be put back in
touch with her inner self, the part Ernie Gromback denies her.  Her
soul.  Okay?"

"Of course it's okay, Spicer," said Annette.  "I'm sorry."

"I suppose you can't help it," said Spicer.  "I think we'll find you
have a Mars/Pluto aspect which is at the root of your possessiveness.

It certainly causes a lot of trouble.  Shall we nudge the children out
of their rooms and all play Monopoly?  Try and have some kind of
ordinary family life?  There may be some areas of it left we can work
on.  Get back to normal somehow."

"You were late back.  I do need reassuring, Spicer.  I know I
shouldn't, but I do.  I don't want to weep onto the Monopoly board and
upset everyone, or give away Mayfair by mistake."

"Darling Annette," said Spicer.  "At least you can still make me
laugh.

I was selling bin-ends to Humphrey Watts and his wife, Eleanor, who
live round the corner, in the Mews.  There are still some people left
who don't mind having less than six bottles of the same wine, just as
there are still some who don't mind mixing and matching the china at a
dinner party, but in these days of recession a man has to seek them
out.  You have to go to them, they don't come to you.  Why, what did
you think I was doing?  Laying a lady astrologer at a propitious
time?

That's better.  You laugh too.  I do love you, Annette."

"Gilda," said Annette.  "I'm so tired, I can't think why.  We all
played Monopoly last night and I lost.  I had houses on all the wrong
squares.  Spicer had Mayfair and Park Lane.  He always does.  I went to
bed early and fell asleep before Spicer came up.  Did you notice the
moon?"

"Not particularly," said Gilda.

"It was such a bright night last night.  The moon shone through the
window onto the bed.  I held up my hand in the light and it shone right
through my hand: it was blue and translucent.  Spooky."

"Are you okay?"  asked Gilda.

"I was only telling you because you're a friend," said Annette.  "I'm
sorry to bother you with it."

"I tell Steve that kind of thing," said Gilda, "but I suppose it's not
the kind of thing you'd tell Spicer."

"No," said Annette.  "You can get very lonely being married.  The word
corpse' came into my mind when I looked at my hand, but I put it out
again.  It seemed unlucky."

"Annette," said Gilda, "we may be only just in time.  I've found
someone wonderful for you to see."

"See?  You mean a therapist?"  asked Annette.  "But I feel okay now.

Honestly.  I just get in a state with Spicer sometimes.  It's being
pregnant.  It'll be over soon."

"You need some support, Annette," said Gilda.  "Steve says you have a
lot to cope with."

"I thought Spicer was the one having the trouble coping with me," said
Annette.

"On the other hand," said Gilda.  "If you're going for Spicer's sake,
it might not work.  You're supposed to want therapy for yourself:
that's what Eleanor says.  Do you know Humphrey and Eleanor Watts?"

"I've met them once or twice," said Annette.  "They live in the Mews.

Spicer sells them bin-ends."

"Really?  How odd.  They always seem the kind to buy wine by the
case.

Anyway, Eleanor was on the phone this morning about the street party.

How people do muscle in: it's not going to be just us and a Bella
Crescent party, now all the Bellas are going to be involved--Mews,
Road, Street, Lane, as well as the Crescent.  What was I saying?"

"Therapists," said Annette.

"I'm just rambling, sorry."  said Gilda.  "I'm nervous.  It seems such
a responsibility recommending a therapist.  Supposing they give you the
wrong advice?  It would all be my fault."

"Apparently they don't exactly give advice.  They resolve your inner
problems," said Annette.

"What inner problems?"

"You were the one who suggested therapy, Gilda," said Annette.  "And
now even Spicer says it's a good idea, so I suppose I must have these
inner problems, whatever they are.  How does Eleanor Watts come to know
about therapists?  She doesn't seem the kind."

"It's very fashionable, all of a sudden.  Eleanor goes to one in
Hampstead.

They're mostly in Hampstead: there's a real shortage of them down
here.

Someone ought to fill in the gap in the market.  Nice large houses, too
big for just families, just right for clinics."

"This house is just right for my family.  I love it," said Annette.

"It isn't too large at all."

"Don't change the subject, Annette," said Gilda.  "Eleanor's man is
called Dr. Herman Marks.  He's very famous.  He writes books on the
power of touch.  One of his patients has just left, so you're in luck:
he has space for another.  But you'll have to act fast.  Eleanor says
she'll mention you to him.  She seemed very keen for you to go, I don't
know why.  Well, I do.  Eleanor lives in the Mews.  People in the
Crescent have bigger houses than people in the Mews, so Eleanor sees a
way of upgrading herself, if only by association.  She wants you and
her to share a therapist.  That's the way her mind works."

"Then this Dr. Marks doesn't seem to have done her much good," said
Annette.

"Think how much worse she might be without him," said Gilda.

"So now Eleanor Watts knows I'm mad," said Annette.  Honestly ,
Gilda!

Well, I suppose I'd better at least make an appointment.  Eleanor buys
our bin-ends, I see her therapist.  That's the way the world goes
round.

And at least it's a man.  It would be nice to talk to a man, not always
women."

"Thank you very much, Annette."

"I didn't mean you, Gilda, you know I didn't.  I don't know what I'd do
without you."  r Spicer, said Annette, "I seem to have found a
therapist.  So don't ask anyone else for names.  I don't want everyone
knowing how nuts I am."

"You're a bit late," said Spicer.  "I asked your friend Ernie's Marion
to put forward a few names.  She recommends anyone affiliated to the
AAP, the Association of Astrological Psychotherapists."

"She would be into all that gobbledygook," said Annette.  "I thought
you said to be careful of quacks?"

"Don't mock what you don't know about," said Spicer.  "The AAP is
affiliated to AJAP, the Association of Jungian and Allied
Psychotherapists, extremely serious people.  Who have you found?"

"A Dr.  Herman Marks in Hampstead," said Annette.

Spicer was silent for a little.  Then he said, "If that's the way the
cookie crumbles, that's the way it crumbles."  here's very little to
say," said Annette, "and I'm sorry for wasting your time.  I'm sure
there are others far worse off than me.  It's just I've been happily
married for ten years and now I've become pregnant I find myself
catching my husband out in every little thing, I'm even beginning to
think he might be having an affair.  I know he isn't, but the thought
just somehow sticks around, and he's getting fed up with the way I
behave."

Dr.  Marks laughed: it was a gentle and surprisingly seductive laugh.

Annette wondered what it would be like to be engulfed and enfolded by
this man, and if there was a Mrs. Marks, and what kind of person she
would be.

"Quite probably," said Dr. Marks, "that is a simple matter of
projection.  You have had an affair, or two, or three, during the
course of your relationship with Spicer: now you are pregnant and feel
helpless, and your guilt, your unresolved shadow-side, comes back to
persecute you."

"You can do something about me, then?"

"My analysis makes sense to you?"

"Yes."

"Then I imagine a cure will easily be found.  By cure I mean
understanding, peace of mind.  You are not a demonstrative person, I
can see that.  But, then, you are English: it is not surprising or in
itself a cause for concern, as it would be, say, for a Mediterranean
woman."

"How do you know I am not a demonstrative person?  Other people think I
am.  My husband, Spicer, says I go round touching people far too
much."

"You huddle away from me.  Touch my hand.  What does that make you
feel?"

"Trapped," she replied.  "Well, you grabbed it.  Please let go.

You're hurting."

"Trapped," he repeated.  "We will work with that, since it's the best
we can do."

(ll?"  asked Gilda.  "How did it go?  Is he attractive?"

"I don't know," said Annette.  "He was like a great lump of granite,
sitting in a wing chair by the fire.  He overflowed its edges."

"That doesn't sound like granite," said Gilda.

"You asked what he was like.  I'm doing my best.  He was about sixty.

His face was hairy, as if greenish-gray shrubs were growing out of a
mountainside.  They came out all over his face: from his nostrils, his
ears, over his eyes, out of his scalp, where they at least pretended to
be head hair, not foliage."

"You're making this up," said Gilda.

"I'm not," said Annette.  "He's just a man with a lot of facial hair.

He has a hooked nose and his mouth's crooked.  I thought perhaps he'd
had a stroke.  He spoke mid-European: the kind that's designed to make
you feel foolish.  He had an old watch on a chain, which he swung to
and fro."

"It sounds a nightmare," said Gilda.

"Every now and then he scratched his chin and flakes of skin scattered
onto his trousers.  The trousers were tweed, so you couldn't see the
flakes when they landed."

"And you took this person seriously?"  asked Gilda.

"He asked me to touch his hand and I did.  He twisted it and grabbed my
wrist.

His hands had liver spots and were horribly strong.  I still have
marks: I reckon they'll be bruises tomorrow."

"Was he helpful?"

"How do I know?  I might be in a worse state if I hadn't been to see
him.  He doesn't seem to have a gender: he's too foreign.  Sometimes I
think he's making a pass, at other times I think how stupid and vulgar
of me to think any such thing.  There is a kind of attraction but it's
not a male/female thing.  He is just a very powerful person."

"But he did make you feel better?"

"I think so.  I did some confessing.  And that was only the first
session.  It was rather like lancing a boil."

"Confessions?  What about?"

"Well, you know.  Various things.  A person."

"Who?"

"I'm not going to tell you who, Gilda.  It's all over now."

"While you were married?"

"Yes."

"Did you have a fling with Ernie Gromback?"

"Of course I didn't, Gilda.  You're insane.  Far too close to home."

"I just wondered."

"Nobody you know and nobody you'll ever know," said Annette.  "Just
promise you won't tell Steve.  It was in the summer, when Spicer was
way in France and everything was just stupid.  You know how I hated
Spicer going away without me: you know how I miss him, how lonely and
edgy I get.  Sex grounds me, that's all.  It wasn't love, anything like
that: it was just sex."

"In the first place," said Gilda, "I don't know how you had the
nerve.

And in the second place, I don't know how you were

stupid enough to tell Dr. Herman Marks.  Supposing he tells Eleanor
Watts and she tells her husband and he tells Spicer over a drunken
bin-end?"

"But what you tell a therapist is completely confidential," said
Annette.

"They're like priests."

"I hope you're right," said Gilda.

"Anyway," said Annette, "I could always just deny everything."

"Is this Dr.  Marks married?"  asked Gilda.

"I think so.  There were two brass plates on the door: Dr. Herman
Marks and Dr.  Rhea Marks.  She had so many letters after her name!

MD, MBBS, MRC, AJAP, AHTN.

I remember those.  My father had the first two.  I used to polish the
brass plate outside our door.  Dr. Rhea had far more letters than Dr.
Herman did.  I wondered if that made him jealous, and then I thought,
no, they're therapists.

They'll have been so analyzed out themselves, they wouldn't have an
unreasonable emotion left in them.  I expect they're blissfully
happy.

Except he does do rather a lot of hugging and touching.  I wouldn't
like it if I were her.  When he stood up he was at least six foot five,
and his arms were like a gorilla's.  He put them round me."

"Wasn't that horrible?"

"No.  It was like being embraced by a cross between a father and a
bear.  It makes you feel safe and drowsy.  When he's hugged all the air
out of you he lets you go.  But thank God he didn't mention
astrology.

Gilda, do you know anyone who's into astrology?"

"Ernie Gromback's Marion talks about star signs nonstop."

"Ah."

"But I don't think Spicer's having an affair with Marion," said

"Neither do I," said Annette.  "He loves me too much.  I've made a real
effort not to be paranoid, and I reckon I'm succeeding."  Annett," said
Spicer that night, "the fact is that I do not want to hear about Dr.
Herman Marks: what he said to you, or you said to him.  You have to
keep some areas of yourself apart from me, the way I do with you.  We
are separate people.  You just descend upon me hook, line, and sinker:
you squash me into the ground."

"It's true," said Annette, as lightly as she could, "that I've put on a
lot of weight lately, but most of it is the baby.  Our baby."  But it
was Tuesday night.  Spicer had returned at two minutes past seven and
was not in the mood for jokes.  "And anyway," she said, "I thought
marriage was about togetherness."

"Your vocabulary," said Spicer, "comes straight out of a woman's
magazine.

Togetherness!"

"You know what I mean," said Annette.

"I don't," said Spicer.  "Explain it to me."

Annette declined, saying she would wait until Spicer was better, Spicer
said there was nothing wrong with him, only with her, her demands were
unreasonable, but she was so afflicted in the Seventh House it was not
surprising.  She had had an unhappy childhood and was taking it out on
Spicer.

"But, Spicer darling--" said Annette.

"Don't call me darling: it rings false."

"But, Spicer, your childhood was far unhappier than Gilda.  mine."

"This is not a competition, Annette.  And it is no laughing matter."

"If I'm laughing it's because this is silly," said Annette.  "In the
childhood-tragedy stakes you win hands down, Spicer.  I still have both
my parents: you lost your father when you were four and your mother
went insane and rushed round screaming till they shut her up."

"Annette," said Spicer, "sometimes your insensitivity takes my breath
away."

"I'm sorry, Spicer.  I was trying not to be too heavy about it, that's
all."

"Your mother is still most certainly around," said Spicer, "and hasn't
yet done you the favor of dying.  How you hate her, poor woman.

"What is the matter with you?"  asked Annette.  "I don't hate my mother
at all."

"I've heard you say so many a time, Annette."

"Sometimes she annoys me, in the way mothers do, Spicer," said Annette,
"and I may have said things against hen-and confided them in you
because you are my husband--but I love my mother, I don't hate her."

"I don't think you know what you say or how you feel," said Spicer.

"Your Neptune is afflicted by Pluto and you live in a state of
perpetual confusion.

We have found out a great deal about you in the last few weeks.  Now we
have the correct time of your birth, all kinds of things become
clear."

And he went into the study to read.

"Dad!  Is everything all right?"

"Just fine, Annette.  A friendly call.  How're things with you?"

"Fine.  Any changes back home?"

"Everything much as usual," said Giles Thomas, Annette's father.  "Your
mother wants new carpets.  Do you think we need new carpets?  They are
getting shabby."

"If it was me, I'd take away the carpets and polish the floorboards,
and have rugs."

"Wouldn't that create dust?"

"Yes, it would, Dad," said Annette.  "But you could take Mum away for a
week while it settled."

"I couldn't afford that if we had new carpets.  Interest rates are down
again.

People rejoice when interest rates go down: they don't think what it's
like for retired people who live on fixed incomes ."

"But you're managing?"

"Of course we're managing, sweetheart.  Don't worry about us.  How's
the baby?"

"Flourishing," said Annette.  "So am I."

"Spicer?"

"Just fine.  Reading at the moment, in the study."

"So what are you doing?"  asked her father.

"Trying to focus on the Europa myth.  This producer friend of Gilda's
is trying to link the failure of the GATT talks with Europa's rape by
Jupiter in the form of a bull--the bull being the U.S."

"Does it work?"

"I'm doing my best to make the connection.  It's just that being
pregnant makes you keep falling asleep.  Dad, what was I like when I
was a little girl?"

"You were the sweetest thing, Annette.  The light of all our lives.

Bright as a button, chattered all day.  You were an only child and a
late one, you were worth waiting for.  Why?  What's the matter?  Is
Spicer being difficult?"

"Of course not," said Annette.  "It's just sometimes nice to hear, and
I know you'll always say it."

"Because men can react strangely when their wives are pregnant," said
Giles Thomas.  "I loved your mother dearly, but even I--" "Yes, I know
about that, Dad," said Annette.

"So keep an eye on him," said Giles Thomas.  "Boys will be boys, but
there are limits."

Annette went into the study.

"Spicer," she said.  "We have been together for ten years.  I would
have thought you'd have known what I was like by now.  Why do you need
an astrological chart to tell you?  And who is this we' you keep
talking about which is not you and me?"

"None of it is anything to do with you," said Spicer.

"But it is," said Annette.  "Is this other person a woman?"

"The gender of the other person is immaterial," said Spicer, "since
they are a skilled professional.  You're a feminist, you should be the
first to agree."

"An astrologer is a professional?"

"Of course," said Spicer.

"And my chart is bad news?"

"Yes," said Spicer.  "Insofar as it relates to mine."

"Then it is to do with me," said Annette.  "If you believe this
nonsense."

"Annette," said Spicer, "I am trying to read."

"In what way is my chart bad news?"

"You are badly afflicted in both the Fourth and Seventh houses.  The
house of childhood and the house of marriage.  The unhappy, lonely
child of elderly parents, a mother badly treated by a faithless
husband--we know all that to be true, don't we?"

"It hardly registered like that, Spicer," said Annette.

"Your Pluto being afflicted by your Neptune," said Spicer, "you're so
confused, hardly anything registers.  Look at us.  Your total lack of
sensitivity."

"Spicer, what is the matter?  Please!"

"Don't upset yourself.  You're so excitable, these days.  I thought
pregnancy was meant to calm women down.  The matter is that your moon
in the First is quincunx your moon in the Seventh, you simply have no
idea how to be a wife.

Well, the unhappy daughter seldom has."

"I am a good wife, Spicer.  And a good mother."

"Really?  Do good wives nag?  Are they obsessively jealous?  Do they
break plates and burn books?  Do they blab the secrets of the marriage
bed to all and sundry?  You have wonderful qualities, Annette, and I
love you dearly, but let us not suppose you are without faults.  As for
being a good mother, you have a kind heart and a good nature but your
idea of cooking is a bacon sandwich.

Your idea of child-rearing is to let the kids watch TV all day.  They
are increasingly withdrawn and disturbed.  It's quite a worry."

"If it's all written in the stars, Spicer," said Annette, "there's
nothing we can do about it, so why worry?  I have to have an afflicted
whatever it is, to show up in Susan's and Jason's star charts as a
persecuting mother.  And my parents had to be what they were, in order
to prove my affliction."

"Everything's interconnected, Annette," said Spicer.  "I'm surprised
you don't recognize that."

"How can I recognize anything if it's written in my star chart that I
won't?

And how can anything surprise you about me, now you know what I'm like
before we even begin?"

"Annette, you are becoming upset about nothing at all.  Our
compatibility chart shows up problems, that's all I'm trying to say.

I'm tired.  I say things I don't mean because you provoke me.  I wish
you wouldn't say star chart', you do it to mock and deride.  The proper
description is natal chart."  Now, please, Annette, leave me alone."

"Well, Spicer," said Annette, "if it makes you feel better, I'll be
down to the nearest fortune-teller the moment I can."

"You are impossible," said Spicer.  "There's the phone.  How any woman
can spend so much time on the phone beats me."

"Annette?"

"Ernie!"

"You busy?"

"No.  Just talking to Spicer."

"I hope he's saying nice things," said Ernie Gromback.  "Is he in the
room?"

"No, Ernie, he isn't," said Annette.  "He's in the study and I'm in the
hall.

But it makes no difference.  I won't say anything to you I wouldn't say
if he was by my side."

"That's what worries me about you, Annette," said Ernie.  "You won't.

He is in your head.  I thought you were looking peaky the other
night."

"I thought I was looking rather beautiful," said Annette.

"You are always beautiful, Annette," said Ernie Gromback.  "But you
were distracted.  Distracted people are not productive.  I need my
writers to be productive."

"So this is a business call?"

"Of course," said Ernie Gromback.  "I have had an offer from a German
publisher who wants to do Lucifette Fallen."

"That's wonderful," said Annette.  "Will there be much money?"

"Very little," said her publisher.  "It's a first novel, a foreign
sale, and translation costs are high.  But I thought it might cheer you
up to know."

"I'm perfectly cheerful as it is," said Annette.  "Do you know anything
about astrology?"

"As little as possible," said Ernie Gromback.  "But everyone's into
it.

Marion's writing a book on the nature of Sagittarians.  I'm a
Sagittarian.  I talk too much and am faithless.  I think of you a lot,
Annette."

"Goodbye, Ernie," said Annette.

"Goodbye, Annette," said Ernie.

"Who was that?"  asked Spicer.  "Your lesbian friend?"

"It was Ernie Gromback," said Annette.

"What did he want?"

"He's sold Lucifette Fallen.  to the Germans," said Annette.

"Trust the Germans," said Spicer.  "And trust that little runt to
disturb a peaceful evening.  That last dig of yours, Annette, about
fortune-telling?

Shall we go back to that?  Astrology is nothing to do with
fortune-telling.  It is a wonderfully useful diagnostic and therapeutic
tool, in the hands of intuitive and sensitive people.  And thank God
there are some around."

"And I'm still not to know the name or gender of this wonderful and
sensitive person," asked Annette, "who means so much to you?"

"I've been advised to tell you as little as possible," said Spicer.

"Though in fact she may want to see you some time."

"She," said Annette.  "I knew it.  You're having an affair with her."

"I knew you'd be like this," said Spicer.  "No wonder I put off telling
you.

She's my therapist."

"Your therapist?  You have a therapist?  You?"

"There is nothing sexual in my relationship with her," said Spicer.

"I should bloody hope not," cried Annette.  "And why does this
astrologer/therapist want to see me, and why should I go, and why do
you want one in the first place, Spicer?  What's the matter with
you?"

"The matter is, Annette," said Spicer, "that, because of scenes like
this, and the perpetual stress of the rows you precipitate, my blood
pressure has become dangerously raised, and I am in danger of falling
dead with a heart attack or stroke."

"Your blood pressure?  But you're too young!"

"Stress can kill at any age," said Spicer.

"But this is dreadful!  What do they say at the surgery?  What does Dr.
Winspit say?  Is it going to be okay?"

"I'm not seeing Dr.  Winspit about this.  I'm seeing a homeopath."

"I don't believe this," said Annette.

"I shouldn't have confided in you," said Spicer.  "I might have known
this is how you'd react.  No sympathy, no understanding: nothing except
hysteria."

"Spicer, you have my every sympathy.  I'm just terribly worried.  You
don't believe in alternative medicine.  Who on earth recommended
homeopathy?  Your therapist?  This astrologer?"

"Well, yes," said Spicer.

"And who recommended the therapist?"

"Marion," said Spicer.

"Spicer!"  cried Annette.  "Marion's an idiot.  You know she is!"

"I knew it wasn't wise to tell you," said Spicer.  "My therapist said
you'd react like this.  If I so much as talk to another woman, you curl
up with spite and jealousy.  Therapy and homeopathy helped Marion's
asthma when conventional medicine failed.  I started getting headaches,
my vision was blurred.  I took Marion's advice, that's all there was to
it.  I don't want to live on doctor's pills for the rest of my life."

"But what is this homeopath doing for you, Spicer?"  asked Annette.

"Is it working?  That's all that matters.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to
raise my voice.

I was just taken by surprise."

"She's given me drops," said Spicer, "which I place on my tongue every
morning and every evening."

"She?"

"Annette, leave off!  I can feel my blood pressure rising already.

Half the human race is female."

"I'm sorry."

"Try not to make me choleric," said Spicer.  "It'll kill me."

"Choleric's a funny word," said Annette.  "Where did you get it from?

I suppose it's a homeopathic term.  Kind of medieval.  Are the drops
working?"

"My blood pressure is down, yes, though scenes like this don't help."

"It isn't a scene.  It's just me reacting.  What sort of drops?  What's
in them?"

"I don't know," said Spicer.  "All I know is you have to make sure they
get to the tongue without first coming in contact with any other part
of the body, or they don't work so well."

"Like sex without foreplay," said Annette.  "A shock to the system
."

"Quite so," said Spicer.

"Could be good, could be bad," said Annette.

"Let's go to bed and find out," said Spicer.  "I'm glad that's out in
the open.

I'm glad I've got it over.  Now let's get back to normal."

"Is making love good for blood pressure?"  asked Annette.

"Best possible thing," said Spicer.

"I suppose it will give me time to let all this sink in," said
Annette.

"Think things through."

"The important thing for you, Annette," said Spicer, "is not to think
too much.  Just accept.  Come upstairs."

The phone rang.

"Don't answer that," said Spicer.

"I won't," said Annette.

"Pay attention to me," said Spicer.

"I will," said Annette, and they went upstairs to the bedroom, and the
phone went on ringing.

"Wait till I take my drops," said Spicer.

"I will," said Annette.  "Spicer, I suppose the therapist and the
homeopath aren't the same person?"

"Let's say they're part of the same gestalt," said Spicer.  "Annette,
will you help me?  My eyes cross if I try to do it myself.  Thank
you."

"What's a gestalt?"  asked Annette.

"A German word for a whole made up of parts which you could separate
out but on the whole it would be better not to," Spicer said.

"So they could be the same?"

"Actually, yes, they are.  She is both healer and astrologer.  Now,
don't make a fuss."

"She's not making a lot of money out of you?"

"My God," said Spicer, "a man's health is not to be measured in
monetary terms."

"Of course not," said Annette.

"Nor is his mind, or his soul."

"Sweetheart," said Annette, "I love your tongue, I love your teeth, I
love your mouth, I love all of you.  How often do you see her?"

"Four times a week at the moment," said Spicer, "while the crisis
lasts."

"Oh," said Annette.

"The nicer you are to me, the sooner the crisis will be over," Spicer
said.

"Of course," said Annette.  "I wish you'd tell me her name."

"Let it be, Annette," said Spicer.

"I can always sleep in the spare room," said Annette.

"I wouldn't put it past you," said Spicer.  "You are inconsistent
enough.  I can't rely on you for anything."

"Other people find me perfectly consistent and reliable," said
Annette.

"Other people, other people!"  said Spicer.  "I don't like your habit
of appealing to these convenient witnesses.  What other people?"

"I'm sorry," said Annette.

"Your apologies are accepted," said Spicer.  "Rest assured my
therapist/astrologer/homeopath has conventional medical qualifications
and I am in excellent hands, it's just that at the moment I'd rather be
in yours.

The great thing about you being pregnant is that your breasts are
finally a proper size."

"Yes, but there's this bump beneath them," said Annette.

"I'll forget it," said Spicer, "if you will.  Put on your white pleated
silk nightgown.  I like so to take it off.  You are so beautiful, even
with your bump."

"I'm not sure the white nightie will fit over the bump," said
Annette.

"But I'm willing to try."

"Don't talk all the time, darling.  Stop thinking.  Just be."

"Can I just say one more thing?"

"If it's neither critical nor reproachful," said Spicer.

"I wish you'd told me earlier you were going to see a therapist,"
Annette said.

"I have told you," said Spicer.

"But isn't it just what Aileen did?"

"That's a silly comparison," said Spicer.  "Aileen wanted to end the
marriage.

I want the opposite for ours.  I want to live in peace and
tranquillity."

"Help me put the nightie on," said Annette.  "Just a little tug at the
back.  I love your hands, Spicer.  I always have."

"I love all of you, Annette," said Spicer.  "You're like the sea, I
love to drown in you.  But, like the seas, you have your moods:
sometimes you can be dangerous.  So I must learn to navigate you.  Is
that comfortable?"

"Well, not totally any more," said Annette.  "You are quite heavy on
the bump."

"Turn on your side, then.  Is that better?"

"Well, yes, but then I can't see you," said Annette.  "I like to see
you: the expression of your face.  I like to watch you loving me."

"But by liking to see me we have to stay very decorous, very
missionary, Annette."

"Something's lost, something's gained," said Annette.  "I'll turn on my
side.

Not too hard, not too violent, please.  I wouldn't want you to shake
the baby loose--" "Babies are well locked in," said Spicer.  "Nature
sees to it.  Other women don't make this fuss.  Don't make me feel
guilty or none of this will work."

"Sorry, Spicer," said Annette.  "If I bring my knees up-- wonderful,
wonderful-you've always been wonderful, like nothing else, no one
else."

"Then why can't you be more secure in me?"

"I am, I am," said Annette.  "I shouldn't have spoken the way I did to
Gilda: I didn't mean to be disloyal."

"You speak far too much to Gilda," said Spicer.

"I'll try not to in future," said Annette.

"Gilda isn't a real friend: she just wants someone to gossip about."

"I expect so."

"The way you go on about me," said Spicer, "makes me wonder about
you.

You are sure it is my baby?"

"Of course I am, Spicer."

"Because I have to have you all to myself," said Spicer.  "I couldn't
bear to share you."

"Only you, Spicer, only ever you."

"Not like Aileen."

"Never, never like Aileen," said Annette.  "Spicer, not so rough.

Spicer, whatever you like--but you are tearing my best nightdress."

"It's too tight over the bump, why did you wear it?  Please don't talk,
it distracts me--turn over, talk into the pillow if you have to--"

"I don't want to turn over," said Annette.

"Why not?  I love every bit of you, every part of you," said Spicer.

"I want to be able to say that too," said Annette.  "To your face, not
to a pillow."

"Do as I say," said Spicer.

"Oh, very well," said Annette.

"I love you," said Spicer into his wife's ear.  "So much love must be
good for the baby.  It couldn't possibly harm it: that's what Rhea
says.  There, I've told you.  Dr. Rhea Marks, my therapist.  Annette,
I'm coming, I can't help it, you moved so suddenly-- come with
me--please--" "I am, I am.  There."

"There.  Oh my God.  I love you, Annette."

Spicer brought Annette some orange juice and sat in the blue basket
chair by the bed.

"You were faking, weren't you?"  said Spicer.

"I was not," said Annette.

"Yes you were.  I can always tell."

"I'd quite like to go to sleep now, Spicer," said Annette.

"You never talk when I want to talk," said Spicer.  "You always talk
when I'd rather you didn't."

"I expect I'm affiicted in my planets.  Ask Dr. Rhea Marks.  She'll
tell you all about it."

"Sulky, sulky!"  said Spicer.  "Rhea told me it would happen.  Spouses
feel resentful if an outsider, as they see it, comes into the
marriage.

But of course it isn't like that."

"Isn't it?"

"Good God, no," said Spicer.  "Is your seeing Dr. Herman Marks coming
between you and me?  No.  The opposite is true.  Weren't we together
just now?  You were wonderful.  He's already dispersed some of the
frigidity."

"But I've never been frigid," said Annette.  "What do you mean?"

"Lilith is cold," said Spicer.  "Lilith is the devourer of children,
the hater of men.  Lilith stops women coming.  See Dr. Herman as
Saturn: only Saturn can deal with Lilith."

"What are you talking about, Spicer?  You're frightening me."

"You mustn't be frightened," said Spicer.  "I'm coming back into bed.

We have to drive Lilith out.  You were faking."

"I was not so, Spicer," said Annette.  "I want to go to sleep.

Please.

I'm pregnant."

"Spoilsport.  Talk to me."

"Very well," said Annette.  "Is Dr. Rhea young and attractive?  Or is
she the female equivalent of her husband?"

"She's kind of in the middle," said Spicer.  "I do not have a sexual
relationship with her.  Okay?  And I've never even met her husband.  It
seems such a waste for the baby to have your breasts."

"It won't be for long," said Annette.  "Then you can have them back.

Do you see her in the house in Maresfield Gardens?"

"Yes.  But it's on a lease from the AJAP.  They have to move out
soon."

"The AJAP?"  asked Annette.

"The Association of Jungian and Allied Psychotherapists," said
Spicer.

"Very reputable, very respectable.  She was well recommended.  I'm not
a fool."

"If you go to the same house, how come you haven't met her husband?"

asked Annette.

"I like your knees," said Spicer.  "I've always liked your knees.  Part
them just a little.  If I haven't met her husband it's

because antisynchronicity is almost as strong a force in the universe
as synchronicity."

"I must say," said Annette, "this is rather like being in bed with a
stranger.

I've never heard you talk like this."

"All the more exciting," said Spicer.  "We have layer upon layer with
which to encounter each other.  You are so hot between your legs since
you've been pregnant.  It's almost worth it."

"I suppose Dr. Herman and Dr. Rhea won't get together to discuss our
cases?"  asked Annette.

"I wouldn't think so," said Spicer.  "It wouldn't be ethical.  Why,
have you got something to hide?"

"No," said Annette.

"That's just as well," said Spicer.  "I'm coming in you now."  Gilda?"

"What is it, Annette?  It's very early to ring."

"I'm sorry," said Annette.  "But I have to tell someone."

"Could it possibly wait, Annette?  Because I'm having breakfast with
Steve, and he doesn't like me on the phone when he's in the house."

"Oh, very well," said Annette.  "Don't worry.  It can wait.  It's
probably better if I don't tell you.  Spicer's coming out of the
bathroom now, anyway, so I can't talk either.  If you and me were
earning more than peanuts and Steve and Spicer were househusbands,
would we be the way they are about using the phone?"

"I don't think so," said Gilda.

"I don't think so either," said Annette.  "Bye."  something the matter,
Spicer?"  asked Annette.

"For God's sake, Annette," said Spicer.  "I am sitting in my dressing
gown, drinking orange juice, and reading the morning paper, like any
other husband.

What should be the matter?"

"You don't look at me, you don't speak to me.  You're angry."

"I am not in the least angry.  I will put down my paper.  Speak to me,
I will speak back."

"When you thought I was born in the evening, did I seem a nicer
person?"  asked Annette.

"Let us say you had fewer life problems," said Spicer.  "And so did
I.

The evening sun was cuspate.  But your morning sun remains firmly in
Virgo, it hasn't even begun to move over into Libra."

"I see," said Annette.  "Is that bad?"

"Nothing in astrology is bad in itself," said Spicer.  "But Virgos have
a problem with their sexuality.  They hold back.  Librans are more
giving.  They don't have to fake."

"Good Lord," said Annette.  "Who'd have thought it!"

"Which of course is not a source of grief for the Virgo," said Spicer,
"on the contrary, but can be to the Sun-Aquarian who marries her.

"I really wish," said Annette, "my mother had kept her legs closed a
little longer, at least until evening."

"Try not to be so insensitive," said Spicer.

"I'm sorry," said Annette.  "Besides the sun in the wrong place, what
else?"

"For God's sake," said Spicer, "I'm trying to explain that nothing in
astrology is wrong."  No one is to blame.  It is just useful

to locate the problem areas.  We now find your moon is square my
Neptune in my Seventh, this does suggest marital upsets."

"But you're to blame as much as me if it's your Neptune, not mine."

"You're simply trying to provoke me, Annette.  You are being stupid on
purpose."

"I'm sorry," said Annette.  "I just don't seem able to get my head
round astrology."

"It's not an easy subject.  It took Rhea years to get her degree."

"Her degree?"  inquired Annette.  "Who on earth gives degrees in
astrology?"

"There are very reputable associations in existence which supervise
training and issue qualifications," said Spicer.  "It's a growing
field."

"You're telling me!"  said Annette.  "Anyway, I'm put very firmly in my
place.

Tell me, if I'm so stupid and insensitive, how do I get to hold down a
job of work and get a novel published?"

"Your job of work," said Spicer, "brings in a little pin money.  You do
it in your spare time.  It's Gilda's work anyway: you just do the
overflow.  As for you being the artistic and creative one in the
family," said Spicer, "that's another of your fantasies.  Your idea of
art is a novel called Lucifette Fallen, which you manage to get
published by a dwarf who thinks he'll get cheap wine from me in
return."

"I never claimed to be artistic or creative, Spicer," said Annette.  "I
never even mentioned the words.  I'm a researcher by nature.  You're
the imaginative one.  And the title was your idea, and I'm sure Ernie
Gromback doesn't want his wine cheap.  Why should he?  He's rich
enough."

"Everyone wants their wine cheap.  When I said call the bloody book
Lucifette Fallen I was joking.  You took me seriously and went ahead
with it.  I could hardly believe it."

"You were being ironic?  And you let me go ahead?  Laughing at me?"

wept Annette.

"One thing I have learned from Rhea Marks," said Spicer, "is that it is
best to allow people to take the consequences of their actions.  For
one spouse to intervene to protect the other is in the long run
counterproductive.  Marriage doesn't mean that life learning stops.

Though Sun-Virgos do all they can to make it."

Annette went upstairs to the bathroom and vomited.  Spicer followed
her.

"Are you okay, Annette?"  he asked.  "It's important for us to get
these feelings out into the open: we have to speak the truth to each
other.  It is one of the things that Dr.  Rhea stresses."

"Please go away and let me be ill in peace," said Annette.

"Now, why does that sound so familiar?  Of course, Aileen!  How a man
does repeat the same mistake!  Aileen was a Virgo, just as you are."

"Please don't compare me with Aileen," said Annette.  "I keep getting a
terrible headache, Spicer.  Something's going wrong with the baby."

"I'm the one who's ill," said Spicer.  "But Virgos do love to
compete.

If there was anything wrong with you, they'd have picked it up at the
Clinic.  That's why you go."

"I haven't been to the Clinic for three Tuesdays in a row."

"You pretend to care about this baby," said Spicer, "but at best you're
ambivalent.  That's why you don't go to the Clinic.  I feel quite
drained after my conversations with you.  Rhea says this is because
you represent the suffocated and suffocating mother.  First Aileen, now
you."

"Spicer," said Annette, "I am doing my best to make this relationship
work."

"Are you?"  asked Spicer.  "I really wonder.  Your problems
conceiving?

An unconscious rejection of the baby: hatred of the husband?  That's
what it feels like to me."

"I'm going back to bed," said Annette.  "I feel really ill."

"And I'm going to work," said Spicer.  "Present you with a little
truth, Annette, and your reaction is to sulk.  It's the children I'm
sorry for.  But, not having had the experience of a happy childhood,
how can you hope to re-create it for your own children?  At least
you're in therapy: there may be some hope for the rest of us.

Otherwise, God help us."

@'h God, Gilda."

"Now what's the matter?"

"I've just had a very strange dream," said Annette.

"But it's the middle of the morning," said Gilda.

"The morning sickness was so bad I was exhausted and went back to bed,"
said Annette.

"You've hardly been morning sick at all so far," said Gilda, "and it's
far too late to start now."

"Well, I had a row with Spicer and I was.  Not exactly a row: just
home-truth time.  He's seeing a therapist: she's the one who's been
turning him on to astrology."

"So that's it," said Gilda.  "At least it's not a mistress.  They do
say treatment stirs things up.  That's why he's been so moody."

"She's also a homeopath.  She's mending his mind, casting his star
chart, and mine, and giving him drops for high blood pressure ."

"Steve said something about Spicer's blood pressure," said Gilda.  "I
expect it's all all right.  But it can't be nice having another woman
helping out in quite so many respects."

"It isn't," said Annette.

"Are the drops working?"  asked Gilda.

"Spicer says so," said Annette.

"That's something," said Gilda.  "But you have to be careful,
Annette.

Therapists tends to think all illness is caused by stress, and stress
is caused by the spouse, so, to cure the patient, get rid of the
spouse."

"I think you're rather oversimplifying matters," said Annette.

"I'd never let Steve go to a therapist," said Gilda.

"Spicer does what he wants," said Annette.

"You can say that again," said Gilda.  "What was the dream?"

"I dreamt I was having a row with him and he bit me on the "Like a
vampire?"  asked Gilda.

"More like a love bite," said Annette.  "It hurt and I woke up.  Oh,
how extraordinary!"

"What's extraordinary?"  asked Gilda.

"I do have a love bite on my shoulder and it is hurting.  Spicer must
have done it last night.  Sorry, Gilda."

"That's okay," said Gilda.  "Any time.  But is quite so much sex good
for the baby?  See you at the Clinic tonight.  Now, do you mind if I
get on with buttering my toast?"

hello, Annette."

"Hello, Mum."

"All well?"

"Everything's fine."

"What did they say at the Clinic?"

"Everything's running to plan."

"Because I thought on Monday your wrists were a little puffy.  Did they
say anything about that?"

"They picked it up," lied Annette.  "They're very careful.  They
decided any puffiness was well within normal limits.  Now, don't worry,
Mum: everything will be just fine."

"And how's Susan?  Are you spending enough time with her?  She isn't
still sulking in her room?  You should take her out and about.  No
reason why mothers and daughters shouldn't be friends.  You don't want
her to feel neglected even before the new baby comes along."

"I'm very conscious of the danger, Mum.  But Susan's a very
self-sustaining girl.  And she has a lot of friends up and down the
Crescent."

"And Jason?  I mustn't forget little Jason.  He does tend to keep
himself to himself rather, I've noticed.  Not the most sociable little
chap."

"He has a new friend, Tommy by name.  They shut themselves in his room
and play video games."

"Tommy?  What sort of boy?"

"Really nice," said Annette.  "Peaceful."

"It all sounds a little convenient, Annette.  It isn't good to let
these intense one-to-one relations develop between children."

"I don't think it's all that intense," said Annette.

"How do you know?"  asked her mother.  "If the pair of them shut
themselves into his room?  And do you check the games?  They can be
really unpleasant, I hear.

But it's the fashionable way to bring up children, I suppose.  The
hands-off method.  How's dear Spicer?  He did seem a little stressed
last time I saw him-you shouldn't let him be so rude to you.  But he
did ring me up in the afternoon, and was sweet to me.  Really
affectionate.  He's a good man, Annette.

I hope you value him properly.  A good husband's hard to find."

"I know that, Mum."

"Because men can get a little stressed when their wives are pregnant.

When I was carrying you, your father had an affair."

"Yes, I know that too, Mum."

"Our marriage limped along after that: we managed, but things were
never really the same.  Of course, you children never got to know.

Your father and myself were careful to present a united front.  And I
wouldn't bring any of this up, Annette, except I do worry for you and
Spicer, and I wouldn't want to happen to you what happened to me."

"Honestly, Mum, Monday lunch was just a fluke," said Annette.  "You
can't expect Spicer to be the life and soul of the party all the
time.

It was really stupid of me to forget he doesn't drink coffee any
more."

"You shouldn't drink coffee either, Annette," said her mother.  "It's
bad for the baby.  It isn't good of you.  Sometimes you surprise me by
your selfishness.

But you were like that even as a child: what Annette wants, Annette has
to have.  If Spicer's stopped drinking coffee, it's probably to set you
an example."

"I expect that's what it is, Mum," agreed Annette.  "Honestly, we're
just fine.

Don't worry."

/Annett, why haven't you called me?"

"Oh, hello, Gilda.  I've been busy, I expect."

"Because you weren't at the Clinic," said Gilda.

"I know," said Annette.  "I felt kind of depleted.  I didn't want to be
somehow examined and found wanting."

"You sound really low."

"I'm just fine."

"No, you're not," said Gilda.  "I can tell from your voice."

"Gilda, you won't tell anyone what I told you last time?  You do
understand it's confidential?"

"Of course I fucking understand it's fucking confidential.  What's the
matter with you?"

"Don't be so emotional," said Annette.

"You are so English," said Gilda.

"You're English too."

"But I don't feel it," said Gilda.  "I was born an outsider.  You
always want to be an insider.  You like to be accepted."

"Gilda, I don't know why I didn't ring you before.  It's a great relief
talking to you.  You make me laugh.  I just kind of get muddled in my
head all the time."

"That's why you're in therapy," said Gilda.  "It will get better."

"Dr. Herman Marks says I'm very English.  I always thought it was a
compliment, but apparently in a woman it means cut off, repressed.  I
had the oddest dream about him.  We were waiting for a whole lot of
vague people to leave his consulting room so we could make love.  But
we never quite got there.  You know how these dreams are.  I'm not
really in therapy either: I've only been to see him once.  All the
touching and hugging somehow got him into my head: but he's disgusting,
really."

"When are you going again?"  asked Gilda.

"This afternoon.  Gilda, I shouldn't tell you.  I meant not to.

Everything gets so gossipy."

"Thanks a million, Annette."

"I don't mean you gossip--oh God, everything with you gets so
involved."

"Steve says that too.  He says it's my lesbian past.  He is quite
convinced I have a lesbian past, and I expect he has told Spicer.  That
kind of thing quite turns men on.  All I did, when I was fifteen, was
share a bed with a prefect who touched me all over, most beautifully,
and I won't say I didn't like it, because I did.  Okay?  Shall we now
forget my being overemotional, et cetera, et cetera?"

"Sometimes I'm glad I'm a repressed Englishwoman, Gilda," said
Annette.

"And you won't tell Steve what I said about youknow-what, because
what's happened, which I didn't mean to tell you, is that the therapist
Spicer has been going to see is Herman Marks' wife, a Dr. Rhea Marks,
the one with all the letters after her name.  They share consulting
rooms."

"Oh my God, Annette," said Gilda.

"You don't think this phone is bugged?"

"No."

"Because I saw a TV program about private detectives," said Annette,
"and it's the easiest thing in the world to bug telephones."

"Who would want to do such a thing?"  asked Gilda.

"Spicer, of course," said Annette.

"Annette, Spicer is right, you've gone nuts."

"You mean Spicer told Steve I'd gone nuts?"

"Not exactly," said Gilda.

"It's as if I'm not standing on the proper ground," said Annette, "but
on a rug, and people keep snatching it from under my feet."

"Don't cry, Annette.  Shall I come round?"

"No, you'd better not," said Annette.

"Why not?  Wouldn't Spicer like it, because of my lesbian past?"

"I'm so muddled, Gilda," said Annette.

"I can tell.  What time are you seeing this Dr.  Herman Marks again?

Because the sooner the better."

"It just seems so peculiar," said Annette, "that I'm going to the
husband, and Spicer's going to the wife.  And Spicer knowing but doing
nothing to stop me.

Is it ethical?"

"I don't see much wrong with it," said Gilda.

"Not in itself," said Annette.  "But wouldn't they be tempted to talk
to one another about their patients?"

"It does happen," said Gilda gloomily.  "All London knows about Ernie
Gromback's herpes, because a gossip columnist happened to be sitting in
a restaurant at the next table to a group of therapists discussing case
histories, with names.  But I'm sure the Drs.  Marks aren't like
that.

They're original Hampstead types, from the sound of them, and
old-fashionedly professional.  So no one except themselves would
understand the jargon they spoke.  What do you think she looks like?"

"She didn't seem to make much impression on Spicer," said Annette.  "It
doesn't sound exactly sexy: a New Age homeopathic
therapist/astrologer.

But I suppose one never knows.  What I can't stand is Spicer being so
gullible.  He never used to be.  I hold Dr. Rhea Marks responsible for
sapping his intellect."

"Annette," said Gilda, "if you take my advice, you won't speak against
his therapist, or he'll side with her against you."

"But I'm his wife."

"For a man to be close to his therapist might be worse than his having
a mistress.  An affair without sex.  A meeting of minds.  What could
you do about it?  Nothing.  There are no laws against it, nobody to
socially disapprove, nobody to cut dead in the street."

"I do see," said Annette, "that I might have a real problem."  that Dr.
Herman Marks?"  said Annette over the phone.  "This is Mrs. Horrocks
speaking.  I have an appointment with you this afternoon, but if you
don't mind I think I'll cancel.  I'm not feeling very well."

"All the more reason to come and see me," said Dr. Herman Marks.  "A
young woman in the full flood of pregnancy should be the happiest,
healthiest creature in the world.  If such a person is ill, the
distress seeps out from the mind, not the body.  I will see you at
three this afternoon.  I went to some trouble making space for you, as
you will understand.  There are many calls upon my time from people in
serious need."

"Believe me, I understand that."

"As we arranged, Mrs. Horrocks.  Annette.  So I'll see you at three,
as we planned."

"Yes, Dr.  Marks."

t two-fifty-two Annette knocked on the door of the Drs.  Marks, and
was admitted by a woman in her mid-thirties.  She had a sweet face and
a gentle, welcoming smile.  Her lashes were colorless, her eyes
protruded, her face was without makeup, her clothes indeterminate
dove-gray, and her mousy hair was pulled back in a bun.  Her movements
were graceful and her demeanor was peaceful.

"I will show you into my husband's surgery, Mrs. Horrocks," said Dr.
Rhea Marks, "although you are a few minutes early."  Her voice was
agreeably soft, low, and tentative.  "We do like patients to arrive at
the appointed time."

"It is difficult to time one's arrival to the dot," said Annette,
"traffic being what it is, and random."

"Patients sometimes just park and sit in their cars outside and wait,"
said Dr. Rhea Marks, "and take the opportunity to relax, or meditate
if they are in touch with their inner being, until the proper time."

"I came by public transport," said Annette.

"VThat a nuisance for you!"  said Dr.  Marks sympathetically.

Annette sat in the leather chair facing Dr. Herman Marks' desk.  The
Persian carpet was worn.  The room was hot and the ceiling yellow from
cigarette smoke.

She fell asleep.

"Oh, Dr.  Marks, you startled me!"

"Do please call me Herman.  Otherwise I might mistake myself for my
wife, and that would never do.  Two Drs.  Marks in one house!  When I
married, my wife was my student--the merest miss.  Now she outstrips me
in everything, including doctorates.  You were asleep, my dear.

How flattering.  How at home you must feel!"

"Well, I'm awake now, Dr. Marks.  If you don't mind, I won't call you
Herman.

It seems so informal."

"You are very nervous today, I can tell.  In a very English mood," said
Dr.  Herman.

"I told you I was not feeling very well," said Annette.

"And how does this mysterious not well' affect you?"

"I have a permanent headache," said Annette.  "There seems to be a kind
of space in my head where things aren't connecting."

"You put it very well," said Dr.  Herman.  "Things not connecting."

Well, we will help if we can.  Do you often get these headaches?"

"No."

"But you have today.  I wonder why?"

"I'm not getting enough sleep," said Annette.  "And when I do sleep I
get dreams which wake me up.  Or else it's the baby kicking.  I don't
know."

"And I figure in these dreams?"

"Well, yes, come to think of it."

"In what way?"  asked Dr. Herman.  He bent towards her.  The hairs in
his nostrils were black, thick, and curly.  There was gray in his hair
but not in his nostrils.

"Do we have to go into all this?"

"I think perhaps we do," said Dr. Herman.  "And in some detail.  You
must learn to trust me, not to hold back.  There is no blame in our
sexual fantasies.  You have already trusted me with many confidences.

I really would prefer you to call me Herman.  See me as a father, be a
good daughter: call me what I ask."

"I could call you Dr.  Herman," said Annette.

"Thank you, Annette," said Dr. Herman.  "That is a satisfactory
compromise.

Many of your troubles stem from your being the daughter of a perhaps
too loving father."

"That simply is not the case," said Annette.  "He seemed to love me
just about right.  Still does."

"These memories are often buried," said Dr. Herman.  "It does not mean
they are not there, simply that you have overlaid them.  See what has
just happened?  I instructed you to call me Herman.  At first you
refuse, then you change your mind and obey, from which I deduce that
you see me as the father, you oblige me with your obedience.  You were
unwilling, but how easily I am able to override you."

"I just wanted you to stop going on about it," said Annette.

"You just wanted the father to stop," said Dr. Herman.  "How often do
we not hear that story?"

"Now, hang on a minute," said Annette.

"I think you protest too much, Annette.  You identify me with your
father, then you dream of me in intimate terms: now, what are we to
make of that?  It was almost the first thing you told me.  Practically
bursting out of your lips."

"Actually, I've got too bad a headache to make much of anything, Dr.
Marks.

Dr. Herman.  But I can promise you I was not the victim of child abuse
at the hands of my father."

"At the hands of your father?  Or something worse than hands?"

"Do you have any aspirin?"  asked Annette.

"Perhaps we should take your blood pressure," said Dr. Herman.  "If
you are having headaches.  Just stand here beside me.  There is no need
to be nervous of physical contact.  I am not your father in the real
world, though in your dreams you fantasize that I am."

"I can go to my own doctor to have my blood pressure taken.  Really,
I'd rather."

"But will you?  Since you are avoiding treatment for both yourself and
your baby?"

"How do you know I'm avoiding treatment?"

"You see!  I am right.  You are ambivalent about your baby.  So others
must look after it!  Roll up your sleeve, please: I will wrap this
black collar round your arm.  The sleeve higher, please.  It won't roll
up any further?  Then I think you should take your blouse off
altogether.  When I have taken your blood pressure, I will need to
listen to your heart anyway.  Don't be prudish.  I am a medical
doctor.

I have seen many a bare bosom in my time, even younger and prettier
than yours--what are you ashamed of?"  Gilda," wept Annette, "please
come and help me."

"Where are you?  What's the matter?"

"I'm in a phone box at Finchley Road Station."

"What's happened?"

"Gilda, it's terrible.  Awful.  I'm in such a state."

"Shall I get hold of Spicer?"

"No, just you.  Quickly, please."  h, thank you, Gilda.  You are so
kind," said Annette.

"Just lie and soak in the bath, Annette.  It will stop you trembling.

Are you hurt anywhere?  He didn't actually rape you?"

"Oh no, no," said Annette.  "Of course not.  His wife was in the
house."

"Well, what?"

"First he made me stand there without anything at all on top--" "Not
even your bra?  Most doctors let you keep your bra on when they take
your blood pressure."

"He forgot about my blood pressure as soon as my blouse was off.  He
kept saying he wanted to listen to my heart," said Annette.  "Then he
complained about the little wired metal rose in the center of my bra:
he said it was interfering with the electronics of his stethoscope, so
would I take the bra off, and I felt stupid not wanting to, as if I was
seeing sexual implications when there weren't any.  What made me think
I was so attractive anyway: pregnant women aren't exactly fanciable by
all and sundry, are they?  A breast's a breast in a medical context.

So I took it off, but then he said there was something wrong with his
stethoscope after all, and I just had to stand there while he found
another, not sure whether I was meant to put my bra back on.  There
comes a moment when modesty is almost more suggestive than anything
else.  Then he did listen to my heart, and to my back while I
coughed.

He said my heart was okay.  So what else was new!  Then he felt my
nipples, and said they were very engorged, and not very attractive, and
my husband could hardly like them in that state.  Then he pinched them,
first one, then the other: he told me to see if they'd retract--" "Why
didn't you just kick him in the balls and run?"

"I was kind of paralyzed.  It was so hard to believe.  I thought it
might be genuine, some kind of middle-European nipple test.  How was I
to know?  He told me he was just making sure they were healthy," said
Annette.  "That it was extra estrogen, not malignancy, which was
smudging them."

"So you just stood there?"

"I was so taken by surprise," said Annette.  "He seemed to be
suggesting the reason I had marital difficulties was because Spicer
must find me unattractive."

"What marital difficulties?"  asked Gilda.

"I have no idea.  It was just somehow assumed I had them," said
Annette.  "And I thought perhaps he's right.  Perhaps Spicer doesn't
fancy me any more.  Then I thought, no, that's absurd, the way Spicer's
been carrying on lately: if I'm tired it's because of Spicer.  So I
fought back, Gilda.  I said, why are you trying to humiliate me?  And
do you know what he said?  He said because the more I identified him
with my father the better.  He said he had to rework the trauma and
then I'd be better."

"Oh dear God," said Gilda.

"And I was still puzzling over that when he began to palpate my
breasts--you know how the nurse does it at the Clinic, checking for
lumps so you don't have to have the mammogram and be slammed up between
those metal plates.  By that time, he was standing behind me.  And I
somehow came to, and said, what are you doing, is that really
necessary?  He just snapped that it was, because pregnant women can get
a galloping form of breast cancer, did I know that, so I had to be
checked.  I couldn't work out whether he was a doctor, my father, or
this horrible man with black hairs coming out of his nostrils.  Then
those long, long arms were hugging me from behind: the way he'd done
the week before, but now he was talking this junk about undoing the
trauma, about how I had to love the touch of the father in adult life,
as I had learned to loathe it in infancy, and this long, hard thing was
pressing into

my back, so I shrieked and turned round and hit his face, and grabbed
my clothes and ran.  I suppose that counts as an indecent assault, but
who'd ever believe me?  He'd just deny it and say it was therapy.  His
wife was in the hall, arranging roses, can you believe?  Dr. Rhea
Marks.  The one Spicer so adores.  I bet she'd been listening in.  I
pushed past her and let myself out the front door, and she just stared
after me.  I had to stop to put on my shirt, can you believe it?  In
the street?  Then I ran on down to the station and called you.  I don't
think anyone saw me.  Are my nipples really so horrible?"

"They look quite ordinary to me," said Gilda, "though they have kind of
spread, I suppose.  Some women at the Clinic have far worse.  Theirs
are kind of chocolate-brown, yours are cotee "That's something," said
Annette.  "I suppose."

"You don't think you imagined it?"  Gilda asked.  "Women do fantasize
about doctors."

"Of course I didn't imagine it," said Annette.  "Would I imagine
phrases like the homeopathy of humiliation'?  The rebirth of
response'?

I'd be ashamed even to make them up."

"I don't know, Annette.  It does seem unlikely, but, then, so does
being assaulted by a therapist.  The human brain is very strange,
especially when it's pregnant."

"Whose side are you on?"

"Yours.  I was just theorizing," said Gilda.  "For all we know, what
Dr.  Herman Marks was doing is a perfectly accepted form of therapy.

It sounds reasonable to me.  Sexual rehabilitation via the therapist.

A cure for child-abuse trauma.

Identify the therapist with the father, relive the original experience
as an adult, and

Dingo.

'It sounds disgusting to me," said Annette, "especially as I wasn't
traumatized as a child."

"That's what you say.  But supposing this doctor is right, and you've
buried the memory?  And now he's cured you anyway.  You'd never know.

Well, if it's orgasms, orgasms, orgasms from now on in, I suppose you
will.  Are you going to tell Spicer?"

"I don't think he's going to want to know," said Annette.

"I can always tell Steve," said Gilda.  "And Steve will go round and
beat Dr.  Herman Marks up.  He would if it happened to me."

"Spicer will only think I led him on," said Annette.  "He'll only blame
me.  Or he'll say I was fantasizing.  Perhaps I was?  But what was I
doing at Finchley Road Station trembling and with my bra in my pocket
if it didn't happen?"

"It's a hot day," said Gilda.  "Your bra might have got too tight and
you just took it off."

"I'd never have taken off my bra just because it was hot," said
Annette.  "My breasts have got so big they bounced all the way down the
hill.  I hated that.

Of course it really happened."

"I'll bring you some champagne," said Gilda.

"Well, just a glass.  More would be bad for baby," said Annette.

"What was your blood pressure," asked Gilda, "as a matter of
interest?"

"He never got round to taking it," said Annette.  "And the other reason
I can't tell Spicer is because you're right: he'd be more anxious to
protect Dr. Rhea Marks than he would me.  If he didn't believe me,
he'd be angry because I was causing unpleasantness, if he did believe
me, he might decide to rescue Dr. Rhea Marks from Dr. Herman.  She
wasn't exactly pretty: just sort of helpless, and she has a very little
voice, with which she puts you in your place.  And I can just see her
gazing up at Spicer with her pale pop-eyes, and flattering him by
talking about his soul."

"I suppose not many people talk to wine merchants about their souls,"
said Gilda.

"Probably not," said Annette.  "I'd better get dry and go home, and
face whatever happens next."

Z/Annett?"' "Oh, hi, Spicer."

"You were a long time answering," said Spicer on the phone.  Have you
just come in?"

"Yes," said Annette.

"Where were you?"  asked Spicer.  "Out gadding with your beloved
Gilda?

I had your friend Ernie on the phone.  He was trying to get hold of
you.  You didn't even put the answerphone on."

"I forgot," said Annette.

"If you forget, there's very little point in owning one, wouldn't you
think?"

"I was out seeing my therapist," said Annette.  "I got nervy."

"'My therapist'!  I knew it would happen," said Spicer.  "You have
joined the ranks of the ladies-in-treatment.  Now at last my Annette
can hold her head up in the cafes and coffee shops!  She will be equal
in the beauty parlors and the hair salons.  Oh, to be a lady of
leisure, and the doors of the soul held open wide."

"You're very lyrical, Spicer, considering it was your idea I went in
the first place."

"I think you misremember it, Annette.  You misremember so "Anyway,
Spicer, you go to a therapist too."

"It's hardly the same," said Spicer.

"I don't understand why not," said Annette.  "Unless it's different for
men."

"You're very sharp and edgy today, Annette," said Spicer.  "Let me put
it like this: men, unlike women, seldom seek therapy for trivial
reasons.  Rhea Marks is a Jungian, a transcendentalist.  Herman Marks,
her husband, is an eclectic: a behaviorist.  I am seeking treatment
from the first, you from the second.  How did you get on with him this
time?"

"Not very well, actually," said Annette.  "I don't think I like him
very much.

In fact, I think I'll stop seeing him."

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Spicer.  "Oh, the whims and fancies.  First I
will, then I won't.  You do find it difficult to persist in anything,
Annette.  Not even our baby's welfare has done anything to steady you
down."

"For God's sake, Spicer--" "If you're going to be unpleasant, there's
very little point in ringing you."

The phone buzzed.  Spicer had cut her off.  Annette switched the yellow
button over to save the battery.  She sat down.  She could see her
ankles: they were indeed puffy.  She took off her shoes.  The phone
rang again.

"Spicer?"

"No, Mrs. Horrocks," said Wendy.  "It's me.  Mr. Horrocks said to say
he's sorry he had to go and asked me to tell you to call Mr. Gromback
at once.  Apparently Oprah Winfrey are interested and Mr. Gromback
needs a yes or no from you as soon as possible."

"Oprah Winfrey?  You mean the TV show?"

"Yes.  She's over here doing a series on literary women worldwide."

"But that's extraordinary.  Why should they want me?"

"I don't know why, Mrs. Horrocks.  Mr. Horrocks just asked you to
call Mr.  Gromback.  Isn't it exciting!"

"I suppose so.  Can I speak to Spicer?"

"He's in a meeting.  I always watch Oprah Winfrey if ever I'm ill,
which is hardly ever.  Mr. Horrocks says he doesn't know who in God's
name she is, but I bet he does.  Well, everyone does.  Must go!"

"Thank God you called back, Annette," said Ernie Gromback.  "Where have
you been?  Where do you housewives get to?  I was worried.  You're
meant to be resting."

"As it happens," said Annette, "I was out being indecently assaulted by
a mad therapist."

"There's a lot of it about," said Ernie Gromback.  "Anyone can do a
weekend course and set up in business.  Or not even bother with the
course.  Marion's thinking of setting herself up as a counselor."

"She's not!"

"She threatens to," said Ernie.  "But enough about Marion, are you
okay?"

"Just about," said Annette.

"Not traumatized?"

"No," said Annette.  "I don't think so.  It was a long way this side of
rape."

"Spicer didn't say anything about it," said Ernie, suspiCiously.

"Spicer doesn't know."

"Funny kind of relationship you and Spicer have," said Ernie
Gromback.

"It's a very good relationship," said Annette, automatically.  "We're
very close and we love each other very much."

"Now that's settled," said Ernie, after a short pause, "Oprah Winfrey
wants you to be on her show next week.  Literary schmiterary, but
she'll shift a book or two."

"But, Ernie--" "Look, publishing's hit hard times.  This is a first
novel.  You turn down Oprah Winfrey, you do Gromback, Little & Peach a
bad turn.  And yourself.  I have a feeling you need all the good turns
you can get."

"But why would anyone be interested in a book called Lucifette
Fallen?"

"Some researcher picked up an early review.  The Archetype of the
Matrimonial Row: God and Lucifette,' subtitle Lilith in Her New
Appearance."" "Why haven't I seen this review?"  asked Annette.

"Because it came out in some nutty, New Age journal," said Ernie
Gromback.

"Winfrey must have got hold of a proof copy.  Probably by way of
Marion.

Marion's into the New Age.  She goes to a self-discovery group, so do
all sorts of TV people.  Drives me nuts.  I'm the only rational man
left in the universe, everyone else has gone Carl Gustav.  Personally,
I'd rather put my faith in a rabbi, but even they are gazing into
crystals these days and telling their fortunes by the stars."

"Lucifette Fallen is nothing to do with the stars," said Annette.

"It's all cosmos, darling," said Ernie.  "All cosmos.  At any rate,
I'm glad they think it is.  There's money in the New Age."

"Can you be more precise about the magazine?"  asked Annette.

"I'll put it in the post to you," said Ernie Gromback.  "Jungian
Eclectics, Astrologian Psychonuts, I can't remember.  So I'll ask the
Oprah Winfrey people to get back to you as soon as possible.  That's
decided?"

"But, Ernie," said Annette, "I don't think Spicer would like me going
on a chat show.  We never look at things like that on TV."

"Does Spicer want you to earn any money out of this book or not?"

"Well, frankly, Ernie," said Annette, "possibly Spicer doesn't.  And
possibly I don't, because I can see trouble ahead, and family is more
important to me than anything else, and I love Spicer, as you know."

"Perhaps it's because you're pregnant," said Ernie Gromback, "that
you're slightly out of your mind."

"I am so not," said Annette.  "I've waited so long to have this baby,
and I mean it to be born into a happy, settled family.  Now, you know
all that, Ernie."

"I suppose this baby of yours is Spicer's?  It isn't mine?"

"Ernie!"  protested Annette.

"Well, Annette?"  asked Ernie Gromback.  "It's a reasonable
question."

"Babies have a gestation period of nine months," said Annette.  "The
last and indeed the only time you and I had any association of a carnal
nature was two years and one month ago."

"You make it sound rather bleak," said Ernie, "but at least you've been
counting.  So have I, if you want to know.  And I wish

Spicer would be better to you, but what can I say?  Do this one small
thing for me, Annette, since you won't do anything else-- appear on The
Oprah Winfrey Show, in the full flower of lovely motherhood, tribute to
Gromback's knack for picking talent.  Literary talent, that is."

"But what angle are they going to take?"  inquired Annette.  "I'll have
no control over any of it.  Supposing my mother sees the program, and
thinks Lucifette Fallen is all about her and my dad.  Which it is.  Oh
God, Ernie, couldn't I just unwrite this novel?  And it has such an
embarrassing title."

"The title works, Annette," said Ernie Gromback.  "I rather doubted it
would, but since Astrojunk has picked it up you were spot on in your
judgment.  So you're going to say yes to Oprah Winfrey?"

"I'll think about it, Ernie," said Annette.  "I'm going to look
dreadfully pregnant and I've had such a terrible day."

"Husbands are for telling about terrible days," said Ernie Gromback.

"Keep it for Spicer, since that's the way you want it.  When exactly
are you having this baby?"

"In November," said Annette.

"Ah, a little Scorpio," said Ernie.

"What?"

"A little Scorpio," he said.  "Marion has me well trained.  I'm on the
cusp between Scorpio and Sagittarius, did you know that?  Wildly
attractive but a sting in the tail!  Marion's a Gemini.  We were born
for each other, but Scorpios simply have to scuttle from out of their
rocks from time to time to see what they're missing.  Marion knew that
when she took me in.  Perhaps in the spring, when your waist has
returned, and you're a world-famous author, I could scuttle past your
door and you would look out from your Virgoan isolation--"

"Ernie, I have to go," said Annette.

"But never forget the sting in the tail," said Ernie Gromback.  I
"Oprah Winfrey?"

"Oprah Winfrey, Ernie," said Annette sadly.  "I can see I have no
option."

"Not really, no," said Mr. Gromback of Gromback, Little & Peach:
Gromback since 1982, Little since 1921, and Peach since 1810, and doing
nicely, even in this year of recession.

O /Annett," said Spicer, "I'm trying to read."

"But you haven't had your supper, Spicer," said Annette.  "Straight in
the door, hardly a word to anyone, and into your study.  Aren't you
hungry?"  The evening sun shone in the window and made all things
gold.

"I had some fruit," said Spicer.  "That's all I need."

"Don't get too thin," said Annette.  "Your shoulders are so broad and
nice as they are.  What are you reading?"

"Not a book I think you'd understand," said Spicer.

"Cutting Free from Hurtful Ties, by Chalice Wellspring," Annette read
over Spicer's shoulder.  "Am I one of the ties that hurt?  Does that
include wives?"

"Annette," said Spicer, "the book is a study of the internalized
negative figures that can sabotage everything that a man attempts to
do.  The inner enemies.  If you wish to take on the role of enemy in my
life, there is no way I can prevent you.  But I will then have to do my
best to escape you.  You certainly represent something phenomenal in my
life--last night in my dreams I was Jonah inside the whale, the seas
were tumultuous, terrifying."

"I was the whale?"  asked Annette.

"Annette, please just go away and leave me in peace, for God's sake!

If you see yourself as the whale, that's your problem.  Most women
would have realized they were the sea.  Get on with your own life.

It's busy enough, to all accounts."

"No.  I won't go away," said Annette.  "I'm your wife.  I want to
know.

I have a right to know.  Okay, so I'm this inner enemy, just suppose.

What does the book tell you to do about it?"

"Invoke the High C," said Spicer.  "Now, you won't understand that,
you'll just laugh, as the ignorant and antagonistic do.  The Inner
Enemy all too often takes the form of the seducer, the doubter: the one
who mocks.  Not surprising you're prepared to hold your husband and
family up to ridicule by appearing on a TV show in an advanced state of
pregnancy."

"I'm not laughing, Spicer," said Annette, "or mocking.  If you are
cutting the ties that link you to me, if you are detaching yourself
from me, then this is very painful for me indeed.  Don't you understand
that?  That it hurts?"

"How you center everything upon yourself," said Spicer.  "You are
hopelessly egocentric.  A man can be tied to many things, from drink to
drugs to rubber fetishes to money, let alone wives.  Good Lord,
Annette, can't a man even read a book someone's recommended without
your coming over all paranoid?"

"Who recommended this book?"  asked Annette.  "Dr.  Rhea Marks?"

"Yes," said Spicer.  "She did.  As it happens."

"I went to see Dr. Rhea Marks' husband today," said Annette, before
she could stop herself, "and he indecently assaulted me.  Perhaps he
does that to all his patients.  Perhaps Dr. Rhea's decided to get rid
of pathetic old Herman Marks and Spicer Horrocks would do very nicely,
thank you.  Wine merchant in prime of life, energetic in bed--merely
persuade him to cut the ties that hurt, and you!"

"Perhaps I'd better ring your mother," said Spicer.

"Why?"

"Because you're insane," said Spicer.  "Your mother may know better
than me how to deal with you when you're in this frame of mind.  I
frankly have no idea what to do for the best."

"You could close the book and talk to me," said Annette.

"Very well," said Spicer.  "I can see I have no choice.  But it doesn't
endear you to me.  Now, can we take these things one at a time?  First,
Dr.  Herman Marks indecently assaulted you?  Really?  In what way?"

"I don't even want to say--you are so out of sympathy with me," said
Annette.

"You can't make these accusations and then just leave them in the air,"
said Spicer.  "People get into real trouble doing that.  You need to be
more careful, Annette."

"Don't bully me like this."

"What form did the assault take?"  Spicer asked.

"He made me undress," said Annette.

"Made you?  Really?  How does someone make someone else undress?"

asked Spicer.

"Tell me!"

"On pretext of a medical examination," said Annette.

"Annette, he is a doctor, and you are pregnant," observed her
husband.

"Forget it," said Annette.  "Let's just say I had to run out of his
room half-naked and then out of the house, past his wife."

"Oh dear God," said Spicer.  "Poor Rhea.  This madwoman running out of
her husband's consulting room, shrieking rape.  Is this what pregnancy
does to women?  First obsessive jealousy, then accusations, now
fantasies of sexual molestation?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me," sobbed Annette.  "You always side
with my enemies."

"Enemies?  A middle-aged middle-class housewife with enemies?"

inquired Spicer.

"Only if she's a paranoiac.  Now, shall we get back to your earlier
statement?

That Dr. Rhea Marks has decided to get rid of her husband and selected
me as a substitute?  You do see that this can only be the product of a
distressed mind?"

"I know it sounds stupid, Spicer, and I'm sorry," said Annette, "but
why else is she trying to break up our relationship?  How can you
believe all the nonsense she speaks?  She's the one who's destructive,
not me.  She feeds into your vanity, she flatters you.  Something going
on I don't understand.  Perhaps she procures patients for her
husband."

"You have to stop making these allegations, Annette, or you'll end up
in prison," said Spicer.  "And the more you insult Dr. Rhea Marks, who
is extremely helpful, supportive, and positive, the more difficult
things will get between you and me.  So please, for God's sake, stop.

Let me make you a cup of tea.  You distress yourself so."

"But things between us aren't difficult, Spicer," said Annette, as she
sipped her tea and dabbed her eyes.  "Or they weren't before you
started going to see Dr.  Rhea Marks."

"Not for you, perhaps," said Spicer.  "What about me?  Could you really
believe the rows, the scenes, make me happy?  I was becoming ill,
Annette," said Spicer.  "The stress of being married to you was
showing.  My blood pressure was up.  I could have had a stroke, a heart
attack, any minute: thank God I got to Dr. Rhea in time.  I'll always
be indebted to Marion for getting me to her."

"If you're really ill, and not just a hypochondriac, go to a

proper doctor," said Annette.  "Get your blood pressure lowered by
pills.  Or get someone else to measure it, who isn't taking your
money."

"Is that your only response?  No concern, no love, just to suggest
doctor's pills which always do more damage than they do good.  You
should hear Dr. Rhea on the subject.  She's turned her back on the
orthodox medical establishment.

She's seen too much of it.  Now, don't start crying again.  I spoke to
Rhea today," said Spicer.  "She feels she needs to see you, in the hope
of bringing you to some understanding of just how drastic my situation
is.  Just how ill I am: how careful you have to be."

"I'm too stunned to cry any more," said Annette.  "Why should I see
someone who obviously has such a low opinion of me?  Who reads my star
chart and says it's shit?  I suppose yours is the cat's whiskers."

"It certainly isn't afflicted in the way yours is.  My planets cluster
in air signs.  Yours are mostly earth, and in the bottom half of your
chart.  Well, there's nothing wrong with that.  It just means I am
intuitive and imaginative, while you are practical.  We balance each
other, more or less."

"But I drag you down," cried Annette sadly.  "Deject you and undermine
you."

"I didn't say that," said Spicer.  "But I do think we should go
together to see Dr. Marks.  She'll have a thing to two to say to
you.

I'll keep you out of Dr.  Herman's way, if only for his sake."

"Very well, Spicer," said Annette.  "Make the appointment."  Gilda,"
said Annette.  It was ten past two on a Friday afternoon.

"Hi, Annette," said Gilda.  "Why are you whispering?"

"Because I'm in Dr. Herman's room using his phone.  It's okay.  He's
gone to Austria, or somewhere, for a conference.  Spicer's upstairs
with Dr. Rhea.  On the way he said I was very brave to see her,
considering what she knew about me."

"That wasn't very nice of him, Annette," said Gilda.

"He's in a funny mood," said Annette.  "Dr. Rhea opened the door sort
of excited to see me, I don't know why.  You just get a feeling.  She
was on some kind of power trip.  Then she wiped the smile off her face
and said I was to wait while she saw Spicer for twenty minutes, then
she'd see me for twenty minutes, then both of us together, and she
showed me in here to wait.  There's a chart on the wall of how to
search the breast for lumps."

"Didn't you ask her why she wanted to see you?"  inquired Annette.

"Yes, I did," said Annette.  "I was quite bold.  I said to her the
minute we were in the door, what are we in, some kind of marriage
therapy?"

"What did she say?"  asked Gilda.

"She just said, oh, we don't like to call it that, and led Spicer
upstairs.

She's wearing a kind of pleated navy-blue dress with a white collar.

It's perfectly horrible: the kind of thing a nun would wear on her
afternoon off.

And an old yellowy cardigan."

"What are you wearing?"

"Tights and my old Calvin Klein mustardy top.  I'm tryin to look
serious.

Spiritual, even."

"What's Dr. Herman's room like?  Apart from the breasts.  Does it
give you the shivers?"

"There's a big wing chair, a greasy patch either side where his head
touches it.  The ceiling's yellow from cigarette smoke.  There are
locked bookcases."

"It would give you the creeps," said Gilda, "in the circumstances ."

"I think perhaps I did imagine what I thought happened," said
Annette.

"But you said he had an erection and it pressed into your back," said
Gilda.

"It could have been a pipe in his pocket or a slide rule or something,"
said Annette.  "He was behind me.  It might have been some kind of
crystal device these nutters use to heal you, I don't know."

"I think the simplest explanation is best," said Gilda.

"But it felt long," said Annette.  "Too long.  Mind you, it did occur
to me that's the kind of length it would have seemed if I was a child
and he was a grown man."

"You mean your father?"  asked Gilda.

"I simply cannot believe any such thing about my father," said Annette,
"but perhaps an uncle.  Who's to say?"

"So either way," said Gilda, "Dr. Herman's let off the hook.  Either
you imagined it, or if you didn't it's a legitimate therapy and you'll
end up sexually liberated."

"Yes," said Annette.

"You never struck me as sexually unliberated," said Gilda.  "In fact, I
remember things from our student days when you were decidedly
liberated."

"Just shut up about those," said Annette.

"And you were trembling and crying in that telephone box," said
Gilda.

"I think they call that abreaction," said Annette.

"They're brainwashing you," said Gilda.

"I just want to live happily ever after with Spicer," said Annette,
"and if I have to turn my head inside out it's worth it.  I've got to
go now.  Spicer's coming downstairs.  Gilda, I'm petrified.  I don't
know why.  I just get intimidated by doctors."

"Well, now," said Dr. Marks cheerily, "what do you want to tell me
about your relationship with your husband?"

"I thought you were going to tell me about it," said Annette.  "That's
why you wanted to see me."

"It would help me if you told me how you saw it first," said Dr.
Rhea.

"He seems upset at the moment," said Annette.  "I don't know why.  And
he blames me for everything that goes wrong, and he's giving me a
really hard time.  But I'm sure we can work through it.  Marriages go
through bad patches and come out the other side, don't they?  We've
been happy before and we will be again.  I'm pregnant and not at my
best.  I expect I imagine things that don't happen: Spicer says I do.

Everything will just click back into place as soon as the baby's
born.

Spicer and I need each other, always have.  Until we met, both our
lives were messy.  After we met, we got things together.  I stopped
raving, Spicer stopped drinking.  It was love at first sight.  We met
at a party and went home together and never left each other's side
thereafter.  Though we both had to get unmarried to third parties to do
it.  We still call each other on the phone every day.  Well, Spicer
calls me.  He doesn't much like

me calling him, because he can be busy: it interrupts the flow of
money-making thought, he says.  And the children are in private
schools, so the money has to flow.  We try and give them stability.

Spicer and I hate being apart.  He has to go away in the summers to
France, to see the vineyards: then we both feel desperate, lonely.

We're just intertwined.  We're so lucky to love each other.

Lots of couples aren't like that.  By ourselves Spicer and I are
nothing: together we add up to something.  Well, a lot.  Friends rely
on us, our families, Spicer's aunts: we're central to so many people,
you've no idea.

Things have just got to work out."  Annette fell silent.

"Ah," said Dr. Rhea Marks, and she got up and stared out of the
window.  "You must realize, Mrs. Horrocks," said Dr. Rhea after some
reflection, "that Spicer would get on perfectly well without you.

After all, he has his own friends, his own work, his own interests, his
own income."

"Oh!"  said Annette, and she giggled.

"And no doubt the same applies to you," said Dr.  Rhea.

"Do you really think so?"  asked Annette, and she giggled some more.

"Spouses are often far less dependent upon each other than they
imagine," said Dr. Rhea.  "The close relationship can turn
destructive, in response it is not unusual for one partner to develop
an image of themselves as dependent."

"My feeling more dependent than usual is nothing to do with being
pregnant?"  asked Annette.

"Oh no," said Dr. Rhea.  "Your feelings of dependence are to do with
your close connection to the child: they are the mere reflection of
embryonic dependency, which little by little becomes the basis for your
unconscious and conscious maternal solicitude."

"Well, thank you very much," said Annette.  "If what you mean is I'm
just catching it from the baby."

"You are more lighthearted than your chart suggests," said Dr.  Rhea.

"You giggle a lot."

"Nerves," said Annette.  "What you say is quite shocking to me, but
I'll try and take it seriously."

"Of course, Spicer, being male, experiences the primordial mysteries
directly and indirectly as provocative: a force that sets him in motion
and impels him towards change.  It is a matter of indifference whether
the transformation of the male is caused by positive or negative
fascination."

"I'm not altogether indifferent," remarked Annette, "to changes in
Spicer."

"But of course in Spicer we notice the emergence of something
soullike--the anima--from the archetypal feminine, the unconscious,
represented by yourself, so the relation of the ego to the unconscious
changes.  What you describe as a bad patch, Mrs. Horrocks.  It may be
more profound than this."

"That sounds bad," said Annette.

"The transformative character fascinates but does not obliterate.  It
sets the personality in motion, produces change and ultimately
transformation.  The process is fraught with danger, even mortal
peril.

Spicer will fight for the preservation of his ego: you, the feminine,
are determined to retain his ego as your mate."

"I see.  Well, I don't really, but I expect we'll weather it," said
Annette.

"Haven't we been talking for twenty minutes?  I forgot my watch.  I'm
beginning to miss Spicer."

Dr. Rhea thought for a moment.  "Spicer tells me you have been
suffering from sexual fantasies of a markedly destructive nature."

"He told you this?"  asked Annette.

"He is open with me, of course," said Dr. Rhea.  "Don't reproach
yourself.  The spontaneous processes of the collective unconscious are
at their most demonstrable in mental disorder."

"Mental disorder?  Are you telling me I'm nuts?"

"My dear," said Dr. Rhea, "don't be distressed.  Of course not, or
only as the world will see it.  You are simply open at the moment to
the elementary character of the archetypal feminine.  The affected
individual doesn't in reality have visions, they occur as an autonomous
natural process.  You will have these visions: you will communicate
them to your husband.  The structure of the transformative character,
that is to say Spicer, already relates to a personality embracing the
spontaneity of consciousness, that is to say yourself.  It is a
fascinating phenomenon, Mrs.  Horrocks."

"Good," said Annette.  She polished her nail with her thumb.  Her
fingers were quite stiff and swollen.

"Spicer's dreams indicate the degree of transformation.  The Western
symbol group of the Terrible Mothers--night, abyss, sea, watery depths,
snake, dragon, whale--all the symbols color one another and merge.

Devouring water, rending earth womb, abyss of death, hostile snake of
night and death, whale, sea--all aspects of the negative unconscious,
which lives in the nocturnal darkness beneath the world of man and
threatens catastrophe."

"Poor Spicer," said Annette.  "Though I wish you wouldn't call him
Spicer, and me Mrs. Horrocks.  It smacks of possession.  He is my
husband.  He has been dreaming of whales, as it happens."

"It's understandable that you are resistant.  Spouses often are.  You
fear the anima in Spicer, he the anima in you.  You to him are like the
enchantress who turns men into beasts.  He sees himself as Odysseus,
the successful suitor you as Circe invited to share your bed.  But
danger is all around: to be changed into a pig is the fate of those who
displease Circe.  Your anima is negative, your intention to poison his
male consciousness, as he sees it, like Circe to endanger it by
intoxication--" "Is that why he's gone off drink?"

"You have a frivolity, Mrs. Horrocks, that isn't altogether helpful to
your own cause.  You are putting up barriers to understanding.  Very
well, I will speak in language you understand."

"What is my own cause?"  asked Annette.

"To keep your husband, Mrs.  Horrocks."

"I don't think I am in any danger of losing him," said Annette.  "Tell
me, do you have children?"

"No.  But we are not thinking about me, we are thinking about you."

"I'm thinking quite hard about you," said Annette.  "You'd be
surprised."

"You may not realize quite how ill your husband is.  He collapsed and
nearly died in this very room on his first visit to me."

"He didn't mention it to me," said Annette.

"Perhaps he thought he wouldn't receive much sympathy.  Your husband's
view is that there is so great an unconscious hostility to him that you
welcome his illness--indeed, have brought it about."

"Your view or Spicer's view?  His illness or the one you've put into
his head?"

"And please try not to be hostile to me.  I am here to help you both,
if I can.

My concern is primarily with Spicer: he is my patient and therefore my
responsibility, as you are not.  But because of your relationship you
and he are interlinked.  That is why I needed to see you."

"And my star chart isn't sufficient to tell you all about me?"

"It can tell me a lot but not everything," said Dr.  Rhea.

"I see," said Annette.  "And Spicer can get on very well without me.

That's the conclusion you've reached."

"Spicer and I have discussed it between us, and, yes, we have more or
less come to that conclusion," said Dr. Rhea.  "Spicer is not the man
he was when you met him.  We all change: you as well."

"Don't tell me what is perfectly obvious, Dr.  Marks," said Annette.

"And when Spicer so nearly died, or so you say, how exactly did you
save him?"

"I am medically trained, as is my husband.  We were able to revive
Spicer with an appropriate remedy.  A natural stimulant."

"You didn't think to call an ambulance?"  asked Annette.

"There was no need," said Dr. Rhea.  "The danger was over.  Hospitals
do more damage than most people realize.  The body is a self-healing
entity.  Statistics show that heart-attack victims, simply left to
themselves, have a better survival rate than those who are rushed off
to hospital.  It is the journey which kills, and powerful drugs
introduced into a system already under stress.

I am a qualified medical doctor, Mrs. Horrocks, I do know what I'm
talking about.  Now, I understand your hostility to me--most spouses
profoundly resent the therapist--so don't see yourself as unusual.  The
spouse sees therapy as an interference in the life of the marriage: but
sometimes a therapist will intervene to help a marriage survive which
would otherwise fail, if the therapist judges that is the best
option.

You feel threatened: of course you do.  I understand that."

"I don't feel threatened," said Annette.  "I am threatened.  And not
even free to ask a second opinion.  Are you telling me I'm the cause of
Spicer's alleged heart attack?  And telling that to Spicer too?"

"Why alleged'?  Why are you so resistant to the idea of his illness?"

"Because he hasn't been to see our doctor."

"He has changed his doctor, Mrs. Horrocks.  I am his doctor, and his
counselor."

"Don't forget astrologer.  Got him all ways, haven't you?"

"You have a very treacherous Mercury, Mrs. Horrocks.  You present
yourself as a doubting Thomas, the fool who mocks, the enemy of the
self.  A great deal of negative energy can shelter behind mirth.  You
have an afflicted Mercury in the Tenth House."

"So it's just stress that's harming Spicer's heart, not a history of
drinking, or smoking, or genetics, anything like that?  Not even a
negative Mercury?  Just stress, that is to say me?"

"The spouse," said Dr. Rhea, "is in most cases the primary source of
stress."

"So Spicer's illness is my fault?"

"We are not talking about blame, Mrs.  Horrocks," said Dr.  Rhea.

"You don't like me very much, do you?"  observed Annette.  "Or is it
just that you love rocking the foundation of other people's lives?"

"On the contrary, I am surprised I like you so much," said Dr. Rhea,
"even though you are temporarily so hostile to me."

"It'll all be in my star chart," said Annette.  "I wonder what your
motives are in doing this to me?  Are you jealous because I'm
pregnant?

Or because I've written a book?  Perhaps you're a would-be novelist?

Perhaps you've tried and you can't, so you sit there earning a living
by writing living fictions, altering the narrative of other people's
lives, changing it in their heads-writing your scenario about Spicer
getting on perfectly well without me.  For God's sake, Spicer and I
would both be lost without the other!  We have a very special, very
solid relationship."

"It has been deteriorating for years," said Dr. Rhea.  "But you
haven't perceived it."

The baby gave Annette a blow beneath the ribs.  It had woken up.

ut this is appalling," said Gilda to Annette.  They were lunching at
Antoine's.

Gilda picked at a roast-pepper pate, Annette at a
tomato-and-feta-cheese salad.

"At first I thought it was funny," said Annette, "and then I saw it was
appalling.  When she called Spicer in, having totally devastated me, I
said, as lightly as I could, According to Dr. Rhea here, the next step
for us is divorce."  Spicer said, No one said anything about divorce:
divorce is just a scrap of paper."  And Dr. Rhea said, I am glad Mrs.
Horrocks can take it so lightly: a separating out would in the
circumstances perhaps be advisable."  To which I said, Well, in my mind
you're either together or apart, it's only eggs get separated out."

" "You shouldn't have been so flippant," said Gilda.  "She'll really
have it in for you now."

"But at least Spicer said he'd like to give us another try: if I could
be sexually more responsive it would help.  And she talked about the
generative earth and the phallic penetration of the primeval hill,
which was consciousness rising out of the unconsciousness, the
foundation of the diurnal ego."

"Was she talking about him buggering you?  It sounds like it," said
Gilda.

"I have no idea.  I hope not," said Annette.  "But I daresay that's how
Spicer registered it."

"Why do you hope not?"  asked Gilda.

"Because, forget the diurnal ego, all he's doing when he buggers me is
confirming the shitlike nature of my existence," said Annette.

"Rubbishing me."

"Hush," said Gilda.  "Not so loud.  I don't see why you have to see
buggery like that.  I quite enjoy it."

"Well, I do see it like that," said Annette, "and that's that.  The
nonmaternal end of me, as it were.  The reluctant hole.  Unnatural
love.  The slippage into pleasure/pain--into death, not life, into
grunts, not murmurs, into silence.

Then Dr. Rhea gave us this stuff about the uroboric primeval serpent,
and the luminous principle, and I agreed to give it another try, as
expected to."

"What, the marriage?"

"By that time the marriage,' " said Annette, "seemed to be a kind of
luminous principle in itself, not just a couple of words which
described Spicer and me living together.  And I was the one who was
somehow burrowing under it, wearing it away, with dark archetypal flood
water, and I had to be stopped."

"But Spicer isn't doing anything wrong?"

"No.  Spicer is just emerging like a moth out of a chrysalis of
unknowing."

"And Spicer takes all this seriously?"  asked Gilda.

"I told you she has sapped his intelligence in some peculiar way," said
Annette.  "But what was most nightmarish was the way his loyalty seemed
to be towards her, not me.  And his saying I was sexually suffocating
and he was an unhappily married man."

"He's trying to punish you," said Gilda.  "He doesn't mean it."

"But why should he want to punish me?"  asked Annette.

"For the same reason she's doing what she is.  Because you can make
things where there was nothing before.  You're having a baby and you've
written a book and they're screaming with envy in their souls, the pair
of them.  And he's frightened of death, and if he has to ditch you to
save his life, he will."

"It does seem to boil down to all that," said Annette.  "But what can I
do about any of it?  Too late!  I was born the way I was, and it served
Spicer very well for ten years: now this!"

Annette pushed away her plate.  Gilda asked for duck and red cabbage.

"What was your feeling?"  asked Gilda.  "What was the subtext?  Is she
trying to make or break the marriage?"

Annette thought for a little.

"To break it," she said.  "As Spicer and I left, an exciting thought
seemed to come to her.  She waved her hands in the air.

She had serpent rings on her fingers.  She said that, since the
majority of Spicer's planets were in the creative and romantic
constellation and mine were in the active, the relationship was all but
impossible.  Thank you so much, Dr. Marks,' I said, and she quickly
amended it to needs a great deal of work."  So let us just say that she
hopes it doesn't work, so she can be vindicated in her belief in
astrology."

"I wish you'd eat more," said Gilda.

"I've lost my appetite," said Annette.

Gilda ordered toffee pudding for herself and a black coffee for
Annette.

" O innette," said Spicer, "there is a side of me you simply don't
understand."

"I'm trying to understand it, Spicer," said Annette.  "What's the
time?"  she asked.

"Two-thirty," said Spicer.

"Afternoon or night?"  asked Annette.

"Night," said Spicer.  "Have you been taking sleeping pills?"

"Of course I haven't," said Annette.  "They'd be bad for the baby."

"I don't know how you can sleep while there's so much going on."

Spicer turned off the ceiling light and turned on the bedside "Did you
say something?"  asked Spicer.

"No," said Annette.

"It sounded to me rather like It's because I'm so earthy and
practical."

" "I wouldn't be so smart-alecky, Spicer," said Annette.  "I just sort
of groaned, I think."

"I hope so," said Spicer, "because I can do without the wisecracks.

Especially at this time of night."

"Spicer," said Annette, "if it's two-thirty in the morning, where have
you been?"

"Walking, thinking, dealing with my shadow-side."

"Is that the whale?"  asked Annette.  "Sorry, I was joking.  You must
mean the uroboric primal principle."

"I wish you wouldn't talk about what you don't understand, Annette."

"I'm sorry.  Can you tell me what uroboric' means?"

"The uroboros is the circular snake biting its tail," Spicer said.

"I see," said Annette.

"I don't think you do," said Spicer.  "It's the symbol of the psychic
state of the beginning.  I am a creative man, Annette."

"Of course you are, my darling," said Annette.

"A romantic."

"I know, my sweet," said Annette.

"My conscious ego takes on the female role, just as yours does the
masculine.

That's the case for everyone."

"So?"  asked Annette.  "What's the problem?"

"There are power struggles going on inside me.  In the creative,
romantic male the mother archetype in the collective unconscious tries
to take over, so I find myself fascinated by certain things.  I can't
help it."

"What sort of thing, Spicer?"  asked Annette.

"It's known as uroboric incest," said Spicer.  "I believe."

"Dr.  Rhea tells you all this?"

"Yes.  It's dangerous, perilous, Annette," said Spicer.  "It can lead
to madness, or death.  God, I wish I were married to someone who
understood me."

"Just come to bed, Spicer.  You seem terribly distressed about
nothing."

"You're so dangerous to me, Annette."

"I don't feel dangerous, Spicer," said Annette.

"I think I'll sleep in the spare room," said Spicer.

" O /Annett," said Spicer.

"What's the time, Spicer?"  asked Annette.

"I don't know," said Spicer.  "But it's not quite dark and not quite
light.  I couldn't sleep.  Move over so I can get into bed.  You are so
beautifully warm and soft.  Female."

"I should hope so," said Annette.

"But in that very fact lies the threat.  How can I locate my anima when
you've stolen it all?"

"Spicer," said Annette, "couldn't you just stop seeing Dr. Rhea
Marks?"

"It's natural for you to feel threatened," said Spicer.  "She told me
you would be.  I think she's right about us separating out.  At least
for a time."

"But why?"

"Because I am going on a journey, and you're incapable of keeping me
company."

"A spiritual journey?"

"Yes," said Spicer.

"I see," said Annette.  "Towards the oneness, the wholeness, the
ineffable light."

"Don't mock," said Spicer.

"I suppose Dr. Rhea Marks would keep you very good company on this
inner journey?  Having first pointed out the way."

"I should have stayed in the spare room," said Spicer.  "You're
beginning again."

"If you want to go and live somewhere else, Spicer," said Annette,
"please do.

Go and meditate to your heart's content, or should I say soul'?  And
I'll have the three kids, or would you do Jason the honor of taking him
with you?  Though I suppose he'd get in the way of your soul's
development.  And we just part, do we?  A property settlement?  All
that?"

"Annette, you're leaping ahead.  Of course I don't want us to part
ermanently.

I'm only suggesting a temporary separation, while I sort things out.

And how could there be a property settlement?  There's no property to
settle."

"There's the house," said Annette.

"It's my house, sweetheart," Spicer said.

"Don't sweetheart me," said Annette.

"If it upsets you so, we won't even contemplate it," said Spicer.

"Don't sob like that.  Here, let me hold you close.  I won't leave
you.

I'll never leave you."

"Oh, Spicer, don't frighten me so," she wept.  "And how could you talk
about our sex life to Rhea Marks?  It's so disloyal."

"So that's what's upsetting you," said Spicer.  "You talked about it to
Gilda, why shouldn't I talk about it to Rhea?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her Rhea.  Kiss my eyes to stop me crying."

"There," said Spicer.  "That's your eyes.  Now your ears."

"Please no," said Annette.  "It makes me feel I'm going deaf."

"You can't let go," said Spicer.  "Why can't you just let go?  If you'd
let go I wouldn't be in the state I am."

"I'm sorry, Spicer.  If only I knew what you meant," said Annette.

"Do it to me," said Spicer.  "Put your tongue in my ear."

"There might be wax in there," said Annette.

"Oh God," said Spicer, "why did I marry so repressed a woman?"

"It's in your stars, I expect," said Annette.  "No, Spicer, I don't
mean to make you angry.  I'll do whatever you like."

"But I want you to want it," said Spicer.  "You're not wearing your
nightie."

"None of them fit any more," said Annette.  "They're uncomfortable."

"The bump's grown," said Spicer.  "I can't get near you.  Come on top
of me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"My breasts are swollen," said Annette.  "You might feel overwhelmed:
whatever it was you complained of to Dr. Rhea.  Your anima being taken
over.  Archetypes creeping out of my you-knowwhere.  Swept away by
floods.  And my nipples are blotchy and you might see too much of them
and go off me.  Dr.  Herman hated the sight of them."

"I don't mind.  It's only temporary.  Isn't it?"  asked Spicer.

"I don't know.  They didn't go like this with Susan," said Annette.  "I
worry dreadfully."

"Now you are putting me off.  I shouldn't really be doing this,
anyway."

"Why not?"

"I need to be in control.  I went to the spare room.  You lured me
out.

Now you've got the better of me," said Spicer.

"How do you mean I've got the better of you?  How did I lure you?"

"It's so seductive.  Giving in to needing you, you needing me.  Eve
with the apple.  Sex," said Spicer.

"It isn't just sex, Spicer.  It's love.  Isn't it?"

"It's a diversion from important things," said Spicer.  "It's a
distraction."

"But I'm your wife, you're meant to," said Annette.  "I need you.  Put
your hand here."

I ROuBLE # es "You're so wonderful," said Spicer.  "I can feel you
needing me.  Come on top of me."

"All right," said Annette.  "But I'm such a funny shape."

"It's the shape we made by doing this," said Spicer.  "It's our
punishment and our justification."

"I've had my punishment and I don't need any justification," said
Annette.

"Stop talking," said Spicer, so Annette did.

"Now turn over," he said.  "That's enough of that."

"You won't see her again, will you?"  Annette asked.  "Please stop
seeing Dr.  Rhea, please come back to me properly, all of you."

"I don't want to think about it," said Spicer.  "Not at the moment.

Rhea's unimportant.  Lean your forehead against the pillow, then you're
at the proper angle.  That's wonderful.  I'm not hurting the baby?"

"No.  Just gently, though."

"I'm never sure you really like it this way," he said.  "Why not?  It
doesn't hurt if you relax."

"Because it lacks dignity," said Annette.

"Sex isn't dignified," said Spicer.  "That's its point."

"It ought to be dignified," said Annette.  "Since its end result is to
produce children with souls."

"Rhea says we should try speaking less when making love," said
Spicer.

"Then it might work better."

"Isn't this working?  It seems to be working for me."

"But it won't for long enough," said Spicer.  "We ought to be able to
go on for hours."

"Who says?"  asked Annette.  "Dr.  Rhea Marks?"

"I can't hear you," said Spicer.  "Your voice is muffled by the
pillow."

"It probably wasn't important," said Annette.

"If you can't say anything nice," said Spicer, "don't say anything at
all."

"Let me turn over so I can see your eyes," said Annette, "and the shape
of your lips when you talk."

"I'll think about it," said Spicer.  "I'd rather just move the

"If you want me to stop talking, you could turn me over and kiss me,"
said Annette.

"I don't like kissing," said Spicer.  "Mouths are for toothpaste and
toothbrushes."

"I blame the dentists," said Annette.  "They're in our mouths, and the
gynecologists are in our cunts, and the epidemiologists are after our
cocks-yours, that is--and the surgeons are after our hearts, and now
the therapists are after our souls.  I wish they'd leave us alone."

"How about the Pope?"  asked Spicer.

"He just wants the human race to outbreed the professionals," said
Annette, "so there are so many mouths, cunts, cocks, hearts, and souls
in the world no one can possibly decipher them, and they flow
undiscussed to God.  I'm on his side."

"And the TV people?  The media?"

"They're looting our lives for narrative," said Annette.  "Please be
careful of the baby.  It's somewhere in there."

"It's walls and walls away from me," said Spicer.  "Nature looks after
that, or I wouldn't be doing this.  The tendency would have been bred
out.  You're very hot in there, though.  Hotter than usual."

"I'm sorry," said Annette.

"I like it," said Spicer.  "Let's hot it up some more."

"Please not so hard," said Annette.  "You've changed the angle
somehow."

"So you told The Oprah Winfrey Show to bugger off?"  said Spicer.

"I tried to, but Ernie Gromback put the pressure on, so I said I'd do
it."

"Bitch," said Spicer, and all the spirit went out of him.

"Please come back inside me, Spicer," said Annette.  "I miss you."

"How can I?"  asked Spicer.  "See what you've done to me?  I have a
soft banana instead of a cock."

"I'm sorry," said Annette.  "I didn't mean to.  What's wrong with Oprah
Winfrey?

It's a TV special about literature and life, not the kind where
husbands and wives appear together for everyone to jeer at."

"Bad enough having our lives looted for a novella," said Spicer,
"without you talking about it on TV.  For God's sake, don't start
crying.  Sex for us always ends up like this.  You crying, me
incapable."

"But it doesn't," said Annette.  "It never has before.  Or only once or
twice, in all our ten years.  You remember everything wrongly."

"I don't know what's the matter with you," said Spicer.  "Why do you do
it to me?"

"Can't we just go to sleep?"  said Annette.

"I don't feel like sleep," said Spicer.  "You've made sure of that."

"But you need dreams to report to Rhea Marks," said Annette.  "How can
you dream if you don't sleep?"

"You're so cunning," said Spicer.  "You don't like me seeing Dr. Rhea
Marks, so you steal my potency."

"You mean you're Samson and I'm Delilah," said Annette, "and when I
mention The Oprah Winfrey Show I'm cutting your hair?"

"Yes," said Spicer.  "But I'm not defeated yet, though you'd like me to
be.  Now I'm going to bring the temple down around your ears.  Turn
over onto your front."

"Please don't," said Annette.

"I have to find my shadow-side," said Spicer, "and confront it.  See,
I'm strong again."

"But why?"  asked Annette.  "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I must find my anima within your animus.  Because I need dark,
difficult depths.  Because you are the cleft in the hill and I am the
tree.

Because, if this is the only way I can, this is the way I will."

"But, Spicer, there it's too small and it hurts and I hate it."

"Too bad.  If it's the only way it works for me, what else can we do?

Now just shut up.  You don't want to wake the children.  At least I
hope you don't.  Dr.  Rhea isn't too sure."  vorce him," said Gilda.

"It isn't as bad as that," said Annette.

"It sounds like marital rape to me," said Gilda.  "Sodomy without
consent."

"You could get to like it," said Annette.  "You could be

trained to like it.  But you wouldn't like yourself for liking it, if
it wasn't your idea in the first place."

"Take him to court, prosecute."

"Gilda, what's the matter with you?  Yesterday you were telling me to
lie back and enjoy it.  Poor Spicer.  He's upset about me doing Oprah
Winfrey.  It was my fault.  I just wasn't tactful."

"You mean upsetting and hurting you is what turns him on?"

"It isn't like that, Gilda.  I think it was because I wouldn't let him
do what he wanted that he went to see Dr. Rhea Marks in the first
place.  The blood pressure's just an excuse.  If he was really ill he'd
go and see a proper doctor."

"So him seeing Dr.  Rhea is your fault too?  You drove him to it?"

"No one's talking about fault," said Annette.  "I shouldn't have told
you."

"If Spicer's talking about your sex life to another woman," said Gilda,
"then it's all up for grabs."

"A therapist doesn't count as another woman," said Annette.

"You reckon not?"

"I don't think he's sleeping with her," said Annette.

"But it's occurred to you?"

"Yes," said Annette, "of course.  But she's much too holy, much too
prissy.  And Spicer would keep her existence secret if he was.

Wouldn't he?"

"You reckon?"  asked Gilda.

"I just don't know," said Annette.  "If she was, she wouldn't have had
the nerve to ask to see me.  She'd be too guilty."

"In the name of healing, people do extraordinary things," said Gilda.

"Perhaps she wanted to take a look at the opposition.  And therapists
don't feel guilt.

They justify everything."

"Anyway she'd be struck off," said Annette.  "It wouldn't be
ethical."

"Struck off from what?"  asked Gilda.  "Some association which formed
itself last year?  Which invented its own ethics the week before
last?"

"Gilda, what's the matter with you?  You sound really upset."

"Steve's joined a group called Fathers as Equal Parents."

"They have a card up on the board at the Clinic.  What's the matter
with it?  I wish Spicer joined things like that."

"He wants me to have the baby the Leboyer way, in water, and I don't
want to-I'd be frightened the baby would drown-- and I say to Steve,
surely what I want goes, but he says no, why should it if he's going to
be an eaual parent.

so we're arJuin all the time."

"Oh, Gilda, I'm sorry.  I was relying on you to be happy, so I could be
unhappy at you."

"Well," said Gilda, "it's not as hard as all that, and at least I'm not
married to a monster."

"Spicer isn't a monster," said Annette.  "He's Spicer, my beloved
husband, it's just he's in therapy and the therapist's got it in for
me."

"Is he seeing her today?"  asked Gilda.  "How often do you think he
sees her?"

"I don't know.  He said four times a week while the crisis lasts.  But
perhaps the crisis is over?  At least this morning he left the house
happy and friendly.  I can hardly walk, but he's okay."

"Well," said Gilda, "we all have our ways of fighting back.  I must go
now.  I'm meeting Steve for lunch."

 have Mr. Horrocks on the phone for you," said Wendy.  It was three
o'clock.

Annette had her feet up on the sofa.  "Or I will have in a moment.

He's just signing some papers in the other office.  Could you try
persuading him to let us have our coffee machine back?  It made
dreadful coffee but at least it was coffee.  Now he keeps trying to get
us to drink herbal teas.  Mr. Horrocks can do as he likes, but why
should he impose his views on us?  If we want to kill ourselves with
caffeine that's our business, not his.  Here he is."

"Hello, Annette," said Spicer.

"Hello, Spicer," said Annette.  "Wendy sounds very lively."

"We're all in a good mood today," said Spicer.  "What are you doing?"

"I have my feet up on the sofa.  I'm sewing proper name-tags on all
Jason's sports gear.  It keeps going astray at school."

"I love thinking of you sitting there at home, being domestic.  I
thought we could go and see a show tonight.  Kids and all--" "Oh,
Spicer, how wonderful!"

"I've had Wendy check it out.  We can get tickets for Buddy."

"But that's rock and roll.  You'll hate it."

"The kids will love it.  That's the main thing.  I can't impose my
tastes on others all the time."

"Does that mean you'll give the staff back their coffee machine?"

"Probably.  It's only gone for cleaning.  But it does them good to live
in suspense a little.  Keeps them on their toes."

"I see," said Annette.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?"  asked Spicer, settling in "I'm just
fine, Spicer."

"I knew you would be.  I'm glad we got all that out of our systems.

We're going to make a go of things, aren't we, Annette."

"Of course, Spicer.  I never doubted it."

"Dr. Rhea has been a great help to me.  It upset me when you got so
paranoid about her.  It made me feel you didn't really love me."

"I do love you, Spicer."

"Dr. Rhea really liked you, Annette.  She says, if it helps to get you
back in balance, and I can handle it, then I can postpone treatment for
a time, until after the baby's born.  But you would need to go back now
for regular weekly treatment with Dr. Herman: one or other of us has
to be working towards equilibrium."

"But I thought Dr.  Herman was away?"

"He came back unexpectedly.  Rhea can make the appointment."

"The trouble is, Spicer, I think it was seeing Dr. Herman which so
upset my equilibrium."

"Rhea thinks it will be difficult for you to go through the parturition
process unless you come to terms with your own tendency to sexual
fantasy.

That was quite an episode to which you subjected us all."

"Yes, I know.  I'm sorry.  Did you see Dr.  Rhea this morning?"

"Yes," said Spicer.

"Did you tell her about last night?"

"Annette, don't begin again.  Please."

"I'm sorry, Spicer," said Annette.

"So, what do you say about Dr.  Herman?"  asked Spicer.

"I would rather wait to see him until after the baby's born, Spicer.

But I promise to see him after."

"Okay," said Spicer.  "It's a deal.  We'll both give the therapists a
rest.  Just you and me, the mountain and the tree.  It's an early show
tonight.  We'll be back by nine.  I'll bring back some champagne.

Shall we have one of our special suppers, to celebrate?"

"What are we celebrating, Spicer?"

"Oh God, darling, everything."

"My book?"

"Annette, don't provoke."

"Sorry, sorry.  We'll leave the book out of it.  An accidental outcrop
on the mountain, not true female creativity: not proper soil for the
tree."

"You're learning, my sweetheart.  I really liked your analogy to Samson
and Delilah.  It quite turned me on.  I think Wendy's coming back.

We'll have to stop now.  Tell you what, Annette--" "What, Spicer?"

"Steak would be going too far, but we could have lamb cutlets for
supper."

"Red meat, Spicer!  How wicked--how wonderful--" "Bye, my sweetheart,"
said Spicer.

,/s that you, Annette?"

"Yes.  Who's that?"

"It's Marion.  You know, Ernie's Marion.  That's how people know me, I
don't understand why.  Perhaps it's because I'm much younger than
him.

No one takes me seriously.  I have a crystal which is supposed to help
with that kind of thing.  A rosequartz crystal.  It increases
self-esteem."

"Does it really?"

"It's meant to, but you're supposed to leave crystals overnight in
running water in the full moon if they're really going to work, and
whenever I remember the full moon's always been and gone.  I used to
wash them in the little lead fountain in Queen Elizabeth's Rose Garden,
but because there's an official drought they've had to shut it down,
and I don't think tap water works.  Anyway, my self-esteem isn't up to
much at the moment."

"I'm really sorry, Marion."

"That's not why I'm calling, though.  It's just I was doing your tarot
cards and they came up with all these frightful things.  First the
Tower--all that red and black, with all those bodies falling from it,
then that awful card with the man lying flat on his front with seven
swords skewering him through, and then I turned up Death, though
everyone says that really means life--I can't think why.  So I just
thought I'd call and say please be careful, Annette: stepping out into
traffic, that kind of thing.  None of it means anything: just do be
careful."

"Marion, why on earth were you doing my tarot cards?"

"Well, Ernie and I had a row, and he told me he'd had affairs with all
his lady authors under forty and I asked if that included you and he
said yes, and after that he denied it, so I didn't know what to
think.

You're supposed to be able to find out the truth from the cards, so I
consulted them.  One has a right to the truth."

"I certainly haven't had an affair with Ernie, Marion," said Annette,
"nor would I ever.  I'm happily married to Spicer."

"Spicer comes and talks to me sometimes, Annette."

"Does he?"  asked Annette.  "What do you mean, talks?"

"Just talk, Annette.  He knows I get lonely, and the office is just
round the corner from us.  And Ernie is away so often--off with all his
lady authors under forty, for all I know--and Spicer

and you have your troubles, and he needs to talk about them.  Everyone
has to have someone to talk to.  But I do get kind of worried sometimes
in case you'd mind.  Women should stick together.  I feel better,
already.  There's nothing in it.  I love Lucifette Fallen.  What a
brilliant title.  Ernie gave me a proof copy to read.  Is it really
about your family life?  Your mother and father?  It must have been
really grueling.  Poor you.  I'm always sorry for the children in this
kind of thing."

"Aren't we all," said Annette.

"I gave the book to this friend of mine," said Marion.  "An astrologer,
to see what she thought of it.  She did this review for New
Astrology.

I'll send it on to you."

"Dr.  Rhea Marks?"

"Yes.  How did you know?  God, she's brilliant.  She has proper medical
qualifications along with everything else."

"And then The Oprah Winfrey Show picked it up," said Annette.

"Did they?  That's wonderful!"  said Marion.  "So you're going to be a
TV star!

No wonder we're all so jealous.  Things just fall into your lap."

"Marion, it was through you that Spicer got to see Dr.  Marks?"

"It was me who recommended her, yes," said Marion.

"Does Spicer still come round to talk to you, Marion?"  asked
Annette.

"Not since he started seeing Dr. Marks.  I rather wish I hadn't
mentioned her," said Marion.

"So now you're doing the cards and wishing me a road accident," said
Annette.

"How could you say anything so awful, Annette?"  said Marion.  "It
isn't like that at all.  It was only the once with Spicer, after that
it was just talk.

I've just felt so guilty: it will never happen again, I promise.  I
love Ernie with all my heart, I just wish he had more soul, he was
open, you know?  And I'm sure Spicer loves you, Annette.  He kept
saying so.  He said you had sexual problems.  It was hard for him.  I
just wanted to help.  It'll never happen again."

"Okay, Marion, okay," said Annette.  "What's past is past.  Spicer and
I are starting again, we've all been through a bad patch.  Thank you
for calling.

Really."

"Only do be careful," said Marion, "stepping into the road.  Those
cards were really dreadful.  And don't be angry with me, Annette.  I
can't bear it."

Annette banged down the phone.

our sides is nice, really nice," said Spicer.  "Worth being pregnant
for.  Why didn't we do this before, you missionary you?  But turn over
on your face now.

That's right.  I didn't use Vaseline the other night, I should have.

Perhaps I was angry.  Yes, perhaps I was.  I wanted to hurt.  I don't
know.  I love you.

I've given up everything for you, Annette.  When I say I love you, your
insides do such wonderful things.  Bring your knees further up now, so
I can move up easily from there to here.  That's it: what an easy
slippage it is, meant by he Maker.  You're not comfy, I can tell.  If I
take the pillow from under your face and put it below your breasts
above your bump .  . . ?  Keep your head on the side, so you can
breathe--there, that's glorious for me--is it comfy for you?"

"Yes, Spicer.  You seem to know such a lot about doing it

like this.  Is this what Marion taught you?  Spicer, please don't
go!

I only asked--I thought you'd find it exciting, thinking of her as if
she were here too.  Isn't this how your mind works?

Where are you going?  Don't leave me like this now.  It's so
humiliating.  Spicer?  It's not even as if you can't.  You can but you
won't.  Spicer?"  his is appalling," said Gilda.

"After that Spicer just went to the spare room.  I cried all night.  I
heard him leave at about six in the morning."

"You can't go on like this," said Gilda.  "You'll have to go to your
mother's."

"That's defeat," said Annette.  "That's going back to where you were
before you began.  It's just so up and down with Spicer and me at the
moment."

"You can say that again," said Gilda.  "But drifting downwards all the
time.  The major drift is to rock bottom, Annette."

"I don't want to think that," said Annette.  "Don't say it.  It isn't
true.  Yesterday we all went to a show.  The kids loved it.

So did I. Spicer pretended to, for our sakes.  We were just a normal,
happy family, on an outing.  For twelve whole hours I was so happy,
Gilda.  I was so confident.  Not even Marion calling and saying what
she did could really shake me."

"Spicer and Marion!  I still can't believe it."

"It was only the once," said Annette.

"Oh yes?"

"Spicer does end up in bed sometimes with other women if he's had too
much to drink or taken too much coke," said Annette.I

"I don't like it but I have to accept it.  It doesn't mean anything:
it's me he loves."

"Oh yes," said Gilda.

"It's because I'm so bad at sex," said Annette.  "It's a kind of
disability.  You can't blame Spicer.  Sex just doesn't come naturally
to me, the way it does to other women.  I say the wrong thing or do the
wrong thing at the wrong moment and spoil everything.  You don't mind
anything Steve does to you, do you?"

"Steve isn't Spicer.  Steve wants me to be happy," said Gilda.  "He
doesn't care what I do or say or when.  It makes no difference.

And he's given in about Leboyer."

"I'm so glad," said Annette.  "I'm dreadful.  All I do is talk about
myself.  That's another thing Spicer has to put up with.  I'm so
self-centered."

"I'd talk about myself if I were you," said Gilda.

"I can't let go in bed, I expect that's the trouble," said Annette.  "I
can't stop thinking.  I keep wondering if the cat's been put out or
what's for breakfast."

"Then perhaps it's Spicer who isn't very good at it."

"No, it's me," said Annette.  "I can't blame Spicer.  Sex makes my mind
active.  All the energy flies into my head.  I hardly ever have
orgasms.  There, I've told you.  I'm so upset, Gilda."

"I know," said Gilda.  "I can tell."

"I was trying to play it Spicer's way," wept Annette.  "Or I wouldn't
have even mentioned Marion.  How was I to know he'd react like that?

Only six words--'Is this what Marion taught you?"--and your whole life
falls to pieces."

"I reckon Spicer's playing games with you, Annette," said Gilda.

"He's nice for a bit just in order to be nasty.  He does it on
purpose.

He reads you.  He presses a button.  He knows how you'll react and he
does it deliberately."

"But why should he, Gilda?"  asked Annette.

"Because he's a sadist," said Gilda.  "It's how he gets his kicks.  And
you're a masochist.  Or you wouldn't put up with it.  As for Marion,
she's perfectly capable of making the whole thing up just to upset
you."

"Why should she do that?"  asked Annette.

"I don't know, Annette," said Gilda.  "Perhaps Marion's found out about
you and Ernie and is getting her own back."

"Oh God," said Annette.

"There!  Caught you!"  said Gilda.  "I knew I was right about you and
Ernie.  Why did you deny it in the first place?  I'm your friend.  It
was that time Spicer was at the Bordeaux Wine Feste, wasn't it?  Did
you get herpes?"

"No, I did not.  That's just a disgusting rumor.  Industrial espionage
probably, put about by other publishers who hate him making money and
not being a gentleman.  Please, please, keep it to yourself, Gilda.  So
Spicer could have thought it was just me being paranoid again, by
mentioning Marion?  That's why he acted the way he did?"

"It's perfectly possible, but how would I know?"

"Poor Spicer," said Annette.

"I wouldn't go as far as that, Annette.  Just divorce the bastard."

"But I love him."

"I have to go now," said Gilda.  "Steve's got the engine running.  He
sends his love, by the way.  Bye, Annette.  Look after yourself.  Call
me tomorrow.  I worry about you."

"Bye, Gilda.  Thanks."  cJ Spicer," said Annette.

"Wendy," said Spicer to his secretary, but so that Annette could hear,
"I did ask you not to put calls through to the office.  It's too bad.

Annette, I'm really very busy.  Please, please, just leave me alone for
once."

"But, Spicer, I have to talk."

"Annette," said Spicer, "I am trying to keep this business afloat.  We
are in a recession.  Try to help, not hinder."

"I can't bear it when you leave in the morning without saying
goodbye."

"Why don't you go and stay with your mother for a while?"

"You know I mentioned Marion last night," said Annette, "and it seemed
to upset you so much?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Annette," said Spicer.

"It's just that Marion rang me up--" "For God's sake," said Spicer.

"I'm so busy, and here comes the hysteria again.  Obsessive sexual
jealousy.  I'll be late tonight."

"Why?"

"Don't crowd me, Annette," said Spicer.  "As it happens, I'm seeing Dr.
Rhea after work.  She found time for me.  I wish I didn't have to see
her.  But since you refuse to see Dr. Herman, I have no choice.  The
tensions get too great: I can't cope with you without help."

"I didn't say I wouldn't see Dr. Herman," said Annette.  "I just
wanted to wait until after the baby was born."

"For all I know, you've invented this baby," said Spicer.  "It's a
hysterical pregnancy which gives you an excuse and an

outlet for your hostility to men and your destructiveness towards
yourself."

"But the baby showed up on the scan, Spicer," said Annette.  "How can
it be a hysterical pregnancy?  Perhaps you didn't want it to be a girl,
perhaps that's it?"

"Annette," said Spicer, "I am way beyond worrying about this baby's
gender, I just worry for all our sanity.  You ought to think seriously
about going to stay with your mother."

"How could I?  What about the children?"

"Jason and Susan?  They're hardly children any more," said Spicer.

"They've had to grow up too fast.  I can get someone to come in a
couple of hours a day after school easily enough, to fill in the time
before I get back.  They're not accustomed to much mothering, God
knows.  The pizza-and-video generation.  Prime candidates.  Now this
next one turns up for another round of punishment."

"Oh, Spicer--" said Annette.

"What?"

"You sound so cold," said Annette, "and hateful."

"Oh, Annette," said Spicer, "you do so little to warm me up, and the
hate flows from you, not from me.  Is this all for Wendy's benefit?"

"Of course not."

"Because I have a new telephone system, and from now on calls on this
number come over the speaker in Wendy's room and are recorded."

"Why didn't you tell me?  Don't you have a private number?"

"I don't think I can trust you with it, Annette," said Spicer.  "Not
with you in the mood you are."

/ello, child," said Annette's mother, Judy.

"Why, hello, Mum," said Annette.  "How are things with you?"

"Just fine, sweetheart," said Judy.  "And you?"

"Just fine, Mum," said Annette.

"Now, don't say that, Annette," said Judy.  "I know they're not,
because dear Spicer rang and he said things were definitely not right
with you.  He is so concerned.  I'd worry much less about you if you
would only tell me what was really going on, instead of pretending
everything's okay when it isn't."

"What was Spicer concerned about?"

"Don't sound like that, Annette," said Judy.  "You're lucky to have a
husband who cares.  So many don't.  Spicer asked me to talk to you:
apparently he's having some kind of therapy and you've developed an
obsessional aversion to whoever it is he goes to see.  Is this so?"

"You could see it like that," said Annette.

"Because it's not very helpful of you, dear," said Judy.  "Not that I'm
in favor of shrinks--they do encourage introspection so --but if Spicer
wants to be in the swing of things I suppose he should be allowed.  I
don't see why you should object.  It only causes trouble."

"It's all a bit complicated, Mum," said Annette.

"But you're all right?  In yourself?"

"Yes, of course," said Annette.

"Because Spicer seemed to think you wanted to come and stay with me and
Dad for a while."

"It might be a little difficult to arrange," said Annette.

"That's what I told Spicer," said Judy.  "I don't think it's a

good idea at all, you can't just leave Susan and Jason on their own,
and you need to be near the hospital."

"Yes, I know," said Annette.

"I don't really know what Spicer was thinking of, suggesting it," said
Judy.

"Men are so impractical.  They seem to think women just have to wave a
wand and it's done.  Your father and I lead very quiet lives, you know
how he likes his routine.  I must warn you, Annette, it is simply not a
good idea for a wife to leave a husband alone if she can help it.

Spicer's bound to get into trouble.

He is a very sexy man."

"Yes, he is, Mum," said Annette.  "You're quite right."

"And a good man is hard to find," said Judy.  "Annette--" "Yes, Mum?"

"Did Spicer actually get round to putting the house in your joint
names, dear?"

"I don't think so," said Annette.  "I'd have known, wouldn't I?  I'd
have had to have signed something?"

"Because he was going to do that as security for the loan your father
gave him," said Judy.  "This whole family is so vague and trusting.

And Spicer hasn't made any repayments lately and your father doesn't
like to press him, it's so unfamily, and he rather wondered if you'd
bring the matter up with Spicer.  You married him after all, and it was
because of you your father made the loan, and though the whole world
seems to rejoice when interest rates go down, I'm sure your father and
I don't.  It's what we live off.  And a whole chunk of capital is tied
up in Spicer's business."

"I'm sure it's all okay, Mum," said Annette.  "Spicer knows what he's
doing."

"That's what worries me," said Judy.  "Men do tend to.  Annette, I
don't like saying this, but, whatever you do, don't leave the
matrimonial home."

"Why would I want to do a thing like that?"  asked Annette.

"Because I feel uneasy, Annette," said Judy.  "Why does Spicer want you
out of the way?  Has he found someone else?  Is that what the matter
is?  Men do get very odd when their wives are pregnant."

"Don't ill-wish me, Mother," said Annette.

"That's a perfectly horrible thing to say, Annette," said her mother.

"Please, don't you get upset, Mum," said Annette.  "It didn't mean
anything.  I was joking."

"I lie awake worrying about you, and all I get in return is this kind
of insult.  Of course I'm not ill-wishing you.  How can you think such
a thing?"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," said Annette.  Her headache had returned.

live Green speaking.  How can I help you?"

"I'd like to make an appointment to see Dr. Winspit, please," asked
Annette, on the phone to the surgery.

"Who's speaking?"

"Mrs.  Horrocks.  Annette Horrocks."

"In future," said the receptionist, "please try and contact the
appointment desk before nine A.M."

"I thought that was just for house calls," said Annette.

"Not any more," said Olive Green.  "By nine A.M. we've usually filled
our books for the day.  We run a busy and efficient service here, Mrs.
Horrocks."

"I don't doubt it," said Annette.  "I just need to come in and see Dr.
Winspit now."

"Now?  Dr. Winspit is fully booked until next Friday afternoon.  He's
very busy."

"Jesus Christ!"  said Annette.

"There is no need to be abusive," said Olive Green.

"I wasn't," said Annette.  "I'm sorry."

"According to our computer records, you've missed three Maternity
Clinic appointments without explanation," said Olive Green.  "So I am
unable to fix an appointment anyway, unless you send a formal letter of
request."

"That's insane," said Annette.

"I don't like your attitude, Mrs. Horrocks," said Olive Green, "and I
don't make the rules.  But what's the point of making appointments for
you if you don't mean to keep them?"

"I don't want to get into an argument with you," said Annette, "and I'm
sorry I've upset you somehow, but I'm very pregnant and I don't think
I'm at all well and I need to see someone today."

"If it's an emergency," said the receptionist, "we suggest you go to
Casualty at the Royal Free Hospital.  Otherwise your best plan is to
attend tomorrow's antenatal class at the Clinic.  You can't not turn up
week after week and then demand special attention from the doctor just
on whim."

"I'm not demanding," said Annette.  "It's not a whim.  I just need to
see a doctor, for fuck's sake."

"Please try not to be so aggressive," said Olive Green.

"Why?  Will it go on my notes?"  asked Annette.

"It already has," said Olive Green.  "Swearing always does.  We have to
put up with a lot, but we don't have to put up with this."  And she put
the phone down.

t's been a dreadful day, Gilda.  Spicer was so horrible on the phone I
could have died, my mother ill-wished me, and when I tried to get an
appointment with the doctor it just ended up with me having a row with
this person on the appointment desk."

"That will be Olive Green," said Gilda.  "She's always like that.  You
have to creep and crawl and beg for help before she relents and lets
you see someone.

Then she's the one dispensing charity: it's the only way she has of
being kind.  Why do you want to see a doctor?"

"I just get headaches all the time," said Annette.

"Personally, I blame Spicer," said Gilda.

"I expect it has a lot to do with it," said Annette.  "He's had a new
phone system put in, so if I ring him the calls are public.  You've no
idea how hurtful that is."

"You shouldn't be hurt," said Gilda.  "He's just got one of the new
systems that record everything automatically."

"How do you know that?"  asked Annette.

"Steve told me," said Gilda.

"I see," said Annette.

"No need to say I see' in that tone of voice," said Gilda.  "Are you
feeling okay?  Spicer told Steve you were insane, suffering from a
paranoid episode.  I told Steve there was nothing insane about it: the
proper response to Spicer is paranoia.  Do you want me to come round?

I'm rather top-heavy but I will."

"No.  I'm okay," said Annette.  "Susan's cooking us supper.  Jason's
sulking in his room because I made him throw away a marijuana plant he
was growing on his windowsill.  At this very minute Spicer's seeing Dr.
Rhea."

"I thought you said he'd given up seeing her," said Gilda.

"He's changed his mind," said Annette.  "He says he can't cope with me
without help from her."

"That figures," said Gilda.  "It's how you train dogs.  You're
quixotic.  They never know what to expect next, a kick or a pat, so
they end up fawning and licking every boot that comes along."

"But I haven't given in about Oprah Winfrey," said Annette.  "I
won't.

And that's what it's all about, I'm sure.  Or most of it."

"You look for one thing in a marriage going wrong," said Gilda, "you
look for another: you can never quite be sure.  If I were you, I'd go
and see this Dr. Rhea Marks on your own and just tell her to leave
Spicer alone.  She's spoiling your marriage and damaging your
health."

"I'm frightened of her," said Annette.  "I only have to think about her
and I get a headache."

"Or issue Spicer an ultimatum," said Gilda."  Her or me."" "Ultimatums
are dangerous," said Annette.  "Supposing he chooses her?  No, I just
have to sit it out until the baby's born.  My mother's always saying
men behave in a peculiar way when their wives are pregnant."

"That's because your father had an affair when she was pregnant with
you," said Gilda.

"Fancy you remembering that, Gilda!"  said Annette.  "I'm touched.

You're a really good friend to me."

"I want to be, Annette," said Gilda.  "I'm trying to tie up loose ends
before giving birth.  Look, there's something I have to say to you.

About Spicer."

"What?"  asked Annette.

"It was a long time ago," said Gilda.

"I don't want to hear this," said Annette.

"I think you ought to know.  It was when he was having this thing with
Marion," said Gilda.

"You knew about that?"  asked Annette.

"Yes," said Gilda.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's so difficult.  You know that perfectly well," said
Gilda.

"And anyway, I had my suspicions about you and Ernie Gromback, and I
thought Spicer was probably just evening things up a little.  It was
just all too complicated.

And Spicer's so charming, and you and I weren't such good friends at
the time."

"Please just tell me, Gilda," said Annette.  "I don't want to hear your
excuses.  What happened?"

"Nothing happened," said Gilda.

"Liar," said Annette.

"It didn't," said Gilda.  "I promise.  Spicer just wanted me to make up
a threesome with him and Marion."

"I can't believe that!  Was he drunk, or on drugs, or what?"

"It was only a phone call, Annette," said Gilda.  "I don't know Spicer
well enough ever to tell if he's on anything."

"And where was I?"  asked Annette.

"I think your father was ill," said Gilda.

"And did you?"  asked Annette.  "A threesome?  Oh, Gilda!"

"Of course I didn't.  I was with Steve by then anyway," said Gilda.

"But why should he think you would?"  asked Annette.  "Why should he
call you?"

"Because Marion told Spicer about her and me ending up in bed together
after some stupid drunken party.  I'd had so much of this and that, I
couldn't tell male from female, and things happened that shouldn't
have.  Marion's like that.

Anything for kicks.  Of course she's into celibacy now, or says she is,
for Ernie's benefit."

"Oh God, I don't want to know any of this," said Annette.  "I

just want to have some kind of decent home to bring my baby into."

"I feel better now I've told you," said Gilda.  "Please don't say
anything to Steve."

"I just want to forget the whole thing.  If you said no, who do you
think said yes?  Eleanor Watts?"

"It isn't beyond the bounds of probability," said Gilda.  "Just because
she looks like a horse doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy an orgy.

Annette, it was years ago and we were all a lot younger.  I'll come
round tomorrow and we'll talk more, shall we?  Spicer does love you,
Annette.  He just has a lot of sexual energy but he's not very good at
sex so he has to experiment," said Gilda.  "I'm only speculating.  And
anyway, according to Steve, Spicer's trying to reform.  That's why he's
been seeing this therapist: for your sake."

"Is that what Spicer told Steve, or what Steve thinks for himself?"

asked Annette.  "Or what you're all just saying to make me feel
better?"

"What Spicer told Steve," said Gilda.  "Spicer wants to make a go of
the marriage: he's trying to settle down sexually.  I didn't know how
much you knew about what Spicer gets up to.  Now I know about you and
Ernie Gromback, I reckon there's no point in you not knowing everything
I know.  Some marriages depend upon fidelity, some don't.  Mine and
Steve's does.  Yours and Spicer's doesn't."

"It does so," said Annette.

"You took Marion quite calmly," said Gilda.  "I'd have gone mad."

"I just feel so depressed," said Annette.  "I'm going to bed.  Susan's
making cheeseburgers.  I can't face them.  She slices the onion really
thick."

Spicer "What is it, Annette?  I'm reading.  I thought you'd gone to
bed."

"I went to bed early," said Annette.  "At eight o'clock.  What time did
you get in?"

"Around midnight," said Spicer.

"I didn't put any fruit out for you.  I'm sorry.  There's some in the
fridge I bought specially.  Shall I fetch it?"

"That's okay, Annette.  I ate out."

"It isn't very warm in here," said Annette.  "You've opened the
windows."

"This temperature suits me," said Spicer.  "You keep the house hotter
than I really like."

"Isn't it too dark to read?  You're using candles."

"Candles are natural, Annette," said Spicer.  "Electricity is cold and
harsh."

"What are you reading?"  asked Annette.

"A book called Healers of Olympus.  Theotherapy: The Magic of the
Gods.

Symbols and Practice.  You wouldn't be interested."

"Did Dr.  Rhea give it to you?"  asked Annette.

"Please, Annette, go back to bed, go to sleep," said Spicer.  "I'm not
doing you any harm.  I'm just sitting in my study and reading by
candlelight.  I wish you very well.  I'll sleep in the spare room so as
not to disturb you."

 / was coming round this morning, Annette," said Gilda on the phone,
"but there's a new washer-dryer being delivered.  Steve bought it for a
surprise.

Now I've got to wait in for the man."

"That's okay.  Have you heard of Theotherapy, Gilda?"

"I can't say I have, Annette."

"It's archetypal psychology," said Annette.  "Jungian."

"You've already left me behind," said Gilda.

"Symbols are primitive analogues that speak to the unconscious," said
Annette.

"I've been reading this book.  Actually it's rather more complicated
than that.

To quote Carl Gustav Jung himself, they're also ideas corresponding to
the highest intuition produced by consciousness.  Archetypes get to us
all, Gilda.

They're what we know without knowing."

"Is it Spicer's book?"  asked Gilda.

"Yes," said Annette.  "He said he'd sleep in the spare room, but he
didn't.  He read till about five, when he slipped in beside me.  He was
very cold.  I think he just wanted to get warm.  I was sorry for him.

I don't know why.  He says if my reactions are screwy it's because I
have the moon in Aquarius.  He seemed inclined to forgive me for my
existence.  Poor Spicer.  I wish he were happier.

A threesome with you and Marion and him won't make him happy: I can see
it might relieve some inner pain, but how horrible to have the pain in
the first place."

"The threesome didn't happen, Annette," said Gilda.  "Believe me."

"I believe you, Gilda," said Annette.  "I feel quite calm this
morning.

I think probably I'm good and he's bad.  But at least he's trying to be
good.  I stretched out my hand and touched him.  You know how men will
be in bed, careful not to touch you but wanting your warmth?"

"I can't say I do, Annette," said Gilda.  "I don't know men like
that."

"Lucky old you," said Annette.  "In the early days we'd lie entwined,
facing each other, I'd have my knee between his legs.  That hardly ever
happens now.

Of course, I've always had to wait for him to make sexual overtures to
me, he's always had to initiate lovemaking.  If I make the first move
he'll turn over and go to sleep, or turn on the light and start
reading, so I've learned not to.  But last night I just touched him
because I was so sorry for him.  He winced.  He just shrank away from
me.  It was worse than if he had hit me."

"You don't have to tell me all this, Annette," said Gilda.

"I'm sorry, Gilda," said Annette.  "It's too personal, isn't it,
sorrow?  Even more personal than threesomes.  Let's get back to
Theotherapy.  Oh, look, it's inscribed inside the front cover: To
Spicer--a special gift, from Dr. Rhea Marks."" "Are you crying,
Annette?"

"No.  I feel quite calm," said Annette.

"It could have said To darling Spicer with love from Rhea,'" said
Gilda.

"Quite so," said Annette.  "It's the special' I don't like.  There's a
pencil mark down the side of page eighty-one.  Spicer never marks
books.  He hates the children doing it, or me.  So we've learned not
to.  I expect Dr. Rhea did the marking.  He wouldn t think to reproach
her.  The passage marked is about the goddess Hera, Gilda.  Otherwise
Juno.  I suppose the first is Greek, the second Roman.  It says:
Attributes: Fatal softness, gullibility, dependence: ill treatment by
husband: shame, embarrassment, bickering: scheming, meddling: intrigue:
lying, insane jealousy: use of

sex as a weapon...."  Gilda, what's going on?  A little further on it
says: Therapies, bathing in moonlight, running water, wearing of
bangles, bracelets and anklets."  I am suddenly so sleepy, Gilda, I am
just going to lie down and sleep.  I can't go on talking."

"I wish I could help more, Annette."

"We used to be happy, Spicer and me," said Annette.  "Really happy.

But he seems not even to remember that any more.  It's as if someone
were stealing all our good past: replacing it with something dreary and
dreadful.  But how can that be?  I have to go to sleep."

O /I/Annett, darling, you took ages to answer the phone."

"I was asleep, Spicer."

"Sleep is the best thing for you," said Spicer.  "You've been looking
so tired!

Good news.  The British Rail deal has come through at last.  All signed
and sealed.  Horrocks Wine Imports is out of the woods."

"I didn't know Horrocks Wine Imports were in the woods," said
Annette.

"I didn't like to worry you with it, darling," said Spicer.  "It's all
been touch and go, financially, over the last couple of months.  If
I've been behaving out of character, that's all it's been.  I've been
under a strain."

"Spicer, I wish you'd told me," said Annette.  "I thought I was causing
the strain, but all the time it was only business worries!  How
wonderful--" " Only business worries' is a rather mild way of
describing near-bankruptcy, Annette," said Spicer.  "You've no idea how
close to ruin we were.  How it distressed me, the thought of letting
the family down: you, Susan, Jason, the baby, all of you!"

"You would only have let us down in a material sense, Spicer," said
Annette.

"We wouldn't have thought you loved us any less.  You have been
behaving rather strangely, Spicer."

"In what way, strange?"  asked Spicer.  "I'm sorry you see it like
that!"

"I don't see it any way, I'm just so pleased to have you back," said
Annette.

"Your voice is altogether different--" "The BR contract means me
spending quite a few months in France each year," said Spicer.  "I'll
have to go over in January, February.  I'm sorry about that.

The baby will be so new I'll hate to miss a day.  My loss.  Shall we go
out to lunch to celebrate?  One o'clock?  Can you make it?"

"I've let myself get into such a mess," said Annette.

"Stick your hair under the tap," said Spicer.

"My eyes are swollen--" said Annette.

"Why?  Does pregnancy do that?"  asked Spicer.

"Seems to," said Annette.

"We'll have champagne and lobster," said Spicer.

"I'm not sure about lobster," said Annette.  "Salmon would be "You
can't not like lobster all of a sudden," said Spicer.

"My digestion's a bit queasy," said Annette.  "But it's only
temporary."

"I should hope so," said Spicer.  "You're my lobster-andchampagne
girl.

Don't let new motherhood change you too much.  So it's meet me for
lunch, sweetheart, and put all our troubles behind us and start
again."

"Oh, Spicer!  Oh, darling!"

Gilda, it's Annette.  Gilda, everything's explained.  Spicer nearly
went bankrupt.  That's why he's been so dreadful.  He'll give up
therapy now, I know he will.  It's only when the material world fails
that the spiritual one seems so exciting."

"Annette," said Gilda.  "I can't bear to hear you sounding so happy."

"Why?"

"Because it's too sudden," said Gilda.

"We're having a celebration lunch, Gilda.  Just him and me.

Everything's just fine.  I'm sorry to have been such a pain.  I have to
go.  I can't find the hairdryer anywhere."

/appy birthday, Annette!"

"Happy birthday!"

"Many happy returns of the day--" "Here's to you, Annette!"

"Many happy whatsits."

"Why, Spicer!  And Ernie and Marion--and Eleanor and Humphrey!  Good
heavens, it's my birthday!  I'd quite forgotten!"

"Trust Annette to forget her own birthday!"

"Champagne, Annette?  We opened it," said Spicer.  "You are rather
late.  I said one.  It's one-twenty--" "Spicer, I'm sorry.  It's just
when you say one it's always onethirty--" said Annette, "so in my head
I was going to be early...."

"It's party time again!  My beautiful wife.  Isn't she lovely, isn't
she perfect, in spite of her bump!"  said Spicer.  "In spite of her
being the vaguest person in the world.  Forgetting her own birthday!"

"Because of her bump," said Eleanor, "not in spite of.  It's not the
neatest bump in the world, it's true.  It is kind of allpervasive.

Round the back as well as in the front."

"I'd marry Annette tomorrow if I wasn't married already," said
Humphrey.  "I love every single bumpy bit of her."

"That's only because to live with Annette is to live in the Crescent,"
said Eleanor, "and that is your major ambition in life.  You say it's
mine but everyone knows it's yours."

"Hump would have to move me out first," said Spicer.  "And if I ever
move out of that house it will be feet first, so I'm afraid we're
talking about murder."

"I did your tarot cards again this morning, Annette," said Marion.

"Here's the computer printout.  Happy birthday!  You can get a tarot
program now.  It chooses your cards at random.  Jungian
synchronicity.

You should read the great Carl Gustav's intro to the l Ching.  All part
of the flow, the ebb and the flow.

Isn't that so, Spicer?  Your cards were brilliant, Annette.  Death
upside down.

That means new life, new hope, rebirth."

"And I've got Annette a couple more chat shows," said Ernie, "and a
Guardian interview.  It looks as if this book of hers is going to make
quite a splash, even without the Oprah Winfrey intervention!"

"I may not be feeling up to any of it," said Annette.  "I'll let you
know."

"Annette will decidedly not be feeling up to it," said Spicer.  "Here
comes the lobster thermidor.  I ordered for everyone, inasmuch as it's
a working weekday: we've all got to get back to work, except of course
the birthday girl, who can sleep all day and often does.  We have so
very much to celebrate, Annette and myself:

haven't we, darling?  Here are my birthday gifts to you, Annette, with
all my very, very, very, very, very special love.  One present for
every very."

Annette, the love of Spicer's life.  The only one."

"Thank you, Spicer," said Annette.  "That was a really lovely
speech."

"Start opening your presents now," said Spicer.  "Nothing messier than
lobster thermidor when the claw crackers start cracking."

"What pretty little packages," said Marion.  "What can they be?  Five
little flat circles, so prettily wrapped!  Are those mandalas on the
paper?"

"Mandalas, Marion?"  asked Ernie.  "The things you know.  Marion is
into the occult.  She's had a pyramid made above her bed to focus the
energy, but it's the energy of dreams that concerns her, nothing
else."

"Sex is a waste of time, Ernie," said Marion.  "It stands between a
soul and its dreams."

"Bangles, bracelets, and of solid gold, Spicer?  You are so
extravagant--" said Eleanor, "and only recently you were talking
bin-ends and desperation."

"I went down to Bond Street this morning and bought them," said
Spicer.

"Between one meeting and the next.  I wanted something very special for
Annette, on this very special day."

"But what's the gold chain for, Spicer?"  asked Eleanor.

"It's an anklet chain," said Marion.  "So pretty!"

"Spicer, how glamorous, how thoughtful, just what I want.  I simply
love the bracelets," said Annette, "but the anklet will have to wait
till after the baby.  My ankles are so puffy!  Look at them!  I
couldn't bend down to get it on, let alone take it off, but I can put
the bracelets on now.  Just!"

"Baby wrists," said Spicer.  "I love them.  Let me put them on.  Not
too tight?"

"Just nicely firm," said Annette.

"Now you look positively Indian!"  said Marion.  "Properly docile.  Not
wild-eyed and academic at all.  Ernie, will you buy me some
bracelets?"

"No, I will not," said Ernie.  "I'll give you some anti-New Age books
to make you think."

"I'll jangle wherever I go," said Annette, "from now on.  And wherever
I go I'll think of you, Spicer.  Thank you, my darling husband.  I am
so happy."

"Eat up your lobster," said Spicer.

Gilda?"

"Hi, Annette," said Gilda.  "I'm in the bath.  Can you hear
splashing?

I have a phone in the bathroom now.  Steve bought it for me, so you and
I could talk more comfortably.  Steve worries about you.  So now I can
lie in the warm water, which always relaxes me, and watch my tummy
rippling, and call Steve if I go into labor.  Ooh, there it goes!

Hump, bump, and gone again.  A foot or an elbow.  Some people can tell
which: I never can.  The Clinic says he'll be on time.  You didn't go
to antenatal class again.  I like being pregnant: I never thought I
would.  Being helpless is so sensuous.  I don't look forward to the
birth one bit.  I'm quite sure I'm going to die.  How was the
kiss-and-make-up lunch?"

"I told Spicer I didn't want lobster but he just went ahead and ordered
it."

"I expect he just forgot."

"Yes," said Annette.  "I expect so.  But now I have indigestion.  And
it wasn't tete-a-tete at all.  There were other people."

"Spicer's sociable by nature," said Gilda.  "We all know that."

"Why didn't he ask you and Steve?  He asked everyone else."

"I've no idea," said Gilda, after a little pause.  "Do you think I've
offended him in some way?"

"It's easy to do," said Annette.  "Quite often nowadays it happens all
by itself.  It was my birthday and he gave me gold bracelets."

"Oh my God, I forgot your birthday!"  cried Gilda.  "I'm so sorry,
Annette."

"I forgot it too," said Annette, "what with one thing and another."

"That is just terrible!"

"Spicer remembered," said Annette.  "That was something.  But I wish he
hadn't given me the bracelets."

"Sometimes I feel quite sorry for Spicer," said Gilda.  "Not often,
just sometimes.  It does seem difficult for him to do anything right.

It sounds a really nice present to me."

"If you remember," said Annette, "the therapy for the goddess Hera is
bangles, bracelets and anklets.  Turn to the relevant page and there's
another passage marked by Dr. Rhea in the book on Theotherapy: it says
Hera is endowed with all the positive characteristics of a good wife
and mother, but is at the same time so prone to feelings of jealousy
that she is prepared to sacrifice everything she believes in--even her
own life, if need be--in an attempt to establish what she believes to
be her own rights.  Consequently, her married life tends to be dogged
by ever-growing crisis."

"So?"  asked Gilda.

"So, Gilda," said Annette, "having got nowhere with horoscopes, Dr.
Rhea is now attacking me with Theotherapy.  She's just near enough the
truth to do me down in Spicer's eyes.  I'm not an unreasonably jealous
person, am I?"

"Not considering the way Spicer behaves, no," said Gilda.

"But she will somehow persuade Spicer I am," said Annette.  "She's
resetting his tuning, as people do with radio sets.  So all he hears is
what she says he'll hear.  But why is she doing this to me?  He's not
going to stop seeing her, not if he went out this morning and bought me
bangles, bracelets and anklets.  The bracelets are really tight round
my wrist.  The skin is already rubbing.  It's the curse of Dr. Rhea
Marks and I'm walking round with it on my body."

"I think you'd better go and see her, Annette," said Gilda.  "Not just
for your sake, but for Susan and Jason and the baby too.  You are
getting really obsessive."

"Yes, I know," said Annette.  "I will.  Now I've washed my hair, I feel
stronger."  y all means come and chat to me, Mrs. Horrocks," said Dr.
Rhea on the phone.

"Just you, or Spicer too?"

"Just me," said Annette.  "If you're going to call Spicer Spicer'
perhaps you'd better call me Annette."

" "Well, no, Mrs. Horrocks.  Spicer is my patient, and we believe in a
degree of informality in treatment.  You are the spouse, and formality
is in order.  These are the ethics of the situation.  You are an
interested but not primarily involved party to the counselor/client
relationship."

"I'm his wife," said Annette.

"I am very well aware of that, Mrs. Horrocks," said Dr. Rhea.  "Shall
we say five on Friday week?"

"I would rather come and see you today," said Annette.

"Oh dear," said Dr.  Rhea.  "As bad as that?"

"It would just be more convenient today," said Annette.

"As it happens, I do have a cancellation," said Dr. Rhea.  "Five
today."

"Thank you."

"Not any earlier, Mrs. Horrocks," said Dr. Rhea.  "We still have the
builders in, and my husband is using his consulting room, so there is
no waiting room available.  I'm sure you understand.  I'm sorry."

"I get the message," said Annette.

"No message is intended," said Dr. Rhea.  "I am simply stating that we
have the builders in."

"Five o'clock, then, Dr.  Marks," said Annette.

"I look forward to it," said Dr.  Rhea Marks.

perhaps you would answer one or two questions, Dr. Rhea," said
Annette.

"I would be happy to," said Dr. Rhea, "so long as the answers don't
breach the confidentiality which exists between Spicer and myself."

"But he's my husband," said Annette.

"You keep saying that.  Spouses don't own one another.  He is your
husband.  Very well.  He is my patient.  Likewise, very well.  I am
sorry you have seen fit to discontinue your treatment with my
husband.

It would have been very helpful to you, and indeed to Spicer, if you'd
gone on with it.  Spicer has had a lot to cope with lately."

"I know," said Annette.  "So have I."

"Perhaps you don't realize to what extent Spicer is in crisis," said
Dr. Rhea, "or how your own matrimonial jealousies exacerbate the
situation, and exactly how important it is for you to see Dr. 
Herman.

I do suggest twice a week, at least."

"Well, I'm not going to," said Annette, "and that's that.  I don't have
money to throw away.  And what situation are you talking about?"

"Both Lilith and Saturn eat their children," said Dr. Rhea.  "Now, I
put that very bluntly, in terms of the archetype, but I think you are
intelligent enough to understand.  In Spicer a malefic Saturn struggles
to assert himself.

It's unwise to underestimate Saturn."

"I'll try not to," said Annette.

"The pull of Saturn is into deadness, inertia, and unconsciousness.

Into depression, in fact."

"Spicer isn't depressed.  He's funny, clever, lively--or was till he
came to see you."

"You protest too much, my dear," said Dr. Rhea.  "In any case we are
talking about a creative depression, which contains within its core
unbridled life energy, but which can be stultified if the shadow-side
remains unrecognized.

Then we have all the ingredients for a human tragedy."

"I think I'd rather you called me Mrs. Horrocks' than my dear,' " said
Annette.

"It's quite natural for you to be angry with me," said Dr.  Rhea.

"Believe me, I understand and sympathize, but it doesn't alter the
situation.  The work against nature, against the endless

mechanical cycle of reincarnation, is necessary work against Saturn
and towards creativity.  Every effort Spicer makes to escape his
habitual nature, his conditioning, environment, habits, duties,
parents, spouse, is an effort to escape the devouring jaws of Saturn.

And I, as his therapist, am duty-bound to help him.  It is a perilous
venture for both of us."

"So you are helping him escape me?"  asked Annette.  "His spouse?  Is
that what you mean?  I quite certainly heard you say that."

"Only insofar as you represent Lilith," said Dr. Rhea.  "And
inevitably you must."

"And who the fuck is this Lilith," inquired Annette, "they all keep
talking about?"

"Lilith is the Black Gall, she is under the rulership of Saturn, she is
the melancholy of the deepest realm of death, poverty, darkness, tears,
complaints, and hunger.  She is the screech owl.  The destructive force
that works against the flow of harmony that should exist between men
and women."

"Oh, thanks," said Annette.

"I don't want to feel I am wasting my time here," said Dr.  Rhea.

"I'm sorry," said Annette.  "Please go on."

"Spicer stands on the brink of a very great journey," said Dr.  Rhea.

"He is a very special person--a profound artist--destined for spiritual
greatness.  Only Saturn and Lilith hold him back from his appointed
task.  Once he's free of these principles, once he has faced and
incorporated his shadow-self--I have never met one so strong, Mrs.
Horrocks--Spicer will shake free from the material world.  He will cut
the ties that bind.  You understand what in your culture you describe
as someone who is a mystic, I take it?"

"It's your culture as well, Dr.  Rhea, but tell me more."

"The Buddha, in the blunt Christian term, is a mystic.  A great
spiritual leader.  The Buddha left wife and family behind when he had
grown out of them, could see beyond them, and set off on his mission in
the world."

"And that's what Spicer's going to do?"  asked Annette.  "If you have
your way?

If I don't see your husband and somehow stop it?  Be a Buddha?"

"It's nothing to do with what I want," said Dr. Rhea.  "It's there in
Spicer's chart.  I am just the instrument of his liberation from the
material world."

"I hope you can stand up and say this in a court of law," said
Annette.

"It may well end up there."

"I think basic Jungian thought is now well accepted in most courts,"
said Dr. Rhea.  "Certainly the counselors and social workers are
acquainted with the language of the archetype: many are trained in
astrology too.  The AAP is affiliated to the ATCCT."

"What's that?"

"The Association for the Training of Court Counselors and
Therapists."

"You have wormed yourself in everywhere with all your nuttiness," said
Annette.  "And seem to be dragging the whole world along with you.

You'll be ducking witches next: pricking people to find out if they're
child abusers."

"Interesting that you should say that," said Dr. Rhea.  "That child
abuse is what comes to your mind."

"What you're really saying to me," said Annette, "is that if I don't
have therapy from your husband you'll break up my marriage.  You're
blackmailing me."

"Poor Spicer," said Dr. Rhea.  "I thought he exaggerated, but he
doesn't.

Lilith is very, very strong in you.  But Spicer is strong too.  He's
breaking free."

"Spicer took me out to lunch yesterday," said Annette.  "We had
lobster and champagne.  He didn't seem all that spiritual to me.  I
think he lays a lot of it on for your benefit.  It's how he entertains
himself."

"I think he only took a little of the fish, Mrs. Horrocks, and sipped
the champagne, to keep you in countenance.  Strange you forgot your own
birthday.

Or perhaps you wanted to.  Fight against fate all you want, Mrs.
Horrocks, be as rude to me as you like-- really it makes no
difference.

The spiritual change has begun in Spicer and will continue in spite of
all your efforts to hold him back.  You'll have noticed the change in
his diet.  His body now rejects red meat, alcohol, craves natural
foods.  It's a sure sign of spirituality.  You'll find stops and starts
in Spicer's progress.  Of course you will.  He'll suffer from what I
like to call the hot flushes of the soul.  His sexuality may become
suddenly more intense, alternating with periods of abstinence,
melancholy.  He will turn himself back for a time into a family man, or
someone preoccupied with business, but the process towards oneness,
once begun, is inexorable.  Spicer is leaving you, Mrs. Horrocks, and
the material world."

"Dr. Rhea," said Annette, "I'm sorry if I've spoken out of turn at
all.  As you say, it's natural for me to be angry.  This all comes as
rather a shock.  But please, for my sake, the family's sake, could you
stop encouraging Spicer in all this?  Not flatter him by talking about
his spirituality, his creativity?

He's just a wine merchant, with a wife and two children and a baby on
the way: no one special, just himself, which has always been good
enough for me, and him.  The consequences of his breaking up the home
are so terrible for so many people.  Couldn't you somehow include all
them in the area of your responsibility?  Because we're all going to
suffer terribly if Spicer goes on like this.  Please search your
conscience, to see if you can't find a way within it not to break up
this marriage.  Not tell lies to Spicer, not as strong as that--just
stay quiet about his spiritual destiny, as you see it?"

Dr.  Marks thought for a little.

"In all conscience," she said, "I can't.  My responsibility is to my
patient, not to his family and associates.  As I say, these are the
ethics of my profession.  Your husband approached me for help of his
own free will, and I must give it to him.  That, and only that, is my
duty."

"Even if helping him actively makes so many people unhappy?"

"In my experience families adjust very quickly," said Dr.  Rhea.

"Sometimes material details can be a problem, but in this case they're
minor.  I have encouraged Spicer to talk to you about them, but I'm
afraid he keeps putting it off.  The Lilith in you is so quickly
aroused.  I think Spicer finds it quite frightening: you frequently
alarm him, Mrs. Horrocks, with what he sees as sexual
insatiability."

"What about my baby, who according to you must do without a father?"

"Every child has a father," said Dr. Rhea.  "I'm sorry you seem so out
of sympathy with your husband.  Don't you care about his welfare at
all?  I don't think you've ever grasped how ill he was until he came to
see me: how unhappy his childhood was."

"We all have unhappy childhoods.  So what?  Didn't you?"

Annette saw Dr. Rhea Marks' face flicker: the colorless lashes lowered
over the pale, prominent eyes.

"I was the child of an unsupported mother," said Dr.  Rhea Marks.

"Is this your plan for all newborn babies?"  said Annette.  "That, like
you, they'll end up with no father?"

"Try not to be so excitable," said Dr. Rhea.  "It's bad for the
baby.

I understand your ambivalence towards your coming child but try to
control it."

"Do your patients often set out on this journey of theirs," asked
Annette, "and leave their spouses behind?"

"Quite often, Mrs.  Horrocks, yes," said Dr.  Rhea.

"That doesn't seem strange to you?"

"Not at all," said Dr. Rhea.  "Men who stand on the brink of spiritual
revelation do naturally gravitate towards me.  We like to call it
synchronicity."

"You don't put it into their heads?"  asked Annette.  "This leaving of
spouses?

You don't have your own agenda, hidden or otherwise?"

"This is bizarre," said Dr. Rhea Marks.  She rose from her chair and
went to the window and contemplated the trees.  The legs that emerged
from the long skirt were slim and her ankles were pretty.

"And perhaps your plan for all pregnant women," said Annette, "is that
they'll end up alone, and repeat your mother's story?  You're not so
much helping the men as attacking the women, and have found an ideal
way of doing it.

Power-mad, like the teachers and the doctors.  Now the therapists
too.

I think you just want other women to end up lonely."

"We don't talk about loneliness," said Dr. Rhea, smugly.  "We prefer
to talk about aloneness."

"I bet you do," said Annette.  "But you're all right, aren't you?

You're safe enough.  Not much chance of your old man going on a
spiritual journey.  He's too busy palpating breasts, the disgusting old
pervert, and sticking his cock into his female patients, and you
collude.  You even procure.  I expect he prefers them pregnant."

Dr. Marks picked up the internal phone and dialed.  "Herman, could you
come in a minute?  I have Mrs. Horrocks in my surgery.  She's being
abusive."  Gilda, thank God you waited," said Annette.  "Get me away
from here quickly.  I can't get the seat belt on, I'm sorry.  Is there
some way you can turn the alarm off?  Hang on, I'll try and move the
seat forward.  No, that's hopeless.  I can't fold myself in half any
more.  You have such a neat little bump: I'm just overall, allpurpose
vast.  No, I'm okay.  Really.  Not even particularly upset, I expect
that will come later.  I was in there with her for ages, wasn't I?  It
felt like it.  Things were shapeless, what she said was random, the
conversation was without form: like me, pregnant all over the place.

What she's about to give birth to is some great lump of evil.  It
doesn't mean Dr. Rhea's necessarily bad: she may just be rather stupid
and likes to have power, and has found a way of using it, I suppose
that could add up to evil.  But, no, I don't think so.  Evil is
something which attached from outside: you can't use it as a
description, it's a thing in itself and she's going to give birth to
it.  Did you know that Rhea was Saturn's wife?  I wonder if she was
born that, more likely it was Doris Legge.  Can't you turn that alarm
off?  Take out a fuse or something, Gilda.  Wedge a match in there.

Bloody Volvos, always doing things you don't want for your own good: if
it's not the lights, it's the fasten-seat-belt buzz.  Thanks, that's
better.  No, I don't want coffee.  Let's go straight home.  Those
lights were red, Gilda.  God, you're an awful driver.

It's just as well we're in a Volvo, the four of us.  Gilda and baby
Henry, Annette and baby Gillian.  These bangles are beginning to cut
into

my wrist.  My hands have got so puffy.  Do you think they'd cut
bangles off at the fire station?  Shall we go there?  Rhea Marks has
entered into this marriage as a third party.  She's halfway between a
mistress and a voyeur.  Perhaps Spicer just has this appetite for
threesomes.  Spicer and me and baby makes three.  I was never
absolutely certain I wanted this baby, Spicer and Aileen plus Jason
never made it.  You start off anti the first wife, don't you?  You
think she didn't understand him, you think she was cold, heartless,
stupid, faithless--she must have been.

In the end you see she was just another woman, trying to cope.

"I hit Rhea Marks on the chest.  She told me Spicer was leaving me to
go on a spiritual journey, she told me there were just a few material
details left to clear up.  God knows what Spicer's told her: they chat
twin souls, I suppose, and mutual creativity.

She's just the kind of woman who longs to write a novel.  She always
had the last word: you know how therapists do.  If you're angry, they
say they understand your anger, if you do anything at all, they tell
you to stop acting out.  I found myself saying dreadful things to
her.

I accused her of procuring, God knows what.  When Herman came in, I hit
her.  I pummeled her chest, she said, Stop acting out, you are no
longer a child', and he came from behind me and said, Daddy's
here--stop hitting Mommy,' and put his arms round me and pulled me
away, and his fingers dug into my breasts for longer than he need have,
and he just held me at a distance from her, and she smiled at me
sweetly and forgivingly.  I'd have a fuller, happier life once Spicer
was gone, she said, I was now a media personality and a successful
writer, and I must stand on my own feet, I wasn't the woman Spicer had
married: people's life paths sometimes split and went in different
ways, and some more guff about Lilith and Saturn.  So I swore and spat
a bit more, and they turned me out, and thank God you were still
waiting in the car."

"Annette?"  said Gilda.

"Yes, Gilda?"

"Do you really want to go to the fire station to get the bracelets
off?"

"Yes, I do," said Annette.  "They hurt like hell."

"I'm not sure you handled the session very well," said Gilda.

"Why not?"  asked Annette.  "Why shouldn't I call her names?  And
him.

They're filth."

"Because you don't want them telling Spicer about Ernie Gromback, et
cetera, do you?"

"I'd just deny it," said Annette.  "Look at these weals coming up on my
wrist.  Not just are the bangles cutting into the flesh, I'm sensitive
to the metal.  Spicer probably got them from her and they've been
soaking in some magic potion.  Her husband's piss, probably.  Or
hers.

I bet they're into Golden Showers."

"Calm down, Annette.  This can't be good for the baby.  Shouldn't I
take you to Spicer?"

"No.  The fire station.  At once."

"I just don't like the feel of this," said Gilda.  "Not at all.

You don't want people like the Markses as enemies."

"They're not much cop as friends," said Annette.  "What do I care?

What can they do?"

"You remember what I said about Spicer asking me to join him and
Marion?"  said Gilda.

"Yes, I do, Gilda," said Annette.

"I'll swear there was a fire station somewhere down here," said
Gilda.

"Where's it gone?  Well, I did."

"Oh, did you," said Annette.

"Don't sound so dull and drear, darling," said Gilda.  "It was a long
time ago.

Spicer and I, well, sometimes when you were out, or at a party when you
were in the kitchen, we'd have a quickie under the coats, it just got
to be a habit.  Actually, Annette, it was always a quickie, because
that's how Spicer is.  I hate the way you think you're so bad in bed,
Annette, because actually it's Spicer.  He has no natural instinct for
sex.  If you lie there thinking about what's for breakfast, it's
because he's trying to remember the sex manual.  It was Spicer and me
asked Marion in: not Spicer and Marion asking me.

When Steve and I got together, that was the end of it: and by that time
Spicer had got more interested in Marion than in me.  That's the
problem with threesomes: they end up with a different twosome.  So that
was the end between me and Spicer.  I won't say I was hurt, but I took
offense."

"They've closed the fire station," said Annette.  "Look, it's a garden
center now.  Perhaps it's just as well or I'd have asked them to cut my
throat."  rs.  Horrocks?"

"Yes?  Who's that?"

"I'm sorry, have I disturbed you?"

"No.  I'm just a bit sleepy.  A friend gave me some stuff to take
called Easy Night.  I took rather a lot.  Who am I talking to?"

"I'm so sorry, didn't I say?  This is Amelia Hardy of The Oprah Winfrey
Show.

I'm the researcher.  I wondered if we could have a brief conversation
about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?  I thought it was months ahead."

"We did write to you."

"I haven't been opening all my letters lately."

"That's your privilege as a creative artist," said Amelia Hardy.

"Never mind, tomorrow it is, your publisher okayed it, and we're all
set up and ready to go, if I can just have this brief conversation with
you first."

"Actually, could I call you back in half an hour?"  asked Annette.

"I'll call you at--what's the time now, three-fifteen?  In the
afternoon.  At four o'clock precisely.  Will you be there?"

"Yes, of course," said Amelia Hardy.  "I'll wait for your 1."

"Just fine!  I expect the Easy Night will have worn off a little by
then," Annette said.

"Shall we make it four-thirty?  I take Easy Night sometimes myself.  I
swear by it, but it is quite strong."  Wendy, can I speak to Spicer?

It's urgent."

"He's in a meeting, Mrs.  Horrocks."

"Can you get him out of it?"

"I don't think I'd better try.  The meeting's with British Rail," said
Wendy.

"You know we have this great big deal going through: it's really saved
our bacon.  I've got Jason and Susan here.  Susan, do you want to talk
to Mum?"

"Hi, Mum!"

"What are you doing in the office?"  asked Annette.  "I thought you
were both upstairs in your rooms."

"Dad's taking us to a puppet show in Islington," said Susan.  "Jason
wanted to go to London Dungeon and I wanted to go to the zoo, but Dad
said scenes of torture were unsuitable and the zoo

was an abomination, so there's only puppets left.  If we'd known, we'd
have stayed home."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We tried to but you were asleep," said Susan.  "Dad just rang and
said, hi, let's go, so we went."

"Why are you calling him Dad all of a sudden, not Spicer?"

"He says he wants me to.  It makes us feel like more of a family.  But
I keep forgetting.  Spicer--I mean Dad--said it would get us out from
under your feet, give you time to rest if you needed rest.  Was that
okay?  It didn't seem right leaving you, but you were so fast asleep.

You looked so pretty and peaceful.

You hadn't been crying or anything?"

"No."

"I wondered," said Susan.  "I suppose when you're pregnant you're meant
to get puffy all over.  You looked like a kind of mushroom."

"Thank you, Susan," said Annette.  "I reckon I'm okay.  What sort of
puppet theater?"

"I don't know," said Susan.  "Rainbow Childline something or other.

I'm not looking forward to it.  It'll be meant for much younger kids:
it will be full of tree spirits and stuff, understanding each other,
and what to do when your parents start touching you up.  Jason will
make puking sounds all the way through.  But it's always nice going out
with Dad.  Doesn't often happen."

"We all went to Buddy the other day," said Annette.

"Buddy Holly's Stone Age," observed Susan.  "We're more back into Angry
Medieval, Sounds of the Suburbs stuff.  But it was a nice try.  Thanks,
parent."

"Can I speak to Jason?"  asked Annette.

"Probably not," said Susan.  "He's trying out the graphics on Wendy's
PC."

"Give him my love."

"He sends it back," said Susan.  "You don't have to worry, Mum.  Jason
isn't withdrawn.  He just likes computers.  Why, hi, Dr. Marks.  Dad's
still busy with British Rail, but he shouldn't be a minute.  Bye, Mum,
must go now."  Wendy!"

"Yes, Mrs.  Horrocks."

"Who exactly have you got in your office?"

"Susan, Jason, and this other lady who's just come in," said Wendy,
sotto voce.  "I haven't seen her before.  She looks harmless enough."

"I want to speak to her," said Annette.

"Are you sure you want to?"  asked Wendy.  "You sound a bit strange.

Hang on, I'll go through to the other office."

"Are you there, Mrs.  Horrocks?"

"Yes, I am, Wendy."

"I've been a bit worried," said Wendy, "because I think it's the woman
he keeps speaking to on the phone, and meeting for lunch, and what with
you being pregnant it doesn't seem fair: and now, if he's taking the
kids out midafternoon, and he actually canceled a meeting, and she's
turned up in person--well, I don't like it, Mrs. Horrocks.  I know
it's none of my business, but you've always been really nice to me.

I'm sure there's nothing to it: she looks really quiet and perfectly
sweet and very serious, and she's a doctor, so she must be
responsible.

Your kids are yawning already, but even so--Here comes Mr. Horrocks,
out of his meeting.  Mr. Horrocks, please speak to Mrs. Horrocks. 
No, don't make faces at me, do it now."

"Hi, Annette--" "Hello, Spicer," said Annette.  "So, you're taking the
kids for an outing?"

"You were too fast asleep to even answer the phone."

"And Dr.  Rhea Marks is going too?"

"My, what a lot you seem to know, sitting up there in the safety of
Bella Crescent.  Yes, Annette, Dr. Rhea Marks is coming with us.  She
wants to observe the children a little: see if there are signs of
precocious behavior, that kind of thing.  We thought just an ordinary
family outing would be a good background for it."

"I don't understand," said Annette.

"Let's face it," said Spicer.  "You have become rather seriously
disturbed, Annette.  The Markses practically had to get the police
today, to have you removed from their offices.  You were violent.  You
really can't go on behaving like that.  But I don't want to talk about
it on the phone.  I for one don't want the kids to overhear."

"So you, Dr. Rhea Marks, and the children are going to the theater
together," said Annette, "leaving me behind at home-- that's what it
amounts to?"

"You are such a child, Annette," said Spicer.  "You don't seem to
understand the seriousness of your own situation.  Dr. Herman Marks
thinks it's unwise for you to be alone with the children too much.  In
his judgment, your fantasy life is too strong to be ignored, it might
slip, might already have slipped, over into real life, particularly in
relation to Jason, who's your stepchild.

Annette, none of this is your fault, don't think I blame you.  But

Jason's obsession with video games and X-rated films just isn't
natural.  I have to protect the children."

"By leaving them?"  asked Annette.  "Dr. Rhea Marks says you plan to
leave us to pursue your spiritual journey, so what is this sudden
concern for the children?  It sounds rather hypocritical to me."

"You have obviously misinterpreted what Dr.  Rhea said," said Spicer.

"It's part of the negative pattern.  You're having a very difficult
pregnancy, which means that we all are.  Most certainly I see the way
ahead to the light, but I could hardly leave my family in the state it
is: I love you, Annette, in spite of everything.  What kind of man
would I be if I just abandoned you?  Not much cop on the wheel of
life.

I'd fall right off, right through to the cockroaches.  Laughing?"

"Trying to," said Annette.

"Take another slug of Easy Night.  Gilda rang me.  She was really
worried about you.  Go back to sleep, sweetheart.  See you later.

We'll bring back fish and chips."

"And Dr.  Rhea Marks?  Will she come over too for fish and chips?"

"I shouldn't think so," said Spicer.  "You've terrified her out of her
wits.

Annette, I'm not exactly looking forward to Rainbow Childline
Theater.

Don't make matters even worse than you've made them already."

"Sorry, Spicer.  Is this call being broadcast through the office?"

"Yes," said Spicer, "come to think of it.  But you're a media
personality.  It shouldn't worry you."

"This is The Oprah Winfrey Show.  Amelia speaking."

"Oh, hi."

"We mean to record tomorrow and hold over and screen for our New Year
show.  We like to do things live, but even Oprah has to have a holiday
sometimes.  Can I just say how much I loved Lucifette Fallen?  Of
course, the timing is good for you--Ernie Gromback tells me he's
scheduled publication to fit in with our transmission.  Isn't he a
charmer?"

"Oh yes," said Annette.

"We're building the program around the domestic quarrel," said
Amelia.

"We figure God and Lucifer had the first one: brilliant of you to have
seen that Lucifer was female.  After that it was Jupiter and Juno.

What can the rest of us poor mortals do in the face of the archetype?

We have our pet psychotherapist to help us see through the dark to the
light.  That's the bit we'd like you to read from Lucifette Fallen: on
page eight of the proof copy.

I must say your publisher whizzed it around to us.  The para beginning
Where darkness becomes light'--down to What can a child do but repeat
the experience?"  And then sit next to Oprah and chat a bit about your
own experiences and what drove you to write the novel."

"I'm sorry--I've lost you.  I'm still a bit sleepy--" "You are very
central to the show, Mrs. Horrocks," said Amelia.  "Have you had
experience with TV before?"

"No," said Annette.

"Welcome to the real world," said Amelia.

Gilda, hi.  What is going on here?  I'm not taking any of that stuff of
yours ever again.  I'm only just beginning to wake up.  First there was
you saying you had an affair with Spicer--I must have dreamt that.

Then there was the thing about Spicer taking the kids out with Dr. Rhea
Marks--that's completely unbelievable.  And then there was this
conversation about archetypes and Lucifette Fallen with a TV company.

It can't be true.  TV is the antithesis of the archetype.  What's the
time, Gilda?  I feel too languid to get up and look at the clock."

"It's nine-twenty-one," said Gilda, "in the evening.  Steve and I have
just had supper and are settling in to watch TV.  Careful what you
say.

He's in the next room.  He likes me to watch the news with him."

"Nine-twenty-one?  In the evening?  Then where are Spicer and the
kids?"

"Probably still out with Dr.  Rhea Marks," said Gilda.

"Are you trying to tell me," asked Annette, "that those conversations
actually happened?"

"Yes," said Gilda.  "Well, the one with me certainly did."

"And you used to go to bed with Spicer?"

"It wasn't often the bed, it was usually the sofa," said Gilda.

"The sofa I'm lying on now?"  asked Annette.

"You've had it covered since," said Gilda.  "I was glad when you did.

It made me feel better.  Shall we just forget that and get on to what's
important?"

"You and Spicer are both fairly important to me, Gilda," said
Annette.

"I trusted you with the information in order to help you," said
Gilda.

"I don't want you letting Spicer know you know, because Spicer can be
vindictive.  He might tell Steve, and Steve will go on and on about me
not being open with him, and then I'll have to say it's all Spicer's
fantasy, and honestly I haven't the energy for any of this at the
moment, Annette, I'm going to give birth any minute, so just shut up,
okay?"

"Okay," said Annette.  "It's not what I want everyone to know
either."

"Now, what does worry me is if Spicer said to you the things you say he
did, then something not very nice is going on.  You are being told that
if you don't back off about Dr. Herman Marks assaulting you they'll
start accusing you of child abuse, and they're the therapists, and
they'll win."

"That's absurd," said Annette.  "Why should they do a thing like
that?"

"Think about it," said Gilda.  "It happens a lot these days.  And be
glad there seems to be some kind of bargain being struck.  They could
just charge in there and get your kids taken away."

"How could they possibly do a thing like that, without proof, without
evidence?  You're being bizarre," said Annette.

"If I were you," said Gilda, "I'd shut up and be sweet as pie about the
pair of them until the baby is born, and just hope they fade out of
Spicer's life.  The AJAP trains the counselors who train the social
workers, and if they say child abuse, you've had it.  If Jason so much
as looks up Susan's skirt, that's it."

"Sometimes Jason helps me with the ironing," said Annette.  "He irons
Susan's knickers, because I can't see the point in ironing them.  Jason
says I just screw them up: he doesn't like it."

"Well, there you are.  Condemned already.  Unnaturally sexually
precocious, and screw' is a pun, isn't it."

"That's ridiculous."

"Think about it," said Gilda.  "Okay, Steve, I'm coming."

"Sweet as pie," said Annette.  "That's me.  Don't worry."

/i, Mum!"

"Hi, Susan.  Hi, Jason.  How was the show?"

"Spooky," said Susan.  "I don't want to know about all that I'm sick of
having it rammed down my throat."

"What do they think we are?"  said Jason.  "Children?"

"Where's Dad?"

"He dropped us off and took Dr. Rhea home and said he'd get fish and
chips on the way back."

"Did you like Dr.  Rhea?"

"She was okay," said Susan.  "But she kept asking questions and
pretending she wasn't."

"She smiles all the time," said Jason, "but she isn't really.  Who is
she, anyway?"

"A friend of Daddy's," said Annette.

"What does he want friends for?"  asked Susan.  "He's got you.  What
sort of doctor is she, anyway?"

"A head doctor," said Annette.

"Why?  Is one of us mad?"  asked Susan.  "It's probably Dad, taking us
to a show like that."

"She made us drink caffeine-free Coke," said Jason.  "She can go and
take a leap at herself."

/Annett?"

"Hello, Spicer."

"You always take so long getting to the phone," said Spicer.  "I nearly
gave up.  I'm speaking from a call box.  Look, all the fishand-chip
places in London seem to be closed.  And I promised the children."

"Don't worry," said Annette.  "They'll survive.  They can have an
omelette.

They're very tired anyway.  They loved the show, Spicer.  And they
really liked Dr.  Marks."

"Good," said Spicer.  "I just can't understand your antagonism to
her.

Or all this stuff about her unfortunate husband.  It makes things
really difficult for me."

"I feel more settled in my head now, Spicer," said Annette.  "The rush
of hormones when you're pregnant can do all kinds of things.  It says
in my Before the Birth book that in the later stages of pregnancy women
sometimes get very sexy, they even find themselves reading
pornography."

"Good God, do they really?"

"Yes," said Annette.  "So I expect it was just that kind of energy gone
sour: I kind of imagined things that just weren't happening.  I'm ever
so sorry, Spicer," said Annette.

"I might ask you to put that in writing when I come home," said
Spicer.

"Which bit, Spicer?"  asked Annette.  "About it not happening or about
being sorry?"

"Either or both, darling," said Spicer.  "Or none at all, so long as
it's all clear in our heads.  Actually, Rhea can be a bit of a pain:
all this stuff about transitional crisis.  Anyway, I'm on my way home,
fish-and-chip-less.

Shall I buy some champagne?"

"I thought you were off alcohol?"

"Well, you can go too far, can't you?  And champagne's different," said
Spicer.

"It doesn't count."

"Brilliant!"  said Annette.  "Did Rhea think the kids were okay?"

"Tell you when I get back," said Spicer.  "Shall I bring you an
interesting video?"

"What sort of video?"

"A later-stage-of-pregnancy video."

"Oh, Spicer!  How exciting.  You are in a good mood.  Come home
quickly.  You'll find me sweet as pie."  Spicer," said Annette.  "The
price tag's still on the bottle.  A hundred and twenty pounds.  It's
insane."

The children had gone to bed.  The fire was lit.

"Don't wet-blanket, Annette," said Spicer.  "So's our telephone bill
insane.

You talk too much to Gilda."

"Sorry," said Annette.

"What do you find to talk to her about?"

"Just babies," said Annette.  "Childbirth.  Washing machines.  Domestic
detail."

"And, Annette--" "What, Spicer?"

"You're married to a wine merchant."

"I know that, darling," said Annette.  "And a very successful one."

"To a wine merchant," said Spicer, "all bottles are cheap at the
price.

A hundred and twenty pounds is not insane."

"Sorry, Spicer," said Annette.  "I'm the one who's insane."

"Funny one," said Spicer forgivingly.

"It's lovely having you here beside me in such a good mood," said
Annette.

"I have been worried," said Spicer.  "To be frank.  Anxious.  even."

"About money, you mean?"

"No, about you and what peculiar things were going on in your head, and
whether it was okay to leave you with the kids," said Spicer.  "That's
why I wanted Rhea to see them."

"I see," said Annette.

"I've been doing my best," said Spicer.  "Family outings and so
forth.

But you've been really distracted."

"In what way has it shown itself, darling?"  asked Annette.

"How long since you cooked a proper meal?"  asked Spicer.

"You don't eat dinner any more."

"That doesn't mean the kids have to be doomed to frozen TV chicken
platters," said Spicer.  "But, according to Rhea, the kids are just
fine."

"I'm so glad she thought so," said Annette.  "I really trust her
judgment.  A warning shot over the bows does no one any harm."

"Rhea's very well qualified," said Spicer.  "A wise woman, in both the
Jungian and the worldly sense.  Highly respected in her profession.

Her word goes in a court of law.  Not many laughs, though, on an
afternoon out.  I really missed you, Annette.  And the play was dire.

Embarrassing."

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it," said Annette.

"Life can't be all wine and roses," said Spicer.

"There's the soul as well," agreed Annette.

"There's a time and place for the soul," said Spicer.  "Shall I put on
the video?"

"Anything you say, darling.  Anything that makes you happy."

"That makes us happy," said Spicer.

"That makes us happy," repeated Annette.

"Ernie Gromback called this morning," said Spicer.  "He couldn't raise
you at home.  He seemed to think you were doing The Oprah Winfrey
Show.

I told him you weren't, you didn't want to be gawped at by the whole
world."

"I wouldn't dream of doing The Oprah Winfrey Show," said Annette.

"They're bound to worm things out into the open one would rather keep
to oneself.  Family's more important than fame.  Fame's vulgar."

O _/ t/Annett, you haven't even finished one glass.  I've had three."

"I'm not saying it's acid, champagne can't be acid at a hundred and
twenty pounds the bottle," said Annette.  "It's just that being
pregnant makes me exceptionally prone to indigestion."

"Killjoy!"  said Spicer.

"Actually, Spicer," said Annette, "they do say these days pregnant
women shouldn't drink alcohol.  I worry."

"Who's they?  Old wives and young doctors and people who are trying to
drive wine merchants out of business?  Don't tell me you've joined the
enemy!"

"Of course I haven't, Spicer," said Annette.

"Then drink up.  It will help you enjoy the film.  Champagne's hardly
alcohol anyway."

"Yes, Spicer," said Annette, sipping away, smiling away.

"Dr. Marks agrees with me the whole nation is descending into a frenzy
of negation," said Spicer, "in which Bacchus is the first to get it in
the neck.  We have to fight back.  But let's talk a little less, watch
a little more.  Lean your head into my shoulder: let me put my arm
round you.

I'm always here to look after you."

"I know that, Spicer."

"Why are you shutting your eyes?"  asked Spicer.  "This is a good
bit."

"I expect it is," said Annette, "but I don't think I want to look at
it."

"Prude!"  said Spicer.  "Perhaps Dr. Herman Marks was right about
you.

Perhaps you need treatment more urgently than any of us realize?"

"I've opened my eyes," said Annette.  "I'm just fine."

"I'll put it on pause so you can tell what's going on," said Spicer.

"Thank you, Spicer," said Annette.  "That's very thoughtful of you.

oesn't it hurt?  Two men at the same time like that?"

"That's a silly question."

"I'm sorry.  I thought you wanted my comments."

"God, Annette, you are hopeless.  In answer to your question, not if
she relaxes, not if she enjoys it, no, it doesn't hurt."

"But I suppose, if it does hurt just a little bit," said Annette, "she
enjoys it a bit more."

"Yes.  Exactly.  Everyone does," said Spicer.

"Well, I'm really glad for the human race," said Annette, "that it's
evolved the way it has."

"Next you'll be saying the one behind her reminds you of Dr. Herman
Marks," observed Spicer.

"He's not in the least like Dr.  Herman Marks," said Annette.

"I was only joking," said Spicer.  "Why do you have to take everything
so seriously?  You're sure the kids are asleep?  We wouldn't want them
to come in and find us watching this."

"No, we certainly wouldn't."

"You in later pregnancy and liking porno all of a sudden."

"I didn't say that exactly, Spicer," said Annette.

"I certainly heard you say it," said Spicer.

"Well, if you heard it, I said it," said Annette.  "I have no excuses
to offer.

It's perfectly clear that anything I say about Herman Marks was just me
making trouble."

"But why should you have wanted to make trouble?"  asked Spicer.

"I was jealous about you seeing so much of Dr. Rhea Marks," said
Annette.

"At last you admit it!"  said Spicer.

"I want to make it up to you now, Spicer," said Annette.  "To show how
sorry I am.  Jealousy is a truly pathetic emotion."

"I've had enough of pause," said Spicer.  "Let's put it on play."

"It's quite on-turning," said Annette.  "You can't help it in the
end."

"Thank God for that," said Spicer.  "You're becoming human at last.

See how the woman's enjoying it?  Even more than the men?  She's not
faking.  You can tell.

You just relax.  At least there's only one of me.  That should suit
you."

"Couldn't we go upstairs?  Do we have to do it on the sofa?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Annette!"

"Sorry, Spicer," said Annette.  "We'll stay here."

"You are so inhibited," said Spicer.  "But perhaps that's why I love
you.  I as Zeus the seducerAover/divine, you as Danae."

"Just call me sweet-as-pie," said Annette, "and I'll answer to it."

"Those bracelets are practically sinking into your arm.  You can't
have got fatter since yesterday."

"Water retention," said Annette.

"Don't be proud of being unglamorous," said Spicer.  "Don't the
bracelets hurt?"

"Yes," said Annette.

"I quite like the thought of that," said Spicer.  "Turn over."

"Dr.  Rhea told me you were leaving me," said Annette.

"I'm beginning to think Dr.  Rhea's nuts," said Spicer.

"But did you tell her that?"

"I tell her all kinds of things she wants to hear," said Spicer.  "From
dreams I make up to scenarios about my future.  None of them
necessarily true."

"But why do you say what she wants to hear if it's so disloyal to
me?"

"Because I'm easily bored," said Spicer.  "And she drones on and I like
to get her to change the subject, or at least the archetype."

"But why do you go to her in the first place?  If it's boring."

"Because I'm in a transitional crisis, because I need to liberate my
Perseus from my Polydectes, and slay Medusa, the poisonous feminine,
or, look at it another way, cast off Medusa and escape Lilith, or
simply be the tree, the trunk, the pillar, the stake, the antinatural
which penetrates the cleft hill.

Does that hurt?"

"Yes."

"It's meant to," said Spicer.  "Just a bit.  Isn't this good?"

"Yes," said Annette.  "Just call me Tweetie-pie.  Each to their own
myth.

Personally, I choose Disney."

O l/Annett?"

"Hello, Mum."

"Did you speak to Spicer about your father's money?"

"No, I didn't," said Annette.  "Spicer has had business worries.

They're over now.  I'm sure the repayments will start flowing any
minute.  Don't worry about it."

"Don't you know anything about Spicer's business affairs?"

"Not much, actually.  Look, Mum, I've got a headache: please, can't
this wait?"

"I don't think so, Annette," said Judy.  "I was awake all night
worrying.

Spicer's such a charmer, but do we really know him?"

"Probably not, Mum," said Annette.  "Men are always full of
surprises.

Wives can be married to bigamists and not know it till both families
meet up at the funeral.  Rapists and serial killers .  .

llkewlse.

"I'm not suggesting Spicer is a bigamist, a rapist, or a serial killer,
Annette," said Judy.  "Don't misrepresent me.  I'm very fond of
Spicer.

I have to be.  He's going to be the father of one of my
grandchildren.

I want everything to go well for you both.  You can always come and
stay with me, Annette.  You know that.  This is always your home."

"Thanks, Mum," said Annette.  "But things are looking okay.  Just
fine."

"I'm glad to hear that, Annette, because something's just occurred to
me.  You remember yours and Spicer's wedding?"

"Of course I do," said Annette.

"It wasn't a legal ceremony, was it?  You were going to have that
later.  Did you?"

"It was a wonderful wedding party.  A marquee in the garden: all those
roses, and songs."

"It was all very charming, Annette, but it wasn't legal.  Your divorce
hadn't come through."

"A scrap of paper," said Annette.

"Your voice has gone very quiet."

"You're right, Mum.  I don't think Spicer ever did put the house in
joint ownership, and we didn't actually get to the Registry Office.

They're such dismal places.  Births, deaths, marriages all lumped
together, and you have to book up so far ahead, and either Spicer or me
were always busy, and it just kind of drifted off into One day we'll
get round to it."  But it's okay, Mum.

It doesn't make any difference.  I'm a common-law wife."

"There's no such thing, Annette.  A woman has some legal rights once
there's a baby of the unwed union, but none at all if there isn't.  She
has just the same status as a friend who's happened to live in all
those years, and enjoyed the perks while she was at it."

"But I am having a baby, Mum, so there's no worry."

"I don't mean to upset you, puss," said Judy, "but you do need
reminding of practicalities sometimes.  Your father's been looking it
all up."

"Dad hates Spicer, Mum," said Annette.  "Of course he's been looking it
up."

"He doesn't hate Spicer," said Judy.  "Not at all.  He finds him as
charming as I do.  We're just both the worrying kind.  You are our only
daughter.  Now, don't get upset and start lashing out at us because
we're in the way.  I'm going to put the phone down now, puss, so you
can get a hold of yourself."

"I'm perfectly in control of myself, Mum," said Annette.

"Goodbye, Annette," said Judy.  "Love to Spicer.  And I mean that.  And
look after yourself."

"Goodbye, Mum."

O /Annett, are you okay?"  asked Gilda.  "There was another
child-abuse case on the news last night.  I sometimes wonder what my
own father was like.  He died when I was three.  If you don't remember
it, is it there in your psyche, traumatizing you forever?  Or do you
have to remember it for it to damage you?

The things they never tell you, it's worse than AIDS.  Annette, are you
there?"

"I'm here, Gilda."

"Annette, I spent most of the morning on my hands and knees scrubbing
the kitchen floor," said Gilda.  "Scrubbing!  Does that mean I'm going
to have this baby any minute now?"

"Probably," said Annette.  "It's the nest-building instinct.  You make
things clean."

"I hate being taken over like this," said Gilda.  "I'm terrified.

Supposing I split?"

"You do split," said Annette.  "They sew you up afterwards.  Or else
they cut you open neatly before you begin."

"They don't say that at the Clinic, or did I miss it?  It's all about
holding your birth partner's hand."

"That's why I don't go much to the Clinic.  I don't want to hold my
birth partner's hand, I want gas-and-air and an epidural and a nurse
I've never met who's never heard of an archetype."

"What's the matter?"  asked Gilda.

"Do you remember when Spicer and I go married?"

"Yes."

"Well, we didn't," Annette said.

"It was a wonderful wedding," said Gilda.  "A marquee and champagne and
a band.

But none of us got asked to the ceremony itself, I do remember that.

We felt demoted to second-class friends.  I went right off you, and
that was the real reason I had that stupid thing with Spicer.  I keep
trying to think of reasons.

I feel so bad about it, Annette.  I'm superstitious.  If I have a clear
conscience, I'll have an easy birth.  So I keep confessing to
everyone.

It's insane.  I know it's insane but I can't help it."

"There was a hold-up to my divorce decree, but Spicer and I had done
all the organizing, so we went ahead with the reception anyway.  And
then we just never got round to getting married.  It didn't seem to
matter."

"Get married now," said Gilda.  "Suggest it to Spicer.  How can you get
divorced if you're not married?"

"Now seems a little edgy, Gilda," said Annette.  "Though I'm being as
sweet as pie, I really am.  And it's working.  He's running down Dr.
Rhea himself: I don't have to do it."

"Oh God, Annette, is it worth it?"  asked Gilda.  "I'm getting false
contractions.  They don't hurt, my belly just goes hard as a board.  I
rather like it.  Do you think men feel like this when they have an
erection?

Purposeful and out of control at the same time?"

"I expect so," said Annette.  "I wonder if Spicer realizes about the
house and us not being married?"

"Of course he does, darling," said Gilda.  "He's a very successful
businessman."

"Not all that successful," said Annette.  "If it wasn't for British
Rail we'd be bankrupt, poor Spicer was just about to put everything in
my name."

"Who told you that?  Spicer?  Steve says he has so much salted away
it's unbelievable," Gilda said.  "Annette, I can't talk any longer, I'm
going to lie in the bath."

"Don't do that," said Annette, "because if the waters break you might
not notice."

O /Annett?"

"Who is it?"

"It's me.  It's Ernie.  Where are you?  Why did you take so long
answering?"

"I went back to bed," said Annette.  "I was tired."

"But you're okay?  I worry about you."

"Thank you, Ernie.  I just didn't get much sleep last night, one way
and another.  And I had to grope for the phone.  Somewhere on the floor
in the bedclothes.  I'm sorry."

"It sounds a wild scene," said Ernie Gromback.

"It was rather."

"Should you be doing this kind of thing?"  asked Ernie Gromback.  "You
being so pregnant?"

"I'm told it's natural," said Annette.  "And if it's natural it must be
good, or else the patriarchal spirit will triumph, and Eve will be
wrenched once more out of Adam's rib."

"You're rambling, Annette."

"Am I?  Sorry."

"You sound like Marion on a bad day," said Ernie Gromback.  "I want to
run off with you and look after you."

"What do you need, Ernie?  Why did you call?"

"Don't be like that, Annette," said Ernie Gromback.  "It's

eleven o'clock: you're meant to be at my office seeing the Oprah
Winfrey researcher at half past, you're recording this afternoon and
you're not even out of bed."

"I didn't know we had a meeting," said Annette.

"Didn't Spicer give you the message last night?"

"He must have forgotten," said Annette.  "We got rather tied up.

Ernie, I'm not going to do Oprah Winfrey."

"Why not?  Because Spicer doesn't want you to?"

"I suppose so," said Annette.

"You can't let him do this to you," said her publisher.

"There seems to be rather a lot at stake," said Annette.  "More than
you'd imagine."

"What I need like a hole in the head," said Ernie, "is a first novelist
in a time of recession turning down The Oprah Winfrey Show.  Do you
want my entire business to go down the drain?"

"If it's my marriage, or what passes for my marriage, or your
business," said Annette, "I'd rather it was your business down the
drain.  I need the roof over my head."

"Do you have a marriage there worth saving?"  asked Ernie.

"It's not just me," said Annette.  "It's Susan, Jason, my parents, our
friends, the house, the garden, everything.  I have to have time to
think."

"You've been brainwashed," said Ernie Gromback.  "The man's a
monster."

"He's the man I love," said Annette.  "You just say that because you
want me to do Oprah Winfrey and make money for you."

"It's money for you," said Ernie Gromback.  "Fiction is your way to
independence.  That's why Spicer doesn't pass on messages ."

"I'm so tired, Ernie, and I keep getting pains," said Annette.  "I
expect it's indigestion.  I drank too much champagne last night."

"Who gave you champagne in your condition?"

"Spicer says champagne doesn't count as alcohol," said Annette.  "It
wasn't too much in ordinary terms, Ernie, just too much because I'm
pregnant."

"And Spicer doesn't think of that."

"He used to," said Annette.  "But he doesn't any more.  Perhaps it's
because the wine trade is in such a bad way.  You know what men are."

"I'm a man too," said Ernie.  "I wouldn't delude myself.  I'd know how
to look after you.  I know a lot of things.  I know Spicer didn't give
you my message.  I know Spicer has been seeing a lot of Marion.  I know
it's hopeless to try and do business with friends.  When Spicer gave me
your manuscript I should have run a mile.  Get your clothes on and come
down here at once, or Spicer will have won."

"But I'm so tired," said Annette.

"Of course you are," said Ernie.  "Spicer made you tired."

"It wasn't calculated, Ernie," said Annette.

"No?  When did Spicer ever not calculate anything?  I'm coming round to
fetch you.  I'm going to bring you back to my office, where you can put
your feet up.

Then you go on to the studio.  What are you going to wear?"

"I haven't got anything to wear."

"Borrow something from someone," said Ernie Gromback.  "Spicer gave me
that manuscript because he expected me to turn it down.  It wasn't my
kind of book.

He knew that."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because it was really good."

Gilda."

"Hello, Annette," said Gilda.  "I feel okay again.  A false alarm.  I
did have a bath.  Now I'm busy decorating the crib.  Steve's home: he
bought all these ghastly things from a car-boot sale.  White satin
ribbons and stuff."

"Have you got anything I can wear for The Oprah Winfrey Show?"

"What sort of thing did you have in mind?"  asked Gilda.  "Spicer's
going to be furious."

"Too bad," said Annette.  "Anyway, Spicer won't know.  I'll be home by
seven, before Spicer gets back.  He has an appointment with Dr. Rhea
at six-thirty.

The last one, he says.  I was right to do a Tweetie-pie, it really
worked.

Disney wins against Mount Olympus.  Spicer and me are on course, truly
on course.  I just want to be on The Oprah Winfrey Show.  They're not
screening it till January, when Spicer will be in France.  He'll never
even see it."

"I do have that blue sort of spotted shift," said Gilda.  "Armani."

"Shows too much arm," said Annette.

"Wear it with a jacket," said Gilda.  "What about your hair?"

"I'll do it under the shower now," said Annette.

"Someone's bound to tell Spicer," said Gilda.  "You won't get away with
it."

"Oh, shut up," said Annette.  "There's no possible way I can know what
to do for the best, so I'll do what I want."

"Good thinking," said Gilda.  "What the hell."

"What the hell, Gilda, what the hell.  In my mother's good days she
used to quote Don Marquis.  He wrote an epistolary work called Archy
and Mehieabel.

Archy was a cockroach, Mehitabel was a cat.  They typed each other
letters on the office typewriter, they couldn't manage the upper
case.

Mehitabel used to sign off: what the hell, archy, what the hell."  So
that's what I'm signing off to you, Gilda: what the hell, gilda, what
the hell.  And Tweetie-pie wasn't Disney.  It was Warner Brothers." 
you know where you are?"

"I think so.  Who are you?"

"I'm Dr.  McGregor, casualty officer.  Who are you?"

"I don't know you," said Annette.  "You have really nice straight
teeth."

"Thank you.  Try and understand what I'm saying."

"Why can't I?"

"You're still feeling the effect of the anesthetic.  Now, what is your
name?"

"Annette."

"That's a very pretty name," said Dr. McGregor.  "Could we have a
second one?

And an address?  Even the luxury of a nextof-kin?"

"What's it got to do with you?"  asked Annette.

"We like to know these things," said Dr. McGregor.  "You are in
hospital, Annette.  You collapsed in a taxi you'd picked up in the
street.  You didn't have a handbag with you.  Just some loose change in
your pocket.  So you're a mystery to us."

"That's not my fault.  I couldn't find my bag and I was in a hurry."

"Good.  If you can remember that, can you tell us your second name?"

"Shan't."

"Where are you?  Can you remember that?"

"In hospital."

"Good girl.  We're admitting you.  We're waiting for a bed in GYN."

"That's nice," said Annette.

"We need to find your husband."

"Do I have one?"  asked Annette.

"We had to cut off a wedding ring when you were under the anesthetic.

And some bangles.  I hope you don't mind.  There was a nasty mess
beneath them."

"I wish I could remember more," said Annette.

"Don't worry.  It will come back.  You're very thin, but well
dressed.

Designer clothes, nurse said.  We don't see many of those."

"Thin?  I'm enormous," said Annette.  "Vast like a mountain, like a
cleft hill, like Lilith, like Medusa, I'm about to flood the

"Oh Christ, she's gone again," said Dr. McGregor.  "It may not be just
the anesthetic.  She may be disturbed."

"She's in some kind of therapy," said the nurse.  "We were doing that
archetype stuff in Bereavement Counseling.  I'm new in this hospital.

What's the deal on fetus disposal?  Incinerator?"

"At this stage?  Coffins, memorial service, and counseling," said Dr.
McGregor.

"We do things properly here."

"You mean my baby's dead?"  asked Annette.

"Don't try and sit up," said Dr. McGregor.  "You'll find it difficult
for a couple of days.  You had an emergency cesarean.  You were
hemorrhaging.  A flamboyant toxemia: you're lucky to be alive.  Why did
no one pick it up?  This is what our entire antenatal service exists
for.  The baby didn't make it.  We couldn't pick up a fetal
heartbeat.

I'm sorry.  She had probably been dead for a couple of days.

This is no way to break this kind of thing to anyone.  That was why I
needed to find your husband.  You do have a husband?"  isten, and you
hear your own heartbeat.  Listen hard enough, and it'll tell you the
story of your life.  Whether it's comedy or tragedy depends only upon
where you stop, at a good bit or a bad bit.  But the heart doesn't let
you stop," said Annette onto the tape machine Dr. McGregor had given
her.  "It just goes on and on, carrying its owner along with it, past
the definite conclusion its owner longs to have.  My resentment at this
is nothing to do with suicidal inclinations: just the desire for proper
endings and understandings, proper tyings-up, in real life as well as
fiction.  Not that you care about my mind, Dr. McGregor, your area is
my body.  One of the rules of writing feature films, or so Ernie
Gromback told me, is that, if everything's looking just fine
three-fifths of the way through, the next two-fifths must be devoted to
making everything go sour.  If all is black and sad three-fifths in,
thereafter you move relentlessly towards your happy ending.  If I could
see losing the baby as three-fifths of the way in, I could then look
forward to happiness.  Or was the three-fifths point when Wendy
startled me with Oh, born in November, a little Scorpio, a little
stinger'?  And the five-fifths when the new casualty nurse said, What's
the deal on fetus disposal'?  It felt like five-fifths at the time but
the heart goes on beating, and before you know you're carried on into
some other film, quite possibly three-fifths of the way through and
sitting up and paying attention again, wondering

what's going to happen next.  The plural of fetus' ought actually to
be feti,' but catch a nurse, anyone, knowing that, let alone acting
upon it.  People in hospitals have more sense than to be sticklers.

She came up and apologized later.  She'd thought I was unconscious, but
I'd just had my eyes closed."

"You could try contacting your friends on the telephone," said Dr.
McGregor.  "I'm no therapist, but shouldn't you be sticking to the
point?  I'm a busy man."

"Just give me another tape," said Annette.  "You are under no
obligation to listen.  Indeed, I hope you won't.  I don't want to speak
to my friends.  I can't be sure who they are, not even Gilda.  And I
don't feel like saying, I'm just fine."  Not yet.  But it's true that
from spending so much time on the phone I have become accustomed to
understanding my own life through my ears: so I need the tape.  Call it
aural predilection if you like, and it may well have to do with
overhearing the rows between my mother and my father as a
child--listening through doors, working out patterns.  I used the
patterns in Lucifette Fallen, a novel I wrote, Dr. McGregor.  A stupid
and pretentious title for a rather neat, too controlled, short novel.

But you are obviously too busy to listen to all that."

"The girl from Oprah Winfrey was furious when she heard I was in
hospital," observed Annette to her tape recorder, "and had lost my
baby.  Now what am I going to do?"  she said.  Annette Horrocks,
pregnant, was to be the center of the show.  And I've had to come all
the way into town for nothing."  Ernie Gromback wrote to tell me about
it: Ernie seems to be the only person left in the world able and
willing to write a letter.  I've had no visitors.  It's not their
fault, I know, but it doesn't stop me feeling deserted.

If I have visitors, if anyone from the outside world comes near, my
blood pressure zooms up.  Dr. McGregor's getting it under control,
Staff Nurse says: they drip various drugs plus antibiotics into my
arm.

As well as toxemia, I had septicemia, its source of origin, where the
skin had broken beneath one of the bracelets.  The nurses bring me
three-times-daily messages from Spicer: of the
I'm-thinking-of-you,-darling, get-better-soon kind, but they somehow
lack conviction.  I can't quite feel Spicer's real, though I send
loving messages out again.  Poor Spicer: his baby too, his idea
becoming my flesh.  It's just hard to feel poor Spicer.

"I had a Bereavement Counseling session: a young woman called Anya told
me the sense that Spicer wasn't real could only be a function of the
drugs I was being given.  Such medicines poisoned the mind, she said:
she disapproved of them.  She described herself as a holistic healer.

When the drugs stopped, she told me, I'd bring Spicer to life again,
and have proper sympathy with him.  She made me visualize a flight of
white marble stairs and at the top a place where I had been happy.  She
held my hand and persuaded me to climb, in my mind, a step at a time
towards this goal.  I obliged, though I felt embarrassed.  It was
unfortunate that the place at the top was a McDonald's: Anya thought I
was mocking her when I said so, I wasn't.  I just remembered taking
Susan and Jason out to the cinema one day, and we ended up at
McDonald's, and we were all, for some reason, pleasantly and simply
content, stealing each other's French fries.  In my visualization,' as
she called it, the man behind the counter was large, strong, and
surrounded by a brilliant white light: he had a face which looked as if
it had been hewn out of a piece of wood.  I imagined I was seeing
Jesus, but I didn't tell Anya that: I didn't

know her well, but enough to tell she wouldn't want Jesus described as
a fast-food counter-hand.  It was my vision, not hers, anyway, and, the
paramedics being under instruction not to excite me, when I mentioned
McDonald's she smiled stiffly and brought the session to a rather
sudden end, which I'm sure she wasn't meant to.  She left me with
instructions to visualize a mandala--which I gathered looks rather like
a pie chart with four divisions in different colors, representing
intuition, intellect, sensation, and emotion.  The trick is,
apparently, to get the colors evenly balanced in your mind, and hold
them there for two minutes.  Then you become less stressed."  I did
try.  Really.  I don't want to be a mocker.  Spicer hates mockers.

Cynicism, he once told me, is sneering at your own soul.  I don't want
to do that."

"If you don't mind," said Dr. McGregor, "since we are under
instruction to work with nonorthodox healers when practicable, to save
the cost of expensive drugs, we'll give hypnotherapy a go.  A pleasant
young man has just joined the team.  His name is Peter.  I will send
him along to you."

"Hypnotism!"  said Annette, and the bleepers on her bloodpressure
monitor began to sound.  He switched them off.

"Well?"  asked Dr. McGregor on his rounds the next day.  "What
happened?  It didn't go too well, I hear."

"Listen to it on the tape," said Annette, turning her head into the
pillow, "if you're really interested and not just being polite.  It's
all there."

Dr.  McGregor took the tape away.

"This Peter, this person from the fringes, was slight and sweet and had
soft thick wavy hair, nut-brown, and a baby face.  It was, as I feared,
Peter, Peter Pan, Pan the Goat God.  Rhea had got into my head.  So I
expected him to bring out a pipe and start playing it to me, and found
myself looking down to see if he had cloven hooves.  He didn't: he had
brown shoes, rather worn but much polished.  So perhaps he was a Peter
Pan after all.  He told me that if I would allow myself to be put in a
light hypnotic trance he would locate the psychological trauma which,
according to him, was sending the blood pounding so through my veins
and keeping my blood pressure high.  This account of my condition
seemed to me to beg many questions.  I asked him if he had any medical
training and he said no: but he'd studied psychology at college and
found he had a knack for hypnotism."  Even the most orthodox
practitioners had begun to view many forms of illness as internalized
behavioral problems--which had always been obvious so far as facial
tics, stammers, addictions, and so forth were concerned --and
hypnotherapy was proving a useful, inexpensive, effective, and nontoxic
form of treatment in many cases: in particular the lowering of blood
pressure.  I then asked him what he would do with the psychological
trauma once he located it in me, and he said, if appropriate, he would
re-lay the memory so it ceased to be traumatic.

" Tell me more, Peter,' I said, tell me more,' thinking of the way
Spicer now recalled the matter of the bacon sandwiches, and he replied
that actually, though the re-laying of memory was considered okay in
the States, it was still seen as unethical in Europe.

I was fortunate that the hospital I was in had a management team
imported from the U.S and, so long as a treatment worked, didn't bother
too much with the detail of how or why it worked.

How, I asked, did he do this locating?

"A traumatic memory, Peter said, could be located by regressing the
patient--a victim of, say, child abuse--to the period of its
occurrence, recalling the episode in its fresh form, and retuning it,
as it were, persuading the child/adult that the fear, self-loathing,
and sense of guilt experienced were inappropriate, and by bolstering
accompanying feelings of affection, response, and gratitude, even
creating them if necessary.  The memory, dusted down and polished up,
would then be re-laid in the adult mind as something that could be
coped with--still unpleasant, perhaps, but no longer traumatic.  A
whole range of behavioral problems could quickly and cheaply be
dispersed by re-lay hypnotherapy.

"I only report what Peter Pan told me, though I can't quite believe
it.

An isolated instance, perhaps, but you surely couldn't wipe away an
entire childhood's wretchedness by simply persuading the victim to
forget it?  Surely memory would re-emerge through its coating of
forgetfulness?  Old stains beneath new wallpaper?  I asked him if you
could re-lay pleasant memories with nasty ones, turn a pleasant seaside
outing into a horrid one, a good sexual experience into something
oppressive and smothering-by restructuring a past, turn a wife against
a husband, a husband against a wife--and he said oh yes, he assumed so,
but who would bother?

"'Does this apply to everyone?"  I asked.  Can everyone be
hypnotized?"

And he said, one in a hundred perhaps not, and so you could get any
women into bed with you, bar the one in a hundred, by persuading her
that you were the most attractive man in the world, and Peter Pan said,
well, yes, most women, eighty in a hundred.  But he, though he admitted
he had been tempted, would never do anything like that.  Common wisdom
held that you couldn't get anyone to do anything under hypnosis that
went against their conscience, because they would snap out of the
trance at once.  But with a little ingenuity any hypnotist could alter
the perspective in which that conscience worked--the mildest person
would take an ax to a door if told a child was dying behind it, the
most honest would rob a bank if persuaded a nation would perish
otherwise.  A truly loyal wife could find herself in a situation in
which disloyalty was the only appropriate answer: if the hypnotherapist
is the Chief of Police, say, and the husband about to be put to
torture, then what can the wife do but oblige the Chief of Police to
keep the husband safe?

"'I think,' I said, I'm the one in a hundred,' and he asked me to
fasten my hands together above my head and told me I couldn't separate
them, but I could and did, and he laughed and said I was indeed the one
in a hundred, but he'd enjoyed our chat.  The blood-pressure machine
began to put out warning bleeps, Nurse McKenzie, who has red hair and
freckles, and reminds me of Wendy, asked him to leave.  Nurse McKenzie
sat beside me for a while and told me of a newly married friend of hers
who went to a hypnotherapist to be cured of overeating and ended up
having sex on the sofa with him and being charged double, which
posthypnotic suggestion made her pay without argument.  On the other

hand, her friend had lost weight and didn't regret any of it.

Whatever knockout drops they've added to my drip are beginning to take
effect.  I'm drifting off again."

"Well, hypnotherapy didn't work," said Dr. McGregor, visiting Annette
in the Special Care Unit, to which she had been moved.  "I had a quick
listen to the tape.  I don't think Peter will stay on the team for
long.  Obviously the sleazy end of alternative medicine."

"How can you have a quick listen to a tape?"  asked Annette.  "You
either listen or you don't.  I have another one here for you to
ignore."  Dr.  McGregor took it away.

"I try not to think about Dr. Rhea or Dr. Herman Marks, because my
blood pressure goes sky-high if I do.  Thieves, murderers, perverts,
devourers of babies!  Destroyers of true love.  Lilith and Saturn.  In
mythology Rhea is Saturn's wife.  In Spicer's book on
Theotherapy--Spicer sent it to me here in hospital, unasked: what can
this mean?--the title page with Rhea's dedication written in was
missing, but a few more passages had been marked.

These were the ones relating to the goddess Rhea.  If I keep an eye on
the blood-pressure monitor I can sometimes direct my will and organize
my mind--I can't describe it in any other way--to keep the level
steady.  But I can't, alas, focus in this way and read at the same
time.  Perhaps that's the reason I read so little?  I risk glances at
the pages from time to time.

" Overeagerness to promulgate divine mysteries,' I read, of the goddess
Rhea.  Shamanism, the grandmotherly guardian of much secret love: the
woman who smothers those around her with an excess of love.  The less
love she gets the more she gives.  Her problems are severest around
midwinter."  Good.  We're moving into the cold, dark months.  Before
Hellenic masculinization--by which we mean the imposition of the Greek
gods upon the earlier pagan ones--Rhea was the Universal Great Mother
Goddess and ruled supreme, needing no protective consort."  She can
manage well enough without Saturn, in other words.  Just my luck to
fall foul of the Great Mother Goddess Cow.  Other people's husbands end
up with ordinary therapists.  Perhaps what Spicer was doing to me with
the tree and the cleft-hill business was nothing other than Hellenic
masculinization?  The rendering male of the female.

Eleanor Watts wouldn't want to move into Bella Crescent if she
understood how the archetypes roared up and down it, sucking us all in,
whirling us around with their almighty backdraft.

"Still my blood pressure won't go down.  It's been worse since Peter's
visit.  I might die of a stroke, they carefully don't say.

I've been moved into an SC Unit, Special Care, but not yet IC,
Intensive Care.

"Gilda has had her baby, in the maternity ward, below this one.  A
healthy baby boy, both are doing fine.  Gilda came to stand in the ward
doorway this morning and wave at me.  She was wearing a bright-blue
wrap which, together with her red hair, by virtue of some reflected
halo effect, made her shimmer within a mauve aura.

Blue and red make mauve, or is it purple?  Gilda didn't have her

baby with her.  I was sorry not to have a glimpse of him.  Gilda was
being tactful.  But really she didn't need to be.  Her baby was a
little bit mine, as mine had been a little bit hers, and I was proud
for her.  So it's okay.  Really.  There was never a friend as good as
Gilda in the whole history of the world, and if anyone's to have a baby
when I don't, it had better be her."

"I think Mrs. Horrocks can be moved to Light Care," said Dr.
McGregor.

"She seems to be much improved.  Now, how do we account for that?"

"I'll leave you a tape to explain it," said Annette, "though you won't
believe it."

"This afternoon I got really tired of the drips and tubes and being
wired up and couldn't stand the business of screens and bedpans for a
single minute longer, and when the nurses were elsewhere I plucked off
terminals, cuffs, leads, and unhooked drips and got out of bed and went
to the ward bathroom.  I was very weak, and almost sorry for my poor
little feet--they were quite translucent against the white-tiled
floor.

I remembered my feet as having been firm, strong, and solid.  Well,
everything changes.  I stood beneath the shower and let the water run
over my hair, my face, my shoulders, breasts, and too flat stomach, the
thin loins.  There wasn't a towel, so I had to go back to my bed still
dripping.  Nurses McKenzie and Smiley dried me down--their instructions
not to excite me warring with their natural desire to kick my ankles
hard--and got me back into bed and rewired me.

The blood-pressure cuff round my forearm went into its automatic
tightening phase: the diagnostic readouts settled at pulse rate
seventy, and BP one twenty over eighty.  Perfect.  Nurse McKenzie dealt
the screen a sharp blow with a ruler: the numbers quivered but stayed
steady.  Nurse Smiley switched off the whole machine and switched it on
again, which sometimes did the trick.  The cuff took another reading.

Pulse seventy-five, BP one twenty-five over eighty-five.  The extra
fives were no doubt the product of my reaction to what I could only
describe as McKenzie and Smiley's condition of doubt.  Staff Nurse came
to admire, then Sister.  It was twelve hours before the Registrar
turned up, but hospitals are so full of bad news there's not much time
for the good.  In a couple of days I can go home.

"Thus it became apparent to me that running water--described in
Spicer's book on Theotherapy as being the best cure for Hera's
problems, along with moonlight, bracelets, and bangles--had done its
bit, though the bracelets and bangles, being false gifts, poisoned
offerings, had all but killed me.  All it took was a shower.  Why I had
so resisted being Hera--typified by slyness, softness, gullibility,
shame, embarrassment, jealousy, use of sex as weapon, and so forth--I
couldn't imagine.  If we're all just a mixture of adjectives, one
representative goddess is as good as another, so long as Saturn's
ravenous wife, Rhea, doesn't have her hand in it.  Which of course she
had.

"I'm now downgraded from Special Care to Light Care, where all they do
is feed me up, and I'm allowed to make phone calls, except the phone is
out of order.  What's the name of this ward?"

I ask a nurse, reporting the fault.  Olympus,' she says.  We're
partfunded in here by the sports firm.  We have to rely in this
hospital on business sponsors."

"I can all but see Pegasus, trapped in Medusa's sick body for so long,
bursting through from the end of my bed, breaking free, spreading his
white wings in the sky above Mount Olympus, dissolving into
nothingness, bearing my soul away for safe keeping.

"Spicer.  Real again."  two visitors to see you," said Nurse McKenzie,
who was also being allowed a rest in Light Care.  "If you're okay with
these two, we'll let the others in."

"Hi, Mum," said Susan.

"Hi, Annette," said Jason.

"We're sorry about the baby," said Susan.  "When are you coming out?"

"Probably about a week," said Annette.  "How've you been?"

"It's been okay," said Susan.  "But Gran won't let us have our meals in
our rooms."

"And Granddad takes us out to find fossils in cliffs," said Jason,
"which is boring."

"And we have to get a taxi to school," said Susan, "and people

"Though we get him to drop us on the corner so they don't," said
Jason.

"And I haven't had a pizza for five weeks, since you came in here,"
said Susan.

"And the games disc on my computer's corrupted and

Gran says she can't afford a new one," said Jason.  "So I've nothing to
do."

"Do you mean to say," said Annette, "you haven't been at home?

Spicer hasn't been looking after you?  You've been at my mum's?"

"Spicer hasn't been very well either," said Susan.  "There's some kind
of trouble at the office.  He says he may have to go bankrupt.

Something to do with British Rail."

"I've set the bleeper warning at one sixty over one ten," said Nurse
McKenzie.  "If you get to that the kids will have to leave.

Try not to upset your mother more than you have to."

"I'm not upsetting her," said Susan.  "She's our mother.  We're
bringing her up to date.  And Jason can't upset her, because he's
concentrating on his Game Boy."

"I'm up to level six," said Jason.

"Did Spicer say when he'd be in to see me?"  asked Annette.

"He's coming this evening," said Susan.  "He said to send his love.

They'll only let in two visitors at a time, so he said we should come
first."

"How does he seem?"  asked Annette.

"Just the same," said Susan.  "Are you two getting divorced?"

"Of course not," said Annette.  "Why should we?"

"Perhaps you ought to," said Susan.  "You look quite different in
here.

Much younger.  Your face had got a funny sort of fixed expression on
it, as if you were expecting someone to hit you all the time."

"Don't be silly," said Annette.

"Gran's got it in for Spicer too," said Susan.  "She says he owes her a
lot of money.  She goes on and on about it.  I wish they'd

let you out of here so you could get home and sort things out."

"It isn't very nice at Gran's," said Jason.

"I thought you were too busy with your Game Boy to listen," said
Susan.

"If I say anything to you, you tell me you can't hear.  So why is it
different now, all of a sudden?"

"I hear all kinds of things you don't know about," said Jason.

"Life at Bella Crescent is just one long primal scene.  Shit, now I've
blown it.  Back to level five."

"You'd better go now, kids," said Nurse McKenzie.  "Your mother's
bleeper's going.  If this is what the children do, what's going to
happen when the husband arrives?"

"C /C/ello, darling," said Spicer.

"Oh, Spicer," said Annette.  "It's been so long!  I've missed you so.

Our poor baby--I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," said Spicer.  "The sooner you're out of here
the better."

"They say I should stay another couple of days."

"It's probably the hospital itself that's making you ill," said
Spicer.

"If the taxi driver hadn't brought you in, but taken you home, none of
this might have happened."

"I don't think it was quite like that, Spicer," said Annette.

"What do any of us know?"  asked Spicer.  "Only what the doctors see
fit to tell us.  But what's done is done.  Now we pick up the
pieces."

"Susan said there was trouble at work," said Annette.

"Don't worry your head," said Spicer.  "Just a hiccough.  You look
really pretty, Annette.  Perfectly healthy.  Glowing, in fact."

"It's because I'm so happy to see you," said Annette.

"Why don't you discharge yourself?"  asked Spicer.  "Come home now?"

"They've been so good to me here, I don't like to do that," said
Annette.

"You don't want to come home to me?"

"Of course I do, Spicer."

"Dr. Herman said you would probably quickly develop a dependency on
the hospital, the authority figure: the substitute father.  It seems to
be in danger of happening," observed Spicer.

"I just don't want to get ill again, Spicer," said Annette.

"All the more reason to get out of here and into therapy as quickly as
possible," Spicer said.

"Therapy follows you to hospital, Spicer, you've no idea," said
Annette.  "It sweeps over you: a great tidal wave of it."

"Not much has changed, Annette," said Spicer.  "You can't avoid the
smart retort.  Your book has had a few prepublication reviews.

Everyone says how smart it is, you'll be glad to hear."

"I think the doctor was hoping to discuss things with you, Spicer,
before I went home."

"We have our own doctor," said Spicer.

"Dr.  Rhea?  Still Dr.  Rhea?"  asked Annette.

"Of course," said Spicer.  "She's a great support.  You and I need to
talk about your reaction to her.  It's of course projection.

It's to do with your affair with Ernie Gromback.  I understand,
Annette.  There's no need to deny it.  I was upset at the time but I'm
over that.  Enforced monogamy is absurd.  And you're a child, so far as
your sexuality is concerned.  Dr. Herman says this is the problem with
the sexually abused child: maturity is seldom reached."

"And he told Dr. Rhea and she told you," said Annette.  "So much for
them.  They're rubbish."

"Shall we avoid the gossip," said Spicer, "and get back to important
matters?  Who cares who fucked who one dark night?  I certainly
don't.

Your anger with your mother is finally explicable.  She failed to
protect you from your father--" "My father did not abuse me," said
Annette.  "I am not angry with my mother."

"While you continue to block out the truth, you will continue to make
my life a misery," Spicer said.

"If you truly think that about my father," said Annette, "why have you
sent my daughter and your own son to live with him?"

"Shall we get back to Ernie Gromback et cetera, Annette?"  asked
Spicer.  "Your casual infidelities?  I think you should have told me,
but perhaps you were too ashamed?  At least my relationship with Marion
was not an act of degradation, but based on common interest and a
shared spirituality.  I wish you could have chosen someone less
physically unattractive than Gromback.  But I suppose that's part of
the syndrome."

"I think perhaps you'd better leave," said Nurse McKenzie.  "I've seen
Mrs. Horrocks in all kinds of states, but not hyperventilating and in
tears.  She's lost her baby: she needs comforting, not whatever it is
you're doing, Mr.  Horrocks."

"She didn't lose her baby, she lost our baby," said Spicer.  "She
didn't even lose it: she threw it away.  You don't understand how
disturbed my wife is.  Or indeed how powerful.  She didn't have to take
an instrument to herself, as she's done many a time in the past: she
simply had to will the poor creature's destruction.  Dr. Rhea
predicted it, Annette.  She told me your ambivalence towards Gillian, a
girl child, would affect the fetus, and in all probability lead to
stillbirth.  It's been the source of so much distress: the Lilith in
you so strong.  Lilith Annette, destroyer of man's virility, sapper of
male strength, strangler of babies."

"I'll fetch Security," said Nurse McKenzie.  "The man's mad.  And truly
nasty."

"No," said Annette.  "I'm discharging myself.  Stop the bleepers, set
me free of all these wires."  Gilda?"

"Annette?  Where are you speaking from?  The hospital?"

"No," said Annette.  "I discharged myself."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home, locked in my bedroom," said Annette.

"Is the key on the inside," asked Gilda, "or the outside?"

"The inside," said Annette.  "Spicer drove me home.  I came straight
in, ran upstairs, into this room, and locked the door.

He banged a bit and then went away."

"That's all right," said Gilda.  "Well, it's better.  Not exactly good,
though.  How do you feel?"

"Okay," Annette said.  "In fact, I'm fine."

"What happened?"  asked Gilda.

"Spicer wanted me to discharge myself, so I did," said Annette.

"He's irresponsible," said Gilda.  "He's a monster, but what's new?"

"I know that now," said Annette.  "I called his bluff, that's all.

Spicer knows about Ernie Gromback."

"Oh God," said Gilda.  "Well, it was bound to happen.  So

much for confidentiality.  Marion has left Ernie Gromback.  She said
he was too worldly for her.  Where's Spicer now?"

"I don't know," said Annette.  "It's terribly quiet out there.

What do I do now?"

"Wait for the enemy powers to gather," said Gilda.  "I'm sure they
will."

"How's the baby?"  asked Annette.

"Divine," said Gilda, "but I won't say so if it upsets you."

"It doesn't upset me," said Annette.  "It cheers me up no end."

"How long do you think he's known about Ernie Gromback?"

"Probably from the day I told Herman Marks," said Annette.  "God, I was
naive."

"Steve says Spicer is what the Americans call a mindfucker," said
Gilda.  "Hang on, I have to fetch the baby.... You still there,
Annette?"

"Yes," said Annette.  "Of course I am.  You are my only contact with
the real world.  What's that gurgling noise?"

"It's the baby feeding," said Gilda.  "I'm lying on the bed.  Do you
mind?"

"No," said Annette.  "I've just found something under Spicer's pillow
that's really interesting."

"What?"  asked Gilda.

"I'll tell you when I understand it better," said Annette.  "I'm glad
you're feeding the baby yourself.  I thought perhaps you wouldn't.

They added something yet more to my drip to dry up my milk.  I should
have gone to the Clinic, though.  I do blame myself for that,
terribly."

"There were lots of people around you," said Gilda, "certainly me, who
should have got you there.  While everyone was thinking about the state
of other people's heads, the body was in trouble.

I blame the therapists."

"God, how I blame the therapists!"  said Annette.  "I can hear the
front door.  It's Spicer and someone coming back.  I'll ring you later,
Gilda.  All is becoming clear."

"Annette," said Spicer, "I've brought Dr. Rhea and Dr. Herman to
reason with you.  Why don't you open the door so we can talk?"

"No," said Annette.

"Please," said Spicer.

"I'm not leaving this house, Spicer.  You are.  Go and live with your
friends the Drs.  Marks."

"It's my house," said Spicer, "and you have no claim on it.  We are not
legally married.  So anything I let you have is out of my goodwill.

You had better make sure you keep it.  I suggest you open the door."

"Okay," said Annette.  "First round to you."

"There's no need to get so upset," said Spicer.  "I spoke what was in
my head rather brutally, I do admit that, but at least it's out and we
can work on it.  I was very upset about the loss of the baby."

"Hello, Dr.  Rhea," said Annette.  "How are things?"

"This is a very distressing situation," said Dr.  Rhea.

"Hello, Dr.  Herman," said Annette.  "How's the wanking?"

"We are recording this," said Dr.  Herman, "so be careful."

'Second round to you," said Annette.  "But I do have a trump "What's
that?"  asked Spicer.

"Never you mind," said Annette.  "Carry on with your observations."

"You would do better to return to your parents' home," said Dr. 
Herman, "at least for a time, and come to terms with your childhood
trauma.

There is a great inner peace resultant from eventual reconciliation
with the damaging parent."

"This is my home," said Annette.  "I'm not leaving it.  Spicer is."

"It's my home in law," said Spicer.

"We'll see what a court has to say about that," said Annette.

"It's not as if we had any children together," said Spicer.

"You saw to that, Mrs. Horrocks," said Dr. Rhea, "I am sorry to
say.

Refusing medical and psychological care while pregnant!  In the U.S.
women get put in prison for that.  The right of the fetus
predominates."

"That law is not here yet," said Annette, "though I can see it
coming."

"You're not even my wife," said Spicer.  "You're just a mistress.

You sponged off me for years."

"Spicer doesn't love you," said Dr. Rhea.  "It's a long time since he
loved you."

"He did love me," said Annette.  "Why did he want us to have a baby if
he didn't love me?  He loved me until you put it into his head that he
didn't."

"What is this word love'?"  said Dr. Rhea.  "I don't understand its
meaning."

"It's the best part of a person," said Annette.  "Take it away and the
worst is left.  All I have of Spicer now is the worst, all there's left
of him is dregs.  You two dismantled him in six months.  That's all it
took.  Nothing to do with therapy, with healing.  You wanted his body,
his soul, his money, his house.  I was in the way, and, unfortunately
for you, the one in a hundred.  So you got Spicer to get rid of me, to
drive me out."

"You're insane," said Spicer.  "Paranoid.  But, then, you always
were."

"Dr. Rhea is a hypnotherapist," said Annette.  "That's what AHTM
means.  The Association of Hypnotherapists in Medicine."

"So?"  said Spicer.

"As well as therapist, healer, counselor, astrologer, homeopath, she is
a hypnotist.  She is in every part of you.  She has your soul."

"At last our Annette believes in the soul," said Spicer.  "That's
something achieved."

"All they've left of you is dregs, husband," said Annette.  "But it
doesn't devalue what went before.  Even if you don't remember it, I
do."

"You always adored me," said Spicer, "that's true enough, but I always
rather despised you.  I needed someone to look after Jason, so I took
you on.  I should have known it was a mistake."

"You believe that because Dr. Rhea and Dr. Herman made you believe
it, not because it's true.  We're together because we fell in love."

"Ah, such romantic fantasy!"  breathed Dr. Herman.  "Such
Englishness!"

"Let her wear herself out," said Dr.  Rhea.  "She soon will."

"Spicer," said Annette, "they've made you forget all the good memories
of you and me together, they've taken them out, re-laid them, re-placed
them.  They even got to the bacon sandwiches.  You can't even have
those as a pleasant memory, in case you remember you loved me."

"What are you raving about?  Bacon sandwiches?  Pork's disgusting,"
said Spicer.

"When you think of our time together, Spicer," said Annette, "you
associate it with trouble, boredom, and the need to escape.  You even
believe I render you impotent."

"You do," said Spicer.

"Where once you thought of your Annette, you now think of Lilith, who
is dangerous and destructive.  Spicer, you couldn't even remember
having met Dr. Herman, though of course you had.  God knows what else
they wanted you for.  Well, I do know, but never mind that."

"What are you raving about?"  asked Spicer.  "Just get out of my
house.

You have no right here.  Take your personal possessions and go: stop
persecuting me."

"I've given you up, Spicer," said Annette.  "I could call in my friend
Peter Pan and have your memories relocated and relaid properly and
truthfully, but I don't like you any more, let alone love you.  I don't
believe anyone can make a human being talk and behave the way you do to
me, unless there's a large slice of that human being that wants to.

Dr. Rhea can set up whatever scenario she likes in your mind--the
reasons other than sheer forgetfulness that you didn't put half the
house in my name, the reasons other than idleness that we never got
properly married-it makes no difference.  There is every excuse for
you, but I don't accept them.  I want to be free of you."

"When you're finally out of here," said Spicer, "Dr. Rhea and Dr.
Herman are to set up their surgery in this house.  There's no room for
you, or the kids."

"I thought as much," said Annette.  "The Drs.  Marks' Hampstead house
is leased to them by the AJAP, the Association of Jungian and Allied
Psychotherapists, or the British Psychodrama Association, or the
Association of Sexual and Marital Therapists, or whatever comparatively
respectable association you care to name, and the Drs.  Marks have been
struck off and turned out, quite rightly, so they think they'll try
further down the hill, where there's quite a shortage of therapists and
a gap in the market to fill, and ours is a nice house, isn't it?  Or
was.  We were happy here, Spicer, you and me, but you won't remember
that."

"What a fantasist she is," said Dr. Herman.  "You know she made the
most extraordinary sexual advances to me?"

"Poor thing," said Dr.  Rhea.  "She has been abusing her children.

The boy more or less told me so."

"You'd better get out, Annette," said Spicer, "or things will turn
really sour for you.  Dr. Rhea and Dr. Herman are good people, you
are a very nasty piece of work."

"Spicer," said Annette, "I would like you to look at this Polaroid
photograph I found beneath the pillow of our marital bed."

"Why should I?"  asked Spicer.  "What trickery is this?"

"It is a photograph," said Annette, "of you, Dr. Rhea, and Dr. Herman
engaged in sexual intercourse in this very room.  Triolism.

Dr. Rhea in the middle.  Do you have any memory of this?  Look
closely, Spicer.  You can see the faces quite clearly."

"I don't understand," said Spicer.  "What is this?  Oh dear God!"

"It is a photograph," said Dr. Rhea, "my dear Spicer, of you and me
standing in Highgate Cemetery, next to the bust of poor old Karl
Marx."

"So it is," said Spicer.  "You have a very sick mind, Annette, full of
the most distressing sexual fantasy.  Now, please, just leave, before
we throw you out.  You are such rubbish, such a soulless person.  Here
today, gone tomorrow.  There is no place for you here.  You have always
made me profoundly unhappy."

"Oh well," said Annette.  "I suppose I had better go.  I just wanted to
be sure I understood the situation properly.  Saturn and

his loathsome wife, their lease expired on Mount Olympus, taking
refuge where they can, spreading destruction and the end of love
wherever they set foot."

"I understand your anger," said Dr.  Rhea.  "It is perfectly natural.

When relationships break down, it is the unfortunate therapist who
always gets the blame."

"Gilda?"

"Oh God, Annette, is that you?  We've been so worried!"

"What about?"

"It's been more than three weeks!  No one's heard from you.  Where are
you?"

"I told Spicer where I was.  I called him.  I left a phone number.

I'm sure I did."

"Well, he didn't tell us.  All he said was that you'd walked out on him
and the kids, and gone off with Ernie Gromback, and he didn't know
where you were.  We called Ernie and he sounded really surprised and
said he hadn't heard from you either, he wished to God he had.  So we
called Spicer back and Spicer said he'd been trying to save your face,
you'd left him because he was in financial difficulties and ill, and
perhaps you were with your mother.  Are you okay, Annette?"

"I was until you started telling me this, Gilda."

"Shall I stop?  Is it very painful?"

"It's okay.  You can go on."

"Your voice sounds quite strong, so I will.  You need to know.  I got
through to your mother, who said she had the kids but she had no idea
where you were.  Spicer had told her you'd aborted the baby to go off
with a lover, and though your mother didn't believe that, your father
was inclined to.  You'd better get in touch with your parents,
Annette.

They sounded rather miffed.

Well, I suppose they would, if the kids have just been dumped on
them.

Spicer told your mum and dad he was too ill to have them back, his
doctors had advised him to sell up his business.  The stress was too
great, what with you killing his baby and then walking out on him.  I
got Steve to call Spicer, but all Spicer said was that you'd been
having an affair with Ernie Gromback all these years, and that's why
poor Marion had walked out on Ernie.

Spicer said you were the destructive goddess Kali and then he hung
up.

Are you okay?"

"Not as okay as I was five minutes ago, Gilda."

"Of course I don't believe any of it, Annette."

"Good.  I'll try not to.  But it's hard.  I believed everything Spicer
said for so many years!  If husbands say dreadful things about you, why
should they be lying?  If you've shared a bed for so long and been
close and companionable and in and out of each other, wouldn't the
other know?"

"I guess they just sometimes turn, Annette.  And, the closer they've
been, the more they want to damage you in other people's eyes, to
justify the turning."

"But why should Spicer want to hurt me?  Wasn't losing the baby
enough?

I haven't hurt him.  I'm just trying to hang on in here, Gilda, and
survive."

"Where are you, Annette?"

"Never mind.  I thought I was getting better, but I'm not.  I must go
and pick some more flowers."

"Pick flowers?  Like Ophelia?  You can't, it's winter," said Gilda.

"Winter rosemary grows round here.  It must be, or else it's

magic.  Rosemary for remembrance.  The whole place is scented.  I
hadn't realized it flowered.  Blue and tiny flowers, and very pretty.

I put them round the shrine."

"What shrine are you talking about, Annette?  Are you in some kind of
religious center?"

"Good heavens, no.  I have a photograph as a talisman, that's all, in
my bedroom.  I've built a shrine around it.  I surround it with
flowers.  I worship it as objective truth."

"What sort of photograph, Annette?"

"I'm pretty sure it isn't of Karl Marx's grave."

"Do you have someone with you, Annette?  You're not on your own?"

"I'm not with Ernie Gromback.  I'd notice a thing like that."

"Are you in your right mind, Annette?  Are you in some kind of
nuthouse?"

"No.  I'm just staying with friends till I feel better."

"But you're okay?  I hope I haven't upset you."

"It comes in waves.  This kind of conversation makes my head sink and
sink, right under the water, so I guess I'll stop now.  I'm l not as
strong as I thought."

"Annette, tell me where you are, please don't just hang

"Oh God, Steve, that was Annette and she just hung up and didn't leave
a number.  Yes, I suppose I was tactless.  But that's what Spicer's
saying about her.  The trouble is, Steve, she loves him.

Supposing she decides to go back to him?  She needs to know the
truth.

She needs to know what a bastard he is."

"Can I speak to Spicer, please, Wendy.  This is Gilda Ellis.

Annette's friend."

"Is Mrs. Horrocks okay, Mrs. Ellis?  I worry for her.  I know I
shouldn't, what she did was unforgivable, but she was always so nice to
me.  Secretaries and wives don't necessarily get on.  She made a real
effort, and I liked to think it worked well between "What is Mrs.
Horrocks meant to have done, Wendy?"

"Terminating a fetus at that late stage!  I'm a pro-lifer.  A dreadful
thing to do!  She'd even given the poor little girl a name.  Gillian.

Mr. Horrocks has been so upset about it.  Mrs. Horrocks put her
career before her family, before everything.

Apparently she couldn't bear to be seen pregnant on a TV screen: she
said it was bad for business.  And we're all to lose our jobs, and no
redundancy money because of the bankruptcy.  Mr. Horrocks doesn't seem
to know what he's doing any more, now that Mrs. Horrocks has walked
out on him.  What a time to choose!  We've got this great big order:
why is he declaring bankruptcy?  Strange, isn't it.  Everything seems
so normal and happy, and then one day it all just shatters to bits.  It
almost makes you believe in astrology.  Some kind of transit in the
heavens--stars getting too close for comfort--all you can do is sit it
out and try to do the right thing, and hope it passes without dragging
you with it.  But I can't chatter on like this.  I'll put you
through."

"Hello, Spicer."

"Is that you, Gilda?  I'm very busy."

"Spicer, I heard from Annette.  I forgot to get her number.  She said
you had it."

"I don't know what kind of sick game you and she are playing now,
Gilda, but, whatever it is, it won't work.  The truth is out now.

You were in on her affair with Ernie Gromback.  Must have been quite a
turn-on for the pair of you, sniggering at me from the corners of
rooms.  Forever whispering and giggling, running up telephone bills,
the pair of you, for me to pay.  Mr. Stupid!  Mr. Cuckold, the
universal provider.  What does Annette want from me now?  Money?  Tell
her from me I don't pay women who murder unborn children and sexually
molest the others--" "Spicer--" But Spicer put the phone down.

"Gilda?"

"Annette, before you say a thing, please give me your phone number."

"I will later.  It's okay, I'm better now.  I won't hang up."

"Where are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Describe the room you're in," said Gilda.

"It's in Yorkshire, I think.  It's a square room with whitewashed
walls, and the telephone's fixed to the wall.  It's an oldfashioned one
with a dial.  It takes forever for the dial to rattle back after every
number.  I'm standing at the window looking at some moors and some gray
stone walls.  I can count twelve sheep.  Did you know most graing
animals have to eat for twenty-two hours out of twenty-four to get
enough nourishment to survive?  I'm really glad I'm not a sheep."

"So am I, Annette."

"If you, as a human, eat slices of sheep," said Annette, "you can get
your daily nutritional requirements in about ten minutes, because
they've done all that work and all that focusing.  If you're a
vegetarian it can take a whole half an hour munching away: you're
getting the value of mere photosynthesis.  There's a threepiece suite
here with big yellow flowers on it, and an Axminster carpet in purple
and red, and a blue-spotted lampshade.

Nothing goes very well together, but I'm not complaining.  If I stretch
the telephone cord I can sit on the arm of the chair, just about.

There!  It's really good to be on line again, as it were.  Things are
looking up."

"Why do you only think you're in Yorkshire?  How come you don't
know?"

"Because I reckon I'm two hundred and eight miles more or less north of
Walford, which would be about Yorkshire, wouldn't it?"

"I could look it up in an atlas if you wanted, Annette."

"You don't have to humor me, Gilda.  I'm not insane.  I have been, I
think.  And I had this nasty wound in my neck, but it's healing now.

At any rate, Henry and Buttercup say it is.  It's round the side, so
it's really difficult to see in a mirror.  It certainly feels
better."

"Who are Henry and Buttercup, Annette?"

"They're the ones I'm staying with.  The ones who picked me out of the
ditch."

"A ditch, Annette?  What were you doing in a ditch?"

"Crawling about.  What one does in ditches.  Henry and Buttercup are
quite old.  He must be eighty-five, she's ninetysomething, quite a bit
older than him.  I don't think these gaps in ages matter much, do
you?

He has more rheumatism than she does.  I don't think she was christened
Buttercup, but that's what

everyone calls her.  Not that everyone is very numerous round here.

I'm talking about the postman, the doctor, the milkman, and the man who
came to dip the sheep.  Sheep have to be dipped annually for scabies by
law, but the stuff the Ministry give you to dip them in can really
poison you if you so much as breathe the fumes in.  Henry says the
Ministry care more about sheep than they do about people, but a
department has to do what a department has to do.  Henry is a very
uncondemning person.  He sees people as on the whole helpless in the
face of circumstances.  They need to be forgiven, even Spicer."

"That seems to be going a bit far.  You were telling me about the
ditch, Annette.  Is it on an A road or a B road?"

"You're trying to find out where I am, aren't you, Gilda?"

"Yes, I am, Annette."

"If I just give you a telephone number, will you stop?"

"Yes, Annette."

"It's on the B 3210, and the telephone number is 0886 435281.  Okay?

Have you got a pen?"

"Steve just handed me one."

"Steve's not listening in on the extension, Gilda?"

"No, he's not, Annette."

"I believe you, because you're my friend, even though you did sleep
with Spicer.  So Steve had better not be on the extension, had he, or
you'll be in trouble.  It's better when I talk to you than when I just
think about you."

"Don't brood, Annette.  I've said and said I'm sorry.  And Steve
knows."

"As I say, it comes in waves.  I can feel one coming on now.  It's a
pit in the stomach."

"Tell me more about the ditch.  Please."

"I'm using Henry and Buttercup's phone.  They can't afford luxuries,
and I haven't any money.  Perhaps you'd better call me back?"

But when Gilda called the number Annette had given her, all she got was
a computerized voice saying she had dialed a nonexistent number.

"Spicer, are you in there?"  Steve called through the letter box of the
Horrockses' house in Bella Crescent, since no one had answered his
knocking and his ringing.  "I know you are, because you just opened the
door to Marion.

She got out of the taxi ahead of me, and pretended not to see me.  We
need Annette's number, nothing more.  Give it to us and we'll go away
and leave you in peace."

"What makes you think I have Annette's number?"  asked Spicer
cheerfully, opening his study window, sitting on the sill.  He wore an
Indian-cotton dressing gown, striped red and yellow.

"Annette says she gave it to you."

"Annette is a liar," said Spicer.  "Hadn't you heard about her secret
affair with Ernie Gromback?  It's been going on for years.  What did
Annette care about what she was doing to poor Marion?  She's
ruthless.

I suited Annette while I was well and could oblige her, physically and
financially, but now I'm ill and bankrupt and have to sell the house,
she's just buggered off.  Marion comes round to nurse me.  That's all
there is to her and me.  We're not exactly a number.  Christ, someone
has to be nice to me after all I've been through."

"You look quite well to me, Spicer."

"That's the high blood pressure--it produces a flush.  I'm told I could
have a stroke at any moment."

"Don't you worry at all about Annette, Spicer?"

"Worry about Annette?  As well worry about a piranha fish.  She dropped
that baby without turning a hair.  Dropped it dead, of course, as
suited her purposes."

"Gilda speaks to Annette on the phone.  She says Annette doesn't sound
too good," said Steve.

"Don't be taken in by Annette," said Spicer.  "She had the nerve to
call me the other day, pretending to be in tears, begging me to have
her back.  I didn't believe a word of it.  Gilda had put her up to
something, I could tell."

"Spicer, I don't think you're in your right mind."

"Never been more in it, old chap," said Spicer from his windowsill.

"They're two of a kind, Annette and Gilda, a monstrous conspiracy of
women.  Take my advice, Steve--get rid of Gilda the first opportunity
you've got.  She's foisted that baby on you.  I could tell you things
about Gilda which would surprise you, a nice fella like you."

"I expect you could, Spicer.  On a more realistic level, have you
actually sold this house?"

"Are you spying for Annette?  What's going on here?  I'm not a material
person.

I'm not interested in money.  I'm not selling this house.  I am giving
it away by deed of gift, before the official receivers get their filthy
hands on it."

"So who are you giving it to, Spicer?  Not Annette, I take it?"

"Are you joking?  Give it to the woman who drove my poor wife out of
her own house, rendered my son, Jason, a virtual orphan, and then took
sexual and emotional advantage of him?  Why should I give her my
house?

No, I'm making it over to a couple of people I trust.  Not many of
those around."

"Then he slammed the window shut," said Steve to Gilda, "and as he
moved away his dressing gown fell open and I'll swear he had an
enormous erection."

"Don't tell me," said Gilda, "or my milk will dry up.  Was Marion in
the room with him?"

"I have no idea," said Steve.  "My feeling is he just gets off on
abusing Annette."

"I suppose that could be a tribute to his love for her," said Gilda,
cautiously, "which will emerge again when this mental illness, or
whatever it is, has passed over the pair of them.  Because he must be
mad, mustn't he?"

"For a nasty piece of work read mad," said Steve.  "For mad read a
nasty piece of work.  Who knows?"

"Life's easier to bear," observed Gilda, "if you can write off a sector
of the populace as mad: that is, not pertaining to the race of the
proper people, the nice, kind ones.  Then you don't have to think any
more about any possible resemblance between you and them.  You're sane,
they're mad.  Finis."

They fell silent.

"Perhaps Spicer's right about Annette," observed Steve in due course.

"Perhaps Spicer is to be pitied more than Annette."

"I don't think so," said Gilda.  The baby cried in the next room.

Steve went to fetch him, and Gilda unbuttoned her blouse, and they sat
close together while she fed him, as if by so doing they could keep the
world out.

"Hi, Gilda."

"Annette, you gave me a wrong number.  I tried to ring back but it was
unobtainable."

"What number did you try?"

"0886 435281."

"You must have written it down wrong.  I told you 0846.  Have you got
that?"

"Yes."

"You can test it if you like, when I ring off."

"I don't trust you.  I'd rather you gave me your address, so Steve and
I can come and fetch you."

"I don't think I can quite cope with that yet.  Anyway, where would I
go?  I don't have a home any more.  Spicer's hijacked it."

"You can stay with us.  Or you could just walk back in, and say, Hi,
Spicer, I'm back home.  If anyone's going to leave, you are.  Or, Hi,
Spicer, why don't we set up home together again?"

"It just doesn't feel as if I could do that, Gilda.  If you're rejected
by a man, your instinct is to stay in the gutter: you're disallowed the
home.

Besides, Marion's there.  And I have no legal rights."

"I think perhaps you ought to get back in there, Annette.  Spicer seems
to be giving the house away."

"Don't tell me.  To the therapists, just to hurt me more."

"I suppose so, Annette.  To a couple of people he trusts, he says.  At
the very least, you need to get your stuff out of it."

"But there's almost nothing in the house that's mine, apart from some
clothes.

I've lost a couple of stone, so I reckon they'd look really weird on me
now.

Spicer bought the car and the stereo and stuff like that: my earnings
paid for holidays and food and loo paper, and it was always me who
filled up the tank.

So I've nothing to show at all for those years, not even by way of
possessions.  I don't like talking about it, Gilda.  It makes my neck
start hurting again."

I

"What's the matter with your neck?"  asked Gilda.

"I cut it on a bit of metal when I fell into the ditch."

"This ditch.  How did you get into it?"

"It's a kind of black pit, not just a simple ditch, Gilda.  It takes
forever to get out of it.  The sides are slippery.  There's mud and
blood everywhere.  I always knew there was bound to be a gap, but in my
head I'd sanitized it into The Gap--you know, the chain store, all the
clothes neat, clean, folded, and properly catalogued, and the same
wherever you are in the world, not in the least like the gap really
is."

"What are you talking about, Annette?"

"Do you think Spicer's seeing Marion, Gilda?"

"Yes, I think he is."

"Sleeping in my bed, casting her disgusting tarot cards on my dining
table, cooking at my stove, using up my soap, her hand on Spicer's
cock, she's so stupid, Gilda, why does he prefer her to me?"

"Perhaps that's why, Annette.  Because she's stupid.  Or to get back at
Ernie Gromback.  I have no idea.  Forget it, forget him, or else just
walk back in."

"He's forgotten me.  He's blocked me out.  And the Marks team--the
Grouchos and the Harpos, the Lenins or the Stalins, now the therapists,
what's the difference?--will own the house and set up surgery, and all
the freaks and nutters in the world will walk up my steps and ring my
bell and take off their clothes and cavort in my rooms, and Herman's
hands will palpate two thousand breasts and Rhea's soft voice will
destroy a thousand marriages, and the negative archetypes will swoop
and whistle and scream down the Crescent, and bow the trees down,
because I'm not there to ward them off.  You know Spicer and I
conceived

Gillian in the back garden?  We made love under the racing moon,
before we had any idea how damaging the transits of the moon could be,
when he loved me as much as I loved him."

"Stop it, Annette.  You're upsetting yourself."

"I am not upsetting myself.  It is being done to me.  Head over heels
down into the pit again, slipped through the gap, the waves breaking
over me again.  I'm going to have to go now, Gilda.  Do be careful of
the gap.  You know how the guards call out on certain stations of the
London Underground, Mind the gap!  Mind the gap!"  What can this
possibly be, this gap'?  foreigners wonder, looking round for some
little scuttling thing you're supposed to look after.  When what's
meant is Notice the space between the straight line of the carriage and
the curve of the platform and don't slip down it."  The true gap is the
space between the world as it ought to be, and the world as it is,
between what you think love and marriage and babies are going to be and
what it turns out to be, and its proper name is Disappointment.  Anyone
can fall into it, Gilda.  It's horrible down here.  Bloody and
pulsating, mean, spiteful, and full of hate, grabbing and sucking down
and grasping.  Disappointment is the mother of all nasty emotions.  You
want the world to be perfect and it isn't.  It drives you to terrible
deeds.  You can't see properly down here, because your eyes are
misty.

You think it's tears have done it and feel sorry for yourself, but it
isn't, your vision is cloudy because you're growing a cataract of rage,
a kind of second eyelid.  The white skin across the eye cats reveal to
you when they're sick.  You never knew it was there: you just stroked
the shiny fur and trusted and hoped for the best, but all the time the
cat's worms were traveling to its brain, and by the time you notice
it's too late to help.  It's having fits."

"Can't we come and fetch you, Annette?"

"No.  Once you're in the black pit you've got to get out of it
yourself.  There's a route somewhere.  I'll find it somehow.  You've
got to blink away the rage so you can see clearly: the trouble is, the
rage is the only way you know how to survive.  And you keep stumbling
over wreckage.  I keep thinking I've found the way out, and I even get
my hands on the edge to pull myself out, but there's Spicer's great
black boots, tramping and stamping and kicking me down into the pit
again.  He circles it forever.  I'm falling, Gilda, even as I speak.

He's such a shit, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Not worth loving.  No special relationship, ever.  Just him laughing
at me behind my back, mocking me, wondering how to get rid of me.  If I
learn to despise him, will I stop loving him?  Is that the way?"

"I don't know, Annette."

"The pompous shit, the sleazeball, the Man with No Eyes.  I'll practice
and see.  I'm going now, Gilda.  Goodbye.  Buttercup's just come in."

"Gilda?"

"Hello, Ernie."

"I can't stand this not knowing," said Ernie Gromback.  "Someone has to
find Annette.  My PR people are going crazy.  Now she's not available,
all the media big guns want her for their shows.  I can't hold up
publication forever.  Besides which, I'm worried about her.  What a
bastard Spicer is.  The only good thing to be said about him is he's
taken Marion off my hands just in time for her Macrobiotic Vegan
phase.

All she'll eat then is grapes and brown rice.  I want all the clues you
have, Gilda."

"Two hundred and eight miles north-ish of Walford, twelve sheep, a
moor, rosemary, a dial telephone, a shepherd with a

breathing problem owing to ingesting Ministry chemicals, a bedroom
with a shrine to a photograph in it, a front room which sounds
peculiarly horrible, and an elderly pair called Henry and Buttercup.

That's it."

"I'll get my people on to it."

"Oh, Ernie, you sound so rich, effective, and powerful."

"Are you mocking me, Gilda?"

"No, I'm not, Ernie."

"Why would Annette be so certain of the exact mileage, when she's so
vague about everything else?"

"I kind of don't want to ask her that, Ernie."

"Why not?"

"I don't know.  I'm afraid of the answer."

"Can you accept a reverse-charge call, please, from a call box?"

"Where's the call box?"

"Yorkshire."

"Okay, okay.  Put her through."

"Gilda?"

"Hi, Annette.  How are things?"

"Better.  I was telling you about this ditch."

"The black pit of the soul.  I'm having a real problem with my milk,
thanks to you."

"I'm sorry.  I've forgotten all that old stuff.  I'm back in the real
world.  It was just a perfectly ordinary ditch and I was just very
lucky Henry and Buttercup happened to pass by in their old Ford
Prefect.  Or I might have been there all night and died from loss of
blood and/or hypothermia.  That's what the doctor said.  Though I don't
know.  I was half out of the ditch when their lights caught me,
something shapeless and struggling in the mud.  Brave of them to
stop.

One of their headlights goes off at an angle, like someone with a cast
in their eye, otherwise I wouldn't have been seen.  They picked me up,
washed me down, stitched me up, and here I am, cold-turkeying on
Spicer, tied to the mast to stop me going back to burn the house down,
cut out the crotch of his trousers, scratch the side of his car with a
coin, get the Markses three months in prison under Section Four of the
Vagrancy Act-- using a fortune-telling device, namely a horoscope, to
discompose one of Her Majesty's subjects, and that's what you can get,
three months--tar and feather Marion, all the things I knew would help
me out of the pit, only Henry and Buttercup tell me it's another false
exit, all I'll see silhouetted when I look up to the sun will be
Spicer's boots, Spicer's smiling face.  They're right."

"You're still not really better.  You said you'd lost two stone.

That's a worry.  You must be almost not there."

"I can't think why.  We live on chops, potatoes, and lardy "How
horrible."

"It helps break the pattern."

"You're not on drugs, Annette?"

"I'm addicted to Spicer, that's why Henry and Buttercup tied me to the
mast.  I am hooked on my own punishment."

"Punishment for what, Annette?"

"For being a victim.  Blame the sinned-against for the sin, blame the
victim for the crime.  See how Spicer blames me!  Dear Spicer, please
forgive me for the hurt you have done me.  Dear Spicer, forgive me for
the death of the baby you killed.  Spicer, cruel master, let me lick
your boots, let me fawn upon you, take me back, if I can't have your
kindness, let me have your cruelty."

"Annette, that is disgusting."

"I know.  I am entropied, degraded.  Did my father really believe I
aborted the baby?  Went off with a lover?  Or was that just what my
mother said he believed?"

"Your mother said it."

"Then we can discountenance it.  She has never forgiven him for his
affairs.

Neither have I. If he wanted anyone but her, why didn't he have me?

Did you speak to the children?"

"No."

"Please do.  Tell them to hang on in there.  Say I'll be in touch very
shortly."

"Okay.  You are getting better, Annette.  I can hear it in your
voice.

How's the pit?"

"The shit and the mud and the block seem to be drying out.  It would
make good fertilizer.  But I still can't find the path out.  Any number
of false starts, but you keep slipping back and you know Spicer's
roaming up there anyway.

Shall I tell you how I got to be in here?"

"Yes, please, Annette."

"Well.  I got out of hospital and went home and found the photograph of
the Drs.  Marx and Spicer naked and doing God knows-what to each
other--in the name of therapy, no doubt-- and got thrown out.  I had
the evidence of my own eyes but it still wasn't good enough.  I started
walking north.  I don't know why, except the further north you get in
this hemisphere the colder it gets, so it seemed a fitting direction.

All kinds of people stopped to offer lifts, so I accepted them.  Why
not?  None of them were going far, that was the problem.  A woman gave
me her jumper, a man gave me sandwiches.  Two young people tried to
take me to a doctor.  I suppose I looked very strange.  I shivered a
lot.  I got as far as the big service station at Walford, where I took
the initiative and started hitching.  I probably should have just let
what happened, happen.  A lorry driver picked me up.  He was young and
good-looking and had tattoos on his arm.  They were brown and bare and
muscly.  It was kind of domestic in the cab.  A rug on the seat, some
artificial flowers in a silver vase he'd won in a raffle, a photograph
of his mother's cat stuck in the rearview mirror.  He said he'd take me
as far as I wanted if I'd have sex with him once every fifty miles,
that was his fee for lady hitchhikers.  I said yes, okay."

"Annette!"

"Well, why not?  He was very warm and soft to the touch.  I can't
explain it.

Spicer was always so contained and somehow chilly, even in
performance.

Straight trade seemed better to me.  We got fifty miles and stopped in
a lay-by, and another fifty, and another and another, and then he
wanted to again after only another five miles, and I said that wasn't
in the deal and began to get angry.  Why was he so definite if he was
going to go back on it?

It was dark by then.  He left the main road and went off into the
countryside, bump, bump along tiny roads, in a temper, and I got
frightened, which was stupid, because what could he do which he hadn't
done already--but I was passionate in defense of the deal.  It is the
only way I can describe it.  It seemed a matter of life and death to me
that he should stick to the bargain, and to him that the sex should be
more than the bargain."

"What a disgusting person," said Gilda.

"No, Gilda, you don't understand.  He wanted me to love him, not just
to use him, and he was disappointed."

"You are out of your mind.  Well, what's new?"  said Gilda, bitterly.

"There's such a wonderful smell of rosemary up here.  I can see for
miles and miles, through the squares of glass in this telephone box.

The sky's like the kind of color wash they make children do in Rudolph
Steiner schools, but latticed.  Watercolors on wet paper.

Susan went to a Steiner school once, till she got so bored I took her
out.

Rosemary and rue keep seeming and savour all winter long."  Something
like that.  That's just after Exeunt pursued by bear' in The Winter's
Tale.  Jason was in that.  He was very good.  Even Spicer said so."

"English oil of rosemary is infinitely superior to the stuff you get
from France or Spain," said Gilda, "because of the colder climate, but
we never bother to produce it here.  Quite a marketing problem for the
EEC.  You worked on a program with me, Annette.  Don't you remember?"

"Just about.  But it isn't the green-leaved rosemary that grows round
here, the stuff you use to get the oil, it's the silver-and-gold kind,
with little blue flowers, that just grows.  Anne of Cleves wore a
wreath of it at her wedding.

Was she one of the wives who was beheaded or one of the ones who
survived?"

"I'd have to look it up, Annette."

"Don't bother.  Anyway, here we were, this truck driver and I,
fighting, and he just opened the cab door and pushed me out, all the
way down to the ground, and I rolled into this muddy ditch.  It was
raining.  He got out and looked at me down in my ditch and said I was
lucky he hadn't raped me and strangled me, and drove off.  I didn't
think I was particularly lucky, I daresay that was what I'd wanted.  So
there I was in this ditch, exhausted and without my knickers, which can
chill you down a lot, and it was raining, and my neck was hurting and
bleeding.  I found later there was this great cut in it.  I had to have
a tetanus jab.  He shouldn't have left me there, should he?  Do you
think he was worse than Spicer, or better?"

"Annette," said Gilda, "truck drivers are expected to be brutes.

Terrible things happen to girls on the road.  That's why good girls
don't hitch.  But Spicer is meant to be civilized, and you are his
wife.  Spicer is worse than the truck drivers."

"But I might have been fighting him in some way I didn't understand and
he did, so what he did was reasonable?"

"No."

"Thank you, Gilda.  And I don't suppose they're exactly in competition
for worst place, anyway.  One must just be grateful for not being raped
or murdered, physically or spiritually.  I'll have to go soon.  There's
someone wanting to use this phone box.  How extraordinary!  It's so
isolated up here.

Moors to the right of you, moors to the left of you, just this footpath
and this phone box in the middle of nowhere, and the smell of
rosemary.

I couldn't resist calling you.  I hope you don't mind me reversing the
charges.  I thought we could talk forever.  And now there's someone
else here.  Another person.  A man.  He doesn't seem threatening.  I
can go on a little, I guess.  I'll turn my head and pretend I haven't
seen him.  Where was I?  Another photograph.  In the paper the other
day.  An old atrocity picture, dating back to the forties.  The
newspaper reprinted it, with apologies to their readers' sensitivities,
in an attempt to explain contemporary times in Yugoslavia.  You don't
want to look, you have to.  This photograph was of a young man, alive
and well and handsome, except he is being held down by three other
young men, looking perfectly cheerful, and a fourth is sawing through
his neck with an ordinary wood saw.

He's trying to keep his head in its proper position and there's a look
of total surprise on his face--he's taken aback--" "Please don't,
Annette--" "I only mention it because Henry and Buttercup observed that
people get so civilized they don't dare do that kind of thing to you
physically, they'll do it to you mentally.  We're all Serbs and Croats
and Bosnians at heart.  Spicer's been sawing through

the inside of my head, not the outside, that's all.  People like to do
to each other the most gruesome thing they can possibly think of.

Sawing people's heads off is quite funny, in its way.

Separating the conscious, aware part from the automatically twitching
part.  There!  That's the way to do it, that's final, that's the end of
disappointment.  Do you a good turn.  Spicer hurts me.  I twitch.  Get
to the spinal column, and he can put a stop to all that and feel good
again.  Only Spicer didn't quite manage.  I'd laid my head on the block
but I got it out in time.

Hardly his fault at all.  My neck's healed.  Are you crying?"

"Yes.  I thought you were out of the pit.  You're not."

"You don't have to get out of it, Gilda.  There isn't any route out.

You just clean it up a bit, grow a few flowers, and ask everyone in.

Gilda, he's tapping on the glass, he's getting really angry.  I have to
go.  Oh dear God, it's Ernie.  What is Ernie Gromback doing out there
in a suit and tie and shiny shoes?

He looks absurd."

"Why," said Annette.

"What is it, my dear?"  said Ernie.

"Shall we just drive down Bella Crescent, past the house?"

"Are you sure you want to?"  asked Ernie.

"Yes, please," said Annette.  "Tell you what, I'll shut my eyes till
we're there, then I'll open them for a second, take in what I see,
close them again, and you drive like hell out of there."

"We're going to pick up Susan and Jason from school," said Ernie.

"We don't have much time to spare."

"You just don't want me to see Spicer again, in case I fancy him," said
Annette.  "Fall back under his spell."

"You are so right," said Ernie Gromback.

"Don't worry about it," said Annette.  "It was in another country, and
the Spicer I knew is dead.  A simulacrum walks around in his place.

How can you love a simulacrum?"

"A pity about the property, though," said Ernie.  "To be cheated out of
it like that."

"Never mind," said Annette, "I could put it all into a novel."

"Nobody would believe it," said Ernie.  "Don't even think of it."

"I've changed my mind," said Annette.  "Let's go straight to the
school.  I don't want to drive down Bella Crescent, after all.  I know
what I would see.  The house in a kind of seedy disrepair, its porch
somehow shrunk in stature, the steps crumbling, two plates outside the
door, with a fresh set of bogus initials on them.  Spicer looking out
of a top window--a kind of poodle for their pleasure--and Marion too,
perhaps.  The windows will be foggy from a haze of incense, marijuana,
and the quality of the minds within.  There will be a trail of trusting
people to the door, looking for someone to believe in, anyone: so what
if families split and, in the name of love and peace, malice abounds?

You wouldn't want to see that, and neither would I. It might put my
blood pressure up, and that would be bad for our baby.  I reckon we'd
better forswear the experience, keep what belongs to the past in the
past."

"I reckon so too," said Ernie Gromback, and turned the car, and they
went to pick up the children.

"Ernie," said Annette, as they parked the car outside the school
gates.  "Do me a favor?"

"Anything," said Ernie.

"Take a look at the photograph."

"What, again?"

"Please," said Annette.  "Do you see a bust of Karl Marx in it?"

"No," said Ernie.  "I don't."

"That's okay, then," said Annette.

"Put it away, in case the children see it," said Ernie.  "Let's try for
a little respectability round here.  Thank God it's a Polaroid, and
already fading."  the end.