Growing Up for Beginners

by Claire Calman

  ‘No, I’m hopeless at that sort of thing. I don’t even own any nozzles or anything. That’s why I ordered the cake.’

  Conrad is not sure what the relevance of nozzles might be and does not care, but he thinks that this is simply unfair. It is Eleanor’s special day and it is about to be spoiled.

  ‘Well, can’t you cover that bit up at least? It will still say “Happy Birthday”.’

  Marcia scans the larder shelves.

  ‘I don’t even have any icing sugar. What on earth can I use?’

  This is not the type of problem that Conrad is used to fixing. If he were at the BM, no doubt some helpful soul in Conservation would appear with a fine paintbrush and some special something or other and make the problem magically disappear. But he is here at home, with a flapping wife.

  ‘Do we have any chocolate? To match the surface.’

  Marcia finds a bar of chocolate and grates fine flakes of it over the damaged area. It looks, in truth, a little peculiar, but Marcia says it will have to do and, in the absence of any alternative, Conrad has to accept that she is right.

  Benedict, barely thirteen, is in trouble at school. Again. Conrad is determined to talk some sense into him.

  ‘Don’t bring it up now. He has two friends here to play in the garden,’ Marcia says, not looking up from the piece of embroidery she is working on. ‘It really wasn’t his fault. He’s too easily influenced by those other boys. He can’t help it – it’s just his easy-going nature.’

  Conrad cannot bear to engage in this self-deluding bunkum any more, so he turns and leaves the room, digging his fingernails into his palms in annoyance.

  Down at the far end of the garden, round the corner of its odd L-shape where an ancient shed has half-subsided, crumpled among the nettles and mare’s tails, he finds Benedict. He is with two older boys, smoking cigarettes and swigging from bottles of beer. For a moment, there is absolute silence. Then Conrad explodes, his rage erupting hot and sudden as a volcano. The other two boys look terrified and simply drop their bottles and run, scrabbling over the back fence as if being pursued by a mad dog. Benedict stands there and slowly stubs out his cigarette on the shed wall then flicks the end into a clump of nettles. He stares at his father, unflinching, defiant.

  ‘You little shit.’ Conrad gives the boy a hefty shove and he stumbles backwards into the nettles. ‘Pick it up! You could start a fire, for God’s sake. You’re grounded for the foreseeable future.’

  He turns and walks away then, ignoring the gasps as the boy tries to get up from the bed of stinging plants. As he marches off, does he hear a sob? If so, no matter, serve the boy right. He’s a bloody disgrace.

  Conrad has not been entirely faithful, although the couple of liaisons he has had are too insignificant in his mind even to be labelled as affairs. They were merely brief episodes while abroad, looking at foreign collections or overseeing the loan of exhibits – once in Paris, once in Vienna, twice in Florence. The Italian woman in particular returned to his mind for some time afterwards.

  But they had not mattered. He had never fallen in love with any of them. God knows, he had loved the sex, which had been lights on and noisy and sweaty and altogether a different species from the orchestrated manoeuvrings that took place in his marital bed from time to time, but no one had captured his heart. That desiccated, disregarded part of himself he had never considered other than as a necessary pump, pushing the blood round his body, keeping him alive. He had read love poetry, of course, novels too; he considered himself rather knowledgeable about love in theory: that it drove people crazy, made them act foolishly or impulsively. Intellectually, he could dissect it and pronounce it very interesting, often rather comical or curious, but undoubtedly fascinating, but he did not know it. It was as if he had read about peaches his whole life, understood that the skin is downy and soft, that the flesh is juicy and sweet, but had never leaned his face in close enough to take a bite, to sink his teeth into one and feel that glorious first taste, let the juice run down his chin, laugh in surprise that at last he really knew what it was – not just in his head but in his mouth, his stomach, his being.

  It is an extraordinary fact that, until he was forty-one, Conrad had never been in love. And so, when it eventually happened, it hit hard.

  22

  Underneath the Spreading Apple Tree…

  Ding-dong. Hearing the hoovering come to a halt on the landing above, Andrew called up the stairs: ‘Don’t worry, Mum! I’ll get it. It’ll be the people about the tree. You remember they called me back the other day?’

  ‘Are you sure, Andrew, love?’ As ever, Mrs Tyler was on the alert for possible callers whose mission might be to take advantage of her in some way – by trying to sell her overpriced dusters or tea-towels, for example, when she had enough of them to last her, and possibly the entire street, for the rest of her life.

  ‘It’s fine. Leave it with me!’ Nothing would be gained by involving his mother in the proceedings.

  It was her, the woman from the café: the beautiful one.

  ‘Oh, hello, it’s you!’ She sounded surprised, but not unpleasantly so. The annoying sister who’d dragged her away that time at the café seemed to be in tow again, too. ‘Um, we’re here about the tree. It’s in our mum’s garden. I mean, I’m not stalking you or anything.’

  ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘Hello.’ He tried not to smile too much. ‘It’s good to see you again. I’m Andrew.’

  ‘I’m Olivia.’

  ‘What do you mean again?’ the other one said.

  ‘Oh, we – he – I—’ She sounded flustered and then she blushed, she unmistakably blushed. ‘We met in the café recently, that’s all. You know.’ A look passed between them.

  The sister peered at him as if he were an abstract sculpture she didn’t understand.

  ‘He’s not the one you said you—’

  ‘Mads!’

  ‘Oh. Right. Really?’ She looked at him again. ‘I’m Madeleine, by the way, not that anyone’s interested, apparently.’

  Olivia stared down at her feet for a moment then looked around the hallway.

  ‘Gosh, these houses are so different from the ones in our mother’s road.’

  Andrew was suddenly acutely aware of the décor in this house, of the old-fashioned, textured wallpaper in the hallway, the clear plastic runner protecting the hall carpet, the collection of miniature crystal animals on narrow display shelves near the door.

  ‘Wow, these are so kitsch! Fab. Or are they serious? Oops. Aren’t you a bit old to be collecting glass animals?’ the sister said, making no attempt to remove the sneer from her voice.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry. My sister has no manners. Please excuse her.’

  ‘They’re not mine. Obviously.’ Andrew was desperate to get the two women out of the house quickly. ‘Do please go on through to the garden.’

  ‘Hey, I do have manners. That’s so unfair.’ Madeleine puffed out her cheeks. ‘Why have you got this weird plastic thing on top of your carpet?’

  ‘Mads.’ Olivia covered her face with her hands for a moment. ‘I really am sorry. Normally, I leave her tied up in the attic, but she promised to be good if I let her come out for some air.’

  Andrew laughed.

  ‘Well, let’s go and take a look at the tree and get you some air, then. You can run around the garden, too, if you like, stretch your legs a bit.’

  Olivia giggled and smiled at him.

  ‘Oi, she can take the piss, she’s my sister. You can’t.’ Madeleine folded her arms and stomped out to the garden.

  ‘Sorry.’ Andrew stole another glance at Olivia and she smiled back.

  The garden was impeccably neat, the lawn as level and weed-free as a bowling green, the edges trimmed to perfection, the borders bright with purple pansies and white cyclamen. This was his father’s realm, though perhaps turf might be a more appropriate word as the idea of his father’s being in charge of anything, even this modest patch, seemed sadly preposterous. Still, it
was the one area where his father mostly held his own. Usually. But when it came to the tree, Mrs Tyler had the persistence of a battering ram, saying it was making that end of the garden dark and spoiling her outlook onto the allotments, i.e., she couldn’t observe her husband when he was working on his allotment and make sure he wasn’t getting up to any mischief among the cabbages.

  ‘It is a wonderful tree,’ Andrew said.

  ‘So, leave it alone then. End of problem.’ Madeleine sighed.

  ‘Look, if it were up to me, of course I’d leave it alone.’ Andrew shoved his hands down into his pockets. ‘But you can see it does cast pretty deep shade at this end and it blocks the view of the allotments.’

  ‘We’re not cutting it down, you know.’ Madeleine crossed her arms.

  ‘No one wants to cut it down,’ Olivia and Andrew said at the same moment.

  ‘Jinx!’ they said together, suddenly both grinning ridiculously at each other. Andrew feared he must be blushing, as Olivia was.

  ‘Oh God, get a room, why don’t you?’ Madeleine shook her head.

  Andrew moved away towards the tree.

  ‘Maybe we could just thin it a little? Cut out a couple of branches – say, here and here?’ He pointed. ‘And possibly that one?’

  Olivia moved closer to the tree, too.

  ‘That should be fine, I’m sure.’ She looked briefly at him then back at the tree. ‘So… you mentioned you were visiting your parents? Where do you usually live?’

  ‘Oh, well, I’m staying here, actually. But just for a visit, really. I mean, it’s not for long; it won’t be for long.’

  ‘Ah?’ A flicker of a frown crossed her face and she said nothing else, as if waiting for him to continue. Andrew noticed her turn towards her sister and give the tiniest flick of her head.

  There was no response from Madeleine, but then Olivia said, ‘Weren’t you supposed to be meeting Humphrey soon, Mads? I’m fine here if you need to go?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Humphrey. Right. I’ll call him and tell him I’m on my way.’ She took out her mobile. ‘I’ll see you later, Liv, OK?’ She looked down at her phone, then at Andrew. ‘Nice to meet you. I’ll see myself out. ’Bye.’

  It was just the two of them. And the tree. Olivia peered over the fence into her mother’s garden.

  ‘So…’ she said. ‘It’s always funny seeing something from another point of view, isn’t it? Mum’s garden looks kind of mad and jungly from this side of the fence, but it’s rather wild and beautiful from her side.’

  ‘I like it. This one’s a bit over-manicured for my taste.’ Andrew looked at her, then up at the tree again. Ask her. The crisp late autumn light shone through the golden leaves. Ask her. Just coffee. Speak. Even the tree seemed to be waiting.

  ‘So…’ he echoed. Stop being a twat, Andrew, get on with it. ‘Um, I was wondering if you might fancy going out sometime,’ he said, all in a rush. ‘I mean, just for coffee or whatever.’

  There was a brief pause.

  ‘Or not. Not if you’re busy. It was just a thought. You know, in case you wanted to discuss the tree a bit more. About… about, you know, exactly which branches… and… and so on. And the… the arrangements. Timing. Logistics.’

  ‘You want to go out for coffee with me to discuss the tree?’

  ‘Er… well… we wouldn’t absolutely have to discuss the tree. Unless you wanted to. In which case, we absolutely could. We could talk about the tree. I could happily talk about it for hours.’ Shut up, for crying out loud. Know when to stop.

  Olivia stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and smiled, though once again he couldn’t tell if she liked him or was amused by how hopeless he was.

  ‘Well, what say we go for coffee and, if we can’t help ourselves and feel utterly compelled, then we will discuss the tree, but if we can fight the urge, then we can just talk about anything that pops into our heads? Would that do?’ And now she did smile at him, properly, and he smiled back.

  ‘That would do very well. When can you do?’

  She glanced at her watch.

  ‘Well, I could manage a coffee now. We could walk over to the café where we met before, or do you have other… trees to discuss elsewhere?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Not if you’re busy. We can make another time.’

  ‘No. Now is good. Now is very good. Let’s do it.’ Now was brilliant. Now meant there was no extra time in which to get nervous or start worrying about what to wear and what to say and what not to say.

  He just had to smuggle Olivia out past his mother without becoming waylaid in the hallway by the usual interrogation procedure: where was he going, what time would he be back, did he have his keys, had he remembered to pop on a vest as it was getting ever so nippy now winter was just around the corner.

  ‘Here, why don’t you go out through the side-gate and I’ll just grab my jacket and meet you round the front in a tick.’ He unbolted the gate and gestured towards the side path.

  ‘You’re never going out now, Andrew?’ Mrs Tyler suddenly appeared halfway down the stairs while Andrew was in the hall picking up his jacket.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘But it’s nearly dinner-time. I’ve a nice bit of beef.’

  ‘Not till one o’clock, though, Mum, eh?’ He looked at his watch. ‘There’s loads of time.’

  ‘But where are you going?’ She stood in the hallway between him and the front door. ‘Dad’s got the newspaper already. There’s no need to go out.’

  ‘I won’t be long. I’ll be back in time for lunch.’

  ‘I saw people in the garden looking at the tree with you – just girls, really. Dad said it was an older lady when he went round.’

  ‘Yes, it was her daughters.’ He manoeuvred awkwardly around her and reached for the front door latch.

  ‘Are you going to look at the tree in their garden now? Is that it?’

  Dear God, why wasn’t he allowed just to leave the building like a normal person?

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I’d better go.’

  ‘Stop a minute, then, and Dad can go with you.’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Ron! Ron! Andrew’s off out to look at the tree from the other side.’

  ‘What, love?’ His father emerged from the living room, clutching his newspaper.

  ‘Andrew’s got to – to – inspect the tree from the other garden, he says. You’d better go too.’

  ‘No, no! I can manage. There’s no need.’

  ‘Andrew’s got it all in hand, love.’

  ‘That’s right, Mum, it’s all in hand.’ He wanted to open the door but was worried Olivia might be right outside on the front path and overhear him having this ridiculous conversation.

  ‘But what if you need a – a – witness, Andrew? It’s only your word against theirs, you know.’

  A witness. For crying out loud.

  ‘I really don’t think it’ll come to that, Mum. I’m sorting it out.’

  ‘The lad knows what he’s doing. Leave him be.’

  ‘But you’ll be back for Sunday dinner, won’t you?’

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  ‘You’ll not miss your dinner, Andrew?’

  God forbid. The sky would fall in.

  ‘I’ll be back. But please don’t wait for me, just in case I’m a bit late.’

  ‘Dad and I’ll wait for you, won’t we, Dad?’

  ‘No, please don’t.’ Andrew opened the front door. ‘See you later. ’Bye.’ He stepped smartly out onto the front path and closed the door behind him, hoping that she wouldn’t open it again to continue the conversation, her voice tugging him back as he attempted to flee along the road, screaming.

  No sign of Olivia. At least she couldn’t have heard the latest episode of The Great Escape, thank God. He came out of the gate and looked to right and left, but she was nowhere in sight. Maybe she had heard and had done a runner? Or simply given up on him as he’d taken so long? Bollocks. But who could blame her? He stuffed his hands down in his pockets. Maybe she’d
gone ahead to the café? Had she, in fact, said that’s what she’d do and he’d misunderstood somehow? He knotted his scarf, then looked ahead and saw her, almost directly opposite, perched on a low front wall, her green coat merging slightly with the hedge behind her.

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten me,’ she said.

  He apologised for taking so long.

  ‘I thought you must have gone.’

  ‘One more minute and I’d have abandoned ship.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s difficult to extricate myself.’ He shrugged.

  ‘I have the same problem. My mother has a knack of starting up some long, elaborate – but entirely pointless – story about one of her bizarre friends the moment you attempt to leave, so it makes you feel you’re being rude even though she only started the story to stop you leaving.’

  They walked slowly to the café, then lingered there for over an hour, drinking coffee and talking about books and films, before she said she’d better head off, she was meeting friends out for lunch.

  ‘Ah, yes, me too.’ It would sound too pathetic to say he had to get back to his parents’ house.

  ‘Where are you meeting them? Are you heading over to the tube?’ She nodded in that direction.

  Shit. He must remember never to lie; he was so utterly useless at it.

  ‘Um, just, you know, er, going to a friend’s house for lunch.’ He was aware that he sounded shifty, as if he were covering something up. ‘Um, locally.’

  ‘Oh. OK. Well, have fun. It was nice to meet you.’ Her tone seemed to have cooled somewhat. She took out money for her coffees and stood up.

  ‘No, I’ll get this.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, I’d rather pay for my own, thanks.’

  ‘Really, let me get it.’

  ‘Well, OK then. Thank you.’

  He stood up and helped her on with her coat, for once managing to hold it without dropping it on the floor or forcing her to dislocate her arm to put it on.