The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  Alex put her hands up, palms outward. “I wasn’t judging.”

  Matt picked up the TV remote and pressed some buttons. Alex looked at the black, whirring console on the floor, at the microphones on the table.

  “You said there’d be no karaoke, Matt.” She meant it as a joke, yet it sounded like a criticism.

  Matt put the TV remote down on the coffee table. He picked up his wineglass and drank the last gulp.

  He turned to Alex. “Scarlett wanted us to sing. And this is her weekend. What can I say?” He looked Alex straight in the eyes. “I lied to you. I’m a liar.”

  Alex reached out to touch Matt’s arm, but Matt pushed past her into the kitchen without stopping.

  Alex brought her hand back to her center. She wrapped it round her middle in a self-hug.

  Matt came back into the lounge with his wineglass refilled. “I’ve got the machine working again.” He crouched in front of Scarlett. “You’re up. What song do you want?”

  Scarlett glanced at Alex and back to Matt. She squidged herself round, twisting in the chair. “You first.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to start?”

  Scarlett shook her head firmly. She poked Matt in the side. “You and Mum do the song about how you met. With the man with the makeup. Show Alex.”

  Patrick looked up; he gave Alex another pointed look.

  Alex shook her head minutely in incomprehension.

  “She means the Human League.” Matt turned to Claire. “Come on, mate. Assume the position.” He picked up both microphones and held one out to Claire. He looked at Patrick. “Sorry, Pat. Must be getting a little tedious.”

  Patrick said nothing.

  Claire took the microphone and gave a stagey shake of her hair. She stood with Matt in the center of the lounge, waiting while Matt pressed some buttons on the console remote.

  Alex looked at Patrick. “Do you do karaoke?”

  Patrick blinked at her. “Sometimes.”

  Matt put the console remote down. “You’re up next, then, mate.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not in the right frame of mind.” Patrick’s voice was tightly polite.

  Alex decided Patrick must despise karaoke too.

  On the TV, the video started. The iconic synth chords of the Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” kicked in.

  Scarlett sank down to watch, cross-legged on the floor. “Sing your special first line. And do the dance, Daddy.”

  Matt winked at her. He twizzled the microphone in the air on its cable with mock professionalism.

  The words came on the screen in blue lettering and Matt began to sing.

  We were dancing to Stone Roses on “A Pound A Pint” night

  “Those aren’t the right words.” Alex gestured at the screen. “It’s about a waitress and a cocktail bar.”

  In the student u-nion

  Scarlett turned to Alex. “It’s their special first line.” Alex found the sharpness in Scarlett’s voice disquieting. “They met when they were dancing.”

  Alex scratched her cheek roughly. “But it doesn’t even scan.”

  Matt ignored Alex and kept singing. At least he sang the proper words of the song now, his voice clear and crisp. He was able to hit deeper notes than Alex expected.

  As Matt sang, Alex turned to look at Claire. She had her eyes shut and was moving her head from side to side, waiting for her turn. She banged her hand against her thigh coquettishly, like she was playing a tambourine.

  Matt locked his gaze with Claire’s as he sang. It was theater; it was ironic. Alex knew that, of course.

  Don’t.

  Matt got to the deepest part.

  Don’t you want me.

  Alex gripped her hands into fists.

  “Daddy’s a good singer,” Scarlett said, her head tipped to one side.

  “Yes,” Alex said quietly.

  Matt stretched his arms above his head as he sang. His T-shirt lifted up and Alex saw the faint line of hair down from his navel to the top of his belt. As they reached the chorus, Claire gave a cough; she put her mic to her lips. She narrowed her eyes in a parody of seriousness and strutted toward Matt.

  Don’t you want me

  Claire sang “baby” directly into Matt’s face, eyes screwed up. Matt sang right back at her. They must have been able to feel the warmth of each other’s breath on their faces.

  Don’t you want me

  Alex watched Claire and Matt over-egg the oh-oh-oh-ohs. This wasn’t a normal karaoke performance but a well-practiced routine. It was a chunk of history, playing out in front of her.

  Chorus finished, Matt spun in a circle on the spot; he untangled himself from his cable.

  Claire pointed her finger at Matt and waggled it in a flirty no gesture.

  We were dancing to Stone Roses on ‘A Pound A Pint’ night

  In the student u-nion

  “Still doesn’t scan,” Alex said.

  Claire smiled at Alex in acknowledgment and turned back to the screen. She wasn’t a good singer—she kept missing notes. But she performed with an ironic confidence.

  While she sang her verse, Matt pulled out all the moves next to her. He spun in a circle and pointed his finger. He stepped over the cable so he didn’t get tangled.

  Matt and Claire reached the next chorus and the two pushed their backs against each other, ABBA-style.

  Don’t you want me

  Alex took a step backward from the lounge. And another.

  Claire did a big spin. She shimmied forward with her chest and back again.

  Alex turned to look at Patrick. He was watching the singers too, his gaze unmoving. He smiled a fixed, deliberate smile.

  For a second, Alex felt euphorically, dizzily vindicated. She knew this weekend was weird.

  Matt and Claire leaned their faces in toward each other, raising the volume for the final chorus.

  The song finished. Scarlett clapped her hands with excitement. She raised her eyebrow at Alex in a smug challenge.

  Or did she?

  No, she didn’t. She couldn’t have.

  Alex picked up her mobile phone and placed it in her pocket. She turned toward her bedroom.

  She changed direction and headed for the kitchen. She selected the largest wineglass from the cupboard.

  In full view of the others, Alex chose a fresh bottle, uncorked it, and poured herself a glass of red wine. Without looking back, she picked up the glass and bottle and walked through the lounge toward the bedroom.

  The only sound in the lounge now was the whirr of the disc as it spun in the karaoke console.

  The last thing Alex heard, before she shut the door on the grotesqueness in the lounge, was Scarlett saying, “Now do the song from Grease.”

  Then: “…Why’s no one saying anything?”

  41

  Patrick watched as Matt and Claire stared at each other, mics slack in their hands.

  “Matt?” Claire said the name like it was layered with questions.

  Matt stayed looking at the screen and pressing his remote, watching song after song flick past. “She’s an adult. She can do what she wants.”

  “Are you not going to go after her?” Claire asked. “Don’t be”—she glanced at Scarlett and lowered her voice—“an arsehole.”

  Matt shrugged. “It’s just booze. It’s not going to kill her.” He turned to Scarlett and leaned down. “Have we got time for one more song before we go and see Santa?”

  After a few beats, he picked up the remote. He flicked through the songs on the karaoke console.

  Patrick watched as Matt murdered an Elvis song, missing high notes all over the place. Matt wasn’t a terrible singer, but Patrick had never understood why karaoke was so popular with people who weren’t gre
at at singing. He felt embarrassed for Claire every time her voice got to a screechy part—his stomach actually tensed on her behalf.

  Patrick watched Matt sing and knew he should be angry with him. Matt was trying to seduce his girlfriend and Patrick was right here. But it was such a pathetic attempt. No decent woman would be won round by singing.

  It was hideous, of course, how today was going. Excruciating. But it was worse for Alex than him. Humiliating.

  It was obvious. Matt wanted Claire. How could he not? But Patrick, for once, couldn’t even get angry with Matt. He was with this man’s ex-wife; he couldn’t be surprised that Matt was still trying to get her back. While Matt and Claire had already split up when Patrick came along, which meant Patrick and Matt had never been in direct competition, indirectly it was a different story. Indirectly, Patrick had won this competition as surely as if he’d killed Matt in a duel with long-snouted pistols.

  Patrick was a fair man. And Patrick could live with it, as long as Claire didn’t respond. As long as Claire didn’t want Matt back.

  And Claire didn’t. She definitely didn’t.

  When Matt finished his song, Scarlett tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s go to Santa now.”

  Patrick studied Scarlett’s face, all light with excitement.

  Patrick remembered that look. He’d seen it when he took his own daughter to Santa’s grotto in the out-of-town shopping center six years ago. It had been worth all the traffic, and the row with that man about the parking space, and the fact he had to pay that arse-scratching elf fifteen quid, when he saw Amber’s face as she sat on the knee of that Santa.

  Patrick sat down, suddenly winded. “You go without me to Santa.” He tried to steady his voice. “I’ll stay here and check on Alex.”

  Scarlett smiled at him. “OK. Just Mum, Dad, and me.” She skipped to the door.

  “Come with us, Pat.” Matt’s voice was sharper than usual. “She can do what she wants.”

  “No.” Claire’s voice was firm. “We’ll go tomorrow morning, all together. I’m not leaving Alex here feeling rubbish. I’ll rebook the session. Let’s just have a few more songs then some tea, and she can join us when she’s feeling better.”

  Patrick got out his phone. He found the video of Amber and the shoddy Santa.

  He muted his phone and pressed play.

  He watched.

  The too-short trousers. The cigarette-stripped, raspy “Ho Ho Ho”s. The look of awe on Amber’s face, just how he remembered it.

  Patrick touched his hand to his stomach. Exactly how he’d remembered it.

  The awe. The magic. The glance at Patrick. Their perfect shared second when, though Amber was still on Santa’s lap, it was just the two of them in the world.

  Patrick shut the phone off and threw it down beside him onto the sofa.

  42

  Alex looked at Matt’s phone on the side table in the bedroom. She knew his passcode. But…no. Alex would not be that person.

  Alex looked at the bottle on her bedside table, at the inch of wine left in it. She looked away.

  She definitely wasn’t going to drink that last inch tonight.

  * * *

  —

  Alex re-entered the main room when she knew the karaoke had finished. Claire was placing plates of salad and sliced meats onto the dining room table. She gave Alex a quick smile and returned her gaze to her task, giving it an unnecessary level of concentration.

  Matt, Patrick, and Scarlett sat cross-legged on the floor of the lounge. Matt and Patrick held fans of cards in front of them, while Scarlett had laid her playing cards on the floor. She picked the cards up to look at them, one at a time.

  Matt raised his head from his cards. He gave Alex a long glance. Alex stared right back at him.

  “Can you grab the waters for the table, Al?” Claire’s voice was nonchalant.

  Alex didn’t look at Claire. “No problem.”

  Patrick turned to Scarlett. “Have you got Mr. Bun the Baker’s son?”

  Alex filled five glasses with water and carried the first two through to the dining area. She passed Claire at the table and felt something—a gentle squeeze of her elbow.

  “We canceled Santa. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  “Right.”

  “We’ve rebooked for tomorrow morning.”

  Alex didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” Claire whispered. “It was just meant to be fun.” She held Alex’s arm. “Me and Matt can be idiots sometimes. We just both get quite into karaoke.”

  “I overreacted.” Alex moved forward so Claire’s hand dropped away from her arm. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s just something we used to do. We didn’t mean to act like dicks.”

  Alex wished Claire wasn’t whispering so loudly. Matt stared at Claire with a disappointed expression, like Claire had nothing to apologize for.

  Matt blinked and turned back to Patrick. “Fishmonger’s wife.”

  Patrick handed him the card.

  Claire brightened her voice. “Food’s up.”

  Alex put her hand on a dining chair to pull it out. She paused.

  When she’d first left the bedroom, she’d had no intention of staying for food: she’d been planning just to show she was OK, then make her excuses and retreat to the bedroom. But her hunger was immediate, her stomach bleating. And Matt was wafting coldness in her direction.

  She needed to change the expression on Matt’s face. To any other expression, except that one that was there now.

  Alex found herself pulling out the chair and taking a seat at the dinner table.

  Matt arranged three long-stemmed glasses on the table and filled them with wine. He placed one in front of Claire and another in front of Patrick; he took a sip from the third.

  “Matt?”

  Matt turned to look at Alex with deliberate slowness.

  “There’s four adults here.” Alex gave a polite smile. “We need four wineglasses. Not three.”

  Matt paused. He went back into the kitchen and opened the cupboard.

  “But where are my manners? Unless we need five, of course.” Alex turned to Scarlett. “Does Posey need a wineglass? I don’t know how old he is.”

  Scarlett gave her head a tiny shake.

  Matt banged a glass onto the table in front of Alex. He filled the glass slowly with wine, looking Alex in the eyes the whole time.

  Alex smiled. “Thank you.” She swigged the wine and placed the glass back down, careful not to spill it. She looked at Scarlett. “So no wine for Posey. But he’ll need carrots.”

  She leaped up from her chair and got a carrot from the fridge. She put the carrot on the plate and placed it in front of the empty sixth chair, next to Scarlett.

  “Does he need it peeled?” Alex asked.

  Scarlett gave another small shake of the head.

  Alex slapped her hand against her head. “I know what we’ve not had. Christmas cake.” She jumped up again and fetched the cake tin and breadboard from the kitchen. She unwrapped the Christmas cake she’d made, and placed it on the breadboard with a knife.

  The cake looked jaded after the journey in the car. The Christmas tree decoration on the middle of the cake leaned at a thirty-degree angle to the snow.

  Alex didn’t straighten the tree. She cut firmly into the icing. “Who’s for cake?”

  “We’re eating our main course, Alex.” Matt edged his voice with formality.

  Alex put the knife down. “Of course, darling.”

  There was silence again.

  “We’re all so quiet!” Alex leaned over the table and plucked a slice of ham from the plate in the center. She folded the slice and shoved it, whole, into her mouth. She looked round the table, from one person to the next. “But we’re having a lovely family teatime. All here
together, our happy blended family. So what shall we talk about?”

  Claire and Matt both reached for food. Patrick looked at Alex with an expression she couldn’t read, but which pissed her off anyway.

  “Anyone else hear pipes in the night?” Alex peeled another slice of ham off the stack. “Just a kind of rhythmic pounding as the heating goes off around bedtime.” She shoved the ham in her mouth, staring at Patrick the whole time. “Maybe you guys can’t hear it. Maybe it’s just because the noise is above us and noise travels down. Did you hear the noise? Patrick?”

  Patrick shook his head.

  “Strange.” Alex took a gulp of wine and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I wonder what it was: one of life’s little mysteries.” She looked from Patrick to Claire and back. “I wonder if I’ll hear that noise tonight. I’ll be listening.”

  43

  At the dinner table, Posey turned to Scarlett. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Scarlett whispered.

  “I didn’t even want a carrot. Why does Alex keep talking to me? And pretending I’ve talked back?”

  “I think she must be tired.” That’s what Mum always said when Auntie Katie got like this, that “Katie was tired.” “Tired” meant drunk—Scarlett couldn’t believe anyone was fooled by that—but apparently it was politer not to say so.

  “I’m not eating that carrot.” Posey pointed at the plate Alex had brought. “The scientist might have poisoned it. And what does she mean about the noise from the pipes in the night?”

  “Shush, Posey.” Scarlett flapped a hand at him. “I’m trying to listen.”

  “I asked you what you thought of the pipes, Patrick,” Alex said. “Surely you have an opinion on those?”

  Patrick looked down at the roll he’d buttered. He cleared his throat. “I’ve found much of the infrastructure of the lodge substandard.”

  Alex laughed. “I love the way you talk, Pat.” She shoved another whole piece of ham into her mouth.