Greyglass by Tanith Lee (fiction novels to read .txt) 📗

American. From the little Anne had said, Susan had half expected him to be. But he had a strong East London accent. That was a surprise too.

Over the years, very, very occasionally, Susan had caught odd glimpses of the men her mother was dating. They were seen from the front room window, for example, walking Anne home from the bus-stop, or pulling up in a car. Once even, one arrived at the flat when Anne was out with someone else. No one was ‘serious’, but they were all quite presentable, two had even been handsome.

But Wizz looked like a film star.

“Can I come in?” Wizz asked, with arch enquiry.

She let him through, and straggled after him, and saw him go straight into the living room and plaster himself straight up against Anne. The x-certificate kiss left both Anne and Susan speechless.

“What do you think?” said Anne, that night, when they were alone again. This too was arch – or nervous?

“He’s very good-looking.”

“Yes. He’s nine years younger than me. Oh, he knows. What’s nine years? And his clothes are so good. Even his casual wear is smart. He can afford a tailor.”

“What does he do?”

“Oh, this and that. He’s with a firm of importers.”

As one would expect from a film star, Wizz’s teeth blazed white in a mahogany tan. His dark hair had that thick combed lushness. His long narrow eyes were clear, and of a pale arctic blue. His manicured hands were horrible, vulgar, hairy, with thick sausage fingers, one looking lethally constricted by its gold ring.

His voice got louder during lunch, too, as they drank the wine he had brought. He smoked, and mashed out his fags, Chesterfields, on the plate.

He acted like a boy. “What’s for pudding, Mummy?” he asked Anne. He said, innocently, of the flowers he had also brought, “Who gave you all those flowers?” Susan hated the stodgy expression ‘pudding’. Where had he picked it up? Why did he need re-thanking for the flowers? He spoke more or less grammatically, but his loud voice mangled the words. Sometimes he donned a fake American accent, like a DJ. He sprawled in the chair, spreading, his lunched waist bulging now he had undone his jacket. He smelled of expensive aftershave and something else.

He boasted.

“This guy, right, I’m telling you, we had nothing but trouble with this geezer. So I goes to him, Hey man, I said, Are you going to stop mucking us around or what? And this guy, you’re not going to believe this – this guy says, It’s the delivery boys. I said, And I’ve got fairies at the bottom of my arse.”

Anne was tight from the wine. Wizz was either tight or drunk. Shut out from this camaraderie of the pissed, as she was from their sexual union, Susan felt older than either of them, impatient and annoyed. And petrified, scared of what they might do next.

When she sobered up, Anne would realise this man was awful. Evidently, he could never have behaved like this before.

But no, he must have. She thought he was all right.

“Okay, ma’am,” said Wizz in a Texan accent. And Anne laughed.

He made little conversation with Susan. He flashed her white smiles, (toothpicked pristine at the table) and expected, with a touching self-confidence, that Susan must like him. But within half an hour even his extreme looks were turning like eggs. The teeth, so displayed, were too long. His eyes too small. He was too – there.

Wizz changed things. He never addressed Anne as Anne. When not calling her ma’am or Mummy, he called her Wilde. “Wizz and Wilde,” he said to Susan, “the Unbeatable Duo.” Susan he called, Sue, Suky, Sue-Ellen and once, Suey Fuey.

“Here, I’ve got to go over there next week. Might have a couple of spare tickets.” He was speaking now of the U.S.A.

Susan felt sick with terror. She had only felt startled before.

He saw her face and said, “Never been up in a plane? Flying – nothing to it. Sometimes I do it four, five times a month.”

“I’m supposed to start at college,” said Susan.

“College’ll keep.”

Susan offered to wash up. They let her. As she was running the water, she heard Wizz murmuring and then Anne said, laughing, “No, not now, Wizz.” “We’ll go in your room. She’s not a kid. She knows the score, don’t she?” “Not here.” “Send her out. Send her to buy something. What haven’t you got?”

Later, when Anne was in the bathroom, he came into the kitchen, which was small, and so he seemed to take up all the space. He looked into cupboards, picked things up and put them down.

“Well,” he said, “what d’ya think?”

“Sorry?”

“About The Trip?” It had two capital T’s.

Susan mumbled something, trying to placate him. She was afraid they would accidentally touch if he didn’t soon leave the kitchen. His smell was overpowering, aftershave and booze and, somehow, some sort of bad smell she couldn’t identify, for he was immaculate.

Afterwards, she could not, must not say to Anne, “He smelled funny.” Anne was fastidious and choosy. And she liked him. She slept with him, even if she wouldn’t do it in the flat when Susan was there. So… it must be Susan’s imagination, the faint stench.

When she had finished the washing up, Susan had to go back to the balcony, where they were both now sitting in the sun.

“How about I take both my girls for a ride?”

Wizz was including Susan, trying to make her adult and important, attractive, valuable enough to be a possession: my girls. Susan smiled wanly. “You go. It’s all right.” As if tactfully giving up a treat so the lovers could let rip.

She thought Anne would argue, insist. But Anne only laughed. So they went. From the window, Susan saw Anne and Wizz (Wizz and Wilde) drive off the flat forecourt in his big, expensive, gleaming car. It was three o’clock. Anne came back at midnight, alone. “That car is so comfortable. That’s the fifth car he’s had since I’ve known