The Sexopaths

  ‘On purpose?’ Adam is indignant.

  ‘No. She was trying to kick Sophie Grainger under the table.’

  ‘Hmm. Are you okay?’

  ‘There’s no blood.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t need a plaster.’

  ‘I want a plaster.’

  ‘Look – I’ll see when we get home. You might need Arnica.’

  ‘Who’s Arnica?’

  Adam can’t repress a half-laugh, but does his best to morph it into a poor imitation of a cough. Camille, as ever sharp as a tack, complains:

  ‘It’s not funny, Daddy!’

  ‘I know – you just say some good things. You make me remember that what one person says isn’t always what the other person hears.’

  ‘Like not telling the truth?’

  ‘Well… not exactly. Lies are on purpose.’

  ‘Miss McGregor says it’s okay to tell a lie so you don’t hurt someone’s feelings. Is that right, Daddy?’

  Adam stares down the line of red tail-lights ahead. Camille’s question, like a well-aimed Springer Spaniel, unleashed, flushes out all manner of flustered game from the dense cover of his mind. With typical impatience, she persists:

  ‘Daddy – is that right?’

  He procrastinates. ‘What did Miss McGregor say it was okay to lie about?’

  ‘Sophie Grainger was calling Esme Paige ‘bossy eyes’ because her eyes aren’t straight and Miss McGregor said not to say that but to say that she’s got nice blue eyes or it will make her upset.’

  ‘I see. That sounds like a good idea. She can’t help it if she’s got a problem with her eyes, can she? So it’s best to say she looks nice.’

  ‘Even if it’s not true?’

  ‘Maybe you should ask mummy about this.’

  ***

  ‘I kept trying to phone you – it was ringing off the hook.’

  ‘I am sorry, my darling – I was on to my mother – you know how she can talk.’

  Adam guesses she’d have felt able to speak with her mother now that ‘the scare’ is over. He says:

  ‘I think you’re crushing the flowers.’

  They stand in an embrace in the hall, a fragrant bouquet crackling between them; Camille, who had initially joined in their tight circle before scampering away, can be heard lecturing a doll upstairs in her bedroom.

  ‘They will survive.’

  ‘Monique – it’s such a relief – thank God you’re okay. Jasmin… Sharon – she let it slip that you’d told her. I didn’t want to discuss it with her.’

  For a second he feels Monique stiffen, then she says, a sudden liquid warmth infusing her voice:

  ‘My darling, I did not mention the clinic – it was something else I spoke about – I hope you don’t mind – since she is going away, I thought...’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh – my darling. You know – I have noticed something strange about my breasts lately – I have been checking them – I cannot believe how stupid I have been – it has so preoccupied me – yet such a simple explanation…’

  ‘Monique – what is it?’ It feels like she’s teasing him; that incomprehensibly there’s more bad news while she sounds drunkenly happy.

  ‘My darling – the x-rays… they are clear, there is nothing – except to tell you I am pregnant with your baby.’

  He draws her closer, squeezes, wrings the misgivings from her tautology. She drops the flowers.

  ‘Monique – that’s amazing.’

  Her face pressed against his throat, she says:

  ‘I am so happy – I’m sorry I didn’t manage to tell you first – the doctor asked me if I had checked whether I was pregnant – so I bought a test after you had dropped me off – and it was positive!’

  ‘That’s incredible.’

  ‘My darling – are you pleased?’

  ‘Monique – it’s fantastic.’ He renews the force of the hug.

  ‘And my darling – I want to change some things – you have been right – I can cause problems for myself – I shall be more thoughtful – and I want to work less – I can reduce my hours now, the senior position I am in – and I am going to drop all my other unnecessary commitments – so that we can be more of a family – be more for one another, strengthen our love, concentrate upon what is most important – what do you think, my darling?’

  He nods, fleeing words escaping him. Monique continues:

  ‘The European Board – I emailed to Simone this afternoon – I have resigned – I shall not be going back.’

  Adam stares, unseeing of his environs; joy fills his heart, purges the doubt; the first sob wracks his body; Monique responds, reaches up, pulls down his head to rest upon her shoulder; she holds him, conducts away his agony, his guilt, his fear.

  Suddenly a frustrated wail of anguish strikes down upon them, penetrates their little bubble of love, releases them into their new life:

  ‘Daddy! Help! I can’t get the head back on!’

  ‘Come on, my darling – let’s tell Camille.’

  – Le Fin –

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