Permissible Limits

by Hurley, Graham

  ‘We’re marooned,’ I told him. ‘Harald was right. We should have stayed at home.’

  The girl behind the desk had some accommodation vouchers. The airline had a discount deal with a nearby hotel and we were welcome to take advantage of it. When I asked Jamie what he wanted to do, he shrugged.

  ‘Looks like we’re stuck,’ he muttered.

  I agreed there was no option. While the girl hunted for the vouchers, Jamie wandered off.

  ‘You’re lucky.’ The girl had found the last of the vouchers. ‘We’ve had a bit of a run.’

  ‘Should I phone up? Make sure they’ve got a room?’

  ‘Good idea.’ She glanced at my ticket and made a note of my name. ‘They do good seafood. Lovely mussels.’

  I phoned from a call box across from the ticketing desk. When I got through to the hotel, the receptionist had one room left.

  ‘It’s a twin,’ she said. ‘En suite.’

  I was watching Jamie. He was standing in the airport bookshop, thumbing his way through a cycling magazine. There was something about him that told me he’d speared in. The smile had gone. The spark. When he looked up and caught my eye across the concourse he ducked his head again, as if he didn’t want the attention.

  The receptionist was asking for a decision about the room. She had some more calls waiting.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ I said. ‘Expect us in a couple of hours.’

  We took another taxi and let the driver drop us at a pub he’d recommended. It was nearly seven o’clock. The pub was empty, a dispiriting roadhouse with appalling decor that must have been run by the taxi-driver’s brother. Jamie drank Guinness. I had a glass of lukewarm white wine. We shared a couple of packets of crisps, not saying very much. At length I reached for a beer mat and slipped it gently over the top of Jamie’s pint. The last month or so had earned me the right to be candid.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him. ‘Tell me.’

  Jamie’s a tall lad, well over six foot, but the last couple of hours seemed to have physically diminished him. He was almost slumped over his Guinness. He didn’t look up.

  ‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

  ‘Come on. There is. I can tell.’

  Jamie shook his head. Whatever had upset him, whatever had happened, he was in no mood to talk about it.

  ‘Hey.’ I grinned at him, a gesture of solidarity. We were buddies, partners in a wild adventure. I’d already told him how well he’d done on the way over, but even this hadn’t lifted his spirits. Now I tried again. ‘It was a wonderful landing,’ I told him for the umpteenth time. ‘The Moth’s a swine on hardened runways.’

  ‘I was lucky,’ he grunted. ‘Any other day I’d have messed it up.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I dunno.’ he shrugged. ‘It just felt right, that’s all.’

  ‘This morning?’

  ‘Yes.’ He began to stir, a flicker of the old Jamie. ‘I was really looking forward to the flight back. Next week. All that.’

  He sat back on the banquette, looking me in the eye, the rest of it unsaid. This morning, back at Sandown, we’d mapped out the next steps in his flying education. Soon, if he was to head for a Private Pilot’s Licence, I’d have to hand him over to a qualified instructor. Before that, though, I wanted to see him take the Moth up by himself. Wednesday happened to be the day we’d ringed for his first solo flight. Now, thanks to Harald, Wednesday was off.

  ‘It’s Florida, isn’t it? Me doing my thing?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head again. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘How can I? You said it yourself. It’s the chance of a lifetime. Thirty-five hours in someone else’s Mustang? You’d be daft to turn it down.’

  ‘So it’s not a problem?’

  ‘Not Florida, no. Not the Mustang, either.’

  One of the things I loved about Jamie wasn’t simply his honesty but the gift he had for softening the more brutal truths. Now he could scarcely have been more direct, yet even so he was leaving it to me to draw the obvious conclusion.

  ‘It’s Harald? You’re upset about Harald?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? His face twisted into what might have been a smile. ‘Why am I pissed off that you’re spending six weeks with another man? Why am I pissed off that he’s wealthy? And unattached? And owns half the warbirds in the world? Why am I pissed off that he obviously fancies you? Can’t wait to get you out there? And why, most of all, am I pissed off that I haven’t got any rights here? Not one?’

  Jamie very rarely made speeches. I fought the temptation to applaud.

  ‘Rights?’ Deep down I felt immensely pleased. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘No, you don’t. And the really sick thing is I haven’t even got the right to explain.’

  I leaned forward over the table. I’d mistaken anger for something else, something far gentler, and I’d got it badly wrong. Jamie was seriously upset.

  ‘Why not try?’ I suggested. ‘Why not try and explain?’

  I touched him lightly on the hand. He withdrew it at once, an instinctive reflex action, as if I’d scalded him.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Please.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was only -’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He tipped the beer mat off the Guinness and took a long, deep pull, avoiding my eyes. Ralph, I thought. His murmured plea when we’d been talking a week or so back. Be gentle with the boy. Don’t add to the hurt.

  ‘For the record,’ I said quietly, ‘there’s nothing between Harald and me. We’re good friends. He’s been more than kind. Without him, I’d have been in a terrible mess. But that’s where it ends. He knows it and I know it.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true. He’s fifty-five, Jamie. At that age you get wiser. You accept things. You know what’s possible and what’s not.’

  ‘And you really think that applies to him?’

  ‘I know it does.’

  ‘Then you’re mad. He’s all over you. I can see it. You just have to be there. You just have to watch.’

  A shudder ran through him, a sense of deep physical revulsion, and I began to wonder whether booking the hotel room was such a great idea. I’d done it on the spur of the moment. It had been impulsive, and a bit naughty, and altogether in keeping with the way our relationship had developed. Quite what would happen, I didn’t know, but we were good friends, good mates, and wherever the evening led, I couldn’t foresee a moment’s regret. I was older than him, quite a lot older, but the age difference had never mattered. Until now.

  ‘You’re jealous,’ I said, ‘and you needn’t be.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I didn’t answer him. His glass was nearly empty. I went to the bar and ordered refills for both of us, carrying the drinks back to the table.

  ‘This hotel I mentioned,’ I murmured. ‘There’s only one room left.’

  ‘And it’s a double?’

  ‘A twin.’

  ‘Same thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ I looked up at him. ‘It’s all they had. There wasn’t a choice.’

  ‘You’re telling me there aren’t other hotels in Jersey?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Chastened, it was my turn to duck my head. Neither of us said anything for a while. Then I felt the lightest pressure on my arm. Jamie was looking at me. He might even have been smiling.

  ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ he said. ‘I just hope I can handle it.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘Everything else. Florida. Your rich friend. Six bloody weeks.’

  I was gazing at him, trying to stay cool, trying to stay in command, trying to play the older woman, the instructress, when all the time I was flooded with something infinitely warmer. All of a sudden, with his smile, and his impulsiveness, and - yes - his vulnerability, Jamie had transformed an evening that was threatening to turn into a disaster. There was a protocol here, rules o
f engagement, and both of us knew it. Yet the sheer pace of the relationship, our headlong gallop towards each other, was the only thing that really mattered. It had been happening for a while. Smiles. Gestures. Touches. Laughter. Now, in this ghastly pub with its mock-Tudor beams and sticky table tops, we both knew that something profound had happened.

  Jamie’s big hand had tightened round mine. He’d pushed his Guinness to one side. I pretended to look at my watch.

  ‘They do great seafood,’ I murmured, ‘if you’re hungry.’

  He stood up, tugging me after him. He was grinning now, the cloudbase abruptly lifted.

  ‘Bugger the seafood,’ he said.

  The hotel had once been a farmhouse. Two long barns had been converted into accommodation and the work must have been recent, because the corridors smelt of drying cement and newly sawn timber. Jamie had the room key. The promised twin beds were marooned in an ocean of brand-new carpet.

  I went across to the window. Outside there was a paved courtyard that served as a car park. I pulled the curtains. Behind me I could hear Jamie hauling out the bedside unit that separated the two divans.

  I helped him push the beds together.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ I said lightly. ‘I can tell.’

  Jamie glanced up at me.

  ‘That’s a long story,’ he said. ‘If you’ve ever got the time.’

  I stood upright. My flying suit unzipped down the front. I felt absurdly happy.

  ‘I’ve got all night.’ I kissed him. ‘Will that be long enough?’

  We made love. It was clumsy and passionate and over far too quickly. Afterwards, the bedside light still on, Jamie hung over me, propped on one elbow. He had a lovely body, his belly taut, his chest dusted with freckles and little whorls of reddish hair. Already, I felt I’d slept with him forever. That intimate. That close.

  ‘Tell me about Adam,’ he whispered.

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  It was the truth. I was amazed.

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No guilt?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About us. This.’

  ‘None. Adam and I had a fabulous marriage.’ I moistened a finger and ran it around Jamie’s nipple. ‘And now he’s dead.’

  ‘That simple?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No regrets?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got every regret. I lost the man I loved. And then he died.’

  Jamie gave my answer some thought. Then he was back on one elbow, looking down at me. ‘What do you mean? And then he died?’

  I gazed up at him. Would there ever be a better time to tell him the truth about Adam? That he’d betrayed me? That he’d gone with someone else? Would it comfort Jamie to realise that he wasn’t, after all, alone?

  ‘Adam had been having an affair…’ I began. ‘It’s something I’ve only recently found out about.’

  I told him about the photo in the desk drawer, about the message on the back. I’d been over to Jersey, I’d talked to Steve Liddell, confronted Michelle.

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She wouldn’t talk about it.’

  ‘But she admitted it?’

  ‘No. Not exactly.’

  ‘Then how do you know… ?’

  Jamie waited for an answer. I was gazing up at the ceiling. How could I get across to him the shock of finding that photo? What other evidence would you ever need?

  ‘It was in his desk drawer,’ I repeated. ‘Where he knew I’d never look. Are you telling me someone else put it there?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then what’s the point of looking for some other explanation? He was having an affair, Jamie. Men do that. Even Adam. If you want the truth, it broke my heart.’

  Jamie kissed me. His eyes were big and serious.

  ‘And it’s still broken?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I…’ I caught his hand, and held it tight,’… don’t know.’

  ‘But is that why you’re here? Light relief?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I mean it. I want to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  I struggled upright, my back against the bedhead. I knew this was a conversation we had to have, me as much as Jamie. Jamie had draped the sheet around his waist.

  ‘I’m in love with you,’ he said quietly. ‘You must have known that.’

  I didn’t answer. Andrea had said exactly the same thing, but I’d chosen to ignore it.

  Jamie lay back, pulling a pillow towards him, closing his eyes and making himself comfortable. It was probably what he did every night before he slept, cushioning his head against the perils of the dark. I bent over him, tracing the lines of his face with my fingers, and I thought about what he’d said. Should I tell him how pleased I was? How flattered I was? How much of me had wanted him to say it? Or should I hang on to whatever was left of the old, wise, sensible me?

  ‘Of course I knew,’ I whispered at last. ‘But knowing it and hearing it are different.’

  ‘Do you mind me saying it?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘And you?’ One eye was open now. ‘How do you feel?’

  I hesitated. I knew exactly where we were. I’d been here twice in my life. Once when I was far too young to know what I was doing. And once with Adam. On both occasions, because I’d meant it, I’d cast caution to the winds.

  ‘I love us.’ I kissed him again. ‘I love the way we are.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘No it’s not. I asked if you love me. Not us, me.’ I looked down at him for a long moment. There was trust in his face, but there was need as well.

  ‘Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t?’ I asked him.

  ‘Say it then.’

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘Tell me you love me.’

  I smiled. Was it really that important? Did it really need putting into words? I bent to his ear. ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

  ‘I love you, too.’ He closed his eyes. ‘The rest of it is shit.’

  ‘What rest of it?’

  ‘Harald. Florida. All that.’

  I reached down for him and stroked his face.

  ‘I’m still going,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Not as much. Not now.’

  ‘But a little bit?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  He bit me lightly on the little fold of flesh around my hips and said that maybe - in some ways - it was good that I was going away. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because otherwise I’d be all over you. Every day.’

  ‘Like Harald?’

  ‘Sod Harald. You’re right. Harald’s an old man. No. Like this. Like now.’

  ‘You’re beautiful.’ I kissed his eyelids. ‘A beautiful man.’

  Jamie didn’t say anything. The way he held me, so close, so needful, he might have been a child. After a while, he began to tremble, a series of deep physical shivers. I reached down and pulled the blanket up around us. It made no difference.

  ‘Jamie?’ I bent over him, blowing softly on his face the way my mother used to when I was frightened or upset. ‘You OK?’

  Jamie gazed up at me for a long moment, a strange confessional look on his face.

  ‘I loved you the moment I saw you. Am I allowed to say that?’

  I smiled, trying to place exactly when that moment might have been.

  ‘Ralph’s? That day I popped down to St Lawrence?’

  ‘Yes. I was going for a run. I ran for you. Every step of the way. I could hear your voice. We even talked.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘This.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’ I laughed. ‘You didn’t know me. You’d never met me. I could have been anyone. I could have been married.’

  ‘You were married.’

  ‘I know, but
-’

  Jamie was up on one elbow now, his voice low and urgent as if he had a message to deliver, and I realised that it didn’t matter what I said. This was no longer a conversation.

  ‘It’s in your face.’ He reached up for me. ‘Your eyes. The way you laugh. The way you make us feel so…’ he frowned,’… good.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘My grandad. Me. Ralph mentioned you before. He used to talk about you on the phone. He thinks the world of you. You must know that.’

  I smiled, touched, remembering the last time I’d been with Ralph. He’d used exactly the same phrase - he thinks the world of you -though he’d been referring to Jamie rather than me.

  ‘He’s a lovely man,’ I said quietly. ‘And the feeling’s mutual.’

  ‘But he’s like me. Don’t you see?’

  I must have looked confused because Jamie came even closer. I could smell my own perfume on his breath.

  ‘It’s about trust,’ he whispered. ‘We trust you. You make us want to trust you. Don’t you realise how important that is? How rare?’

  It was hard not to smile. So young. So earnest.

  ‘I know a great deal about trust,’ I said. ‘And I know what happens when you trust too much.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ He reached up and kissed me. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. There’s no need.’

  ‘But I am. It must be horrible. Even if it’s not true, it must be horrible. Having to live with the thought that… you know…’ He broke off, shaking his head.

  I lay back, watching a pair of headlights sweeping across the wall as a car drove into the courtyard below. After the engine died, there was silence.

  ‘If you’re talking about Adam, you’re right,’ I said at length. ‘It’s worse than losing him really, worse than someone phoning you up and telling you he’s dead. Death’s easy. You can blame fate, or bad luck, or a million other things, but doing what Adam did…’ I closed my eyes and turned over in the bed, not wanting to take the thought any further.

  After a while, I became aware of Jamie hanging over me. I didn’t know quite what I’d had in mind when I’d booked the room, but a couple of hours seemed to have taken us a great deal further than either of us had expected and I wasn’t altogether sure that I was keen on Jamie shouldering my burdens. That wasn’t his role at all. He was the sunshine in my life. He made me laugh. He made me sing. He made me pleased to be me. He made me forget about Jersey and Steve Liddell and Michelle La Page and all the rest of it. So why did the conversation keep coming back to Adam?