Junction X

by Erastes

  I drove under the bridge and towards the seafront. It was another hot day, and the road was busier than usual with people going to the beach; the car was stuffy and over-warm, and not for the first time I considered splashing out on a convertible. On English days like this, it seemed the thing to do.

  Phil’s house, when I eventually found it after weaving around and past the new estate at the far end of the seafront, surprised me. He had always said that he loved the individuality of his house in The Avenue, and yet he had moved into a detached white 1930s monolith that was exactly the same shape and size as its neighbours. The drive was wide and swept around a cubist fountain at the front. With the sun shining off the gleaming house, I was glad I’d worn sunglasses. Smiling, his teeth as white as the house, Phil burst from the front door like a mad dog.

  “About time, too.” He flung an arm around my shoulders and led me into the house, bellowing for Claire. In spite of my dislike of art deco, I had to say that the house was impressive, with light wooden floors, a white wrought iron staircase, all the rooms bright, almost dazzling. A very different atmosphere from the dark mock Tudor of The Avenue. He led me into a sunny room with wide rounded French windows where Claire sat, all neat tweed and shining black hair. With a smile, she rose from a wickerwork chair to kiss me.

  “What do you think?” Phil asked. He gestured outside to where the lawn sloped up away from the house, masking the road, and giving the impression that the house was right on the seafront.

  “Nice.” I said. I felt a pang of jealousy that surprised me. It wasn’t the house, nice as it was, it was the aspect. I loved The Avenue, had done since we’d first seen it, but I’d often wished that it was facing the sea.

  “Typical Ed,” said Phil, “understatement as an art form.”

  “How are the twins?” Claire asked.

  “Less of a handful than they were. They are being inflicted on London today.”

  She laughed, but it was only with her mouth. “Tell Valerie I’ll ring her and invite her and them over.”

  “She’ll like that. The twins will love it.”

  “Right, no point hanging around here,” Phil interrupted. “Shall we go?”

  “Will you be back for dinner?”

  “Doubt it. We’ve got some catching up to do, eh, Ed?” He walked out without any further conversation and I felt suddenly embarrassed, as if I’d seen them arguing. I smiled weakly at Claire and followed Phil to the car.

  “Shall we take yours?” he said. “It’s a bit of a struggle getting two sets in the Healey.”

  “All right.”

  Phil was quiet on the short drive along the seafront, his face serious and thoughtful, the animation only returning when I turned the wheel and drove into the laurel-edged entrance to The Sands. I hadn’t been down the drive before, and was impressed as we pulled up outside the clubhouse. Although my first impression of the place, with its low slung yellow brick and far too many glaring white windows, was that it was a modern monstrosity and quite out of place in its leafy setting, I couldn’t deny it certainly reeked of money.

  Phil got out, grinning at my glance at the building, probably mistaking it for admiration. “Come on, I’ll sign you in, if you can keep from looking like a tourist for five minutes. I need a drink.”

  A valet appeared and waited for me to get out of the car. I handed the keys over with a little trepidation. I didn’t usually let anyone drive the Bentley, not even Valerie.

  Phil grabbed me by the arm, “Come on, get the clubs out. My throat feels like a badger’s crotch.”

  I opened the boot, and a second uniformed youth arrived. “Allow me, sir,” he said as he lifted the bags out with seemingly no effort, placed them on trolleys and wheeled them away for storage. I couldn’t help but be impressed once more, but by then Phil had lost all patience and was towing me toward the entrance.

  Seated with a pint in the leather and chrome luxury of the Members’ Bar I knew that I’d made a good decision. This was just the place to pick up new clients. Mentally, I prepared myself for the lively debate with Valerie when I announced my unilateral decision.

  Phil slid in beside me, the dark clouds that his face had held completely gone. “So, now I’ve got you to myself, what made you decide to join?”

  I shrugged. “You’re always saying I don’t do myself any favours when it comes to currying favour.”

  He grinned. “I knew you’d come around. You took longer than I anticipated though. The number of times Claire told me to call you…” He laughed, and I tried to glare at him but failed miserably. It was just good to be back to normal with him.

  “The new owners moved in next door yesterday. A couple and their son.”

  “Really? Wonder why they left it empty so long?”

  I’d wondered that myself but hadn’t thought I should ask the Charleses, in case it was a sensitive matter. “They seem nice. He works at the car plant and she works in the hospital.”

  He looked surprised, then finished his pint. “I wonder if they’ll fit in? Don’t suppose he plays?”

  “No. Don’t think so. They made friends with Valerie, though. They remembered her name from back when she was on the circuit.”

  “Valerie’s easy to like,” he said with a wry grin. “Come on, we didn’t come here to discuss wives.” His voice had an acid tinge to it and I wondered again what the problem was.

  “We could, if you needed to.”

  “I don’t.” His tone was dismissive and I knew I’d get nothing from him. Perhaps tonight, when he’s a little oiled with brandy, I thought, I’ll try again. I felt a rush of fondness for him that I hadn’t felt for ages, and I wanted to help him if I could.

  Whether it was the pleasure of playing against Phil again or the challenge of learning a new course, my golf wasn’t as good as it should have been that day. Phil beat me easily, the first time he’d done that for a year, at least. He accused me of letting him win, and I let him believe it. We had a late lunch and then played another round, which I won, narrowly, before coming back to shower and change. I was tired, sunburned and feeling rather mellow.

  The bar was filling up with men, some off the course, some members who came purely for the evening, to drink and mingle. Phil led me through the crush, smiling at this one, patting the back of that one, until we reached a group of several large and exquisitely turned-out individuals. The tallest of them, an older man with white hair and a physique he obviously worked hard to keep, turned to Phil and directed the attention of the two men with him to our arrival.

  “There you are, Carter. The Secretary told us you were here. Have you been on the course all day?”

  “Just about,” Phil said. “This is Ed Johnson.”

  The three men turned their attention to me with no small amount of interest. I could feel them sizing me up and was glad I’d worn the best I could wear. Appearances were everything in my game.

  The tall man, who Phil introduced as Hargreaves, the Club Captain (as if I hadn’t guessed that by the blazer and engraved tankard), looked me up and down. “Phil’s next door neighbour, eh? Yes, we’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I felt warmth in my stomach and guilt crept through me for all the neglect that I’d accused Phil of over the past few months. It seemed he’d been laying the groundwork for the day I stopped being stubborn.

  “Nine, aren’t you?” Hargreaves asked, referring to my handicap. He shook my hand and I could tell right then that getting in here was going to be easy.

  “I was, last year. Before he went and abandoned me. I’m more an eleven now.”

  “Ah, yes. Didn’t you used to play at Woodlands?”

  I didn’t like say I still did, and nodded.

  “Decent enough club in its day,” said one of the others, a man with a red nose and dark hair.

  “I know him,” the third one said. “Thrashed me last year.” I couldn’t place him, but I grinned and offered to pay for a round to make up for it.

  “Not allowed, old t
hing,” my vanquished new friend replied. “Non-members aren’t allowed to pay for drinks.”

  “And that’s where we come in,” Phil said, looking every inch a man who could sell snow to Eskimos. “You wouldn’t allow a man with a nine handicap—”

  “Eleven,” I said.

  “—a nine with the right ambition,” he stressed, “to get away? To win for Woodlands?”

  The three of them looked at each other and then back at me. Phil was just smiling, his face radiating confidence; his hand was on my elbow, squeezing hard. It was if he was telling me to say nothing, that the deal was already made, the marks already caught.

  “All right,” the dark haired one said. “I’ll countersign him.” Phil whooped with triumph and disappeared to go and find the Secretary and a form.

  The Captain shook my hand again, “Welcome to The Sands. Work on cutting back to nine, though, will you? Could do with a nine in the team.”

  I stammered out thanks. Once I’d signed a half a dozen forms and a disgustingly pricey cheque, they allowed me to buy them drinks, then dinner. Then a lot more drinks. Phil and I poured out of the club rather than walked out at 10 p.m., both of us holding the other up and neither of us succeeding very well.

  As soon as we got back into the car, I realised that the atmosphere had changed, charged with brittle electricity I could almost feel. Perhaps it was the drink—we’d started our episodes while well under the influence—perhaps it was the warmth of the night and the success of my first night in the club.

  “Drive slow,” Phil said huskily as we passed under the rhododendrons in the drive. He put his hand on my thigh.

  “It’s not far.”

  “Then go somewhere else.”

  I nearly said, “Where?” But it didn’t really matter. His hand was massaging my thigh, working its way upwards. I wouldn’t have cared if I’d driven straight into the sea.

  I did a U-turn and drove toward the industrial end of the seafront, pulling into an empty car park of a unit being built. The car slid into deep shadow and I yanked the hand brake, flicked off the lights and turned to him. For once in my life I felt in control—he’d helped, but I was the one who’d conquered the club members, and I was swept away in the moment of ego. Just for a second, his fingers tried to push my head down but I wasn’t having it. This was my night and we were doing things my way.

  I started to kiss him. His mouth was hard and resisting under mine, his jaw locked and it took a moment on my insistence, nipping his lips, demanding entrance with my tongue before his lips moved, softened, and his mouth opened at last. At first his arms stayed clamped to his sides, but after a while he came to me, arms awkward around my back, fingers finally settling in my hair. I was gentle but insistent, teasing with my teeth, using my tongue on his lips the way I’d dreamed of doing for so long. I gave in to his demands when he grabbed my hand and shoved it into his lap, and as I stroked him to completion, my spine melted with every gentle gasp and groan he gave me.

  I forgot the clubhouse, forgot what he’d done for me there. That night, as he clung to me, kissing me back as hard as I kissed him—that was better than any club membership.

  But it was an enchanted night. I think the moon went a little blue for us both. It was never to happen like that again between us, and that communion that I thought we’d finally tasted, that we’d talked of on the beach? It was never there, really, or if it was, it lasted no longer that the release itself.

  When he zipped himself back up, he was just my friend, and I think, even with the tide of pleasure ebbing away from me, I knew that this wasn’t what I wanted, but that didn’t help. I didn’t know what I wanted, only that it was something more than this.

  Chapter 5

  I suppose I should have been prepared for the fallout. I’d made a unilateral decision about our finances, and, while that wasn’t terribly unusual, it was a major decision—one that I would normally run past Valerie. I knew that she would kick up a fuss.

  Maybe I thought it would be easier to deal with the repercussions than it would be to discuss it in the first place. After all, it wasn’t as though she could dissuade me once I’d actually joined.

  It was Tuesday night before she found out. The weather changed abruptly on Tuesday afternoon, a storm sweeping across London like a dark veil, causing power cuts that disrupted our work. I was glad to finally escape out into the blustery rush hour, but was soon soaked, unable even to use my umbrella for fear of it turning inside out. The train slid into the Junction late and I had to fight the wind for control of the train door. By the time I got to The Avenue, the rain was coming down in sheets, and I was discovering that my greatcoat wasn’t quite as great as Moss Bros. had said it was. I dumped the umbrella in the stand and left my coat on the porch to let it drip.

  The children came shrieking out of the sitting room into the hall to greet me, full of tales of stick insects that were the new school pets, and the warmth of the house and the warmth of my reception had me smiling as I carried Mary into the sitting room.

  “They eat privet leaves, Daddy,” she chattered happily. “And we’ve got loads of that.”

  “But they don’t eat a lot of it,” John chipped in seriously, ever the realist. “It’s not like they are going to make a hole in the hedge so people can see into the back garden.”

  Valerie came through from the kitchen, her face a perfect mask. “And we all know how Daddy likes his secrets, don’t we?”

  I felt myself pale, and for the first time I understood the phrase: ‘I went cold.’ A creeping chill crept over me, like a glass of iced water poured over my head.

  I swallowed and managed a laugh, and ignored John’s repeated cries of “What secrets, Daddy? What secrets, Daddy?”

  “Have you eaten?” I said, meaning the children, but including everyone.

  “Of course. And I’m at the club tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “I did tell you,” Valerie said, heading for the stairs. “It’s the presentation for the Junior Tournament and you know how that bores you. I didn’t even get you a ticket. Can’t you go to Phil’s?” By the time she’d finished the sentence, she was half way up the stairs.

  I put Mary down with a swift kiss, and ran up after Valerie, following her into the dressing room, ignoring the calls of “Well, can we have a stick insect or not?” from both of the children.

  I sat backwards on a cane chair and leant my head on the back of it. “What was that about, downstairs?” My stomach was in knots, but I kept repeating to myself, it’s all right, it’s all right. If she’d discovered anything about Phil, she’d not be so calm. Valerie may look like a swan, all calm frigid beauty, but her temper can be as sudden and as violent as the worst winter gales.

  It was her smile that made me feel safe, finally. It was teasing, and although I could tell she was annoyed, it was almost as if she were playing a part, a wife showing resigned tenderness at her husband’s insensitivity. She glanced at me in the mirror, a sharp glittering barb of a look. “I don’t know what you’d say if I went and spent that amount of money without discussing it with you first.”

  “Oh,” I said. “The Sands.”

  She finished putting mascara on and looked at me hard then, still without turning round. “Yes, of course The Sands, darling.” The endearment was automatic, or it sounded it. “What else did you think I meant?” When I just shrugged and looked away, she laughed. “What else are you keeping from me?”

  I wish I could say that I blushed, but I was too well-practised, and so kept an even gaze, meeting hers. “Nothing, of course. Oh, apart from all the bodies.”

  “I just wished you’d mentioned it, that’s all. It’s not like you to go and spend that amount of money.”

  “How—”

  “Claire.” She brushed her hair, doing something that teased the back of it up on the back of her head. “Of course, I pretended I knew all about it, but I’m fairly sure she knew I was lying. I didn’t know you were even considering joinin
g. I was thinking of getting the children violins.” I shuddered inwardly at the thought of that as she stood up and opened a wardrobe. “Clear off, Ed, there’s a dear. I’ve asked Ann McKewen to come over at seven to sit, so you needn’t stay in and eat humble pie.” She kissed me on the top of my head and I grinned.

  “It was an impulse thing. There was a lot of whisky. I only went to see what it was like.”

  “Dear Ed,” she said. “Trust Phil to lead you into temptation.” I felt those icy fingers again, this time on the back of my neck, but it seemed to be a dismissal; I’d lost her attention.

  I stopped at the door and looked back. “Really? Violins?”

  She didn’t answer.

  I escaped to my study and got changed. I felt exhausted. For a horrible second I’d really thought she had found out about Phil and the relief, as it flooded through me, made me weary. I pulled on my sweater and I considered going to The Sands, but didn’t really fancy it. I would be welcomed, I was sure, but hard drinking during the week wasn’t a good idea for someone who had to stay alert in his job, and I shied away from seeing Phil again so soon for some reason.

  So I spent some time with the children. They sat around the table while I made a sandwich, and we discussed the merits and otherwise of stick insects. When the sitter arrived, I left them with an unsatisfactory (for them) “We’ll see.”

  It was pure impulse and a memory of Albert Charles’s assertion that the train set would be ready in a day or so that pulled me to the house next door, and before I could think twice, I was knocking. It wasn’t until after I knocked that I wondered if they were the sort of people (like us) who preferred to have people they didn’t know particularly well ring in advance. It took Sheila’s smiling face to reassure me.

  I grinned. “I’m not disturbing you?”

  “Not at all,” she said, and stood aside to let me in.

  “Thanks. Wasn’t sure if I’d be interrupting your dinner.”

  “Not a bit of it. We eat early during the week.” She pushed open the sitting room door. “Albert? It’s Mr. Johnson.”