Читать книгу Love Your Enemies - Nicola Barker - Страница 6

Sammy Jo burped the baby and then lay her down on her pink, rubber changing mat and began to unpin her nappy. The baby puffed a gentle tongueful of spew out of her tiny mouth and down the side of her chin. Sammy Jo undid the nappy and then, almost without thought, used one of its Terry corners to mop up the sick. She lifted the baby’s head up, gently supporting its weight in her free hand, to make sure that her mouth was now empty. She didn’t want her to choke accidentally.

The baby was called Charlie, short for Charlotte. She was four months old. Sammy Jo tossed the nappy into the (thankfully close) washing basket and carefully laid Charlie’s head down again. She picked up a clean nappy and formed it into the requisite shape. The baby wheezed quietly.

Sammy Jo stared out of the window for a moment and caught sight of her husband Jason hanging out some nappies on the line. She rolled her tongue around the long nappy pin with its baby pink tip which she had stuck in the corner of her mouth – like a metal cigarette – while she felt around sightlessly on the table for some baby-wipes and talc.

The telephone rang. She grimaced to herself, let go of the tin of talc and then reached over to pick it up. Charlie screwed up her face at the sudden sharpness of the ringing – she couldn’t decide whether to cry or not – and then relaxed again when it stopped. Sammy Jo carried on staring out of the window. ‘Yes?’

She never said anything but ‘yes’ when she answered the telephone. Her biggest mistake in the past had been repeating her name and number on answering. She now knew that if you say your name and number some strange people copy this information down when they hear a woman’s voice. Then they telephone you again and again and turn your life into a living hell.

Sammy Jo’s telephone number was ex-directory. All the people who now had her number were people that she definitely trusted; a mere handful. This system had hitherto proved virtually foolproof.

A voice said, ‘What can we be sure of in our life? What two things can we infer – almost immediately – without needing to resort to empirical information?’

Sammy Jo’s eyes snapped away from the window and focused, somewhat pointlessly, on the telephone receiver in her hand. The voice continued, ‘By empirical I mean “information derived from experience”. Does all this sound rather confusing? Don’t let it confuse you. I’ve already confused myself. Bringing in the notion of empirical experience – Locke, Hume, remember those names – has confused things already. Let’s start again.’

Sammy Jo slammed down the receiver. She stood up and searched around for some paper and a pen. She found a thick telephone pad with slightly sticky adhesive edges which she had been given (months before) by her local independent pizza restaurant and takeaway. Each piece of paper was shaped like a red and yellow pizza, intermittently round, with the address and telephone number of the restaurant in small print at the top.

She placed the pad on the table in between the telephone and the baby and began to write: Man, Thirty/forty, deep but weak voice – muffled? Breathy.

She paused and thought for a moment and then wrote: Rubbish, not offensive. She crossed out the word offensive and then wrote sexual instead. She bit her lip. The telephone rang again. She stared out of the window towards Jason (who still seemed rather preoccupied) and then slowly, hesitantly, picked up the receiver. A voice said, ‘Hi! Sammy Jo?’ Sammy Jo breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed visibly. She smiled. ‘Hello. Yes?’

‘Hi Sammy, it’s Lucy here, Lucy Cosbie. How are things?’

Sammy Jo pinched the receiver between her shoulder and her ear while using her two free hands to grab a tissue and wipe Charlie’s bottom. Charlie let out a small whimper, but Lucy Cosbie heard it. ‘Is that Charlie there?’

Sammy Jo grinned. ‘Yeah. I’m changing her. I haven’t seen you for a couple of months, Lucy. You must pop around when you’re free. Jason mentioned you only the other day …’

Lucy’s laughter echoed down the telephone line. ‘Wow! I must be making progress if Jason’s asking about me!’

Sammy Jo clucked her tongue and picked up the talc. ‘Don’t be stupid. In a way I think he kind of misses you.’

Lucy stopped laughing and said, ‘Well, this is just a semi-professional informal call. I wanted to make sure that things are fine, that everything is going well, you know …’

Sammy Jo finished talcing the baby’s bottom and put the talc bottle down on the table. She stared guiltily at the pizza pad in front of her and touched what she had written on the pad with her index finger. She then said, ‘Honestly, Lucy, everything’s great. I already have my midwife coming around every other week to check up on Charlie’s progress. She’s doing just fine. I think enough of the council’s resources have been spent on me already without you worrying too …’

Lucy was sensitive to Sammy Jo’s tone. She said lightly, ‘Sammy Jo, relax. I’m not checking up on you. I know how sensitive young mums can be. I’m honestly not intruding, just interested.’

Sammy Jo interrupted, breathless with embarrassment. ‘Lucy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, honestly. I’m just a bit uptight today. You’re more than welcome here any time. In fact, why don’t we make a date for a visit right now? How about Thursday afternoon?’

Sammy Jo could hear the busy noises of an office and a typewriter behind Lucy’s voice. Lucy said, ‘Hey! I’m quite a busy person, Sammy Jo. I’m afraid Thursday’s a bit tight for me. I tell you what, why don’t I ring in a couple of weeks’ time and we can make an evening arrangement? Something purely social. That way the neighbours can’t possibly have anything to gossip about, especially if I arrive on your doorstep after six-thirty with a bottle of wine. How about it? Purely informal. I’m desperate to see that gorgeous baby again.’

Sammy Jo smiled. ‘I don’t care what anyone thinks, Lucy. I’d love to see you, any time of day. Telephone soon, OK?’

They exchanged their farewells.

Sammy Jo put down her receiver and reached out to pick up Charlie’s legs, lifted them up a few inches and slid the nappy underneath her whitely talced bottom. Before she could complete her nappy-tying, Jason had strolled into the room with the bag of remaining clothes pegs tucked under his arm. He said, ‘Did I hear the telephone ring?’

Sammy Jo nodded. ‘Yes. It was Lucy Cosbie.’

He raised his eyebrows, rather cynically. ‘Checking up? I didn’t think you were her department any more.’

Sammy Jo smiled. ‘I’m not. Just a social call, that’s all.’ She pushed the nappy pin into Charlie’s nappy and, picking her up, said, ‘Look, Jason, Charlie’s left you a little present in the washing basket.’

Jason looked down at the basket and let out a howl of horror. ‘Bloody hell! You’d think we had a production line of babies in here, not just one, with the amount of waste she produces. I’m sure that when she eventually gets around to speaking, her first coherent words will be “More washing, Daddy.”’

Sammy Jo was looking around for one of Charlie’s clean romper suits. Before she could say anything Jason said, ‘In the pile on the sofa. Would you mind putting on some rubber knickers this time so it doesn’t get soaked in twenty seconds?’

She winked. ‘Oh, Jason, you never said you liked me in rubber before!’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘I know that I agreed to take responsibility for the washing of nappies and stuff if we had a baby, Sammy Jo, but tomorrow I have a lot of work on so I might just pop out and buy a packet or two of disposables, all right? Just for one day.’

Sammy Jo shrugged, unmoved, ‘I don’t care, Jason, go ahead. You’re the one who’s so bothered about the environmental angle concerning disposables, not me. Buy them if you want to, feel free.’

Jason picked up his jacket, which was slung over the back of the sofa. He said, ‘I’ll pop out now. Do you want anything else?’

Sammy Jo smiled obsequiously. ‘I’ll write you a list.’

She looked around her and then saw the pizza pad on the table. Jason was watching her as he pulled his jacket on. She saw the few words that she had scribbled on to the top of the pad and, trying not to frown, ripped the page away and screwed it up in her hand. Jason said, ‘What’s that? Beginning of your thesis?’

She grimaced. ‘Very funny. Actually it was a trial shopping list, but I’ve now thought of several items extra, including five years’ subscription to Parenting magazine.’

She wrote down a couple of things and then handed him the piece of paper. He took it and perused it for a second. ‘For a frightening moment there I thought you were serious.’

She shrugged, ‘You know me, Jason, happy with sterilizing liquid and rosehip syrup. I don’t need anything else in my life.’

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, chucked Charlie gently under her chin and said, ‘I’ll only be gone ten minutes or so, enjoy yourself.’ Sammy Jo smiled.

When he had gone, she found a pair of rubber knickers, put them over Charlie’s nappy and then manoeuvred the baby’s tiny body into a yellow lambswool romper suit. She pulled a small, soft blanket from her cot by the window and wrapped her up in it, then lay her down inside the cot. Charlie squawked her disapproval as soon as Sammy Jo set her down. Sammy Jo steeled herself to ignore these noises and strolled into the kitchen to make a mug of tea. As she switched the kettle on the telephone started ringing. She paused for a moment and then went to answer it.

‘Yes?’

A voice said, ‘Forget all that crap about empirical information. I don’t want to alarm you with big words before you’ve even got a grip on the basic ideas.’

Sammy Jo bit her lip, and then said violently, ‘What makes you think that I don’t understand what that word means? What the hell makes you presume that?’

Her heart sank. She hadn’t intended to participate in this conversation at all. She knew that participation was half of the trouble with anonymous callers. It meant that you were condoning the act. Implicitly. She felt ashamed and stupid and thought, ‘After all I’ve been through, I’m still a silly, stupid novice. I haven’t learned anything. I don’t deserve people’s help and advice.’

The voice continued, ‘Let’s go back to what I said first, Sammy Jo. That question about two things in life that we can be sure of. Two basic things.’

Sammy Jo’s heart plummeted. She thought, ‘My God, he knows my name. Did I say my name when I answered this time? Why did I answer him in the first place?’

She said, ‘I guess I can be sure that you are telephoning me, irritating me, involving yourself in my life when all I really wish is that you were dead in a room somewhere or dying of a terrible disease, or at the very least in some fundamental physical discomfort.’

The voice cackled, ‘Well done! That’s part of the answer, Sammy Jo, very well done. To put it simply, the two things that we can really be sure of in life are (a) that we exist. We can be sure of ourselves. Are you in any doubt that you exist, Sammy Jo, any doubt at all?’

Sammy Jo sighed. ‘The only thing I don’t doubt is that you are a pain in the fanny. That’s all.’

The voice paused for a moment and then said, ‘I get your point. We know that we exist because we can feel pain. Our bodies feel pain. I can be sure of two things, to quote Russell: “We are acquainted with our sense-data and, probably, with ourselves. These we know to exist.” Sense-data is a silly technical word which I’ll explain to you later.’

Sammy Jo was biting her nails and looking around for the pen she’d used earlier to write her shopping list. To pass the time she said, ‘Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.’

The voice said, ‘Imagine yourself in any situation, any situation at all. It doesn’t matter what you imagine yourself doing.’

He paused. ‘I knew it would come to this, he’s going to talk dirty. I knew it,’ Sammy Jo thought instantaneously. She felt familiar feelings of outraged passivity seeping into her chest. ‘Go on, say it, you dirty bastard. Don’t pretend that this is about anything else,’ she said.

But the voice continued, ‘No matter what you think, do or imagine, the only constant element is you. You can’t get away from yourself. You can imagine that the world is a figment of your imagination, that the sky is yellow but just seems blue, that your body doesn’t really exist and that you are just imagining that it does, that you are in fact asleep and dreaming and not awake at all. Close your eyes.’

Automatically Sammy Jo closed her eyes and quickly opened them again. She hung up. The phone rang immediately. She let it ring about ten times until the repetitive noise it made began to upset Charlie and she began to splutter and howl. Sammy Jo felt guilty about letting it upset her and also couldn’t help thinking that perhaps it was someone else. Eventually she picked it up. ‘Yes?’

The voice continued, ‘If you close your eyes it’s possible to reject almost everything that seems predictable in everyday life.’

She sighed and then said bitterly, ‘I can’t deny the fact that you exist, though, can I? You exist, don’t you?’

The voice was urgent and persuasive. ‘No way. Think about it. Nothing exterior to your mind and your thought is necessary. Don’t be confused by my use of the word “necessary” here. I used it in its philosophical context. By it I mean a Necessary Truth, something that cannot be denied. For all you know my voice could be just a figment of your imagination.’

Sammy Jo laughed, a guttural, cynical laugh. ‘Oh, so now you’re going to tell me that this telephone call, this infuriating interruption in my life, is my own fault. Is that it?’

‘Could be.’

Sammy Jo sighed loudly. ‘Well, if I made you up, how come you won’t go away?’

There was a short silence. During this silence Sammy Jo picked up her pen and wrote the words NECESSARY TRUTH on the pizza pad in large capitals. The voice then said, ‘Try and remember this phrase: I Think Therefore I Am. In Latin it goes Cogito Ergo Sum. I think is “cogito”, c-o-g-i-t-o. Therefore is ergo, e-r-g-o. I am is sum, s-u-m. Got that?’

Sammy Jo finished writing down the last letter, then slammed her pen down on the table. ‘What on earth makes you think I give a damn? You’re boring me. Go and bore someone else.’

The voice said calmly, ‘I want you to read something by a guy called Descartes tonight. He was the founder of modern philosophy – circa 1600. He invented something called “The Method of Systematic Doubt”. If you can get hold of his Meditations I’d recommend the first chapter. It’s only short.’

Sammy Jo said quickly, ‘Forget it. I’ll be much too busy this evening committing sodomy with my household pet and watching Emmerdale Farm.’

This time he rang off.

She picked up her pen again and wrote down the name Descartes (although she spelled it Deycart), then threw the pen down, tore off the top page of the pad, crumpled it up and threw it at the paper bin in the corner of the room. The paper missed the bin and hit the wall. She got up and went into the kitchen to finish making her cup of tea. While she was pouring in the milk Jason returned carrying a couple of bags of Pampers. He pinched her arm, ‘Tea! Yes please!’ She grimaced and bent down to get out another cup.

That night when they were both lying in bed waiting to go to sleep and listening out for Charlie’s whimpers from her cot nearby, Sammy Jo took hold of Jason’s arm and said, ‘Jason, have you ever heard of Descartes?’

Jason yawned and turned over on to his back, ‘I don’t know, Sammy Jo. I have some vague ideas about him. Probably read him at college at some point. Why?’

Sammy Jo shrugged. ‘Is it rude?’

Jason laughed. ‘Not so far as I know. He was French, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he was a kinky writer.’

Sammy Jo sighed. ‘Oh.’

Jason paused for a moment, then said, ‘Sammy Jo, I didn’t mean to be off-putting. If you’re interested I might have a book on ancient philosophy downstairs that features him, but I can’t be sure.’ Sammy Jo smiled. ‘I don’t think so, Jason. Apparently Descartes was the founder of modern philosophical thought.’

Jason opened his eyes and stared at her in the dark.

The following afternoon Sammy Jo had just returned from taking Charlie out for a walk in her pram and was taking off her coat and combing a hand through her rather windswept short, red hair, when the telephone started ringing. She picked Charlie up and went to answer it. It was the man again. She pulled the telephone over towards the sofa and sat down, balancing Charlie on her knees, supporting her with one hand. The man said, ‘Hello, Sammy Jo. I suppose it would be optimistic of me to expect you to have read that chunk of Descartes’ Meditations that I recommended to you last night? The first chapter, remember?’

Sammy Jo snorted. ‘Why don’t you just sod off?’

The man continued, ‘After I rang off yesterday it occurred to me that I hadn’t been particularly encouraging towards you, and that was very wrong of me. I think you did extremely well, all things considered. You are obviously an intelligent woman. I think you just need stretching.’

Sammy Jo shook her head, ‘No, I don’t need stretching. The only person who needs stretching around here is you, and by that I mean stretching on the rack. Ancient forms of torture. I like that idea.’

The man said quietly, ‘Try not to be so combative, Sammy Jo. Let’s just get back to Descartes and his Method of Systematic Doubt.’

Sammy Jo hung up. As she tucked Charlie up in her cot a good fifty seconds or so later, the telephone started to ring again. Sammy Jo finished arranging Charlie’s covers and then, grabbing hold of her pizza pad and pen, went to answer it.

‘Yes?’

The man said, ‘Do you understand the word ‘scepticism’, Sammy Jo? Try and give me a working definition.’

Sammy Jo was writing on her pad in untidy capitals. She wrote: I WILL NOT GIVE IN. I CANNOT GIVE IN. I SHALL NOT GIVE IN. I MUST TAKE POSITIVE ACTION … TELEPHONE JASON? TELEPHONE LUCY COSBIE? WHISTLE DOWN THE TELEPHONE?

The voice said, somewhat more harshly, ‘Sammy Jo? Do you understand the meaning of the word scepticism?’

Sammy Jo threw down her pen and ripped the top page away from her pad. She shouted, ‘Of course I do. Don’t patronize me. Of course I do.’

‘Well, give me a working definition, then.’

‘Why should I? Why?’

He sighed, ‘Just to prove that you know.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t need to prove anything to you.’

‘Well, prove it to yourself then.’

Sammy Jo hesitated for a moment, then picked up her pen again. She said quietly, ‘All right then, I don’t really understand what it means, properly. Tell me and I’ll write it down.’

That night during dinner Sammy Jo asked Jason if he could get her a proper lined writing pad from work and a couple of spare biros. Jason was cutting up his fish fingers with one eye on the television, watching Wogan. Wogan was interviewing Candice Bergen. Jason put a mouthful of the battered fish into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully without replying. Sammy Jo glared at him. ‘Jason, do you mind paying me some attention? I’m talking to you!’

He turned towards her. ‘Something about paper and pens, right?’

She nodded. ‘Would you get me some from work? They supply you free don’t they?’

He frowned. ‘What do you want them for?’

Sammy Jo turned her eyes towards the television screen and focused on Wogan’s tie. ‘Nothing in particular. Telephone messages, addresses, sometimes on daytime television they have interesting babycare tips and recipes and stuff. They’d just come in handy.’

Jason carried on eating, ‘OK, I’ll try and remember.’

The following day Sammy Jo left the house at eleven o’clock with Charlie tucked up in her pram, and went out shopping. She collected Charlie’s child benefit money from the post office, then caught a bus into the centre of Milton Keynes. In her pocket was a piece of the pizza pad with the address of a bookshop scribbled on it. She found the bookshop and pushed her way clumsily inside. The short, dark man standing behind his desk in the shop came forward to help her. He said, ‘These places aren’t designed with prams in mind.’

Sammy Jo smiled. ‘Next time I’ll remember that and leave the baby on the bus.’

He grinned. ‘I didn’t mean any offence. Leave the pram here by the till and I’ll keep an eye on the baby while you browse.’

Sammy Jo let go of the pram and strolled around the shop. After several minutes she returned to the assistant and said, ‘If I keep an eye on the baby, would you mind finding copies of these books for me?’

She handed him her piece of paper which he took from her and perused. He smiled – ‘No problem’ – and quickly located the volumes in question. She held the three thin books in her hands and looked guiltily at the prices. The assistant noticed her concern. He said, ‘Specialist books are expensive on the whole, but I think you’ll find that those are quite reasonable. Russell was a bit of a popularist – excluding his works on mathematical logic, of course – so his more general works are very reasonably priced. The Descartes is a fraction more expensive, but the Sartre isn’t too bad. That’s fiction though, The Age of Reason, it’s a great book.’

Sammy Jo smiled at the assistant. He seemed enthusiastic and well read. She said, ‘One day I hope to be as well informed as you are. Which book do you think I should read first?’

He shrugged. ‘It depends on what you’re after. If I were you I’d read The Age of Reason first. It’s good to introduce yourself to ideas in an informal sort of way. Then the ideas just pop into your head and it’s no strain to pick them up.’

Sammy Jo looked at the synopsis on the back of the Penguin paperback. ‘It looks a bit heavy going.’

The assistant smiled sympathetically. ‘You haven’t bought it yet. You could always change your mind.’

Sammy Jo looked at him quizzically. ‘Do you think I should?’

He chuckled, ‘I’m playing the devil’s advocate. The story is about free will, about a man’s search for personal freedom. You should use your free will to decide whether you really want to buy it or not. If you choose to buy it then you will have made a commitment to the book. In fact you will have involved yourself in the book’s fundamental dilemmas.’

His face glowed as he explained this to her. His green eyes shone and he seemed excited. Sammy Jo handed him the three books and said, ‘All right, I’ll have them. I’ll read the …’ she paused. ‘Why are all these names so hard to pronounce?’

He took the books and put them into a bag. ‘Say the word “start”.’

Sammy Jo repeated after him, ‘Start.’

‘Then take out the first letter t so it’s “sart”.’

She copied him: ‘Sart.’

‘Then say the word “rough”.’

She smiled. ‘Rough.’

‘But forget about the “ugh” part and just say “ro”. Then altogether it’s “Sartre”. Obviously that’s the simple English pronunciation, but people will know who you mean.’

Sammy Jo said the name out loud to him a few times and then handed him some of her child benefit money. She said, ‘I’m going to start the Sartre on the bus home. I hope I enjoy it.’

He finished wrapping up her books and handed them over to her. ‘That’s entirely up to you.’

She grinned. ‘That’s a joke, right?’

When Sammy Jo got home she changed and fed the baby and then made herself a sandwich and sat down on the sofa to start Chapter Two of The Age of Reason. Her main thoughts about its central character, Mathieu, were that she was glad that he wasn’t looking after her baby. He didn’t seem responsible enough. When the telephone rang she told the man on the line these thoughts. She said, ‘Ideas are all right, but ideas can’t guide your life, it isn’t practical or realistic.’

He laughed. ‘So what do you think should be man’s main motivation? The acquisition of food? Making cups of tea?’

She raised her eyebrows – fully cognizant of his cynicism – and stared out of the window. ‘I wasn’t saying that. I’m not quite so stupid. All I mean is that people can’t afford to be so self-indulgent, so luxurious. You have to get on with things. My life would be in a fine mess if I suddenly decided that I wanted to be free, that I couldn’t be bothered to look after my young baby any more because she gets in the way of my freedom and independence.’

The man sounded irritated. ‘No, you’re trivializing the issue. You decided to have the baby, you made that decision freely many months ago. You could have aborted the child had you felt otherwise. The character Mathieu isn’t entirely unhindered in his decisions about whether he wants Marcelle’s baby … that’s silly, what I mean to say is that obviously he doesn’t want a baby but he has other considerations to take into account; Marcelle’s feelings, money, the illegality of abortions …’

Sammy Jo sighed, ‘Men are bastards. Really it’s her problem. He just worries about it to make himself feel good. He’s a shit.’

He interrupted her. ‘The character doesn’t matter, Sammy Jo. It’s his thoughts and actions that are our concern, not whether you happen to like him or not.’

Sammy Jo snorted. ‘If I don’t like the character how can I read and enjoy the book?’

His voice was sharp. ‘That’s stupid. Behave rationally. Since when do you have to like a character in order to be able to understand and sympathize with his dilemmas? You can’t go through life saying, “Oh, she doesn’t sound very nice so I’m not interested in her.” That’s ridiculous. Those sorts of comments are unworthy of you. You should think beyond your own standpoint. If you can’t do that, then a whole dimension is lost to you. Have you got a proper pad of paper now?’

Sammy Jo shrugged and didn’t answer, like a petulant schoolgirl. The voice said, ‘Sammy Jo, answer me.’

She hung up and stared at the telephone for several seconds, waiting for it to ring. It didn’t. She stared at it for a full five minutes, then began to feel stupid. She walked over to Charlie, who was sleeping in her crib, warm and cosy, smelling of milk. Out in the garden a small grey cat was scratching its claws on the thin trunk of a small apple tree. She felt frustrated. She thought, ‘What right does he have to manipulate me like this? He’s imposing on me. He’s a bully. It’s wrong for strangers to interfere like this, to impose like this, to telephone you when they want, to build up a relationship that depends solely on their goodwill …’

She scratched her head and said musingly to Charlie’s tiny body, which, disguised by layers of soft blankets, just rose and fell with the repetitive lull of sleepy breathing, ‘Charlie, people are strange. This man is strange. I suppose I should tell Jason really, but I know he’ll just get upset. I could telephone Lucy Cosbie … but do I really need to? This situation is quite different from before, altogether different. No one is threatening me. I don’t know.’

She went and sat down on the sofa and picked up her book again. She read until five and then went into the kitchen and started to prepare dinner. Jason came in while she was frying some courgettes and cutting mushrooms. He pecked her on the cheek and said, ‘Do I guess from this that Charlie will be enjoying ratatouille-flavoured milk this evening?’

She smiled broadly. ‘You’re welcome to enjoy ratatouille-flavoured milk yourself this evening if you prefer, so long as there’s enough to go around. I don’t know how well garlic and tomatoes translate into a calcium drink, though.’

He shook his head. ‘I think I’ll skip that one, if you don’t mind, Sammy Jo.’

The telephone rang. Jason immediately moved away from her as though to go and answer it. Sammy Jo grabbed hold of his arm and said hurriedly, ‘Jason, I know who that is. It’s for me. My mother said she’d ring this evening.’ She pushed past him as she spoke. ‘I’ll get it. Stir the vegetables, all right?’

He nodded. She picked up the telephone. ‘Hi, Mum. Jason’s home now so I can’t really talk for long.’

The man said, ‘I want you to think about this question very carefully, Sammy Jo. Write it down.’

Sammy Jo picked up a pen and copied down his question with great care on the pizza pad, which was now greatly diminished in size. Then they both said goodbye.

As she put down the telephone receiver she caught sight of her three new books slung carelessly on to the sofa, The Age of Reason open face downwards towards the middle of the text, like a ballerina clumsily doing the splits and unable to rise from that position. Quickly she picked them up and walked over to Charlie’s cot. Picking Charlie up she slid the books under the cot’s small mattress, then carried Charlie into the kitchen. Jason was stirring the courgettes and mushrooms around in the frying pan, staring at the wall in front of him in a tired, unfocused way. He seemed ill at ease. Sammy Jo offered Charlie’s sleepy body to him and said, ‘Give me the wooden spoon in exchange for the baby. You can change her if you like.’

He smiled. ‘What into? A well trained corgi?’

She frowned. ‘Don’t avoid the inevitable, Jason, she feels pretty wet to me.’

He sighed and took hold of Charlie’s tiny body, then carried her into the sitting room. Sammy Jo opened a tin of tomatoes while he lay the baby down on her changing mat and searched around for one of the remaining disposable nappies. He said loudly, so Sammy Jo could hear him above the noise of the frying pan, ‘How’s your mother? You didn’t chat for long.’

Sammy Jo added the tomatoes to the rest of the vegetables in the pan, then remembered she had forgotten to start with a chopped onion. She cursed under her breath, then said hastily, ‘She’s fine. She’s a bit busy actually. I think she had plans to go out tonight.’ Jason took off Charlie’s dirty nappy and said, ‘I’m so glad I don’t have any washing to do this evening. I’m knackered. There again, it still makes my skin crawl to imagine what I’m doing to the environment with just one day’s usage of these things.’

He turned Charlie over and cleaned her bottom with some tissues. Sammy Jo cleared her throat and appeared in the doorway. ‘Did you get that paper for me, Jason?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s in my case, by the door.’

He lay one of the nappies out on the table and lifted up Charlie’s legs so as to slide it under her bottom. As he performed this manoeuvre he stuck out one of his elbows and accidentally knocked the telephone with it. The telephone was balanced on the edge of the table and threatened to fall off. Quickly grabbing hold of it and pushing it a couple of inches away from the edge, he focused on the pad covered in small, neat print. He took hold of it with his free hand and perused it, initially with uninterest and then with some surprise. On the pad Sammy Jo had written: ‘ARE GOOD AND EVIL OF IMPORTANCE TO THE UNIVERSE OR JUST TO MAN?’ BERTRAND RUSSELL. THINK ABOUT THIS. He moved the pad closer to his face in order to reread these words. He frowned, put the pad down again and completed Charlie’s nappy.

Sammy Jo strolled into the room clutching her new pad as Jason finished putting on Charlie’s rubber knickers. She walked over and switched on the television, saying, ‘Dinner shouldn’t be long now. Pass her over, will you? I need to feed her.’

He picked up Charlie.

‘Sammy Jo?’

‘Yep?’

‘This may sound rather stupid, but I couldn’t help noticing what you have written down on the pad by the phone.’

She looked up guiltily and played for time. ‘I can’t remember writing anything. It can’t have been important …’ She put out her arms for Charlie. ‘Pass her over please.’

He handed the baby over and watched dispassionately as Sammy Jo began breast-feeding. He said, ‘Have you been watching the Open University while I’m out at work?’

Sammy Jo shrugged. ‘I might have caught a programme at some point, Jason. I can’t really remember. I don’t just sit around all day watching television, you know. Looking after a young baby isn’t just fun and games.’

He shook his head, bewildered. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that, Sammy Jo, not at all. Anyway, you wanted the baby, it was a decision you made freely, you were hardly under any pressure.’

Sammy Jo frowned. ‘Freedom’s not really like that, Jason. I’ve been giving it some thought lately. The way I see it, freedom is like a train journey. When you get on the train, everyone assures you that you are free to climb off whenever you choose, but as with all train journeys there doesn’t seem much point getting off at most of the stations. They just aren’t appropriate to your life. A lot of things dictate as to when and where you get off the train. It isn’t just a random decision. The past propels you forward, and all your future decisions have already been made well in advance, dictated by age, class, sex … anyway, your capacity is limited. Your choice is limited.’

Charlie sucked away at one of Sammy Jo’s robust pink nipples with energetic commitment. Jason tried to expel the random thought that had just entered his head, that often entered his head when he saw Sammy Jo breast-feeding, which was that she seemed like the Madonna when she performed this duty, like an icon, so innocent, uninvolved and natural. He said, ‘How long have you had this hang-up about not being free? I thought you were happy to be living with me. I thought you liked being married. I don’t think I ever put you under any unnecessary pressure …’

Sammy Jo exploded. ‘Why does everything have to be so bloody particular with you, Jason? I’m not talking about myself, I’m talking about an idea, a …’

She paused and grasped for a word that was brand new and floating around inside her mind, ready to be brought out like the best cutlery at a family celebration. ‘I’m talking about universals. A universal idea, freedom. Everything that I say doesn’t have to apply to my own miserable life. I can think beyond it, above it, you know. I am just about capable of that.’

He stared at her with his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed defensively, then he said, ‘Something’s going on, but I don’t know what. This isn’t like you … this isn’t you, Sammy Jo.’

She laughed, ‘God! Just because I make a slightly intelligent observation you make out something terrible is wrong. You don’t think I’m a very clever person, do you, Jason? You don’t think I’m particularly blessed with intelligence.’

He looked surprised. ‘Of course you’re intelligent. I love you, Sammy Jo, I love your mind, your conversation, your body, your beautiful pink nipples, our baby. I do respect you, and I like to think that I treat you as an equal …’

She snorted. ‘Well thanks a lot for that. I am your equal, I don’t think you deserve any special thanks for treating me as such.’

Jason leaned over the table and picked up the pizza pad. ‘What exactly does this mean, Sammy Jo? “ARE GOOD AND EVIL OF IMPORTANCE TO THE UNIVERSE OR ONLY TO MAN? BERTRAND RUSSELL. THINK ABOUT THIS.” What does it mean? Why have you written it down? Who told you to write it down?’ He ripped the page away from the pad and screwed it up in his hand.

Sammy Jo prised Charlie’s gums away from her nipple and pulled her shirt together to cover her breasts. Charlie yelled and then started to cry. Sammy Jo stood up, thrust Charlie into Jason’s arms and said, ‘You bloody feed her. How dare you screw up my notes like that? It’s none of your business what I do. I’m not affecting you in any way.’ She picked up the ball of crumpled paper from the floor and held it, clenched possessively in her hand. Jason was bouncing Charlie up and down in his arms, trying to calm her down. He stared at Sammy Jo but didn’t say anything. After a minute or so Charlie’s crying evaporated into breathy whimpers. Jason took her over to her cot and placed her gently into it. Sammy Jo felt like running upstairs to their bedroom in order to curtail this conversation, but she wanted to carry on reading her book, she didn’t want to just sit up there sulking, with nothing to do. Jason stood up straight and turned to face Sammy Jo. He crossed his arms. ‘This reminds me of something, Sammy Jo. This situation reminds me of something.’

She frowned. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Just a hunch. What would you say if I told you that I was going to telephone Lucy Cosbie right now? Maybe she could shed some light on this thing? You’ve been strange since she telephoned you the other day.’

Sammy Jo shook her head. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, Jason. Lucy Cosbie has nothing whatever to do with this.’

Jason walked over to the television and switched it off then sat down on the sofa where Sammy Jo had been sitting before. He looked up at her, ‘Can’t we talk about this sensibly, Sammy Jo? It’s no big deal. We don’t have to row about it.’

Sammy Jo leaned against the table and looked petulant. ‘You said it, Jason. I don’t know what your problem is all of a sudden.’

He patted the seat next to him on the sofa. ‘Sammy Jo, something is upsetting you or influencing you. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you’ve said some strange things lately, you seem distant and preoccupied, like something’s upsetting you.’

She looked into his face as he spoke and saw that his brown eyes were weary and that his face was drawn. As she looked at him she felt as though she hadn’t seen him properly for a long time. She moved and sat down beside him. After a short silence she said, ‘I don’t want you to get upset, I want you to understand. I don’t want any overreactions, all right?’

He stared at her, frowning. She continued. ‘Someone’s been telephoning me over the past few days …’

Jason inhaled deeply. She saw his hands clench into fists.

‘Jason, don’t get upset. This man isn’t like the other one, he’s different. He doesn’t want to cause trouble, he isn’t rude or anything … it isn’t like that at all.’

Jason spoke, and his voice was low and quiet, ‘He telephoned earlier, right? That wasn’t your mother at all, was it? You lied to me, Sammy Jo.’

Sammy Jo shook her head. ‘It’s not like that. I didn’t want to upset you. I knew you’d overreact, I knew you’d blow it out of all proportion. It isn’t like how it was before, not at all.’

He stared at her. His face seemed very close and long and mean. ‘Well how exactly is it now, Sammy Jo? How is it possible for an anonymous caller to be anything other than offensive?’

She shrugged and fiddled momentarily with one of the buttons on her blouse. ‘He’s teaching me about philosophy. That’s all he talks about. Before he phoned I didn’t even know what philosophy was, but now he’s taught me about Descartes and Sartre and scepticism. I’m reading The Age of Reason at the moment and really enjoying it …’

Jason sprang up from the sofa and looked down at Sammy Jo from what seemed like a great height.

‘How long has this been going on, Sammy Jo? Does Cosbie know about it?’

Sammy Jo looked vulnerable and upset. ‘It has nothing at all to do with her, it has nothing to do with you either Jason. It’s between him and me. I quite like his calls. They interest me.’

Jason let out a sharp yell of frustration and raised his eyes and hands towards the ceiling as though pleading with an invisible God. ‘Sammy Jo don’t you understand anything? Don’t you see what’s happening here? Don’t you understand that it doesn’t matter what the hell it is that he says to you on the phone, it doesn’t matter whether he’s swearing at you are singing Gregorian chants, the issue here is power. Power, do you remember? Can’t you remember the endless conversations with Lucy and I about why it is that people telephone other people anonymously and abuse their time and their privacy? It’s a power thing. He’s making you passive. You don’t question him, he is in control, he is powerful and you are passive. He probably gets exactly the same kick out of it as if you were involved in some sort of direct, sick, sado-masochistic relationship. He’s dictating your life, Sammy Jo, can’t you see that? Can’t you?’

As he finished speaking he leaned towards her and snatched hold of her arm. She didn’t meet his gaze, her arm hung limp in his hand. After several seconds she said quietly, ‘You think I don’t know all this, don’t you? You think I’m so bloody stupid. Well you’re wrong. I know all about this shit. Maybe you think that I actually enjoy being dominated, that I actually go out of my way to get into situations where I can be dominated …’

Jason dropped her arm, ‘What do you expect me to think, Sammy Jo? Do you expect me to congratulate you on getting an education? Do you expect me to go to night classes to learn French so I can discuss Sartre with you in the original? What the hell do you expect me to feel? Pleased? Delighted? Grateful?’

Sammy Jo sprang up and pushed Jason in the chest with her flat hand. ‘Don’t you dare patronize me, you bastard. How dare you speak to me like this? I’ll do what the hell I like with my time and you can’t stop me. You just resent him because he is offering me something that you have never bothered offering me.’

Jason laughed. It sounded like the wail of an angry hyena. ‘So you think. I’m threatened by this pervert do you? You think I’m intimidated by some sick bastard who gets his kicks out of telephoning vulnerable women and talking about philosophy with them? Look at me, Sammy Jo, I’m not threatened, I’m angry. You should be angry too.’

Sammy Jo pushed past him and marched over to the cot. She lifted Charlie up with one hand and reached under the mattress with her other hand. She grabbed hold of her three new books and then replaced the baby on top of her blankets. Jason watched all of this in silence and then said harshly, ‘Well, that’s very mature, Sammy Jo, hiding books under the baby’s mattress, very adult. You thrive on this sort of deception, don’t you? You love your little secrets, your private collusions.’

Sammy Jo marched past him and towards the door. ‘I’m going upstairs for a while. I don’t want to be disturbed.’

Jason slammed his fist down hard on to the table, the force of which caused a coffee cup, the telephone and pizza pad to jump up into the air by almost an inch. The telephone made a little jangling, ringing noise as it landed. He yelled, ‘Give me those books Sammy Jo, give them to me now!’

She held her books against her chest and glared at him venomously. ‘You’ll have to kill me first, Jason. Be warned, I’m not quite as passive as you’d like to believe.’

They stared at each other venomously for several seconds and then Sammy Jo turned and left the room.

In the kitchen the ratatouille was starting to burn. Jason switched off the oven and started to prepare a bottle for the baby. His hands were shaking.

After forty-five minutes Jason had fed the baby and watched half of Coronation Street. He kept listening out for any noises from upstairs, but the house was silent. He switched the television off, opened his briefcase and took out his address book. He found Lucy Cosbie’s number and dialled it. It rang several times before she answered it.

‘Hi, Lucy here.’

Her voice was depressingly familiar to him. He said, ‘Hello, Lucy, it’s Jason Wells here, Sammy Jo’s husband.’

This took Lucy Cosbie several seconds to register, then she responded warmly: ‘Oh, Jason, hi. Is something wrong? You’re the last person I expected to hear from.’

Jason cleared his throat. ‘Lucy, Sammy Jo’s in trouble again. She said you phoned her the other day. I wondered whether she’d told you about it. I’m somewhat concerned.’

Lucy Cosbie sounded mystified. ‘Jason, Sammy Jo said nothing to me about any problems. Is it the baby?’

Jason smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m afraid she’s receiving anonymous calls again.’

Lucy responded sharply. ‘Who from? Same guy?’

Jason was surprised. ‘No, I don’t think so. She didn’t suggest to me that it could be the same person. I think she would’ve said that. I hope so anyway.’

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad to hear that, Jason. It’s all a bit complicated at this end because I’ve seen a fair bit of him lately. I was assigned to his case recently. I’m sure you can understand that it’s something of a conflict of interests.’

Jason nodded. ‘I can imagine. Anyway, Lucy, this new guy is really weird, they aren’t dirty calls as such. In fact Sammy Jo seems very happy with the arrangement. It seems that he’s teaching her philosophy, you know, “Philosophy the Anonymous Caller’s Way”.’

He tried to crack this joke light-heartedly but it fell somewhat flat. Lucy Cosbie was silent for a few seconds and then she said, rather slowly and hollowly, ‘Oh dear. I think this could all be slightly problematic.’

Jason scratched his head and then tightened his grip on the telephone receiver. ‘Why? I didn’t think what was said made any difference. He’s still pestering her. It’s the same thing isn’t it? The same as before?’

When Lucy next spoke she sounded a fraction testy. ‘Jason, I think maybe I should speak to Sammy Jo about this. Is she there? Can I have a word?’

Jason was irritated. ‘She’s upstairs at the moment. We’ve had a slight disagreement about the whole thing. She’s being a bit irrational.’

Lucy was persistent. ‘I’m sorry Jason, I’m afraid that I can’t talk to you any further about this without chatting to Sammy Jo. I’d prefer to deal with her personally. I’d appreciate it if I could speak with her privately.’

Jason frowned. After a short pause he said, ‘I’ll go and call her. I don’t know how responsive she’ll be though. Hang on.’

He put down the telephone and walked into the hallway. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted up, ‘Sammy Jo? Lucy Cosbie’s on the phone, she wants to speak to you.’

Sammy Jo was lying on their bed engrossed in her book. She swore under her breath at Jason’s untimely interruption and turned over the corner of the page to mark her place. She got up and shouted back as she began to make her way towards the door. ‘I’m coming!’

As she walked down the stairs she glared at him. ‘I bet you phoned her.’ He shrugged as she brushed past him and decided that it was probably better to say nothing.

Sammy Jo picked up the telephone. ‘Hi Lucy, I’m sorry about this. I’m sure you’ve got more pressing matters to deal with. This isn’t at all important.’

Lucy’s voice was low and apologetic. ‘Sammy Jo, I’m sorry, but I do think that this is my business. I’m pretty sure that I know who it is that’s telephoning you and also how and why.’

Sammy Jo frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Lucy sighed. ‘I think it’s my fault. I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake. Maybe I haven’t been careful enough. That man, Duncan Sands, who was telephoning you before, well, he was recently assigned to me …’

Sammy Jo interrupted nervously. ‘I thought he was in prison.’

‘No, he was in an open prison for several months but he’s been out for a while now. You were hardly the only person involved in the whole mess … well, you know all about it, anyway.’

Sammy Jo shook her head slowly while she listened to Lucy. ‘I’m sorry Lucy, but this person is different, they aren’t the same, they don’t sound the same.’

Lucy was insistent. ‘Sammy Jo, he may not sound the same because he’s saying different things, but I know it’s him. He often asks about you. He wanted to meet you a while back to talk things over. He sincerely believes that he’s better now, that he was sick and now he’s better. I somehow have my doubts about that. Anyway, he’s been heavily involved in community service work and maybe he thinks that he’s doing you some sort of a service. He started a sociology course in prison and he’s really into educating himself. I helped to get him a job a few weeks back, only part-time shop work, but with prospects. Next year, if they keep him on, he’ll probably be eligible for a day-release scheme to go to the polytechnic. He wants to get a degree in Communication Studies.’

Sammy Jo laughed. ‘I suppose that’s kind of ironic.’

Lucy wasn’t amused. ‘He must’ve managed to find out your number from me at some point. I don’t know, maybe he got a peek at my diary or something. Anyway Sammy Jo, I’m going to have to do something about this …’

Sammy Jo bit her lip. ‘Lucy, you aren’t going to tell the police are you? Or jeopardize his job?’

Lucy was silent for a moment and then she said, ‘He’s violated my trust, Sammy Jo. I have a responsibility to do something.’

Sammy Jo interrupted angrily. ‘That’s stupid! It’s none of your business. You’d never have known about this if Jason hadn’t told you. As far as I’m concerned, his involvement with me is with my full consent.’

Lucy tutted irritatingly. ‘Sammy Jo, you know it’s not as simple as that. This whole anonymous calling thing is about power, it doesn’t matter what he’s saying, it’s wrong. We both know that it’s wrong.’

Sammy Jo said slyly, ‘You let him get my number, Lucy, that was irresponsible, what if I wanted to make something of it?’

Lucy wasn’t impressed. ‘That makes no difference to me, Sammy Jo, I don’t intend to follow one piece of misconduct with another.’

Sammy Jo wound the telephone wire around her middle finger and tried to think of some sort of compromise. Eventually she said, ‘Lucy, I swear to you that if he telephones me again I’ll phone you and tell you, then you can contact whoever you like. Just leave it until the next time. Maybe you could phone him tonight and warn him off …’

Lucy sounded impatient. ‘I don’t know, Sammy Jo. I don’t think my telling him will change his modes of behaviour. I don’t know if I can trust you on this either. You haven’t been particularly co-operative up until this point.’

Sammy Jo raised her eyebrows and pulled an innocently sly expression. ‘I realize that, Lucy. I know that this isn’t just about me and that I have a wider responsibility, but I also know that he deserves a chance to make a go of his job in the bookshop, especially since his prospects seem to be looking up …’

Lucy sounded surprised. ‘Did I mention that he was working in a bookshop? I don’t think I said that, did I?’

Sammy Jo shrugged, but she was smiling to herself. ‘Forget it Lucy, I’m just a bit stressed out. I promise though, this time you can depend on me, really.’

They rang off. Jason had come into the room during the final stages of their conversation and was sitting on the sofa staring at Sammy Jo inquisitively. Sammy Jo sat down next to him and took hold of his hand. ‘It’s all right, I’m not angry. I’ve cleared it all up with Lucy. I don’t think he’ll be phoning me again.’

Jason squeezed her fingers and kissed her cheek. ‘Sammy Jo, if you want to go to college you could always go in the evenings and I’ll look after Charlie. I wouldn’t mind. Maybe we could give her to a babyminder a couple of days a week and you could go on a course part-time.’

Sammy Jo shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Jason, I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. I don’t feel brave enough. I like being at home with Charlie at the moment, I just appreciate the occasional bit of stimulation. I’m really enjoying this book I’m reading, and there’s no pressure, you know, no need to take exams or to get along with a classful of strangers …’

Jason smiled. ‘You know that you can do anything that you want to do, Sammy Jo. I know that you’ll choose whatever is for the best.’

Sammy Jo smiled back.

The following morning at ten o’clock Sammy Jo picked up her copy of the Yellow Pages and hunted down a number. When she had located it she opened up her new pad and wrote the number down at the top of the first large, white page in big bold print. Then she picked up the telephone and dialled. When someone answered she smiled and said, ‘Hello, this is Sammy Jo, remember me? Yes, I know you’re at work, yes I know you’re busy, but I don’t care. Maybe you should give me your home number and then I wouldn’t have to pester you like this …’

The line went dead. She put down her receiver, picked it up again and then pressed the redial button. She waited for a moment and then continued. ‘Yes, it is me again. No, I don’t care what sort of a disruption this is. I want to carry on our conversations. Apparently you’re working part-time? That means you must have a lot of spare time on your hands during the afternoons, which is good, good for me at any rate. I want you to share that free time with me, on the phone of course, reverse charges. I’ve been thinking about that question you asked me yesterday, I’d like to discuss it at greater length …’

The line went dead. She put down her receiver and then picked it up and, once again, pressed redial. ‘You’re an old hand at this, Mr Sands, I have a redial button and it’s no effort to press it again and again …’

She listened for a moment, then picked up her pen and copied down another number in her white pad. Then she said, ‘Yes, I am enjoying it actually … No, I didn’t tell Lucy, someone else did … No, Lucy didn’t tell me either, it didn’t take much intelligence to realize though … Thank you. Is two o’clock all right? OK, I’ll phone you then. Goodbye.’

She hung up.