You, Me and Him

by Alice Peterson

  His joke doesn’t work this time. ‘Fuck off, Finn.’

  Mrs B is pretending to be absorbed in studying the buttons on the machine. She’s humming loudly. The phone rings again.

  ‘Josie?’ It’s Clarky. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘No. The washing machine’s broken down.’

  ‘D’you want me to come round?’

  ‘Yes. Can you? Right now?’

  ‘See you in twenty.’

  Mrs B looks at me disapprovingly and quickly turns away again.

  I put the phone down and it rings immediately. ‘Darling, it’s Mum. How are you?’ My head is throbbing now. ‘Have I called at a bad time?’

  *

  ‘Right,’ Clarky says firmly. ‘Do you have a helpline for this machine?’

  I open a drawer and sift through various guarantee forms and pieces of paper that I had forgotten were there. ‘Here we go,’ I say eventually, clutching a pale yellow piece of paper.

  ‘I’ll give them a call.’ I feel much better after my cup of tea and thick slice of pecan pie that Clarky brought round as a treat. ‘Sometimes Finn makes me feel about this big,’ I grumble, showing Clarky a tiny space between my thumb and finger. ‘Like the little woman at home stewing in domestic strife.’

  ‘He’s always been like that though, hasn’t he, J?’ He smiles but there’s something distant in his eyes, as if he’s tired of talking about Finn, someone he doesn’t even like that much.

  ‘I wish he’d take lessons from you on how to be less patronising and arrogant.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he says uncomfortably.

  I punch in the numbers on the telephone. Then I have to listen to a stream of options before finally getting to number ten which is the customer helpline for machines in trouble. After five minutes and a lot of Handel’s Water Music in between I am finally connected to a voice. ‘What do you mean, you can’t come out today?’ I stand up and start pacing the floor, a habit I have copied from Finn. ‘But it says here on the form I have in front of me,’ I scan the page again, ‘that you deliver immediate service. I can’t wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘What seems to be the problem with the machine?’ a bored voice asks. It seems to be enjoying my predicament.

  ‘Probably something very minor. It was working perfectly yesterday.’

  ‘Today is today.’

  ‘I know today is today!’ You imbecile, I want to add. ‘There must be someone who can come over?’ Clarky is shaking his head vehemently.

  ‘Bear with me …’ I can hear tapping on a keyboard.

  ‘I’m bearing,’ I say back.

  In a sing-song the voice continues, ‘As I was saying, our first available appointment is for tomorrow. We can get a technician to you late-afternoon, estimated time of arrival approximately seventeen thirty-one.’ Each word is enunciated slowly and clearly as if I were some kind of idiot.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I whisper despairingly. ‘Well, if that really is the soonest, I suppose …’ Suddenly the receiver is whisked from my hand.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not satisfied with this level of service,’ Clarky says firmly.

  ‘Sorry? Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Her husband. I’m a journalist,’ he adds. ‘I’ve been listening in on your conversation and, I have to say, I’m seriously annoyed about this.’

  I smile.

  ‘It’s unacceptable, I’m afraid. What are you going to do about it?’

  Clarky is nodding as the voice tries to get a word in.

  ‘My wife has just had twins and I will not let her be messed around like this.’ He pauses to listen for a moment. I notice how much I like hearing him call me his wife.

  ‘No, that won’t do. Do you know what it’s like having twins? No, I’m sure you don’t. Are you a reputable company? No, I asked you if you were a reputable company?’ He waits for an answer. ‘Well, I can see I’m going to have to write an article for the Daily Mail, and then the whole nation will know that you weren’t able to provide the swift service that my wife, who’s just had twins, needs.’

  I put a hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh.

  ‘What’s your name?’ demands Clarky.

  There’s a pause. ‘OK, Steve,’ he repeats. ‘Today, at five o’clock, Dean will be coming to the house. No, that will be fine, we can just about hang on till then. Number eight Rudolf Road, Shepherds Bush. Thank you, Steve.’

  When he puts down the phone we both burst into laughter. I fling my arms around him and my big tummy hits his. ‘Clarky, you are a genius! You should be on the stage.’

  ‘Just one of my many hidden talents.’

  ‘Thank you. You are my hero.’ I stand back from him as if surveying a new person in front of me. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘Actually,’ he runs a hand through his hair, ‘it’s Aggie. A trick she’s taught me.’

  A thorn of jealousy pricks me. ‘Clarky?’ I ask tentatively.

  ‘Yes?’ he replies in the same tone.

  ‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’

  ‘Well, I’m supposed to be looking for work.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be working, but …’ I laugh, playing with my wedding ring. ‘I wondered if we could spend the day together? I know this sounds funny, but I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Missed me? But I haven’t gone anywhere.’ He does a turn on the kitchen floor. He taps his shoe against the ground. ‘I think I’m real.’

  I push his arm playfully. ‘Seriously, Clarky, I haven’t seen much of you lately, understandably, so how about we go out today, do something fun? Like old times? What do you say?’

  The phone rings and we both listen to it as if it’s some strange noise from outer space. Eventually I remember it’s my phone in my house. So I pick up.

  ‘It’s Aggie,’ she says. ‘Clarky’s not with you, is he? I’ve been ringing his home and mobile but he’s not answering.’

  ‘Yes, he’s here. Thank God!’ I add with a laugh. ‘Helping me mend my washing machine.’

  ‘Don’t you have instructions or can’t you get someone out?’

  ‘Well, he’s a genius, he used one of your tricks to do just that. Someone’s coming over to fix it later.’

  I’m not sure she’s listening. ‘Can I talk to him?’ she snaps.

  *

  Clarky and I go on a London tour bus. We sit on the top deck and watch the frantic world go by. We only half listen to the commentary on Madame Tussaud’s, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Cathedral, Harrods, the London Eye. ‘Do you realise we have known each other virtually all our lives?’ I tell him, linking an arm through his.

  ‘And we’re still talking. It’s a miracle.’ He smiles. ‘How’s George? How did the piano lessons go?’

  ‘He was keener on making Jack the cat play than himself. His swimming is great, though, all thanks to Aggie for introducing us to the teacher.’

  ‘Look over there, J.’ He nudges me. ‘At that old couple.’ There’s a frail woman in black trousers and a pale pink top pushing a man in a wheelchair. He has a thin rug over his knees. She places a flower behind his ear, he laughs as if the petals tickle, she kisses him gently on the cheek and then they continue walking down the busy London pavement.

  There’s something indescribably touching about what she has just done. Clarky and I watch silently until he finally says, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch for a while.’

  ‘It’s fine. I know what it’s like when you first start going out with someone.’

  ‘Aggie’s great. I just wish she wasn’t so insecure. Her last husband, “the sod”, has a lot to answer for. When El was born he started drinking, lost his job, had an affair …’

  I start to chew my thumbnail. ‘Poor Aggie. She didn’t tell me about that. What did he do?’

  ‘He ran his own carpet-cleaning business. Aggie told me his chief claim to fame was that he’d cleaned Rod Stewart’s carpet. “How was I supposed to get excited about that?” she said.’

  I smile.<
br />
  ‘Anyway, he used to just sit in the pub, all day long, drinking himself into a stupor, believing the whole world was against him because what on earth had he done wrong to deserve a child like El? When she found out he’d been unfaithful she filed for divorce. She told me she’d never been in love with him in the first place, so how could she be expected to love him when he was a drunk who gave her and El no support?’

  ‘He makes Finn look like an angel.’

  ‘Me too. It’s easy to impress after him.’

  ‘You are an angel, though.’

  ‘Josie.’ He blushes.

  ‘But you’re getting on great, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shifts in his seat. ‘She’s a bit jealous about you and me, though. Didn’t like the idea of us spending this afternoon together. She was really prickly on the phone and I can’t be bothered with that.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing. She didn’t have to. She was abrupt, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, God. She should get together with Finn. They’d bond over that one.’

  ‘I nearly lied to her today but then I thought, no, that’s wrong. I should be able to see you and not feel guilty.’

  I press my lips together, heat creeping into my face. ‘I’d probably be jealous too. I’m even jealous of Alessia, the phantom medic. She’s on this conference with Finn. But jealousy’s a waste of time. We have to trust, don’t we?’

  ‘Exactly. I’m not going to start lying when we’ve nothing to hide, right?’

  We look at one another. I see us as children again, on the school bus. I see him sticking up for me with that quiet self-assurance when I had to wear my head brace.

  ‘When Aggie’s not being insecure she’s funny, genuine, so unlike the girls I’ve dated in the past. It’s about time I found someone … El’s cute too. His language is appalling, though.’

  ‘My God, he’s a little terror! George called me a bitch the other day, and his father an arsehole. Guess who taught him those words? Finn was furious. It’s not funny.’

  ‘I know. I’ve got this system going. Each time she blasphemes in front of him Aggie has to put a pound in the jam jar. And each time El swears he has to forfeit watching The Simpsons.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I never fucking swear.’

  I laugh.

  ‘If I had called my mother a bitch or Dad a bastard, can you imagine the punishment?’

  ‘He would have locked you in your room for a year!’

  ‘Yeah, and thrown away the key.’

  There’s another short silence. ‘You’re one of the most important people in my life, Clarky,’ I find myself saying.

  ‘Aren’t I the most important?’ He smiles and then says, ‘What’s brought this on?’

  ‘I don’t think I say it enough, so I’m saying it today.’

  ‘Well, I feel the same, J.’

  ‘D’you remember that holiday we had in Spain?’ I start. ‘In the bank?’

  ‘What made you think of that?’ he asks, his voice warm with the memory.

  ‘I don’t know. I just had this image of you trying to cash your traveller’s cheques when …’

  ‘You’d told me the Spanish for buying a dozen eggs!’

  We both laugh. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a tourist and sit on an open-air bus,’ I tell him. ‘What have you always wanted to do?’

  He thinks. ‘Play my violin in front of the Queen.’

  ‘You will one day. In fact, I’m sure of it. She’ll invite you to tea.’

  ‘With cucumber sandwiches?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Actually, I always think there’s something missing from a cucumber sandwich.’

  ‘Like a piece of salami?’

  ‘Exactly. What else would you like to do?’

  I bite my lip as I think. ‘Learn to sail.’

  ‘You could go to Australia, the Whitsunday Islands. I’d like to drink champagne every day for lunch.’

  ‘Throw out all my clothes and start again with an unlimited budget.’

  ‘Date Michelle Pfeiffer.’

  ‘Marry Colin Firth.’ I laugh. ‘Dance like Madonna.’

  ‘Play like Yehudi Menuhin.’

  ‘Draw like Leonardo da Vinci.’

  ‘Talk like they do on EastEnders. Tell people I think they’re “silly cows”.’

  ‘Who would you call a silly cow?’

  ‘I don’t know … people who don’t give their seats to the elderly on the tube. Or nuisance callers telling me to switch phone companies, or mean traffic wardens.’

  ‘I’d like to call Ms Miles a silly cow or some of the competitive mothers, like Mrs Heaven whose children are all so super-talented. Hang on, though, you put the washing-machine man in his place, that was good.’

  ‘That was role-play. It wasn’t face-to-face. It’s difficult, isn’t it, always speaking your mind?’

  ‘It can be. What do you want to say?’

  ‘Lots of things.’

  ‘Like?’ I encourage him.

  He’s about to say something when the bus abruptly jolts to a halt. The noise around us comes into focus. Passengers start to disembark. Clarky laughs as if he could have predicted this. He takes my hand as we climb down the steep steps. ‘That’s the story of my life,’ he says. ‘Something always stops me.’

  *

  Clarky and I wait at the school gates for George. He’s arranged to meet Aggie here too. She told him she might be late because she had to deliver a dozen frozen lasagnes across London.

  The school bell rings and lots of children start to file out. A girl with two blonde pigtails pushes Eliot across the playground. Aggie arrives just as he is delivered to the front gates. She kisses Clarky full on the lips. ‘Hello, you.’

  He kisses her back.

  ‘Hi, Josie.’

  ‘Hi. Thanks for letting me steal Clarky for the afternoon.’

  ‘That’s OK. But he’s all mine now.’ She kisses him again.

  I turn away, unsure of where to look. Come on, George.

  Everyone has gone except for Clarky, Aggie, Eliot and me. ‘There he is,’ Clarky finally says. ‘Why have they gone over there?’

  ‘Where?’

  Clarky points to the outside loos, a small brick building to the left of the playing field.

  ‘Who’s he with? What are they doing?’ I ask, panic rising to the surface.

  Clarky tells Aggie to take Eliot to the van. Reluctantly she leaves us.

  I wish I could move quicker. Clarky runs across the playground and I follow as quickly as I can. Two boys have George pinned up against the brick wall. ‘Let him go!’ I screech at Jason. ‘Stop it!’ But it’s too late. Jason has punched him in the mouth. He starts to laugh. George’s lip is bleeding. ‘Spastic,’ he tells him, giving him another punch, this time in the stomach. George doubles over.

  ‘Hello, Daddog,’ he murmurs painfully.

  ‘How dare you hit my son! Fight back, George! Don’t let him get away with it. Hit him!’

  ‘He can’t fight.’ Jason spits on to George’s shoe. ‘He’s a spasmo.’

  George throws himself at Jason then, arms around his hips, pulling him to the ground. ‘I’m not a spasmo!’ He’s thumping Jason’s chest now and is surprisingly strong. Jason is laughing but I can see that George’s thumps hurt.

  I can’t watch any longer. Clarky prises them apart. He pushes Jason against the wall. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’ Then he turns to the others. ‘You too, for letting someone like him tell you what to do. Haven’t you minds of your own?’

  Jason claps his hands in derision. This boy is seven, how did he become so nasty so young? ‘Who are you? You’re not George’s dad, are you?’

  ‘Go home,’ Clarky says. ‘All of you. No one’s interested in what you think. And don’t ever lay a hand on George again.’

  *

  ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’ I scream at the headmaster. ‘I have told Ms M
iles, I have told all the teachers, that Jason bullies my son, but what do you do? Nothing!’

  Calmly, Clarky tells Mr Phipps what happened.

  ‘I can’t believe this is going on in my school,’ is all he says.

  ‘Well, believe it! Look at him.’ I present George and his bleeding lip like an exhibit. ‘Why wasn’t there someone on gate duty tonight? If we hadn’t been there, who would have stopped Jason? There needs to be a teacher supervising at all times.’

  ‘Jason should be expelled for that kind of behaviour,’ Clarky adds.

  ‘If you’re not going to step in and take action then George has my full permission, and his father’s, to fight back.’

  ‘Mrs Greenwood, Mr Greenwood.. .’ The head looks at Clarky. ‘I can’t allow that. I’m a father, too, and between you and me, Jason deserved to be hit back. He is an aggressive boy. I understand why George did it, but I can’t condone tit for tat. I have to show the children at my school that fighting is not acceptable.’

  ‘Well, show them then!’

  ‘I will ring Jason’s mother, but it’s difficult. His father died only last week.’

  There’s a painful silence, our own predicament put firmly into perspective.

  ‘Jason’s father’s dead, Mr Phipps?’ asks George, and he starts to cry.

  Mr Phipps nods. ‘It’s all right, George. I’m not excusing his behaviour but he is a troubled boy, taking his anger out on the easiest target.’

  ‘That’s not fair on George,’ is all I can finally say.

  ‘I agree. And I will do something about it, I promise.’

  *

  George is asleep, Baby and Mr Muki beside him, and Rocky curled up at the end of the bed. I brought him home and bathed his face and lips with warm salted water while Dean fixed the washing machine. His stomach was bruised so I rubbed some arnica into it.

  ‘Ow, it hurts, Mum,’ he said. ‘Ow.’

  ‘Try and be brave. There’s a good boy.’

  ‘I’m not a spasmo, am I?’

  ‘This is the hardest thing I find about ADHD,’ Emma once wrote to me. She had told me Nat had been called ‘scum’ and ‘lowlife’. ‘If no one else existed in this world my gorgeous boy would be the happiest he could be.’