You, Me and Him

by Alice Peterson

  When I finish telling Mum about the argument she says boldly, ‘He takes you for granted. He always has. I like Finn but he makes up his own rules, that boy.’

  ‘I’m about to have a baby, Mum, and I’m terrified. This isn’t how I imagined it would be.’

  ‘Do you want me to come and stay? Would that help you?’

  The offer is so tempting. All I want to do is see her. I yearn to go home and find a hot water bottle in my bed and the smell of Dad’s fresh coffee in the kitchen. ‘Can I come and stay with you after the baby’s born? It’ll be George’s summer holidays then. I know we talked about you coming to London but I need some time away. Can I do that?’

  ‘You don’t have to ask. Your father and I set aside the month anyway. We’ve already bought a cot.’

  *

  It’s George’s Sports Day today. School term has nearly ended.

  Finn and I are trying to build bridges. I’m glad I didn’t race home. I can’t run to Clarky; I shouldn’t hide behind my parents. Finn and I need to sort this out. We’re sleeping in separate rooms, mainly because I am so uncomfortable at night and can’t sleep. However, if anything, our argument has made things better.

  I was working late in my studio last night on David’s project when Finn sat down on the stool next to my desk and looked at the screen, telling me in great detail why he liked the pink and white floral image. ‘I can see that on a perfume bottle. It’s eye-catching. I mean, I like the green one with the pretty leaves, but, no, it’s not quite as effective. The pink one is more French, more sophisticated somehow. Show me how you do that?’ he’d asked, leaning in closer. ‘You’re so clever.’ I’d been playing around with the size and colour of the image.

  ‘It’s simple when you know how.’

  ‘It’s not. I couldn’t do it.’ From the corner of my eye I could see he had something in his hand that he’d wanted to show me, but I had to get my work finished. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Finn,’ I’d called out as he was walking out of the room.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Just a boring medical journal, has pictures of the conference.’

  ‘Show me. Is there a picture of Alessia?’

  ‘Yes, think so.’

  ‘Can I have a look?’

  He’d smiled, handing it to me.

  There was a group picture near the middle of the magazine. ‘Is that her?’ She was standing in the front row. Average height, neat figure, dark hair, a cute smile, but … ‘She’s not what I expected,’ I’d said.

  ‘Don’t you think she’s pretty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone beautiful, I guess. You know, one of those people who just are so good-looking they’re another breed altogether. She’s, I don’t know, kind of like me. Normal.’

  ‘But you’re gorgeous, J.’

  ‘Hey!’ I’d called, touched by his comment and ridiculously relieved that at long last I’d seen a picture of her. If only I’d seen one a year ago. ‘Don’t go. Are you featured in there?’

  ‘There might be something.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘Middle section, page eighteen.’

  I must have almost laughed. The photograph of Finn was terrible.

  ‘I blinked when the flash went off,’ he’d said, trying to snatch it back from me. Underneath it read, ‘Finn Greenwood is a promising young doctor with an exciting future in medicine.’ It went on to describe his department at the hospital. ‘Finn, that’s great.’ I’d sighed with pride and our faces were so close; I wish I’d kissed him then instead of turning away.

  *

  The other day he came home with some supper; he had been to the fancy butcher and bought us some delicious steak. He’s pledged that he will start cooking at least once a week and at the weekends, especially when the baby’s born. He’s also been bringing me tea in bed before he leaves for work. And George and he made me breakfast last Sunday. I had to move back into the main bedroom so George didn’t notice the sleeping arrangements. The breakfast was pretty disgusting as usual – soggy toast and scrambled eggs – but Finn had bought some pink roses too. The only sad thing was he’d asked George to put them in a vase, but what he hadn’t seen was his son cutting the stems off so short that the roses had looked beheaded, bobbing up and down in a cereal bowl. ‘They’re like Henry VIII’s wives,’ Finn said, smiling and putting the tray on my lap. During breakfast George had turned on the radio and Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ started to play. It’s a house rule to dance to this song. If we don’t, bad luck will follow. We hadn’t heard it in months.

  Finn had lifted the tray from my lap with an encouraging, ‘Come on, we can’t break with tradition, especially now. We need all the luck we can get.’

  We’d stood in a line, me attempting to kick my legs to the music but looking like a fat baboon. I could hardly lift my feet off the floor. We’d all started to laugh so much that it hurt. I’d clutched my stomach and collapsed back down on the bed. I’d watched Finn and George as they pulled faces at me, George dancing manically on his thin little legs.

  It is moments like these, of pure happiness, that I love; that make it all worthwhile.

  Finn took George to the car-boot sale after that breakfast, telling me to rest and watch movies. They’d arrived home carrying a terrifying mask which came complete with a tube of fake blood to smear over it.

  ‘How much for this?’ George had quizzed his favourite car-boot lady.

  ‘For you, Billy Whizz, one pound fifty,’ she’d said.

  ‘I’ll give you ten pence.’

  ‘Why did you let him buy it?’ I’d cursed Finn when they returned home, watching him cover his face with it and make strange haunting noises. ‘Stop it!’ I’d quavered. ‘When he’s at school, I’m putting it straight into the dustbin.’ Finn had laughed at that and I’d pulled the mask off him and held his face firmly in my hands. This time there was no looking away. I’d kissed him.

  We also took George swimming last weekend. Uncle Ed had joined us. ‘I can see such an improvement in his style,’ Finn had said incredulously, all of us watching from the shallow end.

  ‘It’s Frédéric. He’s able to see through George’s condition and appreciate his talent because he bothers to look hard.’

  ‘Watch, Mum! Dad! Uncle Ed!’ George proceeded to do at least five metres backstroke. He’d kept his legs beautifully straight and kicked them in time with his arm action. We’d all clapped furiously.

  It had been the first time Finn had seen George’s lessons paying off, and just to see him look so happy and to act like we were a family felt good. No, it felt great.

  Finn has promised George he will be at his Sports Day. Last year George came last in the 100 metre sprint because he was waiting for his dad to turn up. Everyone had laughed and pointed at him, still standing in front of the starting line. George’s mood has brightened considerably because Finn will be watching him swimming again then. ‘Don’t let him down,’ I’d warned. ‘It’s better to say no than to lead him on.’

  ‘I will be there,’ Finn had promised. ‘What race is he in?’

  ‘Front crawl and backstroke.’

  I have every faith he will come this time. Something feels different. Like we’re making a new start and I’m falling in love with him all over again.

  *

  I’m making the bed when the doorbell rings. Rocky starts to bark. I slowly walk downstairs, irritated that I have been disturbed. It’s an effort to move at this stage. The baby’s weight bears down on me. I feel like my unborn child is lumped between my knees, not in my stomach, just hanging there between my legs like a huge sack. Finn kindly likes to tell me it looks as if I have swallowed an extra-large basketball. I can’t possibly get any bigger, can I? Where will the baby go, for God’s sake? George can’t believe it. ‘It’s got to come out soon,’ he keeps on saying.

  I unlock the do
or.

  Clarky doesn’t brush his shoes against the mat as he always does. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m going mad.’ He walks into the sitting room and starts pacing, just as Finn does when he has something on his mind.

  ‘Clarky?’

  ‘No one else is here, are they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No one really understands our friendship, do they?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He scratches the back of his head and laughs. ‘Aggie. After you’d left that night she was questioning me about us again.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over, it was a mistake.’

  ‘Well, she won’t let it go now. Why was I always the one you ran to? Why, why, why? Can I be honest?’ He doesn’t wait for me to say anything. ‘You’re my best friend and I want you to be happy, but there’s this tiny side of me that rejoices when you and Finn argue. It gives me hope. I’ve always believed that maybe, one day, you’ll see that you can’t live without me.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I say simply. ‘You’ll always be a part of my life.’

  He lets out a frustrated groan. ‘But not in the way I mean. Why do you act so innocently when you …’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I say quietly.

  ‘I don’t want to be someone who lives their life hoping a marriage breaks up, especially yours. What kind of person would that make me? But do you know what it’s like, loving someone and knowing you can never have them?’

  I bite my lip. I can’t believe he is saying this and it’s my fault. ‘No.’

  He laughs drily. ‘I ought to run courses, at least make some money out of you. Come and subscribe to, “All you need to do to get that person out of your head”.’

  ‘Clarky, you’ve met Aggie. I’m having Finn’s baby. I love him.’

  ‘I know, and I love Aggie.’

  ‘Good, so don’t ruin it.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘She’s not you.’

  ‘Clarky, you’ve got to stop this, OK? You need to calm down, think about this properly. I love you …’

  ‘But only as a friend,’ he finishes impatiently. ‘That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?’ He follows me into the kitchen. I lean against the table, tired and out of breath.

  ‘It’s George’s Sports Day today. I have to go in a minute.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘It starts at two but George’s races are later.’

  He looks at his watch. It’s midday. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Finn will be there. He’s making a real effort, he promised to be there for George today.’

  Clarky is looking at the blackboard. Finn has written on it, ‘Remember, George’s first race, three o’clock.’

  ‘Is everything fine between you now?’

  ‘Clarky, we can’t do this! We have to let it go. I’m married; you’re in a relationship. This is stupid, it’s leading nowhere except to hurt people.’

  ‘I can’t let it go.’

  ‘You have to. I shouldn’t have come round that night,’ I reiterate. ‘And I’m hugely to blame. I shouldn’t depend on you so much. It was hard seeing you with someone when I’ve always had your undivided attention. But that’s me being selfish and childish. Coming round that night finally made me realise that. Aggie deserves a lot better than this.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ There’s panic in his voice.

  ‘To the bathroom. Jesus, Clarky!’ The phone rings. ‘Can you get that?’ I call.

  ‘I’m afraid she can’t come to the phone. She’s gone to the loo … I came over to see Josie … I’m just answering your question. Right.’

  I open the door. ‘What did Finn want?’

  ‘The times of George’s races.’

  ‘I told him this morning. Do I need to call him back?’

  ‘No, it’s on the blackboard. He was only checking.’

  ‘Oh. Good.’

  ‘I want to come,’ he says. ‘I’d like to support my godson.’

  ‘I’m calling Finn.’ But before I even make it to the phone the doorbell rings. That will be Mrs B.

  She walks in wearing a long red skirt with a tight frilly shirt, her long hair plaited and coiled into a bun. She stops when she sees Clarky. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He’s going to drive us to school, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. How are you, Justin?’

  ‘Very good, thank you.’

  ‘Not working today?’

  ‘Clearly not. If I was I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

  ‘Right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’

  When his back is turned she nudges me. ‘Why’s he always hanging around here?’ she huffs like Finn’s granny. ‘There’s something about him I don’t trust.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Clarky, Mrs B and I walk into the steamy swimming pool area and take our seats in the audience. Rows of blue plastic chairs edge the pool. The seating area is filling up. I wave to Mr Phipps who is seated at the front. ‘Is that the nice headmaster?’ Mrs B asks.

  Four children line up on their starting boxes. They’re divided into ‘houses’ that are all named after fruits. George belongs to Prickly Pear house. They are one of the best. He said they’d chosen him because it didn’t matter if they had one lame duck in the team. Currently they are in second position, following closely behind the Pink Grapefruits.

  ‘Hi, Mum! Hi, Daddog! Mrs B!’ George waves as he holds his nose tightly and dive-bombs into the turquoise pool.

  Ms Miles has to get him out. It’s odd seeing her in a tracksuit and sweater. She looks less severe but I am reminded of her strictness when she says, ‘It’s not your race, George, you’re a Prickly Pear, NOT a Wild Strawberry.’

  I hear another whistle, this time even louder. George is running around the edge of the pool in his black trunks that slide halfway down his bottom. He’s making his way over to us. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asks. ‘He promised he’d come.’

  ‘George, you have to behave otherwise you’ll be disqualified, darling. Your father will be here any minute, all you need to do is think about your race.’

  ‘That’s right, George. Finn’s a busy man but he will be here,’ Mrs B confirms adamantly.

  Clarky laughs quietly with a shake of his head. He knows the loaded implication behind that remark.

  ‘Concentrate now,’ Mrs B instructs. ‘Don’t watch us.’ George darts off.

  Ms Miles drags him back to the other Prickly Pears who are sitting on the bench behind the diving boards.

  The first breaststroke race starts. I hear a door open. It’s not Finn. Come on. Why do you have to cut it so fine? The traffic can’t be that bad at this time of day. ‘Stop fidgeting,’ Mrs B says, ‘he’ll be here.’

  It’s the backstroke race for the older boys now. A Cooking Apple swims wonkily into the other lane and hits a Prickly Pear by mistake. I can’t sit still. I can see George constantly looking towards the door, waiting for Finn to walk through it. I can’t bear it. Finn promised me he wouldn’t let us down. Promised. I hate him.

  Finally it’s George’s first race: the front crawl.

  The whistle goes off and George is still standing on his box, waiting for his dad. I am beside myself. ‘Go on, George!’ Clarky shouts. But he’s disqualified for delaying too long. The scores are updated. The Prickly Pears are still second but if George hadn’t been disqualified and lost them five points they would be in the lead.

  The Prickly Pears huddle in a circle. ‘Team talk,’ Jason, their captain, says. George tries to enter the circle. I watch as he is pushed away. ‘You’re a loser. We never wanted you on our side. L.O.S.E.R’, Jason spells out. George sits on his own at the end of the bench. His team is understandably furious but why do they have to be so mean with it? I wish George wasn’t on Jason’s team. I thought the school had a policy of keeping the
m apart?

  I ring Finn again. There’s no answer. Where are you? George has one more race. He won’t swim unless his father is watching. Then I have an idea. ‘What are you doing?’ Clarky asks as I struggle to push my way over to the Prickly Pears.

  ‘Mrs Jammie Dodger says you’ve got to win it,’ I tell George. ‘She’s so sorry not to see your race but she’s with you all the way. You just swim your heart out, that’s what she said.’

  ‘Dad’s not coming?’

  ‘No, darling. Will you swim for me, your old mum? And Mrs B?’

  ‘And Daddog?’

  ‘Yes, for Daddog too.’

  It’s the final race. Everything depends on it. It’s still between the Prickly Pears and the Pink Grapefruits. The team are asking the teachers if they can swap Julian for George. ‘NO!’ Clarky and I shout out. ‘Let George swim!’

  *

  The referee takes us through the scores for the final time. If George wins, the Prickly Pears win by a point.

  ‘In lane one, the Wild Strawberries.’ The parents clap. ‘Come on, Steven, you can do it,’ shouts his father. Steven waves. He’s wearing red trunks. ‘In lane two, the Cooking Apples!’ There’s a chubby boy with blond hair lifting up his chubby arms.

  A door opens. Please let it be Finn. ‘He’s my best friend,’ Eliot tells the dinner lady as he is manoeuvred to the front to watch. They sit on the other side of the pool, directly opposite us. I’m too flustered even to smile at Eliot. I wonder why Aggie isn’t here? At least his arrival is delaying the start. HURRY UP, Finn.

  The referee resumes his role. ‘In lane three we have the Pink Grapefruits.’ There’s more shouting and cheering from each team. ‘And finally, in lane four, the Prickly Pears.’

  ‘Come on, George,’ I shout. ‘You can do it!’