The stock had reduced by now so I added chopped tomatoes, tomato purée, a pinch of sugar and some torn basil leaves from a plant that clung to life in a pot on the windowsill. I seasoned the sauce and left it to simmer while I put on the water for the pasta.
As for getting some paintings done. . I tried not to think about it. The only time I didn’t feel guilty about not painting enough was while I was painting. Our forthcoming burglary worried me. Tim had assured me that he had a plan and everything would work just fine. Although I had been known to climb through the odd window and could if necessary open a door with picklocks — as long as I remembered to bring sandwiches and had no other engagements that day — I had come to rely heavily on Tim’s expertise in that area. It wasn’t so much the break-in itself but the consequences that worried me. Not that I had the least fear that we might get trouble from the law. If Telfer, after discovering the burglary, called the police at all then the statistics said we had a pretty good chance of never getting fingered for it. It was more Telfer’s reaction I was worried about. That and what we might find.
The water in the big pan was seething. I poured in half a packet of conchiglie pasta shells, stirred a drained can of tuna and some capers into the sauce and went to fetch Annis. The path our feet had carved through the meadow over the years was slippery and the mist lay thick and unmoving in our valley. The grass was too high again, I noticed as it brushed against my legs, and would soon need its last cut of the year. There was no sign of Annis in the studio. The door was open — neither of us ever remembered to lock it — and the daylight bulbs were on, but not a soul inside. The painting on her easel looked good. It also looked finished, though Annis would probably find a million minute things to change before she was happy with it. She’d dropped a brush in front of the easel. I picked it up, wiped it and dropped it into a jar of white spirit. There was nothing curious about any of this, I told myself as I turned out the light and closed the door behind me. We sometimes forgot to switch the lights off or simply didn’t go back up to the studio when we had thought we would. Yet I had been so convinced that she was busy painting that I felt a little unnerved at not finding her there. I slithered back to the house and climbed the stairs to her room. Perhaps she had fallen asleep. I slowly and quietly opened her door. The bedside lamp was on, lending the room a warm amber glow. Propped up on her pillows Annis was lying naked on the bed, looking up at me with large green eyes and chewing on her lower lip. Beside her Tim’s naked form was asleep, his woolly head on her stomach, one hand resting on her breast. There were empty takeaway cartons on the floor. The room smelled of Chinese food, of cigarettes and wine and lovemaking.
‘Sorry,’ I said quietly.
‘Sorry,’ Annis mouthed silently and crinkled her forehead with worry lines.
I closed the door gently, then clomped down the stairs to the kitchen. I grabbed the bottle of Urquell, emptied it, opened another from the fridge. I lit a cigarette and puffed at it, standing by the stove, looking at nothing in particular.
This had never happened before. The triangle that was Tim, Annis and myself had lasted for. . was it three years already? But we had been what I liked to think of as discreet about it. Annis lived with me but from time to time stayed the night at Tim’s place. No one counted the nights and we never talked about it. Normally Annis and I slept in my large bedroom with the big windows at the front; only when Tim stayed over did she sleep in her own room and Tim on a sofa downstairs. . We had never discussed this, yet an unspoken rule had just been broken. Only, when I thought about it, this seemed rather petty. A ‘not under this roof’ rule could surely only be there so I might conveniently forget that I was sharing Annis’s sexual favours with Tim and had done so right from the start. Then why was I so. . I was looking for the right word and was surprised when I found it. . bloody upset about it?
Behind me Annis padded barefoot into the kitchen. I didn’t turn around. Listened to her light a cigarette from the packet on the table and inhale. ‘You want to talk?’ she asked quietly.
I turned round then. She was wearing jeans, a crumpled black T-shirt and electrified hair. ‘What’s to talk about?’
She sat down at the table. ‘Then why make me feel like I’ve done something really bad? You’re unhappy, so let’s talk about it.’
‘No, it’s just. .it’s just it never happened before. I thought you and Tim wouldn’t. . I don’t know. Where’s his bloody car?’
‘He’d been drinking, came by cab.’
‘But you don’t normally. .’ I stubbed out the cigarette and fumbled for another one.
‘Sleep with him here? Not usually, no. It just happened like that today.’
Having got the cigarette lit I sucked hard on it, then nearly choked on the smoke trying to talk through it. ‘And it was really important that you. . shagged him this minute? It couldn’t have waited? I didn’t know things between you were so passionate, so urgent.’
‘It wasn’t like that, Chris. Tim was feeling down, he wanted to see me. He said he needed me and I told him to come over.’
‘So next time you’re at his place and I’m down and I need you you’re going to invite me round Tim’s for a shag while he’s out getting you a takeaway, is that it?’
‘No, of course not, but then it would never happen anyway.’ She twirled the glass ashtray around in front of her with a sudden, sharp movement.
‘What? What wouldn’t?’
‘You calling me and saying you need me.’
I was confounded by this. ‘But I do need you.’
‘Do you.’ It wasn’t a question, it was a flat statement of doubt.
‘Of course I need you, I love you,’ I protested.
Annis smoked silently for a while and chased a spent match round the ashtray with her cigarette. ‘You never said.’
‘What do you mean, of course I did, I must have done, I mean. . Didn’t I?’ I sank into a chair opposite her.
‘Believe me, Chris, I’d remember.’
‘But you know, don’t you? You do know I love you.’
She seemed to think about it for a moment. She looked sad all of a sudden, and tired. She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I know you’re fond of me, I mean we’ve lived here together for years now and. . But then we lived here for two years before we ever slept with each other. And if it hadn’t been for me climbing into the bath with you we probably never would have. And you didn’t object when you found out I was sleeping with Tim then.’
‘That’s hardly fair, I think your exact words were, “If you two are going to make a big deal out of this I won’t sleep with either of you again,” so what did you expect us to do? Specifically what was I supposed to do that I didn’t?’
‘I don’t know. But whatever it was you didn’t do it.’
‘We’d only just started going to bed together, I didn’t know then that. . how. . I was going to feel about you later, how could I, and then everything seemed to run along fine. It was you who made the rules, anyway. Tim and I had no say in it. You decided.’
‘You didn’t have to accept it, Chris. If I told you to jump in the mill race you wouldn’t do that.’ In a quieter tone she said: ‘Tim finds it hard. Tim always found it hard to share me. And you think it’s all on my terms but I find it hard to share me sometimes. This isn’t normal, you know, what we’re doing.’
‘You started it.’
‘Will you stop saying that? As though it made any difference! It’s got nothing to do with what’s happening now!’