A Note & a Letter

"Look Glen, for your own sake leave it at that."

"I don't want to leave it at that. There's something more going on, isn't there?"

"No."

"You're a bloody liar Alan, and if you won't tell me I'll find out some other way."

Alan hesitated, struggling to make up his mind if he should speak out, and then said, "Okay, if you must know Glen, I'm not the only one."

"You lying bastard…"

"Hey, I'm prepared to take the berating of an outraged husband, but I'm not going to accept being called a lying bastard. If you want to know Rosemary screws around with anyone she fancies. If you don't believe me I can give you names and the times Rosemary is with them. Go and ask the other guys…ask anyone who knows Rosemary."

Glen seemed to hear Alan's voice as if coming from a long way off as he went on, "I've been here for a couple of hours nearly every Tuesday, except when Rosemary telephoned me to say you weren't going out. I never came at other times because she was…"

Glen heard his own voice as if it belonged to someone else; "Fuck off and don't ever let me see you again, not ever…"

Alan needed no second bidding; he fled carrying his socks with him.

Glen was in shock, unable to move, to think. He sat; his eyes staring unseeing at a spot on the wall. How long he sat like that he never knew; time had no meaning for him. He didn't hear Rosemary's car arrive or the front door being opened and closed. His first awareness of her presence was when she spoke, and even then her words did not seem to register.

"I saw his car had gone so I thought we…"

Glen had risen and his unseeing eyes were turned in her direction rather like a blind man trying to detect the whereabouts of another person. A tremor of fear knifed through Rosemary. "Don't look at me like that, Glen, you're frightening me. What did he say…what did he tell you…he's a liar you know, he'd say any…thing…" her voice trailed away.

Between clenched teeth he said, "Is it true?"

"Is...is what true?"

"You've been fucking with him for two years and you've had other men here as well?"

"I told you, he'd say anything, he…"

"I can find out, it won't be difficult, I can…"

"For God's sake, don't do that…please darling…don't…the trouble…"

"So it is true?"

She said nothing.

"There's nothing you want to say to me? No reason?"

She took on the air of truculence again; "All right, you want reasons; I like to fuck; I like change; I want to know what it's like with other men; the same man all the time gets boring; I need change, variety. There, are those reasons enough for you?"

"You're sick."

"Yes, doctor, I'm sick…sick of you and your bloody fidelity and pious self righteousness, and I'm sick of standing here being interrogated by you. Why don't you piss off and find yourself a nice little virtuous young maiden who'll keep her legs closed to everyone except you…if you can find one."

She laughed and went on, "You're a bloody doctor and you don't even know the half of it," she sneered. "You've got no idea what's going on right under your nose…not even in your own house. Wake up mister upright self-satisfied doctor; all that's happened is a bit of the real world has caught up with you."

He looked at her long and hard for a moment and then said, "Is that all…is there anything else?"

"For the time being. If I think of anything else I'll let you know."

"There's no more ‘time being' for you and me, Rosemary; you can think of anything you like, but I won't be around to hear it."

"Why, what are you going to do?" There was a touch of fear in her voice again.

"I'm going to leave…I'll pack now and leave…"

"You can't do that, you know I need…I'm your wife and…"

"It's a pity you didn't remember that before."

"You leave and I'll take you for everything you've got; and what about your beloved medical practice…all those physical and emotional cripples you dose up with your pills and potions, are you going to leave them too?"

Glen had enough awareness to know when he was being deliberately provoked, so he said nothing, and turning on his heel he went to the telephone and dialled Trish's number.

When she answered he asked, "Can I come and talk?"

She asked no questions but simply said, "Of course, come on over."

Glen packed what he thought he might need for a few days and saying, "I'll send for the rest of my things later," he left. It was in fact the last time Rosemary ever saw him.

He drove to Trish's house and the door was answered by her husband Ron. He was clearly expecting him and said, "Come on in, Glen, Trish is in her study."

Entering the study Trish came to him and kissed him on the cheek and said, "Its Rosemary isn't it?"

"Yes, I've found out…"

"Oh darling I'm so sorry."

"You knew?"

"I'm afraid a lot of people know, Glen. Rosemary might have thought she was being subtle, but people notice things."

"The husband is always the last to know…why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I? I had no proof; probably no one had real proof, and even if they did how could they come and tell you?"

"Someone did."

"The note?"

"Yes. If it hadn't been for the note I'd have gone on thinking that all was well, that I had a marvellous marriage."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've left her. If it had been just…well, the one guy I almost caught her with, we might have been able to go on, but all the others…and she's been taking the pill…that's what you were trying to tell me, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I didn't know for sure, but adding everything up I strongly suspected. Where are you going to stay?"

"I don't know I haven't had time to think. I'll probably go to a hotel."

"No you won't, you're not going to be on your own, not for the next few days. You'll stay here."

"But I can't impose like…"

"Yes you can."

"That's just like Trish," he thought. He remembered the years they had been together when they were studying. She was the only girl on the course, or anywhere else for that matter, to whom he had related. They had looked out for each other, helped each other, and on one occasion his mother had said, "She's the girl you should marry," but it hadn't been like that between them.

There was love between them but it was not the sort of love that led them into a sexual relationship and marriage. It had been Ron who had won her hand and Glen had been happy for them both.

Now as he sat with Trish he began to wonder, did Trish…was she faithful? Was Ron? Was anyone? "You don't know the half of it," Rosemary had said; had he been so blind, so stupidly naïve to believe in marital fidelity? Was everyone crawling into each other's beds?

He didn't know anymore; perhaps he was so embedded in what Rosemary had called his pills and potions he had shut out many of the realities of the world. Had he wanted life and the world to be one way and had shut anything that said to the contrary?

He had somehow retained a calm exterior right from the start, but now humiliation and wretchedness overwhelmed him; he broke down and wept.

Trish held him and as he calmed Ron was standing there with a glass of whisky. "Drink this," he said, and laid a hand on Glen's shoulder.

Glen stayed with Trish and Ron for nearly a week. They let him talk him self out as he repeatedly related what had happened. It was as if someone close to him had died, and in a way that was true, something and someone had died, but not in the physical sense, and in a way this was worse.

Trish was his doctor and she had realised he was in no fit state to see patients. Glen knew that marriages often broke up, but for him it was not just the breakdown of his marriage, it was as if his whole life had collapsed. That he had been so blind was mortifying, but that he had placed so much emphasis on his marriage and the plans he thought he had shared with Rosemary, was devastating.

He felt even worse when he learned that Trish was to have baby. He wanted to be happy for Trish and Ron, but his own feelings of deprivation seemed to stand in the way, and knowing he was being self-centred he felt guilty.

Towards the end of his stay with Trish and Ron, Trish saw Glen was still not fit to return to work. She suggested he might get away for a while but Glen was past the point of caring where he was. It was Ron who came up with a firm suggestion.

"How would you like to go and spend a week or two at Rascals Point? My sister Linda and her husband Steve have got a small pub there with some limited accommodation. A change, sea air, getting away from here for a couple of weeks, it'll do you good." Trish reinforced this idea, pointing out that a locum had been brought into the practice to fill in for Glen.

Glen agreed with no great enthusiasm, but one morning, his luggage in the back of the car, he drove out of the city and along the coast road. As he left the suburbs behind his mood seemed to lighten a trifle and he actually began to enjoy the drive.

Rascals Point was about four hundred kilometres from the city and he had never been there before. At first his journey took him through flat country with mangroves edging the sea on one side and cereal growing on the other. Then the road began to wind its way through hills with views of the sea appearing intermittently.

After about five hours of driving he came to the brow of a hill, and what he saw beyond caused him to pull the car to the side of the road and stop. He got out and walked to the edge of what looked like a cliff.

It was in fact not a cliff but a very steep hill with a corkscrew-like road that ran down into the town that he could see below. The town itself seemed to nestle between the hill where he stood and the tree covered hills rearing up on the other side of a valley. He could see people like ants in the main street of the town and vehicles moving like beetles.

He got into the car and drove on down the winding road. At one of the bends that almost turned back on its self he had a moment's desire to drive straight over the edge, sending himself into oblivion, but the moment passed and he drove on until the road straightened and entered the town.

He found the Rascals Point Hotel standing half way along Kings Parade, the main street. He parked in front and entered the hotel. There was small reception foyer with a desk, but no one was in sight. He could hear the rumble of voices and occasional burst of laughter that came from what he took to be the bar. He rang the small bell on the desk and after about a minute a girl about twenty years of age came.

"Can I help you?"

"I've got a booking…I'm a friend of Trish and Ron and…"

"Ah, yes, Doctor Moore. We're expecting you; just a minute, I'll get dad."

She left and quickly came back with a powerfully built man in his mid forties. He extended his hand saying, "Doctor Moore, you're very welcome; I'm Steve Hardcastle. You've met my daughter Sarah? The wife's out at the moment but I'll introduce her later. I'll get my son Harry to help with your luggage. Sorry it's so informal but we don't get many people staying here, they mostly go to the motel. I've got to get back to the bar, I'll see you later."

Informal it might have been but Glen found it rather pleasant when compared with the stiff receptions one experienced in most hotels.

Sarah had him fill in the hotel register and as he completed it a younger replica of Steve came in and this time Sarah made the introductions, there was more handshaking, this time rather like the grip of a hungry crocodile, and between them the luggage was brought in.

He was led to a room and as Sarah opened the door she said, "This is the room that Trish and Uncle Ron always have when they come here." It was furnished in a slightly old fashioned but intimate and comfortable manner and he noted it had a double bed. This gave rise to associations that he didn't want to remember.

Harry put down the luggage he was carrying, and saying, "I'll see you later," he left.

Sarah was telling him about meal times and pointing out that as he was the only guest there could be some latitude regarding times of meals and menu as long as he would tell them in advance what he wanted. She smiled and repeated what her father had already said; "We don't get many guests these days."

After pointing out where the toilet and bathroom were she excused herself saying, "If you want anything there is a bell, but you might find it better to come to the bar and see Harry or father." She laughed and said, "You might get quicker service that way."

Glen smiled his acknowledgement and Sarah, leaving behind a delicate fragrance in the air, went.

Glen set about distributing his things around the room and when he had finished he lay on the bed for a while thinking but trying not to. He contemplated the paradox that so often the things we want to remember can be so hard to recall and those things we would rather forget seem to intrude constantly.

An image of Rosemary rose up in his mind, but not only Rosemary. It was an image of her in bed copulating with Alan; it might have been anyone of the men she had been with, but Alan was the one he actually knew.

The torment of this image caused him to cry out her name, "Rosemary…Rosemary…" He thought that this image would haunt him for ever. He knew people, especially those who at the moment had nothing they wanted to or needed to forget would in their superficial way say, "Forget about it and move on." It was easy to be stoical on behalf of another when you had no need to be stoical yourself.

He tried to remember if he had ever been guilty of saying such things to his patients, but he didn't think so. In the days when he had thought himself to be a happy contented man he was still aware of the chains that can bind the mind; chains that could enslave a person to the point where they become immobilised in the midst of life.

He didn't want to cry but he nevertheless did, weeping for his lost contentment and wondering if he would ever again be fit to pursue his profession. Could he help people when he could not help himself? "Physician heal thyself." The words were like a whip lash.

At one time he had appeared as the physician in an amateur performance of Macbeth. Now he remembered the words he had spoken in reply to Macbeth's question, could he cure Lady Macbeth of her madness; "Therein the patient must minister to himself."

He was a doctor and knew about the pills and potions, the tranquillizers and psychological techniques. These might obscure the pain, leaving one in a half world between sleep and waking, but in the end the patient must minister to himself.

But how to minister?

The chains that bound his mind were those images of Rosemary in her lovers' arms, images that stalked his days and invaded his dreams at night. There might come moments of forgetfulness, but they were brief. The images came flooding back again unbidden and unwanted. It was like a wound that would not heal.

He dozed off and as it always was now there were the dreams of Rosemary. He was wakened by a tap on his door. He shook off his drowsiness, swung his legs off the bed and called, "Come in."

Sarah's head came round the door; "You ordered your dinner for six o'clock, it's after six now. He apologised and she smiled. "Don't want it to spoil," she said. "Do you want me to show you where the dining room is?"

"Yes…yes…if you don't mind. He still felt drowsy and his clothes were crumpled, but he had no desire to change."

He followed Sarah down a short corridor and into a cool dim room. There were only three tables and Sarah indicated that he could sit at any of them. "We've got a larger dining room upstairs," she said, "but it's only used for wedding parties and things like that. I'll bring your main course."

She left to return soon after, but not alone. She was accompanied by a woman who, although Glen had paid little heed to Sarah's appearance, now seeing her with this other woman, he realised that there was a strong similarity in looks but not age.

"This is my mother," Sarah announced as she put a plate of food in front of him.

The woman extended her hand and said, "Call me Linda." Glen shook her hand and Linda went on. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. My bother Ron told me about you, he said you hadn't been too well. I hope you'll feel better here."

"Thank you, I'm sure I shall," Glen responded, not quite sure whether he would or not feel better.

In the dim light Glen could see that Linda was, like her husband, in her early forties, but unlike him, she was about five feet four or five, slim and with a good figure. Looking at Sarah he could see that she was indeed the younger image of her mother and pretty. There came to mind a description he had once heard applied to a woman and felt that it suited Sarah and Linda; "A couple of pocket Venuses," he decided.

Linda asked him if he would like something to drink, so he ordered a glass of red wine. Sarah went off to get it and Linda hesitating asked, "How is Trish? Ron said she's expecting."

"That's right, and she seemed very well when I left her."

"They've been looking forward to this."

A stab of pain and, "Yes…yes they have."

"It's very dim in here, we keep the outside blinds down at this time of the year it keeps the room cool, but the sun's over the other side and setting now, would you like me to raise them?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"All right; I've got to get back to the kitchen I've got a couple of people wanting counter meals. I'll see you later."

She left and as Sarah came back with his wine there was a soft rumble of blinds being raised and light streamed into the room.

Able to see her clearly now Glen took a closer look at Sarah; a heart shaped face with short, almost cropped dark blonde hair. A figure that still lived up to his fanciful pocket Venus and eyes that he thought the loveliest he had ever seen, a startling green, long and almost oriental.

She was smiling; he noted that she often seemed to smile and recalled how sweetly Rosemary used to smile. He wondered if Sarah's smile was a Mona Lisa smile, bewitching and suggestive of deception. That was how he felt about women now, with one exception, his beloved Trish. They were not to be trusted, but then, who could be trusted?

Perhaps Sarah was screwing with every young guy in the town, or not so young guys for that matter. And what about her mother?

He gave a mental shrug; it didn't matter now, he'd have nothing more to do with women unless it was to fuck them and leave them. No more love, that was for romantic idiots and he wasn't going to be one of those again. No, he'd join in the sport; after all, it seemed that everyone else was in the game.

Sarah was asking him something and he said, "Sorry, what did you say?

"Is there anything else you'd like?"

"No thank you."

Just ring the bell when you want your dessert."

"Thanks."

She left, once more leaving behind her delicate fragrance. He knew he had smelt it somewhere before and tried to remember what it was, but it wouldn't come to him.

After Sarah had left Glen felt suddenly lonely. While he had stayed with Ron and Trish there had been company during mealtimes. He had not contributed much himself but had enjoyed listening to Trish and Ron exchange their news; who they had seen that day; who had said what? Then comments about the national and international news, and so it went.

He had realised that it had never been quite like that with Rosemary and had wondered why. Perhaps she had been afraid of letting something slip, some word about her day that might raise suspicion. He didn't know, but he did know he had envied Trish and Ron their flow of communication. Perhaps this was as much a part of love as anything that happened in bed.

Now he was missing their talk. The dining room was pleasant enough but he was on his own. If there had been others there they might have talked with him, or at least he would have heard their talk, and that would have been better than nothing.