Overlapping Lives Read online

  ‘This is like therapy,’ mused Sally, ‘better than sex. It’s a kind of physical empathy.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Melanie, ‘it’s more than I anticipated, but how do we stop?’

  ‘Enjoy the moment, my love. I’m sure we need to do this again. We can think about what it is we’re doing when we know. But we need to do it again to find out.’ They lingered over one more gentle kiss, got off the bed, pulled on their jeans and tops and joined the cat and the open wine bottle in the kitchen.

  Their lives adopted a new pattern. Sally decided that Melanie should come with her to the prison and meet Julie and Morag. Prison visiting was considered a virtuous thing so Melanie was allowed by her charity to go with Sally every Wednesday to Surrey. They spent every Sunday afternoon on the bed in a languorous celebration of shared sensuality, loving the rediscovery of their intimacy. For Sally, the regular communion with Melanie had a healing effect. Little by little the anxiety she felt in male company faded and she found she could relax sufficiently to think about a boyfriend and sex. Melanie knew that their intimate sessions would come to an end sooner or later and Sally’s acquisition of a man signalled an end to their Sunday afternoons, but they continued to visit the prison together for years until Julie and Morag were eventually released.

  Melanie knew that the time would come when she must sacrifice her virginity. She was determined that whoever she was to do this with must be a paragon of kindness and empathy; she demanded respect. The gift of her virginity was priceless. She started to pray more often, seeking guidance from God about how she was to find someone with whom to share her life, her body and sacrifice her virginity. The answer at which she arrived was through the church. There must be a Christian man with whom she could become involved. Every Sunday she searched the pews for possible people, but almost everyone was much older than her and seemed to be accompanied by a woman. Then she sought guidance from the vicar through whom she discovered the existence of Christian dating sites.

  There was no shortage of fascinated young Christians anxious to meet Melanie. The picture of herself which she posted on the dating site was like a magnet. Her luminous eyes gazed from the screen at her numerous admirers. Melanie learnt to discern who she should agree to meet and who to avoid. But the transient meetings did not lead to the sort of relationship Melanie sought until a man called Matthew turned up. Because his approach was entertaining and he seemed not to take the whole process too seriously, Melanie agreed to meet him. They met in a wine bar in St John’s Wood in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. Matthew was the largest man Melanie had ever seen. He was not fat but exceedingly tall and had enormous bones. Matthew’s face was cheerful; he had a broad grin, sandy, receding hair and wore rimless spectacles which gave him a slightly studious appearance. He had done a degree in mathematics and worked as a computer consultant. Melanie discovered that he was capable of the most complex abstract mental exercises, mainly involving mathematical equations, by which he interpreted the world, including his religious faith. She liked him immediately and needless to say, Matthew was enthralled by Melanie’s striking attractiveness and wide smile. They agreed to meet again.

  Melanie found it easy to relax in Matthew’s company. She wanted to tell him about herself.

  ‘I’ve grown to love the church,’ she explained. ‘I grew up without religion. The Christian Union at uni drew me into Christianity and I learnt to pray. I rely on prayer for guidance in almost everything. It’s turned out to be a reliable way to know what to do next. On Sunday I prayed for us both, but particularly about what I should tell you about me because I have one precious obstacle in life called virginity. The answer to my prayer was obvious; I knew I must be honest about it. I know that I want to see you again, but if knowing that I’m a virgin is going to make things impossible, then you must say so. I shall keep myself intact until the right man shows up.’

  ‘Melanie, I’m sure you know, and I certainly know, that you are an exceedingly desirable woman. I can’t pretend not to notice how attractive you are but for now I’m loving your company. Until you mentioned it I hadn’t thought about sex and until and unless you want to, I don’t think we should. Sex has a way of spoiling things unless everyone’s certain that it’s the right thing to do.’ There they left the subject and talked instead about Melanie’s preoccupation with the subject of forgiveness and her friends in prison.

  The summer was long and hot and they spent every available moment together. Melanie liked to be in physical contact with Matthew; there was such a lot of him. She was engulfed by his frequent, gentle embraces. He started to go to the gym with her and accompany her on her running expeditions. In the past Matthew had been a serious rugby player but had lost his former fitness. Melanie was a good excuse for him to recondition himself and spend more time with her.

  Their relationship steadily solidified. Matthew fell in love with Melanie and told her so frequently. Melanie began to crave Matthew’s company when they were apart and texted him regularly to check that he was not far away. She realised that she was in love with him; another thing she realised was that she had never been in love before. It dawned on her that at least part of the reason that she had not allowed herself to have sex with anyone previously, was that the few men with whom she had agreed to get into bed did not love her and she did not love them. Her love for Matthew was made more intense by physical longing; it made a great deal of difference. She knew that sooner or later she would sacrifice her virginity with him. In preparation for this, Melanie decided she needed to change her appearance. It would be part of the ritual. She made an appointment with her hairdresser, who she knew well, and explained she wanted a radical new look. An hour later she emerged with her dark hair cut short, perfectly framing her face. It made her eyes even larger and enthralled Matthew. She decided it was time to tell him how she felt.

  In the evening Melanie turned the TV off, which they were not really watching. She was wrapped round Matthew on the sofa with her head laid on the huge expanse of his chest and said: ‘Matthew, you are the first man I have ever loved. I want to sleep with you but you must be patient about my virginity.’ Matthew was not only gentle, but patient and considerate. He valued kindness in himself and others more than anything else.

  ‘When you are ready, my love,’ he replied. ‘Only you can know what should happen and when.’

  On summer nights Matthew and Melanie lay together in bed, embracing long and often. Matthew’s enormous embrace and the gentle way he caressed her skin created a languid arousal in Melanie. One warm night, when Melanie knew that Matthew was aroused, because she could feel his hard penis pressed against her, as it often was, she wriggled free from his huge arms which encircled her, got up, pulled the duvet off the bed and lay down again spread-eagled, naked on the sheet. She gave herself to Matthew as completely as she knew how because their ecstatic love for each other made it the perfectly right thing to do.

  Paula

  Paula had a flawless complexion until the attack. Her face was handsome: blue eyes, a straight nose and a wide, full-lipped mouth. Dark hair, cut in a ragged fringe above her eyebrows, framed her face and stopped just short of her shoulders. It looked glossy when she washed it but sometimes she didn’t bother; then it looked lifeless and the parting down the middle of her head became uneven, like a slalom. In the middle of her left cheek was a scar from the attack. It had healed but had left a depression, like a dimple; it had a different texture to the surrounding skin and it was always there.

  When Paula had told Mike that she did not want to see him again he had picked up one of last night’s wine glasses and banged it on the table. The stem broke, leaving a sharp shard where the drinking end had been attached. Mike placed the bottom of the glass in his right palm with the broken stem pointing upwards, stood up, thrust his left hand into Paula’s hair and slapped the left side of her face with the sharp glass stem. She could remember feeling the glass against h
er clenched teeth as it penetrated her cheek. It had taken her by surprise and she had not realised what had happened until she pulled the glass from her cheek where it had lodged and felt her mouth filling with blood.

  ‘You had that coming,’ Mike had said. ‘You’re a sexless bitch.’ His voice was full of resentment. As he let go of her he brought his hand to his face and breathed in the bedroom muskiness of her hair. He got up, pulled on his jacket and left. Paula could not believe that the man she had been in bed with less than an hour ago could be capable of such brutality.

  ‘Mike,’ she had said, ‘I think I want us to stop seeing each other. Soon I’m going to tell you that I don’t want sex with you anymore. I’d rather we packed it in before it gets to that because I know you won’t agree, but the sex has just become too much.’ She was sure Mike knew what she meant but had not anticipated his violent, impetuous reaction.

  After they met at a party Paula had readily agreed to see Mike again. He had been funny and assertive as well as good-looking in a curious way. His hairline receded but his face was appealing with grey, hooded eyes. She had liked the way he looked at her hungrily and soon they were sleeping together. Paula was no stranger to sex and knew she liked it. But Mike’s assertiveness continued under the duvet. He had a number of demanding sexual proclivities which he obviously expected Paula to go along with. At first, it felt novel, even funny, but after a few nights together, during which she had been penetrated from every possible direction, she began to think the relationship was more to do with Mike’s preferences than hers. She felt left out as he enthusiastically did things to her, rather than with her, some of which were almost too painful. She put up with it for a few months. From time to time she tried to moderate the more excessive activities which Mike suggested.

  ‘Couldn’t we just do something a little more conventional, and gently? I get really sore.’ Mike ignored any suggestion that the process could be more empathetic. Paula made up her mind and announced the end of the relationship on a Sunday morning over the coffee, before she had showered or dressed.

  After Mike had gone, Paula patched up her face with a piece of tissue taped to her cheek, showered, dressed and took herself to the local A&E. The doctor wanted her to tell him how the injury had happened and encouraged her to go to the police. Eventually, a plastic surgeon had appeared and repaired the cheek under local anaesthetic. The stitches had to be removed the following week. She healed, but the scar was not going to disappear either physically or psychologically. As it healed and shrank, Paula became more self-conscious; she felt she bore a stigma. Strategies to hide the scar from view became a preoccupation: where to sit, which way to face to keep the scar on the blind side away from other people. It betrayed something unspeakable; there had been violence and she was the victim. The thing which upset her most was the malice with which she had been disfigured. Mike could have hurt her in any number of ways, if that is what he wished, but in his instant rage he had done a thing which had left a permanent signature. Then she started to wonder if she should not feel guilty for telling him she could not cope with his sexual demands. She knew it was illogical to believe it was her fault. But the sense that her face could still be flawless and intact, had she not decided to finish the relationship, nagged at her.

  Something changed in Paula’s identity. She began to think of herself as a scarred woman, her left cheek being what everyone saw: the stigma which defined her as a victim. The disfigurement, and what it projected to the world, changed how she was assimilated and interpreted and that changed how she related to the world. She needed to find a way to accept how the world saw her and stop hating Mike. Paula knew there would be no retribution for Mike’s behaviour, but ruminating on the constant sense of malevolence she felt towards him preoccupied her every day. Perhaps there was a way to forgive him. If forgiving was a possibility, she believed it would help her to feel less injured and cease craving vengeance.

  Sometimes sleep was elusive. She often woke early, and to avoid the futile, morbid ruminating, she got out of bed, pulled a flimsy gown around her and sat in the kitchen with her coffee before going to open the florist’s shop which she ran nearby. The mornings were bright in the summer and helped to restore her fragile self-esteem. Early on a Sunday morning in August Paula sat in the kitchen contemplating the nature of forgiveness and how it worked. It occurred to her that the church knew about forgiving. Sermons sometimes addressed the issue and someone would know how to go about it. She was not religious and had not attended a service since she was at school fifteen years ago; she resolved to find out about how to forgive. Paula lived in Belsize Park. She did not know anything about the local ecclesiastical community but she knew that there was a large and active parish church in Hampstead. Dressed in something sensible, she set off, hoping that her timing would make her punctual for the service.

  Having nothing to do with the churchgoing community, she was uncertain how it worked. The rear pews of the church seemed to be vacant but she did not want to sit in someone else’s place. She sat down near a couple who had installed themselves away from the aisle. The woman seemed to be deep in private prayer. Her companion, who was the largest man Paula had ever seen, sat calmly next to the praying woman, who looked tiny beside her gigantic partner. Paula smiled at the huge man and asked if she might join them in the pew.

  ‘Of course. You’re very welcome. There’s always plenty of space in the back of the church. I’m Matthew. This is Melanie.’ He indicated his partner, still absorbed in prayer. At the sound of her name, Melanie surfaced from her prayerful reverie and looked across her giant partner to see who he had been speaking to. She blinked in slow motion and smiled at Paula. Her face was framed by dark hair, cut short, which gave her a gamine prettiness. She had startlingly large, dark eyes. Paula smiled back, unable to look away, captivated by Melanie’s luminous gaze.

  ‘Hi,’ Melanie greeted her. ‘Are you regular at this church? It’s our first time in Hampstead.’

  ‘No. Not at all regular,’ confessed Paula, ‘it’s the first time I’ve been to a service since I was at school.’ Melanie raised her eyebrows interrogatively, making her eyes even larger. The non-verbal invitation to say more felt welcome.

  ‘I’m looking for a way to resolve something. I was injured recently and need to find a way to stop feeling vengeful towards the man who hurt me, some means of forgiving or something. I thought I’d try the church for guidance but honestly, I feel like a hypocrite. I’m not even slightly religious. Oh, and I’m called Paula.’ Melanie’s eyebrows returned to their previous latitude and she looked suddenly saddened. Paula’s brief story resonated with her own experience and that of her friends. There was an announcement from somewhere near the altar. The congregation rose and sang a hymn. Melanie lent across Matthew as they stood and whispered loudly:

  ‘Paula, we’ve got to talk after the service. Forgiving’s my favourite subject.’ In due course the vicar delivered a sermon about something, which had many references to forgiving and the importance of it: how revenge was destructive and paradoxically affirmed the actions of its target and how forgiving was beneficial to the forgiver. There were innumerable allusions to scriptural references. The problem for Paula was that it all depended on a belief in God which she had not so far acquired. It all had a sort of internal logic, but the absence of a belief in God seemed to be an insuperable obstacle for the secular Paula. She listened patiently, sang some more hymns, which reminded her of school, and sat respectfully through the interminable prayers. They had always left her mystified by their reliance on magic, miracle and the rewritten lives of imaginary people. After the service was over Melanie spent more minutes in detached prayer before she stood up, took hold of Matthew’s arm and allowed herself to be led out of the church into the Sunday sunshine.

  ‘Did it help?’ she asked Paula as they stood in the forecourt of the church among the graves.

  ‘Sort of. The vicar certa
inly had a lot to say on the subject, but it all needs a belief in God which I don’t possess.’

  ‘Are we going to the pub later?’ Melanie turned to Matthew, ‘I mean Julie’s pub. Sally’ll be there with her new bloke. She knows about forgiving. Why don’t we take Paula with us?’ Melanie explained the arrangement and they readily decided to meet in an hour or two.

  They sat in the sunshine in the familiar pub garden, sipping wine. Sally had not come with her new boyfriend but was clearly delighted to see Melanie. The sun had bleached Sally’s hair blonder than ever, making her blue eyes bluer. They hugged and kissed like the close friends they were. Matthew turned to Paula.

  ‘As you see, these two are very close. They have shared a lot in the past and are both more relaxed about life than when I first met them. Melanie will tell you the story. It all started in this pub with a murder, which Sally witnessed.’ Melanie and Sally took it in turns to tell their story, about their friends in prison and their weekly visits, and later how they had shared a common need to learn about forgiving. Paula listened in silence.

  ‘I wonder if revenge has something to recommend it,’ she reflected, ‘but it has a high price. There don’t seem to be any winners.’ Her hand went involuntarily to her face where the scar showed. Melanie leant forward and took Paula’s hand gently away from her face.

  ‘Is that what it’s about? Did someone do that to you, the person you need to forgive?’