‘It could have been me,’ Bill said, moving his eyes from the bottle to her face. ‘I always thought he was a lucky bastard when I saw how much you loved him.’ They fell silent as if Bill’s words had pushed open a door neither of them wanted to enter. They both fixed their attention on the bottle.
‘Remember that night we first met?’ Bill asked. There was a plaintive sound to his voice, but Paula couldn’t quite trust herself to look into his face to examine what might be going on in his mind.
‘The night I first met my husband, you mean?’
‘I saw you first,’ Bill said in a small voice. He coughed as if clearing the memory for speech. ‘I wanted to ask you to dance, but Tommy beat me to it.’
‘Oh … I…’ Paula wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d caught enough looks from Bill over the years to realise that he found her attractive, but to think that he might have approached her first? She crossed her arms, feeling more than a little awkward.
In fact, that night she had spotted the two boys at the bar, her eyes had initially been drawn to Bill. There was a vital energy in his wide-legged stance, and his hands were in his jacket pockets as if he was trying to contain it. And she always had had a weakness for dark-haired, dark-eyed men.
Thomas stepped in front of Bill at that point. His hands were in the air, punctuating his speech as if the words were never going to be enough. Then, he saw where Bill’s eyes were being aimed. With a mischievous cant to his lips and a nervous light in his eyes he walked across the room to her. And won fair lady.
It was time to move the conversation on, thought Paula.
But Bill beat her to it. ‘What a beautiful bottle,’ he said. ‘Johnny Walker Blue Label King George V,’ he read it out as a V rather than the number. Paula laughed, grateful for the moment of light. ‘And it’s hiding under your kitchen sink. What the hell?’
‘No idea.’ Paula said. ‘Sometimes he revelled in his success. Sometimes it made him uncomfortable.’
Bill lifted the bottle. Felt the weight of it in his hand. ‘Shall I be father?’
‘Yes. Pour, please, but not too much. I’ve nearly had my fill.’
Bill snorted.
‘What?’ Paula asked in mock indignation.
‘You? Enough booze?’
‘Oh, please. That teenager is a long time gone. This is a one-off.’ She swiped at his arm and then let her hand rest on his sleeve. ‘I’m glad you came over tonight, Bill.’
‘Fresh glasses?’ he asked. ‘For a whisky as fine as this we should drink it out the proper receptacle.’ He moved away as if her hand on his sleeve was a weight he couldn’t yet bear.
Bill retrieved a pair of glasses. There was a chime as he placed the glasses on the work surface. Then he poured, and Paula wondered if there could be any more pleasing sound than liquid falling onto itself into a glass.
‘Do we ruin this with ice, or water?’ Bill asked.
‘No idea,’ Paula reached for one of the drinks at the same moment as Bill did. Their fingers touched momentarily. They sipped, each pretending the contact hadn’t happened. Bill closed his eyes and groaned.
‘Aw, man. Beautiful.’
Paula swallowed and felt the peaty taste linger in her mouth. Noted the warmth and smooth heaviness of it. She pushed off the kitchen island. ‘Bring the bottle,’ she instructed Bill. ‘Let’s go through to the lounge and have a comfy seat.’
In the lounge, on the sofa, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up off the floor. Then she bunched a cushion over her lap and rested her drink there. Bill sat on the sofa too, but leaning against the opposite arm. He twisted in his seat so that his knees were pointing at her.
‘Do you need to let Daphne know what’s happening? She’ll be expecting you back home by now.’ As she asked this, she acknowledged that only an hour or so ago she was chasing a burglar out of her home. Perhaps she should have called the police?
Bill shook his head. ‘She knows.’
‘She knows you’re having a drink with me?’
Bills expression shifted as if he’d read more into Paula’s question than was there. ‘She knows exactly where I am. That I’ve come to get some of Tommy’s stuff…’ He held up his glass. ‘…This other part of that might not go down well.’
‘I didn’t think Daphne was a jealous woman.’
‘Wasn’t always like that.’
Paula held the glass to her chin and spoke over the lip. ‘Yeah. A woman puts on some weight and suddenly other women are a threat.’ Then felt a flush of shame at her mean thoughts.
‘Other single women.’
‘Of course,’ said Paula, as that nuance dawned. ‘I’m technically available now.’ She took a sip. ‘She has never been obvious about it, but Daphne never really liked me.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Bill, it’s late. We’ve a glass each of extraordinary whisky in our hands. Lying is not allowed.’
‘Well … she overheard me and Tommy argue years ago.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Way before you guys even got married. Can’t remember how it started, but it finished with him laughing at me when I said I nearly got you first.’ He took a long drink. ‘This really is delicious. Way too easy to drink.’ He leaned across to the small coffee table in front of the sofa and picked up the bottle. Aimed it in her direction. ‘More?’
She held out her glass. He poured a healthy measure in.
‘And, let me guess, every time you have an argument she brings it up again?’
Bill nodded.
‘We women forget nothing. You need to bear that in mind.’
They fell into a companionable silence, each lost in recollection, sipping and savouring almost on automatic. They slumped closer on the sofa, until their shoulders were all but touching.
Paula was aware of his nearness. His warmth. His well-clothed leg, brief showing of sock and his brown-leather brogues. She was aware of her breathing; deep and slow. The whisky on her tongue, the moisture on her lips.
He turned so that he was looking directly into her eyes. She closed hers.
‘I miss him so much,’ Bill said.
Paula could only nod. And that missing was the bridge to close the gap.
Breathing hard. Shifting clothes.
Nothing real but this.
Now.
She wanted love. She wanted to punish herself for not being there. For her failings as a wife, but most of all she simply wanted Thomas.
Please let this be Thomas.
He was on her. Fumbling with her clothes while she fumbled with his. Her mind intoned again, Please let this be Thomas. It feels like Thomas. Looks like Thomas. And there was gratitude there, like a shell around the shame of what was actually happening, because it could be Thomas. This could be a way of, if not denying the truth, delaying it for just one delicious, improbable moment. A moment she could carry with her into the trials of her loss.
Paula felt the weight of him. His hands rough on her skin, his breath hot in her ear. And bit on the inside of her bottom lip to stop herself from admitting the truth of the situation. The pain was sharp enough to make her gasp and Bill paused and looked into her eyes as if asking for permission to carry on. She met his gaze for a moment, before her eyes slid away to find and focus on the sense of wrongness, despite herself. The hot tang of blood on her tongue cut through the breathing, the needing, the heat between them, and the differences between the brothers couldn’t have been more pronounced.
This wasn’t love; this was consolation.
His cheek, wet with tears, burrowed into the crook of her neck.
‘You sure?’ he asked and she felt the pressure of the words on her skin, like braille.
‘I’m not sure about anything, Bill.’ And there it was in the air between them. He wasn’t Thomas.
Never could be.
Bill slid off her and landed on the floor. Paula looked down. He looked ridiculous. Trousers and underwear round his ankles, shirt gaping open.
Bill began to l
augh. A sound that quickly became high-pitched. He hid his face in his hands as the laughter bled into tears. Paula patted him on his shoulder feeling more than a little ridiculous too, and wanting to be anywhere in the world but here.
‘I’m a horrible human being,’ Bill was saying behind the fence of his fingers. ‘Horrible. I’ve done some…’ He paused, looking up at her as if he wanted to unburden himself, opened his mouth to do so, but then his eyes clouded and whatever he was about to say died in his throat. His mouth opened and closed a number of times as if emotion and articulacy were at war within him, as if he was closed off from his own narrative.
Paula rearranged her clothes, burying the notion of guilt and stupidity in the back of her mind for now. Throwing a cushion over Bill’s lap, she sat beside him, and pulled his head onto her shoulder as his grief and its necessary display took over. If she couldn’t help herself in this moment, she could help her husband’s grieving brother.
‘Is that the first time you’ve cried since Thomas died?’ she asked, somewhat in awe.
‘Pretty much,’ he replied.
Paula got to her feet with a suddenness that made her head swim. Shame at her behaviour was a wave that was about to crash down on the feeble protections and justifications she’d tried to offer herself. This was all wrong. She needed to be on her own.
‘I’m sorry. That was…’ Bill began as if reading her mind. ‘I shouldn’t have…’
‘No … we … neither of us….’
‘Yes.’ Bill’s chin was so low it was almost on his chest.
‘Barely happened,’ Paula said, feeling a rush of embarrassment. What would Daphne say? ‘Never happened?’ What were they thinking? They both needed comfort, company, someone who understood what they were each going through. This was not the way to achieve that.
‘I’m so sorry, Paula.’ Bill nodded. Relief pale on his face. ‘Never happened.’
It was only when she stood there, at her front door, watching him drive away that she realised he hadn’t taken away the golf clubs, and she hadn’t asked him why he’d never mentioned he had lunch with Thomas on the day he died.
31
‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ said Joe from the other side of the curtain. ‘Do we really want to go there?’
‘What do you know?’ Paula asked, instantly concerned.
‘I know you’ve done something bad enough that you need to tell me through a hole in a wall.’ There was a weary chuckle in his voice. ‘What have you been up to?’
There was no other way to say it than to say it.
‘I kinda almost had sex with Bill last night.’
Pause.
‘Wait. I thought you said you kinda almost had sex with Bill.’
‘The nut is in the shell.’
A moment’s pause and then Paula could feel the air around her shift as the door into the adjoining cubicle was opened. Then her door was pulled open and Joe stood there, stooping forward, his face bright, mouth wide.
‘How in the name of God can you kinda have sex with Bill?’ His voice was a harsh whisper.
Paula waved at him furiously with her right hand, while with her left she held her large handbag in front of her like a shield. ‘Get back in your cubicle. I can’t talk to you about it like … this.’ Mentally adding, my face needs to be hidden.
Joe disappeared momentarily and reappeared in his original position.
‘I’m going to take a series of long, slow, deep breaths in the hope that it brings my mind back into that still pond place. While I do that you can tell me what the hell is going on.’ The last five words were spoken in a rush.
‘Long, slow and deep, Joe,’ said Paula grateful for the delay.
Pause.
‘I’m breathing. You should be talking.’
‘Oh, man,’ said Paula. ‘This is a mess.’ In a kneeling position, she leaned forwards on her elbows, head in her hands. Felt the same need she had last night. For intimacy. The touch of another human. For Thomas.
‘What were you thinking?’
‘I can’t make sense of it, Joe. It wasn’t me. I’d never do a thing like that.’ And yet it was. There was the pattern of thought and bad decisions trailing through her mind like a red silk scarf in a dirt-borne breeze.
‘According to you, you kinda did. How can you kinda have sex anyway?’
‘He was…’ She cringed at what she was about to say. ‘We were … and then Bill started crying.’
Joe was silent for a moment. ‘Bill was crying?’
‘This is horrible, Joe,’ said Paula. ‘It’s so messed up.’ Then she recounted the entire episode from chasing the burglar to the moment Bill left her house, his face long with embarrassment. His last words to her. ‘I’m a despicable human being.’ And his expression of self-loathing stayed with her through the night. She wondered if it matched her own.
‘Wait. You had a burglar?’ asked Joe.
‘And anyway why should he assume all the blame?’ she asked, ignoring his question. She didn’t want to have to justify her decision not to call the police. A decision that was now beginning to bother her. What if he came back? ‘Bloody typical. I’m not some helpless little woman. I played as much a part in that scenario as he did.’
‘Well, I’m pleased you’re taking ownership,’ said Joe. And it felt to Paula that he was fighting back his disgust and inclination to judge.
‘Oh, please don’t talk to me like you’re some kind of Californian TV shrink, Joe.’
‘Nonetheless, the sentiment applies. You made a mistake. A huge mistake. And there are mitigating factors, but you’re assuming responsibility for your actions. You’re not trying to blame the demon drink…’
‘I was pissed, to be fair.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It was like it was me, but it wasn’t me, if that makes sense? I knew what I was doing was wrong, but…’ Paula thought again about that sense of dislocation. Being apart. Looking down the length of her body as if it belonged to someone else. And yet, feeling the ache of longing, the need for skin on skin. The search for human warmth.
‘What happens now?’
‘We pretend it never happened,’ said Paula firmly. Paula thought about the slump of Bill’s shoulders as he left, the self-loathing in his eyes. But before that they’d shared something. A moment where they’d eased each other’s loss. That had to count for something, surely?
‘My brother is the kind of man who hates showing weakness. You saw him at his most vulnerable last night. I’d wager Daphne’s never even seen him cry.’
Paula scoffed. ‘How can a wife never see her husband cry?’
‘For a clever woman, you say some stupid things, Paula Gadd.’
Just then there was a rattle on Paula’s door. ‘Are you two reading a book in there or something?’ A deep and querulous voice demanded.
‘We’ve just been reminded that we’ve been in here some time, Paula. Why don’t you go through to the house, put the kettle on and we’ll finish once I’ve spoken with this gentleman.’
Fifteen minutes later, Joe joined her in the lounge.
‘I thought I talked for ages,’ said Paula.
‘A few more people came in, sorry.’ He looked at the empty mug she was holding. ‘Get you a top up?’
‘Please.’
‘Let’s go through to the kitchen and we can continue our chat.’ He studied her face as if looking to assess her mental state.
She studied him in turn then got to her feet. ‘You look better.’ The dark circles under his eyes weren’t quite so pronounced.
‘Lying is a sin,’ Joe said.
‘Will you hear my confession, Father?’
Joe snorted and walked out of the room. Down the corridor and in the kitchen, Joe reached for the kettle. While the water started its rush to a boil, he turned to her.
‘I always thought Bill had a soft spot for you.’
‘Well, last night it got a whole lot harder.’
J
oe opened his mouth and made a retching sound.
‘How was he when he left you?’ He asked. ‘He actually cried, yeah?’
‘He actually cried.’
Joe spooned some coffee into a pair of mugs. ‘I’ve never seen my big brother cry.’
‘Not even when your mum and dad died?’
‘Not even.’ Joe poured water into the mugs.
‘Wow,’ said Paula. ‘That’s a whole level of buttoned-up I’ve never experienced before.’
They sat at the kitchen table and Joe pushed a mug across the table top to her.
‘What now?’ Joe asked.
‘We scratch it from our collective memory bank and resume our in-law status.’
‘And pray Bill doesn’t get an attack of the guilts and tell Daphne everything.’
Paula cradled her mug, enjoying the heat on her hands. ‘That could happen?’
Joe shrugged. ‘They’re a strange pair. They shouldn’t work, but they do.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘She’s taken him back before…’
‘Noooo.’
Joe nodded. ‘Not that I’m one to gossip.’
‘Bill’s had an affair?’
‘Affairs. Plural.’
‘No.’ Paula sat with that for a moment. Felt a flare of humiliation that she might just be a notch on his belt. Then she pushed that thought aside as being unworthy of her. She should forget about his other women. Last night was more complicated than that.
Daphne’s face imposed itself on her mind. She felt a squirm of sorrow for her. ‘What a prick.’ And then a thought gave Paula’s stomach a lurch. ‘He told her or she found out for herself?’
Joe sucked at his teeth. ‘Not sure.’
‘Hey, Mr Oracle, did Thomas ever have an affair?’ She placed both hands on the table as if bracing herself for the reply.
‘Let’s not go down that rabbit hole.’
‘If you knew would you tell me?’
Joe just looked at her, his face a mask. His expression shifted, softened and then recovered as if he had hit the ‘inscrutable’ setting.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s not go there.’
‘You have much wisdom for one so young.’ Joe lifted up his mug and took a sip. Groaned as the warm liquid filled his mouth. ‘Who knew that listening to people unburdening themselves would make a man so thirsty?’
After He Died Page 20