by Ruth Jones
Whenever Kate asked Callum about Belinda, he’d clam up. He said what was done was done and there was no point dredging things up and dissecting them – best for everyone to just get on with their lives. She wanted to ask him if he missed her, if deep down he thought he’d made the most terrible mistake. But all the signals warned her off mentioning Belinda’s name. Whenever she felt insecure, she turned to what she knew best – keeping their sex life well and truly vibrant. She was always coming up with new and exciting scenarios, procuring little tablets that would keep them both going all night, dressing up, dressing down, inviting him to share his most private fantasies with her. But he’d just say, ‘It’s you, Kate. You’re my fantasy.’ And a tiny part of her felt patronized.
She looked at herself now in the changing-room mirror – her body adorned with the coffee silk she’d finally chosen to wear. It had more edge, she thought. Though it wasn’t just the press she wanted to look good for – she was fighting a constant battle to look good for Callum. Never quite believing she’d made the mark, no matter how many times he reassured her. And it wasn’t just her appearance she worried about – she was continually trying to find out if he was happy. In London. With her.
A few weeks back, they’d gone to a rugby match together. Kate had procured, via her agent, two international tickets for Twickenham. They were to be guests in a hospitality box sponsored by a big chemical-engineering firm. There was to be free booze and posh food all day, and they’d get to watch Scotland play England. She was so excited when she presented him with the tickets.
‘A hospitality box!’ he’d exclaimed. ‘Me and Belinda always got the cheap seats and a curry on the way home.’
He rarely mentioned Belinda, so her name was left hanging awkwardly in the air, neither of them commenting on it, Kate feeling sick with jealousy. But, ever the actress, she didn’t show it and ploughed on.
‘Well, it’s a first for me. You’ll have to guide me as I lose my international rugby virginity!’
The price to pay for free tickets was that she had to be on celebrity duty all day. It was a bit tiresome being hounded by fans when all she wanted was to have a special time with Callum, to give him something she thought he’d enjoy, to share in his love for rugby. But, as ever, her fame got in the way of it all.
Callum had got on very well with the host and MD of the company, an affable Liverpudlian called Stuart. During half-time he stood with Callum at the bar, both enjoying their pints. They watched Kate in action as she chatted with the other guests, working the room, having her photo taken, always glancing back at Callum for some kind of approval.
‘Landed on your feet there, mate, didn’t you?’ Stuart had said. And Callum had just smiled, giving nothing away. He’d be lying if he said he hated it when men his own age envied not only that he was with a beautiful woman seventeen years his junior, but also that she was rich and famous.
They’d ended up having a great day – getting hopelessly drunk, of course. During the game, Kate whispered to Callum to meet her in the disabled toilet for a quickie, but he was having none of it. She actually thought he seemed a bit disgusted at the prospect and she teased him, ‘Not turning into a prude already, are you, Callum?’
‘No, it’s just … well, it’s a rugby game, isn’t it? Time and place an’ all that …’
She’d smiled and turned back to cheering on her national team.
Scotland won, which was the icing on the cake, and Kate announced to him that night in bed that she was a definite convert to the world of rugby. She’d never felt so patriotic, belting out ‘Flower of Scotland’ before the game and cheering on the boys in blue. When could they do it again? Should she get them tickets for the France game?
‘Maybe,’ Callum said, and turned over and went to sleep.
Kate tried to ignore the doubt that was gnawing away at her confidence.
‘How you doing in there?’ came the voice of the sales assistant, interrupting her thoughts.
‘I’ll take both!’ she said, putting on the charm. ‘And I’ll let my boyfriend decide!’
74
That afternoon, Kate felt secure in the warm glow of domestic life.
After buying her dress, she met Callum, who had taken Tallulah for a milkshake nearby. She loved seeing them together, especially when Callum carried her daughter on his shoulders and made her laugh. Then they went back to the apartment and had a lazy afternoon, Tallulah watching Kate paint her nails, Callum reading the Saturday papers and flicking through the sports channels. This was what she’d longed for. This was how it was meant to be.
The knock at the door was a surprise because visitors always used the intercom buzzer. Kate and Callum looked at each other, presuming it must be one of the neighbours – though sometimes, if the security door was left open by accident, guests just made their way up to the apartment.
‘I’ll go,’ Kate said, shaking dry her freshly painted nails. Tallulah, now bored of playing make-up, turned to Callum to ‘play sharks’, which involved him sliding around on the carpet trying to grab her by the ankle. She so delighted in being scared.
Kate opened the door. Standing there was a young man, tanned, handsome, nervous. ‘Does Callum MacGregor live here?’ he asked. She detected his Scottish lilt straight away.
‘Who wants to know?’ Kate replied.
Thirty seconds later, she was showing him into the living room, where Callum was singing the theme tune from Jaws and Tallulah was squealing with delight as he chased her slowly around the floor.
‘Awww – what a pretty picture,’ the young man said.
Callum stopped and looked up. ‘Ben! My God!’
He clambered to his feet, but Tallulah wanted to carry on playing.
‘Again! Do it again!’
‘Was he being a shark?’ said Ben, his sarcasm lost on Tallulah. ‘He’s good at that. Aren’t you, Dad?’
Kate took Tallulah’s hand and led her out of the room.
‘Come on, come and help Mummy in the bathroom.’
‘But I want to play with Callum,’ she cried as they left. Kate shut the door behind them.
The two men stared at each other.
‘I like your new family, Dad.’ Ben’s voice cracked a little. ‘Very sweet.’
‘Look … just sit down a minute,’ Callum said, offering him the sofa, ‘I haven’t seen you in over a year. Tell me about your trip!’
‘What? Think this is a social call, do you? Think I just happen to be in London, so hey – I know – I’ll take my holiday snaps over to Dad’s and meet my new stepmother and her little brat?’ Ben was seething now, months of frustration boiling up inside him, months of wanting to tell his father what he thought of what he’d done but knowing he could only do it face to face.
‘Come on – she’s five, she’s innocent in all of this.’
‘Innocent? What about my mother? And my little sister? And my brother? Eh? Aren’t we all innocent too? Jesus!’ Ben hated himself for starting to cry. He walked over to the window to calm himself down, looking out at the view of the Thames, a view that in any other circumstance he’d have admired.
‘What d’you get off on, Dad?’ he said, quietly. ‘Is it the fame and the money? Or are you just a sad old man who fancied his chances with some slapper twenty years younger than him?’
Callum knew this was not the time to admonish his son for being rude about Kate. ‘It’s not like that. We knew each other … before …’
Ben scoffed at this. ‘Yeah, I heard about your little secret. Think that makes it better, do you? The fact she’s not some one-night stand? That you knew her back then, back in the fucking eighties, when …’ he faltered, ‘when I was five for Christ’s sake?’
‘Ben …’
‘You were lying to us all even then – you bastard!’ His anger got the better of him again and he lunged forward with a punch aimed squarely at his father’s jaw. Callum ducked out of the way just in time.
‘Whoah! Please, Ben. I know you�
�re angry – of course you are. But this isn’t the answer …’
Wiping the tears away as fast as he could, Ben turned on Callum, his voice choked with pain. ‘I used to be so proud that you were my dad. When we were in school an’ that – all my mates thought you were brilliant, ’cos of your rugby and ’cos you never talked to them like a teacher. I really loved the fact that I was your son.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘But now I’m just ashamed. I hate you!’ he wept.
And he launched forward again. Callum thought he was going to throw another punch. But instead he grabbed his father hard, pulling him into a desperate hug, sobbing his heart out like a little boy. ‘Please come home, Dad,’ he begged.
Feeling totally helpless, Callum wrapped his arms around his eldest boy and kissed the top of his head, comforting him like he’d done when he was younger. He looked up and saw that Kate had come into the room without Tallulah.
She smiled sadly at Callum and said gently, ‘The best way forward for all of us is to accept that this is how things are now.’
She hadn’t banked on the aggression in Ben as he pulled out of the hug with Callum and hissed at her, ‘Who asked for your opinion, you fucking whore?’
‘Oh, how predictable!’ she laughed.
‘Hey Ben, come on!’
But Kate was made of stronger stuff and she held Ben’s gaze as she said calmly and levelly, ‘Listen, sunshine. I’m sorry that this is so painful for you, I really am. But I love your father and we’re together now, and the sooner you acknowledge that, the sooner we can all start getting on with our lives as a family. And that can include you too, Ben, and Cory and Ailsa.’
‘No chance. You’re off your ’ead, woman.’
She ignored this and carried on, ‘And, of course, you are more than welcome to come here whenever you like. As long as you respect me and my home and my daughter.’ And with that, she took hold of his arm – he was too shocked to shake it off. ‘But if you ever come here again and start mouthing off like this when there’s a five-year-old child in the other room, you will have me to answer to, and believe you me, I don’t take any prisoners. Got it?’
Stunned by the outburst, Ben turned to his father for support and said, ‘Well?’
But Callum couldn’t look at him and said nothing.
Ben headed for the door and, turning before he left, he whispered, ‘You fucking coward.’
75
Callum
Thanks for your email and for speaking to your solicitor about the house. My solicitor has now confirmed you will not be seeking sale of Sutherland Avenue.
Ben said he saw you.
He was very upset.
She had wanted to write, Ben said he saw you and your marriage-wrecking slag of a girlfriend – I hope you’re proud of yourselves and the hurt you’ve caused this family, you selfish, inconsiderate, arrogant wanker. But she didn’t. And she forced herself to end on a positive note, writing:
Ailsa loves her new moped. Thank you for buying it.
B.
76
Callum had been emailing Belinda for four weeks now. His heart soared every time he saw her name in his inbox, which wasn’t very often – even though he checked it, hoping, every day. Her messages were always curt. But at least she was communicating with him. And he always replied straight away.
Bel
So glad Ailsa liked the moped.
He’d taken a loan out to buy it, but he wasn’t about to tell Belinda that. Or Kate.
Please make sure – I know you will – that she wears the helmet at all times, and never ever, ever has a drink before getting on it.
Yes, Ben came and yes he was upset. I’m sorry, obviously.
Old Watsonians played well against Saracens last month, didn’t they? Though I think they need to rethink the back row.
Bye for now
Callum
He’d wanted to write, PS: I miss you every fucking day.
He’d also wanted to add an x.
But he did neither.
Nor did he tell Kate that he’d had any correspondence with Belinda whatsoever.
77
Matt loved days like this. The week before Easter: fresh, clean sunshine with a hint of cool in the breeze; daffodils, optimism and Lindt chocolate bunnies. He’d always preferred Easter to Christmas, but given the events of the past five months, he felt it even more so now.
The gallery had been quiet that morning. He didn’t mind – he was quite enjoying the peace. He’d left the door wide open to welcome in any passing trade, but secretly hoping no one would bother. He was reading a good book that he rather wanted to finish.
Peter was away for the week. Copenhagen with Julius. ‘No better place on earth!’ he’d said. Matt had made a half-hearted attempt to find cover for him by asking Chloe if she’d like to do a couple of shifts and earn some cash, which he knew she must need.
‘No.’
‘Oh. OK.’
He was used to her brusqueness most of the time, but sometimes it caught him off guard.
‘I don’t like shops.’
‘Well, it’s not a shop as such, Chlo.’
‘You sell things, people buy things.’
‘Yes, but it’s Art!’
This clearly didn’t matter to Chloe. And she’d headed upstairs to the studio, Matt shaking his head with a smile. She was getting very close to finishing her latest piece, a spectacular riverscape, on the biggest canvas he’d ever seen her use. He’d sit up there sometimes, watching her paint. She didn’t seem to mind, as long as he didn’t speak.
That had suited him fine in the early days after Kate left. Each time he’d tried to get back to work and failed miserably, Peter would send him upstairs just to sit quietly with Chloe. Sometimes he would sit there for three hours at a time, in complete and utter silence, apart from the dull scraping of pastels on canvas as Chloe set about her creation.
At lunchtime, he decided to shut up shop and go for a little wander. He walked out to the back steps and shouted up to the studio, ‘Chloe? I’m getting a sandwich, d’you want anything?’
‘A packet of ham!’ she shouted back. ‘And a peach.’
Fair enough, thought Matt. Nobody could accuse Chloe of ever being vague.
Out on the high street, the approaching Easter weekend made the air buzz with delight. Everyone was in a good mood, light on their feet, exchanging unsolicited smiles.
He always crossed over the road to avoid Porto’s. He’d not been in there since he and Kate had split up; certain places, certain people he just couldn’t face. He had a checklist in his head, to mark off and monitor his progress. Seeing the solicitor had been a big one, but with Hetty’s help he’d got through that, and in two weeks’ time he and Kate would finally be divorced. He would soon be able to refer to her as ‘my ex-wife’. And he was alright with that now. Though it had taken a while to get there.
Contacting Kate for the first time had been another major hurdle – he couldn’t remember speaking to her on those two occasions early on. But Hetty had told him that Kate wanted to communicate via emails. And that suited him. After a few weeks, they had progressed to texts – simple messages such as Tallulah left her horse book at yours or Mum will come at six tomorrow to collect T. It’d taken a little longer to actually speak to her again on the phone. Though the anticipation had been far worse than the actual event and he knew, when he’d done it once, that he could do it again.
She’d sounded so friendly – so kind, in fact – asking him how he was, telling him that she hoped they could get through this and ultimately be friends again, because ‘I’ll always love you, Matt.’ He thought when she said this that it would wrench his heart apart, but whether it was a self-defence mechanism or whether he just didn’t believe her, hearing her say it had no effect whatsoever.
He talked to Dervla the therapist about it and she suggested he just went with the flow. That there was no right way or wrong way to get over the break-up of a marr
iage. And no timetable for the change in his feelings, from excruciating pain to indifference and nonchalance.
He called into the little delicatessen on the corner, owned since 1975 by Alessandra, an octogenarian Greek-Cypriot, and her Turkish husband, Osman. The smell of fresh herbs and brown paper bags made him smile every time he went in there. He picked up some Greek sesame-seeded bread, halloumi and hummus – home-made by Alessandra’s daughter – two juicy beef tomatoes, and an avocado. He bought Chloe’s ham and even found her a peach ripe enough to eat.
‘Hey, Matteus!’ For some reason, Alessandra was always delighted to see him. ‘My beautiful boy, you look the better every times!’
Whether it was her age or her Mediterranean disposition, Alessandra was always emotional, whether discussing the political state of Cyprus or the fact that she’d run out of goat’s milk that day. She wrapped up his goods and put them in a pink and white stripy carrier bag as thin as cobwebs.
‘You are getting it back, huh? Matteus is coming back now!’ And she winked at him.
He didn’t quite understand her but said thank you anyway, assuming whatever she meant was a good thing.
He headed off to the gallery and let himself in through the back, shouting up to Chloe again, ‘Got your stuff!’
She didn’t answer at first.
‘Chlo?’
Sometimes she didn’t hear him, so lost she was in the world of her painting. And sometimes she didn’t answer him because she simply didn’t want to. He presumed it was the latter and made his way upstairs.
‘It’s done!’ she said, sensing he had come in but without actually looking round. She was standing with her back to him, facing the canvas, and wiping her hands pointlessly on a cloth saturated in pastels.
‘Wow. Chloe.’
It really was magnificent. He’d seen it at different stages, of course, but these past couple of weeks he’d not ventured up here to look. Big sweeping lines, boisterous and joyous, captured the river’s vitality and flow in a vivacious explosion of colour.