The little show-offs. ‘The first time they did it I thought they’d all had ear infections,’ she said. ‘Or strokes. But it’s a trick their owner taught them. If you stop scratching they’ll stop doing it.’ Anastasia taught them to throw themselves over like fainting goats. Now they did it for attention.
She risked another sneaky peek at Mr Darcy as he patted the dogs. His eyelashes were as thick and dark as they’d looked from a distance, and he had those big eyelids like the models in the eyeshadow adverts. She didn’t need her specs to see that he really was gorgeous.
He stood up. ‘I’ve seen you here before.’ It was a statement.
So he’d noticed her too. Unflattering visions played through her mind as she thought back over the last several months. – scrambling across the pavement collecting the spilled contents of her handbag, toting piles of poo like office workers carried their takeaway lunches, and staggering through the park lugging a lazy drooling bulldog.
Neither of them seemed to know what to say. They watched the pugs circling round Mr Darcy’s feet. She noticed that his tee shirt wasn’t Pink Floyd. A prism shone through the silhouette of a cow’s head. Dark Side of the Moo.
‘I guess… see you round,’ he finally said.
‘See you.’
On the way back to Anastasia’s she thought of at least half a dozen clever things to say to keep him talking. If she could have kicked herself and walked at the same time, she would have.
‘I totally blew my chance with Mr Darcy,’ she said to Rufus later in the bar. She’d just stood there like the dullest dullard in Dullsville. Why should he want to talk to her again?
‘Did you at least find out his real name?’
‘Way to make me feel even shittier, thank you, Rufus. I give up. It’s ridiculous anyway. I’m thirty-two years old. Too old to have a hopeless crush.’
‘Yeah, but you haven’t had a lot of relationships, so it’s okay to have crushes. We all used to have them.’
‘Tsch. You’re really boosting my self-esteem tonight.’ She didn’t usually see herself as so very different from her friends. In most areas she wasn’t. Yes, she’d been in school a decade longer than them and shared a bathroom with two flatmates. Okay, her lifestyle made her cannier about finding two-for-one offers and happy hours. But she had a steady job – a business, actually – and most of the normal trappings of adulthood. She knew they tried not to make her feel like a loser when it came to relationships, but she was missing a pretty big piece of the jigsaw.
She hadn’t worried much about that in her twenties, sure it would come eventually. For the first time she was starting to wonder if her assumption was wrong.
A group of students near their table lit their shots. ‘By the way, why are we here?’ she asked. It was their old uni bar. ‘It’s really gone downhill.’ She watched them suck the alcohol through straws. None of them set themselves on fire, but it was still early.
Rufus shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s always been a shithole. We were just too poor and drunk to notice.’
‘Which again begs the question, being neither poor nor drunk now.’ She had had fun there with Rufus during the Happy Hour Years, meeting after class or at night. The bollocks they’d always talked might be utterly forgettable, but not the cocoon of friendship it had spun. She didn’t remember ever feeling lonely then, for not having a boyfriend, or worrying about ending up alone.
Those were new feelings.
Rufus was drinking fast. ‘I just feel like having a big night like we used to.’
Like he used to, he meant. Even at uni Shannon hadn’t been much of a drinker. She did try, but ended up sloppy after a few pints. They were some of her most fun nights, though, so maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.
It took her another pint anyway to work up the guts to open the conversation she knew they needed to have. His news was only hours old, maybe too raw to touch, but she owed it to him to find out. If she were in the same situation, she would need him and Scarlett more than anything.
‘Do you want to tell me about the GP’s appointment or just get stonking drunk?’
‘Who’s saying we can’t do both?’ He smiled, but he didn’t look any less strained. ‘The tests came back the same. I’m impotent.’
What an ugly word that was. Im. Potent. Lacking potency. Powerless.
Wait a second, though. Was that the right word? Shannon thought impotent meant he couldn’t get it up. Was that an issue as well as a low sperm count? Crikey, she did not want to ask.
She sipped her beer.
‘I guess you’d rather talk about something else,’ he said.
‘No, I’m just trying to figure out the right thing to say. What, exactly, were the test results?’
He rubbed his blond stubble. ‘No sperm were detected,’ he said quietly, so as not to be overheard. ‘None. Not even one little trier. I am completely and totally sterile. Devoid of seed. A non-father forevermore.’
‘So you can get it up?’ she asked. Just to clarify the situation.
‘Jesus Christ, Shannon, don’t you think that’s a bit personal, even for us? What did Scarlett tell you?’
‘Nothing!’ She’d have to ask her now, though, whether she wanted to know those kinds of details about Rufus or not. ‘I’m just saying that no sperm is different from being impotent. I’m pretty sure that impotent means little Rufus isn’t rising to the occasion.’
‘Little Rufus?’
‘Or whatever size Rufus you prefer. That’s not information I ever want to know, by the way. All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to feel worse about it than you already do, right? If everything else functions okay, then that’s good. The doctors just need to figure out the sperm thing.’
‘Just, Shannon? It’s not that easy. I’ve been googling it.’
‘Oh, you haven’t. Nothing good ever came from googling medical conditions.’
‘I know, but I just feel so–’
‘Impotent?’ She risked a smile.
‘For lack of a better word. They’re sending me to the urologist for more tests to figure out if it’s a production problem or a transport problem.’
‘That sounds mechanical. You’re saying there might be leaves on the track?’
He laughed, then said, ‘I can’t believe I’m laughing about this.’
‘Sorry, should I not make jokes?’ This was new territory for them both.
‘No, don’t stop. It’s exactly what I need. These past months have been so bloody serious at home, I can’t tell you. I’m fed up with it all, to be honest. It seems like the only time I have fun anymore is when I’m with you.’
This was an uncomfortable conversation and not only because Shannon felt disloyal to Scarlett for having it. Scarlett and Rufus were her touchstone for relationships that could go the distance. If they couldn’t make it, what chance did anyone else have? ‘You’re not thinking straight, Rufus. I know you have fun with Scarlett, I’ve seen you.’
He shook his head. ‘There’s always an underlying current, even before these tests. Earlier on when we weren’t getting pregnant it felt like a failure. Now it still feels like a failure, only it’s my fault, so I’m the failure. I can see it every time she looks at me.’
‘You can’t blame yourself, though. And I’m sure Scarlett doesn’t. How could she, when this is a medical issue, like cancer…’
That’s right, equate his problem with a terminal illness. Great bedside manner, Shannon.
‘… Or hair loss. You wouldn’t blame yourself for a receding hairline, would you? You couldn’t, not when you’ve got no control over it. Fertility is like that.’
‘Fertility is like hair loss?’ he said. ‘I can’t believe Hallmark haven’t done a whole line in cards. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but honestly, all I need is to not have to think about it for a while. There must be something we can discuss other than my willy.’
‘For the record, that’s not what we’re discussing, but I take your point.’ He jus
t wanted a normal night out. Fair enough. ‘I’ve got my paintings in that gallery I told you about.’ She still beamed whenever she said that.
It was one of the many spaces that had popped up around the Olympic Park. That’s what everyone called them now: spaces. She’d started art college when they were galleries and finished when they were spaces. Being in a derelict warehouse, the space didn’t have to pay Bond Street rents so it could afford new (read: inexpensive) artists. Or maybe they weren’t called artists anymore. Maybe they were visual entrepreneurs or something. ‘A bunch of hipsters run it. I’ll probably be paid in backrubs and bubble tea,’ she said.
‘That mightn’t be bad, depending on who’s giving the backrub.’
The curator wore loud corduroy trousers and the chest-length beard of his trade. Theirs would definitely be a business-only relationship. She might be a little desperate, but she wasn’t about to sleep her way to the bottom of Stratford.
She was grateful, though, that he’d taken on half a dozen of her paintings for the ‘classical’ corner. Julian was also exhibiting there, front and centre. She knew her paintings weren’t exactly groundbreaking, but maybe some clients would bring their parents. Then she’d have a chance if, say, the mum wanted something to match the sofa. She wasn’t too proud to be filler art.
The music got louder around them and loads of the girls started dancing while the boys pretended not to watch them. Shannon envied the girls. She’d never been that unselfconscious.
Rufus was watching the girls, too. ‘Do you miss it?’ he asked. ‘Those days?’
‘Of course, who wouldn’t?’ she said. ‘We got to see friends any night of the week without caring about being tired or hungover the next day. Or rolling out of bed to go to a few classes without getting bollocked or fired for not turning up. Even the hard bits like revising look easy now. Our lives really were ahead of us.’ She scoffed. ‘How cheesy. We’re not exactly past it now at the ripe old age of thirty-two. Why the nostalgia?’
‘I’m not sure if it’s just nostalgia.’ He wouldn’t look her in the eye. ‘Maybe it’s something more.’
‘That sounds ominous, Rufus. Should I be worried for Scarlett?’ Her question sounded less jokey than she wanted. ‘Is this your quarter-life crisis again? Are you about to buy a two-seater convertible or anything? Tell me if you need an intervention.’
‘I need another beer, that’s for sure, and to stop feeling so sorry for myself. Come on, we’re dancing. I’ll even let you hide in that corner where people can’t watch us.’
If she said no, he’d only do the funky chicken in front of her till the entire bar laughed at them. It was better not to struggle. ‘Fine, all right. I’ll put on Kylie.’
‘You do know how to cheer a guy up,’ said Rufus. ‘I’ll get the drinks.’
It was after 2 a.m. when they left, arms around each other, drunk and sweaty from dancing. It might have started as a serious night to talk about feelings, but it ended up one of the most fun ones either of them had had in a long time. They’d pay for it in the morning, but just then their only concern was finding a minicab to take them to their beds.
Chapter 22
Scarlett tiptoed from the bedroom, though she could have led a band round the bed and Rufus probably wouldn’t have stirred. She’d woken just after midnight and again at one and two o’clock to find him not yet home. Not that she needed to worry when he was with Shannon.
The dogs had charged into position when they heard his key in the door just before three. She’d smirked into her pillow as she listened to him trying to be quiet.
‘All right, dogs?’ His whisper was nearly a shout. ‘Don’t wake up Scarlett. It’s late. Did you have a good night? I’m gonna get some water. Want some water? Come on, dogs, we need some water.’
He talked Fred and Ginger through his entire bedtime routine – tooth-brushing, undressing, extra water on the bedside table and definitely not waking Scarlett with the reading light (repeated for emphasis) – before finally wishing them goodnight at the door.
‘Have fun?’ she murmured into the darkness.
‘Oh, yeah!’ When he leaned over to plant a kiss she could smell the beer still on him. ‘I haven’t had that much fun in ages… wait, no, actually I had that much fun last week. Yeah, definitely another great night.’
Scarlett went back to sleep wondering how Shannon managed to make him so happy – just like last week after their GP appointment – when he was such a miserable git at home.
She rang her friend as she settled down on the train toward Margaret’s. She could have asked Rufus about their night, but he’d only be frustratingly vague. He didn’t value the details like she and Shannon did. And she wanted all the detail. Yesterday Rufus had his urology appointment. He hadn’t let her go with him. The only thing worse than having to go to the urologist, he’d said, is having to go to the urologist with your wife.
‘Morning, Shannon. How are you feeling today?’ She turned herself away from the woman sitting in the seat beside her. The woman seemed to be wholly unoccupied, with neither reading material nor phone, and Scarlett didn’t want to be her morning’s entertainment.
‘I feel like I should still be in bed, that’s how I’m feeling. I assume Rufus is still sleeping? He did say he wasn’t going into work this morning. Lucky him. He hasn’t got to worry about dogs shitting on the floor if he’s late.’
‘Who’ve you got this morning?’ Scarlett asked.
‘The unholy trinity. Fifi, Clive and Sampson. Sampson is sitting on my foot and the poodles are competing for the Most Annoying Canine of the Year title.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got to be at Margaret’s to train Biscuit, the Most Annoying Canine reigning champion.’
‘What time did you go to bed?’ Shannon asked.
‘Er, around eleven, why?’
‘Then no, that doesn’t make me feel much better.’ There was muffled talk on the other end. ‘Hi, I’m fine, thanks. That’s Sampson.’
‘Hiya,’ Scarlett said. ‘Shannon?’
‘It’s Mr Darcy!’ Shannon whispered a few seconds later.
‘Well then, talk to him!’ Scarlett found herself whispering back. Her seatmate glanced at her. She hunched further toward the window. Who didn’t at least bring a book on the train?
‘That’s all right,’ said Shannon. ‘He saw that I’m on the phone so he’s left.’
‘Why didn’t you hang up?!’
‘Because you want to know about last night and if I were in your shoes I wouldn’t want to wait.’
Scarlett’s gasp drew the woman’s attention again. ‘Why, what happened?’
‘Nothing, nothing! I only meant that talking to my best friend is more important than perving on my crush. Besides, I’ve just said hi to him. Job done. As for last night, Rufus really needed a blowout after that appointment.’
‘Did he tell you what the doctor did?’
‘Yeah, it didn’t sound pleasant, did it?’
How should Scarlett know? He claimed he didn’t want to talk about it. Obviously he’d changed his mind by the time he saw Shannon.
‘He must be getting sick of blood tests,’ Scarlett guessed.
Shannon laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind those as much as the examination!’
‘I know,’ Scarlett bluffed. ‘So invasive. I’d be really embarrassed. Like going for a smear test.’
‘At least with a smear test they don’t cut off a piece of your testicle! I would have had a heart attack as soon as I heard the word biopsy.’
A biopsy! Cancer? ‘He told you what the biopsy was for?’
‘It’s amazing that they can look for sperm like that, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s not. I’m no testicle expert. I guess you will be, though, before this whole thing is done. How are you feeling? I know how Rufus feels, but what about you?’
At least one of them knew how Rufus felt. ‘I think we’re in for a long road ahead.’
How could he have had surgery and not to
ld her?
‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure we’re going to make it there.’
‘You can’t think like that!’ Shannon said. ‘You two are solid. You’ll deal with this together.’
She might not say that if she knew what Rufus had kept from her. ‘Did he seem upset last night?’
Shannon hesitated just long enough to tell Scarlett the answer. ‘I think he wanted a night off from thinking about it. We went to our old uni bar again, which is just as shite as always. He didn’t volunteer anything about the appointment, but at least he didn’t blank me when I came out and asked him.’
‘So he wasn’t upset?’
Again Shannon hesitated. ‘Not really, no. Just a bit sore, he said, which is totally understandable. He isn’t pleased by what’s happening, obviously, but I think he’s hoping the urologist will have the answer. We didn’t talk about it for long. Mostly we just nattered about stupid stuff and had a few drinks. It was a normal night out.’
That should have made her feel better. ‘Well, he did say he had a great night so obviously you’re doing something right. You’re a Husband Whisperer.’ She couldn’t quite keep the edge from her voice. ‘I should go. See if you can find Mr Darcy and talk to him again, okay?’
‘Okay. Scarlett? You will be okay, you know.’
‘I hope so.’
The crappy thing about hope, Scarlett mused as she made her way to Margaret’s, was that one only wished for it when it felt like maybe there wasn’t any.
A young woman answered the door when she rang Margaret’s bell. ‘Mummy’s out the back.’ Whereas her son Archie had Margaret’s athletic build, her daughter was plump with wispy blonde hair cut into a lanky bob. She must favour her father, which made Scarlett even more baffled about the man’s appeal.
Scarlett followed her through to the kitchen.
‘Mrs Fothergill!’ Margaret cried. ‘You’ve met my daughter, Cleo?’
‘Very pleased to meet you,’ Cleo replied. ‘It sounds like you’re helping Mummy tremendously with Biscuit. Well done!’
Love is a Four-Legged Word: The romantic comedy about canines, conception and fresh starts Page 17