‘Twelve o’clock would be fine,’ he continued, as if the matter were settled. ‘It’s my dad’s birthday. I’m sure you remember him – he liked you a lot from the start. And Josie is coming, with Mick of course. And also my boss, Oliver Parkin, who’s marooned in London because of work while his family decamp to the Isle of Wight – they’ve got a big house there, go every chance they get. The plan is to eat in the garden – I’m borrowing some extra chairs from Mr Patel. I’ve bought a barbecue and a ton of meat and some ready-made marinades. But I am making dessert – Josie’s given me two recipes, a sort of strawberry sludge which sounds easy and a chocolate thing which sounds bloody hard —’
‘Matt, Matt, stop.’ She tried to put her hands to her ears but he caught hold of her wrists. ‘It would be mad, utterly mad, to start anything. I need to go away, I need to …’
‘Come to lunch on Sunday. Please.’
‘Oh God, maybe … I don’t know. I’m ill, remember?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, kissing her again, properly this time.
38
By Sunday morning there was a new heaviness to the heat. The panoply of blue sky which had dominated the week bore a greyish tinge, darkening to slate as the morning progressed. Undeterred, Matt dragged the kitchen table into the garden, together with an assortment of chairs, a packet of paper napkins and most of the contents of his cutlery drawer. They would be seven in all, counting Sophie. She could sit in the middle down one side, he decided, smiling to himself as he laid out the knives and forks, between Dennis and Mick and opposite him so he could look at her. Telling himself that such excitement was premature had done little to staunch its advance.
Ever since Friday afternoon there had been a sort of tightness across his chest and the back of his throat, as if his vocal cords were in a perpetual state of readiness to shout for joy. Nothing was sorted, of course, nothing certain, he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone; but the world once again seemed full of possibilities, full of hope, not just for Joshua now, but for himself as well.
Back inside the kitchen Matt returned his attention to the squares of chocolate he had left to melt in a saucepan on the stove. They looked lumpy and unpromising, quite unfit for mixing into the smooth egg white and sugar concoction that Josie had instructed him to prepare first. On the floor behind him, in the space vacated by the table, Joshua was playing contentedly with his pets, which either by a process of immaculate conception or a misdiagnosis of gender had recently multiplied in number to four. Going to the pet shop earlier that week in a bid to put the new arrivals up for adoption had resulted only in the purchasing of a larger cage. A much larger cage, divided rather like the rooms of a small house, complete with a gym for entertainment and burrows where they could all curl up to sleep during the day. Seeing the look of wry amusement on the shopkeeper’s face as he handed over the cheque, Matt had had to restrain himself from explaining that it was not just his son’s pleadings which had won him round, but the poignant realisation that four rodents could provide a better image of conventional family unity than any he himself had achieved.
Stabbing at the bubbling chunks of chocolate with a wooden spoon that Sunday morning, however, it seemed to Matt that their own version of family life wasn’t so bad. Mr Patel’s kind words on his hospital visit still burned in his heart. Joshua knew he was loved, all right, not just by himself and Dennis, but by the small group of friends and helpers now so integral to his life. Nor did they lack for the occasional female touch, he mused, thinking of Josie, who appeared unannounced at his elbow a moment later, squealing at the sight of the mess in the saucepan.
‘Oh my gawd – you have to melt it over heat, I said.’
‘This is over the heat,’ he retorted, stirring the glutinous lumps, now sticking with treacle-like obstinacy to the bottom of the pan, furiously.
‘No, like in a bowl over a saucepan of boiling water, otherwise it … well, it goes like that.’ She pointed with some disgust at the chocolate before bending down to greet Joshua and rummaging in a cupboard for a pudding basin. ‘I thought you were going to make it yesterday – it’s supposed to set in the fridge overnight. Like this strawberry thing —’ She dipped her finger into the bowl of pink liquid Matt had put through the blender a couple of hours before. ‘Did you make that this morning too?’
He nodded, pretending to look meek, but unable to disguise the fact that his culinary shortcomings were low on his list of priorities for the day. ‘The weather was so great we spent most of yesterday at this adventure park place in Kent, then I had to be at a theatre in Hampstead for the evening and it didn’t seem fair to ask Dad to put on an apron for his own birthday lunch. Anyway, what the hell? We’ll call it choco-strawberry sludge, mix the two together and serve it up with straws instead of spoons …’
‘You’re in a good mood,’ she remarked, giving him a funny look as she began salvage operations on the melting chocolate.
‘Yes, I am, aren’t I? He grinned. ‘And I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you learn to be such a fabulous cook?’ He stepped to one side and watched in admiration as Josie added a teaspoon of brandy to the chocolate lumps and deftly converted then to the texture of liquid silk.
‘My dad, he used to be a chef in the army … though he doesn’t cook much now, prefers to be out with his mates, down the betting shop mostly, blowing his benefit. I could put more brandy in if you like, make it really tasty.’
* * *
‘Go on, then,’ said Matt, watching her fondly, seeing afresh the marvel of a child emerging with her heart so intact from such unpromising circumstances and feeling a stab of admiration for the part Sophie had played in the process. ‘I trust you completely,’ he added, trying to catch her eye, wanting her to know that he was talking about something deeper than the ups and downs of everyday life.
If Josie noticed his efforts there was no indication of it. ‘There we are,’ was all she said, splashing in another spoonful of brandy and tipping the mixture in with the egg whites. ‘You can do the rest, otherwise it won’t be yours, will it? Would you like me to lay the table?’ She stepped over to the back door to peer into the garden.
‘No, it’s already done, thanks.’
‘Oh, I thought we were six. Who’s the extra?’
‘I bumped into Sophie on Friday – she said she might be able to drop by.’‘Did she? That’s nice.’
Matt thought he saw a twitch of a smile, but in the same instant she
dropped to her knees to talk to Joshua, so it was hard to be sure. The next minute she was all smiles anyway, cooing over the baby hamsters, joining in the still-raging debate as to how they should be christened.
Oliver arrived dead on twelve o’clock, brandishing two bottles of red wine and a signed copy of his book by way of a birthday present for Matt’s father. Dennis, by then deep in consultation with both Mick and an instruction manual for the mobile phone Matt had given him for his birthday gift, looked genuinely touched.
‘I’ve been wanting to meet you,’ he said, leaping up from the sofa and giving him a vigorous shake of the hand.
‘And I you,’ boomed Oliver, ‘and I’m a marvel with these things.’ He seized the phone from Mick and began asking what it was they all needed to know.
One more guest and they would be complete, calculated Matt happily, slipping back out to attend to the barbecue, which was in danger of setting fire to the overhanging branches of his neighbour’s tree.
Forty-five minutes later, however, with the chicken drumsticks and steaks looking not so much charred as blackened, and with clouds ranging in dark and menacing shapes overhead, Matt saw no option but to summon those that had arrived to the table.
‘There was only a chance she’d come,’ he explained, trying to look cheerful as his guests cast quizzical looks at the empty place setting. ‘She didn’t promise. All the more food for us. Hope no one likes their meat rare.’ He carved his steak energetically, forcing his disappointment aside, telling himself there would be other
lunches, hordes of them, and evenings too.
Nonetheless, when the phone rang some twenty minutes later he knocked over his chair in his haste to reach it.
‘Matt, it’s me, Beth. How are you?’
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. ‘Beth, what a surprise.’
‘I won’t keep you long,’ she went on, as if sensing some element of his disappointment. ‘Just a courtesy call really, to see that you were okay and to tell you that I’m seeing someone that you know. I just didn’t want you to hear it from other sources, Matt. It’s Philip Legge. One of those silly coincidences – I just didn’t want you to mind —’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’ He almost laughed out loud, partly in surprise, but mostly at the absurd notion that he should mind with whom Beth Durant chose to share her bed.
‘And I couldn’t help being curious about the Andrea Beauchamp thing, whether you’d heard —’
‘No, not a word. Which is of course what I expected. I mean, life isn’t like that, is it?’ he said bitterly. ‘I mean, things don’t happen just because you want them to.’
‘I also thought you’d like to know that Philip rates you very highly.’ ‘Thanks, Beth. I appreciate it.’
Matt put the phone down and took a deep breath, determined to cling on to the remnants of his good mood and make the most of the party. In a couple of hours he would be waving goodbye to Joshua, booked with his grandfather on the 4.35 from King’s Cross. Thanks to a lengthy altercation concerning the imprudence of introducing hamster families to the delights of rail travel, they hadn’t even made a start on the packing.
‘I’ve got some news for you,’ declared Oliver, once Matt had resumed his seat at the table. ‘Some rather exciting news.’ He paused, looking round to check then he had the attention of his audience, revelling in the moment like a conjuror with a deep hat. ‘The fact is that, contrary to your own opinions on the matter, your contributions to the arts pages of our fine publication are greatly prized. So much so that a plot has been hatched to retain your services. In other words, you are to be offered another post.
One that you will be able to perform working entirely from home.’ ‘I do that already,’ said Matt, smiling but puzzled.
‘Ah.’ Oliver did his thing of tapping his nose. ‘But I mean entirely from home. The big box in the living room – terrestrial, satellite, previews—’
* * *
‘You mean the telly?’ said Mick, frowning.
‘I do indeed. Matthew here is to be offered the chance to turn his critical eye upon a smaller but infinitely varied stage. The perfect job for a man in your position – all work to be conducted from the comfort of your own living room.’ Oliver grinned, making no secret of his satisfaction at the proposal. ‘Of course I’ll be sorry to lose you, but at least you’ll remain within reach, so to speak. The rather tidy aspect of it all is that our current TV critic, Luke Holmes, whose writing I’ve always rather liked, has agreed to have a go at your slot. A straight swap.’
‘You mean his job is going to be watching telly?’ gasped Josie, incredulous.
‘I like the telly,’ piped Joshua, gathering from the expressions on the faces about him that something significant was being discussed.
‘And I’m sure your assistance will prove invaluable,’ said Oliver, turning to his small dining companion with twinkling eyes. ‘And now we’re all going to say well done to Daddy,’ he added, topping up Joshua’s plastic glass with juice and his own with wine.
‘Hang on, I haven’t said yes yet,’ put in Matt, laughing at the line of raised glasses round the table. ‘I mean, I need to think it over, consider the pros and cons, the long-term implications … oh, hell, of course I’ll give it a go – thank you, Oliver, thank you indeed. But look,’ he protested, ‘this toast should be to you, for doing whatever the hell you did to make this possible
… and to Dad because it’s his birthday and because I would not have survived the last six months without him. And Josie too for the same reason, and Mick, of course, and … oh God, I give up – you’re all marvellous and I can’t find the words.’
With such unexpected good news, Oliver’s fine wine and the infectious merriment of his guests, Matt was able to shift his disappointment about Sophie to the back of his mind. Although served with a soup ladle, the desserts were warmly received, with not only Joshua but Mick and Oliver opting to consume them through a straw. The place set for Sophie, at first carefully guarded, slowly began to submerge under the general clutter of the meal, until it was hard to imagine how they would have fitted anyone else round the table.
The rain didn’t start until Matt had fetched a cheeseboard and a tin of assorted crackers. Within minutes it was sheeting down and they were all scampering back into the kitchen clutching glasses and bottles and plates of half-eaten food. All except Oliver, who remained at the table like some latter-day King Canute, bellowing that no amount of water should come between a man and his cheese.
39
By the time Matt had completed a hasty round-up of Joshua’s clothes and possessions, Dennis was casting anxious and pointed looks at his watch. Seeing how the lunch was going, he had suggested calling a taxi, worried not so much by his son’s sobriety as the lateness of the hour.
‘And I must give you some money,’ said Matt, making a show of patting his pockets, in truth feeling suddenly bereft at the imminent prospect of returning to an empty house alone.
‘Whatever for?’ growled Dennis, his impatience now so out of control that he had put on his coat and was standing by the front door.
‘I don’t know – treats, ice creams, stuff like that …’ Matt examined the contents of his wallet, scowling at the discovery of nothing more promising than a wad of unsubmitted receipts. ‘Damn. I’ll stop at a cashpoint on the way – or I suppose there’ll be one at the station —’
‘But I’ve got some money, Daddy,’ said Joshua, tugging at his father’s trousers. ‘You can have my money.’
‘That’s very generous,’ said Matt, ruffling his hair, ‘but your piggy- bank is meant for you and Daddy can easily get some more from his own bank.’
‘But I’ve got lots,’ Joshua shrieked, racing upstairs, oblivious to his grandfather’s groan of frustration at the prospect of further delay.
Matt shrugged helplessly. ‘I’ve got to pretend to borrow some or he’ll be hurt.’
A moment later Joshua reappeared at the top of the stairs. ‘See, Daddy, told you, I got lots,’ he chirped, waving not the small piggy-bank Matt had expected to see but a fat brown purse. ‘Lots and lots,’ he repeated, clipping it open and extracting a fistful of banknotes, which he threw down the stairs.
‘By God, he has too,’ exclaimed Dennis, momentarily distracted from his anxieties. ‘Where did you get that lot, then, Josh?’
It was Matt’s turn to groan. ‘Where do you think? Oh, Josh, I don’t believe this, I really don’t.’ He knelt down and pulled his son on to his lap. ‘I can’t use this money, can I? Because it’s not mine. And it’s not yours either. It’s Louise’s. Where did you find it, Josh? And why didn’t you tell Dad about it before – remember when we were all looking so hard?’
‘Hey, go easy on him,’ muttered Dennis.
‘I just want to know why you didn’t tell me, Josh.’
‘Forgot,’ Joshua said, in a tiny, barely audible voice, his gaze fixed on the floor. ‘Forgot. Till Daddy needed some money.’ He looked up, his face brighter from having worked out the logic of his position.
‘Can you remember where you found it?’ ‘There.’ He pointed at once under the hall table.
‘Next time you find something important like this, you tell me straight away, okay? Now, we’re going to put this money back inside, like this.’ He gathered up the notes and slipped them into the purse. ‘And we’re going to give it back to Louise. Because it’s hers and she was very sad to lose it. And when we next see Louise you’re going to say a big sorry. Okay?’
An hour later, having
seen Dennis and Joshua on to the train, Matt dropped a Jiffy bag containing the purse and an explanatory note of apology through Louise’s letterbox. It felt like the last loose end, the final unravelling of the mess in which the year had begun. The letter flap was metal and on such a tight spring that it clamped over his hand, as if bent upon stapling him to the front door. In his haste to snatch his fingers free, Matt scraped a layer of skin off his knuckles. Though he had only dared to approach the house because it looked safely shuttered and quiet, he sprinted back to his car, casting nervous glances over his shoulder, his stomach in knots at the notion of renewing his entanglement with Louise.
It was still raining, but with less ferocity. Having licked the blood from his knuckles, Matt turned the key in the ignition and set off for home. He drove slowly, thinking with affection of his father and son speeding away from London, and – with rather more complicated emotions – of Sophie Contini. Several attempts to reach her on his mobile had met with no success, not even the dim consolation of her voice on the answer machine.
Finding no space anywhere near his own house, he parked outside Mr Patel’s, which had recently acquired a metal grid of a shutter for the front window and door. Glimpsing a shadow of movement inside, he stooped to peer through the metal bars, but could make out nothing beyond the blink of the freezer lights. He turned with a sigh and set off down the street, taking small steps, absently counting the cracks in the pavement. Though the news of his job change was tremendous, he could not focus on it. The rest of the evening, the week, stretched uninvitingly before him. There wouldn’t even be the distraction of clearing up, since Josie and Mick, much against his insistence, had done everything, not only washing the crockery but returning it to cupboards and drawers as well. The kitchen table was safely back in its allotted space, Mr Patel’s three chairs stacked in the hall. Order had been restored on every front, leaving nothing but the prospect of brooding over Sophie and the disheartening fact that he appeared to have scared her away after all.
A Family Man Page 30
