She nods towards Chris.
‘You reckon he was overweight when he was a kid?’
Robin and Diana watch Chris striding purposefully ahead, increasing the distance between them. Robin shrugs.
‘You know, the problem he’s clearly got with fat people.’
‘I think he’s got a problem with almost everyone,’ Diana says. ‘You’re too big, I’m too posh…’
‘There’s a pattern developing,’ Robin says. ‘And I’m getting bloody sick of it. He says something to piss me off, to get a rise out of me, I make the first move to try and smooth things over and then the next week he’s at it again. Well, I won’t be doing it any more.’
‘I suppose I should be relieved it’s not just me,’ Caroline says.
Diana has taken a compact from her bag and checks her make-up as they walk. ‘It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t want to let anyone in. To get close, I mean.’
‘Why do you think that is?’ Caroline asks.
‘I don’t really care,’ Robin says. ‘Let Tony deal with it.’
Caroline glances back over her shoulder. ‘What happened to Heather? I thought she was behind us.’
The other two look. Robin says, ‘Maybe she forgot something.’ When he turns back, he’s surprised to see Caroline forging ahead alone. He can hear her panting as she almost breaks into a run. She shouts to Chris, tells him to wait for her. Chris looks round and scowls, then slows dramatically to let her catch up.
She puts an arm through his and he tenses.
‘What you doing?’
Caroline all but drags him forward and they carry on walking. ‘Why are you so afraid that someone might actually like you?’
‘Nothing to do with being afraid,’ Chris says.
‘No, course not.’
‘I just don’t care.’
‘Yeah, you do.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
It’s cold, and Caroline gives a small shiver as she leans against him. ‘I just save myself a lot of trouble and presume people won’t like me. Easier that way.’
They walk on in silence towards the top of the hill, past the luxury cars and double-fronted Edwardian houses, some even grander than Tony’s. A couple of million and change, every dozen steps.
Caroline says, ‘I used to be exactly the same, you know.’
‘Same as what?’ Chris says.
‘Not wanting people to get too close.’ She is dictating their pace, but still breathing heavily. ‘No self-esteem, probably; all that. I was always suspicious, always thinking people had some kind of agenda. If it was a woman, I always thought they just wanted to make themselves look better by having a fat mate, and if it was a bloke I’d think they were doing it for a bet or had some pervy thing about wanting to shag a fat lass.’ She looks at him. ‘You ever shagged a fat bloke?’
‘Only for money,’ Chris says.
‘Some people like it.’
‘Some people like all sorts of weird shit.’ He looks at her. ‘No offence.’
She nods, like she’s impressed. ‘Well, that’s progress, I suppose.’ They cross over and head left on the main road, walking a little faster now they’re on the flat. ‘You’re right though. I think it’s weird. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll take it where I can get it, but I’d much rather be with someone… fit. You know, who can do it for more than five minutes without needing oxygen.’
Chris laughs. He says, ‘I did have a bloke pass out on me once. But I think it was just that he’d never seen a cock that big before.’
Caroline laughs. She leans in even closer and says, ‘Well, you know where I am… if you ever fancy batting for the other team.’
The Broadway is busy, music and chatter spilling out from a large pub that has opened in what was once a church, but they keep walking, on the opposite side of the road, arm in arm towards their regular. They can hear Robin and Diana, laughing about something, thirty seconds’ walk behind them.
‘Good thing about being clean,’ Chris says. ‘One of the good things. You get your sex drive back.’
‘Really?’
He nods. ‘When you’re using… it’s just something you do to pass the time. Like eating something with no taste. Like putting a rubbish jigsaw together.’ He grins at her. ‘Nice to actually enjoy it again.’
‘One more reason I’m glad I never went down that road,’ Caroline says.
‘There’s lots of good reasons,’ Chris says.
In sight of the pub, Caroline slowly removes her arm from Chris’s and runs pudgy fingers through her hair. ‘Stupid, isn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘Keeping people at a distance because you feel bad about yourself.’
‘I don’t feel bad about myself.’
She nods, indulging him. ‘I’m talking about me. Took me ages to realise what an idiot I was being. It’s why I joined the group, basically.’
Chris throws his arms out. ‘To meet fabulous people, you mean?’
‘To meet anyone,’ she says.
‘If you were looking for a social club, you could have done a hell of a lot better.’
‘OK, not just for that.’
‘Now, I could take you to some seriously great clubs…’
‘I just wanted to get to know people who might have some of the same things going on. The same problems.’ She straightens her dress, where the material has gathered in creases across her chest. ‘To let them get to know me.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Chris says. ‘We’ll get to know everything before we’re done with you.’ He pushes the door to the pub, holds it open for her. Caroline thanks him, then hesitates, just for a second, before entering.
‘There’s this one place.’ Chris follows her inside. ‘Trust me, you haven’t lived till you’ve seen dwarves in tight leather shorts.’
Tony has heard the voices, and when he comes down the stairs he can see that Nina is at the front door, talking to someone. When she becomes aware of him, she opens the door a little wider to reveal Heather standing on the doorstep. Heather smiles and raises a hand. Nina throws Tony a look; no more than a glance, but one that makes it clear there will be words between them later on.
‘For you,’ she says.
‘Right,’ Tony says. ‘Thank you.’ He stands to one side as his wife turns to walk past him and up the stairs. He waits a few seconds before stepping forward.
‘Sorry,’ Heather says. ‘I just —’
‘Did you leave something?’ Tony’s voice is measured and very low.
She shakes her head. ‘I just wanted to ask if it was about that phone call on Saturday.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘The reason you won’t come to my birthday party.’
Tony’s head drops and he lets out a sigh. He’s not at work now, he has a glass of wine on his desk upstairs, so there’s less need to maintain a professional position, to rein in his feelings. When he looks up again, Heather is staring at him, hands thrust into the pockets of that bloody suede jacket.
‘I explained why I can’t come.’
‘Sounded like an excuse to me.’
‘Well it wasn’t.’
‘I said I was sorry on the phone.’ She sounds sulky and she gently kicks her training shoe against the doorstep. ‘I know I shouldn’t have called, but I told you, you’re the only person who can sort me out when I get like that.’
‘I know,’ Tony says. ‘We sorted it out. It’s fine.’
‘So, why don’t you want to come to my party?’
‘It’s not about whether I want to. It’s what Robin said. There needs to be a professional distance.’ He moves his hand back and forth in the air between them, emphasising the space. ‘I’m the therapist and you’re the client.’
‘When we’re in the group, yeah.’
‘All the time, Heather.’ She nods, as though she gets it. What he’s saying, or what she thinks he has to say, considering the circumstances. ‘Do you understand?’
‘That we’re not friends, you mean? That you don’t like me?’
‘I never said that.’ Tony sighs again. He’s thinking about his glass of wine getting warmer, that hotel in Venice or Barcelona.
‘It’s not about whether you want to.’ Heather nods again, kicks the doorstep. ‘That’s what you said, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, do you want to? I mean, I get that you can’t, but would you want to come otherwise?’
‘It’s a pointless question.’
‘Still. Would you?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? I like parties as much as anyone else.’
This seems to satisfy Heather. She visibly relaxes a little. Tony half turns back inside, but Heather does not move. She says, ‘Your wife seems nice.’
‘What?’
‘She clearly doesn’t like me, but she seems nice, otherwise.’ A car being driven too fast passes the house, bumping hard across one of the many sleeping policemen. Heather blinks. ‘Is she?’
Tony’s fingers tighten a little around the edge of the door. He shrugs. ‘Of course she is, she’s my wife.’ He is watching closely for a reaction when Heather’s eyes move suddenly to fix on something behind him and, when he turns, Tony sees his daughter standing in the hallway. He says her name. Then he says, ‘Everything all right?’
Emma mutters what might be a ‘Yeah’.
‘Hello.’ Heather cranes her head to get a better look inside.
Tony looks back sharply at Heather. He watches her smile and wave, but when he turns back to see how his daughter will react, she is already walking away towards the kitchen. He turns back to the door.
‘Heather, look —’
‘I should probably get along to the pub,’ Heather says. She looks faintly pleased with herself.
‘Yeah.’ Tony nods and tries not to sound too relieved. ‘The others will be missing you.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘See you next week then.’
‘Yeah, course.’ She hitches her bag on to her shoulder, narrows her eyes at him, mock-furious. ‘I can tell you what you missed.’
‘Right.’ Tony takes half a step back from the door and watches Heather give the step a final nudge with the toe of her trainer. ‘And listen, thanks for the invitation, OK? It was very thoughtful.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
Tony says nothing; has no idea what to say. There had not been the faintest hint of anything like surprise in his voice. He closes the door, nice and gently, and lets out a breath. Halfway back up the stairs he stops and turns and, through the stained glass panels in the door, he can see that Heather is still standing there.
… THEN
Predictably, the TV in the corner is tuned to the Monday night football on Sky. The game is not due to kick off for another fifteen minutes, but the preening pundits are in full flow. It is make or break time, apparently. The big one; a must-win game. As usual, the only one showing any real interest is Diana, who glances up at the screen every minute or so from the group’s regular table in the opposite corner.
‘Do they have to take lessons or something?’ Robin says. ‘To learn how to speak in those awful clichés all the time? Somebody’s going to be sick as a parrot in a minute.’
‘Or over the moon,’ Caroline says.
Chris sips his drink. ‘I bet you there’s at least a couple of junkies on that pitch.’ He nods. ‘Mate of mine says he was in rehab with a Man United player.’
‘No way,’ Caroline says. ‘Who?’
They all look at Chris. He grins at their curiosity, then names the player and insists that plenty of top level footballers take drugs regularly. ‘Worse than doctors,’ he says. He smiles when Robin looks at him, lets him know that he is joking, that he has no agenda.
Robin nods and smiles back. Since his conversation with Caroline on the way to the pub, Chris appears to be in as good a mood as Robin can remember, and from the comments exchanged at the bar Robin is not the only one to have noticed. Chris seems genuinely interested in the conversation and, for once, his jokes – good and bad – have no discernible edge to them. Robin has not yet had a chance to ask Caroline what she and Chris had talked about, but he is waiting keenly for the opportunity. ‘Well, footballers can certainly afford it,’ Robin says. ‘A hundred thousand pounds a week.’
‘And the rest,’ Diana says.
Caroline turns to her. ‘So, how come you like football so much?’
‘My ex-husband.’ Diana taps a manicured nail against her glass. ‘He likes it, so of course I pretended because I was a dutiful wife, and then eventually I did.’ Her face changes suddenly, as though she has bitten into something sour. ‘I wonder if she likes it. The new one. Or maybe he’s pretending to like the things she likes. Facebook or whatever.’ She clears her throat, then looks up and around at the others. She shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like she’s being silly, but the bitterness in her voice charges the silence that hangs over the table for a few seconds. The others adjust their chairs. They stare into Cokes and mineral waters.
Chris says, ‘Oh, you’ve decided to join us,’ and they all look up, relieved, to see that Heather has arrived.
‘Sorry,’ she says.
‘Did you forget something? Wasn’t your precious jacket, was it?’
Heather grins, sarcastically. ‘Tony wanted to talk to me,’ she says. She asks if she can get anyone a drink, then heads to the bar to get one for herself. While she is gone, Caroline asks Chris if he knows about any other footballers with drug problems, while Diana talks to Robin about a persistent pain in her knee. Nobody speculates as to what Tony might have wanted to talk to Heather about.
‘The way England play, I reckon they’re all on Valium,’ Chris says.
In the other corner, those gathered near the TV groan loudly as Arsenal miss a clear-cut chance to take an early lead.
‘Sounds like you might have arthritis,’ Robin says to Diana.
By the time Heather returns to the table, the group’s conversation has fractured yet again. Chris is now talking happily to Robin, while at the other end of the table Caroline and Diana are leaning together.
Caroline says, ‘I didn’t mean anything, you know, at the session. When I said about the salad.’
‘I know you didn’t.’
‘You seemed a bit pissed off, that’s all.’
‘Yes, sorry if I was a bit snappy,’ Diana says. ‘It’s been rather an awful day.’
Caroline waits.
‘Well, they’re all awful at the moment, if I’m honest. I’m doing a lot of shopping.’
‘Why not, if it makes you feel better?’
‘It doesn’t, though, not in the long run, but I can’t help myself.’ Diana shakes her head. ‘Worse I feel, the more bloody shoes I buy. I can’t imagine what Imelda Marcos must have been going through.’
‘Who?’
Diana smiles and shakes her head. ‘Anyway, it’s no excuse for being a bitch, so sorry.’
‘Is she a lot younger?’ Caroline asks. ‘The woman your ex-husband’s with.’
Diana looks at her.
‘What you said about Facebook.’
‘Fifteen years,’ Diana says. ‘Younger, I mean… she’s not actually fifteen. Though not far away.’
They both laugh, then Caroline says, ‘Men are pathetic.’
‘Yes, and they’re predictable, and maybe that’s why I don’t really blame him. Who wouldn’t want a newer car or a flashier house if they were offered it, but when a certain type of woman comes along and lays it all out on a plate —’
‘A woman who hates other women.’
‘Absolutely. With no thought whatsoever for the havoc they cause. The damage to so many others. It’s completely unacceptable, don’t you think?’
Caroline nods, largely because Diana is giving her little choice.
‘It’s… evil.’ The older woman leans in even closer, and despite the designer clothes and the expensive hairstyle, it looks
as though – were the target of her bile next to her at that moment – she would happily use the glass in her hand as a weapon. ‘There are rules.’
A roar rises up from those watching the football and, startled by the noise and perhaps herself, Diana leans away quickly and turns around to look. The home side have gone a goal up. Caroline widens her eyes at Heather, but Heather is not close enough to have overheard the exchange and is busily eavesdropping on the conversation between Robin and Chris.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ Robin says.
‘It’s the drink.’ Chris raises his glass. ‘Can’t hold my orange juice.’
‘Seriously, though. You had good news about your accommodation?’ Robin suspects it isn’t that, but it feels like a good place to start digging.
Chris is rocking very gently, as if in time to some music that nobody else can hear. ‘I have good moods and bad moods, I suppose. Same as anyone else. Well, we’re all a bit up and down, aren’t we?’
‘You more than most though, I’d say.’
Just for a moment there is a flash of the normal Chris; a narrowing of the eyes and something tight around his mouth. But then his face softens and he cocks his head. ‘Yeah, can’t really argue.’
‘You can tell me to mind my own business —’
‘Mind your own business.’
‘Seriously… I was wondering if anyone had ever suggested that you might have bipolar disorder.’
Chris blinks. ‘Bloody hell, do doctors ever take a day off?’
‘It’s only a thought. Might be helpful.’
‘Tony mentioned it once,’ Chris says. ‘In a one-to-one.’
‘Have you done anything about it?’
Chris shakes his head. ‘It’s meds, isn’t it? Not sure I want to go there.’
‘Medication isn’t necessarily incompatible with recovery,’ Robin says.
Chris does not look convinced. He says, ‘Well, anyway, whether I’m bipolar or fucking tripolar, it’s part of me, right? Makes me the lovable, glorious creature I am.’
Die of Shame Page 14