‘Well, that’s heaps,’ gushed Oliver, ‘enough of an investment on both your parts to give the thing another whirl, especially with the little one to consider. Though I’m well aware I need hardly remind you of that aspect of the situation, given the couple of weeks you must have had,’ he added hastily, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, from where they promptly slipped back down again. ‘All I’m trying to say is that from what I’ve seen of these matters, even the more serious marital misdemeanours usually turn out to be red herrings when it comes to reasons to separate for good. I can’t tell you the number of acquaintances who have expressed mid- life crises of one variety or another by rushing into the arms of unlikely people, only to find that it’s all been a big mistake.’ He broke off to postpone the attentions of a hovering waiter. ‘A few months on and there’s nothing they’d rather do than come crawling back to the marital nest.’
Matt made a conscious effort to relax, wondering all the while whether his boss’s evident failure to grasp the full dimensions of his situation could be attributed to his own cowardly explaining of its essentials or to some deep strand of emotional obtuseness on Oliver’s part. That he meant well was not in doubt. Ever since rescuing Matt from a meandering career with one of the less prestigious tabloids five years before, he had always adopted an overtly avuncular tone, behaving like some master with an apprentice to a craft. From anyone else Matt might have found such an attitude patronising, but with Oliver there was too much exuberance, too much genuine human warmth, to take offence. His writing style harnessed a similarly infectious energy, capable of teasing out a reader’s interest for even the most improbable productions.
‘I recommend the steak au poivre, which means I’ll be on the red stuff. What about you?’
Matt, who wasn’t particularly hungry, made a show of studying the menu before choosing the same for himself.
‘And I’ve decided I want you to do New York next month,’ Oliver declared, once their order had been taken. ‘I hog it to myself each year – and by God, it’s not as if you aren’t ready for Broadway. I’ll cover She Stoops at Chichester and the new David Hare back here. What do you say?’
Matt slowly wiped a crust of bread round the dribble of oil left in the saucer between them. His employer, he knew, was trying to be kind. Jetting across the Atlantic was a treat indeed, the jewel in the proverbial crown, a far cry from hacking down to the Sussex coast for the evening to see what was reputed to be a mediocre line-up tackle Goldsmith. ‘Oliver, that’s more than generous – I’d love to, you know I would. But the fact is – you must understand – there really seems no possibility of Kath coming back. I don’t even know where she is – she’s broken off all contact – started again with someone else.’ Oliver tried to interrupt but Matt persisted. ‘Which means my life is going to be a little more complicated. That is to say, I can’t just take off and leave Josh – nor would I want to, he’s been through enough as it is. So what I’ve decided – if you would be good enough to back me up – is to try and alter my contract so that I can work from home, still cover as much, but cut out all the subbing. That way I can be something of a father – at least, not go down the full-time nanny route, which I couldn’t afford anyway. I’m going to get a regular baby-sitter so I can still go out in the evenings. I know it’s not going to be easy. I could only manage today because Louise – she’s a friend of Kath’s – agreed to collect Josh from nursery school. You see, he’s still only on four half-days and one full – that’s on Friday – but in September he’ll be starting primary school – I don’t quite know where yet – but that will mean I’ll have six uninterrupted hours every day in which to work …’ Matt knew he was ranting, making the mistake he had vowed not to, of appearing frantic and close to the edge, sounding like a man unworthy of any employment at all, let alone a flexible deal as a freelance theatre critic. But once he had started he couldn’t stop, partly out of a desperate urge to set the picture as regards Kath straight, and partly because Oliver, uncharacteristically, was looking somewhat at a loss for words. ‘So New York, tempting though it is, almost certainly will not work,’ he ended lamely, ‘because it would be several nights away and therefore beyond my current organisational capabilities.’
‘And what the devil are grandparents for, may I ask?’ countered Oliver, thrusting out his lower jaw as he did when feeling particularly determined. ‘Surely they could man the fort while you went to the States for a few days. You’ve had a rough time, Matt. Dare I say, it would even do you good to get away for a bit.’
Matt smiled, touched by his persistence. ‘Kath’s parents are … difficult. And my dad is … well, he’s getting on a bit.’ He hesitated, weakening in spite of himself at the prospect of so appealing a respite. ‘Though I suppose I could sound him out on the matter.’
‘Do it,’ exclaimed Oliver, slamming the table with the palm of one hand, so hard that all the crockery rattled. ‘And, as to your contract, I’ll have a word with Phillip, explain the situation and see how the land lies. I’m sure we’ll be able to work out something that suits us all in the end.’ He paused to clear his throat, turning aside from his plate of half-eaten food and coughing into his fist. ‘The more pressing question is, are you going to be able to manage for the next week or so?’
‘Oh yes,’ Matt reassured him wildly, though he still had no clue as to how he was going to manage anything.
‘Excellent.’ Oliver picked up the wine bottle and topped up both their glasses with a flourish of celebration. ‘And Beth Durant, what’s going on there? Will the divine Andrea Beauchamp bare her soul, that’s the question.’ He chuckled, popping a final neat triangle of steak into his mouth and washing it down with a generous swig of wine. ‘Sadly, even if these creatures agree to talk they rarely say anything except to spout about their next projects. And for God’s sake make sure the tape recorder’s running.
Any misquote and she’s bound to sue – she’s just the type.’
‘I haven’t even got the interview yet. I’m meeting with Beth Durant to discuss it this Friday. Though, to be honest, I don’t hold out much hope. She’s been prevaricating for so long and the woman’s so bloody famous she hardly needs the publicity. The Aldwych is selling out every night.’
‘Ah, but the other thing about such creatures is they want publicity none the less,’ interjected Oliver, raising his finger like a schoolmaster. ‘They feed off it. It makes them feel alive and loved. It defines them.’
While the rest of us are left to define ourselves, Matt thought, but did not say because all in all the lunch had gone very well and he had no wish to cast doubt upon Oliver’s confidence in him by revealing any more of his gloomy state of mind than necessary. They parted a few minutes later, agreeing to meet in the office early on the following Monday for the weekly assessment and allocation of assignments.
‘Meantime you enjoy the rest of your break,’ commanded Oliver. ‘Never say die,’ he added, by way of a rallying parting shot, ‘particularly not on the question of the fairer sex.’
Although Matt had intended to rush straight round to Louise’s to collect Joshua, he changed his mind and went home first. The possibility of a trip across the Atlantic reminded him that he had still to inform Graham of the downturn in his personal life. Unhappiness brought the most terrible indolence, he had discovered, even over matters containing the possibility of a grain or two of comfort.
Dear Graham, he wrote, punching each key slowly with his index fingers, his mind groping for the right words, wondering whether to aim for a tone of bravado or be as bleak as he felt inside. Graham wasn’t a great one for bleakness. He was a getter-on-with-life, a man who, more than most males, preferred to keep his emotional depths uncharted, who responded to life’s knocks by punching back and moving on. When his own marriage collapsed, he had been the first to make humorous quips about the situation. Within weeks he had signed up with some headhunters and moved to an even better paid job. Leaving the marital home to his wife by
way of a settlement, he acquired the flat in Borough, a silver sports car and a string of new lady friends – all of which had confirmed Kath’s worst opinions, but not fooled Matt for a second. During the course of their regular evenings at the theatre, which started around the same time, he had had plenty of time to observe a real sense of personal failure, the flashes of self-doubt behind the merry façade.
* * *
Bad news from my neck of the woods, I’m afraid. There’s no easy way to say it. Kath has left me. Me and Josh to be exact. Done a runner with someone else. Don’t know who he is or where they’ve gone. So life is a bit sticky at the moment, as you might imagine. I’ve taken three weeks off to be a full-time father and am trying to renegotiate my contract so that I can work from home and be around for Josh. I know you never got on that well with Kath, but I also know that you’ll understand this has hit me pretty hard. Her parents are being the usual nightmare, but my Dad has been great …
Matt paused, frowning as he reread what he had written, resisting the urge to edit it as he would one of his articles.
On a more cheery note, Oliver Parkin seems determined to get me over to New York to cover a couple of Broadway openings in February. I need to sort out the logistics but obviously if it comes off it would be good to meet up. I could do with you being around, you bastard. Matt.
He pressed the send button and then waited for a few minutes before checking for a reply. Graham, who spent most of his working life in front of a computer screen, did not disappoint.
Really sorry to hear about you and Kath. Must be bloody hard managing on your own. Would be great to see you if you can wangle a trip this way. Only possible problem is skiing – I’ve signed up with a big group going to the Rockies. Off-piste and snowboarding, so should be fun. Let me know your dates and we’ll see if we can work something out.
Cheers – hang on in there —
Graham
Cheered immensely, Matt closed down his computer and set off to retrieve Joshua from Camberwell. He would do his very best to make the New York trip happen, he decided, slamming the steering wheel in frustration at the already clogged afternoon traffic. Electronic mail was all very well, but it was the actual physical presence of his friend that he longed for most, his infectious ability to be funny and energised in the face of misfortune.
Louise took some time to answer the door, looking, so Matt could not help observing, a little frayed. Behind her, all three children, dressed in an assortment of plastic helmets and breastplates, were charging up and down the stairs, wielding shields and swords and emitting bloodcurdling cries of enthusiastic hostility.
‘King Arthur,’ she said weakly. ‘I got the DVD and it’s been like this ever since.’
‘Thank you so much for having him.’
‘No problem. Would you like some tea?’ During the course of this last sentence her youngest careered into the back of her legs, almost knocking her over. ‘George, I’ve told you,’ she shouted, turning and trying to grab the child, who skidded away, back towards the stairs, sliding the last few yards on his socks. ‘Jesus, I —’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine, I’m fine,’ replied Louise tightly, pushing her normally tidy hair out of her eyes and brushing imaginary specks from her jumper. ‘My fault. I couldn’t face the park, and they’ve gone a bit stir-crazy. Gloria asked for the day off – she says it’s flu but I haven’t heard one sneeze. I’m sure she’s just moping for the boyfriend, a horrible creature with rings in his eyebrows – she’s well rid of him but of course can’t see it that way. God, these au pairs, worse than bloody teenagers. Anthony’s in Brussels; he was supposed to be coming home tonight but there was some problem with the plane —’ She broke off, and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. Burdening you with my woes when you’ve got quite enough of your own.’
‘Don’t be silly … and thank you so much – not just for today but for everything. Joshua and I had a wonderfully relaxing weekend with my father and I’ve started negotiating new terms for my work. Everything is beginning to sort itself out.’
‘Did you want that tea?’ She turned to lead the way into the kitchen.
‘No thanks, we’d better be getting back. You’ve done quite enough for one day. Though something to bribe my Arthurian knight out of his armour might be a big help – confectionery of some kind. Otherwise I can see I’m going to be chasing him round the furniture all afternoon.’ He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she burrowed in a cupboard and came out with a packet of Rolos.
‘These do the trick?’
‘Perfect. Thank you.’ He grinned and took the sweets, planting a kiss of gratitude on her cheek.
11
The following afternoon Matt, clutching Joshua’s hand rather more tightly than Joshua himself required, set off for their tea engagement in Laycock Road. Although the sky was grey, the air felt warmer than it had for a while, containing at least a hint of a spring breeze as opposed to the cutting winds that had prevailed through most of January. Matt walked slowly, much to the dismay of his son, who bounced impatiently on the end of his arm. He was having tea with three women for the sake of his son’s social life, Matt told himself, confused by the extent of his anxiety, unsure whether it was because he wanted to be grilled about his feelings or because he didn’t. He tried to focus on the Heather woman’s kindness the week before, the way he had wanted to open up to her, wondering if he would feel similarly inclined over a cup of tea as opposed to two bottles of French lager.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ she exclaimed at once, managing to communicate both genuine pleasure and a reassuring hint that she had some notion of his reservations. ‘There’s only three of us this week – Maria, whom you know, and Ambreen Seldon, whose little girl Jessica is in the same class as Joshua.’
Ten minutes later, slotted between Heather and Maria in the middle of a deep, comfortable sofa, Matt found himself responding to a few gentle prompts by pouring out the whole sorry story, for the first time fully articulating the horror of his abandonment, the slow, sickening realisation that Kath had found someone else and disappeared for good. The women listened patiently, crooning with a brand of sympathy he hadn’t come across before, one that felt remarkably close to admiration. Kath’s desertion had cast him in a heroic light, he realised for the first time, not necessarily as a husband but as a father to a half-orphaned four-year-old child. His battered ego warmed to the discovery like a plant starved of light. He even found himself embellishing certain bits, adding touches of drama and a few heart- rending details about Josh, which in a less guarded moment he might have seen fit to keep to himself.
‘How could she? That’s what I want to know,’ murmured Maria, hugging a toddler who had wandered in from the group entertaining themselves in the garden. ‘I mean, to leave one’s own child voluntarily, it’s… unthinkable.’
‘She must be mad,’ agreed Heather, shaking her trim fair hair in wonderment as she passed round a second plate of home-made biscuits, still warm from the oven. ‘And not to give you any warning of her state of mind.’
‘I really did think the two of us were all right,’ admitted Matt ruefully. ‘Like I said, my job kept me rather too busy on occasions, but I was there as much as I could and we seemed to be getting on fine – usual ups and downs.’
The assembled trio exchanged knowing nods, each performing rapid mental assessments of the compromises and disappointments of their own domestic situations.
‘When Derek was on nights we’d pass each other in the hall like strangers,’ confessed Ambreen, the quietest of the three, with smooth café au lait skin and a long curtain of jet-blue hair. A baby with tufts of similar silky black sprouting haphazardly from its scalp was asleep in a car seat next to her chair. ‘If it wasn’t for Sunday nights – his one night off a week – we wouldn’t have managed to produce Jessie at all.’ She waved through the window at one of the children charging round the garden with Joshua. All three women burst out laughing. Ma
tt, a shade less confident, joined in halfway through. ‘But things got better,’ Ambreen went on, warming to her theme. ‘He doesn’t work any night shifts now. Making Thomas here wasn’t nearly such a problem.’ They all laughed again, Matt with even less confidence, preoccupied suddenly by the fact that it was weeks since he had had sex and that unless his circumstances underwent a radical transformation many more months of enforced celibacy stretched ahead. It wasn’t a state of affairs he was used to. Sex had been in more or less regular supply for as long as he could remember. Before Kath there had been Janie, a journalist plodding the same provincial footpath as himself, but who had subsequently given it all up for a career in television. Rather successfully, as it turned out. He would stop and stare at her face on billboards sometimes, trying to merge the glossy pouting image with the rather insecure, flighty creature who had shared his bed. Before that there had been a messy few years of stop-start relationships, sometimes with prolonged gaps between each one, but fuelled by the natural momentum of an era when the emergence of new, eligible sexual prospects was taken as much for granted as the belief that wages and life in general were on single- track routes towards improvement.
Once sex had entered Matt’s head there was no getting rid of it. To make matters worse, Ambreen, in a flattering demonstration of the extent of his acceptance into their hallowed female circle, began unbuttoning her shirt in order to deliver a liquid snack to the baby at her feet. Trying not to look – trying to look as if he wasn’t trying not to look – Matt made much of sipping the last dregs of his cold tea, while his mind flipped back to the last occasion on which he and Kath had made love. A week before she left, or had it been more? He tensed from the effort of remembering, wishing he could recall every detail, wanting in retrospect to wring out some sense of the deception of which he had been so pitifully oblivious at the time. She had come once, hadn’t she? Or had she faked it? Had she always faked it?
A Family Man Page 8
