by Mike Gayle
The kids hadn’t helped matters. Rose had some boyfriend that neither he nor Joyce approved of, and his constant fear was that she would get into trouble and throw away all the opportunities he and his wife had worked so hard for her to have.
David, meanwhile, seemed to be struggling to keep up in school. He’d just scraped into grammar school and although he loved playing rugby, and any other sport for that matter, he was finding the academic work difficult and his school report had not been good. Sometimes it seemed to Hubert that the only place he felt sure he knew what he was doing, where he felt confident, where he could find a little bit of peace, was at work, and it was here that he first met Marianne.
Hubert was now working in the maintenance department for a big housing trust in south London. It was for the most part a supervisory role, allocating all of the jobs that came in day by day, but every now and again they would be so overrun with work that Hubert himself would step in and it was on a day like this when he was called to a job at a new block of flats in Camberwell.
At first, he barely noticed Marianne, a single mother with two school-age children. But then the issue had proved to be more complicated than he first thought, involving return visits over several days, and the two eventually got to talking as she brought him cups of tea and biscuits every hour on the hour.
Over the course of the job, Marianne told him all about her childhood in rural Ireland. How she’d escaped the confines of country living for London as soon as she could. Her first few months had been tough, working all the hours she could to make ends meet. Then she’d met the man who was to become the father of her children, and for a while things had been good. But one day he left for work and never came home. After lots of anguish and frantic searching, she discovered that he had in fact returned to Liverpool and the young family he’d never told her about.
Spurred on by her frankness, Hubert found himself talking too. Not just about his own journey to this country but also the recent passing of his mother. Talking to Marianne was different from talking to Joyce somehow. He didn’t have to worry about what she would think of him, or how she would react to anything he said. He could just talk.
Even though he had mentioned having a wife and children several times, when the job ended and she suggested that they might keep in touch, Hubert had found himself agreeing, reluctant to give up the small oasis of calm he had found for himself. Despite his not telling Joyce about Marianne, this had all seemed harmless enough to begin with, even when their ad hoc arrangement became a regular weekly occurrence.
One day Marianne told Hubert that her children would be away visiting her sister for the weekend and invited him over for dinner. It was then Hubert knew he could no longer fool himself that this was as innocent as he had pretended. Despite the casual nature of her invitation, Hubert was well aware of what would happen should he accept. At the time he had told her he would need to check his schedule and that had been the last time they had spoken.
“Well, well, well,” said Gus as Hubert finished speaking. “I did not see that coming.”
Hubert shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Me neither. This sort of thing… well, you know… it’s just not me.”
Gus laughed.
“You can say that again! All these years I hoped you’d rub off on me but it’s looking like it’s the other way around.”
Hubert nodded, acknowledging the truth of his friend’s statement. Gus was, after all, something of an expert in this field, two-timing, three-timing girlfriends and even messing around with married women on occasion. Hubert had always held a poor opinion of his friend’s activities and yet here he was, about to go down the very same road.
“Gus, man, tell me what to do. Me can’t sleep, me can’t eat, thinking about it all. Me sure Joyce knows something is up.”
“But strictly speaking you haven’t done anything wrong yet… have you?”
“Of course not!”
“Then what’s to worry about? Just don’t go.”
Hubert sighed.
“But that’s just it. Me seriously thinking about it.”
Shocked to hear the words coming from his own lips, Hubert suddenly felt his mouth become dry. He picked up his drink to slake his thirst and ended up draining the glass completely.
Gus shook his head mournfully.
“Smiler, you is not built for this kind of thing. You is a good man. You is a family man. You were never like me, always chasing after the girls them, so don’t start now. Think of everything you built up these past twenty years. Think of Joyce, think of Rose, think of David. You have too much to lose to risk it all on one night of foolishness.” Gus drained his glass too and then stood as if making ready to go to the bar to get them another round. “I know you must think I’m nothing but a hypocrite, given the way I carry on with the women them, but my advice to you is don’t do this. Don’t do it at all, because if you do you’re going to make a whole heap of trouble for yourself. A whole heap of trouble.”
Hubert spent the next few days in a state of complete turmoil. He felt as if his guilt were written all over his face and any time Joyce asked him what was wrong it was as if she’d read the words written there and was waiting for an explanation. He found it almost impossible to concentrate at work, and driving back from a job, he had almost killed himself and two of the lads he worked with by failing to give way at a junction and careening straight across the road, only narrowly missing a bus heading straight toward them. At night he was so fearful of talking in his sleep that for three days in a row he deliberately stayed up late on the pretext of watching a film on TV, only to fall asleep on the sofa and stay there until morning.
When Joyce reminded him that she was taking the children up to Manchester for the weekend to visit Mrs. Cohen’s niece, Ruth, Hubert took this as a sign—whether from fate or from the devil, he wasn’t sure—that he should go through with meeting Marianne. The following day, after waving them off at the station, he returned home, had a bath, slipped on his best suit and a brand-new tie he’d been saving for a special occasion, and drove over to Camberwell.
On the way, Hubert tried not to think about anything. Not the chicken, rice, and peas Joyce had left him in the fridge to tide him over while she was away. Not the hug Rose had given him before getting on the train, nor David’s last-minute appeal to stay at home and keep his dad company. Instead he tried to focus on the journey and the fact that once he’d done this thing it would be out of his system, in the past, left behind once and for all so that he could get on with the business of being himself again.
Hubert’s heart was racing as he pulled up across the road from Marianne’s flat. Switching off the engine, he sat for a moment trying to calm himself down, watching people come and go about their business, kids playing football on the street or riding up and down the curbs on their bikes. It all seemed so normal, so ordinary, none of it a fitting prelude to such a monumental act of betrayal. Hubert wanted empty streets, dark skies, perhaps a thunderstorm. He wanted heavy rain, harsh winds that chilled you to the bone, and not a single person in sight. But what he got instead was a fine summer’s evening in London, which oddly made what he was about to do seem all the more terrible.
Taking his keys out of the ignition, he caught sight of the half-empty packet of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit chewing gum lying on the dashboard. David had left it on the back seat the other day and Hubert had tutted when he’d found it, having told the kids off a hundred times about leaving their rubbish in the car. He’d tossed it angrily onto the dashboard, meaning to take David to task about it when he got home. But there it had remained, baking in the summer sun, and now here it was a week later, an old forgotten pack of chewing gum belonging to his son, the son he’d had with the wife he was about to betray.
Hubert took the chewing gum and placed it in the glove box, out of sight, out of mind. He reached for the door, then stopped when he realized there was a problem. He felt as though he was stuck in his seat, glued in
position, as though a force greater than himself was keeping him in place. His body simply didn’t want him to go through with this. The longer he sat there, the more he realized that Gus was right. He wasn’t this kind of man. This wasn’t the sort of thing he did. He had too much to lose to risk it all. He loved Rose, he loved David, but most of all he loved Joyce, and the thought of what he had been about to do to her was enough to make him feel sick to his very soul.
Starting the engine, Hubert made his way back to Bromley, uttering all manner of promises and vows under his breath about how things would be from now on. He would never again take his family for granted; he would be the best father he could be and would love Joyce with all his heart and strength forevermore.
The following weekend, while the children were out with their friends, Hubert asked Joyce if she fancied an ice cream and a walk in the park. As they sat side by side on a bench near the children’s playground, lamenting how long it had been since either Rose or David had shown an interest in such places, Hubert decided this was the moment to bare his soul. To tell his wife everything.
“Joyce?”
“Hmm,” she replied, her eyes closed as she sat, like a sleepy cat enjoying the warmth of the sun.
“Me have something me need to tell you—”
Without opening her eyes, she cut him off.
“Don’t… don’t say another word, Hubert. Not another word. Just tell me that whatever it is, it’s over.”
Hubert bit his lip. She knew. She must have known all along.
“It never really even started.”
With her eyes still closed, she reached over and took his hand and together they listened to the sounds of the children playing, of the sparrows chirping in the holly bush behind them, of the distant chimes of the ice-cream van, and made a wordless agreement never to speak of the matter again.
25
NOW
It was twenty-nine minutes past seven in the evening on the day of the inaugural meeting of the Campaign to End Loneliness in Bromley. Hubert, Ashleigh, and Jan were standing at the front of the community room of the library, staring at forty empty chairs.
“This is a disaster,” said Ashleigh. “An absolute disaster. No one’s coming. It’s just going to be me, you, Jan, and two family-sized packs of Hobnobs. Even Emils hasn’t turned up like he said he would. I can’t believe I forked out for a babysitter for this!”
Hubert was torn. On the one hand he didn’t want Ashleigh to be disappointed, but on the other he couldn’t help feeling that it was probably all for the best.
“Maybe we should hang on a little bit longer,” he said, in an effort to sound encouraging. “You never know, some people might be stuck in traffic.”
“The meeting’s supposed to start in less than a minute,” snapped Ashleigh uncharacteristically. “There’s no traffic jam. No one’s coming, that’s all!”
Hubert, keen to say something comforting, opened his mouth to reply just as the door at the rear of the room swung open to reveal an elderly lady dressed, in spite of the pleasant weather, in a thick navy-blue padded jacket, brown trousers, boots, and a transparent rain hood.
“Is this where the meeting is?” she barked. “It says so on this leaflet!” She waved one of Ashleigh’s yellow flyers in the air as if they’d demanded proof.
“You’re in the right place, love,” said Jan.
“So I haven’t missed it then?” she asked, looking round the empty room.
“No,” said Jan, “we’re just running a bit late, that’s all. You’re right on time. Take a seat and I’ll sort you out a cuppa. What’s your name, love?”
“Maude,” said the woman gruffly. “I take three sugars in my tea and I’ll have a couple of those biscuits as well, while you’re at it.”
While Maude got herself settled and Jan sorted out her drink, the door swung open again, this time revealing a short, balding, slightly overweight man who appeared to be in his midfifties. He was wearing faded black jeans, scuffed Dr. Martens boots, and a T-shirt with a picture of the current leader of the Labour Party on it looking distinctly like Karl Marx.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I’m Tony. I would’ve been here earlier but just as I was finishing my shift, I found a man fast asleep in the biography section and couldn’t wake him up for love nor money.”
“You work here in the library?” asked Jan.
Tony nodded. “Part-time,” he said. “For my sins. The rest of the time I work on my novel.” He pointed to a flyer on one of the chairs. “It was me who pinned one of these up on the library noticeboard. I thought I’d come along and add my two penn’orth.”
“I hope he was all right,” said Maude anxiously, as Jan handed her a cup of tea.
“Who?” asked Jan.
“The man who fell asleep in the biography section. I’ve done it myself a few times and it can be quite a shock to the system when you wake up to find you’re not in your own bed!”
“He was fine,” said Tony. “A few too many glasses of pop at the pub next door, if you know what I mean.”
Just as Hubert was beginning to wonder if anyone else would turn up, the door opened once again and in strode two women, one of whom Ashleigh greeted warmly.
“Hi, Randip,” she said, running over to hug the plump Indian woman Hubert recognized from the vet’s. “I’m so chuffed you came.”
“Well,” said Randip, “it’s for a good cause, isn’t it? And anyway, I can watch EastEnders on catch-up, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.”
Ashleigh walked the woman over to meet the others. “This is my friend Randip from work,” she explained. “Randip, this is Hubert and Jan.”
“And I’m Fiona,” announced the woman who had come in at the same time as Randip. She was tall and smartly dressed with fire-engine-red hair cut into a sharp bob. “I picked up one of your leaflets in the hairdresser’s the other day and I thought it was a marvelous idea.”
At first glance Hubert thought she seemed middle-aged, but on closer scrutiny he concluded she was somewhat older and that her youthful appearance was down to her hair and the trendy horn-rimmed glasses and bright plastic jewelry she was wearing.
“Take a seat,” said Hubert, feeling that he ought to show willing, “and Jan will sort you out a drink.”
Suddenly the doors swung open again and Emils burst in, red-faced and panting, still wearing his blue-and-white courier uniform and holding three large Tupperware boxes.
“Have I missed meeting?” he asked. “Traffic in Bromley is nightmare.”
“You haven’t missed anything,” said Ashleigh, brightening considerably. “We haven’t started yet. The important thing is you’re here now.”
“Thank you,” said Emils, and then he surveyed the room before announcing, “I made cupcakes for meeting: chocolate and coffee, lemon meringue, and salted caramel. Where should I put them?”
“I’ll sort those out for you,” said Jan, taking the boxes from him. “You sit yourself down and I’ll make you a drink. You look like you could do with one.”
As Emils took a seat, Ashleigh turned to Hubert and said excitedly: “I can’t believe it, people are actually coming! This hall could be full if it carries on like this!”
Hubert remained skeptical and sure enough, although by ten to eight several cups of tea and coffee had been drunk and a good number of Emils’s cakes consumed, after that first flurry no one else appeared. And so, having discussed her plan with Hubert, Ashleigh asked Emils to help her make a small circle of chairs at the front and position the portable whiteboard to the side of her, and then called the meeting to order.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began nervously. “I’d like to welcome you all to the very first committee meeting of the Campaign to End Loneliness in Bromley. The plan tonight is to… is to… is to…”
Ashleigh’s hands were shaking and her face was so pale that Hubert thought she might be about to faint. At pains not to draw attention to himself but un
able to just sit and watch her struggle, Hubert stood up and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“You can do this,” he whispered in her ear. “Just take a deep breath and have another go.”
“Sorry,” she said as Hubert returned to his seat. “I’m not very good at public speaking… Speaking normally I can do till the cows come home, but the minute I’ve got an audience I get nervous.”
“Don’t worry, love,” said Jan. “You’re doing brilliantly.”
“Absolutely,” said Fiona. “You’re doing very well, my dear.”
“You are wonderful,” said Emils, and it sounded so much more like an assessment of his feelings toward her than a word of encouragement that everyone looked at him briefly before turning their attention back to Ashleigh.
“Thank you, Emils,” said Ashleigh, blushing. “And everyone else too. I’ll try again, shall I? Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the very first committee meeting of the Campaign to End Loneliness in Bromley. For those of you who don’t know me, my name’s Ashleigh. I’m a single mum, I work part-time at the vet’s, and I’m fairly new to the area. And this,” she said, gesturing to Hubert, “is my neighbor and good friend, Hubert Bird. Hubert has lived in Bromley for over fifty years and it’s the two of us who had the idea to start this campaign. So that’s us,” she said, looking expectantly at the faces looking at her. “As there aren’t that many of us, how about we go around the room and everyone introduce themselves and say a bit about why you’re here tonight.”
There was a bit of an awkward silence as people shuffled uncomfortably in their seats, nobody wanting to be the one to go first. When it became obvious no one else was going to volunteer, Fiona cleared her throat and said, “Good evening, everyone. My name’s Fiona and I suppose I’m here because my husband died last summer, six months after we both retired, me from a thirty-year career as a teacher at a private girls’ school and him after forty years in finance. I’ve found that because I look after myself and keep myself busy, people often assume I’m never lonely, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The reality is that losing Geoff has hit me hard and I’m just not used to spending hours on my own. So if I can do anything to stop people feeling the way I have at my worst, then I’d like to do it.”