by Ruth Jones
‘What’s going on, Kate?’ He couldn’t bring himself to look at her and she inhaled deeply on her cigarette.
‘Sorry?’
‘I called Cynthia. She told me she didn’t know anything about a job at a casino.’
Kate felt sick. Her mind raced, desperately trying to find a way out of the trap into which she was falling.
‘You weren’t answering your phone and I didn’t know which hotel you were staying in – you didn’t tell me – so—’
‘Matt, you idiot!’
The only way she was going to pull this off was to launch in with one hundred per cent conviction. ‘Of course Cynthia didn’t know about it. I was doing it on the side! I don’t see why she should get commission on everything I do.’
‘I didn’t know!’
‘Well done, you’ve dropped me right in it now.’ And she walked off, a mixture of heady relief, adrenalin and guilt saturating her system. She knew if she didn’t sit down quickly she would most likely pass out from the pounding in her head.
Matt watched her go.
Tallulah had stopped bouncing, her little face pressed up against the safety net surrounding her trampoline, and she wondered what was wrong with her mummy and daddy.
40
Hetty had been waiting on Marylebone High Street for twenty minutes and was beginning to think Adam had forgotten about their date. Of course, it wouldn’t be surprising – true to form, she thought. Maybe Matt was wrong. Maybe Adam hadn’t grown up at all in the last fourteen years. Maybe this was another cruel bet. She wished now that she’d never agreed to meet him.
The Sunday shoppers walked past her, unaware of Hetty’s concerns. To them, she was just a woman in a bright turquoise coat and a silly knitted hat that sported a crocheted flower on the side. She’d made an effort today. For a start, she was wearing make-up. Most days she didn’t wear any – didn’t see the point; taking it all off again was only another job to be done before bed. But today she’d made the effort.
Thankfully, and because she’d planned ahead for the Big Day, she’d had time to realize that the make-up in her trusty old wash-bag had seen better days and that it was high time she bought new. Stuck at the bottom of the bag, and covered in blusher dust leaked from the crack in her old No. 7 rouge, was a green eyeliner that she’d had since Warwick days, as well as a Maybelline lipstick called ‘Bilberry Ice’. That was even older, surely 1982. And when she twisted it out of its casing, it simply gave up the ghost in her hand, disintegrating into purple chunks. So she’d gone on a mission in her lunch hour last Friday, braving the make-up counter at Boots. The friendly but slightly over-enthusiastic assistant – who wore far too much make-up herself – had persuaded Hetty to have a mini demo of products that would suit her ‘age and skin type’. Half an hour later, she left the store clutching a bag of brand-new items, her face transformed by colour, shading and bronzers.
When she’d returned to the office, Ivor did a double-take but said nothing. Whereas Glen told her she looked like a drag queen on speed and should take all that muck off before the meeting with their sponsors from the Health Well company that afternoon. She tried to ‘take the edge off’ at her desk by rubbing her eyeshadow with a tissue. Ivor brought her a cup of tea and told her to ignore Glen. ‘You know what he’s like about anything fake. Him and his wife split up after she had extensions put in her hair, so it’s no surprise.’
‘How on earth do you know that about Glen?’ Hetty laughed.
‘Still rivers run deep, y’know.’ And he’d smiled his shy smile.
‘Do I really look awful, Ive?’
‘No.’ He decided to be straight with her. ‘I just don’t think you need it, that’s all.’
In his head, he added … because you are naturally, exquisitely beautiful and I love you with all my heart. You could wear a traffic cone on your head and I would still think you were the most attractive woman ever to have graced this planet, but you’ll never know that because I’ll never have the courage to tell you.
Hetty continued with her make-up removal and Ivor stared at her for a beat too long, interrupted by Glen, who told them to ‘Chop chop,’ and said didn’t they have work to be getting on with? Ivor went back to his desk, his heart aching, whilst Hetty remained innocently unaware of the torch her workmate carried for her wherever he went.
Suddenly, soft and cologne-scented hands covered her eyes. ‘Your money or your life!’ It was Adam. She pulled away, giggling too loudly and hoping he hadn’t smudged her mascara. ‘Wow! You look …’ he searched for the right word, ‘different!’
‘Fourteen years, Adam.’ She scrutinized his face for a grain of emotion or poignancy, but there was none forthcoming.
‘I know! And we’ve all aged. Myself included.’ Before the backhanded compliment had time to sink in, Adam was steering them inside the restaurant. ‘Right, come on you. I’m starving. And I’m afraid I’ve only got an hour.’
Her heart sank and she wondered why. Was he married? Did he have a wife to go back to? Kids? A girlfriend? A job? As they were shown to their table, she hoped the next hour would enlighten her.
41
Kate had locked the door to the gym and put her music on LOUD. Matt knew better than to try and disturb her when she was like this; he wouldn’t get anywhere – over the years he’d found this out to his cost. Kate had an incredible propensity for stubbornness. His mother, in her less charitable moments, had said she could be ‘a right mardy madam’, and Matt was inclined to agree. When she was in one of these moods she was able to carry on as if Matt wasn’t even in the room, ignoring his very existence. Yes, she had a great propensity for stubbornness. But she had an even greater propensity for winning the argument – even when she was in the wrong.
He resented it, of course. I mean, Christ, it wasn’t his fault she’d not told him about Cynthia – she’d never done it before, how was he supposed to know? Kate always put all her work through her agent – why start moonlighting at this point in her career? And yet here he was, taking the blame again, and apologizing.
Again.
Even though any level-headed observer would say, ‘Hey, come on, this is just a little misunderstanding,’ he now found himself feeling wracked with guilt for damaging one of Kate’s professional relationships. As she was so fond of pointing out, it was her professional success that had provided them with their home and all its accompanying luxuries. He hated it when she said this – partly because it was true, but partly because he found himself wanting to counteract her claim with an even harsher one – Yes, but your professional success has cost you your relationship with your daughter, and thank God I’m here for her, ’cos if it was left up to you, Tallulah would probably be in care. Childish of him. And he’d never say it. Even when Kate behaved as appallingly as she was doing today.
Instead, he scribbled a note and pushed it under the locked door of the gym: I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve taken Tallulah to see Cinderella again at the Odeon. See you tonight. I love you, M xx
Half an hour later, cocooned in the comforting dusty darkness of the cinema, Matt sipped his oversized Slush Puppie, held Tallulah’s hand and wondered what to do next. Three years ago, Kate had seen a therapist over several months and it’d really seemed to help. He’d seen the façade drop, the defences come down, and she’d become softer, more open and, dare he say it, more loveable. Then out of the blue she’d announced one day that she wasn’t going any more. ‘I’m OK, babe. I’m better now – seriously!’ And she’d kissed him and the matter was closed. Just like that.
But deep down Matt guessed what must have happened. The therapist must have asked about Luca.
He knew so little about him. He had no idea who his father was or the circumstances Kate was in at the time. And he’d only found out himself by accident.
She’d been eight weeks pregnant with Tallulah and they were sitting in a Harley Street consulting room, facing Mr Chalfont, the benign obstetrician whose smile alone cost £120 an hour.
When Mr Chalfont asked Kate if she’d been pregnant before, Matt assumed he knew the answer.
‘Yes. When I was twenty-two, I had a baby boy.’
Kate continued looking straight ahead, aware that Matt had turned to stare at her in disbelief whilst the doctor made notes.
‘What?’ Matt whispered, unable to hide his incredulity as the doctor looked up, sensing that a marital row might be brewing.
And calmly and collectedly, Kate said, ‘I had him adopted.’
He surprised himself with his own reaction. Instead of being angry or dumbfounded, when they got outside he simply engulfed her in a huge, loving hug. ‘You poor sweetheart! Why didn’t you tell me? That must have been … well, hell. To give a baby up like that – was there anyone to support you?’
He could tell she was thrown by his reaction – that he didn’t ask her about the baby’s father. And before long she was sitting on a bench in Soho Square, pouring her heart out to her ever-loving husband. ‘I wanted to keep him, Matt.’
‘Hey, ssshh … it’s OK,’ he continued to comfort her.
‘I did try, I really did … but I just couldn’t cope. I got into trouble. I was pathetic …’ Suddenly her tone turned sour and vicious, full of self-loathing. ‘Stupid fucking useless bitch that I was!’
‘Kate, don’t …’ He was disturbed by this, scared even.
‘I was drinking, and depressed, and … well, I just couldn’t give him what he needed. He was only four months old. I called him Luca.’
‘Did your mother know? Your dad?’
‘Yes. They wanted to bring him up themselves, but I said no. It wasn’t fair on them. Or him.’
‘Oh Kate, you should’ve told me sooner, y’know. Living with this all on your own …’
She let him comfort her, her head on his shoulder, wrapped up in his arms till she’d cried it all out. And then, in classic Kate style, pulled herself together, wiped away the tears with her sleeves and announced she was OK now. ‘Thanks, Matt,’ she said, and he kissed the top of her head.
‘Hey, you can talk about this any time you want, y’know.’
‘No. Please don’t mention it again.’ And she’d smiled sadly. ‘We’ve got our baby to think about now.’
Matt often wondered about this exchange. He’d kept his word, and they’d never spoken about it since. But he knew that something so monumental couldn’t be just swept away and forgotten. If Kate had never allowed herself to grieve for Luca, then the pain would have to come out some time. And maybe that time was now, manifesting itself in her unpredictable and inexplicable, even dangerous, behaviour. Matt shivered at the thought.
42
‘Sue text me – they’ve booked the court for an extra half-hour on Sunday.’ Belinda, already dressed for work, vigorously opened the blinds, and let in the reluctant sepia-tinted daylight of a Scottish Tuesday morning.
‘OK.’
‘And I’ve done some porridge if you fancy, but you better get a move on. It’s five past.’
‘OK.’
She sat on the bed and put her hand on his forehead. ‘I hope you’re not goin’ down with this bug that everyone’s gettin’.’
‘Time was when you’d kiss me first thing, not check my temperature!’ he joked, trying to avoid the recurring conversation about how he’d not been himself these past couple of days. ‘Yeah, maybe. I’ll take a couple of Lemsips to school wi’ me.’
Belinda leant over and gave him a perfunctory peck on the lips. ‘There we are, see!’ She laughed. ‘Who says the romance goes after twenty-six years of marriage?’
With that she leapt up and headed for the door. ‘I’ll be back about seven, after yoga. Put that casserole in when you get home, will you? Gas mark five. For an hour.’
And she was gone, content in the innocent daily minutiae of married life and happily oblivious to the fact that her husband had been unfaithful to her twice in the preceding week.
Callum hauled himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom. ‘Good timing!’ he said to Ailsa as she emerged, wrapped in a towel, fresh, clean and moisturized, and still unable to meet his gaze after the embarrassing confrontation a few days earlier.
‘We’re running out of toothpaste,’ was all she could muster as she sloped off to her room to get ready for school.
In the shower, Callum thought about Kate and the fact he’d not heard from her since Saturday. The right-minded part of him was hugely relieved. He could put his two meetings with her down to an insane and extraordinary interlude in his otherwise happy and ordinary life. But then there was that little nagging voice inside him – what was it, his ego? – that was really disappointed she’d not been in touch. Disappointment gave way to indignation – who did Kate think she was, marching back into his life like that, stealing him away and showing him what he’d been missing all these years? He found himself calling her a ‘prick-tease’, a word he never used, and was instantly dismayed at what he was turning into. He held his face under the refreshing, cleansing blast of the power shower, letting it wash away his uncharitable thoughts. Kate’s own right-mindedness had most probably kicked in, and they could both brush what had happened under the carpet and get back to reality. And, let’s face it, reality was good.
Five minutes later, he was getting dressed when he caught sight of the framed photo on the windowsill, taken in 1982 down on the beach at Portobello. Belinda was pregnant with Cory, and Ben had just built a sandcastle. He smiled, picked up his mobile and composed a text to send to Belinda. It was something he’d never done before – still adjusting to the whole concept of a mobile phone – but guilt and gratitude spurred him on. I love you Belinda MacGregor x, he typed, pressed send and smiled. The instant it was sent, the phone beeped abruptly with an incoming text.
It was from Kettley’s Garage.
Mr MacGregor your car is due for a service. Please call us at your earliest convenience.
He stared at his phone.
Disbelieving.
Fearful.
Thrilled.
‘Dad! I need a lift. I’m too late for the bus.’ Ailsa was calling from the landing. ‘But you’re not allowed to talk to me about Tom, OK?’
He continued to stare at the phone.
‘Dad?’
‘OK. Coming.’ He pressed delete and put his phone in his pocket.
43
This was the second day in a row that Hetty had been out running before work. There were just six weeks left till the reunion and she’d resolved to lose a stone by then. Admittedly she’d been spurred on by the lovely, warm, fuzzy feeling inside her since seeing Adam. And admittedly she wanted to look good at the reunion – not to prove to a host of other Warwickonians that she had aged well, but to impress the man she was still in love with after all this time.
She was on her third circuit of the grubby patch of park that optimistically described itself as a ‘public garden’. A few office workers had braved the bleak and overcast morning to drink their pre-work cappuccinos on the park’s sparse benches. The combination of exercise and cold November air surprised Hetty’s lungs into a light asthmatic wheeze, and she reached for her Ventolin inhaler. Despite the sweat running down the back of her ears, the redness in her cheeks and the discomfort inflicted on her aching chest by her ill-fitting sports bra – she was determined to continue.
Hetty had come away from the lunch with Adam buzzing, and riding a huge wave of delight, despite things getting off to a rocky start. There was no vegetarian option on the menu and Adam couldn’t understand why she didn’t just eat fish. Worried that he’d get annoyed with her, she found herself challenging her beliefs for the first time in twenty years of commitment to vegetarianism, wondering for a split second whether now might be the time to return to eating meat. Thankfully, the kind waiter nipped this mad thought in the bud and offered her a mushroom omelette instead. And after that, things definitely improved. The wine helped, of course, but it was more than that: Adam was kinder. He was interested in her. He wanted to
know everything. In fact, he talked far more about Hetty than he did about himself, and she found this most endearing.
‘I often wondered whether I’d see your name up in lights or spot you in some big Hollywood movie!’ she ventured.
‘Ha! No, my acting days ended with the last Drama Society play at Warwick, I’m afraid.’
‘Blithe Spirit.’ She blushed, feeling like a superfan.
‘Well remembered!’ And he clinked his glass with Hetty’s. ‘Though working for Benson Mayfield does require something of an ability to perform.’
She’d never heard of Benson Mayfield, but it seemed they were one of the world’s leading companies in scientific research. Adam had apparently scaled the ranks of this vast global organization since he began working for them in the mid nineties, regularly travelling internationally to visit drug manufacturers and develop trade links.
‘So exciting!’ Hetty was wide-eyed after he told her he was off to Dubai and Bahrain for a month.
‘It can be. It’s great seeing all the different cultures, of course, and meeting new people, but travel can be exhausting.’ And then he looked at her. ‘And a bit lonely, if I’m honest.’
She was touched that he’d chosen to open up to her like this. That was definitely ‘a moment’, she thought. He’d already explained that he, like Hetty, had not yet done the grown-up thing and ‘settled down’, and that not having someone to share his life with did have its downside. She’d tried to find out if he had a girlfriend right now, but he was vague and dismissive – to the point where Hetty wondered if he was a bit embarrassed to be single. So she didn’t pursue it. Plenty of time to get to know him better, she thought.
‘Have you ever been back?’ she asked, when the subject turned to Memory Lane and recollections of Warwick.