Something to Live For

by Richard Roper

As the vicar asked them to join him in reciting the Lord’s Prayer, the realization suddenly came to Andrew that he hadn’t been crying for Alan, or even for Beryl, but for the future version of himself, his death unmourned at a service in a drafty church with only the walls to receive the vicar’s perfunctory words.

  * * *

  —

  They said polite if stiff good-byes to the vicar (“I don’t trust men with handshakes that firm—you have to think they’re overcompensating for something,” Beryl said) and were walking arm in arm along the churchyard path when Andrew asked Beryl whether she needed accompanying back to the station. “Don’t worry, love. I’m actually visiting a couple of old friends. ‘Old’ being the operative word; I think they’ve got about seven teeth between them these days, Sheila and Georgie.”

  They’d reached the end of the path. The wind was rushing through the branches of the imposing yew tree that stood just inside the churchyard walls. They were only in mid-September, but the sublime August day in Northumberland seemed a long time ago.

  “You got time for a cuppa before I go?” Beryl said.

  Andrew scratched at the back of his head. “Sadly not.”

  “Time waits for no man, eh? Hang on, though.” Beryl scrabbled in her handbag and found a pen and paper. “I’m around for another few days. Give me your number. I’ve got my special old-lady mobile phone the size of a brick with me, so maybe we could meet up later in the week or something.”

  “That would be lovely,” Andrew said.

  Another gust of wind came, stronger this time. Beryl readjusted her hat and took Andrew by the hand.

  “You’re a good man, Andrew, coming here today. I know my Alan would’ve appreciated that. Take care now.”

  She walked away, looking brittle against the wind, but after a few steps she stopped and came back.

  “Here,” she said, digging the box of cakes out of her bag. “Share these with Peggy, won’t you?”

  — CHAPTER 24 —

  Andrew stooped to double-check, but there were no two ways about it: he was looking at a dead mouse.

  He’d been searching for a bucket because water was leaking from an unidentifiable hole in the ceiling above the back stairs. Cameron had called the maintenance team but they’d fobbed him off. His response had been to repeat some sort of mantra over and over under his breath, his eyes tightly shut.

  “Back in a sec,” Andrew had said, edging slowly away.

  As he opened the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink he was hit by the familiar stench of death, and sure enough, lying there on its back among bleach bottles and a hi-vis jacket was a mouse. This wasn’t exactly under Andrew’s remit, but he couldn’t just leave it there, so he put on a single washing-up glove and picked it up by its tail. He caught his distorted reflection in the shiny side of the coffee machine and saw the mouse swinging back and forth, as if he were performing some sort of macabre hypnotism. Since he didn’t want to disturb whatever mindfulness ritual Cameron was going through, his only option was to go back through the office and out of the front entrance to find somewhere to dispose of the corpse. So it was with a horrible inevitability that he had managed to get all the way to the main doors without passing a soul, only to be met by Peggy coming the other way. She was distracted by collapsing her umbrella, and making a split-second judgment, Andrew opened his coat pocket and stuffed the mouse inside it. Her umbrella now folded away, Peggy spotted Andrew and made her way over.

  “Hello,” she said, “how’s tricks?”

  Aside from the dead mouse in my pocket?

  “Yes, okay. Nothing new, really. You’re feeling better then?”

  He had meant it as a genuine question but in his flustered state it came out almost sarcastically. Thankfully, Peggy didn’t seem to take it that way.

  “Yep, much better,” she said. “What’s the craic today then?”

  “Oh, just the usual.”

  Mouse in my pocket, mouse in my pocket, mouse in my pocket.

  “Keith and Meredith?”

  “Not in yet.”

  “Thank god for small mercies. And we’ve not been fired, yet?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, that’s something.”

  For the first time since Andrew had known Peggy, there was an awkward pause.

  “Well, I better crack on,” Peggy said. “Coming?”

  “Sure,” Andrew said. “I’ve just got to . . . I’ll see you in there.”

  He disposed of the mouse in some weeds in a corner of the car park. He had only just gotten back inside when he looked out of the window to see Keith arriving on his scooter next to the burial ground. Such was his size relative to the machine it reminded Andrew of a clown on one of those ankle-height tricycles. Barely half a minute later Meredith drove up in her custard-yellow hatchback, and Andrew watched her and Keith take a sly look around before locking lips, Keith wrapping his arms around Meredith as the kiss became more passionate, so it looked as if she’d fallen into quicksand.

  * * *

  —

  Andrew was trying to write an obituary for Warren but kept distracting himself by stealing glances at Peggy, who despite her earlier assurances that she was feeling better still looked pale and worn out. Though that might have been something to do with having to listen to Meredith banging on about some sort of “retreat” where she’d just been on holiday. He was considering going over to rescue Peggy, but things felt so different now. He couldn’t bear the idea of her smiling warily as he approached, worried that he might try to bring up what had happened in Northumberland. Instead, he trudged to the kitchen and went to make tea. Someone had finished the milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge. Andrew wished that whoever it was (and let’s face it, it was Keith) would tread on an upturned plug in bare feet sometime soon. From the kitchen doorway he could see into Cameron’s office. Cameron was sitting at his computer, arms aloft, viciously squeezing a stress ball in each hand. He saw Andrew and his grimace turned into a slightly pained smile, the same expression a baby pulls in the process of filling its nappy. At least today can’t get any worse, Andrew thought, and as if Cameron had read his mind he chose that moment to wheel himself over on his chair.

  “Remember, guys, it’s dinner party mark two tonight.”

  — CHAPTER 25 —

  Andrew peered out from behind a tree across the street from Meredith’s house, picking at the price label on the cheapest bottle of wine he’d been able to find in the corner shop. (He was no expert, but he was pretty sure that Latvia wasn’t famed for its rosé.)

  He braced himself to enter the fray. Cameron had been suspiciously quiet since the cutbacks conversation, and even though they were supposedly “mates,” Andrew wasn’t going to assume for a minute that he was safe. He would have to be on his best behavior tonight. Cameron was continuing to give a disproportionately large shit about these stupid dinner parties, so if pretending to be the sort of person who enjoyed talking about school catchment areas over an underbaked flan stood him in good stead, then so be it.

  He was about to cross the road when a car pulled up outside and he shrank back as he saw Peggy climb out of the passenger side, waving good-bye to Maisie and Suze in the backseats. The window lowered and Andrew heard Steve’s gruff voice. Peggy turned and leaned in through the window to retrieve the handbag Steve was proffering, and there was just enough light in the car for Andrew to see them kiss. He waited after Peggy had gone inside and watched as Steve cracked his knuckles before taking what was unmistakably a hip flask from the glove compartment and taking a deep swig before driving off, tires shuddering against the tarmac.

  * * *

  —

  Meredith opened the door and bestowed a kiss on each of Andrew’s cheeks, a greeting he received while motionless, as if he were a statue she was kissing for luck. The music that was playing from concealed speakers
throughout the house was, Meredith cheerfully informed him, by someone called Michael Bublé.

  “It’s jazz!” she added, taking the wine from him.

  “Is it?” Andrew said, looking around for something hard and pointy to bash his face into.

  The others were all there. Keith, to Andrew’s surprise, was dressed in a gray suit with a purple tie, the knot of which was largely obscured by the folds of his neck. He looked troublingly happy. Cameron—who was already sitting at the dining room table with a large glass of red wine—was wearing a white shirt with three buttons undone, graying chest hair poking through, and had a bracelet of wooden beads around his wrist.

  Andrew bumped into Peggy coming back from the loo and they performed an interminably awkward shuffle as each tried to let the other past.

  “You know what, I’m just going to stand still and close my eyes until you’ve found a way past,” Peggy said.

  “Good plan,” Andrew said. As he passed her he caught what smelled like a new scent—something subtle and fresh. For some reason this floored him even more than seeing the kiss. He felt his stomach plunge.

  “I thought we’d start with a bit of a game, just to loosen us up,” Meredith said once they were all assembled in the dining room.

  Oh joy, Andrew thought.

  “Let’s go around the group, saying a word each, until we’ve improvised a story. It can be about anything. First person to go blank or crack up loses. Andrew, why don’t you start.”

  Oh god.

  Andrew: “We.”

  Peggy: “All.”

  Cameron: “Went.”

  Meredith: “To.”

  Keith: “Meredith’s.”

  Andrew: “House.”

  Peggy: “And.”

  Cameron: “We.”

  Meredith: “All.”

  Keith: “Really.”

  Andrew: “Hated.”

  Andrew looked over to Peggy. Why was she staring at him like that? Did that mean she’d lost? And then he realized what he’d said.

  Thankfully, Peggy came to his rescue, saying “having,” and the rest of the story went on until Cameron inexplicably started guffawing and the game was quickly brought to a close. The dinner itself passed uneventfully. Meredith delivered several courses, all of them seemingly varieties on the theme of hedge cuttings, which left Andrew starving. He’d worked his way through most of his bottle of Latvian wine, which was surprisingly nice (so he was a racist as well as cheap), drumming his fingers on the table as he listened to the others talking about a Scandinavian crime box set he’d yet to watch. Meredith prefaced her thoughts by saying, “This isn’t a spoiler,” before revealing the death of a lead character, two plot twists, and the dialogue from the final scene of the show in its entirety. He’d cross that one off his list, then.

  Cameron had been his usual animated self, edging toward the giddy end of the spectrum. Andrew hadn’t thought his behavior particularly unusual, but when Cameron stood up to go to the loo he wobbled on his feet, grabbing on to a cabinet for support, before weaving unsteadily out of the room.

  “He got here an hour early,” Meredith whispered gleefully. “Got stuck into the malbec like you wouldn’t believe. I think there’s trouble in paradise with Clara.”

  “And where’s your feller tonight?” Peggy asked, just as Keith went to brush a crumb from Meredith’s sleeve. He withdrew his hand sharply but Meredith grabbed it, like a lion being fed a hunk of meat in a zoo, and slapped it down on the table, locking her fingers with his.

  “Well, in fact,” she said, “I was—we were—going to wait until after the homemade profiteroles, but we’ve actually got something to tell you.”

  “You’re shagging?” Peggy said, stifling a yawn.

  “Well, there’s no need to be so crude about it,” Meredith said, a fixed smile on her face. “But, yes, Keith and I are officially partners. As in lovers,” she added, in case anyone thought they were about to float a company on the stock market.

  The dining room door swung open and banged against the wall as Cameron staggered over to his chair. “What have I missed, then?” he said.

  “Them two are ‘lovers,’ apparently,” Peggy said. Andrew went to top up her glass but she put her hand over the top and shook her head.

  “Well, that’s, I mean, good . . . Good for you,” Cameron said. “Now, that’s what I call team bonding!” He laughed raucously at his own joke.

  “Keith, would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a moment?” Meredith said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Keith said, the familiar leer back on his face.

  “I’m just going to get some air,” Peggy said. She looked at Andrew and raised her eyebrows.

  “I think I will, too,” Andrew said.

  “There’s a surprise,” Keith said quietly.

  “What’s that?” Peggy said.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Keith said, hands raised defensively.

  The four of them stood and Cameron looked up at them, confused, like a little boy lost in a crowd.

  Outside, Peggy produced a cigarette and offered one to Andrew, who accepted despite having no intention of smoking it. He lowered his arm, letting the cigarette burn, and watched Peggy inhale deeply.

  “Cheek of that knobber Keith,” Peggy said, tilting her head up as she exhaled smoke. Andrew again caught a hint of her new perfume and felt like he might overbalance. He wasn’t sure why it was affecting him like this. He hummed tunelessly, the silence too much to bear.

  “What?” Peggy said, seemingly taking this to mean he wasn’t in agreement with her about Keith.

  “Nothing,” Andrew said. “He’s a knobber, like you said.”

  Peggy exhaled again. “You haven’t . . . said anything to him, have you?”

  “No, of course not,” Andrew said, cringing.

  “Okay. Good.”

  This was miserable. To hear the concern in Peggy’s voice at the thought of their secret coming out, knowing that her primary concern was jeopardizing her reconciliation with Steve, was torture. Should he tell her he’d seen Steve drinking as he’d driven off? Regardless of what had happened between them, surely she had a right to know if Steve was lying to her, especially if he was endangering the girls. Peggy was eyeing him suspiciously.

  “Just so we’re clear, you’re not going to do anything silly, are you? No mad gestures inspired by those two idiots in there? Because believe me, that won’t work.”

  This time, it was anger Andrew felt. He hadn’t asked to come and stand in the cold and be humiliated like this.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, “I wouldn’t dream of ruining things for you.”

  Peggy took a final drag on her cigarette and threw it to the ground, crushing it with her boot heel, fixing Andrew with a steely expression.

  “Just so you know,” she said, her tone so harsh it made Andrew take a step back, “this hasn’t been an easy week for me. It’s been pretty grueling, in fact, largely because I’ve spent the entire time doing what that moron Cameron would no doubt describe as a root-and-branch review of my marriage. But thankfully, for all the pain involved, it’s resulted in Steve cleaning himself up and deciding to be a husband and a father again. And that’s how things have to be for me. There’s no other option. It’s not my place to say, but if you’re not happy with Diane then maybe you need to have an honest conversation with her too.”

  Andrew was going to let her walk back inside, but these last words had stung him too much and he couldn’t stop himself.

  “I saw Steve drop you off earlier,” he blurted out. “With the girls in the car.”

  “And?” Peggy said, her hand on the door handle.

  “When you’d gone inside he took out a hip flask.”

  Peggy bowed her head.

  “I’m sorry,” Andrew said. “I just thought you should know.”<
br />
  “Oh, Andrew,” Peggy said. “Did all that stuff we talked about before—about being friends, about being there for each other . . . did it not mean anything to you?”

  “What? Of course it did.”

  She shook her head sadly.

  “Yet you’re fine with lying to me?”

  “No, I . . .”

  But Peggy didn’t stay to hear him out, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Andrew stood listening to the faint strains of music and voices coming from inside. He looked at Peggy’s cigarette smoldering on the floor and realized he was still holding his own. He took aim and dropped his onto hers, then mashed them together with his heel.

  * * *

  —

  For the rest of the evening he retreated into himself, picturing his Ella records and all the model train components he owned neatly laid out on the floor, debating what he could live with selling should he be the one to get sacked. There was Souvenir Album, maybe. It was probably the record he listened to the least. The DB Schenker Class 67 had seen better days, too, he supposed. It looked magnificent still but barely made it around the track without slowing to a melancholy stop at least a couple of times, no matter how much he serviced it.

  Peggy sat glumly while Cameron, Keith and Meredith entered the stage of drunkenness where one-upmanship masquerades as badinage. There were boasts of drinking sessions, crowbarred anecdotes about meeting celebrities and, most alienating of all, talk of sexual exploits.

  “Come on then, come on then,” Keith said, raising his voice above the others’. He had seemed unusually awkward earlier, before Meredith had made their affair public, but now he was relaxing into his old self, shirt untucked, tie loosened, like Mr. Toad on dress-down Friday. “Who here’s done it in public?” he said.

  So far Andrew had gotten away with staying quiet and eating his food, occasionally smiling or nodding to give the impression he was engaged with the conversation. But now their plates were cleared and he had nowhere to hide. Keith caught his eye and Andrew knew instantly that he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to embarrass him.