Chapter 15

Over the next few weeks, she went back. Twice, sometimes three times a week. Full shifts.

There were times when she told herself that she had never worked with her hands, that she had always been so far removed from real life and real people, that this was her penance. Other times, she believed this was her way of gaining power over men, of emancipating herself. Or was it revenge towards Tom? Or had she become a totally different person who needed to be fucked by multiple strangers each night to be satisfied?

She slept again with Phil. She got to know his body, what brought it to the edge of pleasure. She got to know his tastes, often anticipating them, sometimes suggesting new ideas that surprised him and intrigued him.

Then, one day, it was gone. She had no desire for him any longer. It was all just a bunch of happy memories.

She had become more familiar with the girls. She was one of them, after all.

Back at home, some of the ice had melted: doing things together brought her and Tom closer. While they still tiptoed around each other, Alice felt more inclined to forgive him and give them another chance.

Of course, he still didn't know about her secret life. He knew she had to disappear from time to time, and he let her. Alice thought he probably worried she was running around with another man and was getting ready to leave him. She wasn't resentful anymore. Instead, it saddened her to think Tom worried about this possibility, but she knew that the reality would have been harder to understand. She didn't even understand it herself. Also, this worry that was gnawing at Tom was healthy for him: Alice noticed that all the bottles of wine and spirits had disappeared from the house, and Tom never touched the stuff, not even at parties or dinners with friends.

'Have you dropped some weight?' she asked him, once day.

He seemed pleased and mumbled something about hitting the gym a few times a week.

'Take me for a drive this weekend: you and I,' she told him one day. 'I'll get a babysitter for the kids.'

It was a beautiful day. The sky was a pale blue, fluffy clouds were racing high in the sky. The sun was warm on the skin, but the air was pleasantly cool.

They got in the car. No driver. Alice was liking a less ornate lifestyle, devoid of maids and helpers to ensure you never grew calluses on your hands. She liked the roughness that comes from doing things for themselves: it proved to her that she was capable, that she was the maker of her own life, not just a spectator.

They drove out of the city.

The fields were empty patches of dug-up earth. The wheat and the corn had been harvested. Various birds were pecking the ground, looking for seeds. The leaves on the trees were starting to brown.

The car followed a canal for a while. It was wide and blue like the sky, segmented by the long shadows of the poplars that ran along the levy and by the floodgates.

'Doesn't it look like a painting?' Tom asked.

'I think some of the Impressionists came here to sketch.'

A fragment of a normal conversation.

Tom found a little patch of grass, a little far away from the main road. It was protected from view by a large hedge, and large oaks shaded it. Further down, the land sloped towards a little stream where ducks glided in a file. Now and then, in a little splash of water, one of the birds disappeared under the surface in search of its lunch.

It was like a little private garden that morning.

'How did you find this place?' she asked.

'I don't know. Do you like it?'

'It's so nice.'

Tom had packed a blanket and a basked with some food in the car. There was a bottle of wine as well: Tom offered it to her but didn't drink any.

Alice thought they painted a quaint picture. She was startled when she realised it was a familiar picture: they had done these things before, when they were not so busy trying to be something that pleased everyone but themselves. When they could be kind to each other without thinking there would be a price to pay for their honesty.

Why Tom? She asked herself this question once more. Then she remembered a funny, exciting, but also kind and generous man. Where had he gone?

He had probably been signed away with one of his many deals. He had been buried in other women's beds, and drowned in bottles of expensive anodynes.

The driver had taken away his feet. The assistant his hand. The cook had taken away his body. And the lawyers his tongue. No wonder she couldn't recognise Tom.

But now, here he was again. A little older, a little clumsier, and a little unsure of himself. Once people stopped telling him who to be, he didn't know who he was anymore. But he also didn't seem to know who she was either.

They had both changed.

Tom took his jacket off. He remained in his shirt, lying on his elbows, next to his wife. He breathed in the air and sighed contented.

Even Alice was happy. Things were – not getting back to the way they were – they were in fact becoming normal for the first time. New things were happening at home; new gestures that were familiar to many but unknown to the couple were acted out for the first time. They sifted the flour and mixed a cake with the kids; they tidied up their toys; they discussed little improvements to the décor of the house without a decorator or some consultant to tell them what they were supposed to like.

Alice and Tom were almost on a quest to see what else they could shave off their lives to make it more essential. The driver was the first to go. Then it was the cook. Finally, the maids. They did everything around the house. Eventually, they relented and hired a woman to come in twice a week to help with the cleaning.

'It's too big for me,' she protested.

But there was no question of getting her in for more days or to get a second person to help.

'It means I'll have to do more when I come home from the office,' Tom said firmly.

In fact, Tom was always home in time for dinner. Gone were the frequent work trips, the evenings out with the other guys, and the mysterious appointments he had to keep.

Alice, however, still stayed out all night many times a week, but Tom never asked her where she went or if it was necessary that she went. He knew he had to make changes to his own life and trusted his wife to know what she had to do.

The sense of reality that Alice had found with her work and the girls, the sense that reality was right in front of you and not behind a protective screen, was now creeping into life at home. Tom and Alice were waking up from the effects of the anastatic that money had afforded them.

Tom was telling Alice about his ideas for a little house in the country. She was not really listening – not to what he was saying, but she was paying attention to the music of his voice. It went up and down pleasantly; it paused; it resumed. The water of the stream and the chirping birds hidden in the trees made a nice counterpoint to it.

The day was getting warmer and Alice, lying so close to her husband, could now get whiffs of his body odour.

Her senses were being caressed by the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, the pleasant look he was regaining.

She unbuttoned the top of his shirt and caressed the top of his chest. She saw his Adam's apple go up and down, and he gave her a quick look.

Another button. The hand moved lower.

Alice started massaging his crotch. She moved closer and kissed him on the neck. Again, his smell. Stronger, more exciting.

Tom gave her a timid kiss on the lips. She kissed him back: it was a longing kiss, devoid of any resistance, and full of promise.

Tom felt her breasts under her blouse.

They kissed.

'I – I've never – I'm sorry – '

Tom moved back. What was it?

'It doesn't matter,' Alice said.

He had never had sex without a drink in his body. Even when he was younger: she thought about it, and it was true. That had been his fuel. Without it, he seemed lost, and her kisses, her body, her touch could not produce any effect.

'Do you want – ?'

Alice gestured towards the bottle of wine.

It must have taken all of Tom's strength to say not.

'Let's go for a walk,' she said gaily. 'Let's explore.'

They found a little bridge and crossed the stream. They walked through a small wood. It was peaceful and cool. The ground, covered with dead leaves and small branches, crackled under their feet.

'Tell me about the house you wanted to buy.'

Tom was dejected, lost in thought. Alice held his hand and gave it a strong squeeze: this didn't change anything; they were on the right track with each other.

'Thank you,' he said.