30. Guest v. Finbow Day Six #2
For a long while, I sit there. The evening slowly creeps in.
The Thames shimmers between the traffic on the Embankment, like silver tape.
Now and then, someone approaches me on the bench and asks me for money or a cigarette.
I give the first woman my last change, the next man a water bottle from my bag.
They leave me in peace. Then, after five minutes or so, another figure sits down.
“It’s funny you’re here,” says the voice. “This was Oriel’s favorite park.”
I freeze. There is the scent of her tuberose perfume, the familiar gasping in-breath before she speaks. Jean.
I jump up from the bench. “What are you doing here?” I cry, terrified. “Did you follow me?”
Jean fixes her gaze upon the evening sky. “I knew you’d be out on an evening like this. To think, we’re in September! And just look at that moon rising! Almost but not quite full.” She squints. “Like a nibbled biscuit, isn’t it?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Jean,” I warn her breathlessly. “It’s forbidden. I’m a witness—I have protections—”
Jean interrupts, pointing at the river. “And the way it shines on the water.” She sighs. “It might not be Rome, but London’s not all bad, is it?”
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
“Sit down, Gus,” Jean says calmly. “Don’t make a fuss.”
“What you are doing now is illegal.” I check the park, fearful to be alone with Jean. But there are no onlookers I could rely on later; our interaction passes unobserved. “What do you want from me?”
Jean smirks, as if amused by my need to follow the rules.
She gestures to the bench and I catch sight of her hands.
Her fingernails are no longer opal and glossy, but cracked and yellowed.
There are liver spots by her knuckles; those colored rings that once enchanted me were just ugly plastic props.
Disgusted, I turn and walk away. But Jean calls me back, always summoning.
“I want you to know, Gus, I’ve managed to forgive you.”
I pause and press my palms against my eyes, but my anger can’t be forced down. I thunder back and stand over her, raising my phone like a weapon. Jean doesn’t flinch. She blinks up at me with kindness.
“That’s what I came here to tell you. I don’t want anything from you, Gus. I just wanted to let you know, you mustn’t feel guilty about what you said in your statement.”
“Guilty?” I say, incredulous. I make a low sound of disgust. Of course, Jean has named my feelings exactly. She always could.
“We’re disappointed by what you did, but you mustn’t feel any guilt toward us.”
Not us, I think. Do not use the word us.
“It’s not productive,” Jean continues. “So, I don’t want you to harbor it. And I wanted to let you know, I share it, too, Gus. The feelings of shame. The guilt.”
Gradually, I lower my arm. My phone goes back into the top of my bag. Standing here, with Jean, in the growing darkness, feels terrifying, but I can’t help wanting to listen. The saddest part of me craves an apology.
“When I read your statement, of course, I was very hurt. You see, when someone you love lets you down, you feel angry. Will you just sit, please, for a moment?”
Again, Jean gestures to the space next to her, but it feels important—vital, even—to stay standing.
“You didn’t love me,” I say, buoyant now with rage. “You used me.”
Jean sighs and shakes her head sadly. “I’d hoped you might be strong enough to deal with Anna and Bonamy. But I knew they’d get to you, eventually.”
“They didn’t get to me.” I shake my head at my stupidity. “ You got to me!”
“They really are a tricky pair,” she murmurs. “To think of the damage they’ve inflicted on Mary. Her mother’s torturing her. Even in Mary’s condition, she just will not stop!”
My heart races. “You’re deluded, Jean. It’s you who inflicts pain. Anna and Bonamy aren’t perfect, but they had no idea about Mary and Lawrence. Yet you’ve convinced Mary the opposite.” I pause, stricken. “Just like you managed to convince me that Mary might one day want to be with me.”
Jean purses her lips. “I only go with what my clients tell me, Gus. Anna and Bonamy may deny any knowledge, now that you’ve confronted them with the truth about that awful man.
But do they actually care? What have they done about it?
” Jean fixes me in her gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re not appalled by that. ”
Jean’s perception was a pincer, a great gift she abused. There was a grain of truth in what she was saying. Lawrence was still due to give evidence at some point this week, and, as far as I knew, Anna still funded Lawrence’s program.
I slide down next to her on the bench. The corners of her mouth turn upward. “Why are you smiling?” I ask quietly.
“I just…” Jean says, then falters. “I give so much to my girls.” She turns to me.
Again, a smile. “They occupy such a large part of me. And now I’m seeing you, I realize that everything you said in your statement hasn’t even touched me.
All I know is how hard I found it to let you go.
” She reaches toward my face. I duck away from her, but she just chuckles.
I tell myself She isn’t sincere , and yet her words puncture me.
“I’ve missed you, Gus, so much. You’re such a special girl.
So much heart. Such talent. If only your parents could have nurtured it. ”
Tears spring to my eyes. Humiliated, I wipe them with the backs of my hands.
“Gus,” Jean coos, suddenly busy with her handbag. “Oh! My poor girl.”
I take a tissue from her and blow my nose, hating the comfort I still take from her presence. She pats my arm, then rests her hand there. Electricity travels along my skin. I can’t shrug her off.
“You know, I so wanted to meet you today. I’d asked the universe for a chance. And I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been worrying about you, going up there on the stand.” She winces. “Such a breach of trust. But we’ve both had to do it. Tomorrow won’t be any better for you, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean?”
She chuckles. “I’ve had to fight fire with fire. You told untruths in your statement, you mentioned my ordeals. I’ve had to mention yours.” She pauses. “It’s your parents I worry about. They’re not coming, are they?”
“No,” I say, feeling a stab of fear.
“Are you sure about that?”
There is a pressing feeling in my chest. As far as I know, my parents have no idea about any of my ordeals. Has Jean told them to come?
“It’s fine,” I lie. “We’re actually talking again. I’ve told them all about it!”
“Well, phew,” she says, with a satisfied sound.
“Because some of the things that you said in our sessions. And then afterward, what you wrote to me. Some of it was really quite vicious. And I’m afraid you—or they—don’t come out of it very well.
What was it you called them? ‘Small-minded.’ ‘Obstructive.’ ‘Cruel.’?” Jean leaves a purposeful pause, just to make it known what she means.
“It would be awful if they heard those words, or read them, wouldn’t it? ”
A pebble of fear lodges in my throat. I imagine my parents sitting in the gallery, watching down on me as, once again, I bring shame upon our small family. Defeated by Jean’s last betrayal, tears fall freely over my cheeks. She looks down and taps my hand.
“Don’t pick your fingers,” she says sternly.
“Sorry,” I whisper. Suddenly, I’m so tired. Despite myself, I let my head droop on her shoulder.
“I’m scared, Jean,” I cry softly. “So scared about tomorrow. Today was so terrifying.”
I feel her whole body relax as I lean against her.
“Poor girl,” she says, stroking my hand.
“You know that I always wanted my girls to be independent, in the end. To stand on their own two feet. That’s why I was always so proud of you and everything you achieved.
If you decide to go ahead tomorrow, just make sure it’s from a position of strength, of independence.
Not just because the Finbows asked you to.
” I pull away then and we stare at each other.
She reaches for my chin, tilts it. “The case is already wrapped up, Gus, everyone knows it. Your evidence won’t make a difference.
So, forget everybody else. What do you need in this moment?
Is it that awful courtroom? Or is it back home in your studio, away from all this madness? ”
That’s when I notice her hair: the grays now collecting in wiry strands around her ears. The elegant, cosmopolitan woman I once knew has been replaced by someone grasping and dowdy. Her breathing is quick—the cold-cream plump skin that used to glow with goodness looks greasy and congested.
This time, I start laughing.
“Bullshit, Jean.” With trembling hands, I reach into my bag and carefully, so as not to press any buttons, remove my phone from the top of it.
As I check the screen, I feel a wave of joy.
The red button remains on. Eight minutes have been carefully recorded, our whole conversation.
The milliseconds are streaming gloriously by.
I have captured Jean Guest, the claimant, the healer, and the hopeless fraud, intimidating a witness: a criminal offense.
Jean knows it, too; as she glances down at the handset, she gives a little gasp.
When she looks up at me, her eyes are pleading.
“Is this how you dreamt it, Jean?” I ask, smiling brightly with exhilaration. I rise from the bench. My heart is beating wildly in my chest: a bird breaking out of its cage. “Is this the way you thought I’d betray you?”
Jean jumps up and tries to grab the handset from me.
“You’re very confused, Gus,” she warns. “You’re frightened. I can tell.”
“You’re right, I am frightened of you .” My voice chokes as I swerve from her grasp. “But I’m terrified for Mary. She needs her friends. Her family and friends. People she can trust.”
“What do you want?” Jean interrupts, in a low, rough tone. Her eyes flit back again to my phone. “If it’s money you need—” Jean reaches for her wallet, and I almost start laughing.
“All that therapy and you can’t actually listen . This.” I wave my phone. “This could ruin you.”
“Name it, Gus. I’ll do it.”
I hesitate, thinking first of Oriel, and then of my own devastation when Jean stopped working with me. How would Mary cope? But then I remember the baby. A little girl. That sign on Mary’s wall: The first step to a better world is the belief that it is possible .
“Drop her,” I say quietly. “Leave Mary and the baby alone.” Jean’s eyes dart nervously. “No more sessions, no more phone calls to check in, no more bubble baths or dinners—”
“I see what you’re asking,” she interrupts. “You jealous girl. ”
I tell myself Don’t rise to it. For the first time in years, I feel bigger than Jean.
“But what about tomorrow? What about your evidence?”
There is a long pause. We study each other and I shrug. “I’ll tell the truth.”
Jean’s eyes fill with tears. “But I’ve read your statement. I know all about your relationship with the truth. You sculpt it in whatever way suits you best.”
“Must be why we once got along.”
Jean looks at me pleadingly. “But Mary needs me, Gus. She’s almost better. Don’t make me abandon her. Not at this point.”
The woman’s capacity for manipulation still astounds me. I open the maps browser on my phone and type into the navigation bar. With a shaking hand, I wave it at her.
“It’s a twelve-minute walk. Wow. Quicker than I expected! Scenic, too. Like you said, it’s a lovely evening. I’m feeling quite up for a stroll to the police station, aren’t you?”
Jean’s face darkens. “You’ve always had this vicious side to you. A pathetic hanger-on—”
“To you, Jean! I clung on to you. And now, I’m walking away. I’ll let tomorrow go the way you want. But only if you promise, if you swear you’ll walk away from Mary, too.”
Jean nods, her mouth trembling. There is a powerful feeling surging in my chest. Nobody could prove that she was doing anything criminal before. The proof is now in my possession. It will remain always in my possession.
Suddenly, Jean’s phone starts ringing. I watch her, half-fascinated, as she sits back down and scrabbles for the handset in her bag. It is a strange sight, this hateful woman who once was everything to me, now frantic and sniveling, sat alone on a bench in London.
“Is that Mary?”
Jean winces, as if she is already missing her. “No, not Mary.”
“Show me.”
Guiltily, Jean flashes the screen. Someone called Tabitha is ringing again.
“Don’t let me keep you, then,” I say, collecting myself and beckoning her upward. “Answer it! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jean rushes to answer. “Darling,” she coos, as sweetly as she can manage, rising from the bench. For a moment, my heart almost strains toward the sound. Jean glances over her shoulder and we gaze at each other. Then she turns back around and I hear her sickly tone.
“Nothing’s the matter. I was just a bit concerned. I had a dream about you and I got worried. I thought I should check in. Tell me, how was class today? Is everything all right?”