Page 53 of The Women

‘I’d rather not show you,’ she says after a moment, ‘if it’s all the same. They made me uncomfortable that’s all, and we thought that maybe one of them was left in my house, but to be honest, I’m not even sure about that anymore. I just got the heebie-jeebies; forget I said anything.’

But Jenny is leaning forward and looks uncharacteristically serious. She pushes her long red hair behind both ears, something businesslike in the gesture. Her hair is dyed, Samantha realises in that moment. Punk copper rather than natural auburn. And her freckles, even her freckles appear darker, as if they’ve come out in support.

‘Samantha,’ she says, her voice deeper, ‘if someone is sending you abusive notes, you need to report it. If it’s someone from the class—’

‘It’s hardly abuse. Just words. There’s no proof it’s anyone from the class.’

‘OK, but words are still abuse. It’s intimidation. Anything that makes you uncomfortable or frightened is serious. It’s abuse no matter how you look at it.’ She reaches out her hand, as if to hold Samantha’s, but Samantha picks up her cardboard cup.

Abuse. The term is strong, but it soothes something in her. It explains something about the way she’s feeling, makes sense of it, gives her the right to feel it, almost.

‘If you don’t want to show us, that’s fine,’ Jenny says. ‘And just for the record, I can assure you it’s neither of us. We only looked you up once we got home, didn’t we, Aish? So why would we write anything malicious? But you do need to tell the police.’

‘I have,’ she says. She will make no mention of Sean. It isn’t that she still distrusts Aisha and Jenny; she’s just not ready to trust them completely. Simply because someone seems genuine doesn’t mean they are. And even if they are genuine in one respect, it doesn’t mean they are in all.

Jenny sits back in her chair. ‘I hope they catch him and chop his knob off.’

‘We don’t know it’s a man.’

‘It will be,’ she says, her expression sour. ‘It always is, trust me.’

Trust me.That’s what Peter always says. And there’s that aggression in Jenny too, as in the poems. Samantha shakes her head, shakes the thought away. For a moment, none of them say a thing.

‘I need a pee,’ Jenny says and disappears in the direction of the ladies’.

Samantha looks at her watch, pulls her satchel strap onto her shoulder and stands. It’s only half past two, but she has no idea what to say or where the three of them go from here. She wants more than anything to be alone to think. Maybe write a list of everything that’s making her feel so wired. Marcia would know what to do, or at least she would talk it through until Samantha felt better. But Marcia is a blurry memory of something precious lost.

‘Don’t go,’ Aisha says. ‘There’s something else.’

I know, Samantha almost says,but I’m too tired to hear it.

‘I used to see Peter,’ Aisha says. ‘I mean, more than see. We were together. That’s why I needed you to know that I didn’t know you were teaching this course. I wouldn’t want you to think anything … I mean, I’m not here with any darker purpose or anything. And now you’ve said about the poems, I can’t imagine what you must’ve been thinking.’

‘I know,’ Samantha replies, sitting back down. ‘About you and Peter, I mean.’

‘You know? How?’ Aisha gives a slow nod. ‘He read the names on the homework.’

‘No.’

‘You mentioned me?’

‘No, actually. I found a photograph of the two of you in a drawer.’

‘Listen.’ Aisha reaches across the table, but again Samantha withdraws her hand.

‘You need to know who you’re dealing with.’ It’s Jenny, back from the loo. She plonks herself in her chair and sighs.

The conspiratorial glance passes once again between the two women. Whatever is coming, Samantha has the feeling she’s about to be pulled into it, whether she wants to or not.

‘Let me tell you how Aisha and I met.’ Jenny rests both elbows on the table; her hands weave together in front of her. ‘We were in the pub, as we told you. The Marlborough Arms.’

Samantha’s stomach churns. Whatever is coming, she doesn’t want it in her head, but she’s desperate to hear it. And in all of this she has a feeling that she already knows it, the essence of it at least.

‘I don’t know how we got talking,’ Jenny is saying. ‘But we were quite pissed, weren’t we, Aish? We liked each other, we made each other laugh. We ended up walking the same way to the Tube at Goodge Street. And I don’t know exactly how it came out, but Aisha mentioned that she was going out with this guy. She was going through a rough time with him, beginning to think he was a bit of a shit.’

‘I was in the second year of a part-time MA,’ Aisha says. ‘Peter and I started going out in my final year. I graduated, did some crap jobs, and eventually he suggested I do an MA, so I did. I was twenty-six when I met Jenny. I’d been with Peter for five years.’

‘So she’s talking about this guy.’ Jenny takes up the story again. ‘And she says he’s a lecturer. She tells me he’s a little older than her.’ She glances at Aisha. ‘Mentions his beautiful house, tells me he teaches art history. And before she even said his name, I knew it was Peter.’

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