Iona Iverson's Rules for Commuting by Clare Pooley

Author:Clare Pooley [Pooley, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-TWO

Piers

Piers looked at his watch. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, yet he was in bed. The spotless white, pressed, and starched bed linen only accentuated how sordid he felt. He was a blemish. An imperfection. He needed to be bleached out of existence.

He was quite sure he’d got up that morning, and he appeared to be wearing clothes. Had he been to work already? He felt the familiar knot form in his stomach. No, he’d not been to work for a while, and now even his facsimile of going to the office wasn’t necessary.

He was sure he could remember seeing Martha. Perhaps they’d had a maths lesson?

There was a tentative knock on the door. He was just trying to remind himself how to speak when it opened and Candida came in, carrying a cup of tea. She opened the curtains then sat down next to him, and in a surprisingly sympathetic voice, the sort she usually used only for the children, and even then, only if they’d been hurt or were sick, said, “Are you okay, Piers?”

Since he didn’t know the answer to that question, he said nothing.

“Do you know what year it is? And the name of the prime minister?” she said.

“I haven’t completely lost touch with reality,” he replied. Then added, “More’s the pity.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get through this,” Candida said, stroking his hand.

“I don’t see how,” he said, his voice a croak, wondering if she’d offer to kiss it all better, stick a plaster on it, and give him some baby aspirin.

“We’ll go through all the finances together, work out what we have left, consolidate everything, and make a plan,” she said in a firm but calm tone, kicking off her shoes and climbing under the duvet next to him.

How had he managed to underestimate Candida so badly? He’d always thought he was the strong one in the relationship, yet here she was, propping him up. Why hadn’t he just told her everything right at the beginning? Was it really possible to salvage something from this terrible mess?

Candida started as something banged against the window so violently that it made the glass reverberate. Piers noticed that all his own reactions seemed delayed. Muffled in cotton wool.

“What the hell?” said Candida, walking over to the window, opening it, and looking down at the graveled drive.

“It was a pigeon,” she said.

“Is it okay?” asked Piers.

“I think it’s dead, actually,” said Candida, which seemed unbearably poignant. Piers started to cry again.

“For God’s sake, Piers, it’s only a pigeon,” said Candida. “What should I do with it, do you think? Does it go in the regular bin, or in with the food waste? I don’t imagine it can be recycled.”

“It’s not a pigeon, it’s a portent,” said Piers.

“I think you should talk to someone,” Candida said. “A professional. I don’t think you’re coping very well.”

She was right. It was only the pretense that had been holding him together. While he was busy playing at being the big swinging dick, he could believe he was still that person.

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