The Night Book Part 22

He tilted his chair back and put his fingers to his forehead. He said, 'I'm sorry. This is making me rather nervous, for some reason. Just ... take a minute. Sure.'

She said, 'I can't do this.'

He let his chair fall forward. 'Do what?' he said roughly. 'Do what?'

She put out her hands, as if to fend something off. Her fingers shook. Her mouth turned down, tears welled. He stood up, came around the desk. He wondered whether she was going to collapse.

But she waved him away, took a tissue from the box on his desk. She wiped her face and blew her nose, shaking her head, muttering, holding him at bay with one hand raised.

'What are you saying? What's that?' he said, leaning down.

'Sorry ... Just so mad ... I've been out of my mind ... All right now ... I'm so sorry ...' She spoke in a high, fluty, artificial voice.

He waited, utterly perplexed.

She got up, smoothed down her clothes and hair, picked up her handbag and put it on her shoulder. 'There. All better.' She looked at him, smiling, and he was struck by the desolation in her eyes.

'Goodbye, Simon.'

'Roza ...'

'I wanted to tell you ...' She gasped, like someone jumping into cold water. 'I wanted to tell you that Elke ... your Elke, is my daughter.'

She drew in sharp breaths and couldn't breathe out. Her expression was panicky.

'I am Elke's real mother. I had her adopted out.'

Simon had the same rush he'd felt when he was told his mother had died. His body thrilled with excitement. And then the sense that he was on the brink of a sudden, heartbreaking drop - that the crash, when it came, would be shocking.

The body reeled, but on some level the brain went on with its work. He stared at Roza, oblivious for a moment to her distress, and felt his mind turn, with a kind of wonder, to the implications of what she'd said. They were so numerous and complicated - the possible scenarios, the light it cast on his feelings for Roza, what it said about his role as Elke's father - that he could barely begin to untangle them.

He didn't doubt that what she'd told him was true. It fitted so exactly into the problem he'd been puzzling over for weeks that it came less as a surprise than a logical solution, an answer he might have arrived at himself if he'd been given more time.

Two emotions fought it out in his mind. He was strongly attracted to her. She was the mother of his child. He recoiled from her, because it struck him immediately that she might take his child away. He loved her, because he loved Elke. He had fallen in love with her because she resembled Elke. But what did this say about his love for Elke?

He suddenly became aware of her. She was still drawing in tight little breaths, as if she couldn't exhale properly.

He went close, took her hands between his, rubbed them, patted her shoulder and said automatically what he would have said to Claire: 'Don't worry, it's fine, we'll sort it out, take a deep breath, there, see, you'll be all right.'

She made an effort. Her breathing slowed, grew deeper.

When he was sure she wasn't going to faint or panic and run out, he drew his chair next to hers, and tried to order his thoughts.

'The first thing is, we can't discuss this here. You and I and Karen and David are going to have to meet.'

She clutched his arm. 'No. No. You can't tell anyone. David doesn't know.'

He said, amazed, 'But why not? In this day and age. You must have had her very young, but there's no shame.'

She said rapidly, licking her dry lips, 'The shame is that I gave her up. In this day and age. When I didn't need to because it's this day and age. And then I didn't tell David when we first met, and after a while I'd kept the secret so long it seemed impossible to tell him - it would have looked like I'd been deceiving him. He won't be able to forgive either fact - that I gave her up and that I didn't tell him.'

'He will be able to forgive both those things. Of course he will. It must have been years before you met him.'

'No. No.'

'Why didn't you tell him?'

She hesitated, bent her head. She said, 'I'm telling you all this in confidence, in private, you understand?'

'Of course,' he said impatiently.

'I'm ... an alcoholic.'

He let out a short laugh. 'I knew that.'

She snapped, 'How did you know?'

'Well okay, I didn't know really, but it crossed my mind. You don't drink. Lots of people who don't drink are alcoholic. Teetotallers are quite rare. Alcoholics are common. But what's that got to do with telling David?'

The feeling went out of her face. She said bleakly, 'I was, y'know, "recovered" when I met him. Everything depended on not looking back. I'd made a completely new self. I thought, If I look back, I'll start to drink again. I couldn't talk about anything in the past, couldn't think about it. And he didn't want to look back either - he was escaping from the past too, the death of his wife.' She said, her expression appalled, 'He married a fake. An invented person.'

Simon stared at her.

'See, denying the past was part of inventing the new self. The longer I stuck to it, the more I became the new self. I left the old one behind.'

She was fiddling compulsively with the strap of her handbag. He looked at her slim hands. Elke's fingers. Her breath was metallic and sour, as if she had a fever. She ran on, almost gabbling, 'Now, there's the election - think of what it's going to be like if he wins - and he wants us to have a baby. And somehow, I've started to feel the new self peeling away, and the old one's still there underneath. It never went away. It's come out.' She drew in a breath. 'I'm so frightened I don't know what to do.'

She screwed her head around and looked at him. Her expression was bleak. Her anxiety had started to infect him; he was trapped in a situation where everything was false, but necessarily so, because what lay beneath was too difficult to face.

The thought of Mereana came like a stab of neuralgia.

She whispered, 'I want the fake self back. I want to be happy.'

He rapped out, suddenly angry, 'What about Elke? Isn't she important?'

She turned on him, her eyes wide. 'You're not, you're not going to force me into anything.'

'She's your child. She has a right to know.'

'Don't talk to me about rights! What use am I to her now? She's got you and Karen. She can't meet me now, not when I'm trapped this way. How can you suggest it? I'm not in a state to talk to her, to tell her. I can't. I can't. It's impossible. Not now.' She twisted the leather strap in her hands.

He looked at the door and motioned to her to be quiet. They listened.

He said heavily, 'What do you want me to do?'

'Help me,' she said, imploring.

'How?'

'I had to tell you. I had to tell someone.'

'But what do you want?' His voice was harsh.

'I want you to keep it a secret. From everyone.' She held up her hands, trying to quell his protest. 'And then, please listen, please, as soon as the election's over and I've got control of myself, I'll tell David and Elke and Karen.'

He made an angry gesture with his hands.

'Please, Simon. Please,' she begged. 'Haven't you ever been in a situation where you've had to lie, pretend you're someone other than you are, just to get through? No, I suppose you haven't,' she added, with a sad, bitter little smile. 'Well, I have to pretend for a bit longer, just to get through the election, because I'm not like you - a good guy, honest and straightforward. I'm a fake. A liar, a cheat, a drunk. That's why you've got my daughter and I haven't. You deserve her.' She bent forward, her shoulders shaking, then wiped away tears, raised her eyes. 'I met her.'

'You met her.'

'I followed you one day to school. I talked to her.'

He stood up. 'For Christ's sake. She's just a young girl. How could you? You can't play games.'

'What do you mean games? She didn't know who I was. She's mine. I look at her and see that she's mine. You have no idea of the pain. You have no idea how much pain.'

'Maybe I do.'

She said, 'There's the election too. I don't want to sound dramatic, but if any of this comes out now, it could mess things up for David. Not because anyone else would care but because he would. But it's more than that - I'm trying to keep on an even keel and not drink, and I can't do that and face Elke at the same time. And now I've started to be afraid that people are nervous about me - his people. Party people. I'm afraid they're watching me.'

The phone on the desk suddenly shrilled, and their eyes locked. The words rang in his head. She's mine.

She whispered, 'Please.'

He gestured at her to be quiet and picked up the phone.

Clarice said, 'You needing an interruption?'

'Oh, hi Clarice. Yes, no problem. Just put the lab results on the file.' This, in the code they used for dealing with difficult patients, meant: All okay. The phone call was also Clarice's way of signalling that she'd like to go home now, thanks.

He put the phone down. 'Why tell me? Why only me?'

'Because I'm going out of my mind. Because I met you, and there was this feeling between us. It wasn't just me noticing you - you paid attention to me, like you'd sensed we were connected. I thought you would understand - only you.' Her expression was eager, hungry. 'We had a connection. I didn't just imagine it, did I? You didn't know, and yet ...'

His eyes p.r.i.c.kled. Only you.

He said, 'We did have a connection. Now I know why.'

She studied his face. Her expression changed. 'You love Elke.'

'Yes I do.' He looked away.

'Then I love you,' she said.

He felt tears coming, and fought against them, looking out the window and saying, distantly, with a great effort, 'We have to get out of here. We'll have to meet somewhere else.'

'I can't. What if someone sees?'

He said, brutal, 'Roza, if you want me to help you we've got to talk some more. And not here. It's impossible here. I want you to ring my cellphone twenty minutes after you've left here, and we'll arrange to meet. There's no other way.'

'Can't you just ...'

'No. I can't "just" do anything. You ask too much. All this is too much.' He tried to keep his voice down. 'Now I'm going to open the door, and usher you out, and if you make any kind of fuss I'll kill you. Okay?'

'Okay.' She smiled through her distress, and he saw pure Elke - how she could suddenly brighten at the point of crisis, and look, though tearstained and bedraggled, expectant and even slightly wicked, as if she'd been crying with only half her mind, while another secret Elke was standing aside, watching.

He squeezed her arm.

'Ready?' They inspected each other briefly and nodded. Like lovers, he thought. Conspirators.

They walked into the waiting room, where Clarice was poised, a file in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, both props, since she'd finished her work efficiently half an hour ago.

'Thanks very much,' Roza said, in a breathless voice. She left.

He thought of making an excuse to go out after her, but didn't want to alert Clarice to anything unusual, so he only said, 'I'll write this up. You take off now, I'll see you tomorrow.'

Clarice said, 'Is she related to David Hallwright?'

He didn't look at her. 'She's the wife, I believe. Nice woman. Didn't like being kept waiting, though, did she.'

'Well, toodle-oo,' Clarice said. She shouldered her bag and clicked off out the door.

He picked up Roza's blank file. He would have to make notes, so invented some very vague symptoms and possible minor problems, followed by emphatic question marks. He replaced the file, took the stairs down to the car park two at a time, drove out and parked in the Domain, turning on the Concert Programme in an effort to order his thoughts. But as he waited his anxiety grew until he couldn't sit any longer. He got out of the car and walked over the hill, down towards the soccer fields.

There were too many questions. He regretted that he hadn't got Roza's mobile number, but of course she wouldn't want that - wouldn't want him calling. She'd said people were worried about her, watching her. It was just possible, he supposed: they were on the brink of an election and she was in a very public position. It was also possible she was mad. If she was mad, what would that do for David Hallwright? Simon leaned against a tree and put his head in his hands.

It was too difficult to think about Elke. He tried to consider the problem from other angles. This was the thing to do; to look at it from a long way off and a.s.sess it like an abstract question. He tried, he tried. But all avenues led to pain.

His phone rang. She said, 'It's Roza.'

He stared at the line of windblown trees, clenched his fist, lifted his thumb and said, 'When we first met, did you know Elke lived with Karen and me?'

'Yes. I'd found out a long time before. I'd left it alone - it was something distant, something I knew in theory. But then we were introduced at the National Party dinner, the night you were mugged, remember? And ever since then I've been trying to carry on as normal and I can't.'

He extended his index finger from his balled fist. 'Does anyone else know?'

'No. No. Only us ...' Her voice trailed off.

'Roza?'

'I found out from a ... it doesn't matter. A sort of investigator. But no one's going to tell.'

He extended his middle finger. Three. 'Did you give Elke any idea of who you were when you talked to her?'

'No, none at all.' She was crying again.

He abandoned his mental list of questions and paced across the gra.s.s. 'Roza, this isn't feasible. We can't talk properly unless we meet. We can't sort it out over the phone.'