Why am I doing this? It’s torture, actually. Prying into the different parts of the life of a man because I know he’ll never show me his parts himself.
Oh, you know what I mean.
But I want to know all about him, as much as I can find out, every detail – where he works, where he lives, his hobbies, his friends – without arousing suspicion or being arrested for stalking.
I’ve driven past every building I can find, and I’ve read every sign outside every building, looking for the name McCarthy; and then as I round the corner having turned round for the third time, I spot it.
McCarthy Systems is not on one of the signs I’ve been reading. That’s why I kept missing it. McCarthy Systems is written in huge, shining letters across the top of the building itself. Because McCarthy Systems doesn’t rent office space inside a larger building. McCarthy Systems is the larger building.
I’ve parked on the side of the road and got out of the car to stare. Look at the size of the place. It’s a fourstoreyed building with glass sides and a staff car park. It’s probably got a staff canteen and rest rooms with drink machines and water dispensers. There’s probably a McCarthy Systems Christmas Party and people sitting at home with MS pens and MS stationery on their tables that they’ve pinched from the office. And Hector, my Hector, is their boss. He’s their boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. I’m gasping here.
In another place, a place that is felt but not ever seen, a tiny pair of black eyes flutter and slowly open for the first time. In vain they are staring into the impenetrable darkness, wet and sightless, now only waiting for the moment when light will strike them and images will fill them, making them see.
I trudge back to my car and drive home, tears welling up again. I know that I have to choose, have chosen, Plum over Hector, but why, oh why, can’t I just have both?
Let’s leave me blubbing alone in my car for a moment – no need for you to see that – and go back to Horizon Holidays. Up at the front of the room, Hector is there, fidgeting. He’s smiled and shaken hands with department manager after department manager, promising them all an easier more organized life with a virtually paper-free office, and now he has face-ache.
He’d known I was likely to be there somewhere, but he’d tried not to look for me, tried to keep his concentration. As soon as he’d seen me, of course, sitting there so tiny and sweet (tiny? bulbous more like), struggling to lean forward and reach the plate on the table because of the bump, he had longed to speak to me, longed to touch me, smell my hair . . .
It’s a shame because I used some gorgeous cranberry and raspberry shampoo that morning, so my hair was smelling delicious.
No, he couldn’t do that anyway, not in the circumstances. You can’t go around smelling hair that belongs to another. He had tried to ignore me and carry on with his little speech, but it had proved impossible. He was like an alcoholic or a drug addict, unable to function until he had had a fix. He needed a fix now, dammit, but I’d already gone. He’s frowning a bit, which with the fixed smile makes him look a little bit mad. But he is feeling mad. He acknowledges to himself that he needs a fix every bloody, damn day.
So now he’s hiding in a corner, watching all the Horizon staff enjoying the free food and wine – courtesy not of Rupert de Witter, as everyone believes, but of McCarthy Systems – and tries to relax the muscles in his face. He is tense, though, and not just in his face. So he’s fidgeting.
‘Have a drink, mate,’ Rupert says, nudging into him from behind. ‘You did pay for it, after all!’
Hector smiles. ‘No thanks, Rupe.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Just got to drive home later, that’s all.’
‘Oh.’
‘Actually, Rupe, I do have a bit of a headache, so if it’s all right with you, I’d like to . . .’ He gestures towards the door.
‘Course, mate, course. You head off. I’ll see you in the week.’
‘Yep, you will. Seeya.’
He claps Rupert gratefully on the back and starts to make his way through the crowd to the back of the room. He’s glancing this way and that as he walks, desperately scanning the crowd. Who do you think he’s looking for? Rupert’s PA? The head of Data Processing? The toilets?
It’s me, isn’t it?
Anyway, I’m not there, I’m driving slowly home from the business park, my eyes swollen and bloodshot, my nose red and running. Thank God Hector can’t see me. He continues to scan as he walks until eventually his eyes do fall on someone he recognizes. Can you make out who he’s spotted? Or can you guess? He squints at the person, drawing nearer, trying to remember where he knows him. It was only recently, he’s fairly sure of that. And of course it must have been inside Horizon’s building. But where? In a corridor. In a darkened corridor, during the Christmas party, and at that moment, as he watches with loathing as this boy kisses and touches the girl next to him, his face contorts and his eyes narrow. Hector knows who it is.
This is the father of Rachel’s baby, he’s sure of it, and here he is, kissing some other girl. He is filled with molten fury and clenches his fists as he walks nearer, his eyes wild.
‘Get up,’ he demands in a low voice. They both turn to look at him.
‘Mr McCartney, er – sir. Wh-what . . .?’
‘Just get up, please.’ He’s practically snarling. They both stand up and Hector looks at the girl.
‘Not you. I suggest you go home.’
She looks at the boy and he nods, giving his permission. She glances up at Hector, then grabs her bag and jacket and hurries towards the door, glancing back over her shoulder repeatedly.
God, how seductive is that, that people just do his bidding? It’s a good job I’m still booing in my car, all red nose and wet cheeks, and can’t see Hector’s command of the room. I would probably faint at his feet.
Hector bends slightly and puts his face very close to the boy’s. ‘Come outside, would you, just for a moment?’
The boy nods and follows him through the double doors and into the deserted lobby.
Hector turns to face him. ‘You should be bloody ashamed of yourself.’
‘Wh—?’
‘You’ve got responsibilities, you little shit. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I-I’m . . .’
‘Don’t answer that. It’s perfectly obvious what you’re doing. Messing around like that with her when you know you should be somewhere else.’
Nick receives a sudden moment of clarity and understanding, and a small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. ‘Is this about me being married? Because it’s not—’
‘Married!’ Hector puts his hands on his head in despair. ‘Oh, this gets better and better!’
Nick puts his hands out. ‘No, no, it’s not like that . . .’
‘Oh, just shut up. You’re pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth she would want you . . .’ He shakes his head.
Nick looks back towards the door, towards Paris. ‘Why wouldn’t she? And what’s it got to do with you, anyway?’
‘You don’t know how lucky you are, you little bastard. You don’t deserve what you’ve got.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No, you don’t.’ Hector lowers his head and brings his face eye to eye with Nick. He’s at least four inches taller. ‘Now you listen to me. You will end this relationship immediately, do you understand?’
‘Or what?’
‘Do I need to spell it out? You’ve probably noticed how much influence I have over Rupert de Witter. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you can’t do that! I have a contract, and there’s—’
‘Do you want to try me?’
He hesitates. ‘No.’
‘Good.’ Hector stares furiously at him for a few seconds, then strides away towards the main door and out into the car park.
Nick watches him, then goes back through the double doors into the ca
nteen where Paris is waiting.
‘Oh God, Nick, what on earth was all that about?’
Nick shakes his head. ‘I really don’t know. Maybe he’s heard this rumour about me being married or something.’
‘But what’s that got to do with him?’
‘Maybe he’s a really highly moral person and tries to stamp out adultery wherever he finds it. I don’t know, babe. All I know is, he’s threatened me with the sack.’
‘Bloody hell! This is mad!’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He drapes his arm around her shoulders and plays with her hair. ‘There’s only one thing left for me to do.’
Here’s Hector, marching violently away from Horizon. His face is twisted with anger and he is repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists. He is thinking about that little shit who thinks it’s all right to get someone pregnant, then fool around with someone else in plain view. Good God, she could have seen them there. Could that have been why she left in such a hurry?
He halts suddenly. Maybe she didn’t leave? Maybe she just ran off into the Ladies to cry in private. He turns back towards the building. Takes one step. Then turns around again and resumes walking across the car park to his car. If she was in the Ladies, she would be surrounded by female friends all saying ‘Oh God,’ and ‘It’s awful,’ while they surreptitiously check their hair in the mirror. She would neither want nor need him there.
But what if she doesn’t know? Back in his car, he sits for a while holding his phone, staring at it. Should he tell her? What business is it of his? Well, she is his friend. Good friend. He is her friend. That’s all. But is that all? Is there an ulterior motive? No, of course not. The fact that Nick is married – and therefore can’t marry Rachel – is out there, but Hector is trying to do the right thing and ignore it. He just doesn’t want to see her hurt. Is that all? Well, all right, he admits to himself, he would be delighted to see Nick out of the picture, but not if it means Rachel being hurt. So don’t tell her. But she ought to know. What if he were in that position? Would he want to be told? Damn right he would and he would be bloody well annoyed if someone he considered a good friend had known, and not told him. Right. Ring her then. OK. Good.
He dials her home number, which he took when she had her accident, and is taken aback when it’s not answered by Rachel.
‘Oh, er, hello. Is that the home of Rachel Covington?’
‘Yeah, I’ll just get her.’ There are some muffled noises and as he listens he realizes suddenly that he had recognized that voice.
Sarah calls me to the phone when I am up to my elbows in hot soapy washing-up. I whip off the Marigolds and leave them on the coffee table in front of her, as a hint, and take the phone.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello again, Rachel. It’s Hector.’
‘Hi.’ Sarah is settling back down on the sofa, the Marigolds dripping on to the carpet. I cradle the phone to my ear and go out into the hallway.
‘Listen, was that Sarah who answered the phone?’
OH MY GOD! It hits me that in the nine days that Sarah has been with me, I have completely forgotten to tell Hector. I didn’t even think about it at work today.
‘Oh Hector, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to tell you. Sarah has left Glenn.’
Remember when Hector was driving too fast to the hospital when I had my car accident, and he kept pulling out in front of lorries and cutting up taxi drivers? Well, here he is again, screeching out of the Horizon car park and speeding through the town. He arrives ten minutes later, and it’s a journey that really ought to take twenty. But he knows how uncomfortable that two-seater is to sleep on and what he has heard has upset him a lot. I’m enjoying thinking that it’s the thought of me on the two-seater that kept his foot firmly down on that accelerator.
He hammers on the front door until it’s pulled open, then marches straight into the living room.
‘Oh, hello, Hector.’
‘I understand that your wife and child have left you?’
Glenn stares at a point in space in front of him. ‘Yes, last week. Why?’
‘Do you know where they are?’
‘No. I don’t even know where to look. I mean, she’s got credit cards, passports, they could be anywhere in the world by now.’
‘Did you try Jake’s school?’
Glenn’s eyes flick to Hector’s without even moving his head. ‘No I didn’t. I didn’t even think of that. I’m so tired all the time. Just can’t stop sleeping. I haven’t been to work, I can’t eat. Look at me.’ They both look down at his filthy greying dressing gown. ‘I’m a mess. A complete wreck. I just can’t . . .’ Tears well up and spill over. ‘I miss them, Hec, I just miss them so much. Please help me . . .’
Hector sighs. The sight of his little brother in this state has done a lot to cool his anger. He wanted to shout and scream at Glenn for being such a selfish idiot, but it’s now obvious to him that Glenn is suffering for what he’s done and doesn’t need his brother telling him how stupid he was.
‘They’re staying with a friend of Sarah’s – Rachel Covington.’
Glenn nods. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of her?’
‘She’s got a one-bedroomed flat, Glenn. Sarah and Jake share the bed while Rachel sleeps on the sofa. She’s six months’ pregnant.’
‘Oh. What can I do to help? Do they need a new sofa or something?’
‘No, of course not, you idiot. They need you to get out of here so they can move back in.’
Glenn is nodding vigorously. ‘Yeah, sure, of course. I’ll do that. Anything. But do you think Sarah will ever . . .?’
‘I can’t say, Glenn. You’ll just have to give her time. She’s very hurt.’
‘I know, I know. I’ve been so stupid. I didn’t mean this to happen, I really didn’t.’
‘Oh shut up. You don’t have an affair with someone by accident. The only thing you didn’t want to happen was Sarah finding out and leaving you.’
Glenn looks hurt, and then looks sorry. He nods. ‘You’re right, Hec. I am scum.’
Hector puts his hand on his brother’s arm and almost smiles at him with affection. And look at the effect that’s having on Glenn. His face looks brighter, more animated, than it has since Sarah went, as if just knowing that he has his brother’s support will help him cope. ‘Glenn, you have to try to make this right again, do you understand? You have got to make amends.’
He nods again, more slowly. ‘I will. I will do anything to get them back. Can I speak to them, do you think?’
‘Eventually. But not yet. I think they will both feel a lot better once they are back in their own home. Give it a week or so, and then we’ll try and set it up.’
‘Right.’ Tears are sliding silently down Glenn’s face. ‘I ended it, Hec. I swear to you. I ended it the day she left. Before she left. It was over. What am I going to do?’
Hector puts his arm around his pathetic brother. ‘You are going to clean this place up, clean yourself up, and sort this whole thing out. All right?’
Glenn nods. ‘All right. Can I stay with you?’
Chapter Nineteen
SO GLENN MOVES in with Hector and Sarah and Jake can go home. It’s too late to do anything that night, so Sarah and I agree that we’ll spend the following day clearing up her stuff and moving her and Jake back in.
I am counting the minutes. I’ve even made a plan. As soon as they’re gone, I’m going to lie down on my bed and have a snooze. In the middle of the day. I’m fantasizing about it. The smooth bed, clean, cool sheets, soft mattress. Silence and solitude. And sleep.
It’s 6 o’clock on Saturday morning, the day after the staff meeting. I fell off the sofa again at half past five, which woke Plum up, after he’d finally dropped off about two, so I haven’t been able to get back to sleep. My eyelids feel like they’re made of hessian, scratching my eyeballs every time I blink, but I don’t care. Later today, I will be inert on my own big bed.
I’ve made some toast and am standing in t
he warm kitchen, yawning and licking chocolate spread off my fingers. Outside it’s all quiet and dark, apart from one or two birds starting to cheep sleepily, and the electric whine of the milkman’s van. All the world is asleep apart from me and Plum, and it’s lovely that it’s just us two, sharing this peaceful moment together. I love the fact that from now on, I will always have someone to share these moments with; someone to talk to, someone to hug, someone to be with in the cold darkness of the early morning or the night’s silent loneliness.
‘Fucking awful night I’ve had,’ Sarah announces loudly, coming suddenly into the kitchen. ‘My child kept me awake half the fucking night.’
I jump and turn to look at her. Da-da-da-da-da-da, dada-da-da-da-da.
‘Yes, I know what you—’
‘Clinging on, not letting me move even two inches away from him.’ She yawns. ‘I’m glad you’re up. Any chance of some breakfast? I’ll have what you’re having.’
I make more toast and she munches away while I finish washing up the things from last night.
‘Well, seeing as we’re both up, we might as well make a start on the packing, mightn’t we? You could be back home by . . .’ I take a peek at my watch. It’s nearly seven o’clock. ‘. . . half past ten, I should think. You must be dying to get home, Sarah.’
She shrugs. ‘I suppose so. I do need to get a good night’s sleep, I know that. Your bed is not very comfortable, is it?’
‘Well, I’ve always—’
‘Plus, this place is very cramped for the three of us, isn’t it? I’m not criticizing – I mean, you’ve really only got room for one, haven’t you, which is perfect for you, but it’s not so great for us . . .’ She trails off, remembering suddenly that I’m not going to be just one for much longer. ‘I mean obviously there’s enough room for you and a baby, but just not us as well.’ She smiles weakly.
At this stage, I’ve got the feeling that there’s a ‘But’ coming. She’s listing all the reasons why she should want to be out of here, but if she really wanted to go, she wouldn’t be listing reasons, she’d be packing. I’m not naive enough to think that she doesn’t want to appear too eager to leave out of kindness.
Thanks For Nothing, Nick Maxwell Page 29