Moral Disorder - Margaret Atwood [73]
Arithmetic made no difference to Oona. She began telling mutual acquaintances back in the city what an awful person Nell was, and how she had turned Tig into an awful person as well. Nell heard about these remarks, as Oona intended she should: people were never shy about repeating such things.
Oona changed lawyers – Tig and Oona were drawing up the divorce settlement by then – and when the new lawyer couldn’t squeeze any more cash out of Tig, she changed lawyers again.
“He didn’t have any more money,” said Nell. “What could he do? You can’t get blood from a stone.”
“But you had it,” said Lillie.
“Not really,” said Nell. “She wrote some pretty vicious letters to Tig. By that time she was acting as if he’d abandoned her – like some Victorian scoundrel. Tig wouldn’t say a bad word about her though, because of the kids.”
“She was the mother,” said Lillie. “When it’s the mother and it’s boys, that’s the end of it.”
“In a nutshell,” said Nell. Lillie looked puzzled, so she added, “Exactly.”
Still, the new farm was no mansion, as the boys duly reported to Oona – there were rats, for one thing, and in the spring the dirt-floor cellar filled with water, and in the winter the wind blew right through the walls – so in time Oona calmed down somewhat. She went on vacations with the various companions, to semi-tropical locations, but though Tig hoped one of the companions would became a permanent installation, none did.
Time passed, and Tig and Nell moved back into the city – into the row house in Chinatown, the one with the cockroaches, which wasn’t much of a threat to Oona. The boys were grown up by now; they were no longer living with Oona. Tig could make his own arrangements with them, he didn’t have to go through Oona. So that source of friction was removed. Nell felt lighter, and less muted.
But then two things happened. Oona was forced to leave her large, convenient apartment and found herself in a series of unsatisfactory sublets, just at the point when she’d quit her latest job; and Tig and Nell moved to their new house, the house that she and Lillie were sitting in right now, having their tea.
“She can’t stand it,” said Nell. “She thinks we’re living in a palace. We were just lucky, we bought and sold at the right times, but she thinks we’re rolling in cash. It’s driving her up the wall.”
“You can see it,” said Lillie. “This happens. But she is a grown-up. Some have, some don’t have.”
“Yes,” said Nell. “But also she’s not well.”
Oona’s illness had been creeping up on her for years. She’d put on a lot of weight, and as she’d gained flesh she’d lost substance. Also she’d lost her nerve. The assurance that had carried her through was evaporating: she’d become hesitant, insecure. She was afraid of things. She didn’t want to go out of the house, or into any kind of tunnel, such as the subway.
Oona had been to doctor after doctor: none of them could cast any light on her condition. It might be this, it might be that. Every once in a while she’d collapse – right on the sidewalk, the latest time – and then she’d be carted off to the hospital and given yet another medication that didn’t work. Right now she was in a place with noisy neighbours who shouted and threw parties at night; in the mornings, needles would be found on the lawn. It was difficult and squalid, and frightening to Oona. That Oona could be so genuinely frightened was a new concept for Nell.
Tig said that if he had the money he would buy Oona a house to live in, for the sake of the boys. He said it into the air, not looking at Nell. He said that the boys were very worried.
Tig in his turn was worried about the boys, leaving Nell to be worried about Tig.
“They are good boys,” said Lillie, who’d met them. “Such nice manners. They want to help their mother.”
“I know,” said Nell. “Oona and the boys both think she’d be better off in her own house, without any