The Best Man

by Dianne Blacklock

  She walked over to the stairs that led to the lower level and his study, and saw the glow of a light from under the door. ‘Henry?’ she called loudly.

  ‘Down here,’ came the muffled reply.

  Madeleine started down the stairs. If the first thing he did was come down here to work, she was going to be very pissed off. When she opened the door of the study he was leaning over his drawing board, his back to her.

  ‘You’re working?’ She said it like it was an accusation, because it was.

  ‘Just until you got home,’ he said, dropping his pencil and swivelling around on his stool.

  ‘I said I’d be right behind you.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, you couldn’t have been right behind me.’

  She ignored that. ‘How can you just switch off and go back to work? I’m not going to put up with you being stuck down here for another night. If you would have downed tools for Aiden, you can do it for me.’

  ‘I am doing this for you – for us.’

  ‘What, for this honeymoon I keep hearing about? It better be bloody worth it.’

  He looked upset by that, but so? She was upset too, and she had a right to say it.

  ‘We have to talk, Henry,’ she said in a firm voice.

  ‘I realise.’

  She folded her arms. ‘Why were you in such a bad mood today?’

  ‘I wasn’t –’

  ‘Were you angry that I stayed out last night?’

  ‘I wasn’t angry.’

  ‘Well, you sure did a good impression of being angry.’

  ‘I wasn’t angry, I was worried.’

  ‘What?’ Madeleine frowned. ‘Why would you be worried?’

  ‘When I spoke to you last night it was fine, it really was fine.’ He stood up and crossed to the window. ‘But then this morning your phone wasn’t picking up, and then you were late. I was worried. Okay?’

  It was unusual for her not to keep her phone charged, so she supposed she could understand that being somewhat unsettling. ‘But you spoke to Aiden.’

  ‘Yeah, several times, and you were never “available”. I didn’t know what was going on.’

  ‘I think I was asleep first, then in the shower. This is crazy, Henry, there was no need to be worried.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ he said. ‘I worry about you, okay? I always worry about you when you stay in town. I wanted to hear your voice so I knew you were all right. That’s all.’

  Madeleine was torn between feeling touched that he cared and suspicious that he didn’t trust her. The latter was winning. ‘I think the truth is that you don’t trust me,’ she said. ‘What could you be worried about? I was with Aiden, I was perfectly safe.’

  ‘I know you were safe. That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Then what do you mean? Nothing happened.’

  He turned his head sharply to look at her. ‘Why would you even say that, Madeleine?’

  She felt a pang of guilt. Aiden had been perfectly well behaved, but she couldn’t necessarily say the same for herself. It still bothered her that she had drunkenly tried to force him to share her bed; the mental image that conjured up made her cringe – she imagined herself all slobbery and grasping. Ugh. Aiden had said she was sweet, but she found that hard to believe. And even if her motivation was completely innocent, it would have been a compromising situation, to say the least. Just as well Aiden had the good sense to steer clear.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Madeleine. ‘I shouldn’t have to say it.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t.’

  ‘So it’s the drinking, isn’t it?’

  Henry didn’t respond, he just stared out the window again.

  ‘That’s what this is about, that’s why you don’t want me to keep the flat – you don’t trust me out of your sight,’ she accused him. ‘Well, you need to get over it, Henry. I didn’t ask you to be my keeper.’

  He turned to look directly at her. ‘Didn’t you?’

  Madeleine’s stomach lurched. ‘You’re going to go there? So much for forgiveness, eh?’

  ‘I forgave you, you know I did.’

  ‘Certainly doesn’t sound like it.’

  ‘Fine.’ Now he was angry. ‘Newsflash, Madeleine, I don’t want to be your keeper either.’ He walked right past her out of the room.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He didn’t answer so Madeleine hurried out the door to catch up to him. When she came up the stairs he was in the kitchen, taking a bottle of wine out of the rack above the fridge. He slammed it down on the bench, grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, sliding it towards her. ‘Drink it, if that’s what you want. I don’t care.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ she cried.

  ‘Fine, I’ll have it then.’ He picked up the glass. ‘I need a drink right now.’

  ‘But I don’t. I don’t need it, Henry, I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not like your father.’

  He put the glass down again, staring at her. ‘What did you say?’

  Her heart was in her mouth now. ‘I know your father was an alcoholic.’

  His expression was grim. ‘Aiden told you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘He had no right.’

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ she said. ‘He thought I must have known – I am going to be your wife, after all.’

  Henry flattened his palms on the bench and hunched over, staring down at the floor. Madeleine suddenly didn’t feel angry any more. She took a step towards him. ‘Henry . . . it’s okay.’

  ‘I wasn’t keeping it from you,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘It’s just . . . it’s the past, I don’t like to talk about it.’

  She came closer, placing her hand gently on his back. He breathed out heavily. ‘I suppose you have questions?’

  Madeleine could hear the hurt and frustration in his voice. She didn’t want to make him talk about something that was clearly painful for him, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to let it go either. ‘I don’t even know what questions to ask, Henry,’ she said. ‘I get why you might not want to talk about it, but to suppress it so completely . . .’

  ‘Madeleine, do you understand how long ago all this was?’ he said, straightening up and turning to face her. ‘I was in college, I was a kid. Don’t assume I “suppressed” it and that I haven’t dealt with it because I don’t talk about it now. I know it’s taken you a while to come to terms with your father’s death, for very different reasons, but if you were still having issues in another ten years’ time, I would think there was something up with that.’

  ‘But I can talk about my dad, I don’t pretend he never existed.’

  ‘I’ve never pretended my father didn’t exist,’ said Henry. ‘There’s just nothing much to say, we barely even had a relationship. And I know there’s a whole bunch of psychoanalysis you could do on a boy growing up without a strong male influence, but it’s hardly unheard of. Besides, I’ve had some pretty great role models, not least Gene.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  His expression darkened. ‘What did Aiden tell you about my mother?’

  ‘Nothing, that’s why I’m asking.’ God, the lies were just getting easier and easier. But maybe Aiden was right about lying; she was only trying to avoid making matters worse. And mentioning his mother had obviously upset him.

  ‘My mother was a saint,’ said Henry. ‘She just married the wrong man. At least an early death was a release for her – it was the only way she was going to get away from him.’

  That suggested Aiden’s theory that she slowly killed herself might not be too far from the truth. But Madeleine suspected that trying to get any more from Henry would be like pulling teeth, and probably just as painful. She knew he wasn’t telling her everything, though; he hadn’t mentioned half of what Aiden had told her. But in a way it didn’t matter: this wasn’t about forcing Henry to own up to his past, or to share more than he was comfortable with. This was about what was happening between them now
. And it all seemed to come down to one thing, that Henry didn’t cope with her being away from him. That might be all well and good; it could even be considered romantic, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt controlling, or like he didn’t trust her. He didn’t want her to keep the flat, he didn’t want her to have the option. Of course, if they weren’t stuck up here, it wouldn’t even be an issue. Aiden was right: Henry had everything the way he wanted it, but what was in it for her?

  ‘Tea?’

  Madeleine looked up. Henry was holding the kettle.

  ‘Sure, thanks.’

  He filled the kettle and plugged it in. She watched him in a daze as he took cups out of the cupboard, teabags from the canister, milk out of the fridge . . . They had to clear the air, like Aiden said.

  ‘Henry?’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘I think we still have to talk about last night.’

  He turned around. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, leaning back against the bench, his forehead creased in a frown.

  ‘Last night, this morning, whatever – this issue you have with the flat.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was an issue any more. I thought we’d agreed that you were going to give it up after the wedding.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to do that?’

  He seemed a little taken aback. ‘Well, I can’t force you.’

  ‘No, instead you can just go all passive aggressive, make snide remarks, and sulk when I do stay there. Why can’t you just be honest?’

  Madeleine bit her lip as soon as the words came out. That might have been a bit harsh. The kettle was boiling behind him, Madeleine could see the steam rising. It clicked off, and Henry turned around to make the tea.

  ‘I thought I was being honest,’ he said evenly. ‘I thought I’d made it very clear I didn’t want to keep the apartment any longer. I want us to live together all the time, like any normal married couple.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to do when I have to be at the airport at six in the morning?’ said Madeleine. ‘Or at a function until late at night?’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t be doing any more of that after we’re married.’

  ‘Where did you get that idea?’ she cried, her agitation growing. ‘Do you know how precarious things are at work? You expect me to tell them, “Sorry, I have to leave promptly at five every day, my husband wants his dinner on the table”?’

  ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous, Madeleine. I’m the one who puts dinner on the table,’ he said, placing her cup of tea in front of her.

  ‘And clearly you resent it.’

  ‘No, I don’t, I just thought things would change after we’re married.’

  ‘Why would my job change?’

  He paused. ‘I didn’t think you’d keep working that much longer.’

  Madeleine was stunned. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Aren’t we going to start a family?’

  ‘What? You’ve been thinking all this time I’m going to start popping babies out as soon as we say “I do”? We haven’t even talked about babies.’

  Now Henry looked stunned. ‘You don’t want to have children?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I said we haven’t talked about it,’ she repeated, sounding out each word. ‘But you’ve decided it’s going to happen straight after the wedding.’

  ‘I didn’t say straight after.’

  ‘Then when?’

  ‘I don’t know, I guess I presumed . . .’

  Madeleine was shaking her head. ‘You ASSumed, and you know what they say about that.’

  ‘All right, I’m sorry,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘I was wrong to ASSume that we were going to have children, and I’m suspicious because I worry about you, and I’m weird because I want to live together in the same house!’ He took a breath. ‘What’s really the matter here, Madeleine? You seem very intent on picking a fight and finding fault with everything about me.’

  She was trembling . . . from anger, indignation, frustration. She stared down at the tea in her cup. She didn’t even want it any more. She didn’t know what she wanted, or why it had come to this. Henry had a closet full of skeletons, and who knew how many unrealistic expectations. And when it came to the crunch, Madeleine realised she’d never really been honest with Henry, or herself, about living up here, about what their life together was going to look like. And now she had to wonder if they just wanted very different things.

  She picked up her cup. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said, tipping the tea down the sink.

  Henry gave a loud sigh. ‘So this is how we’re going to do things now? Go to bed angry?’

  ‘I don’t know. How did we do things before? When do we fight? When do we properly have things out and say what we mean? For godsakes, when do we even spend time with other people? We’re always stuck up here on our own. And now you’re saying you want me to give up work and hang around here, barefoot and pregnant? Well, I can’t live like that, Henry, not for the rest of my life.’

  He looked like she’d just slapped him.

  ‘I’m going to bed now,’ she went on. ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more. I’m tired, and confused, and if I stay up I’m going to keep saying things to hurt you, which isn’t going to get us anywhere. So yes, I’m going to bed angry – that’s the better option right now.’

  She turned away, because she really couldn’t bear the expression on his face, and walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and into their room. He didn’t follow her.

  Sunday

  Liv drove through the winding streets of Como on the way to her coffee-only date with David Lessing. When they were organising where to meet he’d asked her where she lived, and when she told him Oatley, he seemed surprised.

  ‘Do you know it?’ she said. ‘People have usually never heard of it, unless they come from the south of Sydney.’

  ‘I know it well.’ Before she could ask him where he lived, he added, ‘What about the café at Como? It’s a nice place, and it’s close for you.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Liv could have driven five minutes down to the footbridge and then walked across the Georges River, that was by far the fastest route, but she had decided to drive all the way to the café, which meant going the very long way around via Tom Uglys Bridge and through the Shire. If she was being completely honest, she just felt more comfortable having her car close by in case she needed to make a quick getaway. Not that she was worried; it was broad daylight, and the quick-getaway option was more in case she wanted, well, to get away quickly – ‘Thanks, that was nice. Bye!’ – and jump straight into her car, instead of having to walk back to the bridge, giving him ample opportunity to follow her to arrange another date.

  But she was being an idiot. She was an adult, she could hold her own and leave when she was good and ready. She had actually been surprisingly calm about the whole thing, considering she hadn’t had a ‘date’ in what felt like a hundred years. It helped that they’d already met in person and been able to hold down a conversation. But really, the brutal truth was that Liv had nothing invested in it. She wasn’t expecting, or even particularly wanting, this to go any further. It was like going for an interview for a job you didn’t desperately need – it took all the pressure off.

  Still, it didn’t hurt to have a getaway vehicle handy.

  It was a beautiful sunny day. Liv parked in the shade and stepped out of the car. The café was right on the banks of Georges River, with seating outside. She wondered if she would recognise David. Ever since the phone call she’d been trying to remember what he looked like; she could see the salt and pepper hair, but his features were indistinct in her mind. She hoped he had a better visual memory than she did.

  As she approached the café, Liv thought she spotted him sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Well, she spotted the hair. But goodness knows how many men with salt and pepper hair frequented this café, there could be any number. He was in profile, not looking in her direction,
so she slowed down to check him out as she drew quietly, stealthily closer. She should recognise his profile – they’d been sitting side by side the whole flight. He was wearing sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but she supposed that could be his jaw.

  ‘Were you trying to sneak up on me?’ he said, suddenly turning to look at her.

  Liv jumped. ‘You startled me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ David got to his feet and smiled down at her. She remembered the smile. Then he lifted his sunglasses, and, ah, there were the blue-grey eyes. She remembered that she’d liked his eyes. He had a nice face, a kind face. Quite a handsome face. All good so far.

  ‘Hello, Liv,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

  ‘Hi, David,’ she said, returning his smile and taking his hand. His skin was quite soft for a man’s, not that she was making any kind of judgement. It probably just meant he didn’t do manual work. So what did he do? They hadn’t got around to that on the plane – they’d only discussed her job. At least that gave them something to talk about.

  ‘Is this all right with you?’ he said, releasing her hand and indicating the table.

  ‘It’s great,’ she said, taking the seat opposite.

  He raised his arm to alert the waiter, and then sat down again. ‘I thought you’d be coming from that direction,’ he said, nodding towards the bridge.

  That explained why he was facing that way.

  ‘Oh, I decided to drive,’ said Liv. ‘I have some errands to run on the way home.’

  He slipped his sunglasses back into place, but not before she saw a flicker of something approaching wry amusement cross his eyes.

  ‘So which direction did you come from?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I guess I’m asking where do you live?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He paused. ‘Actually, I live in Hurstville Grove.’

  Liv was surprised. ‘God, we’re almost neighbours.’