Puzzled, feeling for some reason that he had trespassed, Matt hastily let the blanket fall back into place and retreated to the kitchen. After locking the door, he carefully returned the key to its niche on top of the fridge.
His tea, left to its own devices, had formed a thin film of creamy scum on the surface. He was stabbing thoughtfully at it with a teaspoon when the phone rang.
‘Don’t worry, I found it —’ he began, breaking off in surprise at the sound of Beth Durant’s bemused response.
‘Found what?’
‘Sorry, I thought you were Graham. This place is like an icebox – I’ve spent the last half-hour looking for a heating switch.’
‘And you’ve found it.’
‘Yes. How are you?’
‘I’m good, thank you.’
‘I thought you weren’t going to ring.’
‘I wasn’t, but then I wanted to talk to you. So I called up your father, who was sweet, and got this number and here I am. So how’s it going over there?’
Matt swigged his warm tea. It was good to hear her voice, good to feel that beneath that self-contained exterior she was missing him. ‘Fine, it’s going fine. Not a great play last night and too much alcohol afterwards – but it’s fun. This friend I’m staying with has got the most amazing flat – one huge room with split levels.’
‘So that’s why your voice sounds kind of echoey.’
‘Does it?’
‘Matt, do you miss me?’
‘I do. Quite a lot in fact,’ he ventured, his confidence blossoming at the breathy eagerness in her tone. ‘It will be good to get together again.’
‘I’ve booked Italy.’
‘You’ve what?’
‘You know, like I said and you agreed?’
‘Did I?’ he murmured, struggling to recall anything so concrete but pleased none the less. ‘When for exactly? I mean, I’d love to, but there is the business of getting time off – and Josh of course —’
‘It’s only a weekend – Florence. Friday to Monday. May bank- holiday. The busiest weekend of the year – that’s why I had to book. I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘And I am … I really am,’ he assured her, performing rapid mental aerobics with regard to work and childcare. His father would be back in Yorkshire by then. Josie was still too young to be left in sole charge for so long. He would have to call upon the services of Louise. ‘Nice to have something to look forward to.’
‘Me too.’ There was a meaningful pause, while each pondered the implications of these admissions, aware that they were edging beyond the breezy friendliness with which they had parted ten days before. ‘So how’s your friend treating you?’
‘Great – apart from freezing me to death.’ Matt went on to recount his adventure in the boiler room.
Beth hooted with laughter. ‘Maybe this guy you’ve known for two decades is a closet transsexual … oh, I love it, that’s really good.’
‘I couldn’t think of anything less likely,’ said Matt, managing to laugh himself, unequal to the task of explaining that the rack of clothes had for some reason unnerved him, that since Kath’s betrayal he was beginning to doubt his ability to really know anyone, even himself.
‘Mind you, being a transsexual is no big deal these days,’ she continued, ‘not as far as weirdness goes. I had a friend once who knew someone who wished he could have both legs amputated – it’s this real disease called apotemnophilia. The poor guy spent his life looking for a surgeon prepared to put him out of his misery. I mean, can you imagine anything more gross than wanting to be a cripple?’
‘You are a mine of interesting information.’
‘Does that mean I can call again?’
He laughed again, more genuinely this time. ‘Any time.’
Revitalised by the phone call and several slices of toast, Matt returned to his laptop and spent a largely trouble-free couple of hours finishing off his piece. He had just sent it on its way when Graham returned, looking somewhat wearier than he had first thing that morning.
‘I turned the heating back on. It was fucking freezing.’
‘Did you? Sorry about that.’
‘Took me a while to find the boiler room.’
‘Ah, you went in there, did you? There’s a dial in the corner above the sofa you could have used instead. If you turn it up high enough it automatically triggers the whole system into action.’
‘I saw those clothes – on the rail. Quite a collection.’
Graham groaned, dropping his face into his hands. ‘Don’t remind me.
I’m doing my best to forget their owner.’
‘A girlfriend? You didn’t say.’
Graham scowled. ‘That’s because it was not worth mentioning. Whirlwind job. She moved in lock, stock and barrel – I thought it was the Real Thing.’ He made quotation marks with his fingers, laughing bitterly. ‘She moved out just as fast – found some other guy prepared to buy her anything she wanted. I threw a lot of her stuff away – and the rest I just wanted out of sight. Thought I’d give it to charity or something.’
‘And there was me thinking you’d developed a secret cross-dressing habit.’
Graham clapped his hand to his mouth in mock horror. ‘God, you’re on to me – how will I cope with the shame?’
‘If you let me off this afternoon’s exercise regime I won’t tell a soul.’
Graham pretended to consider the proposition seriously for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, no can do. Last night has really caught up with me – I need a serious sweat. So I can do it all again tonight with a clear conscience.’ He grinned impishly, looking more himself. ‘And anyway, you look like you could do with a bit of toning.’
‘I do not.’ Matt looked down at his stomach, the edge of real indignation in his voice. One of the few benefits of Kath’s departure was that the weight had fallen off him. The faint swell once threatening round his belt-line had completely dissolved, returning his waist to its natural slimness and giving greater prominence to the broadness of his chest. Long since accepting the fact that he would never attain the lithe athleticism of his friend, Matt had lately dared to believe that in the general scheme of thirtysomething decay – physical at least – he wasn’t doing too badly.
A couple of hours later, clad in a pair of baggy Bermudas and an old T-shirt of Graham’s, he nonetheless found himself entering a roomful of imposing exercise machines. As Graham had promised, the place offered an irresistibly interesting variety of spectacles, ranging from musclebound creatures pumping the heaviest weights to less shapely specimens mournfully pitting their strength against pedals and pulleys. One mountain of a woman in particular caught Matt’s eye, gripping the crossbar of her bike as if her life depended on it, her generous rear end swamping the seat like bulging saddlebags. Leaving Graham to show off his prowess on the more technically taxing equipment, Matt confined himself to modest spurts of rowing and jogging, trying to avoid both his own sweating face in the wall mirrors and those of his fellow exercisers. Since this ruled out practically everything in the room, he spent most of the time watching the panel of blinking numbers recording his progress, pondering the profoundly dispiriting experience of running with all his might and getting nowhere.
When at last he stepped off the conveyor belt, the ground continued to heave beneath his feet. Sinking down on a bench with a towel to recover, he watched Graham rounding off his own work-out with a series of professional looking stretches. He had taken off his T-shirt and slung it round his neck, revealing his impressive keyboard of abdominals and trim waist. The mountainous lady was watching too, Matt observed, feeling sorry for the pink pudding face, so obviously transfixed by envious longing. And Graham knew the woman was watching, Matt suddenly realised, glancing from one to the other. He was doing it for her, showing off to her, letting her get an eyeful. It occurred to him in the same instant that if he did not already know Graham he might think he was a bit of a jerk. He pulled the towel farther over his head,
screening the view from sight. To even think such a thing felt cruelly disloyal. Graham was his oldest friend, one of the few constants in an otherwise rambling and not entirely satisfactory life. Behind his narcissism lay a genuine struggle – to be admired, to be successful, to be kind.
‘So this woman, the one who walked out – did you like her a lot?’ he ventured, suspecting suddenly that Graham was doing a more than usually effective job of burying his feelings on the subject. They were alone by the lockers in the changing rooms, towelling themselves dry from a shower.
‘The woman who —? Oh, God, yes, like hell. I was mad for her.’ He scowled briefly before relaxing his handsome face into a broad smile. ‘But life carries on, doesn’t it? You’ve just got to watch out for the opportunities and grab them with both hands.’
Matt opened his mouth to offer some wry response, but was drowned by the buzz of Graham’s electric razor, which he had whipped out of his bag and begun sliding across his cheeks, twisting his mouth to accommodate the cut of the blades.
23
Strolling across the concourse of JFK three days later, Matt could still feel an uncomfortable tightness in his limbs, particularly his thigh muscles, which the exertions on the running belt seemed to have shrunk by several inches. It had been so bad the day before that Graham, much amused, had given him a tube of white cream to rub into the most afflicted areas, a pungent-smelling substance which created an icy burning sensation and left his skin so sticky that he could feel it clinging to the inside of his trousers.
Now that his trip was coming to an end it seemed to have passed in a flash. Somehow he had met his deadlines. Even the big piece was all but finished, requiring just one more edit to pare it down to size. As a host Graham had continued to exceed all expectations, taking great swathes of time out of his working day and putting himself entirely at Matt’s disposal. Without jeopardising Matt’s work commitments, they had managed to tour several key landmarks of the city, including Central Park, the Guggenheim and the Statue of Liberty. In the evenings Graham attended the remaining three productions without the slightest sign of weariness, taking Matt out afterwards to a string of excellent restaurants, each one offering a different national cuisine from the last.
As a finishing touch to these generous attentions he had insisted on chauffeuring Matt to the airport for his early morning flight home. Instead of tipping him out under the sign for departures, as Matt had expected, he parked and came into the main building to accompany him through the rigmarole of checking in. Even when Matt announced that he had to purchase gifts for Dennis and Joshua, Graham remained undaunted, cheerfully leading the way through the mall of retailers, throwing out suggestions as they went.
‘Does he like dinosaurs?’ He picked up a huge wind-up toy and waggled it at Matt, who was staring hopelessly at the array of Disney figures and monogrammed items of clothing.
‘He’d love it, but it’s too big and too much.’
‘What about this, then?’ Graham plucked a monster mask off a shelf and put it over his face, growling.
‘Too scary. He’s … easily scared.’
‘Oh, yeah … of course.’ Graham hurriedly replaced the mask. ‘Is that since … because of everything that’s happened at home?’
Matt was grateful. The scarcity of such enquiries had cast the only faint shadow over an otherwise splendid few days. ‘Partly. Though he was always a timid little chap anyway, as you might remember. Tends to regard the world as more of a threat than an adventure.’
‘Does he miss Kath?’
‘Of course,’ said Matt quietly, ‘though you see it more in the way he behaves than what he actually says. But things are getting better. My father has been fantastic and that girl I mentioned – Josh really likes her a lot.’
‘So you think he – that both of you – will be all right?’ He had picked up a small gingery lion with long droopy whiskers which he was winding round and round his fingers. ‘Because you of all people, Matt … you deserve to be happy because you are a good person. Bloody sight better than the rest of us …’ He dropped the lion back among a trayful of its peers. ‘This new woman you’ve met, I really hope it works out.’
There was a concern in his voice that Matt had never heard before. ‘Thank you for that and for being so —’
‘I know, I know. I’m a complete saint. Now can we get on with this before you miss your flight?’
Smiling to himself, Matt picked up one of the lions, which were floppy and friendly and under ten dollars, and a baseball cap advertising the New York Giants. ‘I’ll get a good malt from duty-free for Dad – he’ll appreciate that far more than a paperweight or a pair of socks.’
Watching Graham stride ahead of him out of the shop, Matt sensed that his friend was at last eager to be rid of him. Jostling for space among the throng of people amassing in front of the security barrier, they hurriedly shook hands and patted each other’s arms.
‘You take care now.’
‘I hope everything works out for you.’
‘You make it sound like I’m leaving the planet,’ Matt joked, giving a final wave as the crowd closed in around him, herding him towards the departure lounge.
Seven hours later Matt found himself staring out over the tidy grid of England with considerably more confidence than when he had waved it goodbye five days before. It was spring, he realised, spotting even from the height of several thousand feet the new verdure of the land, the glinting hints of colour sewn into the landscape. Although the week had flown by, the sense of progress inside his own head and heart made it feel suddenly as if his absence had lasted an age. Bugger Kath, he thought cheerfully, bracing himself as the ground rushed up to meet the airplane wheels and the brake force tightened his belt across his stomach. He had a son whom he adored, a near-perfect contract of self-employment, a house worth twice what he had paid for it, a saintly father, a clutch of friendly females. Even a girlfriend, he reminded himself, smiling at the thought of Beth. During the course of the week they had enjoyed several more transatlantic phone calls, each one a little more intimate than the last. Matt had forgotten the pleasure of being wanted, the feeling that there was someone awaiting his return.
On reaching baggage reclaim, he called home to confirm his safe arrival. Greeted with his own voice on the answer machine, and seeing from a glance at his watch that it was five o’clock, Matt guessed that Dennis and Joshua would be on their way back from a sortie to the park.
‘Dad, just to say I’m at Heathrow. Hope all’s well. See you soon.’
He was standing leaning on his trolley, torn between signs to the taxi rank and the more arduous option of a train, when two cool hands were placed over his eyes.
‘Surprise.’
‘Beth? What on earth?’
‘Aren’t you pleased?’
‘Of course I am. And amazed.’
‘Amazed I can cope with,’ she murmured, putting her arms round his neck and pulling his face close to hers.
Matt eagerly returned the embrace, inwardly marvelling at being unexpectedly chaperoned from two airports in the space of one week. She was looking more glamorous than he had ever seen her, attired in a pale blue wool skirt suit, sheer tights and high-heeled tanned leather shoes.
‘I was going to drive you straight home, but now that I’ve got hold of you I don’t want to let you go. Nor do you, by the feel of it,’ she added in a whisper, pressing her pelvis more firmly against him and tipping up her chin so that her hair fell prettily off the back of her shoulders. ‘God, it’s good to see you.’
‘And you,’ Matt murmured, not minding that they were provoking glances of interest and curiosity from the crowds milling about them. Just as he would stare were he in their shoes, he mused, smiling down at the attractive woman in his arms and thinking what a perfect picture of reunion they created.
‘Now then, I’ve got to be somewhere at six thirty.’ Beth grabbed his carry-on bag, suddenly all bustle and businesslike. ‘If we hurry we’ve got
time.’
* * *
Picking up his suitcase, Matt began trotting after her. ‘Time?’
She swung round to look at him, her eyes flashing. ‘For sex,’ she said, so loudly that Matt feared he was not the only one to hear. ‘Don’t you want to?’
‘Of course. I mean —’ He nearly said he always wanted sex, but realised it might not be the most endearing of remarks and instead performed a quick mental appraisal of the time implications of such an indulgence. ‘The thing is,’ he explained, once they were both settled inside her car, ‘they’ll be waiting for me at home – I’ve left a message saying I’m on my way. Josh will be expecting me —’
‘That is so sweet.’ She slapped both sides of the steering wheel. ‘Of course you want to see your little boy, of course you do. That is so right.’ When she turned to him there were tears in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Matt, I wasn’t thinking straight.’ She started the engine, still shaking her head. ‘I’ll drop you home.’
‘That’s very kind, but really, any Tube or railway line will do. I was expecting to make my own way —’
‘Nonsense,’ she cut in, her American accent giving equal emphasis to each syllable. ‘I was thinking of myself as usual, a habit I’ve perfected since my divorce. I used to spend my entire life thinking of my dear husband, second-guessing his every whim, subsuming every desire of my own – God, Matt, I sometimes feel I wasted the first thirty years of my life. I was this sheltered little girl who kind of went along with the sexual revolution but secretly believed men were superior – because of my mom, I guess, who looked up to my dad like he was some kind of god. When I met Robert I tried to do the same, combining my career with rushing home to have his dinner ready, making myself especially beautiful on Friday nights when he generally liked to have sex. Is that pathetic or what? Now I’m like, I’ll have sex when the hell I want to – and if guys think I’m too pushy then that’s their problem. Oh God, I’m talking too much as usual, aren’t I? And maybe you are thinking I am being too forward – like back there, saying I wanted sex. Did that bother you, Matt?’
A Family Man Page 18
