by Erastes
He grinned. “My parents still think I’m twelve.”
“They always will. Even when you are married.”
His eyes clouded a little, and he took a large drink. I longed to stay with him, to settle down in one of the kitchen chairs and talk, but it was impossible. “I have to go, there’s to be another round of games before midnight.” His lips were wet from the beer and the smallest trace of foam clung to his upper lip. “But I didn’t even ask you how your Christmas went.”
“The snow was great.”
“I thought you’d have problems getting back. In fact, I thought you might have been held up because of that.”
“No such luck. We couldn’t get away until late because…well, it’s not an interesting story. I think my parents were a little surprised how eager I was to get home, what with school around the corner.”
I had a chill then; in a few short months, he would be moving away for what might as well be a lifetime. “And you came home loaded with socks?”
In reply, he looked down and raised his trouser leg a little. A garish pair of tartan socks in yellow and purple shone out from above his sensible black lace-up shoes. “Mostly. Got some good stuff for the layout too.”
“What like?” I asked, but Valerie leant in through the hatch at that point.
“Darling, could you bring the tray out from the bottom shelf of the fridge?” I swear his face clouded over when she said “Darling,” but I may have imagined it. I may be looking back at something that I just wish had happened.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll go and join in the games, if…”
I told him yes, of course, and went to resume my hostly duties.
Phil followed me out of the kitchen, surprisingly sober, and I remarked upon it.
“You too,” he said.
“I generally am on New Year.”
He raised his eyebrows at me at that, which I deserved. “Are we getting old or something?”
I turned on the record player for musical chairs, and he slumped on the settee next to me as I manipulated the music so that Alex won. It wasn’t easy; he had to fight Fred for the last chair. I felt a slight guilt at my deceit until Phil growled at me, “You’d better not let that bastard win.” So that sealed Fred’s fate, and Alex got the prize, which was a small bottle of Cointreau. I looked around but Sheila and Alf were not in the lounge, so I said, “Don’t tell your parents,” and everyone laughed.
Valerie had turned on the radio. As usual the music consisted of bagpipes and more bagpipes, but thankfully they stopped fairly swiftly while the announcer gave the airwaves over to Big Ben. When the first bell tolled after the carillon, we all cheered and sang like mad things. Valerie kissed me and called everyone into the lounge where we all linked hands and sang “Auld Lang Syne” in terrible Scottish accents. With Valerie on my right and Alex on my left, I remember being stupidly happy, sure that 1963 was going to be a year I would enjoy and make the most of—at least until Alex went to university.
The song finished and Valerie slid into my arms. “Happy New Year, darling,” she said and kissed me. I opened my eyes during the kiss and saw Alex, his face pale in the festive light, sitting huddled and miserable on the chair in the corner.
I knew then that I’d been stupid, so utterly stupid. Someone—no matter what happened—was going to be hurt, and I had been stupid enough not to see it until that moment. I also realised for the first time that there was nothing I could do— and that there was no escaping it.
Chapter 16
I wonder what people would think of that last statement. More self-delusion? Perhaps. I can almost hear people thinking—was he really that short-sighted? I don’t know. Between now and then, the time that has passed has blurred the charcoal of many details and of many faces with an unforgiving brush. So much has been lost. I’m finding that it’s hard to be as truthful as I wanted to be here, for perhaps what I think I felt back then, I did not.
Maybe I’m painting myself better than I was. Or worse. But hand on heart, here and now, that party was really the first time I had the cold feeling of a path diverging before me. One step more had to be taken, just one small step, onto one path or another.
The snow continued all through New Year’s Day, dropping soft, thick and bright from skies that were full of nothing but grey. None of us had any idea, when we rushed as a nation into the garden to make our first snowmen of the year, that it would be months before the world stopped being white.
But that day, like all the Alex days, was memorable, not because it was the start of the Big Freeze, but simply because he was in it, helping the twins with their snowman; fighting on my side against them until we were all soaked to the skin; lying warm and pink on the floor in front of the fire, his hair damp against his cheek; and sipping the hot chocolate that Valerie had made him.
I had no chance that day to show him that I’d known the night before that I’d hurt him. But he showed no sign of it. Neither of us showed any sign of anything. He was just my children’s friend that day.
When all was quiet that night and Val and I sat together on the settee watching some unmemorable film, she said something about him, and I remember changing the subject. I found it hard to discuss him with her, even then, just as later I found it hard to discuss her with him.
It snowed through the night and continued as I got ready for work, but even as I struggled down to the Junction with my suit in a case, I had a fair idea that there was little chance of me getting to London. With every step I took, the snow was knee-deep.
The scene at the station told me all I needed to know; the track itself was covered, and, although there were men, digging in Herculean optimism, at both ends of the platform, it was clear that nothing was coming from the terminus. I stamped around for a while on the empty platform, then took advantage of the solitude to investigate the tunnel where the door to the flats was situated. It was locked, of course, so I went home.
I didn’t get to work for more than a few days, but my job was—to some degree—manageable by phone, and I also had some holiday due to me, which I took at the end of January. I was lucky that my secretary lived in London and was able to get in to the City with few problems. I went down to the station every day, but nothing was moving. For weeks, the news told us that trains all around the country had been disrupted, buried under snow as deep as twenty feet in some places. The schools opened late, too. And the children complained that all their classes were held in the hall where heating could be turned up full, rather than to heat separate classrooms. There were stories on the news every night of rural families who were cut off, and the army had to be mobilised to fly provisions out to them.
The roads were clearing quicker than the railway, and, from reports back from others who had risked the journey, were slightly more reliable, but Val wouldn’t hear of my risking myself on the roads, which was touching. Alex took it upon himself to make sure the twins got to school all right. They’d set off, all three of them, bundled up to the ears with scarves and hats, with Alex holding tight to each of them. After the first two days, when it became clear that the weather was not going to change, Alex had the brainwave of taking his sledge and pulling them behind him. Hard work for him, but he said it kept him warm.
The benefit of this arrangement was that, throughout that first week (and most evenings, during the Freeze), he came to the house every day. Valerie had insisted to his parents that, as he was minding the children in the morning, he should have his tea with us. He left school later than the children and at first objected, but she was difficult to argue with. No, she would say, she wouldn’t hear of him leaving until he was dry with at the very least a hot drink inside him. I realised, as I heard her fuss over him, that she had become very fond of him.
Consequently, he had his tea with the children more often than not, and I found excuses, sneaking into my own kitchen like a burglar, to pop in and talk about trains, or nothing much. All too brief, and all too monopolised by the child
ren—but now and then, when they’d said their excuses and thundered upstairs, I had just enough time to slide my arm around his waist or to kiss his hand. He was always more wary than I, never losing himself in the moment like I did—and I suppose it was just as well.
The next week, some post began to filter through and I drove into town several times to check the post office box. I remember now the thrill I got seeing the lease as I pulled it from the envelope. I signed it on the spot, getting the custodian to witness for me, then practically ran (or rather slid) down to the post office and sent it back. It seemed forever until anything returned, and I couldn’t tell you how long it seemed, for each day was the same: cold, wet and white.
But finally the keys arrived; they fell out into my hand, icy brass with a large luggage label attached with “Number 8” scrawled in a clumsy hand. Just two little keys, but they seemed like treasure as they weighed in my hand like guilt. I pressed them into my hand, watching the white shapes they made in my half-frozen palm; I dug them into my flesh to make them real. It seemed to dilute them when I had them copied for Alex, as if my secret was spreading a slick of lies across the world.
From this time on, there was rarely a moment without guilt. I’m not going to write about it endlessly, but it was there, polluting everything I touched, everything I said, everything I did. I lived with a woman I loved, but I longed for a youth I adored. It had all seemed simple to me at the beginning. I would take a lover and keep him separate; but, as the claustrophobia of that winter’s freeze drove us all closer together in our Blitz-spirit of rationing, power cuts and isolation, and as I saw how Alex was loved by others than myself, the whole “keep it separate” idea weakened and cracked like thin ice over dark water.
I kept the keys in my trousers pocket, and all day I would reach in and touch them, wrap my fingers around them and hurt myself with their solidity. I removed the label in case Valerie wondered about them, but I hesitated to put them onto my key ring. Making excuses for their existence, I worried where I should keep them.
The doorbell rang and I could hear the children stamping the snow from their boots. As Mrs. Tudor pulled off wet coats and hats, I wandered into the hall.
“Still lazy-ing around, Daddy?” Mary said. It had become a joke with her. If I wasn’t at work, I was obviously doing nothing.
“It’s called working from home,” I managed with some dignity.
“Daddy’s got homework!” she shrieked and pulled John with her. “Come up, Alec!”
“In a moment,” I said, “I want to speak to Alec before you two take him away. Your mother is having a lie down, so if you are going to play, I’d rather you did it down here in the conservatory.”
“But we want to go in the garden!”
“Not tonight. You’ve just got dry. You’ve all day tomorrow.”
They vanished into the back of the house and Mrs. Tudor swept into the kitchen. I opened the study door and led Alex through, locking the door behind me, which was as dangerous a move as leaving it open. I remember his ears and his hands were cold, and I took his hands and put them against my skin before I kissed him. The study windows only looked onto the garden and there was very little chance of anyone except the children braving it out there.
He was tense for a second, then melted against me, a small noise like submission or the last breath of life escaping from him. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, but I didn’t know how to say, “I’m sorry I kissed my wife in front of you.” How does a man say that to anyone and sound sincere? Sound human? Instead I crushed him tightly, making our kiss a million miles from anything he’d seen on New Year’s Eve until we were both breathless and far too aroused to be able to leave the study right away.
“I promised you this,” I said, digging my hand into my pocket and pulling the keys out. “Open your hand.”
He obeyed me, that subtle smile that was far too old for him flickering over his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away, for I hated to think he smiled like that at anyone else.
I paid the copies of both keys out like coins, one by one into his hand. We had the means and the motive now.
“When?” His voice was carefully quiet, as if Valerie was leaning against the door.
I was such a pathetic lover. I had nothing planned, nothing but the blind elation of placing the treasure in the hand of the prince. Here, I would have said. Here are your golden hairs, now give me the kingdom.
“I don’t know. I can get away easier than you. It’s number eight.”
He was silent, looking down at the keys. “Infinity,” he said suddenly. It took me a moment to catch up. “And lucky.”
“Yes.” I hoped so. Did he see the future the way I did? I’ll never know.
“I’ll need to make some plans,” he said. “Someone at school can cover for me.”
I went cold. “You can’t…”
“Don’t worry,” like he knew my mind. “I won’t. It’s nothing more than I’ve done for them. We don’t tell each other the truth.” He grinned again. “It’s only an alibi, Edward.”
I opened the door and we sat chatting about the weather for a while, sounding false to my ears. Then he stood. “Thank you, sir. That was interesting—I might take you up on that.”
“What?” said John, appearing from nowhere with a scowl on his face.
“Your father has invited me to go into his office when the weather improves.” I had to force myself not to do a double take at the sheer elegance and slickness of the lie.
“He took me once. It was very dull.” My son was destined to be an Amazonian explorer or a burglar. I don’t think he’d decided which. “He was on the telephone almost the entire time.” He was silent for a moment. “But you’ll get a super tea. The cafeteria there is amazing.”
“Really?” Alex joined John and stepped from dark into light. “What do they have?” I heard John begin a litany of cakes and sandwiches as their voices faded away, leaving me a vision of Alex, his top lip dusted with sugar.
Chapter 17
I still felt like I must have the words of my betrayal smudged across my face in imperfect permanent ink, but no one seemed to see them as I continued to scheme. I spoke to Phil and obtained my own alibi from him; I told Val I was going to be working late on Thursday night, and Phil that he and I were going to drive to another club in the next county on Saturday. “With the weather the way it is,” I said airily to Val, “I can’t guarantee what time we’ll get back.”
“You won’t be out all night?”
“I can’t say.” I knew that it was almost impossible that Alex would be able to find some excuse to stay out that long, but this gave me—us—two plans, two opportunities. And as they were both false, both were capable of being changed if Alex had problems. I had faith in him, though; my clever boy would think of something, and it would be more convincing than mine, I was sure of it.
“I just wish you’d given me more notice, darling, it’s very bad of you. I could have come with you, but I’ll never get a sitter this late, not with this weather.”
Icy fingers rippled down my spine, and I fumbled, no lies ready at my lips.
She pounced on my guilt and shook it like a terrier would a rat. “What? You don’t want me to come? What is this, Ed? Some nefarious boy’s night out?” She was playful, but her eyes were over-inquisitive. “Perhaps I should…”
I decided to push it. I slid an arm around her. “If you really want to know, then…yes. Yes, it is.”
“Is what?” She stiffened in my arms.
“A nefarious boy’s night out. I could never lie to you.”
“Ed Johnson!”
I laughed, and I felt the world tilt. “Don’t be silly, Val. Not for me. For Phil. You understand that, don’t you? He’s feeling a little lonely, you know. We thought we’d go to the West End…”
“Oh.” She looked blank for a moment, and almost a little dented. “Oh!”
“Val.” There was something powerful and terrible saying the words for me. N
othing could stop me; nothing would stop what I had planned. It was if I had already slid into Alex’s bed. I had crossed the line. “It’s not for me. You know what Phil’s like if he gets too drunk.”
“But the West End, I mean, really. Why can’t you go out somewhere here? The stories the papers come out with…”
“I’ve been to these clubs before, you know that. And Phil won’t want to, you know, so close to home.”
“Yes. Yes. But you went there to entertain clients, but not for yourself.”
I had to wonder at her belief in me, her faith and trust. I suppose she was right, in her way. I’d had the opportunities, and girls who didn’t seem to find me unattractive—I’d skirted on the very edge of Kray renown, rubbed shoulders with good time girls laid on for my clients, but I’d never been tempted.
But I was not ashamed, not even then. I pretended to give in, all pretence and brittleness. “All right. I’ll cancel it. Phil will understand. We’ll just go to the pub.” I sighed and shook her loose, stood up and walked into the hall.
She called me back, as I knew she would. “I’m being silly, I know. I’m sorry. But London clubs. Gangsters and starlets, from what you read.”
“Look. I’ll make you a deal. I promise you faithfully that if either a gangster or a starlet makes an approach I’ll warn them off.” I sat down again and peace was restored. “What about Phil? Can he have one?”
She couldn’t help but smile. And, new-made man that I was, I pressed the advantage. “You don’t mind, then? I thought it was better to tell you the truth.”
“I’m glad you did.” She sounded quieter than normal, and in fact the whole exchange had been less fraught than I’d thought it would be. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She kissed me and disappeared, leaving me with the television and thoughts too jumbled to cope with.
Phil was easy regarding the new story. “No problem, old boy. I’ll remember, and I’ll just not answer the phone if anyone rings. Just have a good time, and when Val finds out—and she will, you know that—just make sure that my name stays out of the mud. She’ll need a shoulder to cry on, I’m sure.”