Ordinary Miracles by Grace Wynne-Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

like popcorn. I want someone to hold and comfort me and say loving, reassuring things. If I break down that’s what Bruce will do. He’ll say all this wonderful stuff, and I’m shit scared because I’ll want to believe him.
    ‘Jasmine!’ Bruce is getting irritated. ‘There’s really no point in us meeting if all you’re going to do is say “Mmmm” and stare into the distance.’
    ‘I wasn’t staring into the distance. I was looking at that painting.’
    Bruce glances at the painting then he says, ‘How are you, Jasmine?’ He says it slowly, emphasising each word, while also trying to establish eye contact. I look at his mouth and wonder at how such an innocent-looking orifice could disgorge so many lies.
    ‘That film editing seminar in Paris didn’t last a week did it?’ I hiss.
    ‘What?’
    ‘That film editing seminar in Paris – it was only for a weekend. You spent the rest of the time with her, didn’t you? Admit it.’
    ‘Oh for God’s sake, Jasmine, do we have to go through all this again?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Okay, I admit it. Cait did join me, but we were also discussing a possible documentary project in Lyons.’
    ‘So you went to Lyons with her?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And Bordeaux too, I suppose.’
    ‘No, no, we never went to Bordeaux.’ Bruce is quite vehement about this.
    ‘And what about that time you went to Cannes for the Festival? Did she come too?’
    ‘No. No. Cait didn’t come to Cannes. I was only involved with her for a year. It’s all over between us now. Really.’
    ‘A year,’ I think. ‘A whole year.’
    The interrogation continues for a while, upon my insist ence. I insist because, lately, I often sit bolt upright in the middle of the night with a new and nasty suspicion which demands corroboration.
    ‘That really does about cover it,’ says Bruce, who’s tapping a spoon against his thumb and looking even more weary.
    ‘And what about the Interflora docket?’
    ‘Those roses were for Aunt Emma. She was eighty.’
    ‘I can check that, you know.’
    ‘Go ahead.’
    Then the waiter comes over with his little notepad.
    ‘Don’t dare order the veal,’ I scowl.
    ‘Of course not.’
    As Bruce gives the waiter our order he doesn’t say ‘Très bien’ or ‘Formidable’ once. He looks rather forlorn and lost in fact. As I finish my second glass of wine I feel myself reluctantly softening.
    ‘How are you managing – financially I mean?’ Bruce asks after I’ve told him about my course.
    ‘I’m using the money we put aside for the conservatory.’
    ‘Oh.’
    I crack open a bread roll. ‘Considering all the extra hotel bills and airline fares you must have incurred lately I assumed you wouldn’t mind.’
    ‘How’s Charlie?’ The question is sharp and asked with a tight smile.
    ‘Charlie’s fine. Susan’s going to ask him to a film. She fancies him.’
    Bruce smiles more broadly at this news, and then I move the discussion on to Katie before he can. Bruce knows Katie is my weak spot and he plays on it.
    ‘She seems fine,’ I say. ‘We talk a lot on the phone.’ Since he hasn’t mentioned lesbianism I don’t bring the subject up. But this time Bruce doesn’t try to fill me with fears about Katie’s welfare. He agrees that she seems to be enjoying university. And, because the Chilean wine is making me mellow, I decide to answer the question he asked earlier. ‘Yes, I do remember that wine tasting in Bordeaux,’ I say. ‘It was very nice.’
    ‘Yes it was, wasn’t it?’ Bruce is enormously pleased. He leans forward conspiratorially. ‘And what happened later that night was even better.’
    This is obviously meant to flatter and reassure me, but instead it reawakens my rage.
    ‘Don’t talk to me about sex, you bastard!’ I say, just loud enough for the couple at the next table to hear. ‘Don’t dare bring up memories of when I was naive enough to think you loved me…you unfaithful…you – you lying little shit!’
    ‘Shhhh, Jasmine.