Push Hands

by Michael Graeme

  "I'm okay. And I will,… always speak my mind with you. After all, it seems it's not speaking our minds that's got us into this mess in the first place."

  "I know,… and so we're both to blame, but it starts out as such a little thing, doesn't it - and it seems so petty to mention it, so you leave it, don't you? But next time it's grown a little, and then it grows a little more, until it's become so big you don't know where to start. And then you're afraid of it."

  "Hmn,… like it used to be a playful little puppy, annoying you when it nibbled the toes out of your slippers. Now its a rabid wolf and you're afraid to go anywhere near the damned thing."

  She smiled. "Ever thought of being a poet, Phil? Take my advice: don't."

  "Ha. Thank you. Is this what they call gallows humour? Can you see our little gumshoe?"

  "He's just got into a red Astra, driven by a woman with big hair and glasses."

  "An accomplice? They're getting ready to follow us then."

  "It seems so. But it's the last thing a mistress would do, surely - drive a bloke back home to his wife."

  "One would think so. But then, never having had a mistress, I don't know how these things work."

  "Just get in, Baggy."

  "Yes, Miss Totty."

  Phil sank into the Corsa settled deep into the scent of it. It was the scent of Penny - private, comforting - invigorating. "I see you don't drive the boys around much in this?"

  "How do you know?"

  "Too tidy. No chocolate grubbed into the seats and bits of torn paper all over it."

  "Well, you're right actually. The car's my last refuge of order and sanity. When we go out as a family I try to make sure we go in David's."

  "Ha. Very wise." Phil winced at her use of the word family. She’d just reminded him she was not simply a Penny, she was also a family - a man, a woman and two children - just like him. It emphasised the distance between them, and though he understood they could never be together, it apparently hurt to be reminded of it.

  As they drove away, the Astra fell in rather clumsily behind them with a squeal of tyres.

  "Not exactly MI5," she said.

  "Well, this is Middleton - I don't suppose there's much call for that kind of work. Take your time, Pen. Don't let them spook you."

  "I know, I know. Come to think of it, I've seen that car before - the furry dice give it away. It was definitely parked down the back lane by the orchard one morning. And I remember thinking: furry dice?… . ughh."

  Penny drove steadily, while the Astra struggled to know what it was doing - sometimes sitting on Penny's bumper, then, as if realising it was too close, it would drop back before racing up again in order to stop other cars getting inbetween.

  "Someone's going to get hurt here, Phil."

  "Perhaps they think we're going to,… well,… I mean where would we go for a quickie? Where did we go when we were young? There's no chance of driving up over the moors I suppose, just to wind them up?"

  "Do try to be serious, Phil."

  "I can't. This whole thing is completely mad!"

  "Well, we're not going up over the moors. I'm going to drop you at the front door, and wait in the car until Sally opens the door to you. Explain me away however you like, so long as it's the truth."

  "Can't you drop me round the corner?"

  "Take a deep breath, Phil, and remember we've done nothing that either of us should be ashamed of admitting to Sally, or to David."

  "Except you forget one of them's crazy enough to believe just about anything except the truth."

  "Relax now. Is this it? Which house? Ah,.. I can see your car. Nice cul-de-sac. Quiet. We get a lot of noise from the main road. Is it three bedrooms or four?"

  "Four - well three and a walk in cupboard - four if you're an estate agent."

  "Okay, here we are then."

  Penny ran the Corsa onto the drive behind Phil's car and Phil didn't know whether to be relieved or not that Sally's car wasn't there beside it.

  "It could be in the garage," suggested Penny.

  "No, the garage is full of rubbish - no room for a bike, let alone a car these days. She's not here."

  "Out looking for you perhaps?"

  Phil could feel his spirits sinking - as if they weren't low enough already. It was what Penny had said, about Sally perhaps being out looking for him and the knowledge that he should be so lucky if Sally cared that much about him to bother any more. "I doubt it," he said. "She'll be round at her dad's - that's where the kids are sleeping anyway."

  She was quiet for a while, looking at him, this poor weary man and realising that she was perhaps seeing the train-wreck of his marriage in a slightly faster motion than he could witness it himself. He was too close to it, unable to see any further down the line - either that or he was unwilling to. She wanted to hug him, lay his head upon her breast, but instead she touched his wrist. "I'm so sorry, Phil."

  He liked her touch, felt all the sympathy in the world in its gentle pressure, and he brought his hand up, like in Push Hands, and they maintained that microcosm of contact. "Oh, it's all right," he said. "It's not the first time she's done it. But this looks bad for you now - I mean if it was David who hired our gumshoe. Here you are pulled up outside your lover's house."

  She pressed gently against him, testing his substance. "That's why I'm going to decline your invitation to come in for a bit."

  He circled back, playing with her energy, savouring it. "I wasn't going to offer - not that I'm ungrateful - and not that I don't want you to come in."

  She liked it, that he could play with her and she pressed again. "I know."

  He let her press more deeply into him, as if inviting something. But what? Her confidence? Or was he merely flirting? "Still, looking on the bright side, with Sal out of the house I can have a good night on Freedom. I can plug myself in, see if Joranda's online."

  She didn't flinch. "Don't you dare!"

  He pressed her back. "I was joking, but that's interesting."

  "What's interesting?"

  "You disapprove?"

  "No,… it's up to you how you handle your sexual frustrations - but, you'll get caught one of these days. You should get rid of that electric whats-a-jig before Sally finds it. Can't you just do it the ordinary way like everyone else?"

  He lost his nerve and broke contact. "Ordinary?" Was she flirting now? No, don't be ridiculous. Was she trying to embarrass him then? Well, he'd show her: "It's catching the emission," he said with a cheeky grin, thinking to get his own back and see if he could embarrass her. "I could use a condom but I'm afraid of Sally finding them in the bin - same with pieces of stiff tissue - she'd know."

  "Well,… have you tried the finger-clamp?"

  "The what?"

  "You don't know it? Well, since we're all adults here,.. when you feel yourself coming, you press your finger about two thirds of the way between your scrotum and your bum-hole. You still come, but nothing comes out."

  Phil was amazed: "Really?"

  "You've not tried it - I thought all men knew that one."

  "Where do you get this stuff from?"

  "I was alive once," she said. "Now get out, you pervert."

  "Okay. And thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "Take care driving home. Don't let them spook you if they should start following."

  "All right. See you Sunday at the class?"

  "Sunday it is."

  "Goodnight - and remember get rid of that,.. that,… thing!"

  "All right, all right! I'll do it tonight."

  He watched Penny as she backed out of the drive, tried to wave like he was waving at a vague acquaintance, then felt himself shaking as he came to his senses. Was that anger still? Or was it the fear that things were seriously falling apart now and he could not hope to pretend that everything was fine for much longer. He supposed it was always like this: human beings are such adaptable creatures they can adjust to living in the most appalling circumstances. He'd be telling hims
elf things were fine even if he came home to find Sally had left his suit cases on the drive and changed the locks. He should have gone to her, he thought, brushed Trevor aside and argued it out with her - told her he was so frustrated he'd subjected himself to the weirdest and most humiliating sexual experience in his life, and that it should have been Sally's hands around his dick - she was his wife, damn it; it was her place, her duty! He would have said all that if he'd cared enough about his life with her, cared enough to want to salvage it, but all he could think now was that he had the house to himself for a bit. All right; dialling up Joranda was a bad idea, but he could at least have a glass of whiskey, and a long bath - all in peace.

  The Astra made a move and drew his attention back to reality. But being stuck in a cul-de-sac and pointing the wrong way, it had to do an awkward three point turn before setting off at break neck speed, presumably to catch up with Penny. This Blakedon was an idiot, he thought, clearly deluded - maybe he was dangerous too. What if he got too close to Penny's car? What if she panicked?

  Phil decided to follow, just to make sure Penny got home all right. He had the advantage of knowing where she was going, so he was able to relax and hang back, well off the Astra's tail. He pulled into the kerb a safe distance behind when Blakedon stopped a few doors down from Penny's. But Blakedon seemed only to take account of the fact that Penny had arrived home, then drove off apparently on business of his own, his work done for the evening. So, Phil followed him across town, all the way to what he took to be Blakedon's office which was a crumbling outbuilding, part of the disused gasworks which was now split off into cheap rented units.

  It was a dingy part of town.

  Blakedon's driver followed him inside. She was a substantial lass in her middle thirties, a short skirt and fishnets - not his wife, guessed Phil. And what were they doing, going back to the office at this hour? A quick one on the couch? Perhaps their night of expense account voyeurism had excited them? He allowed himself a smile at the thought of them pumping away and him bursting in with a camera, to catch them at it.

  "What would your good lady say to that then, Mr Blakedon?"

  And just as he was telling himself his imagination was getting the better of him, he caught a glimpse of an amorous silhouette, through the frosted glass of the office window, before the blinds were drawn. The irony was not lost on him.

  On returning home, Phil drew the silence of his house over him like a warm duvet. He poured himself a generous Grouse, took a leisurely twenty minutes on the toilet, then sank up to his neck in a very hot bath. Even when his penis rose from the waters like a periscope, he paid it no attention until he'd soaked the whole dreadful evening out of his system. But later, after the third Grouse, he was experimenting with a finger pressed into his perineum when he experienced a gloriously deep, aching orgasm and all he could think was that it was Penny who had taught him how to do it.

  Chapter 24

  Trevor wasn't sure he liked Frank that much, but he'd known him for years and they were both of a similar social and income bracket. And Frank wasn't a bad golfer. He was also a good listener and during their Saturday morning knock-arounds at the Hall-i'th-Wood club, Trevor had poured out the whole dreadful business of Linda taking off and leaving him, and Frank, no matter what he really thought, had the good manners to agree with Trevor that she was a cruel woman. He also politely agreed that his son in law sounded like a half baked dope, and that Trevor's daughter deserved better - even though Trevor sometimes reminded him of Angela with his nannying and interfering. But Frank had been unable to offer any supporting anecdotes from his own life, because - well, he rather liked his daughter-in-law and had by comparison, grown to dislike his son immensely.

  "Well, I sympathise Trevor - I really do. I suppose I'm fortunate with my daughter-in-law. We get on really well."

  Trevor, who knew Frank's wife vaguely, and considered her to be a very nasty piece of work, found himself nodding in appreciation. They'd been rained off at the ninth and had repaired to the bar, where they now sat in deep buttoned leather chairs, like a pair of battered war veterans.

  "Angela's still very churchy is she?"

  "Oh,… don't get me going. And David's the same - getting worse if anything. Quoted Genesis at me the other day and I only went round to borrow an electric drill. And I'm his bloody father for pity's sake!"

  "Sounds to me like you and Penny are two of a kind. Perhaps you should run off together - good looking is she?"

  Frank didn't mind a bit of bawdy banter but he had to be especially polite with Trevor, on the occasions when it veered uncomfortably into the realms of incest. Trevor could sometimes get a bit above himself, but there was no real harm in him.

  "Well, if I was a good deal younger, Trevor,… good looking yes. And I am fond of her,… she's trying to get into Tai Chi at the moment and everyone's giving her such a hard time over it - the kids, David, Angela,… the whole damned lot of them. They think, oh, I don't know - that she's going over to the dark side or something."

  "Did you say Tai Chi? The son in law's taken that up - looks a complete dick-head when he's doing it. They got him on film you know, we had a right old laugh."

  Frank thought that sounded rather childish, but said nothing. It was difficult to know how far to go with Trevor. One had to balance the need to get things off one's chest against how well one trusted the man not to go repeating confidences to others, but Trevor had trusted him in the past with more intimate details than perhaps he should have done - indeed Frank was the only one who knew that Trevor was bonking his housekeeper, and that the housekeeper was quite a perky woman for her age - at least according to Trevor - but then men had a habit of exaggerating such things. Still - he bit his tongue when he felt the detective business welling up inside of him. No - the fewer people who knew about that the better!

  Trevor had picked up on the mention of Tai Chi and was curious to know more. "Where does she go, do you know?"

  "Community Centre - Sunday mornings. It's low key, but Penny says the teacher's very good. I'm thinking of joining myself - if only to spite Angela and give Penny a bit of support."

  "The son -in -law goes on Sunday mornings. I wonder if it's the same place?"

  "It's possible. They might know each other then. I'll ask her next time I see her. Phil, isn't it? What does he look like?"

  "Oh, tallish, dark hair, thinning - little round spectacles - looks like a Dickensian accountant but wouldn't know a balance sheet from a shopping list. Hopeless with anything financial and won't bloody listen - and I'm only trying to help for pity's sake,… "

  And in that instant Frank knew that Penny knew Phil, knew also they'd been captured in a photograph together and that even though there was nothing between them, Angela was intent on proving there was. Maybe there was a chance of defusing the situation. Maybe he could say something to Trevor. But what? "Actually, you know - I think she's mentioned him - there was some business over a garden ornament."

  "The stone Buddha? Yes,… he said he'd got it from someone at the class. That was your Penny?"

  "Yes,… " Frank left it there, not knowing where else to go with it. Meanwhile, Trevor made something of a leap into unknown territory, not exactly suspecting that Phil and Penny were having an affair, but rather wishing it, and thinking that without too much trouble, he could perhaps lay the seeds of doubt that would, over time, convince Sally they were. Things were rocky at home for Penny by all accounts - husband sounded like a sanctimonious twat. The problem though was that Phil was hardly a philandering stud - the dope clearly didn't have it in him - but with an amorous, frustrated woman after him, he was soft headed enough to land himself in sufficient trouble for Sally to give up on him. But Phil? Would he? Might he? Sure he might, thought Trevor - he'd let a woman drag the pants off him, if only to be polite.

  Sally arrived home midmorning to find Phil still in bed and snoring with an empty bottle of Grouse on the bedside table. She was glad to see him, relieved he'd made it home all
right, but she was still angry as well - not for anything he'd done or said, but just,… something. She knew she shouldn't have driven off like that, shouldn't have left him, shouldn't have gone round to her dad's without telling him. But why hadn't he rung to see if she was there? What if she hadn't been at her father's? What if she'd had an accident? And Phil had just walked home, drunk himself into a stupor and fallen asleep - leaving every light in the house ablaze and the front door unlocked. A fat lot he cared about anything but himself! Then he'd be up and about, all bushy tailed and practising his "thing" in the garden - and not seeing how much she resented him for not,… what? For not hating things the way they were, for not wanting to do something about it.

  He came round with a splitting head to find Sally sitting on the bed, smiling at him, a cup of tea in one hand and a box of Ibuprofen in the other. Sometimes it's the simplest of things that are the most important, and the sight of her warmed him through.

  "I thought you were saving that bottle for Christmas," she said.

  "Was I? I can't remember."

  "How's your head?"

  "It’s bad."

  "And your ear?"

  "Ringing like blazes."

  "Phil, I'm sorry."

  "No, I'm sorry."

  He threw his arms around her and she came to him willingly. It was rare, he thought, and so he took his time over it, just melting into her, breathing in the glorious scent of her. Then Marty came blundering in with a cocky grin and pulled a face, feigning horror at their disgusting behaviour.

  "Aren't you both a bit old for that," he cackled. His horror at parental intimacy was clichéd of course, but then teenagers are walking clichés, thought Phil, willingly sticking on every label that society, or fashion designers handed out to them. Why was that? Was it that Marty longed for an identity so much he snatched up anything that was pre-packaged, rather having the patience to make an identity for himself? It would come, he thought, chiding himself for his irritation. It would take time. He was just a boy.