Junk Male

Edward Riverton I look at Nina sitting next to me on the green chair. How could I tell her? I knew deep down her world was going to fall apart. Of course I love her. I will always love her. She is the mother of my children, my friend and she understands me, knows me inside out. My first love. But I have changed. Sasha has happened and I can’t turn back the clock. Just thinking of Sasha makes me happy. I am alive. For years I felt as if my blood had frozen, now it pulses through my veins again. I look at Nina as she fusses with the coffee. Her dark hair falls around her face in thick waves, now flecked with gray. When did she turn gray? Her dress seems equally denounced by colour as if in sympathy and I notice her hips, how wide they are in that unbecoming dress, as she puts down the tray. Nina has become middle-aged and I haven’t noticed until now. Her skin is coarser, wrinkles nestle around her eyes and her pink lipstick is clotted on her upper lip. Sasha has skin that I can’t even touch without wanting to throw her down and make love to her. Her rosy pink nipples always swell under my eager fingers. I can’t remember when I last touched Nina’s blue-veined breasts. We’ve been married for more than twenty years, she keeps count, I can’t remember. It’s been a good life, but has anyone in this family ever asked what I want or need? I’ve worked hard and made sure they all got what they wanted. Now, it’s my turn, time for my life. For three days Nina Riverton sat on the bathroom floor. She clasped her knees and rocked gently, moaning like a dog in pain. Grief knotted her intestines into a tangle and every time Edward tried to give her anything to eat she vomited. She must have slept, curled on the cold floor, because at the first dawn she woke up to find that Edward had covered her with a blanket. On the fourth day her wake ended and she got dressed. Edward deemed the crisis over and left. Yet, it had all started like so many of their evenings. The late sun painted the outside brick wall a deep gold and bathed the garden, Nina’s pride, in a warm glow. The plants in their tidy beds looked almost fluorescent in the afternoon light. She admired her late-flowering tulips as she rinsed the gratin dish, scraping off gluey lasagne strands with the back of the brush. The setting sun, or maybe it was the steam, made her face pink. Wisps of dark hair curled over her forehead and with a wet hand she pushed them behind her ears. Edward was next door, sitting in his favourite chair, waiting for his coffee, very strong, the way he preferred it. She noticed again the deeper lines drawn around his grey eyes. He works too hard, she often thought. During the last months he had come home later and later, busy with some deal. He talked about a mega-merger, but Nina was not sure what that meant. He often said things she did not understand. Even the children, when they were around, mentioned how distracted their father had become. “ He works hard to give us a good life,” she said, annoyed by their disloyalty, but secretly she agreed with her children. Nina enjoyed motherhood, a role she felt she was better at than being a wife. Her husband wanted perfection and Nina knew she could never live up to his demands. No one had ever taught her the importance of plumping up cushions or polishing door-knobs. Edward, though, wanted a home like the one he had grown up in; tidy and ready for inspection at anytime. “Yes, Edward, what is it you want to discuss?” Nina looked at the mantelpiece clock, it was twenty minutes to nine. And her only thought was that they would probably miss the nine o’clock news. Afterwards Nina could not remember what had been said. The evening had been cut from her memory. It had been like watching a bad movie and with her longing for the light to come back on. She wanted to know everything about that woman he had mentioned, but at the same time she didn’t want to snoop. Still, that feeling did not stop her from ransacking his now half-empty drawers, after he left, looking for credit card statements or receipts. She was hungry for proof, but when she found something, her anger rose like boiling milk. Later she remembered with shame how she had spent several evenings sitting in her cold car outside the flat Edward had rented in town, hoping to see what Alexandra Ledger looked like. On the sixth night she saw them. Nina heard the laughter first and recognised Edward’s voice as he chatted to the taxi driver. She lowered herself behind the wheel. Through the windscreen, cloudy by her own breath, she saw the two of them crossing the street, still laughing and carrying heavy supermarket bags. Alexandra looked young, blond hair swinging as she walked to the door, and when she opened it, it was with a key from her handbag. Edward took the bags from her as she fitted the key into the lock. He put his arm at her back with gentle possessiveness. The door closed with a heavy click and she could no longer hear their voices. At that very moment Nina realised with a jolt that she was eliminated, just an uncomfortable part of Edward’s past. Her anger was sometimes softened by self-pity. Raking over the past like an eager archaeologist she tried to see where she had gone wrong. Had she not shown enough interest in his job? Should she have been more exciting in bed? At other times she found comfort in thoughts of not really loving Edward. Maybe the anguish she felt so acutely was simply the pain of rejection? When had she last said “ I love you” to Edward and really meant it?