Errors of Judgment

by Caro Fraser

  ‘Up to you,’ said Felicity casually. ‘But it’s your last chance. You know what your mum’ll be like if you don’t get her something, specially if we have to be round hers Christmas Day.’ The little piling up of deceits was not pleasant, but she had to get him out of the house. She thought about everything Leo said. She had to do this to save her own life. ‘Go on – get it out of the way, then you can meet up with Ossie and Quills and watch the football round The Kempton. I’ll pop down later.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. I’ll see.’

  Felicity was worried that she’d said too much, been too pushy. Vince didn’t react well to pushy. She picked up his empty plate. ‘Anyway, there’s fifty on the side in the kitchen. You can pay me back later.’ Leaving the money out for him, avoiding the business of directly handing it over, was part of the game. She glanced at her watch. Ten past ten.

  Vince drained his mug of coffee, got up, stretched, and scratched himself under his T-shirt. ‘I’m off for a shower.’

  She listened to the water splashing in the bathroom, counting the minutes.

  Vince emerged, showered and dressed, at twenty to eleven. Felicity was sitting making up a to-do list. She glanced up. ‘You off?’

  ‘I don’t fancy shopping on my own. You come too. You know the kind of thing Denise’ll like.’

  ‘Vince, I’ve got a million things I need to do. Working all week, the chores really pile up.’

  He gazed moodily around, then dropped onto the sofa and picked up yesterday’s Standard. He flipped through it for a few minutes, while Felicity pretended to concentrate on her list. Then he got up and sauntered into the kitchen. She knew he was pocketing the fifty. How much of that would go on a present for Denise, and how much of it down the boozer?

  ‘Right, I’m off,’ said Vince. ‘I’ll see you later down the pub?’

  ‘Yeah, most likely,’ said Felicity. She looked up and smiled. ‘Bye, Vince.’

  An hour later, the locksmith had been and gone, and Felicity had two bright new sets of keys.

  She found some black bin liners in the kitchen cupboard and went round the house, stuffing in Vince’s possessions. They were pitifully few. She paused in the act of folding up one of his shirts. He was thirty-three, with almost nothing to show for his life. If she discarded him, he would probably go from bad to worse. When Vince said she was all he had, it was just about true. She stared at the shirt for a few seconds, then thrust it into the bag, followed by his electric razor and toiletries.

  When she had finished, she rang her friend Maureen.

  ‘Mo? It’s me. I need a favour. I need to come and stay with you tonight, if that’s OK. Just this one night.’ She explained about Vince, about changing the locks, about not wanting to be here when he came back and found out she’d kicked him out.

  ‘About time, girl,’ said Maureen. ‘Well done. I never liked to say it, but he is such a loser.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me. I’ve known a long time. Too long.’

  Twenty minutes later Felicity’s car pulled up outside Denise’s semi. She walked up the path and rang the bell.

  It took Denise so long to come to the door that Felicity began to think perhaps she was out. Maybe she could leave Vince’s belongings up the side path near the bins, and pop a note through the letter box, scuttle away without confrontation. But eventually she heard the rattle of the chain being taken off. The door cracked open a few inches and Denise peered out. She had obviously just woken up. With her frowsed dark-orange hair and smudged eyeliner she looked strangely like Vivienne Westwood.

  ‘Hello, Fliss, darlin’!’ The enthusiasm was forced, but she opened the door wide to let Felicity in, clutching closed the front of her peach sateen kimono. Felicity stepped inside, bringing the bin bag with her.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Denise.

  ‘Some stuff of Vince’s.’

  Denise nodded, not comprehending. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She headed for the kitchen, and Felicity followed.

  ‘You caught me on the hop,’ said Denise, filling the kettle, then reaching for cigarettes and a lighter lying on the worktop. She gave a throaty laugh. ‘Or rather, off it. I was out on the piss with Shelley and Rhona last night.’ She pulled out a fag, snapped the lighter, and took a deep drag. ‘Getting too old for this caper. But we had a laugh.’ Her gaze wandered for a few seconds, then returned to Felicity. ‘So – what brings you round here on a Saturday?’

  ‘Like I said, I’ve brought Vince’s things.’ She set the bag against the leg of the kitchen table. ‘I can’t have him living with me any more.’

  Denise’s eyes widened. ‘What you on about?’

  ‘I’ve told him a million times – things aren’t working out between us. We’re bad for one another. I need him to leave. But he won’t listen. So I had the locks changed this morning, while he’s out. I didn’t know what else to do. And I’ve brought you his things.’

  Denise set her cigarette carefully to one side, its tip clear of the work surface. Then she grasped Felicity’s forearms gently and looked intently into her face. ‘Fliss, don’t do this. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He needs you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t need him,’ replied Felicity stonily. ‘And he’s about the worst thing that ever happened to me. Not that he’s a bad person. But I can’t carry him. He’s lazy, he’s a sponger, and I don’t want him any more.’ Denise let go of Felicity. Her expression was stunned, pained. ‘I don’t mean to hurt you, Denise. But this is … this is non-negotiable.’

  Denise raked a hand through her hair. ‘What makes you think I want him here?’

  ‘I don’t, necessarily. But I couldn’t think of anywhere else to bring his stuff.’ She sighed. ‘No point in tea. I’d best be off.’ She turned and went down the hall. Denise padded behind her.

  ‘He’s not going to let it end here, you know,’ said Denise, when they reached the front door.

  ‘It’s not up to him. Vince has got to sort his life out without me.’ She leant forward and gave Denise a peck on the cheek. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Denise. She sounded weary. Felicity left and drove home, astonished at how accepting Denise had been. But then, she was Vince’s mother. She knew better than anyone what Felicity had been putting up with.

  Vince went to the local market and did some desultory shopping with Felicity’s money, dropped in at the bookies, and then went to the pub, where he spent the afternoon watching the football and drinking with his mates. It wasn’t until seven o’clock that he began to wonder where Felicity was. He rang her mobile a few times, but got no answer. He and his friends decided to move from the Kempton Arms to another pub for more drinks, and from there to a club in Brixton, and although Vince tried ringing Felicity a couple of times throughout the evening, he wasn’t especially bothered when she didn’t answer. He tried his luck in the club with a redhead called Candice but, being pretty drunk by this stage, didn’t get far. He left the club with Ossie and Quills, and they went to buy kebabs. Vince suggested going back to Felicity’s place for a few more drinks and some dope. Felicity, he assured them, would be cool about it.

  Fifteen minutes later, Vince was battling boozily with the lock. Eventually he gave up and started banging on the door. When that produced no result, he tried the keys again. After more struggling and swearing, Ossie took over.

  ‘They don’t work, mate,’ he concluded. ‘They don’t fit. You sure they’re the right keys?’

  ‘Course they’re the right keys. They’re the only ones I’ve got.’

  ‘This the right door?’ ventured Quills.

  ‘Course it’s the right fucking door!’ Vince began to beat on it again.

  ‘I reckon she changed the locks, mate,’ said Quills.

  ‘Happens,’ agreed Ossie.

  Vince stared at them for a moment, then started banging on the door again, shouting Felicity’s name.

  A man in a vest and boxers emerged from a flat down the corridor.


  ‘You lot gonna stop that effing noise? I’ve got a baby in here.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Vince began kicking the door.

  Felicity’s neighbour stormed down the corridor. He was enormous and beefy, and sufficiently enraged not to feel intimidated by three drunks. ‘Right,’ he said.

  The next few minutes were mayhem. Two other male neighbours woken by the row came down from the floor above. Vince and his friends were too drunk to put up a proper fight, and after much barging, tussling and a few erratically thrown punches, they were forcefully ejected from the building.

  Out on the pavement they swayed and swore for a while, then eventually wandered off into the night.

  On the landing by Felicity’s front door lay a carrier bag containing the Christmas presents Vince had bought in the market, and the remains of a half-eaten kebab.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  On Christmas Day, Sarah came downstairs at eleven o’clock to find Leo wrapping Oliver’s Christmas present on the kitchen table.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ said Leo. ‘Coffee’s on.’

  ‘Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too.’ She poured herself some coffee. ‘You want a cup?’

  Leo shook his head. ‘I’m meant to be at Rachel’s in half an hour. Oliver’s putting off opening his presents till I get there.’

  ‘What have you got for him?’

  ‘A Playmobil fire station. Rachel’s got him the fire engine. The trouble is, the box is so big that it’s not easy to wrap,’ said Leo, wrestling with the roll of paper.

  ‘Cut another piece. Here …’ Sarah took the scissors and deftly cut another piece from the roll and wrapped it round the end of the box. ‘Pass me the Sellotape. There. And the other end. See?’

  ‘I’m not much of a hand at wrapping things. Lack of practice.’

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit that there’s something you’re not good at.’

  ‘How are you spending the day?’ asked Leo, suddenly wondering if she was going to be there all on her own.

  ‘I intend to do nothing for the next few hours, beyond soaking in a long, hot bath and contemplating my future. I had rather a heavy night …’

  ‘So I gather, given that it was well past three when I heard you come in.’

  ‘Sweet. You sound like my father,’ smiled Sarah. ‘With whom I happen to be spending the rest of the day. I’m helping him cook Christmas dinner for some of his friends. Just hope they’re not all fossils. Are you going to be at Rachel’s all day?’

  ‘Till six or so. Some people in Kensington have invited me for drinks, but it’s only a loose arrangement.’ Gabrielle had been insistent that he should meet the rest of her family, but he was still in two minds about going. ‘If I do go, I won’t hang about for long.’

  Sarah poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘Right. Well, have a lovely day. I’m off for a bath. Oh, something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I haven’t seen you since Thursday – I’ve got a new job.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘London and International Insurance Brokers Association. On the legal side.’

  Leo paused in the doorway. ‘Well done.’ He wondered if this was the moment to say something about the way things had been over the past few weeks, to explain that he understood, and that he was there if she wanted him – in whatever way. It seemed sad that their relationship had reached this odd stalemate. ‘So …’

  ‘So I’ll be out of your hair in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Right.’ He paused. ‘Well, congratulations.’ Then he added, ‘By the way, there’s something for you under the Christmas tree.’

  Sarah raised an eyebrow, trying not to look pleased. ‘So Santa’s been?’ She smiled. ‘I left your present there, too.’

  ‘So I saw. I intend to open it later.’

  ‘OK – see you whenever.’

  When Leo had gone, Sarah wandered into the living room. She crouched down under the tree – a tree which had been bought largely for the satisfaction of Oliver, for whom Christmas, and everything pertaining to it, was sacred. Her present to Leo and his to her were the only ones there. Sarah knelt there for a moment, staring at the two gifts, thinking how empty their lives were in some ways, hers and Leo’s. Neither of them had ever known anything else, she supposed. No siblings, few relatives, or not enough that cared, friends whose loyalties did not extend to the intimacies of gifts. It would have been different with Toby. She pictured how it would be at the Kitterings house in Surrey, and closed her eyes. No doubt they were all happy together, relieved at Toby’s lucky escape, reassured in the knowledge that she really hadn’t been good enough for their precious, golden boy. She wondered if she’d ever be good enough for anyone. She opened her eyes, and picked up the present from Leo and unwrapped it. Inside was a Tiffany box. She untied the white ribbon. Inside the box was a little blue suede pouch. She untied the pouch and drew out a delicate chain necklace studded with three tiny diamonds. She held it up to the light, letting it slide through her fingers. Enough to make a girl think she was good enough for someone, after all. But the fact was that Leo was seeing someone else, and he wasn’t even brave enough – or kind enough – to tell her. Even the nicest present couldn’t change that.

  The toy fire station and fire engine went down well with Oliver. Apart from his stocking presents, Christmas sweets, and some books, the only other presents he received were a remote control car from Leo’s mother in Wales, and a Harry Potter Lego Knightbus from his godparents. Leo and Rachel had always agreed not to spoil him by buying him too many toys and games.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe what some of his school friends are getting for Christmas,’ said Rachel, as they watched Oliver carefully steering the fire engine into the fire station and reversing it out again. ‘I’ve talked to other mothers. Playstations, laptops – Gabriel Sutton’s parents have bought him a quad bike.’

  ‘Too much stuff is not what they need. Not at his age, not at any age. When I think back to Christmases in Wales back in the sixties …’

  ‘Yes, we all know,’ murmured Rachel, smiling. ‘You were lucky if you got an orange and a pack of coloured pencils. Amazing you weren’t sent down the mines as well.’

  Leo raised an eyebrow. ‘That was touch and go too, in the long run. Thank God for Llanryn Grammar. If there’s one thing I don’t mind spending money on, it’s Oliver’s education.’ Leo reached into the inside pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of the chair and took out a small, pale-blue box tied with white ribbon. He handed it to Rachel. ‘I almost forgot. Merry Christmas.’

  Rachel took the gift doubtfully. ‘We haven’t exchanged presents since …’ She unwrapped it and stopped, gazing at the box. ‘I wish you’d said. I haven’t got you anything.’

  Leo shrugged. ‘So? Open it.’

  Rachel unfastened the white ribbon, and from the little suede bag that nestled inside she drew a chain necklace, studded with three tiny diamonds. She held it up, smiling. ‘It’s beautiful, Leo. Far too extravagant. In fact, I’m not sure it’s—’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t use that ghastly word, “appropriate”. I can buy the mother of my son whatever I like for Christmas.’

  Rachel slipped the thin chain round her neck and fastened the clasp.

  ‘Thank you.’ She gave him a swift kiss on one cheek. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Leo shrugged and smiled. ‘Nothing special.’

  Anthony spent Christmas Day at his mother’s house. In the years since his commercial success, Chay Cross had tried to be generous to his ex-wife, but Judith had never wanted or accepted from him any more than she felt was just repayment for the handouts and support she had provided throughout Chay’s impoverished hippy years. She still worked as a primary school teacher, and still lived in the same terraced house in East Dulwich in which, as a struggling single mother, she had brought up their two sons. Today she had cooked Christmas lunch for Anthony, Barry, her cousin Cora, Cora’s ninety-two-year-old father Sidney, and Yvonne, a fellow teac
her.

  Anthony had found the day tedious, and the atmosphere round the table in the cramped dining room claustrophobic. Cora managed to suppress everyone’s appetite by dominating the early part of the lunchtime conversation with a detailed account of her father’s bowel problems and his countless hospital visits. Then when the conversation shifted to more general topics, an initially mild disagreement between Yvonne and Cora on the subject of state versus independent education threatened to escalate, as a result of too much wine, into an unpleasantly acerbic row. But Judith managed to divert talk to the recession, and to the recent shock closure of Woolworths just three weeks earlier, so that the prickly mood was dispelled and everyone was unified by a general agreement that the country was in a shocking state and that it was hard to see where it would all end. Barry’s contribution throughout all this consisted of cynical remarks and off-colour jokes which everyone tried to ignore, but which Anthony found extremely tiresome. By the time six o’clock came Anthony was very glad of an excuse to leave.

  ‘I thought you’d be staying for a game of Pictionary and some turkey sandwiches,’ said Judith sadly, as they stood together in the kitchen, putting away the last of the glasses. ‘It’s one of the few times in the year I get to see anything of you.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Anthony. ‘I promised my girlfriend I’d see her this evening.’ He felt entirely guilt-free, having cleared away the dishes with Barry, loaded the dishwasher, and washed every pan in sight.

  Barry sauntered in. ‘You doing a runner? Think I might join you.’

  Judith looked even more pained. ‘Why can’t you stay a little longer? Catch up with great-uncle Sidney – he loves a chat.’

  ‘Mum, I can’t safely get within two feet of great-uncle Sidney. If farting was an Olympic event, he’d be bagging gold for Britain.’