I made my way down the King’s Road, and then threaded left amongst a tangle of pretty, whitewashed houses and garden squares. And what of me? I thought with a sudden lurch. Where did this leave me? Panic rose within me but I pushed it down and walked faster, hoping speed would quell the dread. One thing was certain, I decided, as my heels clipped hastily along the sodden pavements, alone I might be – eventually – but I didn’t want to be alone right now. I didn’t want to go back to the flat in Kensington, walk up the stairs into a cold, dark drawing room and face reality, face the mess I’d made, if I could possibly help it. It was no surprise then, when I found myself taking the street that went past the Sporting Page.
This late on a Sunday night, the pub was closed. The drinkers Benji and Francis grew weary of would have long since gone home. ‘We know we bought a house near a pub,’ Benji would grumble, ‘so we try not to rail like a couple of old queens, but “Ay Zigger Zumber” night after night is a little wearing …’
I knew they liked to be tucked up in bed early on a Sunday, so would they still be up? I glanced at my watch. Half past eleven. Had I left it too late?
When I rang the bell, Francis appeared at the door looking like a matinee idol in a Noël Coward play. He was wearing a gold Paisley dressing-gown and his blond hair was brushed neatly off his forehead.
‘Henny!’ He stepped back in surprise. ‘Good Lord. I wondered who on earth could be ringing our bell at this time of night. We’ve had a few early trick-or-treaters, so Benji’s busy filling up the water pistols.’
‘Do I need to deploy them?’ came a gleeful voice from the kitchen.
‘Not unless you want to start a family feud,’ Francis called back. ‘And anyway, I have a feeling you’ve got it the wrong way round, Benj. I believe the hobgoblins get to play tricks on us, not vice versa.’
A red plastic gun and a bristling moustache appeared around the kitchen door. ‘So I’m breaking the rules. Wouldn’t be the first – oh.’ He stopped. ‘Hello, dear heart, it’s you. What’s up?’
As I crossed the threshold, my eyes filled up, and by the time he’d got to me, I was overcome by tears. I hadn’t felt at all like crying on the way over, had felt my resolve strengthen with every step, but somehow, as his impish face turned to one of concern, I was lost. All the pent-up emotions I’d been keeping tightly under wraps these last few hours burst their constraints, as I sobbed woefully on his shoulder. He held me close, making comforting noises in my ear, waiting for me to stop.
‘Benji,’ I gasped at last, coming up for air. ‘Your pistol’s in my back.’
‘Oh, sorry, hon.’ He put it hastily aside and led me in.
I felt faintly ridiculous now, as I sat down on the sofa in the sitting room, Benji perched beside me peering anxiously up under my fringe, Francis, equally concerned, opposite.
‘Sorry about that,’ I muttered, stuffing a hanky up my sleeve. ‘Don’t know what came over me.’
‘Children?’ ventured Francis tentatively.
I shook my head. ‘No. They’re fine.’
‘Marcus?’
I shook it again. ‘No.’
‘Boy trouble?’ enquired Benji gently.
I inhaled sharply. Boy trouble. God, didn’t it sound trite. I nodded, my head full of snot and tears. ‘Boy trouble,’ I breathed.
Benji crossed his legs and wriggled delightedly into the sofa, his hands clasped on his knees. ‘Marvellous. I love a bit of hetero drama. Tell Uncle Benji all.’
And so I did. Haltingly at first, but my voice steadying as I got under way. And they listened avidly. When I got to the bit about the revolver being emptied into Sinead’s leg in a supermarket car park, Benji stood up quickly. He went to the window and gripped the sill hard. He couldn’t take cruelty in any denomination. Couldn’t read the newspapers if they were too dreadful, Francis had to hide them. There was a silence.
‘And I suppose,’ I said, letting out a shaky breath, ‘that in some warped kind of way, I feel responsible for that. Feel that if it hadn’t been for me, it wouldn’t have happened. That if he hadn’t met me first, Rupert would have whisked her to England and married her, or not been with her in the first place. Found someone else – I don’t know.’
‘And if your aunt had balls, she’d be your uncle,’ Francis snorted derisively.
I blinked. ‘Sorry?’
‘I mean that you can conjecture anything out of anything, if you want to. It’s nothing to do with you, Henny,’ he said. ‘The situation is all of their making. Rupert and Sinead’s.’
I sighed. ‘Maybe.’
‘And Rupert?’ Benji turned from the window to face me. ‘How d’you feel about him now? Now that this grand affaire du coeur is finally over?’
There was something faintly mocking in his tone that I didn’t like. ‘Upset, obviously,’ I said defensively. ‘And sad. This has been a huge thing for me, Benji.’
‘Sad bereft, or sad regretful?’
I frowned, confused. ‘Both. I think.’
He came across the room, his dark eyes beady as he looked down at me. He tapped his chest. ‘Does it hurt here?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’ He put his head on one side.
‘Yes, of course,’ I sniffed, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. ‘What d’you mean?’ I added doubtfully.
‘What I mean is, now that you’re away from him, are you longing for him constantly? Hankering after him? And has your heart secretly been heavy without him all these years?’
‘No, of course not,’ I said, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I haven’t really given him a second thought. But I’ve had Marcus.’
‘And you didn’t ever feel you’d settled for second best with Marcus? Ever wondered what could have been?’
‘No. Never.’
‘And yet when you’re with him, when you’re with Rupert now …’
‘Oh, now, Benji, I just melt.’ I felt my damp eyes shine as I looked up at him. ‘Golly, when he takes me in his arms …’
‘Runs his fingers through your hair?’
‘Breathes on your neck,’ put in Francis.
‘Glides his hands up your back,’ added Benji.
‘Yes, yes.’ I shivered, remembering. ‘All of that. I – I just dissolve!’
Benji pursed his lips. Exchanged a knowing glance with Francis, who nodded sagely.
‘What d’you think, Dr Francis?’
‘Ah yes, I’m afraid so, Dr Benji.’
‘What?’ I frowned. ‘Why are you afraid so?’
Benji made a face. ‘That’s sex talking, buddy.’
I blinked. ‘Sex?’
‘Quite a different thing from love,’ Francis informed me gently.
‘Oh!’ I was shocked. ‘D’you think?’
They nodded in unison, like a couple of wise old owls.
‘Most definitely.’
‘So –’
‘Seven-year itch,’ Benji diagnosed crisply, folding his arms. He began to pace around the room like a professor, pontificating to his tutorial group. ‘Except in your case, fifteen and a half, but then you always were a late developer.’
‘Thanks!’
‘And of course, it was very easy for you to mistake it for the real thing, because you loved him once before.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Francis soberly.
‘So when he came back into your life, back from his battles, his crusades …’
‘All broad-shouldered and masterful …’
‘Tanned from the desert, six-pack rippling … Ooh, heavens.’ Benji touched his forehead lightly with his fingertips.
‘Easy, tiger,’ advised Francis.
‘When he came back,’ resumed Benji, ‘like the proverbial knight in shining armour after all this time, you thought, This must be it! You felt something stirring, something blossoming –’
‘I did, I did!’ I insisted.
‘In your loins, dear heart. Your loins.’
‘Oh.’ I was shocked. ‘Really?�
�
Francis smiled kindly. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Hen, sweet. It’s an easy mistake to make.’
‘Is it?’ I swallowed doubtfully. ‘But … what about Rupert? Was it the real thing for him, do you think? Love?’
‘Without a shadow of a doubt,’ Benji stated. ‘That’s why he waited so long.’
‘But …why did he wait so long? He knew I was married, for heaven’s sake, why did he think I’d become available at some point? Why put his life on hold?’
‘Because, as I said to you before,’ he repeated patiently, ‘every relationship has a sensitive moment. Goes through a vulnerable time.’ He spread his hands expansively. ‘When you know each other inside out like you and Marcus do, marriage becomes like a comfortable old cardigan. And then, one day, you wake up and think, Is this it? My life? What next? What else? And if you’re not careful, the What becomes Who. Rupert was waiting for that moment, biding his time. It took fifteen years, but he got it. He knew the time was right, he knew it was his big moment. Unfortunately, he blew it.’ Benji sniffed and inspected his fingernails. ‘Jolly bad luck on him, but a narrow escape for you.’
Francis nodded grimly. ‘I’ll say.’
I gazed at the pair of them, my mouth slightly open. A contemplative silence fell over our little gathering.
At length, I licked my lips. ‘D’you know,’ I said slowly, ‘I sort of knew all of this, all along. Sort of knew it, but … couldn’t articulate it.’ I gazed down at my knees, horrified. Good Lord. Sex. Just sex.
Benji sat down beside me and patted my leg. ‘Oh well, look on the bright side.’ He winked. ‘Nice to know there’s life in the old girl yet. That you’re not entirely ready to hang up your basque and suspender belt.’
I flushed. ‘Thanks. But I’ll have you know that nothing actually happened, anyway. Well, no more than a few snogs.’
Benji pulled a face. ‘Shame. Might have been just what you needed.’
‘Benji!’ I swatted him with the back of my hand. ‘And anyway, how come you pair of learned old sex therapists know all this?’
‘Because as I told you once before, Henny, it comes our way too. With knobs on – if you’ll excuse the pun. But we have to forget –’
‘Gerald,’ said Francis meaningfully.
‘Or Tarquin,’ rejoindered Benji menacingly.
‘Ooh. I never fancied Tarquin,’ said Francis hotly.
‘Not much. I heard you admiring his new washingmachine the other day. Asking winsomely about its turbo action, its nice big tub.’
‘Because you admired his kitchen drawers! “Love the way they glide in and out so smoothly, Tarqui”,’ he mimicked. ‘In, out, in, out …’ He thrust his hips back and forward.
‘Boys, boys,’ I said wearily. ‘I get the point. So …’ I hesitated. ‘You think I’ll live?’
‘Of course you’ll live,’ said Benji, straightening his back. He clasped his hands primly on his knees. ‘Just go home to Marcus and –’
‘Marcus is having an affair,’ I reminded him bitterly.
‘Just as you were near as dammit having one, petal! So what? Fight for him, dear heart – see her off! Unleash some of those latent terrier instincts I know you inherited from our dear mama, snap at her heels, bite her buxom behind and chase her off down the lane! Go get your man and muscle back into your marriage, your house, your hearth. You do love him really, you know that. You’re just being pig-headed.’
Inexplicably, I felt my eyes fill again. ‘I do, don’t I?’ I turned to him, ridiculously shocked.
‘Of course!’
‘So …should I go now?’ I asked doubtfully.
‘Well, not right now – it’s gone midnight, for heaven’s sake. Stay the night and go tomorrow.’
‘It’s Monday. He’ll be at work.’
‘And so will you,’ he reminded me. ‘So go after work.’
‘Oh. Yes.’
‘Don’t give up your day job,’ he nudged me playfully. ‘Just in case.’
‘In case what?’ I said, alarmed.
‘Sorry, tasteless joke,’ he said hastily as Francis glared at him. But I knew what he meant. In case Marcus said no.
‘So!’ Benji got up quickly, gliding over that little faux pas. ‘That’s settled then. It’s the spare room for you, my pet, off you go. I’ll bring you a hot-water bottle and a cup of cocoa. Francis was just making some, weren’t you? You’ve changed the sheets, haven’t you, hon?’
‘No, because you changed them on Thursday.’
‘No, I didn’t. We decided we’d wait until Consuela had ironed the white Christian Dior with naif flower motif, remember?’
‘Oh Lord.’ Francis looked shocked. ‘So we did. In that case they haven’t been changed since your mother stayed. I’ll do it now.’
‘Don’t be silly, I’ll crawl into Mum’s sheets.’
They turned to me, horrified. ‘We wouldn’t hear of it,’ said Benji, appalled. ‘No, no, Francis will do the necessary.’
They bustled out of the room, Benji gently bossing Francis as they went upstairs. ‘At the top of the airing cupboard, hon …no, no, far right, further along …’
‘Got them.’
‘And the matching pillowcases?’
‘Yup.’
‘Oh, and some Evian water too. Pop it by the bed, lover.’
I was about to shout up and protest that I could stagger to the bathroom tap, but realized they were enjoying themselves. They didn’t often have people to stay, and this had turned into a bit of an occasion. Personally, at the prospect of unexpected guests I’d been known to flip the duvet over, inspect the bottom sheet for watch springs and just change the pillow cases, but I didn’t tell the boys this, they’d be horrified. They were fastidious creatures, and I remembered Benji, at the farm once, wandering from bathroom to bathroom saying in a bemused tone, ‘I can’t seem to find a nailbrush.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him we didn’t possess one. No, they were happy in their rituals and, I realized with a pang, this was what I missed. The rubbing along together, the teamwork, the closeness. I wanted to sling on that comfortable old cardigan. Wanted Marcus.
I got wearily to my feet, feeling faintly foolish. As if I’d narrowly avoided a bad car accident. As if I’d only swerved out of the way of the blaring horns at the very last minute, just in time.
I mounted the stairs to find Benji and Francis in the spare room, still fussing over the sheets.
‘And don’t forget to spray the bottom sheet.’ Benji handed him some lavender water. ‘But spray, hon, don’t tinkle. Remember Toby.’
Francis giggled.
‘Toby?’ I asked.
‘Francis got carried away with the lavender once, and our house guest, a certain Toby Wetherby – a very camp piss artist who’d tumbled into the spare room quite the worse for wear – appeared at the breakfast-table the following morning looking very red-faced. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he announced portentously. “The bad news is, I appear to have wet the bed. The good news is, I have very fragrant piss”.’
They clutched each other as they remembered, and I managed to raise a smile. Benji noticed. Patted my arm.
‘See, dear heart? Can’t be too badly broken, can it, the old ticker? Now, a couple of fresh towels …oh – and some clean pants for the morning. Never been worn.’ He fished into the back of the airing cupboard and produced a pair of cellophane-wrapped, Christmas novelty Y-fronts.
‘What?’ he demanded, seeing my face. ‘You haven’t got any others, have you? And they’re fine, look.’ He whipped them out of their pack. Dangled them from his pinkies. ‘Just a bit airy at the front. You won’t be used to that around your privates, but otherwise, they’re perfect.’
‘If I can get into them,’ I said, taking them from him. ‘You’ve got hips like a snake, Benji.’
‘Ooh, and a clean pink shirt,’ he said, delving back in excitedly. ‘In case yours is a bit whiffy from all that snogging.’
‘Benji,’ I warned,
knowing he was enjoying himself now. Showing off.
‘Sorry,’ he grinned, passing me the pile of clean laundry. ‘But you do see, dear heart, don’t you?’ He looked at me searchingly. ‘That all is not lost? That tomorrow, as our blessed Scarlett so succinctly put it, is indeed another day?’
I smiled sheepishly. Nodded. ‘Yes, I do see. And tomorrow is another day.’
And with that, I pecked his cheek gratefully, and went wearily off to the very fragrant spare room, feeling as if I could sleep for a hundred years.
Chapter Twenty-eight
At breakfast the following morning, I eyed Benji over my cappuccino.
‘So what d’you think about Mum’s news?’ In the course of revealing Sinead’s identity I had, of course, revealed Andrew’s. ‘You didn’t say much.’
‘Because I already knew.’ Benji glanced up from his Financial Times. ‘Francis told me.’
‘Francis?’ I turned astonished eyes on Francis as, immaculate in a grey flannel suit, he took some croissants out of the oven.
‘I was passing your mum’s flat the other day and stopped by to drop off some bumf about that Venice art course she was interested in,’ he said, tossing the croissants quickly in a basket. ‘Ouch. Hot. At least, I was about to, when I realized who I was following up the stairs. I stopped and listened in the stairwell as your mother answered the door. She greeted her visitor extremely affectionately. I’d never met him before, but she called him Andrew and from the brief glimpse I got downstairs I recognized his son’s blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. Something of a dish.’
‘Clearly Mum thinks so too,’ murmured Benji, going back to his paper.
I blinked. ‘You’re not surprised?’
‘Not really. I knew they were friends, and friends, at that age, when they’re both single and a bit lonely, have a habit of making a very happy union out of convenience. Certainly an improvement on Howard Greenburg, don’t you think?’
‘Oh definitely. But why didn’t you tell me?’
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