A Compromising Position

by Carole Matthews

  Barry opened the door. He looked tired and drawn, but his face lit up when he saw Josh. With a tiny jolt of shock, Adam realised that he’d never noticed that before. But then he rarely saw Barry; it was Laura who usually provided the barricade at the door. ‘Hi,’ Barry said. ‘Did you have a good time?’

  Josh nodded and threw himself against Adam. He crouched down and squeezed his son to him. ‘Be good,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll see you at the weekend.’

  Josh rushed inside. Barry hesitated before following him.

  ‘I need to speak to Laura,’ Adam said. He paused, not knowing how much to say.

  ‘She’s out,’ Barry said. ‘At a women’s group meeting.’

  Both men raised their eyebrows.

  ‘Can you get her to phone me?’ Adam said. ‘About this Australia thing.’

  ‘Ah,’ Barry said wearily. ‘Australia.’

  ‘It’s upsetting Josh.’

  ‘It’s upsetting us both,’ Barry stated. ‘You know that she’s talking of going without me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Adam said. ‘I did.’

  ‘What do you think about it?’ his ex-wife’s husband asked.

  Adam wasn’t sure that it was his place to comment. ‘You know what Laura’s like,’ he ventured, being as non-committal as humanly possible.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Barry said. ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ he complained, ‘but she’s not a great wife. Or even a great mother.’ He hung his head. ‘But then you’ll know that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Adam said. ‘But then I don’t think I was a great husband.’ I thought so at the time, he mused. But hindsight was a truly wonderful gift.

  ‘You’re a great father though,’ Barry said, a tinge of envy staining his voice.

  ‘I don’t know about that . . .’ Adam began to protest.

  ‘Josh is like a son to me,’ Barry interjected. He shook his head sadly. ‘I might not be able to show it like you do, but I love him as best as I know how. I can’t have children of my own. I expect Laura told you that?’

  ‘No,’ Adam said, uncomfortable at this unexpectedly intimate exchange with a man to whom he’d barely spoken two sentences in the last nine years. Barry clearly didn’t appreciate that Laura only ever revealed snippets of information on a need-to-know basis.

  ‘Josh is the closest I’ll ever know.’ Barry gave a sad twist of his lips that in better circumstances might have suggested a smile. ‘It’s difficult to live up to a father who’s a superhero, you know.’

  Adam shrugged. ‘It’s easy being a superhero if you only have to do it for a handful of hours each week.’ He tried a smile at the pale, drained face of Barry. ‘I’m not the one who has to make him eat his broccoli.’

  ‘Adam,’ Barry said, ‘if you do get custody of Josh, do you think that I could take him out sometimes?’

  ‘Do you think Laura will let him stay with me without a fight?’

  ‘No.’ Barry wrung his hands together. ‘I’m clutching at straws, mate.’

  ‘Me too,’ Adam said. His hands were going numb with the cold.

  ‘She might not be a good wife, but I still love her. I can’t help it.’ And Adam guessed that love sometimes made you like that. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, some people soldiered on for years trying to make unsuitable relationships suit. Barry looked more miserable than ever. ‘What do you think would make Laura happy?’

  ‘I don’t think Laura knows that herself.’ Adam jammed his hands into his pockets. ‘But I’m sure it isn’t moving to Australia.’

  ‘I don’t want her to go.’

  ‘If that’s how you feel,’ Adam said, ‘then fight for her.’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Barry admitted.

  ‘I can’t help you with that one, mate.’ Adam studied his feet. ‘Women are a complete mystery to me. Particularly my ex-wife.’

  ‘Whatever happens,’ Barry sighed, ‘let’s keep in touch.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll see you round,’ Barry said and closed the door.

  ‘Yeah,’ Adam said to himself and wondered why he’d always thought Barry was such a complete tosser when he was actually quite a decent bloke.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Cara has a piece of red cloth placed in the middle of the lounge carpet. The Navajos are doing their stuff on the CD player and there are so many candles that it looks like the set of Phantom of the Opera in here. All the spiders have legged it. The minute Cara opened the jar, they were off. I think Lester Piggott was riding one of them. The little bastards are probably lurking in the sofa and down the bathroom plug-holes to exact their horrid, hairy-arsed revenge on me when I’m least expecting it.

  ‘This is a spell to attract my perfect lover,’ Cara intones gravely.

  And, do you know what? I haven’t even the strength to laugh. I’ve got soaking wet hair and a soaking wet heart and I think I’ve probably just performed the traditional ritual for attracting pneumonia.

  Cara has a little red velvet pouch and she puts in all sorts of different coloured crystals. When she’s finished, she gives it a tender kiss. I have a feeling she’s done this before. There are also two glasses of red wine, which seems like a jolly good idea. I reach to take the nearer one to me, but Cara slaps my hand. ‘That’s not for you!’ she snarls. ‘It’s for Adam!’

  I perk up. ‘Is he coming?’

  ‘Only in spirit,’ Cara says mysteriously.

  I might have known. Just when I thought things were about to liven up. Then again, it’s probably a good job he’s not coming. The poor chap would have thought he’d arrived in the middle of Macbeth.

  ‘I’m supposed to have a picture of my perfect lover,’ my friend says, admitting to a rather fatal flaw in her magic. ‘I’ll just have to visualise him instead.’

  I hope a picture of Austin Powers doesn’t flash through her brain instead. Would it be cruel of me to focus on him? Ha, ha! Mind you, I’d probably end up with him then.

  ‘And you’re missing a few spiders,’ I say helpfully.

  From Cara’s black look, I don’t think this has escaped her attention. ‘We do, however, have a full moon,’ she says. ‘That will help.’

  Cara settles herself into a mystic pose which, in time-honoured tradition, I mimic. ‘We should move back the sofa and do a circle dance,’ she tells me.

  ‘Oh, let’s not,’ I beg.

  She tuts at me. I will never secure my place in the universe at this rate, her frosty glance tells me.

  Cara’s hair is spiralling madly round her face and she’s wearing a flowing silk number in a rich, scarlet red. Her mouth is painted with a matching red slash. She looks stunningly beautiful in a slightly insane way.

  ‘This is my altar of love,’ Cara says, indicating her red cloth and putting a piece of white paper in the middle of it.

  I don’t like to mention it, but it is actually an old cushion cover. The white piece of paper has Adam’s name scrawled over it several hundred times. And lots of kisses. This is the sort of thing I used to do in my Biology lessons when I was supposed to be paying attention.

  Cara smoothes out the piece of white paper signalling that magic is about to commence.

  ‘Where does the red wine come into it?’ I say, hoping that I still might get a snifter.

  ‘I’m going to infuse it with these herbs,’ Cara says, indicating a saucer of what looks like basil, crushed cardamom seeds and a few dried-up-looking cloves. But I suppose all cloves look like that. ‘Then all I’ve got to do is persuade Adam to drink it before the next full moon.’

  ‘Which is when?’ I say.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Cara says. Another flaw in her supposedly omnipotent knowledge of the black arts. ‘A while, I think. Two weeks on Thursday.’

  A guess if ever I heard one.

  Cara waves her wand about, nearly knocking over the glass of wine, and then closes her eyes. I, respectfully, close mine.

  She performs a bit of deep breathing and, to show solidarity, I do likewise.

 
Cara draws in a huge, sucking breath and exhales it sharply before she speaks. ‘When will I see you again?’ she says solemnly. She utters the next line under her breath, running the words together like an incantation.

  My eyes shoot open. This is the number one hit by The Three Degrees from the seventies! I remember it well. My mum rushed out and bought it and we used to play it over and over. I flip over her book. It might say Ancient and Effective Magical Potions Passed Down Through the Centuries on the cover, but this isn’t a book of spells, it’s a book of old song lyrics! This is a Three Degrees’ song. It is! Just as the other spell was a Carpenters’ one.

  Cara has opened her eyes. ‘What?’ she says with menace.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say innocently. She’s paid £17.99 for this. She’s been robbed.

  She opens her eyes to slits, daring me to intervene. I clasp my hands together in prayer and gaze serenely towards the ceiling, which is only slightly in the way of the celestial skies above while my friend continues to mutter Three Degrees’ lyrics in a mystical fashion.

  Even Cara is starting to look doubtful now. I resist the urge to burst into song. This was a great record – one of the best. I wanted to be one of The Three Degrees when I was younger. And would have been if I hadn’t been hampered by the fact that I wasn’t black, beautiful, and I couldn’t sing a note. And I was only four at the time. But, hey, we can all dream.

  Cara rushes through the rest of the spell with a distinct lessening in enthusiasm. When she’s finished, she feigns exhaustion.

  ‘Right,’ I say, rubbing my hands together. ‘Can we get pissed now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cara says. And she does, indeed, look like she needs a drink. ‘Just don’t touch this,’ she says, moving Adam’s special, spell-laden glass of wine with an exaggerated degree of reverence. ‘I’ll pour it into one of the empty bottles when we’ve finished.’

  We’re obviously in for a session. ‘And then what?’ I want to know.

  ‘I’ll take it into work or try to lure him here,’ she says. ‘Then all I’ve got to do is get him to drink it.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Bingo!’

  ‘Bingo?’

  ‘Bingo,’ she reiterates. ‘He falls madly in love with me and we live happily ever after.’

  ‘Nice,’ I say. Cara deserves a bit of happiness, even though I haven’t quite forgiven her for sending me out in the rain to collect spiders. I will get my own back some way, some day. And, as spell sessions go, this one wasn’t too painful and didn’t involve me in suffering too much abuse. I might even consider doing it again to snare The Hunk from the wine bar. Then I remember the spiders. Cara would definitely insist on them next time.

  ‘I’ll get the plonk then,’ I offer.

  ‘By the way, Emily,’ Cara says as I head for the door. ‘Where did you get to earlier tonight?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ I say as glibly as I can manage with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  Cara regards me coolly. ‘Are you sure you’re not up to something?’

  ‘No,’ I say and, as I rush out of the kitchen, I just hope that I don’t look too guilty.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Adam was languishing over his breakfast. He was reclining on his sofa in front of GMTV watching the chubby-cheeked Eamonn Holmes and the irrepressibly chirpy Fiona Philips as they dished the dirt on the daily news. Even the orange sofa was failing to give him a headache.

  As he sat and munched his way through his Weetabix, Adam decided he was in a very strange mood. He was feeling very elated and positive about his new career move. So much so that he’d decided to go out and buy himself some new threads. Trendy photographer-type clothes rather than has-been news snapper-type stuff. He looked down at his fraying jeans. Soon.

  By contrast, he was also feeling very flat re. the Josh/Antipodean situation. The sooner he got himself a solicitor and applied for custody of Josh, the better things would seem. If it hadn’t been the day of the Prime Minister’s visit to the new cinema club in Hampstead, he would have been tempted to phone in sick and sort out a few of his pressing domestic problems. As it was, he was going to be massively late and he still had a shirt to iron.

  But, before he did anything work-related, he urgently needed to talk to Cara about the photographs she wanted him to take, although the only plan they’d probably have would be to do blanket coverage and get as near to the front of the press scrum as possible. It was that sophisticated an operation. The other advantage of today marking a rare appearance in their borough by Tony Blair and entourage was that it would make him far too busy to talk to Cara about anything else.

  Also, he’d need to start packing things up at home as soon as possible, as Toff had said he could move into his new flat whenever he liked. Adam couldn’t wait to move. This place wasn’t exactly a dump – where in Hampstead was? And it wasn’t a sad bastard bachelor place, but it wasn’t a million miles away either. In Toff’s place, Josh could have his own bedroom and Adam wouldn’t be relegated to the lumpy sofa-bed every time he had his son to stay overnight.

  Fiona Philips kindly announced the time. Time to get a move on, Adam thought – just as his door bell rang. Padding to the door in his bare feet, he opened it, and the last person in the world he had expected to see was waiting there.

  ‘Hi,’ Laura said.

  ‘Hi,’ Adam replied, standing there with his empty Weetabix bowl and a bare chest. He held his bowl a bit higher, though why he should feel embarrassed, goodness only knows. Laura had seen everything he’d got and from several different angles.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Adam said. ‘Of course.’

  Laura nervously picked her way past him, taking in the peeling paint in the hall.

  ‘I’ve got a new flat,’ Adam said, a defensive note in his voice. ‘Two bedrooms. Nice garden.’

  ‘Good,’ Laura said with a heavy exhalation of breath.

  ‘Tea?’ he offered.

  ‘Yes,’ Laura said. ‘That would be nice.’

  Adam tried not to look at the clock. This was important. If Laura was here at this hour in the morning, it was very important. ‘I take it that this isn’t a social visit?’ Adam said, broaching the subject as he clanked about with the cups waiting for the kettle to boil.

  Laura sat on one of his rickety kitchen chairs. God, he’d never realised that everything in this place was falling down around his ears. She picked at the paint on his table with her long slender fingers. He handed her a mug and then leaned against the sink, arms folded.

  ‘Barry told me you wanted to talk to me,’ she said.

  ‘He’s a nice guy,’ Adam observed. ‘You could do worse.’

  ‘I already have done,’ Laura said, giving him a pointed look.

  Adam laughed. ‘I guess I deserved that.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I was just teasing.’

  Adam chewed his lip. ‘Have you come to a decision?’

  Laura had dark circles under her eyes and lifeless skin. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know,’ Adam said, ‘this isn’t just about me. Josh is finding it very hard.’

  ‘I don’t think he wants to go to Australia.’ Laura looked up at Adam. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No,’ Adam said quietly. ‘I think he wants to stay here. Where he can be with me.’

  ‘You love him very much, don’t you?’

  Adam felt his throat close up. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I do too,’ Laura said and Adam could see her eyes fill with tears. ‘I want what’s best for him.’

  ‘I’m not sure that dragging him halfway round the world is,’ Adam said.

  ‘You’re right.’ The tears rolled down Laura’s cheeks. ‘You seem to make a habit of it.’

  ‘Laura . . .’ Adam stepped forward, but she stilled him with a wave of her hand.

  ‘I’m going to Australia,’ she said, her voice brittle.

  ‘And that’s it?’ Adam said, his heart sinking. ‘No more discussion?’<
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  ‘There’s no need to discuss it, Adam,’ she pointed out. ‘You’ve said all you need to.’

  ‘I haven’t, Laura. Not by a long chalk.’ His voice sounded calm, but inside he was shaking. ‘I’ll fight you all the way on this.’

  ‘I don’t want to fight you, Adam,’ she said wearily. Laura gazed at him levelly. ‘I’m going to Australia alone.’

  It wouldn’t even have taken a feather to knock Adam over. ‘Alone?’

  Laura nodded hesitantly. ‘Alone.’

  Adam couldn’t find his voice.

  ‘I’m going alone. For six months. Maybe less – I don’t know. I might miss my son too much.’ Laura looked up bleakly. ‘Josh can stay with you. If you’ll have him.’

  If he’d have him? Adam could have broken down and wept like a baby. ‘Laura . . .’

  ‘Josh will be better off with you,’ Laura said. ‘This is about me being fucked-up, isn’t it?’ Her dark eyes appealed to him. ‘How can I make anyone else happy, if I’m not happy inside myself?’

  ‘I’m not sure that running away will help.’ Adam wanted to say more, so much more. ‘I did it once and I’ve lived with the guilt ever since.’

  ‘You tried your best, Adam,’ Laura said. ‘Even I know that now.’

  ‘Stay,’ Adam pleaded. ‘Stay and let’s sort it all out together.’

  ‘I’ve made plans,’ she said. ‘I need the freedom to find out who I want to be. Just for a while.’

  ‘And what about Barry?’ Adam asked.

  ‘He’s said he’ll wait.’ She gave a sad half-laugh. ‘He is a good man.’

  ‘Josh needs you around too,’ Adam said. ‘You’re his mother.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll like me better when I come back,’ Laura said. ‘Perhaps I’ll like myself.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Next week,’ Laura said.

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘There’s no point hanging around now I’ve made the decision.’