A couple of hours later the review was somehow complete and on its way. Since it was only 8.30, still too early on a Saturday to embark on the grisly task of communicating his stricken state to the outside world, Matt began a desultory check for unread e-mails. His postbox was empty apart from a circular of a message from his old friend Graham Hyde, a successful City trader and Net addict who had recently rented out his two-bedroomed flat in Borough and moved to New York.
Colleague taking bets on the Superbowl – Giants or Redskins –
serious money to be made. Any takers?
Matt stared at the screen for a while, contemplating the possibility of a reply that encompassed both a refusal of the offer and the mention of the fact that he appeared to have been deserted by his wife. Graham and Kath had never got on very well, Graham being too much of the man’s man, beer-drinking breed for her tastes. By the time Matt introduced them Graham already had one failed marriage behind him and was back in full swing as a well-heeled bachelor, betraying few signs either of emotional damage or of the inclination to repeat the experiment with another woman.
While Kath obstinately refused to acknowledge them, Matt had always been vividly aware of Graham’s multifarious charms. A successful product of a classic English public school, he possessed an enviable self-confidence, an infectious conviction that no obstacle in life was ever insurmountable. He was also good-looking, with a naturally elegant physique, a sweep of strawberry-blond hair and a smile to trigger caution in the hearts of alert females. Balance in the friendship had always been provided by Matt being by far the cleverer, an attribute for which Graham showed open respect and over which Matt knew he concealed his own private well of envy. With Kath’s antipathy and the fact that Graham was never with one woman long enough for serious cross-couple relationships to be established, Matt had long since given up trying to integrate him into the web of his married life. Instead, Graham had gradually replaced Kath as an irregular but excellent theatre companion, lighting up many an evening when Matt might otherwise have felt lonely or uninspired. Recalling his departure to New York two months before, lured across the Atlantic by the kind of salary increase of which theatre critics could only dream, Matt experienced a fresh sense of loss. He could have done with some of Graham’s humour now, some of that steely self-belief with which he rode out his own personal crises.
By nine o’clock, the telephone could no longer be deferred. Josh, full of cereal and propped among the pillows in front of his parents’ television, had committed the unprecedented act of falling asleep again, the green seal tucked up under the duvet on Kath’s side of the bed.
‘Oliver, sorry to interrupt your weekend.’ In the background Matt could hear sounds of crockery clashing and general merriment.
‘No worries. How was last night?’ His boss sounded as if he had a mouth full of food. ‘Hang on, I’m walking into my study. The thirteen-year- old had four friends to stay the night – birthday treat – better than a disco, Pat assures me, but the house is like a zoo.’
‘Last night was fine – excellent in fact – I’ve already written it up.
I’m ringing about something quite different … because … well, the fact is it looks as if Kath has left me.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Left you? You mean, just walked out?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean. And Josh – she’s left Josh.’ Matt had to fight to stop his voice breaking. ‘Gone. Don’t know where. Some silly note saying nothing. The thing is, it could just be a … you know, bad patch sort of thing … it’s hard to be sure because, to be frank, this has come right out of the blue. What I’m trying to say, Oliver, is that it looks as if I might need a little time off – to sort things out – if I could perhaps take a week – even if Kath does get in touch —’
‘Take two weeks, for God’s sake, Matt. Take three, if you need to,’ he added with his usual reckless generosity. ‘We’ll manage, I’m sure, and I’ll do my best to square it with the powers that be. It will probably all blow over soon enough. These things normally do. In the meantime, if there is anything Pat or I can do, anything at all —’
‘That’s very kind,’ murmured Matt, feeling a surge not only of gratitude but of envy for his employer, who lived in a splendid detached Edwardian house in Hampstead with a loving wife and four teenaged children. Two decades older, he was a loud bear-like man, who wore ridiculous bow ties and was universally admired for his sparkling, florid prose. Ten years previously he had written a controversial biography of an American playwright which had earned him international critical acclaim and many thousands of pounds. Hearing his voice, the background hubbub of the sort of normal family life to which he himself had once aspired, Matt felt a fresh wave of desolation.
‘Things will work out, of that I’m sure. Keep me posted, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Calling his father was harder. Matt clenched the phone as he delivered his news, knowing there would be no pussy-footing around, that his father would cut to the heart of things in that brusque, unsentimental way he had of dealing with life’s pitfalls.
‘What do you mean, she’s gone?’
‘Just that. A note, no explanation.’
‘Bloody hell. Kath could be flaky but … has she got someone else then?’
‘I don’t know, she doesn’t say. I don’t even know where she is.’
‘Well, what does she say?’
Matt hesitated, unable quite to bring himself to quote the phrase at the heart of the note. ‘Just that she was unhappy.’
‘Well, we’re all bloody unhappy, aren’t we? That’s the human condition. But it doesn’t give us the right to go marching out on each other without so much as a by your leave.’ As always when he was in a state of high excitement, his father’s Yorkshire accent, which thirty years of working in the South as a research engineer in the aviation industry had almost drummed out of him, grew much more pronounced. ‘You poor sod, Matt, I’m so sorry. Do you think she means it? I mean, have things been that bad between the pair of you?’
‘I don’t know … I mean, no, things had not been that bad, at least not as far as I was aware.’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know if your own wife was unhappy.’
‘If she was she didn’t tell me … Christ, Dad, I don’t know. I thought we were okay. Up and down, maybe, but okay.’
‘And how does she think you’re going to manage, that’s what I’d like to know.’
‘Oliver Parkin – my boss – has been very kind…told me to take some time off…’ Matt paused, aware that his voice was shaking. ‘Hopefully Kath will get in touch soon and we can sort everything out.’
‘I’m sure she will. Because of Josh if nothing else.’
‘Because of Josh,’ Matt echoed with more conviction than he felt. ‘She’s got this friend Louise. I’m going to phone her next, see what I can find out. She’s bound to know the whole story.’ He bit his lip, so hard he tasted blood. ‘To be honest I’m still a bit … I just can’t believe that she would —’ He broke off, unable to complete the sentence.
‘Of course you can’t. It’s bloody shocking. Do you want me down there? I could come and help out for a bit.’
‘Thanks, Dad, but no. I’ll be all right for now.’ Matt put the receiver down wishing that he was thirteen instead of thirty-one, with no responsibilities beyond the chore of homework and avoiding trivial humiliations in the playground. Life had known no shadows until the death of his mother from cancer in his late teens, a process so drawn out, so pitted with hospital visits and stages of fragile remission, that some edge of shock had been removed from her actual loss. Putting the experience behind him had been greatly aided by the fact that Dennis Webster had always been one of the rare breed of fathers who managed to involve himself in the woof of his only son’s daily life; swimming galas, trips to museums and castles, afternoon concerts and sporting fixtures – no childhood event was without the image of Dennis’s moustachioed, stalw
art figure in the background, often silent but unrelenting in his support. Having for years taken such attentions for granted, seeing them as his God-given right, Matt had found the early odyssey of his own fatherhood something of a shock; particularly the realisation that such a sense of commitment did not always come naturally, that resentment and love could be so confusingly intertwined.
As if to remind him of such difficult truths, Josh chose that moment to surface from among his parents’ bedclothes, hollering with rage at the temporary misplacement of his favourite toy and the vague recollection of some deprivation connected to the unfathomable order of the adult world. Matt hurriedly left the study, calling nonsense comforts that he did not feel, sick at heart for what the future might hold.
4
Louise stroked the mascara brush through her upper lashes, watching with some satisfaction as they thickened and separated, bringing an added lustre to her greeny-blue eyes. Her hair, freshly washed that morning, had blossomed under the recent attentions of her heated hairbrush, its honey- blond making a striking contrast to her new mohair polo neck. Instead of the old padded jacket usually reserved for excursions to the park, she would wear the sheepskin coat Anthony had given her for Christmas, she decided, together with her new brown suede boots, bought on a sales shopping spree with her mother the week before. It felt important to look good, to present an attractive front in the face of the crisis. Outer composure helped the threat of inner turmoil. Like breathing regularly through contractions. It gave one something to focus on, some rhythm for the chaos of pain.
Before getting up from her dressing-table stool, Louise gave several quick squirts of perfume to her wrists and neck. Beneath the shock and the very real desire to be of whatever help she could to poor Matt and little Joshua, she was aware of the tremor of other, less selfless emotions. Like the distinct sense of personal injury that Kath could carry out such a disappearing act without telling her oldest friend. Fifteen years of friendship and shared intimacies and not one measly hint as to her intentions.
On the other hand, a small ugly part of her was enthralled. It was not every day that one’s closest friend deserted a husband and child, let alone without notifying a soul – not even her own parents, according to Matt – of where she was going, with whom, or why. Such wickedness, such audacity. From Kath of all people. Kath, who lived in perpetual terror of what the outside world thought of her; who had spent most of their schooldays and the decade since moaning to Louise about dissatisfactions without ever giving the remotest hint that she was capable of committing a visible rebellion against anything.
Louise closed her eyes, trying in vain to imagine a desperation large enough to encompass abandoning her own offspring – a boy and girl of six and eight – to fend for themselves with their father and a string of nannies. As it happened Anthony had a happy knack of being endearing when it mattered, like whisking her off to Prague when she’d been so depressed about her thirtieth and needing no persuading – as some of her friends’ husbands did – as to why a nonworking mother should require paid help to look after children. A choice not open to the cash-strapped Websters, Louise reminded herself, bending down to pull on her boots, and sighing at the recollection of Kath’s occasional complaints on the subject.
She arrived in the park with both children in tow almost twenty minutes early. Though sunless and grey, the air had none of the icy dampness which had made many similar excursions so gruelling since the start of the new year. Thankful that her offspring had reached an age where playgrounds required supervision but not much manual assistance, Louise sat on a bench and scanned the various tarmac paths circling the recreation area. Behind her a couple of teenagers on rollerblades were chasing pigeons into the trees; while on the stretch of muddied grass next to the playground some hefty men were kicking a ball to each other, cigarettes wedged into their mouths, the change jangling in their pockets. Louise shrank farther inside her new coat, feeling suddenly vulnerable and conspicuous, wishing they could have met in the infinitely cosier park near her own home, where there were no graffiti on the fences and the people coming in and out of the loo huts did not look like potential paedophiles. They had to meet somewhere within walking distance of his front door, Matt had explained, sounding desperate, because Joshua needed fresh air and Kath had taken the car. Which was really rubbing salt in it, mused Louise, switching her attention from her surroundings to her boots, one of which had acquired an unsightly scuff mark across the toe.
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Oh, Matt, there you are … poor you.’ Louise flung her arms round his neck, wanting suddenly to cry at the sight of him, looking so pale and hollow-eyed, the collar of his coat up round his ears. ‘Poor, poor you,’ she said again, sucking in her cheeks as Josh trotted over to join her own two on the slide. ‘What on earth have you told him?’
‘That mummies need holidays,’ replied Matt grimly, thrusting both hands into his coat pockets and slumping down on the bench next to her. ‘I’m hoping you can give me some answers, Louise, because I’m fucked if I know what’s going on.’
In spite of having had all of Saturday and half that morning to consider the drama – she had thought of little else, throughout their dinner party the night before and the ritual of helping Anthony pack for Boston that morning – Louise found herself at a momentary loss for words. The feelings of the man next to her were so raw, the suffering etched so visibly and deeply into his usually amiable face, that she felt quite unequal to the occasion.
‘She said she was living a death, Louise, those were her exact words
– God knows, there were few enough of them – so what I would most like to know is whether this state of abject misery was something she confided in you, as women do, I believe, tell each other any number of things that they would not dream of telling their partners, because she sure as hell did not confide in me, and if, as I suppose, inevitably, there is, as they say, Someone Else – a third party in this little sordid domestic malfunction – I would be most grateful if you could give me some history of the relationship’s beginnings and likely progression, and maybe even an indication of her possible long-term plans with regard to our son.’ He stopped and turned to look at her, with an expression of such glazed desperation that Louise immediately felt guilty for looking so parcelled and pretty, for having had the luxury of giving even a single second thought to her appearance.
‘I wish I did know something, but as I said on the phone —’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Matt said flatly, squinting in the direction of Joshua, who had lost interest in the slide and was now moving towards a set of bedraggled rope ladders, slung round four sides of a large metal frame.
Louise, following the line of his gaze and experiencing some concern at the thought of Joshua’s small limbs grappling with so advanced a piece of apparatus, caught herself wondering about Matt’s competence as a single parent. He hadn’t exactly been the hands-on type, at least not when Kath was around, which was the only time she ever saw him.
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said again, pressing his lips together.
‘Honestly, Matt, you’ve got to. I’m as baffled as you are.’
Joshua had reached the lowest rung of one set of ladders and was swinging on it. Several feet above him a group of sullen teenage girls were sitting in puffa jackets and short skirts, their bare knees and thighs bruised with cold.
‘So she wasn’t having an affair.’
‘If she was she didn’t tell me. The only thing that I —’ ‘Yes?’
Louise hesitated, fearful of his eagerness. ‘I was just going to say that if I really think about it I knew she wasn’t happy, not really. But then Kath never was, not deep down. Even when we were a lot younger … well, I’m sure you know she never exactly got on with her parents. They hated her acting, wanted her to be a lawyer or something respectable. And though I think she was good enough to have made it as an actress, somewhere deep inside herself she did not have the self-belief
. And I know she found the whole baby thing hard – feeling so sick right through her pregnancy, being in labour for two days solid and then having all that trouble with Joshua not sleeping. All that took its toll. But then you would know that as well as anyone,’ she added, watching Matt carefully.
Matt swallowed. ‘Yes, I did, but then … perhaps not enough. I mean, you don’t always when you’re up close against something, do you? You don’t see the big picture. I know I wasn’t always around as much as she would have liked, but with my line of work it’s not exactly easy … But I had no idea – not until you just put it all together – that she was clinically depressed.’
‘Hang on a minute, I never said —’
‘But don’t you see it all fits? It’s what a part of me has suspected all along – that something inside her snapped, something she had been bottling up – that she’s gone away to sort it out.’
‘Yes, that could be it,’ murmured Louise, not wholly convinced but recognising that for Matt it helped to have a version of events that made sense.
* * *
‘Otherwise she would never have left Josh. I mean, leaving me was understandable.’ He managed a bitter laugh. ‘But Josh … she loved him so.’
* * *
‘Yes, she did.’
They both looked in the direction of the climbing ropes. Joshua was still only on the first rung. Above him, the largest of the teenage girls was reaching from her perch and pressing the sole of her foot – a big leather- booted foot – on the flat of his head. Puzzled at what was halting his ascent, Joshua was just beginning to whimper. Louise had barely registered the situation when Matt was on his feet. He sprang across the playground in three strides, shaking his fist and roaring in anger. Joshua, more alarmed by this stampeding, noisy version of his father than by the foot on his crown, which had caused no pain, began to cry loudly.
A Family Man Page 3