Never Greener

by Ruth Jones

  ‘That’s better,’ she said.

  59

  The skating had been such good fun. The most fun they’d had, Matt thought, in months.

  He tried to remember the last time they were all together like that. It must’ve been late September – when Kate had had a week off from filming and they’d gone to Center Parcs in Sherwood Forest. They were a proper little family then – and that’s what it had felt like today, blending in with all the other proper little families, circling on the ice at a snail’s pace, pretending they were in some Scandinavian fantasia. He’d really made Kate laugh when he nearly fell over, doing some elaborate footwork on his skates to regain his balance just in time. It made him want to cry when he saw her light up like that. Made him want to whisper, Come back to me! But he feared it was already too late for that.

  They’d posed for a family photo, asked some stranger to take it, and Matt had felt protective of Kate’s anonymity when the guy clearly recognized her, staring at her like a loon. He knew how to protect her from over-zealous fans. He just wished he could protect her from whatever it was she was living through in that head of hers. But she was unreachable. Her No Entry signs stood bold and forbidding.

  At one thirty they met with Yvonne as planned, who was treating them to Santa’s Dilemma at the theatre, a Christmas show for the under-sevens.

  Kate kissed Tallulah on her earmuffed head. ‘Be a good girl for Daddy and Nannie, and Mummy will see you later for your tea!’

  Then she turned to Matt – ‘Right, I’m off to buy you something exciting!’– gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and left.

  He watched her go, weaving her way through the crowds, a woman on a mission.

  Yvonne was doing up Tallulah’s coat, telling her all about the characters she was about to see in Santa’s Dilemma. She mumbled to Matt that her friend Maureen Maclean had taken her grandson to see it and said it was very good, but the main girl in it wasn’t a patch on Kate.

  Yvonne liked to think her daughter was the best actress ever to walk the earth. She wittered on, but Matt wasn’t listening. Gripped by a notion so strong he felt instantly possessed, he found himself saying, ‘Yvonne, you take Lules and I’ll see you there.’

  And with that he headed off at a pace, his mother-in-law calling despairingly behind him, ‘What? Hang on – what about the … You can’t just … WELL I’LL LEAVE YOUR TICKET AT THE BOX OFFICE!’ he heard her shout. But he didn’t look back, keeping his focus on the moving target ahead of him.

  It didn’t take long for Matt to gain ground and soon he was only a dozen or so paces behind her, blending into the crowd but never losing sight of Kate’s designer jacket. He already knew that if she happened to turn around and see him, he’d say, ‘Surprise! I thought I’d join you!’ But Kate was walking with such determination now he doubted anything could distract her enough to look back. Heading along George IV Bridge, she niftily dodged any passers-by who got in her way, one or two turning with a look of Was that … y’know … whatshername? but mostly she kept her head down and ploughed on. This was a woman with a destination firmly in mind. And he didn’t think it was Marks and Spencer.

  She turned so quickly onto the steps that led down to Grassmarket that he almost missed seeing where she went, temporarily losing her. But then she was there again, almost running now, heading straight for the McKinley Hotel.

  What the fuck was she doing there? Meeting Jinny? Had Jinny been lying to him, after all?

  Who was he trying to kid?

  He followed her through the double doors, adrenalin racing through his system, his mouth dry with dread but his need for clarification growing with every step.

  The lobby was packed with revellers; a large Christmas tree bedecked in silver held court in the centre, whilst all around it drinks were drunk, jokes were shared, and from the wall-speakers twee and senseless lyrics blared out, reassuring listeners that all was well with the world.

  No, it wasn’t.

  Kate headed for the lift and Matt panicked. He couldn’t get in with her, of course he couldn’t. But he would lose her if he didn’t. Fuck. Make my dreams come true, All I want for Christmas is you! He watched helplessly as the doors opened and Kate got in. He walked towards her – was it time to give in? To ask her outright what she was doing here and listen whilst she invented yet another lie? He was within three yards of the lift. Two other women were already in there. Kate held her head down, avoiding recognition. He was about to call out to her, to throw in the towel, when one of the women asked her which floor she wanted. ‘Three,’ she said. And the doors closed.

  Matt had already spied the staircase doors opposite the lift. He barged through them and started running, three steps at a time, up and up, floor one, floor two … almost knocking over an elderly couple making their way slowly down the stairs.

  ‘Sorry. Emergency!’ he hissed.

  Floor three. He stood outside the fire door, panting, waiting for the sound of the lift to come to a halt. Ping. He’d just made it.

  He allowed a couple of seconds before peering timidly through the door onto the third-floor corridor. There was no one there. He was too late.

  But then, from the other direction, he heard a knock a few rooms down the corridor. He watched, trying not to breathe, terrified the slightest sound would give him away.

  He could see Kate standing outside room 308, tousling her hair in preparation and smoothing down her jumper. It was clearly important that she looked good for whoever it was she was meeting.

  The door opened.

  Kate smiled.

  At whom, Matt couldn’t see.

  And then she went inside, the door slamming cruelly behind her.

  He stayed in the same position for what felt like minutes, but was only seconds in reality. If someone had seen him, they’d have thought he looked ridiculous – every muscle tensed, one foot held off the ground behind him.

  The alcove opposite the lift boasted a large potted plant, as well as two rarely used armchairs for any passers-by needing a rest. Or any husbands following their unfaithful wives who needed somewhere to sit and gather their thoughts. He walked across and slumped into the nearest one, the tensed muscles in his body slowly unfurling, his breathing gradually returning to a normal pace.

  He didn’t know what to do.

  He just didn’t know what to do.

  60

  Hetty glanced down at her mobile, silently flashing Matt’s name on the screen. She let it ring off, unanswered. Again. She couldn’t face talking to him. And anyway, she was at her Christmas bash with the people from work. It’d be rude to take a phone call right now. They were at a new vegetarian restaurant in Covent Garden and had just done their Secret Santa. Hetty had been given a ‘pebble chest’ – a beautifully hand-carved, lidded box, the size of a Rubik’s Cube, containing a dozen tiny pebbles, each polished and bearing a word – such as ‘self-love’, ‘faith’, ‘spontaneity’. The idea was to choose one every morning and to carry the pebble – and the sentiment – throughout the day. Hetty thought it was delightful. She couldn’t be sure, but she suspected Lisa had bought her this and felt guilty and a little unimaginative, because all she’d bought Lisa was a paraben-free moisturizer and some screen wipes.

  She should’ve made more of an effort, she knew that. But she just wasn’t feeling herself. Not since the reunion two nights previously.

  After talking to Matt outside, she’d gone back into the party, marched straight up to Adam and informed him that Matt had told her everything. Adam showed not one jot of remorse. In fact, he found the whole thing amusing and went on to rub more rocks of salt in the pitiful wounds of her deluded soul by telling her the only reason he’d come tonight was to see Matt again. And what a bloody shame it was the guy had gone home – he’d been hoping they could catch up on old times. Properly.

  Hetty’s dignity in tatters, she grabbed her coat and left, pausing by the doorway to see Adam one last time at the bar, laughing and drinking with two wom
en (both of whom had done American Literature, she seemed to remember). And as he stood there, centre of attention, lapping up the limelight like an egocentric cat, she finally saw him for what he was: a cruel, rather sad and lonely man, who didn’t know who he was or what he wanted, and had no heart or conscience.

  He caught Hetty looking over and put on a show of smiling and shrugging, before turning back to the two adoring women.

  Hetty had been in love with the idea of Adam all these years, but the reality of Adam was something quite different.

  She’d arrived home at her tiny Hammersmith flat, barefoot and broken-hearted. Not because of Adam – in fact, she was glad now she could close the book on this chapter of her life and put him out of her mind for good – no, it was Matthew who had disturbed her the most. His revelation about Adam at Warwick was so completely out of the blue that it made her question everything – how could she think she knew Matt when all these years he’d been carrying this huge secret? Did he and Adam use to laugh at her behind her back?

  She felt her world had been dislodged, uprooted, rotated round and round like a spinning top with no care as to where it landed. For seventeen years, Matt had been her best friend, but now with this thing, this lie between them, she felt she didn’t know him at all.

  ‘I’ll walk with you to Leicester Square if you like,’ Ivor said, disturbing her sad reverie. The meal was over and everyone was wishing each other a Happy Christmas, but not Happy New Year because they were all due back in the office on the twenty-eighth, Glen having repeatedly pointed out ‘the magazine won’t print itself just because we’re on holiday!’ Hetty rolled her eyes at Ivor and put on her coat.

  On their way to the Tube, Ivor said, ‘You’ve been very quiet the past couple of days. How did the reunion go? Only you didn’t really mention it.’

  She thought about how to answer, not wishing to make an idiot of herself after all her fussing during the build-up to the damn thing. ‘Let’s just say, it wasn’t what I was expecting.’

  ‘Ah.’

  And suddenly she was opening up to him. ‘You see, Ivy, I’ve spent a huge chunk of my life – well, almost half of it, if I’m honest – thinking that this guy – Adam his name is – was meant for me. He was my first love, y’see. Well, my only love, actually. But he wasn’t what I thought he was at all. In fact, he was a jerk. So I’ve wasted all that time, all that life, and …’ Her throat tightened and she panicked that she was going to cry. Ivor was just a work colleague, for God’s sake! It would be so humiliating to start weeping in front of him! She shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine, because now the tears were coming fast and strong with no sign of any let-up.

  Ivor stopped in his tracks, looking round to check nobody was watching.

  Oh God, she was embarrassing him! ‘You must think I’m such an idiot …’ she sobbed.

  ‘No, not at all, take your time,’ he said patiently. He seemed to be waiting for her to pull herself together. After a minute or so, he said, ‘We’re an ungrateful bunch really, aren’t we? Us humans, I mean.’

  ‘Sorry?’ she sniffled, fishing a tissue from her pocket.

  ‘I dunno … we spend most of our lives wishing we were somewhere else or someone else, or looking forward or harping back. Always thinking the grass is greener on the other side. But it never is. It’s still grass. Just a different patch of it, that’s all.’

  Hetty joked through her tears, ‘Yes, well mine’s in need of a good watering at the moment!’

  He smiled, and for the first time, Hetty noticed the kindness in Ivor’s hazel eyes. You never really see someone properly, she thought, until you look at their eyes – well, look into their eyes, and really see them.

  He didn’t notice she was staring. He was too busy trying to remember something.

  ‘You a fan of Larkin?’ he asked.

  ‘I did a bit for English A-level.’

  ‘Me too.’ And he looked into the middle distance, seeking out the lines in his head before turning back to her and slowly, elegantly quoting:

  ‘Truly, though our element is time,

  We are not suited to the long perspectives

  Open at each instant of our lives.

  They link us to our losses: worse,

  They show us what we have as it once was,

  Blindingly undiminished, just as though

  By acting differently, we could have kept it so.’

  Painfully self-conscious, he looked down at the ground and gently kicked a lump of dirt into the pavement crack beneath him like a gangly, awkward teenager trying to impress a girl at school.

  Hetty continued staring at him, in the middle of this Covent Garden Christmas, sniffing, not quite believing this revelation taking place before her.

  ‘Gosh,’ she whispered. ‘Ivor!’

  He looked up, and she thought he seemed a tiny bit irritated when he said, ‘Hetty, you have no idea what an exceptional person you really are.’

  A nervous giggle escaped her. And with that he patted her on the arm like a family dog and mumbled, ‘I think I’m gonna walk home, actually. Could do with the fresh air. Have a happy Christmas, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, a bit thrown. ‘Bye, Ivy! Happy Christmas!’

  But he was already marching off in the opposite direction.

  A little clatter as something fell to the ground. She looked down. One of the tiny pebbles had escaped from its box. Hetty picked it up – it said ‘perseverance’. She watched Ivor disappear into the throng of festive shoppers, feeling a strange sensation in her stomach and wondering if the nut roast was giving her indigestion.

  61

  Inside room 308 of the McKinley Hotel, Callum was fucking Kate against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist, she held onto the bulk of him, thrilled by every depth he reached.

  He couldn’t stop, she didn’t want him to.

  This sex was angry and unhinged and their heads were full of mayhem and guilt and lust and love thrown together in unfathomable chaos.

  ‘I need you to keep fucking me, Callum,’ she whispered. ‘I always need you to keep fucking me.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  They came together, intense and quiet, static against the wall, no words, just their breathing and the bang, bang, bang of their hearts affirming they were very much still alive.

  Then the knock on the door.

  ‘And two glasses,’ Matt said, having to shout over the traffic of the busy hotel bar.

  A woman thrust some plastic mistletoe at him. ‘Give us a kiss, gorgeous!’ she teased, clearly the worse for wear.

  ‘Ah no, you’re alright, I’ve got cold sores.’

  She contemplated this for a moment, debating whether it was such a bad thing, then decided it was and scuttled off.

  ‘Oh, and d’you have a pen?’ he asked the barman, who was now filling a bucket with ice and water, ready for the champagne.

  Matt had grabbed a compliments postcard from the reception desk and was now scrawling, ‘To Susie, Happy Christmas!’ across it. He paid with cash and the barman handed over the celebratory-looking tray, adding a sprig of holly for an extra festive touch.

  At first they were going to ignore it, their bodies still jammed against the wall.

  ‘It’ll just be housekeeping, or turn-down or whatever they call it,’ Kate said. She’d had more experience of hotels than Callum and knew all the routines.

  ‘Go and look through the spyhole,’ she whispered, still dizzy from the sex.

  He slowly disentangled himself, noting his knees weren’t what they used to be, and Kate moved away from the wall.

  She laughed, grabbing a bottle of water from the bedside table and drinking it down in one, whilst Callum pulled on a hotel bathrobe and shuffled to the door to look out.

  ‘There’s no one there,’ he muttered, still looking. ‘Oh, hang on …’ And he opened the door.

  ‘Hey, where you going?’ asked Kate.

  But Callum had already gone out and was stooping
over the champagne and card left in the middle of the corridor. ‘Not for us – it’s for someone called Susie.’

  ‘Nick it anyway.’

  ‘You’re outrageous!’

  ‘No one’ll know!’

  ‘Susie will.’

  ‘Whoever she is!’

  They were both in a playful mood now – the angst from earlier had dissipated after their behemoth session.

  ‘Well, if you won’t take it, I will!’ And with that she skipped out into the corridor, only a tiny towel covering her up, grabbed the champagne and ran back inside, Callum swiftly following.

  The door shut again and Kate’s squeals of delight as Callum chased her onto the bed could be heard down the corridor.

  By Matt.

  Who’d watched as the stranger from the ice rink had come out of room 308 to pick up the champagne, followed by Kate.

  He leant into the vast white plant pot sporting a tired-looking aspidistra. And was violently sick.

  62

  When Matt arrived back at Yvonne’s it was half past six and everyone was having supper.

  Gordon answered the door to him with a mock fearful look. ‘Uh-oh, someone’s in the dog house.’

  ‘Sorry, Gordon, I got a bit carried away.’

  ‘It’s not me you need to be apologizing to. Good luck!’

  Matt ventured into the dining room, where Yvonne had served up honey-roast ham, salad and new potatoes – Because we don’t want to be overdoing it before the Christmas turkey. She’d set a place for Matt.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she muttered briskly. ‘The potatoes are cold now, of course.’

  Kate tried to catch his eye, smiling naughtily like a schoolgirl silently supporting her scolded classmate.

  ‘Yvonne, I am so sorry,’ Matt said, and went to kiss her. She begrudgingly let him. ‘I’d had this idea for a present for Kate and it sent me on a wild goose chase, and I had no way of contacting you because—’

  Gordon interrupted, ‘Because she refuses to get a mobile phone. There you are, see, woman! That’s another example of how it would have come in handy.’