by Ruth Jones
Yvonne was on the defensive. ‘We’ve managed perfectly well for centuries without them, I don’t see why I should be like a sheep and follow the rest of the herd. Mark my words, they’ll be out of fashion this time next year!’
It was Yvonne’s most repeated belief. She abhorred mobile phones – ‘They’re not natural.’
Kate was laughing and Matt managed a dry smile in her direction, but it took an enormous amount of effort.
‘Anyway, how was the show, Lules?’ Matt asked, picking up his little girl and squeezing her slightly too hard.
‘There was a dinosaur!’ she exclaimed.
‘Really? In Santa’s Dilemma? So what was Santa’s dilemma, then?’
‘He wanted to moderrrize everything …’
‘It’s “modernize”, dear,’ Yvonne interjected, but Tallulah carried on.
‘… and change his clothes and his reindeers and his elfses. And nobody would let him.’
‘I expect Santa wanted a mobile phone as well, didn’t he?’ Gordon added, and Yvonne frowned at him.
‘Anyway, Matthew, you missed a marvellous show – well, both of you did, in fact.’
‘Sorry, Mum. I bet Lules enjoyed having you all to herself, though,’ Kate said, and Matt marvelled at what an arch manipulator she was, able to compliment whoever she set her sights on, to get what she needed. He felt an unexpected flash of hatred towards her, and downed a glug of wine to suppress this unwelcome sensation.
‘Daddy, I want you to read me a story tonight,’ Tallulah announced, getting down from the table.
‘Your wish is my command, Princess!’ Matt replied. ‘What shall we read?’
‘Misty and Jake.’
‘Alright. Well, bath-time first, OK?’ and Tallulah ran off excitedly whilst Matt took a few mouthfuls of his dinner, eating it to be polite, his appetite diminished since the afternoon’s events.
‘So did you get what you wanted in the end?’ Kate asked Matt, resting her hand gently on his shoulder and stroking his hair.
He fought with all his might not to flick her hand away and say, Don’t fucking touch me! but instead said, ‘Not really. What about you?’ and held her gaze. The flinch in her eyes was almost imperceptible.
But because Kate knew that Matt couldn’t possibly be aware of where she’d been that afternoon, she simply broke into a smile and said, ‘I might have done – you’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?’
He looked away, focusing on the piece of ham on his plate, whilst Yvonne wittered in the background and Kate started clearing things away.
He went back over the events of earlier, how he’d sat waiting in the alcove for two hours, wondering if they were ever going to leave.
Time and again, he’d thought about knocking on the door. At one point, he actually got up and headed for the room. Too afraid to go through with it, he listened at the door – the muffled sound of the creaking bedhead and the stifled moans of pleasure could mean only one thing. He felt he was in a different plane of reality, watching himself standing at the door. This wasn’t the life he was meant to live. Surely.
He thought about calling Kate’s mobile. But his masochism was already at an all-time high – why do it to himself? Why wait for the call to be either ignored or answered with a lie – Darling, can I call you back? I’m just in the middle of something … So he headed back to his lookout station, sitting out of sight of room 308, waiting for the door to finally open.
She came out first. He heard their whispered goodbyes. The man had looked cautiously from the doorway before calling quietly, ‘See you tonight!’
She’d replied, ‘You certainly will!’ and laughed, turning and padding towards the lift, head down, the door closing behind her.
She pressed the lift button and waited, smiling to herself. And all the time, Matt watched. The lift eventually arrived and she got in. He heard the recorded voice say, ‘Going down,’ and thought ironically of the truth in those words.
It was a good ten minutes before the man came out of the room. Matt wanted to properly look at him, take in the whole image of this man who’d just had sex with his wife, figure out what the fuck Kate saw in him and why she was doing this. But he had no time to waste.
As soon as Callum’s back was turned, waiting for the lift, Matt sneaked up behind him and slipped through the staircase doors. He raced down the stairs, nearly breaking his ankle in the process as he leapt down, sometimes five steps at a go.
When he reached the bottom, he crashed into the still-packed lobby and waited a few seconds for Callum to emerge from the lift. When he did, adrenalin flooded Matt’s body. And he knew he had to keep him in his sights, whatever it took. He had no plan other than that.
His mind was jumbled. Nothing added up. The only real explanation was that Kate had had some kind of spontaneous liaison with this complete stranger – a passer-by who’d happened to take their photo that afternoon at the ice rink, then gone on his merry way. But how did Kate connect with him unless it was pre-arranged? And if he was a stranger, which he surely must be, how was it all planned? It just didn’t stack up! So could she actually know this man – was he in fact no stranger at all? So many questions were flying around his head, he thought it would explode.
They reached a bus stop on the Lothian Road. Matt kept his distance as the man stood in the queue. His mobile phone rang and Matt drew closer, wanting to hear him talk, desperate for his own breathing to shut the fuck up, so loud it was, and the pounding of his heart in his ears.
‘Callum MacGregor speaking … Oh hello, John … Yes, Merry Christmas to you! How can I help?’
Callum MacGregor.
Callum MacFucking MacGregor.
Callum MacGregor has been fucking my wife and is going to fuck her again. Tonight. That was all he could think.
Eventually, a bus destined for Portobello arrived and Callum got on, still talking into his phone. He interrupted the conversation and said, ‘Single to Sutherland Avenue’ to the bus driver, paid his fare and found a seat.
There were two passengers in front of Matt in the queue. When it was his turn to pay, he copied Callum exactly, then headed for the back of the bus. He sat two seats behind him for the whole journey and didn’t take his eyes off the back of his head.
He’s almost totally grey. Matt thought this would make him feel better. But it didn’t.
The journey lasted about twenty minutes. When Callum got off, Matt was relieved that three other people got off too, helping to camouflage him. He waited at the bus stop and watched Callum walk down the road for a few paces before setting off in pursuit.
Matt followed for another five minutes or so, till Callum reached Number 24 and headed up the small driveway. He fumbled for his keys and let himself in.
It was dark now, of course, so Matt could stand across the road and watch Callum MacGregor walk into his front room and kiss what must be Callum MacGregor’s wife.
‘Darling,’ – Kate was talking to him, she seemed a little distressed – ‘I’ve just had a text from Jinny. I’m afraid I’ve got to go and see her.’
Lying bitch.
‘Oh dear, what’s happened?’ he said, perversely eager to hear the story Kate would concoct.
‘She’s had the most awful row with Bill. She’s walked out of the house, she’s distraught.’
‘Poor Jinny!’
‘I know. Look, I’ll try not to be too long, but don’t wait up for me. I’ll keep you posted, yeah?’
‘Sure. I really hope she’s OK. Send her my love. If it’s appropriate.’
‘It’s probably not, to be honest.’
‘No,’ Matt smiled. ‘It’s probably not.’
63
Belinda was in the spare bedroom, wrapping presents. Three more to go – some novelty socks for Callum, this year’s had Christmas puddings on them, then only two Terry’s Chocolate Oranges – another sad reminder that Ben wasn’t home this year. It’d become something of a tradition that the kids each got a Terry’s Ch
ocolate Orange every Christmas, but there was no point sending one to Ben in Australia. It’d never make it through customs, and if it did it’d most likely melt or get crushed in the process. She couldn’t wait for him to come home. Her eldest baby. Not long now – middle of March, he’d said. And then, no doubt, Cory would be off on his travels.
Belinda wondered how she’d manage once Ailsa left home and she and Callum would be left suffering the frequently discussed empty-nest syndrome. Would they downsize? Wasn’t that what was expected on reaching a certain milestone in life? But as Belinda quite rightly pointed out every time it came up in conversation, who’s to say the kids wouldn’t want to come home to live again? And even if they did get their own place, where would the grandchildren sleep when they came to visit?
Belinda had a habit of projecting into the future, of filling her head with what-ifs. And Callum would calm her down and say, ‘Bel, we none of us even knows what’s around the corner, let alone what’ll happen in five years. So just stop worrying and enjoy today.’
None of us even knows what’s around the corner.
The doorbell rang. She’d have to go: Callum was out with Gary – again! – and Ailsa was at Tom’s – again! She smiled to herself and headed downstairs.
‘Mrs MacGregor?’ the man on the doorstep asked her. There was a black cab a few yards away, the engine still running.
‘Yes?’
The guy looked at her for a moment. He was well dressed, mid thirties, maybe – handsome! – and wrapped up against the cold. She noticed what strikingly blond hair he had.
‘Are you going to sing me a carol?’ she joked. But he didn’t smile back. And he looked too anxious to sing.
‘You don’t know me, but my name is Matthew Fenton.’
‘Right …?’ Belinda folded her arms, suspecting there was some door-to-door sales pitch coming or, even worse, a Jehovah’s Witness sermon.
‘My wife is called Kate and I have reason to believe she is currently with your husband Callum in room 308 of the McKinley Hotel.’
They looked at each other in silence. The tinny music from the black cab’s radio filtered through the still air and the Christmas lights from the garden flashed in time to Paul McCartney as he sang, We’re simply having a wonderful Christmas time …
64
‘I’ve got you a present,’ she said. And she handed him a gift bag.
‘Kate!’
‘It’s not a big deal. And you can say you bought it yourself.’
He looked in the bag; the present wasn’t wrapped, so he saw it straight away: a TAG watch.
‘You serious?’ He was incredulous, though conscious he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. ‘How am I meant to explain this to Belinda? That I forked out hundreds of quid on a posh watch for myself?’
‘Aw, you’ll think of something,’ she said, and snuggled up to him. They’d just had a bath together and were having some quiet time, conscious the clock was ticking on this special day.
‘Well, thank you.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I haven’t got you anything.’
‘Oh, you gave me my present this afternoon,’ she teased, running her fingers along his arm. ‘D’you think we could see each other again, before Christmas?’ she whispered, and he could hear that her voice was a little choked.
‘Sweetheart, it’s so difficult.’
‘I know.’ She waited. ‘I love you, Callum.’
And it was the easiest thing in the world to say back, so he did. ‘I love you too.’
They lay there in the safety of the silent night, gently dozing.
The knock on the door was so timid, he thought at first he’d imagined it.
‘Kate?’ he mumbled, sleepiness stopping his mouth from working properly.
‘Hmm?’
And then it came again, more confident this time.
‘There’s someone at the door.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Half nine.’
‘Just ignore it. It’ll be the cleaner. We’ve still got ages.’
But whoever was outside the room wasn’t giving up. They knocked again.
Callum sighed, got up and put on his bathrobe, making his way slowly to the door. He looked through the spy hole but could see no one there.
He was about to go back to the bed when the knock came once more. This time he didn’t look to see who it might be, just opened the door.
There was no time to register what happened next.
Belinda barged past him and into the room, followed by Matt, less ferocious but still determined.
Callum had no words.
And Kate screamed, before angrily shouting, ‘What the fuck?!’
This was the strangest of gatherings – three people whose lives had been entwined since 1985, now joined by a fourth in Matt.
He hadn’t planned for her to come with him. He’d imagined he’d be confronting them on his own. But within minutes of his arrival on the doorstep, Belinda had grabbed her coat and her keys and was climbing into the taxi with him.
Hell hath no fury.
The journey was tense and unreal. At first they hadn’t spoken, both looking out of their respective windows, lost in their own unfathomably sad thoughts.
And then Belinda had started speaking, explaining the whole sorry mess that had started seventeen years ago when Kate began working at the Lamb and Flag with Callum. The sorry mess she’d presumed, she’d hoped – she’d fucking believed! – had been left behind in 1985.
They talked dates, Belinda’s voice shaking as she confirmed that on the night of Kate’s school visit Callum said he’d been with an old college friend, Paul McGee.
They actually both laughed when Matt explained that Kate’s excuse for staying late in Edinburgh that night had been that she’d bumped into her old friend – Paula McGee.
‘How pathetic.’ Belinda shook her head, but no amount of mockery or bitter scorn could alleviate the pain of this deception.
Matt told Belinda that Kate’s story about her friend Jinny hadn’t added up, so he’d checked it out with Jinny himself, realizing that Kate had been lying all along.
‘That’s who she’s meant to be with tonight,’ he said quietly. And then they’d fallen back into silent contemplation.
In the hotel room, Kate, still naked in the bed, had covered herself with the sheet, her knees pulled up in self-protection.
Belinda just stood there, speechless, breathless, hyperventilating with anger.
Nobody knew what to say. It was all too awful.
Eventually Belinda said, ‘Well, happy fucking Christmas, Callum!’
‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could manage.
‘Sorry for being caught, or sorry for fucking my wife?’ Matt jumped in.
‘Neither,’ said Kate. And she stood up, wrapping the sheet around her slim body, which Belinda hated herself for noticing and envying.
Kate calmly walked over to Callum and stood next to him, taking his hand.
He let her.
‘We’re sorry you both had to find out like this, of course we are. But at least now we all know the truth. Seventeen years ago he chose you, Belinda. That was a mistake.’
‘Ha!’
‘And so now he’s choosing me. Aren’t you, Callum?’
2003
65
It was Matt’s mother who’d raised the alarm. A call came through to the office on Hetty’s first day back, three days after Christmas, during that weird No Man’s Land of a week.
‘Someone called Sylvia Fenton?’ Lisa said, and Hetty assumed Sylvia must be ringing to try and play mediator between her and Matt.
‘Oh Hetty, thank goodness I’ve got you – I didn’t have your mobile.’
‘What’s happened?’ Hetty asked, thrown by Sylvia’s urgent tone.
‘It’s Matt.’
Was she surprised? Not really. She liked Kate a lot, but if she was being honest, she’d never completely trusted her. Of course, she’d never told Matt that, but
there was something ‘off kilter’ about Kate that had always made Hetty a little uneasy. So hearing that she’d rekindled an affair with an older man who she’d first met seventeen years ago didn’t really shock her at all, though it made her heart break for Matt. And Tallulah.
She had a spare set of keys to their house, which had been very useful over the years when it came to babysitting or watering plants. She hadn’t, however, ever expected to use them to let herself in to check that Matt was still alive. Sylvia couldn’t face finding out, and she begged Hetty to venture over there and see if she could raise him. If, indeed, he was even there.
Nobody had heard from Matt or spoken to him since a couple of days before Christmas. Kate had revealed all this when she’d rung Sylvia, looking for him, explaining in a cold, formal tone that she and Matt were separating because she was in love with a man called Callum MacGregor, also married, also separating from his wife. Kate had apologized for the timing, saying that she’d have liked for things to happen more slowly, but this was the situation and they were all going to have to get used to it. She’d not heard from Matt since he’d found out and she wanted to know he was OK.
Kate, it seemed, was still at her parents’ house. They were looking after Tallulah most of the time, whilst Kate went back and forth to the hotel where this Callum chap was staying. Sylvia had gleaned this from Kate’s mother Yvonne, who was as distressed as she was about the devastating news.
‘Matt?’ Hetty called out timidly, edging into the dark hallway. The alarm wasn’t on, so she assumed he must be at home. A strong smell of bins wafted out to meet her as she headed into the kitchen – unsurprising given the amount of half-eaten takeaways, cigarette ends and beer cans that were scattered on every available work surface. A defrosted chicken lay in the sink, abandoned in its juices. This made her gag, and she headed hastily into the living room.
The tinny sound of a low-volume radio show was ploughing on oblivious in the background. There was no light – even the Christmas tree was sad and dark. No surprise there. Over on the capacious leather sofa, under a pile of coats and a rug, Hetty could just about make out the silhouette of her friend. Fast asleep. But breathing.