A Family Man

by Amanda Brookfield

  Beth squeezed his hand, whispering, ‘Hope you’re not offended by the presence of soft drugs.’ Her lips came so close to his face that he could smell the faint bitterness of tobacco on her breath. ‘Now, what are you going to drink?’

  Matt asked for a gin and tonic. ‘You stay right there while I get it.’

  Awkward at being the only one standing, he squatted self-consciously in a space by the door.

  ‘A smoke?’ A black girl with braided hair and popping soulful eyes, curled into the armchair nearest him, held out the reefer. Matt, who hadn’t dabbled in such recreational pursuits since his student days, and then only rarely, took a cautious puff, swallowing hard to bury the burning sensation in his throat and nodding in appreciation for fear that a cough might overwhelm any attempt to be more articulate.

  ‘So, how are you doing?’ enquired Beth cosily, reappearing with a fat tumbler a few minutes later and dropping gracefully to a cross-legged position at his side. ‘Food?’ She held out a plate heaped with tiny sandwiches and savoury pastries, taking several herself. The strappy sandals had been abandoned, Matt noticed, leaving faint dents across the arch of her feet where the straps had cut into the skin. In her cross-legged position the skirt was so short he could see the shadow of her knickers between the V of her thighs. Meaty thighs, he couldn’t help thinking, seeing the swell of untoned muscle above her knees. Her lower legs were more shapely, smooth and clean shaven, apart from three small golden hairs sprouting from each big toe.

  From somewhere a fresh joint appeared and other conversations restarted, rising and falling against the background thump of a disc someone had fed into the CD player. Matt, his head swimming, embarked on a brief update of his circumstances, concluding with a reference to his now imminent trip to New York.

  She slapped his arm. ‘Oh, I wish I’d known – I might have been able to fix things so I could tag along. I’ve spent ten years of my life on the East Coast. There’s so much I could have shown you – places to visit and where to eat and —’

  ‘I’ll be staying with my oldest friend,’ Matt explained, wondering in what capacity she would have envisaged accompanying him. ‘He’s been there a few months now and will look after me very well. Though …’ He hesitated. ‘The truth is, I’m not looking forward to it as much as I’d like to because it’ll be my first trip away from my son. That is, my first since …’

  ‘Oh, poor honey, of course – but that’s so understandable.’ She reached out and stroked the back of his neck with her fingernails, which were long and painted the same crimson as the toes. ‘But just you wait, when you get there you’ll have a ball. You’ll wonder what you were worrying about. Your little boy will be fine.’

  ‘Yes.’ Matt smiled at her. He could feel himself relaxing, the tension literally seeping from his body, leaving him not only light-headed but light- limbed, as if he might float off the floor towards the ceiling roses and dado rails ranged overhead. When a cluster of guests took their leave, he slid into one of the vacant seats, sinking back into the soft leather and sipping happily at his drink, refreshed so many times he had lost count.

  ‘It might be fun go away together somewhere, don’t you think?’ Beth, now lying on the carpet at his feet, lifted one foot and placed it on his knee. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Hmm.’ He studied the five dainty toes, curved in perfect gradation of size, quite unlike the Neanderthal clumsiness of his own feet. He dreamily contemplated the possibility of touching her skin, of tracing the tip of one finger from the largest red smudge to the smallest.

  ‘A long weekend somewhere. Italy maybe.’

  ‘Italy?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Rome or Florence. St Peter’s, the Ponte Vecchio, see Michelangelo’s David in all his glory.’ She giggled, sliding her foot between Matt’s thighs, pointing her toes towards his groin.

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ he said hoarsely, struggling to a more upright position, not averse to the movements of the foot so much as the fact that it was proceeding uninvited, not allowing him time to straighten the thoughts inside his head. Looking round the room he noticed suddenly that they were quite alone. ‘Christ, what’s the time?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ She blinked slowly, holding his gaze.

  ‘My baby-sitter,’ he gasped, trying to stand, only to find that his knees had been injected with jelly.

  She laughed softly. ‘Oh, Matt, you’ll have to do better than that. Your father lives with you, remember? You don’t need a sitter.’

  ‘But he was going out – I had a sitter – I must call.’

  She eased her leg from under him and stood up in one easy movement. ‘Call, then.’ She plucked a mobile phone from a bag hanging on the door handle and dropped it into his lap. ‘Tell him not to wait up. Unless of course you don’t want to stay.’ Though there was a tremor of uncertainty in the delivery of these words, it was clear to Matt, from the slight flare in her nostrils and the unblinking gaze of her eyes, that she had every confidence in his desires. As if to remove any final trace of doubt in the matter, she peeled off her top, slinging it carelessly over one shoulder and revealing what Matt had already guessed to be an impressive pair of breasts, centred by small pointy nipples. He could feel the colour rush to his face as a confusion of arousal and terror swept over him.

  ‘I have to go to the bathroom.’ She pointed a finger at him. ‘You make that call.’ She turned and walked slowly from the room, exaggerating the swing in her hips. ‘Just two minutes and I’ll be back.’

  Matt’s hands slid on the telephone. Whether from shock, alcohol or drugs, his fingers were trembling so badly that he could hardly press the numbers. Somewhere deep inside he could feel the tightening of a knot of guilt. Something connected to his married self, to Joshua. Which was absurd, bloody ridiculous in fact, he scolded himself, punching in the numbers. Beth Durant was fun and affectionate. He was single. It was weeks and weeks since he had had sex.

  ‘Hello, the Webster household.’ ‘Josie?’

  ‘No, this is Sophie Contini speaking.’

  ‘What are you … I mean, is everything okay?’

  ‘Fine, thank you. I came by to pick up Josie. Your father kindly invited me in for coffee. We’re just leaving. Good party?’ she added, her tone somehow managing to contribute to Matt’s sense that he was committing some kind of crime by enjoying himself.

  ‘Yes, rather to my surprise …’

  ‘And, let me guess, you’re going to be late and Dennis is not to wait up?’

  * * *

  ‘I’d like to talk to him myself, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll just get him.’

  ‘Hi, Dad, how was your evening?’

  ‘Grand, thank you. I’d forgotten how well we got on. Delightful wife too. They’re going to come and stay when I get back home. And then I’ve had the pleasure of these two —’ He broke off to say something that prompted a volley of merriment from his companions. ‘Can’t remember when I last had so much fun packed into one night.’

  Matt seized his opportunity. ‘That’s great. Dad … look, I’m having something of a good time too, as it turns out. In fact I’m phoning to say that I might be a while yet, if that’s okay. I’ll let myself in quietly.’

  ‘A good time, eh?’

  Hearing the amusement in his father’s voice, picturing the eyebrows raised for the benefit of his female audience, Matt was tempted either to get angry or to change his mind. He was prevented from doing so by the re- entrance of Beth, who had traded her few remaining items of clothing for a kimono of yellow silk, tied loosely at the waist, so as to reveal the full glorious valley of her cleavage. ‘Look, Dad, I’ve got to go …’

  ‘When a man’s got to go a man’s —’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Placing herself astride his lap, Beth eased the telephone from his hands and threw it across the room. Matt watched the arc of its flight as if in slow motion, spellbound by the sensation that the se
quence of events was out of his hands, that it always had been, from the moment she had flipped the party invitation on to his desk. The phone landed with a clatter on the yard of parquet floor between the edge of the carpet and the skirting board. But by that time Matt had stopped watching, diverted both by a sense of his own good fortune and the thrilling but unnerving sight of hands he did not know reaching for the buckle on his trouser belt.

  19

  Looking out of the rain-flecked window as the airplane heaved itself off the runway, Matt felt as if he were pulling away not only from the toy-town layout of southern England, but from the intricate mishmash of his own life. Regarded from so great a height, all the elements of his new existence seemed suddenly precarious and unsustainable. He felt a longing to return to the past, not so much to Kath as to the solid boundaries offered by marriage and the responsibilities of joint parenthood, the easy categorisability of Right and Wrong. He was no longer sure about anything. His work, his emotions, his future, his credentials as a father, as a man – everything was now steeped in doubt. Even when he was making love to Beth Durant the previous weekend, a core part of him had remained detached and critical, blighted by uncertainty and misgivings. Shortly after the phone call with Dennis, she had led him upstairs to bed; a water bed, as it turned out, which had rolled and bubbled beneath them, adding to Matt’s sense of being tossed on currents beyond his control.

  Afterwards, she was the first to speak. ‘Matthew Webster, that was … like … great. It’s not often a guy can hold back like that.’ She lit a cigarette and tucked the sheet up round her chin, as if preparing to embark on a large messy meal.

  ‘Er … good,’ Matt murmured, tensing at the note of congratulation in her tone, but relieved that his efforts had met with approval.

  ‘Was it great for you?’ ‘For me too.’

  ‘You didn’t … you weren’t … thinking about your wife or anything?’

  ‘God, no. Not at all. You’re so different … and anyway, I don’t miss Kath like that – I mean, I wouldn’t want to now with her even if …’

  She put her hand over his mouth to silence him. ‘You don’t have to explain anything. Let’s keep things as they are.’

  ‘And how is that, exactly?’ he had asked, some of his uncertainty spilling out of him.

  ‘Simple,’ she said sweetly. ‘All fun and no pressure.’ She kissed the tip of his nose. ‘I’m really busy this coming week, and then you’re in the States, so let’s get in touch after that, carry on where we left off … if you want to, that is.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ he had murmured, hugging her with fresh affection, pleased to accept any respite from his own confusions.

  The captain’s voice broke through his reverie with the information that they were flying at an unimaginable number of feet above the ground and, thanks to a strong tail wind, would make the East Coast in just under seven hours. Heavy cross-winds might cause a spot of turbulence en route, but the crew would do everything in their power to ensure that the passengers had a restful and pleasant journey. Matt squirmed in his seat, pushing his feet into the slot of space next to his hand luggage and wondering how being so tightly confined for so long could ever be deemed either restful or pleasant. They had now risen well above the cloud line.

  Through the porthole next to him there was nothing but an endless canopy of blue, so bright that his eyes ached when he stared at it. Although the in- flight entertainment programme had sounded promising, it transpired that his particular row of seats was almost parallel with the video screen.

  Making out even one third of the picture could only be managed at the cost of a stiff neck. The screen accommodating the next batch of rows was yards away, a moving postcard of a thing on which Matt found it impossible to concentrate. In no mood to focus on a book either, he tipped his seat back and closed his eyes, managing – despite noise, light and the inconvenience of not being horizontal – to fall into a fitful sleep.

  To his surprise and delight, Graham was standing at the barrier waiting to meet him. At the sight of his old friend, something gagged in Matt’s throat. He threw his arms round him with such gusto that Graham, laughing, staggered backwards, making as if to fight him off.

  ‘Steady on.’

  ‘It’s bloody good to see you.’

  ‘And you, you bastard.’ Having re-established the distance between them, Graham gave him a friendly punch in the chest. ‘I knew your flight time so it was no problem. I’ve even taken the day off in your honour.’

  ‘As well as shifting your skiing holiday. What can I say? I hope you had a good time.’

  ‘Brilliant, thanks. Powder snow and sunshine.’ He picked up Matt’s bag and led the way through the throng of waiting people. ‘I thought about leaving you to chance it with a yellow cab, but one needs a degree in Spanish to converse with most of them – the sight of a clueless Englishman and they’d lead you a right old dance.’

  ‘Bugger off,’ retorted Matt happily, hurrying to match his companion’s long stride, feeling suddenly as if he were on holiday. Among Americans he felt not so much gormless as wary; a holiday in Boston a few years before having alerted him to the fact that, while sharing many common elements of habit and language, America was in every sense a foreign country, that one was as much a tourist as on an African safari or hiking in the Andes.

  Graham led him to a red Mazda, wedged into a tiny slot between a concrete wall and an estate car the length of a minibus. Having loaded Matt’s bags into the boot, he reversed deftly back towards the exit signs, his squat black wheels squeaking on the concrete floor.

  ‘I thought you were shipping over the Porsche?’

  Graham gave a regretful shrug. ‘I was going to but it would have meant various costly adjustments, like having the steering wheel moved. God, I miss it though – so much more subtle than this thing.’ He gave the dashboard a friendly slap, adding through a grin, ‘Not that I’m complaining,’ and accelerating so fast into the main carriageway that Matt felt the skin on his face tighten across his cheekbones.

  Graham, his features poised in the expression of pleased concentration that invariably overcame him when tucked behind the wheel of a car, was looking well. Incredibly well. Life in the Wall Street fast track obviously suited him, Matt mused, taking in the new crispness to his friend’s appearance, the healthy glow of his skin, which looked deeper than the evident polish of a recent suntan, and the glossiness of his strawberry- blond hair, which had been cut into a new, shorter style, exposing the enviably solid hairline along the top of his forehead. Even his clothes – leather loafers, honey-coloured chino-style cords and a hefty brown sheepskin – looked somehow different; not just smarter than he would have worn in London, but more affluent, more confident, as if he had grown into a role in which he felt completely at ease.

  ‘About you and Kath,’ Graham said, turning the noisy blast of the car’s heating system down to a level that allowed conversation, ‘I just want you to know it’s … I’m really sorry about the whole business.’

  Matt looked out of the window, where the cluster of tall blocks constituting the New York skyline was already coming into view, so familiar from movies and the media that it was almost hard to be impressed. While wanting badly to talk about his recent trauma, he could not resist the feeling that the time was not yet right, that they were still too tied up in the business of getting used to each other for anything approximating to their version of a heart-to-heart. ‘It’s bad, all right,’ he said at length. ‘A bolt from the blue and all that. Josh, of course, is taking it hard.’

  ‘Of course.’ They were on the bridge, Manhattan shimmering beside them, like a metal and plastic model of a city that could be plucked off a playing board and set down somewhere else. ‘Though it’s probably all for the best.’

  ‘Is it?’ Matt cut in, a little more sharply than he had intended.

  Graham held up an arm in a mock bid to fend off an attack. ‘I only meant … if she was unhappy and so forth. It was going now
here good – would have fallen apart in the end. To be honest, I never thought the two of you were right for each other anyway.’

  Matt, who had hunched down in his coat, sat up again in genuine surprise. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Nah. Kath was always … I don’t know … trying to be something she wasn’t. With you anyway. Take it from me, pal, you weren’t suited.’

  ‘Why did you never say so before?’

  Graham let out a sharp laugh, at the same time manoeuvring the car across several lanes of traffic to one of the slip roads winding down into the heart of the city. ‘Because nothing I said would have made the slightest difference, would it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Matt frowned, recalling with sudden clarity his early fixation with the woman he had married, the triumph of persuading so stunning a creature to share his life. There had been no question that he would marry her if he could. ‘We were happy, you know.’

  ‘Hey – cool it – I know you were. You’ve had a tough break. Shit happens and you’ve had more than your share of it. But it will all work out fine, just you see. In the meantime you are here and bloody well going to enjoy yourself if it kills me. Now, give me a rundown on your commitments so I can fit my schedule round you. I’ll have to go into work, of course, but can be pretty flexible about the hours. Presumably you’re going to be free during the day. There’s a great place for brunch right on my block, and I’m within walking distance of several galleries – though if you want the Frick or the Guggenheim you’ll need to get in a cab. There’s a cinema that runs brilliant old movies round the clock and I’ve got a guest pass so you can use my gym whenever you want —’