Come Clean (1989) by Bill James Read Free Book Online Page A

trainers hung over one padded arm. The mug of tea she
balanced on her stomach. On Sarah’s first visit, the informality had shocked her. Now, she recognized it as probably a fairly elementary part of the act, to take any stiffness out of the
session, and to do it swiftly: no matter how relaxed Margot might look, she did not miss much.
    ‘No, he still doesn’t think it’s over,’ Sarah said. ‘He’d like it all to be as it once was. Yes, he wants me, all the time. I can see that. I feel sorry for
him, genuinely, but I can’t do it.’
    ‘If you can’t you can’t.’
    Sarah laughed. ‘Look, is that really what you’re supposed to say, Margot?’
    ‘You mean I should tell you how to put things right, how to make things good with your husband, make all the problems disappear?’
    ‘At least how to try.’
    ‘I will if you want to. But I’m not sure you do.’
    ‘In many ways, Des is a good man. Well, of course he is. I married him, didn’t I? He puts up with a lot. He’s brave, he’s clever, and he’s funny, sometimes. I ought
to –’
    ‘And, Ian?’
    ‘Who knows what he’s really like, or even what he really does?’
    For a moment, Margot did not speak. Then she said: ‘This event that’s upset you – it’s something that makes you wonder more about Ian?’
    ‘Yes, and about myself. I have to ask, am I like a stupid girl, turning down a decent, solid man because he can’t reach me, and going instead to somebody I don’t know properly,
can’t know properly, because the mystery and risk of it are attractive?’
    ‘And what answer do you get?’
    ‘Answer?’
    ‘Yes, when you ask yourself this, what do you reply? Do you come clean?’
    That was part of Margot’s technique, perhaps part of all counsellors’ techniques: they let you do the work, hardly told you anything at all, persuaded you into deciding for yourself
what you really wanted and into talking about it. What they knew was how to ask questions, and occasionally the procedure annoyed Sarah: she came here looking for guidance, and paying for it, and
was prescribed, instead, self-scrutiny. This was counselling? ‘The point is, would I want Ian if I could go off tomorrow and live with him, not meet him at the odd, pinched moment in a
down-at-heel pool and booze club?’
    ‘Yes, that’s the question.’
    ‘Somebody told me just now that I liked the status of my life with Desmond too much ever to give it up for a lover.’
    ‘Oh? There’s someone else who knows about Ian and you? I hadn’t realized that.’ She sounded ratty for a moment. ‘Tell me, Sarah, is this related – this person
and what he or she said, is it related in any way to the situation that upset you so much?’ She took a drink of the tea but had turned her head and was watching Sarah carefully.
    ‘Yes, in a way.’ The clarity and speed of Margot’s intuitions must explain how she managed to make a living in this woolly, bull-shitting trade.
    Margot waited, and Sarah realized she was giving her the chance to say some more. She did not respond and, in a while, Margot asked: ‘So, is this person right, do you think, the one who
did the diagnosis for you: are you too fond of your privileged style of life to put it on the line?’
    ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, not before this. Now, I’m not so sure. I think I may be a bit of a snob.’
    ‘And Ian doesn’t fit that social bill, no matter how well he might fit elsewhere?’
    Margot liked occasional crudity. It was part of the all-girls-together frankness that she affected.
    ‘Maybe not,’ Sarah said. She thought for a second. ‘Oh, no, Margot, it’s more than that. I don’t regard Ian as a bit of rough. I don’t need rough, anyway, not
my thing at all. Well, I don’t think so. But, how can I explain? Try this: it’s a tussle between right and wrong. Des is a policeman. He’s law and order. I must have wanted that:
I married law and order. He’s morality. Theoretically at least I’m in