A Family Man

by Amanda Brookfield

  ‘No,’ he said, smiling, reaching for her left hand and pressing its fingers to his lips. ‘You just said it a bit loudly – I was worried half the airport would want to join us.’

  She giggled, slipping her hand back on to the wheel.

  ‘No news on your wife, I suppose?’ she asked a little later.

  ‘No, and I don’t care any more either,’ said Matt firmly. ‘And I’ve decided I’m not even worried she’ll come back for Josh. So much time has gone by and after what she did she’d have no hope of winning custody.’

  ‘I should think not.’ Beth sighed. ‘You know what, Matt?’ I would really like to meet the little guy – he sounds so cute. And if you and I are going to be seeing a bit of each other …’

  Matt was genuinely touched. ‘I would really like that too, though maybe not today,’ he added hastily, picturing both Joshua’s and Dennis’s faces if he sailed through the door with Beth hanging on his arm. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She reached across and squeezed his thigh, just above the knee where it tickled.

  ‘What about Sunday, then? The three of us could do some kind of excursion together – the Dome, or the zoo.’

  ‘Okay.’ He laughed, in truth somewhat nervous at the prospect. ‘Not the Dome maybe, but the zoo – Josh would love that.’

  She pressed her lips together in satisfaction. ‘It’s a date, then. So long as we make it a late start – I need at least half the day in bed on a Sunday before I can be nice to anyone. Even you,’ she whispered, seizing the opportunity of a red light to lean over and press her lips to his.

  24

  ‘Bad traffic?’ enquired Dennis, a trace of testiness in his voice.

  The initial exuberance of the reunion having subsided, they had all moved into the kitchen. Unequal to admitting to the shameful truth that he had, after all, returned from Heathrow via Beth Durant’s water bed, Matt busied himself with the kettle, muttering something about a mess-up in baggage reclaim and the difficulty of getting a taxi. That his father was in a bad mood had been clear to him from the moment he opened the door, even through the exchange of affectionate pleasantries and the heart-jumping thrill of having Joshua in his arms. Attributing it to the understandable strain of having been in sole charge for a week, Matt made as big a deal as he could of presenting the malt whisky, and insisting that Dennis was to do nothing but put his feet up for the entire weekend.

  They took their tea into the sitting room, where Joshua, thrilled with his lion and his baseball cap, which was much too large, even on the tightest notch, trampolined round the furniture emitting squeaky roars of celebration. It took the biscuit tin to secure a bit of peace and quiet, whereupon Matt launched into a fresh effort to appease his father. ‘Not long now and you’ll be safely back in your own home.’

  ‘No hurry, it’s …’ A wheezy cough prevented him from continuing. ‘That’s quite a noise – have you had time to see a doctor?’

  Dennis shook his head fiercely. ‘The cough’s no bother,’ he rasped, banging his chest in an apparently successful effort to force it into co- operation. ‘Though there has been some kind of trouble that you should know about … woman trouble, to be exact.’

  ‘Woman trouble?’ Matt began to laugh but stopped, guessing from the expression on his father’s face that he was about to learn the origins of his ill-humour.

  ‘Granddad is cross with Louise,’ put in Joshua, managing even through a mouthful of biscuit to convey a certain awe at being privy to so adult a piece of information.

  ‘Louise? Whatever for?’

  ‘Sticking her bloody nose in, that’s what for – coming round here at all times, getting Josie so upset —’

  ‘Josie?’ Matt felt a wave of panic. ‘How?’

  ‘Accused her of taking her purse – of all things.’ Dennis rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

  ‘When, for God’s sake?’

  ‘The first time she came – Tuesday afternoon. Had a cup of tea. Next thing I know she’s on the phone ranting about her wallet being taken from her bag. Comes by in person to confront poor Josie. And then goes and gets Sophie involved.’

  Matt dropped his face into his hands with a groan. ‘Dad, why didn’t you call me about all this? I thought we agreed that if there was any sort of real problem —’

  Dennis dismissed the suggestion with an angry wave of his hand. ‘It wasn’t a real problem. At least not at first. It’s just sort of … gathered pace.’

  ‘But of course Josie wouldn’t take a purse – or anything else for that matter.’

  ‘You try telling your friend Louise that. Josie’s so upset she’s threatening never to set foot in this house again.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Matt let out a low whistle of disbelief. ‘And this purse of Louise’s – where exactly was it found?’

  Dennis threw up his arms in exasperation. ‘That’s the point. It never has been found. Louise swears it was in her handbag when she visited, but we’ve turned this place upside down —’ He broke off for another bout of coughing. ‘I must confess to being sick to death of the whole subject. I just hope you’re up to sorting it out.’

  Matt shot him a weary smile. ‘I expect I’ll manage. I’m just sorry you got caught up in the middle of it. Louise seems to have appointed herself my guardian. She feels sorry for me, I guess. Wants to help.’ He made a face.

  * * *

  ‘Good intentions can mask terrible deeds.’

  ‘No need to be melodramatic, Dad,’ replied Matt tightly. ‘I’ll talk to Louise first and then clear things with Josie and Sophie.’ Noticing that Joshua, bored of adult conversation, was attempting to cram his lion into the mouth of their rickety and fragile old video machine, he reached over and pulled him on to his lap. ‘What a palaver, eh?’

  ‘Palaver,’ repeated Joshua, liking the word. ‘Have you been a good boy for Granddad?’

  Dennis answered for him, his face creasing into the first full smile

  since Matt’s return. ‘He’s been as good as gold. We’ve had a grand time, haven’t we?’

  Joshua nodded, dancing his lion on his knees. ‘We went to McDonald’s ’cos I didn’t wet my bed.’

  ‘Did you now?’ Matt raised his eyebrows at his father, who grinned sheepishly, murmuring, ‘A bit of bribery never hurt anyone.’ He levered himself up from his chair and began reaching for the empty tea mugs.

  ‘Leave it, Dad. I’ve told you, I’m in charge for the weekend. Have a lie-down or something.’

  Dennis looked indignant. ‘I don’t want a lie-down.’

  ‘Well, go and see your mate in Islington, then, or treat yourself to a pint at the Pheasant —’

  ‘Now that is not a bad idea,’ Dennis conceded, rubbing his palms together.

  ‘So I can have you all to myself,’ said Matt, hugging Joshua more tightly.

  ‘Sorry, Granddad, but Daddy wants me now,’ said Joshua, clearly concerned as to whether his grandfather would be able to manage without him.

  * * *

  ‘We’ll ask Louise and the girls to meet us in the park tomorrow morning, shall we? And on Sunday I thought we’d go to the zoo.’

  ‘Zoo, zoooo.’ Joshua erupted from the sofa and began a charge of celebration round the ground floor, piloting the lion above his head as if it were a toy plane.

  ‘So he has been all right, then?’ pressed Matt, lowering his voice. ‘Oh, yes.’ Dennis chuckled. ‘He’s all right.’

  ‘Oh God, and the assessment at St Leonard’s – how did that go?’ Matt clapped his hand to his mouth, appalled that he had forgotten.

  ‘Oh, that was fine. He got a bit upset afterwards because he had drawn this picture of a fire truck and they wouldn’t let him take it home – needed it for further analysis, I suppose.’ Dennis chuckled, shaking his head despairingly. ‘Utterly daft, the whole process.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it,’ murmured Matt, his mind slipping back to the more immediate problem of the purse, inwardly quailing at the prospe
ct of playing peacemaker between the three women.

  Louise’s initial wail of protest when he broached the subject in the park the following day did little to allay such fears.

  ‘Why does nobody believe me? I know I had it when I went to your house and then it wasn’t there at the theatre. I’ve searched the car a hundred times.’

  ‘Maybe it fell on to the pavement and someone picked it up —’ ‘That’s what Anthony says.’ She gave a cross tug at the big furry

  lapels of her sheepskin, making no effort to hide her irritation with her

  husband. Their week, as far as she was concerned, had gone from bad to worse. They had eaten out twice only, both pleasant enough meals, but with the conversation dominated either by disputes about her purse or the piece of research Anthony was working on, which was reaching the usual fever pitch of near-completion. They had made love once, on the Wednesday, but Louise’s heart hadn’t really been in it. That Anthony seemed not to notice this fact, or, worse still in Louise’s eyes, not to care about it if he had, had not made matters any better. While Anthony had made the most of a less punishing schedule to sleep long and deeply in ten-hour stretches, Louise had found herself tossing for hours every night, her mind knotted with niggling worries and a suffocating sense of injustice about her husband and life in general. Instead of feeling refreshed at the sight of the children spilling out of her parents’ car on Friday afternoon, she was aware only of a deep, angry weariness that the whole painstakingly organised separation had been a waste of time.

  ‘I know you’ve been trying to help,’ said Matt gently, ‘but really, I do not believe that Josie would ever be so dishonest.’

  ‘Why you trust that girl is beyond me. She’s sullen and rude, with so many chips on her shoulder it’s a wonder she can stand up. And as for that woman friend of hers’ … Louise whistled. ‘God, she’s something else altogether.’

  Matt chuckled. ‘Now on that score I would have to agree with you. Sophie Contini is quite a case. If it’s any consolation she’s horrible to me too.’

  * * *

  Louise hooked her hand round Matt’s elbow and smiled for the first time. ‘It is, Matt. Thank you. An enormous consolation.’

  ‘Apparently she tried to run off with a married man a couple of years ago and it all fell through,’ he continued, using a tone of confidentiality he knew Louise would appreciate, and giving her hand a companionable pat. They were nearing the playground. Up ahead the tallest of the slides was just visible through the trees, its yellow paint catching the afternoon sun.

  ‘Really? So she’s bitter and twisted,’ remarked Louise, sounding satisfied. After a few moments’ silence she added, ‘And I’m wrong.’

  ‘I’m afraid you are. Wonderfully intentioned, but wrong.’

  ‘And I’ve got everyone’s backs up unnecessarily.’

  ‘I’m afraid you might have.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll explain to Josie and the dreaded Sophie. It will all

  be fine. Though I’m sorry about the purse. Was there much in it?’

  Louise shrugged. ‘Forty odd pounds, library cards, passport snaps of the children – nothing too serious.’

  Taking the opportunity of their arrival at the playground to disengage his arm, Matt held open the little gate for her to pass through.

  ‘How gallant,’ said Louise teasingly, letting the children charge through first and then tipping her head towards him with exaggerated gratitude.

  And that’s her sorted, thought Matt, turning away to hide a smile of satisfaction. A little grovelling to Josie and her friend and the whole situation would be resolved. He took his time pulling the gate closed, for the first time feeling relaxed enough to appreciate the expanse of verdant grass and prettily landscaped pathways spread out around them. Bursts of colour bubbled in every flower-bed, while the trees’ spiky winter haircuts were being transformed by bud clusters and patches of green fuzz.

  Surveying the scene, Matt felt a lift of conviction similar to the one he had experienced on looking out of the airplane window. He was on a roll, and no bickering about mislaid purses or anything else was going to stop it. Seeing Louise wave for assistance over two free swings and three eager children, he pulled the gate behind him and set off across the playground at a trot, extending his stride in the happy realisation that the pain in his leg muscles seemed at last to have melted away.

  25

  Feeling the stitch tighten under her ribs, hurting like the twist of a knife, Sophie slowed her pace and concentrated on her breathing. It always came at around the same time, half an hour or so into the run, when the first reserves of her energy had been worn down and the back-up, developed over two years of hard work, had yet to kick in. Sunday morning was by far her favourite slot for exercise. She loved the thick quietness of the curtained windows and empty roads, the sense of suspension, as if the city were holding its breath against all the noise and friction on which it habitually thrived. Usually she headed south, taking a route through Camberwell towards Herne Hill and Brixton, where a few dog-walkers would already be strolling round Brockwell Park and sleepy paper-boys crouching over their bikes. Instead, wanting a change, she had set off in the opposite direction, steering a course down Borough High Street towards London Bridge.

  Running over the bridge itself, the wind tugging at her hair and the gleaming domes and towers ranged before her like mountain peaks, Sophie felt a rush of pure happiness. Seeing another lone jogger across the road, heading back the way she had come, she almost shouted out a greeting, so strong was the warmth inside her, the sense, so rare these days, of being wholly at peace with the world.

  Once across the bridge, however, the mood began to slip from her grasp. The City itself was like a ghost town, its silence containing the unmistakable aura not so much of inactivity as absence. With her clothes now thoroughly damp from sweat, she found herself shivering in the shadows of the buildings towering above her, their polished windows blinking like watchful eyes. Scampering along the foot of the high wall of the Bank of England running down Prince’s Street, she felt suddenly like an insect in a tunnel, and glanced several times over her shoulder to be sure she was alone. It was a relief to reach the relative openness of Moorgate, with its traffic lights and Marks and Spencer, and to realise from a glance at her watch that it was time to be turning back for home.

  As she retraced her steps, there were signs everywhere that the metropolis was stirring from its slumbers; more cars had filtered on to the roads and here and there Sunday traders were pulling their shutters up. Just past the Elephant and Castle roundabout her path was blocked by a large family crowd, clad in brilliant tribal colours, the hems of their gowns trailing on the dirty pavement, their hats as tall as wedding cakes. Small children were hanging on the arms of the adults, their slack, sleepy faces suggesting recent and reluctant eviction from their beds. Sophie, her breath now coming in short, tight spurts, her legs leaden, had to run along the road for several yards to get past them. As she did so someone from the group shouted, ‘Run, lady, run.’ She half turned, wanting to offer a smile, but stumbled and almost lost her balance. Someone in the crowd laughed.

  Leaping back on to the pavement, she accelerated away, her heart bursting, her contact lenses, irritated by sweat, sliding uncomfortably across her eyes. Turning into her own road at last, she slowed to a staggering walk for the final few yards.

  Though her body ached, her mind felt sharpened and refreshed. The prospect, once so crushing, of another busy Sunday, marking books, catching up on laundry, fielding demands from the clutch of pupils who made regular use of her ‘open house’ policy, now glowed in her mind as something not only manageable but full of potential satisfaction. The headache, pulsing between her temples as it always did after a bad night’s sleep, had vanished. Banging her front door shut behind her, she took several long deep breaths, dropping her head to her feet, letting her hair and fingernails trail on the floorboards. When at last s
he raised herself upright, she felt so dizzy from the blood pumping behind her eye sockets that she had to steady herself against the wall. It was only as she was tugging off her trainers that Sophie remembered she faced an added burden that morning in the form of Matt Webster. Kicking her shoes in the direction of the coat- stand, which was far too broad-branched for the hall but didn’t fit anywhere else, she headed for the stairs. She took each step slowly, pulling herself by the banister and frowning in a bid to recollect quite how the man’s telephoned apologies about the vile behaviour of his girlfriend had resulted in an agreement to flog the matter still further over a cup of coffee. She had drunk two glasses of wine, Sophie recalled gloomily, a tactic to which she quite often resorted on a Saturday night when trying to feel like one of the independent single women so frequently profiled in the media instead of an overworked schoolteacher with a crap social life; with the result that she had felt gracious and amenable, only too willing to convey the impression that she had nothing better to do on Sunday mornings than offer guidance as to how to handle sixteen-year-old girls with hurt feelings and fragile egos.

  Under the needling heat of the shower, Sophie felt her body revive.

  Twisting her hair up into a towel, she paused before pulling on her bathrobe, looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the large oval mirror on her bedroom wall with a shrug of indifference. That her exercise regime had offered various improvements to what had always been a more than passable figure struck her as a matter of some irony. She ran for her brain rather than for her body, for the sense of empowerment afterwards, the fleeting feeling that she was on top of things. The fact that two years had passed since anything more animate than a pane of glass had seen her naked gave her perverse satisfaction. Not because she enjoyed being celibate, but because a part of her could not help believing that such deprivation was the least she deserved.