‘I can’t really see . . .’
‘Actually, I think it’s all right now . . .’
‘Good.’
‘Yes. Well, I think it’s time for me to get out. I’ve had enough anyway,’ he says, stepping backwards to go to the steps, but not quite striking out in the right direction.
‘OK. Bye.’
‘No. Not yet. Will you join me in a cup of coffee upstairs?’
‘I’d love to, but I doubt there’s room.’
He chuckles. ‘Meet me in the café?’
‘Lovely. But you might want to go a bit to your left if you ever want to get out of this pool.’
Ten minutes later, and here I am, hanging my head upside down, desperately trying to make my hair do something other than just lie there. I’m blow-drying it and as soon as I straighten up again, I stagger and nearly fall over with dizziness.
‘You know you shouldn’t really do that while you’re pregnant,’ says a total stranger walking past.
Hector beats me to the café. His hair is still a little damp and messy-looking, and he’s wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. If you look at his chest closely, like me, you can imagine what’s underneath that T-shirt. As I draw nearer I can see that his left eye has a large patch of red veins clearly visible in the white. I bite my lip as I sit down opposite him. ‘I’m very sorry about your eye. It looks really sore.’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s just sore.’
‘I’m glad about that. Makes me feel much better.’ There’s a cup of coffee on the table in front of me, steaming away. ‘Is this for me?’
‘Yeah. That guy over there in the window left it for you. Do you know him?’
‘No. Decent of him, though.’ I raise my cup towards the stranger in the window, who gives a surprised look, then smiles.
‘You’ve made his day,’ Hector says quietly.
‘Well, I try to do a good deed every day. Trouble is, Hector, he obviously doesn’t know that everything except water tastes like washing-up liquid at the moment . . .’
‘Say no more.’ He leaps to his feet. ‘I’ll go and see if they’ve got any washing-up liquid.’
‘I’m not an invalid, you know. Sit down, I’ll go.’
‘I know you’re not an invalid, but by the time you’ve hauled yourself out of that chair and shuffled over to the counter, I could have got six glasses of water. Just stay there.’
I watch him chatting easily with the lad on the drinks counter and I’m smiling automatically.
‘What are you looking so soppy about?’ he asks, returning to the table.
‘Nothing, just thinking what a good friend you are.’
He pauses as he places the glass in front of me and meets my eyes frankly. ‘Am I?’
‘I hope so. You are, aren’t you?’
‘I thought we were strangers.’
‘No, you can’t keep bringing that up, not after we’ve known each other for eight months.’
‘Seven months, ten days.’
‘Oh. Oh.’ I take a sip of water and try not to think about what that means. ‘I’m really glad I bumped into you today, Hector. I need your advice. Do you mind?’
‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind. What can I do for you?’
Here goes. ‘Well, you may have heard me mention someone called Nick once or twice?’ He nods. ‘He’s the . . . father.’
‘Right.’
‘Right. So. I’m in a dilemma. What I’m wondering is, and you have to bear in mind he’s immature and unreliable and, I’m ashamed to admit, married . . .’
‘Really? Oh dear.’
‘Yes, bastard. Anyway, so now you know as much about him as I do. And bearing all that in mind, what I wanted to ask you was . . . do you think I should tell him about the baby?’
Hector splutters around a mouthful of coffee and then starts to cough, trying hard to keep his lips together to avoid spraying it all over me. Eventually he manages to swallow the coffee and stop coughing. ‘He doesn’t know?’
Ah. Obviously Hector’s opinion is that I should tell him. ‘Well, I haven’t seen him to speak to, you know, properly, in private, for months, not since last year.’
‘Wha—’
‘In fact, the last time I saw him was at Christmas and at that point I just looked like I’d put weight on. Which I had, of course, but not for the reason he was thinking. Although I don’t know what reason he was thinking, if he was even thinking about it at all, which he probably wasn’t because when I happened upon him he was rather engrossed in . . . What? What are you grinning about?’
‘Stand up.’
‘Why?’
‘Please, Rachel, will you just stand up.’
‘OK.’ I stand and he walks around the table, his eyes fixed on mine, but he doesn’t stop, he just keeps coming until my belly touches him and we look down at it but then we both look up again and he reaches out his hands and puts them on my cheeks and his fingers stretch around the back of my neck and cup my jaw so softly, and then he bends his head down and I tilt my head back and he kisses me. Right there, in the middle of the Waterside Café.
I’m driving home. Look at me, I look like I’m about to burst. I’m bouncing around in my seat, rocking from side to side, singing that song again as loud as I can with the window open.
‘I get knocked up, but I get up again, you’re never gonna keep me down!’
Someone on the pavement shouts out, ‘Put a sock in it,’ but I don’t care.
Hector loves me! Has loved me for ages, months! Did you spot it? Because the signs were there, weren’t they, and I did read them right, after all, which is just so fantastic, because it means he loves me – he loves me! He was just keeping his feelings to himself because he thought I was trying to make a go of it with Nick. That prick. He almost ruined my life that time. But he didn’t! HE DIDN’T!
I really need to concentrate on driving. I glance yet again in my rear-view mirror and sure enough there are the twin beams of Hector’s beautiful headlights, and I smile at them and give him a wave. The lights flash lovingly at me. He loves me.
When we get to my flat, he meets me on the pavement and bends down to kiss me again, right there outside my block. ‘I can’t believe I can just kiss you when I want,’ he says, and kisses me again. I can’t feel the pavement any more.
I make us some cheesy pasta and we sit cross-legged on the sofa as we eat. We are so close, our heads are almost touching.
‘So tell me,’ I ask him.
He knows exactly what I mean and lays his fork down, studying my face. ‘Probably almost from the very first moment we spoke.’
‘The Blooding?’
‘No, no, I mean when we first spoke, on my old phone.’
‘Really? What, straight away, without even seeing me?’ That’s a first.
‘Absolutely. I didn’t have to see you to know that I . . . could really like you. Love you, even.’
‘No way! There is no way you loved me before we’d even met. You’re teasing me!’
‘No, no, I don’t mean that I fell in love with you then. I just knew, straight away, that I could love you.’
I’m frowning. ‘I don’t get it.’
He leans back a little and puts his knuckle on his chin. ‘Let me try and explain. Let’s see. The truth is, you inspired me. Inspire me.’
Holy crap, did you hear that? I have never, ever been told that before, by anyone. I inspire him! ‘Really?’ I’m whispering.
‘Yes. I mean it. It’s because . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘No, I mean . . .’ He frowns for a moment. ‘OK. Have you ever cracked a joke to someone you don’t know, like in the street or in a lift, and they totally don’t get it? It’s so uncomfortable. Let me give you an example. I was queuing up in the Early Learning Centre once, years ago, with a plastic birthday cake for Jake—’
‘You know he craves sponge that he can actually eat.’
‘I had no idea. Poor kid. Anyway, in front of me in the queue was a woman manoeuvring an enormous bo
x that evidently contained a play first-aid station, complete with play bandages, play stethoscope, play syringes, that kind of thing.
‘We were standing in the queue together for about three or four minutes and it always seems rude to me to stand so near to someone for any length of time and not speak to them. So I looked at the box she was holding and said, “It’s a really good idea to have one of those in the house, isn’t it?”’
A fat giggle bursts out of me. ‘Fantastic! Did she laugh?’
‘No. She barely even smiled. She just did that look.’
‘What look?’
‘You know, one of those fake, half smiles that means, “I know you said something to me, but I don’t know you and I don’t understand what it was, so please don’t speak to me again.”’
‘Oh, yes, I know the one you mean. I do that one all the time. It’s like, “I’m too polite to ignore you outright.”’
He nods knowingly. ‘Yeah, that sounds about right, you witch. Anyway, it was excruciating because now she thinks I’m slightly mad, or one of those nuisance strangers that won’t stop telling you really boring facts about themselves when you can’t get away, like when you’re in an Early Learning Centre queue on a Saturday close to Christmas and there’s a school child operating the till who has to keep buzzing for assistance because he doesn’t know how to do credit cards.’
‘A long wait, then?’
‘Someone handed round tea and sandwiches.’ He’s grinning, but watch now as he shifts his expression, just a fraction, around the mouth and eyes so that they’re fixed on mine, like twin tractor beams. It gives me that plunging feeling in my chest again.
‘But you. You. You didn’t know me; you didn’t know anything about me, or what I was going to say, but you never gave me the look, even down the phone. I could tell. I was feeling buoyant the day we finally spoke; cheerful, a bit optimistic. That was the day Rupert finally signed on the dotted line for the Horizon system. So on the spur of the moment I started off a little joke about a kidnap and ransom for the phone, not really expecting anything to come of it, thinking that the other person would say something like, “Look, dude, I didn’t steal your phone and I’m not holding it to ransom, but now that you mention it, is there a reward?” But you didn’t. You just flung yourself one hundred per cent straight into the spirit of it.’ He shakes his head. ‘It was amazing.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. It inspired me. That’s what I mean. Right there, talking to me on the phone with, I might add, the sexiest voice I had heard in years, was someone else in the world who wanted to have fun. Someone who could see the point in a pointless joke. Someone who wasn’t too caught up in the daily grind of life to join in with something ridiculous.
‘Even before we met, I looked forward to those conversations. I planned them, put time aside for them, tried to make sure I was going to be available. I kept my phone in my hand when we were due to speak. I smiled for half an hour beforehand, and grinned for hours afterwards. And I didn’t want to have to cut it short because of work or something else intruding. I wanted fun to be my top priority, just for those precious moments. It – they became incredibly important to me.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know! I could not wait to meet you. I had butterflies in my stomach, sitting there on that fountain. You know I was there from just after five fifteen that day? We weren’t due to meet until six. But I couldn’t concentrate on my work so in the end I just gave it up as a bad job. By the time six o’clock came round, I was a wreck. I felt sick, I was sweating. Mind you, I drank about four cups of coffee in that café while I was waiting.’
‘I wondered why your eye kept twitching.’ I’m joking but look at my face – I can’t take my eyes off him.
‘And then I finally saw you, sitting there. You were so small and pale, so terrified. I felt drawn to you, as soon as I saw you, but of course I couldn’t approach you because I was there to meet . . . well, you. So I just had to try and ignore you, while I waited for you to turn up. When my phone rang in your bag . . .’ He trails off and reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear. ‘I knew I had to do something to keep us connected. I couldn’t just take the phone from you and never see or hear you again.’
I whisper, ‘I’m so glad you did. I mean, didn’t.’
‘Oh Rachel, so am I. I can’t believe how close I came to letting you go. When I saw you and Nick at the Horizon party—’
‘I’ve explained about that, you softhead.’
‘I know you have. I know. It was just so . . .’
Give us a moment here, please. We need our privacy and there’s probably only so much kissing you can take. I hate seeing it when people do it in public.
‘You know,’ I say eventually, ‘Sarah told me years ago that you were a really controlling older brother who likes to think the whole world does his bidding.’
‘Did she? Well, that’s a bit upsetting. I thought she liked me.’
‘Hector according to Glenn?’
He nods. ‘I’m absolutely sure that’s what it is. I wonder why he thinks that.’
‘Did you lend him some money recently?’
‘Yes, I did. Five grand.’
‘Did you tell him to end his affair with Chrissie?’
‘Yep.’
‘Did you threaten him?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose I did.’
‘Still wondering why he thinks you’re controlling?’
He smiles at me. ‘You really are a sorceress, aren’t you?’
‘Of course. How else do you think I persuaded you to leave your phone on the trolley?’
‘That was you? God, you’re good.’
‘So I’ve been told. Do you want any more cheesy pasta? There’s plenty left.’
‘Mmm, yes please. It’s delicious.’
‘Don’t you ever eat?’
‘Well, since Mum went, I don’t bother much. Not really worth it for one person.’
‘But isn’t Glenn staying with you?’
‘Mmm-hmm, but he doesn’t want to eat, he just sits around the place feeling sorry for himself. He’s a mess, the place is a mess, the whole thing is a mess.’
‘Sarah’s the same.’
‘I know.’
‘Well, don’t you think it’s a bit silly that they’re both sitting in different houses feeling miserable?’
He looks at me then brushes a stray hair away from my eyes. ‘What are you suggesting, witch?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. But we need to get them talking, I think.’
He lays down his fork and puts the plate on the coffee table. ‘You’re right. I am sick of seeing his limp face everywhere I look. He’s off work at the moment with stress, so it’s there at the window when I go out and it’s still there when I get back – facing me on the sofa, passing me on the stairs, coming out of the bathroom. It’s even starting to invade my dreams now.’
‘Let’s go and see Sarah,’ I say suddenly. ‘It’s awful that we’re feeling so happy, and they’re both so miserable.’
‘So fucking miserable.’
I laugh. Look at the expression on his face – he really has had enough of looking at Glenn’s face, hasn’t he? ‘All right, so fucking miserable. So what do you think? Shall we see if we can inject a little magic into their situation?’
‘OK, sorceress, we’ll go straight away. You can cast a spell.’ He’s staring at me again, as if in wonder. ‘My Rachel,’ he says; then I kiss him.
I drift off in Hector’s comfortable car. I’ve reclined the seat and tilted the head rest forward and the smooth motion and quiet engine have soon lulled me to sleep. I am wrenched awake suddenly by ghastly, grisly images of split skin and tearing wounds that look like red screaming mouths. I jerk and open my eyes, heart thudding. The car has stopped and Hector is leaning over me, his face inches from mine, stroking my cheek.
‘Hello,’ he says.
‘Hi. How long have I been asleep?’
He looks at the clock
on the dashboard. ‘About two minutes.’
‘Oh. Two minutes?’
‘Yep. We’re here, come on.’
Standing on Sarah’s doorstep, I lean comfortably against him. The top of my head barely reaches his chin. He dips his head and puts his lips in my hair. As Sarah opens the door, we spring apart.
‘Oh, hi, you two.’ She is apparently completely unsurprised to see us together. She turns and walks back down the hallway, sniffing. Did you notice that her eyes are red and puffy? She’s obviously just been crying.
‘What’s the matter, Sarah?’ I ask her as we arrive in the living room.
She looks up at me. ‘Oh, my husband has been having an affair with one of my best friends. Did I not tell you?’
The living room is pretty untidy. There are toys, clothes, dirty cups and plates, magazines and newspapers scattered around, and in the midst of it all is Jake, curled up in a ball on the sofa. I glance at the clock. It’s nine o’clock – way past his bedtime.
‘Hey, Harry, wotcher watching?’ I call over. He doesn’t stir.
‘Harry?’ Hector says to me softly, a quizzical look on his face.
‘Tell you later.’
Sarah sits back down on the sofa and Jake shuffles right up next to her again, laying his head in her lap. Absently she puts her hand on his hair. Hector and I sit down on the armchairs.
‘Glenn’s been round,’ she says suddenly.
‘That’s good,’ Hector says. I’m watching Jake. He looks so pale and worried. A little boy of six should not be worrying about anything other than how to work out which shoe goes on which foot.
‘Not really,’ Sarah says. ‘He wants a divorce.’
‘What?!’ Hector almost shouts. I see Jake flinch with the loud noise, but his eyes remain fixed on the television screen and he rarely blinks. His hair looks unkempt and dirty and he has no shoes or socks on.
‘Yeah, bloody cheek. I should be the one divorcing him. He reckons we have irreconcilable differences, and I think he’s right. Like he wants to sleep around and I don’t want him to.’ She does a mirthless ‘Hah’.
Thanks For Nothing, Nick Maxwell Page 33
