by Neal Doran
It was while he was banging through the cupboards, looking for a clean mug that he heard a voice behind him.
‘Try the dishwasher.’
In the corner of the room, feet up across two low padded chairs, sat a woman with long, wavy black hair. There was something about the hair that didn’t look quite right for an office environment, but that might have been because he was used to working in a field where everything about your appearance was supposed to be tamed. She was in her early twenties if James was any judge, which he usually wasn’t, and was wearing black trousers and a white shirt that looked a little tight, not by design, but because of an accident with a too-hot wash. Wearing it, she looked like a waitress. The kind who wouldn’t care enough to be jolly just because you were out for the evening and in a good mood, and in turn would seem slightly intimidating.
‘Thanks,’ he said, watching to see if she’d say anything else. Then he slowly turned to the workbench to search the dishwasher for the mug that would require the least cleaning before use.
‘Are you supposed to be up here?’ she asked as soon as he was crouched down and his back was turned. He swivelled and rose to his feet.
‘Mix-up at the dole office,’ he said with a smile and a shrug, ‘hence the wardrobe malfunction.’
‘Right,’ she said blankly. You’d definitely be worried she’d do something horrible to your pasta if it looked like you were having too good a time, thought James. Perhaps it was because of the moody green eyes.
‘I’m James by the way,’ he said trying not to seem too friendly.
‘Right.’
‘And…?’
‘Gemma.’
‘Hi.’
Gemma looked at him for a while, long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. She had a small pointy chin that seemed to recede a little into her chest as she looked up at him. That was probably another reason why she looked a bit sullen and pouty. He caught a glance of her chest, breasts that were thrust out because of the angle she was sitting. Looked like they were mainly comprised of bra. But it was probably a very pretty bra.
With a smile that only turned up one side of her mouth, but was joined by one thin, overly-plucked eyebrow, she said ‘Hi James’.
He smiled back and went to the sink to rinse out his cup. The water pressure in the taps was much stronger than he expected, and the stacked breakfast bowls in the sink deflected a spray of water across his shirt before he hastily turned it down and gave the mug a clean out with a squirt of Fairy Liquid and his finger. Gemma didn’t say a word. He boiled the kettle, and splashed water over the office instant coffee in silence.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘see you later.’
‘Yep.’
He headed out the kitchen door, feeling vaguely relieved. Then as he moved away he thought he heard the whistling again. Echoing slightly as if coming out of a vinyl-floored enclosed space rather than the office floor. It was a couple of bars of ‘I’m a Lumberjack and I’m OK’ from Monty Python, he was sure. He blushed a little as the memories of his first day at English secondary school flooded back. She was a piece of work, that Gemma.
Back at his desk he tapped his coffee mug with his thumb, and thought he’d better give Becs a call, let her know how his day was going.
Chapter 22
Rebecca was wondering what it meant that James hadn’t responded to the text she sent as soon as she’d got into her office. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to have a phone on the warehouse floor for health and safety reasons, she thought. Maybe it was like a petrol station forecourt, where there’s the danger of electronics sparking an explosion. Or she could be getting the silent treatment after the weekend.
It probably hadn’t been the best time to go to IKEA. Especially as her mood was a bit all over the place after drinks out with Sophie on Saturday night.
The weekend had started out OK. Friday night, James had bought steak as a treat to acknowledge his new temporary job (he wouldn’t let her say celebrate, and she always had to say temporary when she mentioned it). He thought it was a good choice of dinner for a manly working man. Then he remembered as soon as he saw her that she couldn’t eat it unless it was well done and, despite her saying not to worry and at least to make sure his was done how he liked it, he had fried the life out of it for both of them.
Even so it had actually been nice to have a bit of red meat for the first time in ages, and she’d been delighted that Bompalomp hadn’t sabotaged her taste for red wine the way he had beer and sauv blanc. The smoke escaping from the feeble extractor in the kitchen added a bistro feel to the dining table and it would have all felt quite romantic, except James was bothered because things weren’t quite right, and not what he was planning. He kept mumbling to himself like a contestant at the end of Mastermind going over their passes. ‘Pregnant women can’t eat meat that’s not thoroughly cooked, I knew that…’
Despite this, she was in the mood by bedtime – helped by the punch one glass of shiraz can have when you’ve not had booze in a couple of weeks, and the surprising fact that slathering well done beef in mustard made her indigestion milder than usual. James had got ready for bed first and switched off his bedside light, still a bit grumpy with himself for losing a point on his best expectant dad exams. She’d slipped in beside him, naked. She thought that was a pretty handy shorthand for her plans. If she’d thought that was going to lead to a lusty cheer and instant ravishing she was mistaken though. It got a slightly surprised and not unpleased grunt as he edged closer to her, and ran a hand across her belly. He’d muttered something like ‘not getting cold, Bomp?’
She’d had to take matters into her own hand to get things focused on the rest of her.
And it had been nice. And, as usual, he was conscientious. But it wasn’t quite like the old days of five months ago, she’d thought to herself ruefully. Maybe it was the steak, she thought. Or maybe it’s the temporary job. Or maybe it’s my body. She decided not to worry about it. She’d slipped out of his arms to get up to get an old T-shirt, and crawled back into bed, cuddling her slumbering husband until she drifted off to sleep.
Their Saturdays had been a bit odd since James lost his proper job. Before, they wouldn’t normally do much in the day, but there were always one or two jobs to do, cleaning or shopping or something. But James was managing them all in the week. She often thought, but never said, how nice it was to have a wife at home. They’d been pottering about working out what they had the energy for when James had got the call from Kam about going to the pictures, a Disney Pixar picture at the big Imax in town. Those two had always gone to the movies together, often to see cartoons despite the fact they were grown men. With Kam having kids now they didn’t get the chance to go in the evening as much, and when they did Kam usually wanted to see something violent and disturbing he couldn’t see at home, but today his children and friends would collide at a matinee. Kam hated taking his kids to the cinema by himself on a Saturday afternoon because he always thought people were looking at him and thinking divorced dad with access. With James tagging along it looked more like gay dads which was much preferable. James as ever was keen to get the parenting practice, Rebecca keen to not move from watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition on the telly all day.
By the time James had got back after the movie, pizza and trawl around boysy geeky shops, Rebecca was set for her night out with Sophie. The interrogation of her wardrobe to find something that would stand up to being seen next to her skinny fashionable friend was in some ways easier than usual, because nothing much fit properly any more, and she was still resisting buying clothes in a size she was determined she’d never be again once Bompalomp was born. Using some tips she’d picked up from a fashion show she’d flicked to earlier in the afternoon, she’d found the right combination of patterns, colours and textures to suit her figure. She’d been a little worried that the Gok Wan programme had been a repeat from a couple of years ago, but her skirt and top were pretty new so she didn’t think she looked too 2010. James had said
something nice unprompted too, which she thought was a good sign.
It was strange being out with Sophie and remaining entirely sober, despite her friend’s best efforts to get her to sneak a vodka into her tomato juice. Sophie couldn’t entirely see the logic behind Rebecca being so adamant she wouldn’t drink in public, despite her willingness to have the odd glass of wine at home.
‘You think the waiter’s going to give a shit what you have?’ she asked. ‘The more money you spend the bigger tip he gets, he’d be delighted.’
‘It just…it just doesn’t look good.’
‘Who cares? Who are these people? Social workers can’t afford to come to places like this.’
‘Oh why not then? I’ll have a couple of shots, then you can come outside with the obviously pregnant woman for a quick fag, and maybe accompany her as she snorts a line of coke. That’d be a lovely image.’
‘I’m game if you are.’
They’d fitted into their roles as comfortably as usual: the amoral power woman and the prude. If James heard that description he’d probably draw them as a superhero and sidekick. Then, over Rebecca’s safe-for-Bompalomp’s garlic mushrooms starter and dull veggie pasta thing, and Sophie’s langoustines and beautifully pink lamb, they discussed Rebecca’s dad. Rebecca explained the charges, and how she’d been asked to provide evidence, in order to get her dad’s version of events in front of the police.
Sophie didn’t even ask if the charges were true or not, she just assumed they were, and would not even countenance a mix-up. And she seemed entirely comfortable with the idea that Rebecca would be perjuring herself so her dad could get away with it. That took Rebecca aback a bit. And she had already been taken aback because earlier Sophie bluntly mentioned it was odd that someone with James’s qualifications was struggling to get interviews for a new job in today’s market. She’d suggested he’d been sitting at home all day looking at porn instead of doing applications. Then before Rebecca could defend her husband on that, Sophie was back onto the subject of straying fathers. And, it being Sophie, the conversation had shifted to how it had affected her.
‘Y’know, it was a fact of life when I was growing up that Dad would have a bit on the side. Or rather, bits. I don’t think it was the same person for very long, which I think Mother saw as something of a personal triumph. You picked up a pattern. He’d be away as much as usual, but when he was having a fling the presents for us when he came home would get much better.
‘That’d carry on for a while until he started taking the piss about how long he could be away from his oh-so-loving family. There’d be a blazing row with Mum, and eventually they’d start getting on again. This was the bit I hated the most, they’d get all lovey-dovey with each other and the presents and attention for me and my bratty little sis completely went out the window. They’d fuck off on European city breaks leaving me and Ella with whoever was up on the au pair conveyor belt.
‘But at least that got interesting when I was getting a little older, and could sneak down and watch what Helga got up to on the sofa with their grimy local boyfriend.’
‘That sounds terrible,’ Rebecca had finally managed to squeeze in.
‘Not really,’ said Sophie spearing several tiny vegetables on a single fork but not, as far as Rebecca could tell, in a repressed anger kind of way, ‘just a fact of life when you’re growing up. You think you’re the centre of the universe, but grown-up life is going on around you, you’re just making it a bit more difficult. And by the time I started seeing the local boys myself, I was able to give them a bit of a surprise or two.’
‘Well, every cloud,’ said Rebecca.
‘So did your dad have lots of male colleagues around the house when you were a kid? Young men he’d met at the golf club?’
‘Oh please. Yes, Sophie, the house was constantly full of muscly construction workers who just hadn’t found the right woman yet. I loved it because they’d always bring us kids the latest Kylie CD.’
The thing was, there had been a lot of men around. But that was more to do with her dad’s institutionalised sexism, surely? And they had wives, they always had wives. Besides, it was what you did in his kind of work, you had people around to dinner or took them out or whatever. This was not how she’d hoped that this conversation would go. She hadn’t wanted to dwell on the cause of the trouble for her father, more the effect it was having on everyone around him. Sophie, not knowing her dad or his strange over-familiar way with strangers, couldn’t see how there could genuinely have been an awkward social scene in the gents. She also didn’t know about his infuriating stubbornness, which was contributing to the perfect storm that resulted in public protests and demands for his day in court.
She’d tried to get this point across to Sophie while she reluctantly defended her dad. He was being an inconsiderate idiot now, she acknowledged, but that didn’t mean the allegations were true or that he’d spent his life having a series of awkward illicit affairs.
Sophie was at least sufficiently aware of the social niceties of friendship to not say that she didn’t buy that for a second.
But the look on her face made the point very eloquently.
‘Just stick to your story about his bladder, and they can’t do a thing to you. Act assertively enough and you’ll be fine – of course a father and daughter would discuss their toilet habits. No one’s going to believe it for a second, and unless they let him off because they feel sorry for you it won’t make a blind bit of difference. But they wouldn’t have enough to prosecute you so you’ll be fine. You’d know all that, though.’
Rebecca had stared down bleakly at her ice cream and the reality of the trial had seeped into her veins. What was she doing? Why had she agreed to this? In a way, she’d almost started to believe she had actually had this conversation with her dad. That maybe it had all been a mix-up. Maybe she still needed that to be true.
‘You know,’ Sophie continued over her overwhelmingly unpasteurised cheese plate, ‘I’m kind of seeing a guy with a family at the minute.’
This, Rebecca knew, was not a first. When Sophie had spilled the beans on her dalliances with married men in the past, Rebecca had always responded with a big ‘No!’ that conveyed surprise, outrage and a little delight, like it was a shock development on a soap opera. She made the same noise this time, and followed up with the same questions, but she felt different. It actually made her queasy, the idea of a young family (and the kids were apparently really quite young) being so vulnerable to events outside the home. She worried about the wife more than she ever had, and what she must be going through. And she worried about her friend and how people must think of her for acting like this – and how she herself was thinking about her for doing this. Pity and disdain is an uncomfortable combination when it comes to one of your oldest pals.
After one last attempt by Sophie to get Rebecca to have a liqueur coffee, they’d paid the bill and parted. There were promises not to leave it so long again, hugs, and expressions of love that always made Rebecca feel a little awkward, even when she’d been matching Sophie drink for drink. Her dominant feeling had been one of relief the evening was done. On the Tube home she’d decided it was probably because she wasn’t drinking that the night had felt off-kilter. But Sophie always had a way of unsettling her and her assumptions. Normally this was a good thing, but this time…
James had been asleep by the time she got in, and in the morning she broke tradition and didn’t tell him all the gory details of Sophie’s complicated life. He’d seemed satisfied knowing that she was the same old Sophie, and could presumably fill in most of the blanks himself. It was because of how unsettled Sophie made her feel that Rebecca didn’t go into detail about her friend’s affair, or views on the court case, ahead of the much anticipated, and retrospectively doomed, IKEA trip to get furniture for Bompalomp’s room.
And it was because of how unsettled Sophie made her feel that she was sitting at her desk on Monday morning, trying not to think about why James was tempi
ng and hadn’t got anywhere with his proper applications.
Eleven-thirty and he still hadn’t called or texted. She hoped the job wasn’t really like they’d imagined on yesterday’s trip to IKEA…
Chapter 23
‘Would you like me to do your inside leg now, dear?’
‘Perhaps we could use it to try and discover my waist.’
It was an integral part of their trips to the furniture shop that James would do his impressions with the free stuff they gave you. The little pencil would go behind his ear, and he’d do his teeth-sucking plumber who answered every question with ‘ooh it’s gonna cost ya’. Then the paper tape measure would go around his neck like a scarf, and he’d turn into Mr Humphries from Are You Being Served?. This one could actually be a bit awkward sometimes – he wouldn’t really take into account who was around before he started mincing about and Rebecca often worried that the couple of guys across the aisle looking at soft furnishings might think he was taking the piss.
‘Don’t push me!’ he said in a low growly mumble, the tape measure tied around his head like a bandana.
‘Eh?’
‘Sorry. Stallone. Watched Rambo after you went to bed the other night.’
‘Just don’t do your Michael Hutchence. There’s people with kids around.’
They always got a bit giddy at the start of a trip around IKEA. Rebecca unashamedly loved the place, while James would make noises about how much he disliked it. But as soon as they got there together there was a certain excitement with the novelty. James would start planning how many meatballs he would have at the restaurant – because you have to have meatballs in the restaurant – without spoiling his appetite for the bargain hot dogs and ice cream after the checkout. Because you can never turn down hot dogs and ice cream. Rebecca always thought that there’d be nowhere else in the world where her husband would consider eating meat that cheap. His reasoning, apparently, was that the whole food side of things was a loss leader to get people in and spending more money, and, if he had enough, one day he’d be able to bring their entire empire down on the basis of extortionate losses on vats of unnaturally yellow mustard.
