Being Committed Read online

  The next day, as with most days at the Hound Dog office, I had to type a report. I’d just finished a case that had surprised me. A guy had called, wanting us to trace his ex-girlfriend from fifteen years ago. He didn’t want to get in contact with her. He just wanted to make sure she was OK.

  Jesus Christ!

  Anyhow, I’d traced her. It had taken me an hour. I didn’t tell the client this, of course. Clients need to believe you’ve been tramping the streets for days in your trilby hat and beige mac with a magnifying glass in your black-gloved hand, otherwise they feel you’ve overcharged them.

  Greg is strict about presentation. Because, inevitably, we do a little less than we wish to appear to have done. It’s important that our reports look professional.

  Each report begins with ‘THE SITUATION’. This is a summary of our instructions from the client, on the date they were given, and the name of the subject. We also include an instruction sheet, with the client’s name, contact details, the agreed budget (essential – it’s a shock to people that a day of three-man surveillance costs £1,000), and a copy of all written contact with the client. Then, of course, we enclose a breakdown of our invoice, and the detailed ‘RESULTS OF OUR INVESTIGATION’. In this instance, typing up the report took me longer than the investigation itself. I wrote the address on the envelope, and posted it.

  As Greg whipped past, he glanced at my computer screen. ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  ‘The address of th— oh fuck.’

  I’d written the name of the client on the envelope. But I’d sent it to the subject.

  Greg narrowed his eyes, peered at the address. ‘Reading,’ he said. ‘I’ll expect you late in tomorrow.’

  The next day, at 5 a.m., I was heading up the motorway to one of the plainest towns in Britain. I parked a discreet distance from the girlfriend’s house at precisely 6.34 a.m., and fell on the Mars bar I’d procured from a petrol station. I don’t eat while I’m driving. I don’t have many standards but I feel that once you commit to a habit like eating while driving, it’s going to be about as hard to kick as heroin.

  The postman finally made an appearance at noon. I hurled myself in his path.

  ‘Oh God,’ I wailed, ‘you have got to help me.’

  The sob in my voice was surprisingly authentic. And not just because he was holding the envelope with the girlfriend’s address scrawled in my thicko handwriting. ‘I’ve driven from London to catch you … My only hope is that you’re a kind man … you see, I … I … I wrote a letter to my husband … telling him I … wanted to leave him and … I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.’ I pointed at the envelope and nodded towards the girlfriend’s house.

  After my early start, I didn’t look fabulous. But I think it worked in my favour. He glanced over his shoulder, handed me the envelope, and said, ‘There you go, pet. Good luck, the two of you.’

  When I’d composed myself, I called Jason.

  Chapter 5

  My father had said that Jason would come back, so perhaps I should have waited. Truth was, I couldn’t. Patience is another virtue I find overrated. (In fact, I can’t think of one virtue that isn’t. They’re like West End plays, in that sense.) My view is, I have to exercise enough patience in my job, I don’t see why it should impinge on my social life. I knew Gabrielle would think it wrong of me to try and pinch Jason off Lucy, but I believe that both members of a couple face temptation, and if your relationship is good enough, you’ll resist.

  Jason didn’t return my call.

  Three days later, a Friday afternoon, I rang his office. ‘Hi. Is Jason there?’ I said. ‘It’s his girlfriend.’

  ‘Lucy!’ said the person on the end of the line. ‘Oh, hello!’

  I held the phone a way from my ear and gave it a dirty look. ‘Er, no,’ I replied. ‘It’s Hannah. Who is this?’

  ‘Ah, Hannah – Jason’s ex. I’m Kathleen, Jason’s PA. I’ve been his PA for, let’s see now, four years.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Kathleen,’ I said. ‘You didn’t recognise me either.’ (Pardon me, but there’s nothing more tedious than people who have a problem voicing their anger directly. Not only do they want you to feel guilty, they want you to guess the reason why. Jesus. We’re all busy people. I find the best way to deal with someone who tries to delicately hint you into feeling dreadful is to run at them with a direct attack. They react like a vampire in the Bahamas. They just can’t take it.)

  A long silence, then Kathleen said, ‘He’s gone surfing in Polzeath, Hann-arr.’

  There you go: stumped.

  I put down the phone, sighed, grabbed my car keys.

  As I arrived in Polzeath, the wind just about blasted the features off my face. The last time I’d been here, I’d asked Jason if he couldn’t find somewhere to surf that was a bit less blowy. He thought this was hilarious and related it to his mutant surfing friends, who’d all ha-ha-ha’d in my face. So I’d said, ‘Yeah, funny, but you’ve got to admit, this is a bit pissy compared to Australia.’ They shut up.

  However, five years on, I returned to Polzeath in a contrite spirit. Which sounds like a sports car, but alas, no. I coughed for a B&B, because I wanted to shower before approaching Jason. Put on make-up, even. I’m not good with make-up. I never learnt to apply it – I don’t know, what do other women do, watch their mothers? On the rare occasions that I bother, I end up looking like Jude Law in AI. Gabrielle keeps her lipstick in the fridge. I keep mine on the radiator. (There’s a radiator in my bathroom, next to the sink, instead of a shelf – what can I tell you?)

  Saturday morning, I ate as much sausage and egg as the landlady could put in front of me. If there’s food on offer that I didn’t cook, I find it hard to say no. I’ll even clear my tray in economy class. I left the breakfast table having doubled my weight.

  Then I riffled through the magazines on her hall table until I found one that was post-seventies. It was a choice between Bella and the Lady (and Able Seaman, but I’m not that stupid). The woman on the front of the Lady was, I reckoned, in her fifties, but the woman on the front of Bella, though young, had gold eye shadow. I found this confusing so I chose the lady on the Lady as a template. At least her blusher had distinct boundaries. Twenty-five painstaking minutes later, I zipped my make-up bag and left for the beach.

  I knew Jason would be there. He never wasted a moment. I admired that. It was good to be with a man who was passionate about something, even if it was surfing. ‘It’s a magical feeling,’ he’d once said. ‘When you’re watching the waves begin to form, it’s like being hypnotised. They’re like big green mountains rolling towards you. Sometimes, you see dolphins out there.’

  I loved that description. Like how a child might say it. I saw him as a lost boy, then, and it caught at my heart.

  ‘Jase!’ I shouted, when he finally waded ashore. In his black wetsuit, carrying his board, unshaven, he looked more of a rugged personality than he was. I ran up to him, and he yelped.

  ‘Hannah! What are you doing here? I didn’t recognise you. What happened to your skin?’

  My smile twitched. ‘What do you mean?’

  He bent in concern.

  I touched my face and felt powder. ‘I’m wearing blusher. I made an effort.’

  Jason took a step back. ‘So you are. Wow. It’s, er – nice. You remind me of my grandma.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ I turned to go. ‘

  Wait!’ He was laughing now. ‘So, what are you doing here?’

  I tried to rub off the blusher with my sleeves. Bloody Lady magazine.

  I said, ‘Jason. I’ll be honest.’ When people say this, you know they’re lying. ‘I feel I was a bit … hasty to turn down your proposal. I … miss you. It’s not the same without you. I feel like a … stray cat. I realise you’re with that other girl now and I respect that but it was a pretty quick turnaround and I wouldn’t want you to rush into marriage on the bounce …’ I saw the look on his face and paused.

  ‘Do you respect that I’m with Lucy
?’ said Jason.

  Did he want me to lie?

  ‘Jason, you have to fight for what you want. I don’t believe in suffering in silence.’

  ‘I know.’

  Jason was not being as friendly as I’d hoped. This last remark was plain cheeky. Where suffering was concerned, Jason was king. A few years back, he’d sworn he had a brain tumour as he kept seeing flashes of white light. After months of this, I put it to him that, as his flat was on a main road by a junction, the flashes of white light were from a speed camera. I heard nothing more about the brain tumour after that. Yet if ever he had a headache, he wouldn’t say, like a normal person, ‘Do you have any aspirins?’ He’d say, ‘Do you have any painkillers?’ The drama – it was like living with Barbra Streisand.

  I stared at the sand. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘you must be freezing. I just wanted to talk, but maybe now isn’t the best time. We could always meet up next week after work.’

  I waited for him to contradict me. Instead, he nodded. A slow grin spread across his face. ‘I like that idea,’ he said.

  I smiled, touched my hand to his cold cheek. Breakthrough!

  Jason had given me the details of what looked like a posh address in town. I presumed it to be some po-faced private club.

  ‘I presumed it to be some po-faced private club,’ I shouted.

  ‘Have I ever, since you’ve known me, shown any inclination to join some po-faced private club?’ said Jason.

  ‘People change.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  You have, I thought. I wasn’t used to a Jason who answered back. Nor was I used to a Jason who tricked me into attending his therapy session.

  I chose the chair furthest from the shrink. Jason chose the one nearest. I kept my arms crossed and my coat on.

  ‘You look uncomfortable,’ said the shrink.

  ‘I am uncomfortable.’

  The shrink, a portly woman in her fifties, took this opportunity to explain why I was here. ‘One of the driving forces in Gefilte therapy’ – I think she said – ‘is the concept of unfinished business. Jason has been using the ‘empty-chair’ technique. If you have unresolved issues, for instance, your father treated you cruelly but your father died, and you didn’t have the chance to confront him, you imagine that your father is in the chair and you tell him what you think of him. It’s a helpful way of achieving closure. People get really engaged and involved, and everything they’ve bottled up comes out.’

  ‘Jason’s father is still alive,’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘I’m speaking theoretically. Jason asked you to come here today because he feels that he and you have unresolved issues. We thought it might be helpful if we had a discussion.’ She added, ‘Jason employed the empty-chair technique with you but he found it didn’t suit him.’

  ‘I didn’t have the imagination,’ said Jason, blushing.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘So what are we discussing?’

  The shrink cleared her throat. I didn’t like her. ‘Jason is having a few problems, and it would be very helpful if you could give us your take on things. It might be that Jason is distorting—’

  ‘He looks fine to me,’ I said. Neither she nor Jason smiled.

  ‘We hope that you can help me get a more balanced view of what’s gone on.’

  It’s always a pleasure to be requested to hold court (not an invitation that comes my way so often). Particularly if the subject is someone else’s shortcomings.

  ‘Great!’ I said.

  The shrink coughed. ‘Jason feels there was a lack of intimacy in your relationship. What do you think of that?’

  I raised an eyebrow at Jason. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘I see. So, what was your impression of the relationship’s level of intimacy?’

  ‘I thought it was fine.’

  ‘How would you define intimacy, Hannah?’

  ‘Being intimate?’

  The shrink looked disappointed. She reminded me of my English teacher when I described Animal Farm as ‘a book about pigs’.

  ‘Can you recall an instance where you felt that you and Jason were sharing an intimate moment?’

  I thought for a second. ‘Yes!’ I said.

  The shrink beamed.

  I hesitated. ‘It is … fairly intimate. I don’t want to offend you.’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘there’s very little that can offend me. Just as long as you feel comfortable sharing.’

  ‘OK.’ I glanced at Jason. He gave me a terse nod. ‘We were in Jason’s flat. We’d just been to dinner at not a very good restaurant. I’d had the chicken. Jason thought he smelt of oil from the kitchens, so he was having a bath. Suddenly, I got cramp. Really bad cramp. Jason only has one toilet and it’s in his bathroom. Normally, he doesn’t like us to – but it was an emergency. I rushed to the toilet, sat down, I had the most terrible diarrhoea. So terrible, in fact, that Jason was sick in his own bath.’

  I smiled at the shrink. She looked offended. I looked at Jason. His hand was covering his eyes.

  The shrink sighed. She tried to hide it by letting her breath out slowly. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘And when you think of an intimate moment in your relationship, that’s the scene that springs to mind?’

  ‘Yes.’ I paused. ‘Why? Did you want a sex moment?’

  ‘This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what intimacy means to you. And you’ve … told me.’ She coughed. ‘Thank you.’

  I nodded. ‘Don’t mention it.’

  She scribbled something on a pad. ‘Hannah,’ she said, ‘it looks to me as though you define intimacy as being familiar enough with a person to disregard polite social convention.’ She seemed to be trying hard to keep her tone neutral. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘I think,’ I replied, ‘that that is most people’s definition of intimacy.’

  ‘I see. But would you accept that some people might have a different interpretation of what intimacy means?’

  ‘Well, yeah, a few, but what?’

  ‘Perhaps some people might interpret intimacy as being emotionally open.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Would it be right to say that you don’t feel entirely comfortable with the concept of emotional openness?’

  My lawyer wasn’t present and I’d had enough. ‘I really don’t see the point of this. If Jason had such a problem with my levels of intimacy, why did he ask me to marry him?’ I glanced at Jason and saw him look hopefully at the shrink. ‘She doesn’t know!’ I said. ‘You answer.’

  ‘I hoped you’d relax more,’ he replied. ‘And. I loved you anyway. Love you.’ The last two words were muttered.

  ‘Jason,’ I said, ‘that’s very sweet, but why are you bothered about what I think now? You appear to have moved on.’

  Jason rocked forward in his chair. ‘Hannah, I brought you here because what you said in Polzeath confused me. I do still love you. I am still in love with you. And yet if you don’t want the same things as me then, however much I love you, I can’t spend my life with you. I am very fond of Lucy and … she wants what I want. I could be very happy with Lucy. But, Hannah, you are the love of my life. What you said in Polzeath gave me hope – that maybe we could be together. But this time, if we were to do it, we would have to do it properly. Not just jump into it. Address the issues that need to be addressed. Do some changing.’

  I swallowed. He sounded like a country-and-western, the worst sort of song. Whiny.

  The shrink smiled at Jason. I could tell she loved it when people turned their insides out. I smiled at him too, although my smile was a little more tense than hers. Don’t get me wrong – I was delighted that he still loved me. I felt similarly towards him. But being the love of someone’s life puts you under pressure.

  The shrink saw her chance. ‘Hannah. Would you agree with the idea that you are uncomfortable being emotionally open?’

  I looked straight at her, speaking slowly and emphasising the important words so that she’d understand. ‘The jo
b I do is not about emotion, it is about fact. I am not used to dealing in the reason why. In the job I do, the reason why is not important. In fact, it is essential for the success of my work that I am the opposite of emotionally open. Emotionally closed,’ I added for her benefit.

  Her mouth fell open slightly.

  I was about to add, ‘I am an information mercenary’ when I glanced at Jason and saw him roll his eyeballs at the ceiling and mouth ‘I am an information mercenary’ – a phrase I might have employed before. I settled for, ‘So, yes. I would agree with that last idea of yours.’

  The shrink licked her lower lip. ‘You know, in a way, Hannah, being a therapist is rather like being a detective. You’re looking for clues about a person and encouraging them to show you the landscape inside them.’

  If this was a stab at getting me to bond with her, it failed. When I said nothing, just prised out something sticky from under a fingernail, she added briskly, ‘Hannah, has there ever been a point in your life that you can recall where you were more comfortable with being emotionally open than you are now?’

  I made a clicking sound with my tongue. ‘Why do you ask?’

  She glanced at her watch. She pretended she was looking for something on her desk, but I saw her gaze hover at her wrist. ‘I’m thinking that perhaps there has been an event or experience in your life that has possibly influenced your belief.’

  ‘What belief?’

  ‘Your belief that being emotionally open is dangerous.’

  ‘In my job being emotionally open is dangerous. Highly dangerous. I mean, if you’re under cover and—’

  ‘She’s not talking about your fucking job!’ shouted Jason.

  The shrink looked apologetic. ‘Hannah, Jason, I’m afraid we’re nearly out of time. Is there anything anyone would like to add?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jason. ‘I would like to add that I know I have my faults, but she has more, and now, her saying she wants another chance, it’s thrown me into turmoil. I mean, I feel terrible about Lucy, but I want to give Hannah another chance, but I think, for it to work, she has to learn to give a little, adapt—’