Adam and Eve and Pinch Me by Ruth Rendell Page B

much.
    Matthew had done some writing for
New Scientist
and an occasional piece for the
Times.
Now, because it was the most important thing in his life after her, he settled down to write, in his despair, about what it meant to have his particular kind of anorexia. To hate food. To be made ill by that which was the staff of life. Eating disorders were becoming very fashionable at the time. His article was snapped up. It led to his being asked by a prestigious weekly if he’d contribute a column to be known as “An Anorexic’s Diary.” Matthew, the purist, objected at first and said the word should be “anorectic” but gave in because the money was so good. Michelle often thought how strange it was that though he could barely talk about certain foodstuffs he could write of them, describe his nausea and horror at particular kinds of fat and “slop,” define with a searching precision the items he could just bear to eat and why.
    “An Anorexic’s Diary” saved them selling the house and going on benefits. It was immensely popular and inspired a lot of letters. Matthew got a huge postbag from middle-aged women who couldn’t get off diets and starving teenagers and fat men who were addicted to beer and chips. It didn’t make him famous—he and she wouldn’t have liked that—but his name was once mentioned on a TV quiz show and was the answer to a crossword puzzle clue. All this afforded them a little quiet amusement. She hadn’t liked it when Jeff Leigh clapped Matthew on the back and said insinuatingly, “Wouldn’t do for you to gain weight in your position, would it? Mind you keep the rations low, Michelle. I’m sure you can eat for two.”
    That had hurt her because it was what you said to pregnant women. She thought of the child she’d never had, the daughter or son who would be sixteen or seventeen by now. Dream children she often dreamed of or saw before her closed eyes when she lay down. When Matthew came back into the room, she was asleep.

Chapter 6

    THE KNIFE WOULDN’T do. It was too big to carry about easily. Auntie had had quite a lot of knives, carvers and saws and choppers, which was funny because she’d never cooked much. Maybe they’d all been wedding presents. Minty went through them carefully and selected one which was eight inches long with a sharp point and a blade that was nearly two inches wide at the hilt.
    She’d never really got rid of Auntie’s stuff, apart from a few clothes she’d taken to the Geranium blind shop. They weren’t as clean as they might have been, and carrying them, even in a plastic sack, made her feel dirty all over. The rest she’d shut up in a cupboard and never opened again. She opened it now. It smelled awful. Just her luck when she was off to work; she’d have to have another bath before she went. The purse on a belt some people called a fanny pack or a bum bag but Auntie wouldn’t, it was too crude, hung by its strap over a hanger on which was a coat that smelled of mothballs. Minty resolved to have a real clean-up and clear-out that evening, take the stuff to Brent Council’s old clothes bank, and wash out the cupboard. The bum bag she brought delicately to her nose. One sniff was enough. She washed it in the bathroom basin, laid it to dry on the edge of the bath, then washed herself all over. When it was dry, it would make a convenient holder for the knife.
    As a result of all this, she was a bit late for work, very unusual for her. Josephine, all smiles, said nothing about her lateness but announced that she and Ken were getting married. He’d asked her over the wontons and shrimp toast they’d had last night. Minty wondered what form the proposal had taken since Ken didn’t speak any English.
    “I’m starting my Cantonese conversation class next week,” said Josephine.
    Minty accepted an invitation to the wedding. As she began the ironing, she asked herself if she would ever meet another man who would want her as Jock had done. If it