by Tracy Bloom
‘I love it,’ I tell him when he turns to look at me. I’m grinning despite my watery eyes. He grins back. A proper grin. The grin of an untroubled boy. I drink it in. He’ll make it, I think. He is capable of happiness. Occasionally he can grasp it. It will make him hungry for more, I hope, and that will help him. Help him make his way in the world.
‘Your dad’s just doing the tour, they’ll be down in a minute,’ I tell him.
‘I’ll start plating up the starters,’ he says earnestly and turns to rinse his hands under the tap.
‘Where’s the toolbox?’ asks Mark, suddenly striding into the room.
‘Under the sink in the utility room,’ I say. ‘Why?’
‘Tim’s going to fix the leaky tap in the en suite,’ he replies, already heading off out of the kitchen.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Will you be long?’
‘No idea,’ he shouts over his shoulder.
George and I raise our eyebrows. The tap has leaked since the day we moved in. Mark had a go at fixing it once and couldn’t do it so blamed the ‘goddamned tap manufacturer for a stupid design’. We were going to try and get a plumber, but… well, you try getting a plumber to just come out and fix a leaky tap.
I start to unpack the bag that Julie gave me at the door. A bottle of white, a bottle of red and a four-pack of Stella. Blimey, we’re in for a session, I think. I’m about to chuck the bag away (sorry, I mean put it in that weird plastic column thing from Ikea with all the other carrier bags; well, I would put it in there but Mark has never got round to putting it up) when I feel something still in there as I scrunch it up. When I open it, I find two miniatures of ouzo. They’re a little dusty. I wonder if Tim has had them since 1996? Still, I love them – they make me smile.
I put them on the shelf next to the light-up cactuses. George hasn’t switched them on. They clearly don’t fit in with tonight’s theme. But I do. Their joyful tackiness fits right in. If only we had a stuffed donkey and a sombrero this could be the happiest kitchen in Oakenthorpe right now.
Tim bursts through the kitchen door and dumps the toolbox on the floor, Mark and Julie coming up behind me.
‘Jenny, how long has that tap been dripping?’ he asks.
‘Since we moved in.’
‘This dipstick here is trying to tell me it’s been a couple of months. Do you take me for an idiot?’ he says, giving Mark a friendly punch on the arm. ‘I may not understand all that finance crap you do but I know you don’t get a brown stain like that from a tap that’s only been dripping for a couple of months. And remind me when you moved in?’
Mark doesn’t respond so I fill in the gaps.
‘Seven years ago.’
‘Seven years! You been listening to that for seven years?’
‘Well, you know, been busy,’ says Mark.
‘Too busy for a two-minute job to fix a leaky tap?’
‘These things happen,’ he shrugs. He looks like George for a minute. His chin is low and his hands are thrust deep in his pockets. He’s embarrassed, self-conscious. I can’t remember ever seeing him like this.
This isn’t going well, I think.
‘So this is George,’ I say brightly. ‘You remember George? He’s actually cooking dinner for us tonight.’
‘Seriously?’ cries Tim. ‘Oh my God, you are practically a man! The last time I saw you, you were barely up to my knee and now you’re cooking us dinner. Did you hear that, Julie? George is cooking us dinner. Must remember to tell Nathan that George cooked us dinner.’
‘If you can get him to listen,’ mutters Julie.
‘He’s such a lazy arse,’ explains Tim. ‘I’ve told him I’m throwing the couch out the friggin’ window if he doesn’t shift his backside off it once in a while and do something, anything. Wait until I tell him you cooked for us, George. He wouldn’t know a frying pan from a fondue, I tell you. You been cooking long?’
George blinks.
‘Since I started secondary school,’ he mutters. ‘I want to be a chef.’ He turns back round to tend to something on the hob.
‘Well, listen to that,’ says Tim. ‘Ambition, that’s what I like to hear. Mind you, it’s not surprising, is it, seeing as he’s your son, eh, Mark? Sounds like he’s inherited your desire for success. You must be proud of this guy.’
Mark nods. ‘I am,’ he says.
God, I hope he means that.
‘So what we having then, George?’ Tim asks, stepping up to the cooker and throwing an arm over his shoulders. ‘It smells freakin’ amazing.’
I watch Mark gaze at their backs. If you didn’t know, you’d think they were father and son as George picks up lids and shows Tim what lies beneath. He sounds as impressed and proud as any father would. I glance back over to Mark. He’s watching them intently, his brow furrowed. Perhaps seeing George through Tim’s eyes could be just what he needs to realise how lucky he is to have him as a son.
‘It’s a lovely house,’ says Julie.
‘Well, thank you,’ I reply. ‘But not very welcoming. I haven’t even offered you a drink. What will you have?’
‘Oh, whatever’s open,’ she replies. ‘You know me. Well, you remember me,’ she corrects herself.
‘Funnily enough, we were only talking the other day about that night we first met you and went for that tapas meal, weren’t we, Mark? Do you remember?’
‘Do I remember? I’ve spent my whole life trying to forget. I still can’t believe I threw up in front of Tim’s best mates. What must you have thought of me? All I can say is it was the nerves.’
‘Not the large carafe of wine?’
‘Might have had something to do with it.’
‘We weren’t that scary, were we?’
‘No, you were both great. It’s just that Tim had told me all about how you met and how successful Mark was. I’d got it into my head I was going to meet some kind of hyped-up Butlins Redcoat and a brainbox who was going to think I was a blithering idiot. Luckily it turned out you were both, well… normal, I guess.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘It’s meant to be.’
* * *
‘That was out of this world,’ sighs Tim, leaning back in his chair after he's finished off way more than his fair share of mini kebabs. ‘Are you Greek, Georgie?’ he booms. ‘Is there something you’re not telling us, Jenny? Have you been having a bit of moussaka on the side all these years?’
‘Of course not,’ I mutter, glancing up at Mark. He’s relaxed a bit. I’ve tried pouring lager down him; see if it prompts him to remember how to enjoy Tim’s company. He’s defrosted slightly but he’s still uptight. His mind is on other things and every so often he looks at Tim as though an alien has landed in the middle of his oh-so-middle-class mindset.
He’s tried, to be fair, but none of his set pieces are useful in this conversation. Tim wasn’t really impressed with how Mark has set up hedged deals with all suppliers, adding double-digit growth to their EBITDA. His response was to tell Mark he had doubled his earnings last year because he took on more work. He took the kids to Disney.
Tim glazed over slightly when Mark tried to explain how he had single-handedly written the five-year strategy for Brancotec, which Charstone had commented was the most detailed they had ever seen. Tim said he didn’t see the point in a long-term strategy. In fact his exact comment was, ‘What’s the point in wasting grafting time on thinking about what you might possibly be doing in five years? We all could be dead tomorrow. Then you’d be mad, wouldn’t you? That you’d wasted time thinking about what might happen after you die?’
I must have gasped because Tim turned to look at me.
‘Well, Trump is running for president,’ he shrugged. ‘Who the frig knows where we’ll be in ten years’ time?’
Throughout, Tim has been his usual jovial self. Making jokes and putting his foot in it here, there and everywhere, which Mark used to be able to laugh at but clearly his sense of humour has left the building. Gone AWOL. When did h
e turn into a man that didn’t find bodily functions funny, I wonder when he fails to raise a smile because I snorted snot down my nose after collapsing in fits of laughter at Tim’s story of him lying underneath a bath trying to fix a leak when the husband walked in bollock-naked, after work, not realising he was there.
‘No wonder she was shagging the neighbour,’ he concludes. ‘He had nothing to write home about. Even I came home a bit full of myself, didn’t I, love?’
Julie nods.
‘He hasn’t changed much, as you can tell,’ she sighs.
‘Remember we used to strip off all the time round the back of the community centre?’ Tim says to Mark.
‘What?’ Julie and I cry.
‘We did, didn’t we, Mark?’
‘Maybe twice,’ he says.
‘We couldn’t get girls to notice us so we’d tell one of them that Ade Tomlinson was going to streak out the back any minute. The girls loved Ade. God knows why, he was a Forest supporter. Anyway, they’d rush out the back of the community centre and, just as they got there, one of us would make a dash across the back naked, but far away so they couldn’t tell who it was. We’d take it in turns. Once they were outside we could get them chatting, you see. Ask if they were cold, offer them our coats, that type of thing. Worked a treat.’
I stare at Mark. This doesn’t sound like him at all.
‘You pulled girls by telling them the class hunk was outside naked?’ I ask Tim.
‘Basically yes.’
‘And you?’ I ask Mark.
He nods and finally grins. ‘It was my idea actually,’ he admits.
‘There he goes,’ says Tim, reaching over and slapping him on the back. ‘The man with the plan. That was our Mark. If we couldn’t get something or do something, we could always rely on him to come up with a cunning plan. The best ever was—’
‘No, no, no, please…’ says Mark.
‘No, mate. This was utter genius. I still can’t quite believe it.’
‘No, seriously, Tim, just leave it.’
‘You know when we came to Corfu on holiday?’ Tim asks me.
I nod.
‘Well, Mark somehow – and to this day I have no idea how he did this – but he managed to get it all half price from his ex-girlfriend who worked for a travel agent. Yes, I did say ex-girlfriend.’
All eyes turn to Mark.
He shrugs.
‘All I can say is that she dumped me so I asked if she could do me a discount on a holiday because I needed a break with the boys so I could get over her.’
‘Fuckin’ legend,’ says Tim, raising his arms in the air in salute. ‘You didn’t even like her that much, did you?’
‘She was all right,’ says Mark. ‘I liked her a lot more when she gave us a cheap holiday,’ he adds, a smile breaking over his lips.
‘She was one of those posh birds you used to be into. You were such a nightmare with them. Do you know what we used to call him at school?’ he asks Julie and me.
‘Please don’t,’ begs Mark. He’s covering his face.
‘The Camilla Catcher,’ says Tim. ‘He was round them private-school girls like a dose of salts. None of us could understand it. They were good-looking and everything, but Jesus, they were dull!’
‘Bethany was all right,’ says Mark, emerging from behind his hands.
‘Bethany?’ says Tim. ‘Was she the one who asked me what instrument I played and I told her I played the horn? She told me I was puerile and do you know what I said back?’ he asks me.
I shake my head.
‘I said, actually I’m Sagittarius.’ Tim collapses in fits of laughter.
‘I think she dumped me not long after that,’ adds Mark.
‘Lucky escape, mate. Lucky escape from all of them. Quite frankly his taste in women was dire before you came along, Jenny. God, were we pleased to see you – a hot woman with a sense of humour. What more could a guy wish for, eh, mate?’ he says, slapping Mark on the back again. ‘To think you could have ended up with that Natalie woman.’
‘What Natalie woman?’ asks Mark.
‘The other one you snogged in Corfu.’
I gasp for the second time that evening.
‘Thanks, Tim,’ says Mark, glancing at me.
‘What? What have I done?’
‘You are a moron sometimes,’ states Julie.
‘What have I done?’ Tim looks over at me and clocks my face, then raises his hands in wonder. ‘So he snogged another woman in Corfu twenty years ago. He shagged you, several times if I remember rightly. I had to sleep on Shifty’s floor, you were shagging so much. I had to buy earplugs,’ he says. ‘I really don’t see what the problem is. If a snog on the first night of the holiday outweighs twenty shags in the second week, well, I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’
Mark and I look at each other.
‘It was twenty-three actually,’ he says without taking his eyes off me. I blush. On our first anniversary Mark had given me his boarding card from his flight over to Corfu, which he’d saved. Unbeknownst to me, he had marked on it every time we’d had sex whilst we were there, then saved it. I put it in the 1996 photo album, I’m sure. His version of notches on a bedpost. I must have missed it when I last got the album out. I would have to check.
‘Bloody good holiday that was,’ says Tim. ‘Last lads’ holiday we all had, I reckon.’
‘Didn’t you go away with Shifty and Neil the following year?’ asks Mark.
‘Oh yeah. But it wasn’t the same. We were an utter shambles without you to organise us. I had to be in charge. Took all the fun out of it, if I’m honest. Plus, Shifty paired off with some bird on the second night. Never saw him for the rest of the holiday so it was just me and Neil. Who’s going to come and talk to me and Neil? We’re like the two ugly best mates without the good-looking one to lure ’em in. Total desert as far as women were concerned. Might as well have gone on holiday to a nunnery.’
‘Lucky me, eh?’ says Julie. ‘Just think, if Shifty hadn’t met someone then you might have had half a chance at pulling and she might have been the woman of your dreams and you would have been snapped up before I could get my hands on you.’
‘So I have Shifty to blame for you?’ Tim asks.
‘I guess so,’ says Julie.
‘I’ll kick his arse next time I see him.’
‘Did you say kiss?’ asks Julie.
‘Exactly right, dear,’ he agrees. ‘But what about you guys? Imagine if we hadn’t got the discount from Mark’s ex-girlfriend, we never would have gone on holiday to Corfu and you wouldn’t have met. So actually, Mark, you owe everything – your wife, your marriage, your children – to the fact that some travel agent woman couldn’t stand you.’
‘Profound as always,’ nods Mark.
‘I guess we owe it to all the people who have rejected us,’ I find myself saying. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that there are members of the opposite sex who just didn’t like us then none of us would be in the relationships we are in now.’
‘Mmmm,’ says Tim. ‘If Angela Parsons in Miss Harrison’s class at school had liked me then I definitely wouldn’t be in the relationship I am in now. Kidding, kidding!’ he laughs as Julie takes a swipe at him. ‘It’s all meant to be, eh, mate?’ he says to Mark. ‘I don’t think we did too badly, do you?’
Mark nods and smiles tightly. It must feel like I’ve engineered all this but I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean for Tim to come round and remind my husband why we got married. I actually wanted Tim to come round and remind him how to laugh. How to have a laugh. That’s all. Instead it feels like I’ve set him up to sit and listen to what a good choice he made when he married me. I don’t want to have to convince him of that. This is not going according to plan. Very happy about the fixed leaky tap though – you can’t think a day has been terrible if a tap that’s been leaking for seven years has been fixed.
I give up on Mark. I was trying to reconnect him to something good. Trying to tether him when
all around him is about to change, whatever becomes of our marriage. He’ll need someone like Tim to take the piss if he leaves his wife only to find out she’s dying. He’ll need Tim to crack a joke if he decides to come home only to find he is faced with months of caring for a terminally ill wife. He’ll need Tim to get him drunk when he realises he’s about to become a single parent and hasn’t a clue how to talk to his son. He’ll need Tim’s hand on his shoulder at my funeral. The hand of the man who has seen him through his past and will be there for him in his future. This is the man to be by his side, I’m convinced of it, whichever road he treads. This piss-talking, bad-joke-cracking, blundering, spanner-wielding idiot is the man for the job. I just wish Mark could see that now, see how much he needs him in his life.
‘Did I mention my party?’ I blurt.
Mark glares.
‘Did someone say party?’ asks Tim.
‘I’m having a… well, a belated birthday party, next week. There’s a sort of Greek theme. You must come. Tell me you can come? It’s next Saturday.’
Tim and Julie look at each other. Julie shrugs.
‘I’m pretty sure we’re free,’ she says.
‘Of course we’re bloody free! A Greek-themed party, with this lady? Hottest ticket in town, surely?’
I grin at him gratefully.
‘Do you think Shifty and Neil might be free as well?’ I ask, not daring to look at Mark. ‘Any of the old gang really. It would be great to see them.’
‘Well, we’ll find out, won’t we? Give Jules here the details and we’ll pass the word round. Awesome,’ he says, slapping Mark on the back. I’m certain Mark doesn’t think it’s quite so awesome.
George pokes his head around the kitchen door.
‘You ready?’ he asks me.
‘I think so,’ I nod. ‘You’re going to love this,’ I tell Tim.
‘What?’ he asks. ‘He can’t produce anything better than he already has? That was epic, mate,’ he tells George. ‘You’re a genius.’