These Days of Ours

by Juliet Ashton

  He hadn’t laughed. Instead, Dad had applied the seldom used full version of her name. ‘Not everything in life is a joke, Catherine.’

  That’s when Kate had decided that, come what may, Dad and Jia Tang were going to meet. They were going to clasp hands. It’ll give him something to live for.

  In the here and now of the spare room, Becca and Charlie were silent. Actively silent, as if there was much they could say but they chose not to.

  ‘I’ve planned the whole trip. It’s costing a fortune. We’ll travel first class, with help at every stage. I’ve taken out the most comprehensive insurance imaginable. The lady who runs Yulan House has insisted we stay with her and— what?’ She looked from Charlie to Becca, belatedly grasping their disapproval.

  ‘Kate,’ said Charlie, ‘your dad’s not well enough to do all that.’ He said it sadly, as if breaking something to her.

  ‘Obviously not at the moment.’ Kate smiled at their naivety. ‘But he’ll brighten up. Look,’ she said, as the others passed worried glances, ‘I’m not stupid. It’s not as if Dad’s going to be leaping around like a deer. I know he’s changed for good. And I know . . .’ She stumbled. However many times she faced this fact it never seemed to diminish. ‘I know, realistically, he hasn’t got that long left. But he has good periods and bad periods and as soon as he rallies I’m poised to book the flights.’

  ‘Isn’t it a tiny bit ambitious?’ said Charlie.

  ‘You’ve gone stark staring mad,’ said Becca. Shtark shtaring; she was drunker than Kate had thought.

  ‘This is Dad’s dream. His dream.’ Kate emphasised the word. ‘He’s done so much for Yulan House, put so much energy and imagination and even cash into it over the years. He deserves this.’ She was baffled by their reaction. She’d envisaged whooping and hugging. ‘I won’t let him die without seeing Yulan House. I can’t.’

  Charlie sent Becca a warning look, accompanied by a slight shake of his shaggy Geldof hair.

  Becca said, ‘Let’s talk about this tomorrow.’ She stood, stretched, and adjusted her conical breasts. ‘Look after the fruit of my loins, you two. I have to sing.’ She bounded out of the room and almost fell down the stairs in her keenness to return to the karaoke machine.

  On the bed Flo stirred and grumbled. She was a gentle child, happiest in somebody’s arms, not an adventurer. A little spoiled perhaps, but when Kate peeked at the strawberries and cream face on the pile of coats she thought Of course we spoil her: she’s adorable.

  When Flo settled down again, Kate and Charlie sat with their backs against the bed in the semi-darkness.

  ‘In a way,’ said Charlie, ‘I’m glad Julian didn’t come tonight.’

  ‘That’s not very nice.’ Kate butted shoulders with him.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m fond of the guy.’ That, Kate knew, wasn’t quite true. Charlie and Julian were meshed together, like family: you’re not required to like your family. ‘But I don’t miss the sneering. My parents-in-law and Julian don’t agree on what makes a good party.’

  ‘He’s working on the sneering thing.’ This was a safe place, a circle of trust where both Kate and Charlie could lovingly diss their other halves, in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be repeated, or inflated. ‘After years of practice, he can confront Mum’s musical cake slice without wincing.’

  Charlie laughed. He, too, loathed that cake slice.

  All lovers need to let off steam, thought Kate, feeling a warm buzz of satisfaction at making Charlie hoot. A tendril of guilt crawled over her but she brushed it away. If wives can’t whinge a little about their husbands then the pressure builds up until eventually they blow. Becca’s tendency to overstate – Julian said WHAT? – rendered her useless for gentle grousing. Sane, humane Charlie was perfect. ‘What are you working on?’

  No point asking about the novel. It had been months since he mentioned it.

  ‘At present I’m penning a campaign for a leading brand of feminine hygiene products.’ Charlie remembered his fancy dress costume. ‘I mean effing feminine sodding hygiene feckin’ products.’ He glanced neurotically at his daughter but she was asleep.

  ‘Julian goes all funny if he finds a stray tampon. As if it might bite him.’

  ‘I’ve got over that. My desk at work is covered in sanitary towels.’

  ‘Nice image.’

  ‘The budget’s astronomical. We’ve got an award winning lighting guy, a top UK art director and the producer’s booked a household name to do the voiceover. But, it’ll still end up being two birds frolicking on a beach with a kite.’

  ‘You daren’t make it realistic.’ Kate sketched a scene with her hands. ‘Imagine it. A woman, her face pale and her hair greasy, bent double and shouting at her boyfriend.’

  ‘How did we both end up in such dumb jobs?’ Charlie ignored Kate’s affronted yip. ‘I sit up all night writing scripts to make people wander into supermarkets and put a specific product in their baskets. You sell paper hats and party horns and . . . and . . .’

  ‘And Donald Duck masks,’ said Kate, helpfully. The truth was more complex than Charlie admitted. They both worked hard and Kate derived a simple, real pleasure from handing over a bag full of trifles. ‘Don’t knock it. It pays the bills.’ She wondered if, deep down, Charlie was proud of his ‘silly job’ the way she was proud of her shops.

  ‘Has Becca told you her latest scheme?’

  ‘The flat in town? Yup. ’Fraid so.’

  ‘She talks about it as if it’s essential. As if everybody has a country house and a pied à terre.’

  From long phone calls at late hours Kate knew how lonely Becca felt in the cottage when Charlie stayed over in town, burning the midnight oil for some entitled client.

  Charlie said, ‘She says we can use it for date nights.’ He widened his eyes. ‘Date nights. Aren’t they something made up by women’s magazines?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Becca says she wants to be like you and Julian. Having slap up meals in the hot new restaurants.’ Charlie looked sideways at Kate. ‘Is that what you do?’

  ‘In a word, no.’ Kate was accustomed to Becca’s grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side mentality. ‘Last night I knocked up cheese on toast for us both.’ She’d carefully carved around the jade dots of mould on the cheddar.

  Neither of them pointed out it had been Becca’s decision to move to the country, just like neither of them had pointed out it was her ‘heart’s desire’ to have a dog when she whined about exercising poor over-bred Jaffa. Kate asked, ‘Can you afford to buy another property?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘As soon as I grow a money tree out of my bum.’

  Her chuckle died on her lips. ‘Oh good God. Do you know where we are?’

  Puzzled, Charlie said, ‘Marjorie’s spare room.’ Realisation dawned. ‘Christ. Is this the bed we—’

  ‘Yup.’

  Their shoulders sprang up to their ears as embarrassment and nostalgia fought for supremacy.

  ‘How long ago?’ Charlie totted it up. ‘Ten years.’ He whistled. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘I thought it was less.’ Kate felt tender towards those two awkward, lusty teens. She remembered the tingling, the breathlessness. It had been a watershed, a night of epic change. Kate felt shy, suddenly. That night she and Charlie had been naked both literally and metaphorically.

  ‘I was very, um, keen if I remember rightly,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Keen’s one way to put it.’ Kate couldn’t meet his eye. She wondered if she’d gone as pink as she felt. ‘Bloody quick is another.’

  ‘I’ve improved since then.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘I’ve got awards and everything.’

  This light banter was do-able. Any exploration of the deep emotion they’d felt was not. ‘That’s not what Becca says.’

  Charlie jerked. ‘Eh? What’s she said?’

  Kate barked, a short, sharp delighted laugh. ‘Nothing! We don’t discuss it, you fool.’

  �
��Well, you never know. You two are close.’ Charlie slumped with relief.

  ‘It would be icky,’ said Kate. ‘We can’t talk about . . . you know . . . before.’

  They were silent.

  ‘Look at us, awkward again,’ said Charlie, half serious. ‘Shame. We’ve worked so hard to be normal with each other.’ He sketched quotation marks in the air.

  Can I take his hand? Kate didn’t allow herself to think too hard. She reached for his fingers and held them. ‘No, it’s not awkward. Let’s not let it be awkward.’

  ‘This is good. This.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘This is good, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Charlie. I mean, Dad and everything . . .’

  ‘Friendship.’ Charlie nodded vehemently. ‘It’s the most important thing. Not that I’m belittling love. Love is great. But . . .’

  ‘This is so much better. I agree. It really is.’ Kate sighed happily. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘We can talk,’ said Kate. ‘Really talk. And because we used to . . .’ She wasn’t sure how to describe it.

  ‘We used to be in love.’ Charlie was sure, apparently.

  ‘Yes, exactly, because of that, we know each other well and there are no misunderstandings. Friendship,’ she smiled, ‘rocks.’

  ‘I second that.’ Charlie repeated himself in an Oirish accent. ‘I feckin’ second that, you bastard.’

  Kate laughed. ‘This is nice,’ she said. And it was. It just wasn’t enough.

  Letting go of her hand, Charlie pulled out his wallet and rifled through it. ‘Look at this.’

  ‘Not another pic of the most photographed child on Earth?’

  ‘Nope.’

  It took a moment for Kate to recognise the folded envelope, the ‘K’ in Charlie’s handwriting just visible.

  ‘You gave this back to me once, Kate.’

  ‘I remember.’ Kate wondered what Charlie was smiling about. She felt flattened, like a tent peg hammered into the grass, at the sight of the note.

  ‘I want . . .’ Charlie sucked in a great breath through his teeth. ‘Bear with me, Kate, I didn’t plan this. But I want you to have it.’

  Kate clambered to her feet. ‘No thanks.’ She was curt. She glanced at Flo on the bed and the little dot’s resemblance to Becca stung. This was not a conversation to have in the same room as such an innocent.

  ‘Hang on.’ Charlie leaped up. ‘I’m doing this all wrong. Sorry. Can you just humour me?’

  ‘What?’ Kate was impatient, confused.

  ‘It wasn’t easy writing that letter, you know.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy reading it.’

  ‘But it’s yours.’ Charlie held out the ageing envelope, which seemed to Kate to have doubled in size.

  ‘I don’t need it.’ Kate closed her eyes. ‘I can quote the sodding thing, Charlie.’

  ‘Is this a row?’ asked Charlie, amused and dismayed at the same time. ‘Are we fighting?’

  ‘Don’t be cute.’ When he put his head to one side like that it demeaned what she’d been through. On this evidence, the break-up had been radically different for Charlie, a matter of little import. His rejection of her was something he could joke about.

  ‘Can we start again?’ Charlie’s plea was tinged with annoyance. ‘This has gone awry. I didn’t mean to . . . Look, take it, Kate. It’s addressed to you.’

  Snatching the note, Kate said, ‘Great. Thanks. Bloody hell, Charlie.’

  The party devoured her when she dashed downstairs, whirling relentlessly, a snake eating its own tail, suddenly rearing up when it seemed about to flag. Every other guest was what’s known as the wrong side of fifty, but Kate had never known such wild energy at festivities with people her own age.

  Grabbing a drink Kate retreated, stuffing the envelope angrily into her bag as she bumped into Becca.

  ‘Ooh. Somebody’s cheesed you off.’ Becca jumped back as Kate stormed past her. ‘It’s Julian, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. Yes.’ Better to make Julian the fall guy than explain to Becca.

  Sitting on the doorstep, they shared the drink, as they had in the old days at parties. Behind them a centurion and a policewoman (a sexy one, naturally) did the twist on the hall carpet.

  ‘Shall I ring Julian?’ Becca slapped her corset as if searching for her phone. ‘Get him to come?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Kate defended her scapegoat. ‘He puts up with a lot from me. Let’s give him a night off.’

  Not everything that looks like love is love, thought Kate, as Becca rampaged on.

  ‘None of what’s going on is your fault! Did you make your poor dad ill? No!’ Becca crossed herself. She hadn’t set foot in a church since Flo’s christening but old Catholic habits die hard. ‘Should you apologise for being a shit hot business bitch? No!’

  You’re free and so am I, thought Kate.

  ‘He made vows!’

  ‘We all did,’ said Kate, half listening. This split is for the best.

  ‘In sickness and in health. Well, it didn’t specify. He should support you through your dad’s sickness too.’

  This second rejection by Charlie should be a pale reprise but it hurt as much as the first time. There was only one possible reason: she loved him still.

  Charlie was at the head of the stairs, Flo small in his arms. They were a cameo of gentleness, of straightforward love. A feeling of exclusion, of pressing her nose against a toyshop window swept over Kate. She went to find her father. She could hide there, by the side of his armchair. She could lose herself in the dozen little tasks he needed done.

  Dad waved her away. ‘You go and enjoy yourself, love.’ He’d just woken up. Only an invalid, alienated by the slow subjugation of his body, could sleep in the midst of this maelstrom.

  ‘I am enjoying myself,’ said Kate, counting his meds, refilling his water glass. Inspired to reach out to Julian, she sent a text.

  I love you J. Don’t worry. We’re OK. xxx P.S. Get ready for a thorough check-up from Nurse Kate!!!

  Despairing of her inability to sex up her texts, Kate longed to be near Julian. Becca’s rant had, perversely, brought him into sharp focus as a good uncomplicated person who had always loved her. I made vows too, Kate reminded herself. And if they were to the wrong man, that was Kate’s fault, and Julian shouldn’t suffer for it.

  ‘Did you see the pics of Yulan House’s new driveway?’ Dad was groping for his phone.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Just as she was now expert on lymph nodes, Kate was knowledgeable on the pros and cons of tarmac in a hot, damp climate. ‘Jia Tang sounds confident about getting that grant to refurbish the smaller dormitory, doesn’t she?’

  ‘She’s always confident. That’s her nature.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Kate watched Charlie jiggle Flo on the dancefloor.

  ‘Have you chased up the last few sponsors for your 10k run?’

  ‘Almost.’

  Flo had the room delirious with happiness.

  ‘Good. How much did you raise in total, love?’

  Charlie wiped his eyes, laughing fit to burst, as Flo strutted her funky toddler stuff.

  ‘Just over three hundred quid. I was ruthless, remember. I roped in everybody I’ve ever met to sponsor me. Keep sipping at your water, Dad. Keep hydrated.’

  Each nugget of Yulan House news, each exhortation to swallow this or take that, was a gift from Kate to her dad. They were tokens of love, just like the countless ones he’d given her by tucking her in at night, kissing her on the forehead when she left for school, scribbling a limerick in her birthday card each year.

  Charlie was giving Flo these same gifts. The to and fro of parental love continued. Charlie could never repudiate Flo and therefore could never repudiate Flo’s mother. It was Kate who must be denied over and over.

  Joining them with the face she reserved for talking to her uncle – as if he had regressed to a slightly deaf childhood – Becca said, slightly too loud, ‘How are we feeling?
Is the music too much?’

  ‘I’m fine, sweetheart.’ Dad was gracious, knowing Kate would limit his exposure to his niece.

  ‘If you want anything, just tell me.’ Becca was shouting now, her eyeliner almost gone. ‘You’re a fighter.’ Becca grabbed Dad’s arm. ‘You won’t let it beat you.’

  Tears threatened behind the false eyelashes. Becca had a real dread of losing her uncle. Their parents, all four of them, were a sacred quartet who had shaped the lives of Kate and Becca.

  Indulgent, Dad patted her hand. When he was in pain or suffering from sleeplessness he could be short tempered, but on the whole he tapped into a newfound serenity. He needed it; people behaved oddly around mortal illness.

  ‘Let’s dance, Madonna.’ Kate rescued her father.

  ‘Whoo hoo!’ Becca cleared a path with her elbows and plucked Flo off the carpet.

  The lights laid bare the mess. The sitting room looked as if vindictive, efficient burglars had ransacked it. Princess Di hoovered around Shakespeare asleep on the sofa as the Virgin Mary tied up bin bags. Becca swayed, watching the older women clear up.

  Her ears ringing in the sudden calm, Kate stabbed out another text message.

  Leaving in 10 mins! Brace yourself for Nursie’s diagnosis! xxx

  Charlie was in charge of collecting glasses; the plastic ones from Kate’s shop that looked ‘just like the real thing’. ‘It’s exhausting swearing all the time,’ he told Kate, with what felt like exploratory friendliness. ‘I don’t know how Bob Geldof copes.’

  Kate’s smile seemed to reassure him there were no hard feelings, but she noticed he studied her for a long moment before leaping out of the way of Aunty Marjorie’s drunken vacuum cleaner.

  The mulish introverted look on Becca’s face presaged a row. Charlie kept a careful ten feet between himself and his wife at all times. Becca usually neglected her other half at parties, but tonight Kate had noticed her cousin watching Charlie and Flo together with a special intensity, as if studying a pair of animals in the wild. When Becca’s lips worked like that, furiously writhing against each other, it meant she was trying to keep something in. Something that would break things, shatter stuff. To distract her, Kate handed her a broom but when the same square foot of lino had been swept a dozen times, she said, ‘Come with me,’ and led her out into the garden.