Never Greener

by Ruth Jones

  No, it wasn’t the lines around her eyes that bothered her, or the extra pounds or the greying hair. It was that she’d lost her spirit. She’d lost her Belinda-ness. Because she’d lost her faith. In love.

  It was eighteen years now since his first affair with Kate. Back then Belinda had thought she would dissolve into nothingness. The pain was suffocating, debilitating. And she’d have put money on their marriage not surviving the onslaught. Because once it’d been invaded by that army of doubt and distrust, how could she ever forgive him, or like him, or love him, or even be in the same room as him again?

  But she’d dug hard, scrabbling around for the tiniest remnant of love and hope, till she’d scraped together enough to get them going again and move on; slowly at first, timidly and without much confidence of success. Until eventually they made it back to the old Callum and Belinda, Cal and Lind, Callumagico and Bel. And Kate Andrews became just a shadow in their past, a spectre exorcized and gone. They’d watched the kids grow up, reached so many milestones together: the GCSEs, the driving tests, the graduations, the first loves, the first fights, the first drinks, and all the other ups and downs of life – Callum’s mother going into care, Belinda’s father dying, Callum’s promotion to deputy head, and even the good old menopause … all the grime and glory that comprised a strong, enduring marriage. They were watertight. Safe. Protected. Until the intruder had returned and stolen Callum from them, smashing up their happy little home for good.

  A big juicy tear rolled down Belinda’s cheek and splashed into her cappuccino. All loss is sad, she thought. But the loss of faith in Love is catastrophic.

  She decided she would email Callum that evening.

  70

  ‘You look brand new,’ Chloe, his ‘artist in residence’, said as she stared sternly at Matt.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be saying that about you?’ He laughed. ‘You’re the one who’s been doing all that yoga and stuff!’

  Chloe had just returned from a month in India, partly taking photos and partly experiencing life on an ashram.

  ‘I don’t feel any different,’ she explained. ‘But you! You look shiny again. Bye.’

  And, abrupt as ever, off she skipped to her studio, ready to lose herself in her art again.

  Matt certainly did feel better. The exercise regime was paying dividends and he’d even joined a running club.

  ‘It’s good for you to make new friends,’ Hetty had said, admiring his six-pack like a new hat.

  ‘Stop trying to find me a girlfriend!’ he’d laughed. ‘I’m still technically married, y’know!’

  ‘Not for much longer. Hey! We could have a decree absolute party!’

  ‘What is your obsession with parties? You’d celebrate the opening of an envelope if you could!’

  She’d hit him playfully on the arm, thrilled that the old Matt was returning to life. Tallulah had played a big part in this, of course. She was with him every Sunday to Wednesday, and he’d also started doing more during the rest of the week – not dating, he wouldn’t be ready for that for a while, but as well as the running club he’d started hot yoga on a Thursday and Italian on a Monday. He wasn’t sure about Italian at first, it being a Tallulah night, but Hetty had dived in and offered to babysit, solving the problem in a heartbeat.

  And then, of course, there was the Friday-evening quiz. He’d gone along initially as a one-off replacement on Hetty’s team. She’d been going to the Dog and Duck in Shepherd’s Bush for the past eighteen months with her workmates Lisa, Robbie and Ivor, and it’d become ultra-competitive for them. But when Robbie had had to pull out for family reasons Hetty had begged Matt to stand in, otherwise their chances of winning the league would be ruined.

  ‘I bloody hate pub quizzes!’ he moaned when she called into the gallery with Ivor one lunchtime.

  ‘That’s what Ivor said first of all, didn’t you, Ivy? But now he comes every week and he loves it.’ Ivor smiled unconvincingly. ‘Oh please, Matt!’

  As usual, he couldn’t say no to Hetty, and so he turned up at the Dog and Duck that evening and was welcomed into the inner sanctum of Team Vegelicious. And despite his protestations and low expectations, he’d really enjoyed himself. And they’d come third. So it didn’t take much to persuade him to come back the following week.

  The fifth time he went, he found himself buying drinks with Ivor during the break. He liked Ivor. He’d thought he was shy and silent at first, even a bit miserable, but as he got to know him, he grew to enjoy his dark sense of humour, his intelligent take on world politics and his sardonic wit.

  ‘I can see why you changed your mind, Ivor! It’s pretty addictive, isn’t it, this quiz malarkey!’

  ‘Not really,’ Ivor replied. ‘I still loathe it.’

  Matt was confused. ‘So why do you come?’

  Ivor took his change from the barman, along with a deep breath, and said, ‘Because I’m in love with Hetty. And I’m addicted to her company. Even though it makes me miserable knowing that she’s not remotely interested in me.’

  Matt decided not to mention it – it really wasn’t up to him, was it? But then what if Hetty was missing out on her perfect man? What if Matt was standing in the way of true love just because he was too cowardly to speak out?

  He looked for clues as to how Hetty felt about Ivor, watching the body language between them during the rest of the night. They certainly got on; he made her laugh – a lot. And vice versa. And yes, there was something sweet and tender between them. But what if she only felt friendship towards him, and if Matt said anything their friendship would be spoilt?

  The decision, thankfully, would be taken out of his hands.

  71

  In the end, it’d taken Belinda a whole week and over twenty attempts before she’d composed an email she was happy to send. It simply said:

  Callum

  Your solicitor informed my solicitor you want me to sell the house.

  Not gonna happen.

  Belinda

  All the other drafts had been much longer, of course. In some of them, after ‘Your solicitor informed my solicitor you want me to sell the house’ she’d written:

  and deprive our three children of the home they grew up in, which would break their hearts, but then what the fuck do you care about hurting our children when you’ve already smashed their lives into smithereens, you selfish, arrogant, heartless cunt.

  It’d felt good calling him that. Even for the few seconds it stayed on the screen before she deleted it. She’d also written a postscript in one version:

  PS: Kate seems quite thick to me, so I don’t expect she’s good enough at maths to work out that in four years’ time she’ll still be in her mid forties, whereas you’ll be eligible for a bus pass. Maybe you should point this out. Perhaps she should think about getting a carer in to help when you’re incapacitated and can’t wipe your own arse any more …

  Sue had told her to write it all down.

  ‘Get it all down, sweetheart, say everything you want to say, then RIP IT UP! Cos you must never, EVER show him how hurt you are.’

  When she finally sent the email that Wednesday evening at eight p.m., she’d worked out it was 112 days since she’d last seen him. She switched off her computer till the Friday morning, when she noticed there were three replies. The first was sent within half an hour of receiving hers.

  Bel

  So good to hear from you.

  Can we talk about this?

  Callum

  Then on the Thursday morning he’d sent another one:

  If you’d rather stick to emails, that’s also fine.

  Callum

  And finally on the Thursday evening, email number three:

  Or homing pigeon?

  C.

  A tiny smile flickered across her face when she read that, disappearing the instant she became aware of it.

  72

  Ivor ended up walking Hetty home after the quiz. Nothing new in that, Hetty’s flat being only ten minutes from where
he lived in Turnham Green. Once they’d reached her front door, though, Ivor told her he had something to say.

  ‘I’m leaving Vegetarian Living, Het. I’ve been offered a job in Belgium.’

  ‘Why?’ It seemed like a stupid question.

  ‘Well, because I applied for it.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I’m finding it impossible to live in London.’

  ‘I know what you mean. It’s so bloody expensive. The other day I worked out—’

  ‘Hetty, shut up a minute,’ he said gently. ‘I’m finding it impossible because I’ve fallen in love with someone …’

  ‘Oh Ivy, how wonderful!’

  He ignored her and carried on, ‘I’ve fallen in love with someone, but I don’t think it’s reciprocated – in fact, I don’t think they’re even aware I exist half the time, and seeing them every day is killing me. So I need to remove myself from the source of pain.’

  Hetty had looked at him, putting on her serious listening face. ‘Darling, have you told her how you feel? I’m presuming it’s a she?’

  This had irritated Ivor. Great, so she wasn’t even sure if he was straight!

  ‘Yes, of course it’s a she!!’

  They stood there for a moment, traffic zooming rudely past.

  ‘I gave you the Secret Santa. The thing with the little pebbles,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘And I sent you the Valentine card.’

  ‘That was you!’

  She had indeed received the most beautiful home-made Valentine in the post at work and had no idea who could’ve sent it. Be My Valentine, the card had commanded in an elegant font on a lilac background, with a simple silver heart beneath. Inside, the handwritten message declared: You are still exceptional.

  ‘Gosh Ivy! That was you!’ she repeated. ‘No one’s ever sent me a Valentine before,’ she said, realizing how self-pitying that sounded. ‘Except my dad when I was seven.’ She knew she was wittering but couldn’t help herself, trying to buy time whilst she absorbed the news that Ivor had sent her a Valentine card! ‘He did it to be sweet really, but I didn’t see it like that, of course, and I got ever so cross with him because I—’

  ‘Oh fuck it!’ Ivor interrupted. At which point Hetty knew something was amiss because she couldn’t remember ever hearing him swear before. And before she could say another word, he cupped her face in both his hands, closed his eyes and kissed her for twenty-seven seconds.

  And during the first three of those twenty-seven seconds, Hetty realized that she’d got Ivor completely wrong all the time she’d known him, and that she didn’t in fact know him at all.

  ‘Like when someone surprises you,’ she told Matt a few days later, ‘by being a really good cook or an accomplished dancer or a brilliant linguist, and yet you’d never have thought they had it in them. Well, when Ivor kissed me, it was the most amazing and tender and well-constructed kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life – not that I’ve got a huge amount to compare it with, but still …’

  The following Monday, Hetty called Matt half an hour before she was due at his house to babysit. ‘Matt, it’s me. Hetty.’

  ‘Yes I know. Your name comes up on the— Oh, never mind.’ What was the point, he smiled to himself.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘You’re cancelling on me?’

  ‘No, I’m ten minutes away. But I thought I’d better warn you,’ she whispered hard into the phone, ‘I won’t be alone!’

  ‘Right …’ Matt was intrigued.

  ‘Just don’t say anything when we arrive!’

  ‘OK, but—’

  Too late. Hetty had hung up.

  So when Matt opened the door ten minutes later to Hetty – and Ivor! – he did what he was told and didn’t bat an eyelid, inviting them in, offering them both a cup of tea.

  Tallulah, however, was not so discreet. ‘Are you Hetty’s boyfriend?’ she asked Ivor as she sat next to him on the sofa, drawing whiskers on his face with a purple eyeliner.

  ‘Yes he is, Lules,’ said Hetty. ‘Now, hot chocolate before bedtime?’

  It wasn’t till Matt got home from his Italian class three hours later that he managed to corner Hetty in the kitchen under the ruse of making tea and made her spill the beans, while Ivor watched TV in the living room. She spoke in short, sharp, whispered sentences, laced with hysteria and delight.

  ‘So I invited him up to my flat …’

  ‘Right …’ said Matt, checking over his shoulder.

  ‘… and bonked his brains out!’

  ‘Bonked!? Hetty, that is so not a you word!’

  ‘Sssssshh! OK, shagged! Fucked! Screwed! Jumped! Baked some mamajolambas! Whatever you want to call it, we did it. All night. And all weekend. And we haven’t looked back since.’ The tears were streaming now and she was laughing. ‘Matty, I love the very cuticles of that man!’

  73

  She was in two minds. The coffee-coloured silk was so classy and looked gorgeous next to her skin, but the black chiffon was much sexier. Should she go for class or sex?

  Standing in the changing room of an obscenely expensive boutique on Bond Street, Kate was choosing a designer dress to wear to the BAFTAs. She’d been nominated for best actress for her role in Second Sight, a TV drama she’d filmed the year before.

  Callum teased her the day she’d found out, as she leapt about the apartment, screaming for joy. ‘I thought you said awards didn’t mean anything?’

  ‘They don’t!’ she yelled excitedly. ‘Until you’re nominated for one!’

  She’d laughed it off, but deep down had been slightly annoyed that he hadn’t made more fuss about the nomination. It’s a BAFTA! she’d thought. But then quickly reminded herself that Callum wasn’t au fait with her professional world – why should he be? – and that was one of the reasons she loved him. He was down-to-earth. He had a proper job.

  The ceremony was only a week away and she’d left it till the last minute to choose her dress so she’d be as thin as she could possibly be. She’d booked the make-up artist and the stylist to come to the apartment beforehand at two, then she and Callum would leave together at six in the pre-ordered limousine, which would take them to the theatre in Drury Lane.

  It would be a red-carpet affair, of course. Kate was used to them, knew how to stand, how to smile, what to say to the TV crews and journalists who’d be lining the barriers on the way in. She’d tried speaking to Callum about it a few times, but he always brushed it off.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me saying the wrong thing, ’cos I’m not gonna utter a word!’

  And she’d smiled, and kissed him, and made him promise never to change.

  ‘No danger of that,’ he’d said.

  Since moving to London, he’d been going regularly to his new rugby club in Richmond. She was glad he’d joined – it made her feel like he was putting down roots, though he said it irked him as a Scot to join an English club.

  ‘Well, swings and roundabouts,’ she’d said. ‘At least you’re too old to actually play for them, so you’re not being that disloyal.’

  He hadn’t laughed as much as she thought he would. She was always asking him if he was happy, if he felt he’d made the right decision. And always, always, he would say yes.

  They’d got into a routine now, which seemed to be working well – Tallulah was with them Wednesday night through to Sunday, and as Kate was filming again, she’d employed a part-time nanny, Celine, to look after her when she couldn’t be at home because of work. Matt had offered, through Sylvia, to extend Tallulah’s time with him instead. ‘It just makes sense, dear,’ Sylvia had said to Kate patronizingly, ‘for Tallulah to be with her father when you’re not available, rather than some poor young girl who can barely speak English!’

  But Kate was insistent. They were going to stick to their routine if it killed her. And if Matt, or Sylvia, put up a fight, they could go to the courts and have an official custody battle. ‘And
let’s face it, we know they’ll only side with me, so why waste our time?’ she’d replied through a fixed smile.

  Kate was thrilled that Tallulah had so readily accepted Callum as ‘Mummy’s new boyfriend’. At first she was shy of him, hiding behind Kate’s legs and timidly peeping out, refusing to speak. But because he was such a natural father, he became a lovely stepfather too. And soon Tallulah felt happy and comfortable in his company. Kate knew he missed his own kids, of course – it was three months now since the split and still only Ailsa would speak to him. She’d been to London twice to visit, though she’d refused to stay at the flat so Callum had put her up in a cheap hotel, which was all he could afford. Kate had offered to book her in somewhere more upmarket, but Callum said he couldn’t possibly let Kate pay – it would be morally wrong somehow.

  Ailsa seemed to enjoy the adventure of it all, with Callum meeting her at St Pancras on the Friday night, then spending the entire weekend with her. They’d gone on a river cruise and the London Eye, and he’d taken her to eat at Ed’s Diner. Kate had put on a brave face, insisting she was just happy that Callum was spending time with his daughter. But inside she was desperately hurt that Ailsa would have nothing to do with her. Give it time, she told herself. You’ve come this far.

  Callum had also been back to see Ailsa in Edinburgh three times since Christmas. Kate had gone with him, of course, and they’d stayed at Kate’s parents’. Yvonne was just about speaking to her now, but it had taken weeks for her to forgive the ‘appalling way’ Kate had behaved.

  Yvonne tolerated Callum with good manners that veiled her contempt. Gordon, on the other hand, rather liked the guy. In fact, he felt a bit sorry for him, having gotten into such a mess. Yvonne claimed Gordon only liked Callum because they were of a similar age. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman,’ he’d said, though secretly he thought she wasn’t far wrong.