by Sue Welfare
It wasn’t the question Kate particularly wanted to answer.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t even thought about it. I wish you could’ve seen him. He’s got a tan and works out. You don’t get a six pack by accident, and he’s in bed with my mother, a woman whose idea of exercise and a good time used to be throwing a stick for the family Labrador.’
Kate took a long pull on her tea.
‘My mother is sleeping with a man whose body is in better shape than any man I’ve ever been out with. A Chippendale is screwing my mother. My mother is having sex, for God’s sake.’
Wisely, Chrissie said nothing, so Kate continued in a hoarse whisper, ‘He calls her “Mags-baby”. There is just no way I can stay here with the pair of them, Chrissie. It’s sickening. He was dotting about making tea in his knickers. I’m going to tell them that I’ve spoken to you and that you need me to get back for the boys, and besides that I’ve got work to do – clients that I can’t possibly let down.’
‘Right.’ Chrissie didn’t sound convinced.
‘Chrissie, I’ve just driven up here, worried sick about what I’m going to find, all set to play Florence Nightingale, only to discover that when I wasn’t looking my mother transmogrified into Mrs Robinson. And I can’t believe that this guy Guy has moved in here with her without her saying so much as a word to either me or Liz.’
‘I read somewhere that the original Mrs Robinson was only about thirty-seven or thirty-eight.’
‘I’m thirty-eight,’ Kate hissed, ‘and I’ll tell you now I am certainly not Mrs Robinson material. My mother is fifty-eight. She should be making jam and doing yoga, going to evening classes to expand her mind not be, not be –’
‘In bed with some good-looking guy and his suntanned six pack?’ said Chrissie.
‘Exactly,’ hissed Kate.
Chrissie sighed. ‘Look. If it wasn’t your mother and I wasn’t meant to say how disgusted and horrified I am, which I obviously I am, I’d cheer and so would you. If you could just see beyond this whole mother daughter thing, you’d go out and buy a roll of bunting and a couple of bottles of fizzy pink plonk, celebrating the breaking down of sexual mores and God knows how many years of indoctrination and sexual repression.’
There was a long pause and then Kate said, ‘You’ve been reading Cosmo again, haven’t you?’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Chrissie.
‘Do? What do you mean, do?’
‘While Guy is away in Germany?’
‘He’s already said he’s going to cancel his trip.’
‘And you think she’ll let him?’
‘All right, all right – but I do have work to sort out and I can hardly leave the boys there with you all week, it’s not fair.’
‘Don’t worry, Joe and I will manage between us and Bill offered to lend a hand if the going gets tough. We’ll be fine. Honest. I’d stay where you are, at least over the weekend until you see how they manage. Oh and Kate –’
‘Yes?’
‘Enjoy the view.’
Kate snorted and as she said her goodbyes made up her mind to go home the next morning, whatever Chrissie said and come back again on Monday, if and when Guy flew off to wherever it was he was going.
While it was true nobody was going to die if Kate took the week off, all the projects she was working on did have a deadline. Kate was justifiably proud of her reputation for delivering on time, even – in the long distant past – if it meant composing copy while breast-feeding. Her job had paid the lion’s share of bills for years. If she really was going to be away for a few days, Kate ought to sort work out. All of which could have been done at her mum’s if she’d had the nous to pack the laptop. Once she had sorted out the justification for going home Kate began to relax.
As she switched off the bedroom light and settled down, she heard the bed squeaking across the hallway, which very briefly conjured up an image which was just too horrible to contemplate.
‘Are you certain that you have to go home? It seems such a pity.’ Maggie was sitting up in bed, flanked by a set of crutches, drinking tea. In the daylight her bruises looked more painful, bright navy in contrast to her pallor and so violent that Kate couldn’t look at them directly without wincing. It was around ten the next morning, not that it really mattered what time Kate left for home; the boys were staying with Chrissie, and Joe would be off schmoozing some Yank but it felt like the right time to leave.
‘I’ll try and get back next week. I need to sort my client list out and make arrangements for the kids.’
Maggie painted on what passed for a brave smile. ‘Okay, if you’re sure. Thanks for coming to the rescue, darling. It was so nice to see you. Ring me when you get back.’
Kate kissed her goodbye and then jogged down the stairs, fighting with her guilt, not protesting when Guy offered to carry her bag out to the car.
At the car, to her surprise, he gave her a hug. ‘It’s been great to meet you at last, Kate, I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a real shame you couldn’t stay longer, but don’t worry I’ll take good care of your mum.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Safe journey home.’
Kate nodded. It was sickening, Guy was so genuinely nice and pleasant that Kate was ashamed of herself for feeling so – so what? So jealous? So put out, so aggrieved? Angry? Disgusted, excluded? What on earth was it that was churning away in the bottom of her belly? Some odd out-of-the-cradle, pseudo-sibling rivalry? Was she jealous of Maggie or jealous of Guy? It was all far too Freudian to contemplate; she would glad to be safe in the car and on her way home.
Breakfast had been almost more than Kate could bear. Guy loping round in the kitchen wrapped up in a white towelling robe, all buffed and puffed and pink from the shower, making up a tray for Maggie, with a bunch of daisies on it. He was way too gentle and funny. Tender, warm. There had to be a catch, surely to God no one could be that good? What must it be like to be loved by someone who did all that sort of thing and really meant it?
‘Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t make it next week,’ he was saying, as she buckled up her seat belt. ‘It’ll be okay, we’ll manage, don’t worry.’ He was standing alongside the car. ‘Viv next door has already said she’ll keep on eye on Maggie and help her out if I can’t reschedule the Germany trip. I should know later today –’
Kate reversed out onto the road, managing to give Guy a smile and a perfunctory wave, wondering how her conscience would feel if she decided not to come back at all, ever. Her mind shuffled and reshuffled the possible permutations. Maybe Guy would be able to reorganise the trip. Maybe if she just went back for a day or two, arrive Monday and go home Wednesday morning. Maybe by the time she got home Kate would have worked out why she felt so bloody strange about the whole setup.
The drive home wasn’t bad and as Kate turned off the main drag into Windsor Street it looked as though the houses had been waiting for her, all stretched out, basking in the summer sun, Bill’s red geraniums glowing like a beacon on his windowsill. It felt really good to be back. It was hard to believe she had only been away overnight.
Joe’s car was still parked in the road outside their house, wedged tightly between a VW and a dark purple Ka. Kate sighed; back to reality, she thought, with something less than a wry smile. Silly bugger had probably been so drunk the night before that he hadn’t dared drive in to his meeting. Interesting combination, a raging hangover and the Underground.
Kate found a space to park a little way up the road and as she walked back a peculiar thought appeared in her head. It sprang from nowhere, was totally irrational, and Kate had absolutely no idea what triggered it, but as soon it did, she tried very hard to unthink it. It was ridiculous and yet some part of her was absolutely certain that when she got in Joe and Chrissie would be together in her house.
And the even more ridiculous thing was that she was right.
Kate pushed opened the back door and there was Chrissie, as bold as brass, sitting at the kitchen table, all wrapped up in Kate
’s favourite pale blue bathrobe, drinking coffee with Joe. Her best friend and her husband.
It was around about lunchtime; the boys were nowhere in sight. Joe was sitting at the other side of the table, cradling a mug. He was dressed in an old tee-shirt and boxer shorts and hadn’t shaved. Kate knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no innocent explanation for what she was looking at; Joe and Chrissie had slept together. More than that, she knew with the same degree of certainty, that they had done it before. Several times, lots and lots of times, enough times so they had stopped counting because they were in the kind of comfort zone that only comes with familiarity.
For an instant Kate felt as if she was the one on the outside, an intruder, a stranger, excluded, and felt almost guilty for barging in on the pair of them.
As fast as the thoughts bubbled up, Kate struggled to suppress them; it was crazy even though she knew she was right. In those few seconds which seemed to last forever it felt as if someone was squeezing every last breath of air out of her lungs and she was wading towards them through mud and treacle.
There had to be some other explanation, except of course that there wasn’t. Instead there was a moment when Joe and Chrissie and Kate all looked at one another and everyone knew and everyone caught some glimpse of the enormity of what was going on and what had been discovered, and just as quickly all that knowing vanished beneath the waves. Chrissie papered a very convincing smile on over a look of complete surprise and shock, and said, ‘Hi Kate, how was the drive? I’ve just made a cup of coffee, do you want one?’
Which was a preposterous thing to say but at least it was quick. Kate stared at her.
Joe peered across the table, looking for all the world as if someone had hit him over the head with a baseball bat. His mouth had dropped open, his eyes bulged wide.
‘We weren’t expecting you back today,’ he said. She could always rely on Joe to state the obvious. And then he added, almost as an afterthought, ‘It isn’t what you think.’
At least Chrissie had the decency to blush.
‘And what might that be?’ Kate said, very slowly, looking first at one and then the other, while something inside her contracted so hard that Kate thought there was a good chance that she might be sick.
And then Joe laughed. It might have been embarrassment, or nerves or selfconsciousness, Kate had no idea at all. But whatever it was the sound broke through into the stunned place where she was.
‘I think you’d better go home now, Chrissie,’ Kate said, mainly because she had no idea what else to say. For one awful moment Kate thought there was a chance that Chrissie might protest or say something smart, but she thought better of it, pulled Kate’s bathrobe tighter around her chest and headed off into the hall.
Kate looked around the kitchen, her home, which now seemed and felt like an alien place, feeling slightly faint and longing to sit down. Unfortunately the most obvious chair was the one Chrissie had just vacated. The others were either side of Joe and she had no desire whatsoever to sit next to him. So she stood in silence, one hand on the sink to keep her balance, and stared out into the garden while Chrissie went upstairs and got dressed. The clock ticked. The tap dripped and she could feel Joe looking at her with those big doleful eyes of his. It felt like months before Chrissie finally came tap-tap-tapping down the stairs in her supper party clothes, opened the front door and let herself out.
And then, as if the backdraft from the door closing ignited the fire that had been the smouldering inside her, Kate turned to Joe.
‘So?’ she said in voice that would have cut through sheet steel.
Part of her was tempted to let the fire inside her roar. Sweep the remains of his adulterous little brunch away with a single swipe of an angry arm, maybe throw the cups across the room, punch his stupid, stupid lights out, but Kate reined the feelings all in because even in the icy cold heart of her, Kate knew that if anyone was going to storm out indignantly it would most probably be Joe and she had no desire to be left with the chaos to clear up after the maelstrom had passed. And so she looked at him, long and hard, trying to see all those things she had missed before.
‘I’m sorry, Kate,’ he said. He spoke in a throwaway, bumped into someone on the pavement kind of voice. It was a ludicrous thing to say.
‘Sorry for screwing my best friend or sorry that you got caught? Which is it?’ she asked icily. ‘How long has this been going on, Joe?’
Along with every other thought clamouring around inside Kate’s head was this crazy fury that somehow Joe had managed to reduce their life to an excerpt from a daytime soap opera.
‘Kate, please,’ he said in a strangled tangled voice. ‘Don’t do this. I’m really sorry. Chrissie and I were just saying that we should never have let it happen.’
‘Oh well, that’s really big of you,’ Kate snapped back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
‘We were drunk. It was an accident.’
‘An accident? What do you mean, an accident? Accidents involve cars, and crockery and wet floors, Joe. What did she do, trip up and impale herself on you?’
He didn’t say a word, but then again what was there to say?
‘How many accidents have you and Chrissie had over the years, Joe? How many?’ Inside Kate was churning. She was struggling not to lose it, not to sound too angry or hurt because she wanted to know the answers. Wanted to know before she dissolved into the raw emotions. There were just too many things going around inside her head to decide which one was driving, and so her voice came out flat and cold and cruel.
‘Kate, please don’t do this.’
‘Don’t do what? Ask for answers? Want to know how long my best friend and my husband have been getting it on behind my back. How long has it been, Joe? How long?’ Kate could hear the fury rumble, developing in her ears and in her voice like a summer storm. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so much, so fiercely.
‘Look, Kate, I’ve already said I’m sorry; we didn’t mean to.’
‘What the fuck do you mean you didn’t mean to? What did it do, jump up and take you both by surprise? It’s not like you’re magnetic or anything. How long, Joe?’
He looked at Kate, wide-eyed and speechless.
‘Tell me,’ Kate roared with a voice that seemed to erupt from somewhere deep beneath her feet.
‘I can’t,’ he said, ashen now.
‘A year, two years. Five, ten?’
‘It isn’t like that.’
‘What is it like then, Joe? Or would you prefer me to ring Chrissie and ask her? You’ve gone on and on for years about what a fucking little tramp she is. How she neglects her kids, always getting herself into debt, going out with all sorts of misfits and morons. Christ, there were times when I was afraid to invite her round for a coffee in case we ended up rowing about it. And all that time you were screwing her?’
He said nothing.
Kate felt so sick that she thought she might die. ‘Since she moved in?’
Nothing.
‘Since she moved in?’ Kate roared, waiting for Joe to protest, to deny it.
But he didn’t. He didn’t deny it, instead he just looked up at Kate with eyes full of tears, and then at last very slowly said, ‘No, not all the time. When Chrissie first moved in you and I were going through a bad patch. The band was falling apart, things weren’t right between us. I don’t need to tell you this stuff, Kate, you already know it. I thought I was letting you and the boys down, that you didn’t need me, that you’d be better off without me. I was up to my arse in debt, what with all the gear, and then getting the van repossessed. Chrissie thought I was special. She just needed someone to give her a hand with a few jobs, put some shelves up, she was down on her uppers too. Depressed. I don’t know, I suppose we both needed a shoulder to cry on. What I’m saying is that it just happened. I don’t know what else to say. It just happened –’
Kate felt her whole life shift a little to the left. Where had she been when all this was going on? How w
as it she hadn’t known? Kate stared at him, remembering how she’d gone round to introduce herself to Chrissie, remembering how that first night she’d moved in Kate had invited her round to supper because Chrissie hadn’t got any gas or maybe it was electricity.
Staring at Joe, Kate watched a quick fire slide show of memories and images rip through her mind like bullets in a machine gun belt. She would have to go back now and look again at every single frame trying to spot the things she had missed the first time round. How could she possibly have not known? Was her intuition so bad?
‘And since then? How many times since you went to fix her shelves?’
Joe squirmed in the chair, a naughty boy caught with the stolen fruit in his jacket pocket.
‘Well?’
‘Look Kate, it’s not like we’re having a full-scale affair or anything.’
‘So what is it then? A harmless meeting of minds?’
He shook his head. It wasn’t so much a denial more a gesture of dismissal, of a desire to escape. Watching him, Kate wasn’t sure which hurt the most, Chrissie’s betrayal or Joe’s, and then she realised with a gut wrenching certainty it was, without a doubt, Chrissie’s.
Joe had never been privy to her thoughts and fears and dreams and giggling drunken confessions in the same unguarded way Chrissie had. Kate might have shared her body with Joe but it had been Chrissie Kate had told about her first snog, the first time she had ever seen a man naked and what she thought and felt and dreamed about almost everything else that had happened since then. Chrissie had been into those secret sacred places where only best friends go. And apparently, now it seemed, a few more besides.
Between them, they had betrayed Kate beyond words and it hurt so hard that she couldn’t gauge just how big the pain was. It spread out all around her like a rolling fog with no edge and no relief. She was angry and then furious and then humiliated; between them they had made a total fool of her, and she felt so hurt and so raw that she wanted to hit Joe and wreak some terrible, terrible vengeance. For an instant Kate wanted the pair of them dead, worse than dead, and then with a great wave of grief thought maybe it would be better if she was dead. All this ebbed and flowed through Kate’s mind in a handful of seconds.