Page 45 of Someone Else's Shoes
Grace turns to her mother, and her face is a mute protest.
‘I won’t be here for long,’ Nisha says, trying to sound conciliatory.
She imagines Ray’s response if she told him a stranger would be staying in his bedroom. His expression would be a close variation of Grace’s. ‘I promise I don’t snore.’
Grace lets out a low harrumphing sound.
Jasmine hands Nisha a towel. ‘She doesn’t like being here by herself. So it’ll all work out fine.’
Forget Grace. Nisha wonders briefly if she’ll be able to tolerate this. She and Carl had their own dressing rooms and bathrooms. She hasn’t spent time in such close contact with other people since she was at school.
‘Oh,’ says Jasmine. ‘And I got something for you.’ She disappears as Nisha stands there, holding the small yellow beach towel that will be hers. She returns with a plastic supermarket shopping bag and holds it out. ‘T-shirt?’ Nisha asks. They have discussed the fact that she will stay tonight and return for her things first thing in the morning.
‘Open it,’ says Jasmine.
Nisha hesitates, then peers into the bag. And slowly pulls out three pairs of her black silk La Perla knickers and her dark blue Carine Gilson lace bra. She stares at them, her fingertips registering that she knows them, that these are her things. Her underwear. She runs her hand across the silk, and looks up at Jasmine.
‘Well. A woman can’t feel like herself in someone else’s undies, right?’ And, abruptly, for the first time since this whole stupid mess began, Nisha bursts into tears.
17
‘She’s acting weird.’
‘What do you mean acting weird?’
‘Like she’s never home. And when she is home she seems to spend as much time as she can away from me. She’s always walking the dog or upstairs sorting laundry.’
‘Are you sure these aren’t just things that she feels she has to do … if you’re not doing them?’
‘Well, maybe. I guess. But normally when she’s home she just feels more …’ Phil scratches his head ‘… present? And there’s the makeup.’
Dr Kovitz waits.
‘Sam doesn’t wear makeup. I mean, a bit of mascara sometimes, yes. But mostly she just can’t be arsed. She’s not into all that. And I never minded, you know? I think she looks nice whatever. She’s, you know, not a bad-looking sort.’
‘And now she’s wearing it?’
Phil thinks. ‘Most days. I mean I’m in the room while she’s getting ready in the morning and she’s putting on foundation, eye-shadow, that blush stuff.’
‘But you don’t … say anything to her about it?’
‘No.’ Phil shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Well … well … I’ve found … it’s usually just simpler if she thinks I’m asleep.’
‘So she doesn’t know you know she’s putting on makeup.’
‘No.’ It sounds stupid put like this.
‘Phil, do you have specific concerns? I mean, do you understand why this is worrying you so much?’
‘It just doesn’t feel very … Sam.’
There is a long silence.
‘Can I ask about the physical side of your marriage?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘“Fine.”’
